In Which Lorn's Spirits Lift

May 5, 1166

"Your grace."

Lorn responded to his father's title by hoisting himself from the chair and tucking it neatly into the desk. He was no neater than any other boy his age, but this was not his study. It was his father's study--it would always be his father's study, even if he would never again occupy it. As such, Lorn was sure to always tuck in the chair, seal the inkwell, return books to their alphabetical positions on the shelf; his father had always been a very tidy man, and his study was to be kept accordingly.

His mother had risen from her place on the couch and was now fiddling with a fold in her skirt, a nervous habit of hers that had grown prevalent in these past months. He turned his head and sent her a reassuring grimace, waiting for her fingers to still themselves; only when they lay motionless at her side did her dare pass her and proceed to the knight. "Sir."

Sir Ovrean, Lorn noticed as he drew nearer, was quite a taller man. Taller than Aldhein, perhaps even taller than Lord Severin... and yet, Lorn did not feel towered over as he often did around men older and wiser than he. Most men--whether they meant to or not--looked down their noses at his ten-year-old form, at best doubtful of his capabilities, at worst believing him a joke. Sir Ovrean, however, gazed upon him with the same respect he would have bestowed upon a giant. Whatever he saw when he looked at Lorn, it was not an incompetent child; for that, the young duke was both relieved and grateful.

He looked up at the newcomer and grinned. "My mother tells me you came in response to an idea I mentioned to her?"

Sir Ovrean nodded. "If your king will have me, of course. This kingdom is growing exponentially, your grace; you were right to think that the protection of a few knights would be soon needed."

Your grace. That foreign title still sent his blood surging. "Please, sir... call me Lorn. None of this 'your grace' nons--" He froze. Was this right? What if it hadn't been just a bit of nonsense to his father? What if he was going about this all wrong?

If he'd made a mistake, however, Sir Ovrean hadn't noticed. Indeed, the man simply tossed back his head and chuckled. "In that case, I must request that you call me by name as well--none of this 'sir' nonsense, as you might say."

Lorn shrugged. "Fair enough." In any case, he still wasn't sure how he was handling the situation--or any situation, for that matter. He allowed himself a glance at the floor, then turned to Aldhein. "That fortification my father had built on the hill... is it habitable?"

The steward frowned, his green eyes darting between the occupants of the room. Lorn, Lorn's mother, Abrich, Sir Ovrean... "Well, your grace, I was only ever there once, but if I recall correctly, it could be with a few minor modifications. Perhaps you and Sir Ovrean should ride out there and determine that for yourselves."

"We could all go," suggested Abrich out-of-the-blue. Lorn raised an eyebrow; it wasn't often that his shy brother spoke in the presence of a stranger. Stranger still, he didn't even blush and twiddle his thumbs like he often did out of the shock of his own daring.

Lorn glanced back at his mother, who offered a sheepish smile in return. "Well, we haven't all gone for a ride since... well, in a while," she finished hastily, biting her lip as the last syllable left it. "Is that all right with everyone?"

"That's fine--but I hope you realize that we aren't leaving until you give me a hug, Celina," Sir Ovrean informed her with a grin. Nodding, Lorn's mother returned the smile and stepped between her older sons. Somehow, she seemed rather rejuvenated; perhaps Sir Ovrean just had that sort of effect on people.

As they embraced, he lifted her from the ground and spun her about, prompting a surprised squeal. "Ovrean!"

Laughing, he placed her between himself and Aldhein, then planted a quick kiss on her cheek. Lorn felt his spirits lift; his mother hadn't looked so close to a fit of giggles since before his father died. He understood that she was still healing--hell, he was still healing--but he didn't think it unreasonable to ask for a glimpse of some fleeting happiness every once in a while.

"Do you think your girls will want to come?" asked Sir Ovrean, fiddling with a pouch on his belt.

Lorn's mother closed her eyes. "Rona will, I'm sure; Xeta doesn't care much for leisurely rides, but we should ask her just in case."

"Abrich, would you mind asking the girls if they'd like to come?" Lorn requested of his brother. The little boy nodded, then brushed past the three adults and scurried out of the study.

Aldhein placed one hand on the mantel and leaned casually. "Hopefully they'll opt to accompany you; it's quite a nice day."

After a quick glance out of the window, Lorn's mother nodded. "The nicest we've had in weeks."

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