Lady Elara Vance, née Aric, felt the rough, yet meticulously embroidered thistles on the wool tunic. It was a serviceable garment, well-stitched, and clearly a labor of love, if one were inclined to sentimentality. Which, Elara often found herself not. “You have all been… very thoughtful,” she managed, the words feeling foreign, heavy on a tongue not entirely her own. The internal monologue that now perpetually accompanied her every thought was already engaged in a familiar, exasperated dance. *My former self,* she mused, observing the phantom pangs of guilt that tugged at Aric’s consciousness, *neglected Lyra. Aric, poor man, was indeed powerless, crippled by a hidden wound, a will without the strength to match.* Elara, however, found little empathy for such a convenient excuse. Powerless, perhaps, but a man could always *try harder*. The real tragedy, to her pragmatic mind, was the sheer lack of foresight. *If there was anyone truly to blame, it was for the failure to swallow one’s pride and sever the marital ties back then.* A simple, painful severance that would have spared decades of quiet suffering. She, or rather, Aric, had been perpetually dissatisfied with his son-in-law, Kaelen Blackwood. Yet, Elara noted with a flicker of distant observation, the resentment was never truly deep-seated. In a peculiar twist of fate, even amidst the grinding poverty that had defined their lives, Kaelen and Lyra had shared a robust, if sometimes contentious, affection. Twenty years of shared hardship, punctuated by the odd spat, never escalating into true conflict. A testament, perhaps, to the human capacity for endurance, or merely the absence of alternatives. “It’s the least we could do, Father,” Kaelen Blackwood murmured, his voice laced with an appropriate blend of deference and mournful sincerity. He assisted Elara, in her guise as Lord Aric, with the tunic. It fit surprisingly well, tailored with care. The fabric was common wool, certainly, but the craftsmanship was undeniable; Alys, her granddaughter, had clearly poured her heart into the task. *Small mercies,* Elara thought, filing away the observation about Alys’s skill. Practical skills were always appreciated, even if the sentiment behind them was merely a fleeting curiosity. “I hear your… affliction… has mended?” Elara inquired, keeping her tone carefully neutral, mirroring Aric’s casual inflection. The source of Kaelen’s earlier infirmity was still shrouded in a vague, convenient mystery, but the outcome was undeniable: the man was now a physical specimen, far more robust than Aric had ever been. “Yes, it has mended, but…” Kaelen’s face contorted into a mask of profound sorrow. Elara watched him, a dry, internal chuckle catching in her throat. This wasn't an act, not entirely. He genuinely felt the pang of loss, but Elara’s sharpened senses, her matronly intuition now augmented by an inexplicable wisdom, discerned the true object of his grief. It wasn’t for Lyra, Aric’s late wife, Kaelen’s deceased spouse. It was for his own lost youth. *The nerve,* she thought, surveying him. He had been a fine young man in his prime, a youthful rogue, and now, in this world, he was a grandfather. What did it matter if his body was healthy? It was no longer *that* body, the one he clearly cherished. The thought of inexplicably aging ten years, losing the supple skin and boundless energy of his true self, clearly tasted like bitter herbs in his metaphorical mouth. *Poor darling,* Elara mused with exquisite dryness, *he suffers so, from the inconvenience of growing older.* Had she not, herself, woken up in a body that was undeniably past its prime? The man had been in this fragmented Eldorian Barony for a month and a half now, time enough, Elara would have thought, to come to terms with such trivial hardships. Still, faced with his venerable father-in-law (or rather, herself in her venerable father’s body), he had to put on a suitable display of grief for his departed wife. It was expected, after all. “Never mind,” Elara intoned, allowing Aric’s practiced paternal concern to surface. “It is merely that Lyra was not blessed with fortune. You still have children, Kaelen, and from now on, taking good care of them is what truly matters.” Seeing him so thoroughly consumed by this… *sorrow*… Aric’s old dissatisfaction with Kaelen had dissolved into a comforting concern. Elara, playing her part, felt the faint twitch of a muscle, a ghost of Aric’s paternal softening. Kaelen, for his part, visibly relaxed, though a faint, lingering sadness remained etched on his features. Elara observed him closely. He was undoubtedly wailing inwardly, thinking of the carefree days he once knew, his heart turning sour. *Back then, I was like a little green dragon in the taverns and gaming dens,* Elara imagined him lamenting, *but now I’ve got to play the roles of both father and grandfather! Woe is me, I can’t be carefree anymore!* A sudden, poignant recollection of those joyful days, those nights of revelry, seemed to bring fresh tears to Kaelen Blackwood’s eyes. He yearned, Elara surmised, for the intoxicating haze of lamp-lit taverns, for the alluring figures under the moon, the long-legged serving maids swaying through the streets, the illicit tender hands in hushed corners. A true romantic, in his own way, if entirely self-serving. Seeing his tears, Elara felt Aric’s heart further soften. *Ah, Kaelen truly is a man of deep feelings!* she thought, the words a direct echo of Aric’s internal monologue, yet overlaid with Elara’s own wry, detached commentary. Aric was mistaken; well, not *exactly* a misunderstanding. Kaelen Blackwood *was* indeed a man of deep feelings, but his affection was reserved for those carefree days of his past life. His affection wasn’t for a person, Elara concluded with a dry observation, but for an entire *ocean* of experiences. Kaelen snuck a quick glance at Elara, noting the gentle, understanding demeanor that Aric so readily displayed. He evidently felt his performance had been sufficient. With a swift, almost jarring transition, he suppressed the last vestiges of sadness, replacing it with a sort of forced, bright cheerfulness. “Father,” he began, as if nothing had come before, “the day before yesterday, bandits attacked the Oakhaven Hamlet, and I… I killed their leader, ‘The Butcher’ Rogan.” He paused, allowing the gravity of the statement to hang in the air, then continued, a calculated casualness in his tone. “The Baron’s Steward has offered a reward of three hundred silver crowns for Rogan’s capture or death. About this matter…” He didn't finish, instead waiting for Elara’s reaction, or rather, Aric’s. His purpose today, Elara recognized, was not merely to bond with his father-in-law but also to seek counsel. Even though he ostensibly deserved the reward, he harbored a cautious uncertainty. Were there hidden traps? Would the Baron’s Steward truly honor his promise? Whether he received the reward silver or not, Elara knew, he didn’t much care; he was, after all, not short of coin now, thanks to some recent, equally vague windfalls. His main concern was that this sudden act of heroism might inadvertently bring disaster upon the Blackwood family, and by extension, the Vance Barony. Not that he was overly cautious, Elara thought, but this new world was indeed a far cry from the one he’d fallen from, a place where law and order, however imperfect, were generally expected. Having only recently arrived, erring on the side of caution was, for once, a sensible impulse. “You killed ‘The Butcher’ Rogan!” Elara exclaimed, the surprise in Aric’s voice genuine, though Elara’s own mind was already racing, cataloging this new, astonishing feat. *Another layer to the enigma that is Kaelen Blackwood,* she thought. “Mm-hmm,” Kaelen nodded, a touch of bravado now coloring his expression. Elara’s eyes, Aric’s eyes, widened slightly. “I heard he was quite formidable.” Indeed, whispers of Rogan’s brutality and cunning had reached even the relative quiet of the manor. That Kaelen had dispatched him was a significant shift in his capabilities. “He was formidable,” Kaelen conceded, a subtle smirk playing on his lips, “but still not quite a match for me.” Elara sized him up, her gaze sharper, more discerning than Aric’s ever would have been. His posture, his renewed vigor, the unearned confidence – it was all part of the transformation. Then, thoughtfully, she spoke. “This is a good thing. The reward silver isn’t important; what matters is that this will catch Ser Alden’s attention!” Ser Alden, the Chief Steward of the Vance Barony, was a man whose notice could mean much, for good or ill. “Do you have any ideas, Kaelen?” she pressed, assessing his strategic acumen. Kaelen shook his head. “I know little of the Baron’s court or the local administration; I can’t think of any ideas just yet.” Elara stifled a sigh. Predictable. Elara, mimicking Aric, stroked her white-streaked beard, nodding slowly. “Ser Alden is a capable person; catching his eye is indeed a stroke of good fortune. However, if you wish to seek an official position, you’ll need to strategize.” She paused, allowing the weight of her words to settle. *Official position,* she mused internally. *A useful asset, a placement for this… changed… son-in-law.* Knights and skilled fighters, such as Kaelen now seemed to be, could indeed hold office within the fragmented Kingdom of Eldoria. In the Baron’s militia, as long as one displayed martial prowess, one could be promoted after about a year of service, to positions like Militia Captain or Squad Leader, the grassroots military officers so vital in these uncertain times. In local governance, skilled individuals could serve in various auxiliary or miscellaneous official roles: Seneschal’s aide, Watch Commander, Courier Master, Bailiff, and so on. What kind of position one could obtain, Elara knew, depended entirely on political manipulation and existing connections. A position like Seneschal was, of course, beyond Kaelen’s reach at the moment. He, she suspected, would likely be more interested in the role of Watch Commander. Though only a Knight of the Ninth Rank, a minor official post, the Watch Commander had their own guardhouse, command over scores, perhaps even a hundred, of local men-at-arms, and considerable responsibilities and authority within a defined district. Due to its proximity to the Northern Marches, the Vance Barony maintained several Watch Stations. Compared to the role of a full Seneschal, the position of Watch Commander was indeed far more attainable. This was just Kaelen’s raw, untutored thought, of course; whether it was feasible depended on if *she*, as Lord Aric, had a way to pull the necessary strings. “There’s no hurry on this matter,” Elara said after a moment’s thought. “Let me discuss it with my eldest son, Ser Alaric, first.” Naturally, she wanted to help Kaelen secure some sort of position. After all, Kaelen was her son-in-law, and the Blackwood children were her grandchildren. Helping Kaelen was, in a way, like honoring Lyra’s memory. Previously, Kaelen had possessed neither the ability nor the opportune moment, so Aric had never considered this. But now that Kaelen presented an opportunity, Elara was certain to lend her assistance – not out of sentiment, but out of cold, calculated strategy for the Vance Barony’s betterment. Kaelen was not in a hurry either, Elara observed; he merely harbored such a thought and wasn’t entirely determined to secure an official position. If the opportunity arose, he would strive for it, but if he failed to attain it, he wouldn’t be too disappointed. Another puzzle piece in the ongoing assessment of this peculiar man. At noon, Kaelen stayed at the Vance manor for a meal. Elara, as Aric, presided over her family. She had two sons: Ser Alaric, her eldest, served as an Archivist in the Baron’s court, a man of meticulous record-keeping and quiet influence; while Ser Gareth, her second son, managed the family’s farmlands—a significant landlord overseeing hundreds of acres, a true rural gentry. Moreover, Elara had four grandsons: Tristan, Cedric, Finn, and Rhys. Rhys, at sixteen, was the most scholarly, already a student scholar, and would likely participate in the Scholar’s Guild examination next year, barring any unforeseen accidents. However, Elara did not see Rhys today; he was studying at the Eldoria Scholar's Guild in the district capital and seldom returned to Oakhaven Manor. The Vance family, much to Elara’s quiet observation, treated Kaelen, their son-in-law, with respectful cordiality. The younger members of the family showed him deep regard, none of the disdainful complications often seen in dramatic tales of noble houses and their less-than-illustrious kin. Thus, the meal was lively and enjoyable, filled with the usual familial chatter and pleasantries. Kaelen even drank a few cups of potent mead with Ser Gareth, laughing heartily. When he finally left the Vance manor, his steps were, Elara noted with a faint, dry sigh, a bit unsteady. The man was a mystery, a burden, and now, perhaps, a reluctant asset. Another day, another absurdity successfully navigated.

The Butcher's Price