Tristan still couldn't believe it was trully happening, despite all the evidence that was piling up. His back was on fire from the cruel whipping he had received, his fine clothes had been taken and replaced by dirty rags and a heavy chain was fastened to his leg to remind him of his new status, but a part of him still expected Nadine to call him back. He just couldn't believe her love for him could all disappear this fast.
And then he was left alone in the prison camp and the bleak rocks somehow made it clear how entirely abandoned he was. There were no other prisoners and even the bored-looking guard didn't deem him worthy of much interest.
When on top of all that it started to rain, Tristan couldn't help himself and started to cry in self-pity.

This realisation was so terrible he had just had to fight back. To accept that Nadine would never come back for him would take away the last thing that had any value in his whole life, and so he clung to the hope that she would recognise her mistake eventually. Soon. Any day now.
He tried to keep his head held high and support the last remnants of his pride by refusing to work, but it only earned him yet another dose of the whip.

Days passed, completely indistinguisheable from each other. The rain kept coming and his little rebellions became rarer with each new punishment. Plain refusal gave way to just pretending to work, then to working just enough to meet the requirements that would keep him safe from the whip. His pride was shrinking until there was almost none left.
When Delia visited the camp she was like a vision from the past, like a window into a completely different world. When she was walking towards him, Tristan just couldn't guess what she was doing there. She still had her expensive gown, so she probably wasn't there to be imprisoned...
"How are... Is there anything I can do to help you?" She asked him and Tristan didn't know if he should cry or laugh. She looked obviously uncomfortable, half disgusted and half nervous from having to speak to him. As if she was anything better than him just because she had managed to steal his father away from him.
Part of him wanted to beg her to get him out of there and a completely different part, fueled by the last remnants of his pride, wanted to spit in her face. And then he realised that both actions would probably lead to yet another punishment and shrank away, refusing to even speak to her until she finally left.

In time Tristan learned to be grateful for all the small mercies he was given. Every time he got a slightly larger portion of the nasty prison food, every moment when the unending rain was replaced by sunshine, or just the simple fact that he was usually too exhausted from the back-breaking labour to dream.
He banished all thoughts of both past and future one by one, until the only thing remaining was the present. All he had to do was get through the current day and then again and again.
And then he saw the ghost.
Tristan tried to tell himself that it wasn't real, couldn't have been real, that he was just so exhausted and hungry he was hallucinating. But the vision before him, the gaunt face with dark unkept hair, was too clear to come just from his imagination. And then, there were all the other sensations too, the rattling of a prisoner chain that wasn't his, the sudden cold and the smell of death.
It only lasted for a moment, but Tristan couldn't sleep that night. He wondered who the man was and if anyone even remembered his name. And, despite all effort not to, he wondered whether he would end up like him.

It was probably the thought of death that finally broke him. He became a model prisoner, anything to increase the chance that he would be released one day.
When he got a visitor again, this time Katharyn bringing some extra food with the approval of the guards, he was so grateful to her and so relieved he wasn't yet completely forgotten he burst into tears.

And then, after yet more time he was unable to measure in any way, a miracle happened. The bored-looking guard told him he was to escort him before Lady Nadine and she would decide his next fate. "I don't know why she bothers, but then, maybe it means I will be rid of you. One way or the other." He shrugged and motioned for Tristan to move.
During the journey to the Lorimer Manor Tristan felt feverish with expectation, half hopeful and half dreading what would come. Nadine had finally forgiven him. Nadine was going to have him executed. Nadine was going to make him her lover again, or maybe even her husband. After what felt like a lifetime spent outside of time and reality, everything felt equally possible.
And then he stood before her, beautiful and proud in her gown of brocade and silk, her hair once again long and flowing down her shoulders, and he was suddenly terrified to have that multitude of possibilities reduced to just one certainty. He became painfully conscious of how dirty and unkept he was and wondered if it wasn't yet another cruel joke of Fate.

"Come closer. I want to see you."
Nadine's voice was commanding, but there was no emotion Tristan would be able to discern. No hint to what her decision might be. He obeyed authomatically, before he even realised he was moving.
"You look terrible." She said and just those three words were enough for Tristan to burst into tears.
"I'm sorry, I..." Ages ago he would have probably cracked some joke about not having had time to fancy up. Ages ago he would have tried to make her laugh before sweeping her off her feet with a compliment. Now he couldn't find a single word that would be good or polite enough and instead finished with another. "I'm sorry."
Luckily for Tristan, that seemed to be exactly what Nadine wanted to hear, because she smiled. "I suppose you have learned your lesson." Then she turned to the guard, hovering near the door, and said something concerning Tristan's release, but by then he was crying again.

Then Nadine turned back to Tristan. "Now, just how grateful are you?"
"My... my lady?" Tristan took a step back, frightened by the interest in Nadine's face. In the prison mines interest was never a good thing.
"Have you missed me?" Nadine followed Tristan as fast as he could retreat, eventually backing him into a wall, and then reached for his hand. Tristan flinched.
He wasn't sure what else he felt towards her, but the first and foremost emotion filling his mind at that moment was fear. It was her love that had ruined him and now he was terrified of trying to continue with any kind of intimacy.
The fear must have been clear on his face, because to his relief Nadine stepped back, her face was unreadable.
"Take him away. He is free to go."

Tristan's old house was still standing and to sleep in a bed again was pure bliss. When he woke up many hours later the sun was shining behind his windows and Tristan slowly started feeling... not exactly hope, not yet, but something was replacing the emptiness inside of him. Only when he went to eat some breakfast did he realise there was no food in the house and he had no money to buy some.
In the end he walked to the marketplace where he spent the day begging for anything people would give him. It wasn't as if he had any pride left.
Some people looked at him with scorn, others with mere indifference, but luckily there were still enough of his old girlfriends who were willing to help.

He had thought that after the prison mines nothing could touch him any more. But still, when he returned to his empty home in the evening, it felt cold and much less hopeful that the previous day. Not that much different from...
No thinking. Just one step after the other.
He started cooking the precious food he had brought from the market, trying to concentrate just on the reward of a tasteful meal awaiting him. He got so focused on the simple act of stirring his pot that he almost didn't realise his fire was on the verge of going out.
He added some more wood, the last that was stored in the house, and left to search for more stock outside. When he returned, smoke was rising from his pot and there was a strong burning smell.
This was the last drop for Tristan. He sank to the floor in despair and cursed the Watcher for his cruelty in taking away the only thing he had dared to want, the only good thing in life he had left.

He didn't know for how long he had been screaming at his empty dark walls, just that when he finally stopped they were not dark anymore. His small cooking fire had somehow got out of control and was fast spreading towards him.
Tristan backed away until he was pressed against a wall, completely unable of any rational thought.

He could just stare into the flames and it seemed to him he saw a dark shape in them, coming steadily closer. The last thing he saw before he fainted in terror was the gaunt face he last seen that one night in the prison camp.

Nadine was trying hard to forget all about Tristan.
She had missed him almost since the moment she had sent him away to be punished. Despite all her burning anger, she wanted him back, just deeply penitent and devoted. And now she would never have him again, damn stubborn bastard.
Nadine felt so awfully lonely. Her mother was old and frail and had probably given up on her, spending most of her time reading, and her daughter was... strange, hyperactive at times, strangely withdrawn at others and very absent minded. She didn't have anyone at all. Until the new guard came.
Sent from town to help the village guards, there was something about Caspian that drew Nadine to him from the first moment she saw him. He was young, handsome and the spark in his eyes when he smiled was irresistable. She supposed he may have reminded her of Tristan, but it didn't really matter. What mattered was that she wanted him.

Every Caspian's smile and every tentative flirt he responded to made Nadine grow bolder. It didn't take long until she even invited him into her bed, desperately trying to feel alive and in control. She supposed what she really wanted was to go back in time, before all of her troubles, and if she had any lingering doubts about what she was doing, any fear the past could repeat itself, she ignored them.

Weeks turned to months and what started as bold rebellion became standard arrangement. Nadine was still hiding her relationship with Caspian from her mother and the outside world, but it wasn't like anybody cared. And then Nadine's pleasant routine was broken by Leandra's death. She didn't even know if her mother had been sick, or just old and weary of the world.
Nadine organised the funeral and everything that went with it, her young daughter cried, but she herself was finding it hard to trully grieve. If she felt any emotion at all, it was a strange kind of peace. The fight between her and her mother was finally over. Maybe now they could both move on. Maybe her mother would be reunited with her beloved husband whom Nadine had never met.

And maybe Nadine could finally start living her own life without anyone looking over her shoulder and telling her what was the proper thing to do. She could even...
The idea felt crazy, but once she got it in her head she couldn't get rid of it. And after all, why couldn't she do it? She was the lady and she could marry whoever she wanted, no matter his origin. The only important thing was that she thought Caspian worthy and nobody else would be able to speak against her...
After she realised this everything started moving fast. When she asked Caspian to marry her, delightfully against all tradition, he was surprised but overjoyed. The old priest was less so, but he couldn't find any reason to forbid the marriage and had to comply. Nadine remembered how he had bullied her into accepting Meryn as her husband and seeing the priest irritated and helpless had a sweet taste of triumph.
And then she was standing before the altar with Caspian and all she could see was his smile and his sparkling eyes.

She said her vows with her whole heart, kissed her lover in public for the first time and then turned to enter the rest of her life. And she found the ugly past she had wanted to escape looking straight back at her.
Her first husband was standing just behind the benches with a frown on his face, looking more like a bad memory than a real person. Nadine raised her head high and wanted to just walk past him, to ignore him just like she wanted to ignore the memories, but Meryn didn't let her.
"Are you too ashamed to even greet me?" Meryn asked with an ugly smirk.
Nadine flinched, but then quickly recovered herself. She didn't know where anger was coming from when he was the one to banish her, but it didn't matter. He had no power over her now.
"I only remember you saying you never wanted to speak to me again and wanted to respect your wishes." She replied, her voice matching his in venom. "So you surely can't fault me for finding a man who did."
She turned to Caspian and found him just staring at her in admiration. Not even a hint of wanting to defend her from Meryn. She swallowed her irritation and just turned to leave the church with Caspian following on her heel.

She left Meryn standing silently before the altar, hopefully asking the Watcher's forgiveness for how he had treated her.

Their journey home was short and quiet. Nadine had such high hopes for her wedding day and now she was trying hard not to be annoyed. What was Meryn even doing here? He had said he was going to sea, why couldn't he have drowned there? And why didn't Caspian say something or even challenge Meryn to a duel?
But before her dark thoughts could run too far, the carriage stopped and Caspian was standing before her, his hand outstretched to help her out and his eyes still shining with devotion.
"Should I carry you to your bed, milady, or does that custom only apply when the bride is not already the sole mistress of her household?" He asked, scooping her in his arms, and in that moment Nadine forgot she had ever been angry at him.