'Where is this?', Orewell thought to himself as he looked at the unfamiliar horizon in front of him. It was white with thick snow, thicker than he's experienced in his fourteen years of life in Divios. It feels...unnaturally cold yet also warm, like the snow itself was a blanket that keeps him warm as his feet stood at the quarter-foot of snow. His eyes wandered around the white plains, he noticed that the plants and trees are too...green. The leaves from the plants and trees remain bright green which is quite peculiar because leaves usually fall from trees by fall and winter. As he pondered about his thoughts, he felt a soft sensation wrap around his waist and a figure shorter than him, only standing until below his neck, pressed against his back.

  "Is something bothering you, dear husband?", a girl's voice asks. It sounds...calm and soothing, like the passing of the water of a creek during a relatively calm season. "You seem lost in thought, you're worrying our children", the voice adds.

  He doesn't respond first, keeping his confusion to himself so as to not worry whoever the girl behind him is. This girl...is calling him her dear husband. He already knew that something was wrong. He was fourteen, although old enough to work and be wed, he's not particularly the kind of man that girls would want to be their husband. He continued thinking some more until the presence on his back pressed her lips on his shoulder and began to whisper.

  "Hello? Norour to Orewell?", she repeats. "I'm talking to you, dear husband", she adds, a pout on her face.

  "Apologies, dear wife", he says as he turned around to look down at her shorter figure. She was wearing furs that a person would wear during a summer or spring...yet here she is, wearing clothes that doesn't seem to be too concerned about the fact that it's winter now. Her hair is quite long, running down until her elbows and are let down without braids of any kind. "What were you saying?", he asks, a somewhat polite smile on his face which garnered a pout from her.

  "You always call me by name", she says sulkily.

  'I call you by name?', he thought to himself. 'I will if I knew your name...or who you are, for that matter.'

  "It seems like you forgot...", she sighs. "And you keep me calling me your dearest too...", she sighs again. "It's Robyn Rivermay. If you forgot again. Your one and only Robyn. Your sweet Robyn, as you say."

  At that revelation, he surprisingly did a very good job at hiding his surprise. Robyn Rivermay...from what he knows, she's the eldest surviving child of House Rivermay's lord, Lord Hubert Rivermay. He's still confused...but whatever, he supposes. He'll just go through with it.

  "Apologies", he replies with a small, polite nod. "My...sweet Robyn", he mutters the last part softly. Just saying it...it feels out of character for him. It feels...soft. Is this how he's going to be when he's older? With a small sigh, he asks, "You spoke of our children. Where are they?"

  "They're in the castle. Your sister Amelie is looking after them", Robyn replies. "They're waiting for you. Come. Before they start whining", she adds, almost impatient as she practically drags him into the castle. As they walk inside, people greet them with smiles and nods, like they were very familiar and fond of their presence. Robyn did mention that he was a king...and if they're wed, it's fair to assume she's his queen. The land they're stepping on...it feels foreign to him and he can already tell that, 'This is not Divios. This is not home', he thought. Yet as he walked, despite knowing that something is indeed wrong, that he does not belong here, he feels...calm. His mind feels oddly clear and sharp, as if nothing unusual was going on. Multiple thoughts and sensations entered his mind and left it just as fast, everything from the cool air, to Robyn's soft hands holding his own and the sound of the wet crunch of dirt and gravel with every step they took. It all entered and left his head and processing it with unusual speeds, faster than all the scholars in Divios combined. He was only snapped out of his thoughts when Robyn spoke again.

  "We're here", she says. He blinks his eyes to recollect himself and saw himself in an unfamiliar castle ground, and saw a banner with a sigil that invoked some paradoxical feelings within him. It feels familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. A grey sword on a field of black with a deep blue eye at the socket in the pommel.

  "Robyn", Orewell calls to ask his supposed wife about the meaning of the banner that hung from the ramparts of the castle and at the end of the guard's pikes but...for some reason, he felt like he already knew. He shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. "Nevermind. Just take me to the children", he says with a soft sigh as he lets Robyn guide him. 'Grey', he thought to himself. 'A northern bastard's name, an insult. Yet I wore it with pride, an insult to my fellow bastards. But for me, it was not only because I was the son of the noble lord and overseer of the North. No. But it's because a symbol of my freedom. I am not pressured with the woes of politics and lordship because I have no right to inherit...or at least that woman Catherine would not let me. And now...here I am, holding a woman's hand that shares my name. Life...is a beautiful thing sometimes. I was born out of wedlock, yet here I am, wed and with a family of my own.', he mused. 'A grey sword in black...grey. A color of dullness, but also signifies sturdiness. Black is most commonly understood as a color of darkness and evil...but it can also mean renewal, redemption. A black canvas, if painted well, will look great with other colors. It will be a hard task, most would consider impossible, but with enough willpower, can be done. The blue eye at that sees all. Put together, the sigil of my house is a sturdy redemption with an eye that sees all to guide it.'

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  His musings, however, was interrupted by Robyn once more...with quite a rude slap to the face. It stings, but he can't bring himself to react...for it does not hurt him enough to warrant so.

  "What is it?", he asks his pouting wife.

  "You...my dear husband, are very out of it. Did you drink heavy with Lurter again?", she asks him. "Ever since I found you standing at the fields, you feel distant. Is something wrong?", she asks, her put replaced with a concerned frown.

  "No, my dear wife", he reassured. "I'm certainly fine. Just...tired, I suppose.", he smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close and plants a gentle kiss on her forehead.

  "Truly?", she asks, looking up at him.

  "Aye, truly", he answers. "Upon my father's name."

  As he reassured her, she finally pushed herself away from him, gesturing towards a sturdy and tall-looking door. "The children are here", she told him. "They're waiting for you."

  He nods at her and went inside the room, seeing two children playing on the floor with one another, two girls. 'Two daughters? Gods be good to have mercy on me...', he told himself, sighing as the two children approached him. By their small stature, he'll guess these two girls are no older than five. His father Felkin told him being at war was easier than looking after Amelie and Mayne.

  "Father", the older girl calls. Her name rung to him. 'Berylyn', then the younger, 'Aileryn'.

  "Berylyn", he says with a smile. Despite the odd situation he finds himself in. He feels strangely connected and fond of this girl who threw herself at him in his arms. "How are you?", he asks.

  "Well, father", she replies with a smile on her face. It might be hyperbolic to say, but her smile can probably make a flower bloom quicker with how bright it is. "I missed you lots though! You were suddenly gone this morning!", she whines.

  "Apologies", he says with a small chuckle, kissing the girl's forehead. "Perhaps...I just needed that cold air in my systems.", he joked.

  "You just left! Aileryn was worried that you'll leave us", Berylyn whined.

  "That's...pretty negative, don't you think?", he asks his daughter. He's not sure what kind of person the future him is...but if his daughters think this...then he'll say it's not a good one.

  As Berylyn continued talking, her voice began to fade out from his ears as he began to lose consciousness and everything soon went to black until he woke up again, with Lurter's face hovering above his, his untamed white hair and prismarine eyes fitting Lurter's feminine-looking face all too familiar to him under the orange hue of the flickering campfire under the night.

  "Oh...and here I thought you were dead", Lurter says with a small, disappointed sigh.

  "Yes, good evening to you too", Orewell sarcastically greets. "Is there a particular reason why your face is so close to mine or do you just fancy on pouncing at a sleeping man?"

  "Nay. You looked still in your sleep. Too still, immovable", he answers. "I thought you were dying in your sleep or something...which would be a great shame."

  "Well it's nice to see you too", he banters, sighing softly.

  Orewell and Lurter continued to chatter idly in under the dark of night and the campfire's light, the memories...vivid visions or whatever they are still fresh in Orewell's mind...