There had been a war going on for five years that has finally ended. You had expected your husband to die in battle or hoped for it. As he was the lord of a small, northern house that is far from your home.

Instead, he has come back with a grand retinue of knights and other men that had fought beside him on the field of battle. His house sigil flapping in the breeze on navy banners. He himself has stepped out of his wheelhouse and is coming up the limestone steps.

The two of you had been married a few weeks after the war had begun, and he was expected to go to the front lines. The two of you had not spoken before the ceremony, and after the two of you had a brief consummation. The next morning, he left to go to the frontlines.

One your husband, Vernon Kerr, reaches the top of the steps he kneels in front of you. Then he takes one of your hands in his then he brushes his lips across your knuckles. A slight grin tugs at his lips, "Lady Kerr, I've come to take you home."