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He's just a soldier, no scholar or great learned man who can recite history at the drop of a hat, but even Krem knows the Dales are fucked up.
Promises made and broken time and time again. The mutual slaughter and the Exalted March. Red Crossing. The whole blasted place feels haunted.
They've broken open a cask for a job well done. Some noble tit who imported Dracolisks that then escaped to terrorize the village- eating livestock and burning crops. The bloods been washed away and the fire's dried them off long ago. Now it's just the Chargers under a sky thats bo longer split open and he can pretend things are still simple.
Maryden lays down, spread sideways like a bridge between them, hair undone and spread over Cole's legs. She plays nonsense little notes on her lute, held loose in her arms, pretending not to be tired. He holds her feet in his lap, thumbs working a salve in the arches and around the curl of her toes. Sometimes she'll jerk a little when he hits a particularly sore spot, notes lost for a moment as she grins at him.
He does it again and she plays a quick scale in response, eyebrow quirked like she just made some joke. Krem doesn't laugh, just to see her pout and tilt her head back more to look at Cole, lips puckered for a kiss.
Cole obliges, leaning down in a way that can't be comfortable to press his lips to hers. Krem watches them, feels warm from the wine and the love of them. Cole's not always great with kissing but hes always happy to hold hands and Krem's just fine with that.
He presses hard into Maryden's ankle to get her attention, and she stops kissing to look at him again and Cole's also looking at him.
"Come on you two, tent time. I dont want to hear any complaints tomorrow."
Cole's been as quiet as Grim lately while they're here and Krem's eager to get them out of the Dales and to proper civilization. A good tavern where Maryden can sing and woo, and Cole will laugh and try to dance.