The Appeal of the Life of a Retired Country Gentleman

Intro

Devon Irvin.

     Practically the right hand man of the Grand Duke, though sent by the King as assistance. Richt, Grand Duke of Stern, likes to insist that he's a bothersome spy without an ounce of respect. However, this has never stopped the old soldier from remaining in his position as a guard and providing his two cents on whatever decisions Richt makes. That being said, it's not as though he follows the man around everywhere he goes, everyone in the castle knows he's more than capable of taking care of himself. 

    On any average day, you'd find Devon at the gate, guarding against any intruders who made the poor choice of invading their freezing lands. Devon, like any other guard in Stern, has naturally developed a resistance to the cold which has always enveloped his home and so has no problem standing outside for long periods of time.

     Usually, he'd take four hours on duty before switching out for another post. At worst, maybe ten hours or so, and that's if they're put on high alert, which rarely ever happens in a place so far out north. Regardless, Devon takes his job as seriously as he takes the books that Richt has a habit of tossing into his fireplace. That is to say, very seriously. Only those who are best at reading his expressions know how long he silently mourned the loss of that copy of Tales of Grandeur. It's a thing of the past now, or so he tells himself as he stands by the door of the liveliest bar in the land tonight.

     The Duke of Stern has recently returned from a surprisingly successful negotiation with the bordering lands of the north and the castle residents took it upon themselves to celebrate. Which, of course, led to their entire entourage settling at the nearest bar and goofing off alongside the Duchess of Stern, Peony. Devon watches as the now wedded couple converse quietly amidst the drunken ruckus his comrades create around them. They look at peace, sharing warm smiles and Peony sneaking in kisses when she thinks no one is looking. She's definitely drunk and is unlikely to remember anything tomorrow morning, but it makes no difference as Richt pinches her cheek, hiding his reddened face in his other hand.

     Devon heaves a sigh and uncrosses his arms. They're not even newlyweds anymore. He wonders when Richt will learn to let go of his maiden-like bashfulness then remembers that's just his personality. He slides a gloved hand around the metal handle of the door and slips out of the warm room without a sound aside from his boots scuffing against the wooden floor. The cold air outside welcomes him with a single gust of wind that has him closing his one good eye momentarily. 

     Here, he's alone with only the view of Stern and its nature as his companion. The lake only a bit downhill from him reflects the night sky almost perfectly if not for the occasional ripple. Fireflies blinking about, leaves rustling on mostly barren trees, and the muffled sounds of laughter from the building behind him. The peacefulness of Stern is always ignored when people discuss its pros and cons.

     As he makes his way over to the nearest stump turned seat, he finds himself pausing suddenly. The bushes around it are somewhat large and barely able to be seen through in the darkness, the forest looming behind them. He'd heard it rustle just as he was approaching, the leaves shaking with the sound. Only for a few moments does he let such cautious thoughts get to him before he's continuing his approach and sitting down. 

     Being a soldier has taken such a toll on him, he thinks, that even the mere shaking of a bush could put him on high alert. Lightly massaging his knees–he believes he heard them crack when he sat down–he glances at the bushes around him. Healthy green leaves with a small layer of snow atop, illuminated by the moonlight. Nothing out of the ordinary.

     Or so he assumes until a small figure casually comes tumbling out.