#establishment

"Normally you make appearances for your introduction at court. Not... like this." Shedwyn swept a hand toward the doorway, painfully aware that it was a ground-level entry point rather than a balcony overlooking anything. Or, more to the point, out of easy reach of anything.

Terry scoffed as he adjusted his coat. He'd conceded to wearing something a bit more ostentatious than his standard, but outright refused anything he'd labeled as actual frippery. A really good duster with a tiny bit of shiny metal and an admittedly very comfortable interior lining was acceptable; it was decorated, but not so much that it didn't serve its actual purpose as a coat.

"Th' court knows me better than th' people I'm supposed t' be carin' for by default. They get pictures an' a li'l dossier with a description an' some li'l warnin's about wot not t' say t' me well in advance, just like Rumpole did. They don't need an introduction, they just want it cuz it lets 'em gauge me as an asset."

Shedwyn was at her standard resting level of ostentation, glittering feathers adorning her shoulders before giving way to a light wool riding cape. Simple, but still very noticeable. It was never a matter of discomfort with the finer things; she could luxuriate with the best of them when she felt like it. But she'd been mugged exactly once, by someone who thought she was just a defenseless peasant rather than an incredibly dangerous mage, and that was plenty. She explicitly wanted her status to be known on sight, now. She avoided more inconveniences that way. This? This felt like running headlong into just such an inconvenience.

"I do get it, trust me. But we already know everyone in town on sight and by name, and--"

"No, you do. An' th' problem we're dealin' with now is tha' we keep gettin' more people ev'ry day, in numbers comp'rable t' wot th' orchard saw in about a month. We both need t' see an' be seen by 'em, an' we need t' do it now an' never stop."

Terry finally accepted that there was nothing left to adjust and gave the heavy duster a final, sharp downward snap before turning away from the mirror to face his wife properly. "I will not be th' kind o' noble I grew up despisin'. I want t' know th' people we're meant t' protect, an' I want them t' know us. If there's t' be any loyalty from any of 'em, I want it t' be t' faces an' names they know, not t' th' mysterious pricks in th' keep tha' collect taxes an' send watchmen."

Fighting down the immediate swell of immense pride she felt in her husband when he talked like that, Shedwyn quickly dusted away debris that wasn't there from her skirts. "I will concede that maybe you do have a point, with the sheer rate of new names and faces. You've been stuck here laying out plans for the keep, I've been stuck laying out plans for the new orchard as well as the old one back home. Even the children are starting to complain about it, according to Shu-fen."

Terry paused at that, then straightened up a little more. If he hadn't already been certain of the course he'd wanted to take, he was now. "Alright. Compromise."

Shedwyn knew better than to be hopeful; that word was always a trap from him. "Compromise?"

"We make this outin'. We shake 'ands, we kiss babies, we learn names, we extend minor favors, we invite some people tha' seem promisin.'"

"...and...?"

"An' then we're goin' back t' th' house fer a week."

"Sorry?"

Terry held his hand palm-down next to his head. "Our family." He dropped it a little bit. "Our people." A little bit more. "Th' crown an' th' court." And finally, next to his hip, "Ev'ryone else. Always. So we're gonna see our fam'ly an' be a fam'ly a while after we do this big t' do."

There was a pregnant, and expected, pause after Terry finished speaking, where he wasn't entirely sure Shedwyn was going to agree with him, burst into literal flames at him, or a secret third thing.

Then, she reached out with both of her hands to take the one he'd just used in his little demonstration, brought it to her lips, and made a soft little humming sound.

"Um. Is tha' a yes?"

Shedwyn cracked up, dropping her head to bump her forehead against his captured fingers instead. Finally, she sighed, "Yes, my idiot, it's a yes. Let's go be nobles so we can go be parents."

---

There was only one attempt on either of them, and to be expected for the very first one, it'd been on Terry. And because neither they, nor Shu-fen, were stupid, it was allowed to happen. Examples had to be made, and it was best to do so early on in as clear a message as possible.

So, when the knife had come flying toward him, Terry leaned back on his bootheel, allowing himself to catch the blade and spin gently with the momentum of it to throw it straight back where it'd come from. It was a stupid, risky, flashy, energy-wasting trick, but it got the point across when it thudded into a post right next to the very surprised would-be assassin's face. They'd be interested to find out later which shocked the fellow more: the knife, or immediately being clapped in irons by a few nondescript people appearing out of the woodwork right next to him.

The message was very simple: You're going to have to try a lot harder than that. And so will we.