Settling Only For Her

Time passes for Renard and Colette under this new routine.

With Renard securing the land and title of the Barony, the two move in to an estate that oversees the territory of Meurille, a small county within Lacren that is both distanced enough from Sebilles to not automatically be roped into its politics, and close enough to it that commuting there is not a hassle. Meurille is indeed a modest place, not notable in any enticing way or important for anything, boasting a small but stable community of mostly farmers and quarrymen.

It is exactly the humble self-managing Barony that Renard wished he would get, to the letter. Relieved that finangling the logistics of this land requires no immediate strenuous effort, Renard allows himself to focus more on the other half of this lifestyle change — the domestic.

His relationship with Colette has stayed optimistic and then simply positive. The fears he had of feeling restricted, or forced, into shaping himself as a stereotypical nobleman to impress her have thankfully not been realised, and though overwhelmed by the majesty of the ornate estate he now inhabits, Colette has reassured him down from doing anything self-destructively rash, impulsive, or performative. He has steadily become accustomed to the idea of being allowed to own this house. He has also become steadily more appreciative of Colette, whose support has been sincere and unfailing.

Though socially fluent and cunning enough to navigate politics, she is a reclusive woman who regards many as falling below their own standards, and has become tired of most who’d pursue her. At the same time, she is assertive and steady in her self-worth, desiring of simple things and pleasant luxuries, which she is keen to share with others. She likes gentle beauties and driven passions. Dates over these early months soon solidify their engagement, formalised with a ring, consummated with marriage in the following year.

It is Colette’s ingenuity that keeps Renard afloat in politics. Though not a hugely important territory, invitations to parties and summons by lords are still typical, and still stressful to Renard. Colette arranges that such audiences either stay as written correspondences, or happen in Meurille, which has kept Renard comfortable.

Renard’s initial nervousness over how Meurille would receive him has also faded. Connecting quickly with the rustic hospitality of the townsfolk, and with Colette’s help restraining him from overeager missteps in governance, he soon feels himself accepted and welcome in the community. Grateful to have this environment, his investment in the place becomes strong, with the time he does not spend on recreational pursuits or administrative work being spent personally resolving simple on-the-ground problems, like finding lost pets and fixing old fences.

Renard finds his rhythm in this simple life, and over time, relaxes.

As he takes one of his breeding horses back in to the stable, an idea then crosses his mind: He’s retired.

Renard reels at this thought, growing more baffled at its truth. Being a high mortality occupation, most ghoul-slayers older than him, those names he knew held sway when he first started, have either died or quit. The names that have replaced those contemporaries are unfamiliar, and though he knows his own reputation still carries much weight, the rumours milling through bars, gossip given by guests, and calls of travelling barkers inform that near everyone active in the occupation is now profoundly younger than him. A new generation has risen, and Renard is the old veteran who hung up his sword — because he has completed the span that most would ever work it, and retired.

Renard unsheaths Kingslayer, holding it flat on his palm. Sheaths it again. Uncertainty niggles.

Having reestablished contact with Pleione, and even occasionally Verdan, Renard knows the broad status of Nix. Though able to regard the whole matter as the Queen’s issue rather than his, Pleione’s testimony of the situation has been dire, and her sincere desire that Renard join the effort has been less subtle than Renard suspects she intended. Still, while the guilt of denying this call tickles his mind, as does the dark fated feeling of Nix being his destiny, the sight of Colette waving him back in from the fields tempers that feeling away.

Familiar summer air, muggy as it is in this place, tousles the familiar grass, long and yellow as it is in this place, around his ankles, and wafts the smell of the dirt, full of red clay as it is in this place, to his nose. The slant of the sun and the subtle hue it casts upon the field is familiar — by the light alone, he can exactly tell the time of day, and know who has retired from the day’s work, what stores will be open, who will yet be at the tavern, and what routines the people of the town will be pursuing. It has become intimate, his knowledge of this place.

He marches back to Colette, content with his choices. Those who would call him to Nix are too late. From the outside, he will cheer on their endeavours, but he has completed his tenure.