In Which Lonriad Does as He Sees Fit

August 22, 1160

"Roderick!" exclaimed Holladrin as she ran past Lonriad and the steward, straight into her brother's arms. "Oh, Roderick, it's been far too long!"

"Indeed it has, sister," the king agreed. "My son is a big boy now, and you haven't even met my daughters. But first things first--let me take a look at you."

As the pair surveyed each other, Lonriad was overcome with a sudden nostalgia for his own sister. She had been dead for twelve years now, twelve years in which he himself had been blessed with at least two--three, he corrected himself hastily--more children and seven grandchildren. It wasn't fair, really, that a beautiful, gracious, good-hearted person such as Learianna should perish while his lecherous old self prospered. An entire kingdom had mourned her death for the better part of a year; Lonriad couldn't even think of anyone who would be willing to attend his funeral, much less deliver his eulogy or write his epitaph. Severin wouldn't, and Rudolphus wouldn't, and Viridis wouldn't either. He would be the only duke in the crypt with nothing but a simple "Rest in Peace".

Her blue eyes meeting Roderick's gray, Holladrin smiled. "You look just like Father."

"And you, just like Mother," he replied. "I trust you are feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you. A little tired from the journey, but I'm quite fine," she insisted.

From where Lonriad was standing, Roderick didn't look entirely convinced--not that he blamed him. In fact, Holladrin had fallen prey to more than a few coughing fits over the course of their travels, but it seemed unlikely that she would trouble her brother with such "little things", even if this hadn't been the first time she had seen him in over five years. He would have to inform his nephew of those episodes later, but for now, Holladrin did seem quite all right, and at least she had now safely reached her destination; he would tell Roderick later, after he delivered the worse news.

"Well, perhaps you would like to lie down a while?" suggested Roderick. "Just to recover quickly before supper, of course, as I'm sure my children will thoroughly exhaust you later."

Smiling slightly, Holladrin shook her head. "I suppose I'll humor you."

"That would be much appreciated, dear sister. Eblor, show the princess to her room," he ordered the steward.

"As you wish, your majesty," the steward obliged, leading Holladrin past Lonriad and out of the study. Her delicate fingers grasped the heavy door handle and gently pushed it shut behind her, leaving her brother and her uncle alone.

"And how about yourself, Uncle?" Roderick addressed him. "Are you staying for supper? I've invited everyone--your grandchildren will be here."

Lonriad took a moment to consider. "Does Severin mind?"

His nephew shrugged as he crossed the room. "Does it matter?"

He didn't understand; king or not, Roderick was still young and foolish. Perhaps he would know better by the time Ietrin was Severin's age, and if the boy ever worked up such an incredible discomfort with his father. "No, not really; there will be plenty of other people for both of us to talk with, I suppose."

"Exactly," agreed Roderick matter-of-factually. "Now, how are things back in Dovia?"

Lonriad sighed; it suddenly dawned on him that it really hadn't been all that long ago when his nephew Tarien had been sent to inform the King of Naroni of Karlspan's death, and already here he was with news of another lord's passing. "Not well. Primus is dead."

"Primus?" repeated the king, stunned. "My God! Seriously... Primus? At least with Karlspan, we all knew it was coming, but Primus has always been as healthy as a horse."

"Try telling that to a dying horse," muttered Lonriad dryly, "but I agree. You see, he was out hunting with his son Nythran and... well, there was an accident. I don't know the details, but apparently it was the damnedest thing."

Roderick briefly bowed his head. "So, Nythran is lord now?"

"Indeed. You may wish to write him, offering both your condolences and your advice; it is a horrible thing, to be a lord at fourteen."

"Then I hope you've given him your condolences and advice," Roderick mused aloud. "Were you not a duke at eight?"

Lonriad's eyes narrowed. "Well... almost nine. But yes, I have written him, and the boy's mother as well, of course."

"I shall have to write Meraleene as well, seeing as she is now my sister-in-law. But still... Primus!"

"Primus indeed," Lonriad agreed with a frown. "Unfair, really--good young men like Karlspan and Primus suffer and die, while geezers such as I remain. Really, Roderick, I'm sorry that I had to bring you such a message along with your dear sister."

His nephew merely nodded. It seemed as though he did not want to talk about death any longer. Of course, Lonriad could not blame him; he was still young and naive, and such thoughts did not sit well with him.

So Lonriad did as he saw fit--turned the talk to more pleasant subjects.

"So, how is your new wife? And, more importantly... what does her maid look like? Is she pretty, or should I throw a sack over her head first?"

NEXT CHAPTER: