In Which Lorn Learns the Time to Sleep

February 21, 1172

Seeing as their native Dovia was not so distant a land, the lords of Naroni had always sent one of their number on a fortnight-long tour of the mother kingdom, just to check up on their various relations and to gather any news that might have been too sensitive for a letter. Lorn had gone twice before--once with Severin, and then once with Octavius--but this was the first time he had been allowed to go alone, and of all the castles he'd visited that day, it figured that it would be Bandera Keep at which he finally had to call it a night. This had been Leara's mother's girlhood home, and he supposed there was something a little sacred about that, but it hardly mattered. It was Searle's castle now.

"Growing your hair out, I see." It was the first thing out of the earl's mouth since he had told Lorn he had no news for him. A very Searle-like comment to make--an observation with the subtle lilt of a sarcastic insult.

Lorn shrugged. "I figured it would look more lordly."

His eyes flickering briefly from the page in front of him, Searle set down his stylus and sniffed. "In time, perhaps--but for now, you might want to get it out of your face. Hair in front of your eyes makes you look as though you have something to hide."

If nothing else, it was nice to have a reason. Lorn considered telling Searle that he was one to talk, but decided against it. Searle did have something to hide--he knew it, Searle knew it, everyone knew it and they were only waiting for him to confirm it. He'd been gaunt and thin and pale the last Lorn had seen him, and he'd grown even moreso since. His lips were parched and the bags under his eyes were a sickly sort of gray. He was almost spectral.

Not to mention, he seemed uncomfortable with Lorn's staring. Hasty, he tried to think of something he could tell him, some message that he might have forgotten. He found one. "Your mother wants a letter."

Searle placed his hands on the edge of his desk and propelled himself backward to the wall, the legs of the chair scraping against the hardwood. He winced as if the sound had set a fire within his ear. "Does she?" Lorn nodded. The other man closed his eyes and reclined his head against the window frame. "Well, you may tell her that we don't always get what we want."

He thought he understood, but he doubted he could empathize, so he didn't respond. Briefly, he wondered how his own mother was doing. She and all of his siblings except for Xeta had relocated to his stepfather's castle some weeks after the wedding; he still saw them often enough, but it wasn't quite the same. Armion Keep was too large for just the three of them--well, soon to be four of them, he supposed.

Much to his relief, the awkward silence was shattered by a knock at the door. Searle too seemed to welcome this. "Enter."

The door opened and closed again, a woman slipping inside between the motions, a child in her arms--Searle's wife and son. Lorn tried to smile; little though he cared for Searle, he did like Ren and didn't want to be rude. "Good evening, Ren."

"Lorn." She grinned at him, then watched with concern as her husband pulled himself to his feet and coughed rather violently. "Darling..."

Searle shook his head and stepped around his desk toward the pair of them. "Someone's up past his bedtime, I see."

"He wanted to see you." She pushed the boy's silky hair out of his face and sighed. "He wouldn't even let Mama undress him before he got to say goodnight to Papa."

To Lorn's shock, Searle made a sound not unlike a small laugh; he'd never thought Searle to be capable of laughter. "Aww, poor mite--I would have come around to tuck you in, you know."

Karlspan lifted his little hand from his mother's collarbone and reached toward his father. Compliant, Searle held out his arms and gestured for Ren to hand over the boy. "I'll put him to bed; I won't be much longer."

He bounced the child up and down a couple times before Karlspan wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his tiny face in his father's shoulder. Lorn felt some sympathy well within him. He couldn't remember how far an infant's intuition spanned, but maybe--just maybe--the boy knew that Searle was running out of time.

"You'd better not be." Ren stepped toward her husband and anointed his cheek with a kiss. "You need your sleep, Searle. The doctor said--"

"I'll sleep when I'm dead, Ren."

His words swelled from a near-whisper to fill the entire room, thickening the air and stifling all thought. Ren's lip quivered; Karlspan squirmed in Searle's arms. Wishing he could be anywhere else, Lorn tried to sink further into his seat, only to find it too shallow. At last, Searle broke the tension by shifting his son's weight to a single arm and taking Ren by the hand with his own free one. "Wait up for me? Wear that nightgown I like--you know the one."

She remained silent for a moment, her fingers twitching as if unsure if they wanted to linger. Then, she gave her husband a knowing wink and turned around to leave. "Goodnight, son. Goodnight, Lorn."

"Goodnight, Ren."

Swiftly and quietly as she had entered, she stepped into the hallway and out of sight. Searle's eyes fixated on the door for a minute, but he then turned around and strode toward Lorn. "When is Leara due?"

Surprised, Lorn looked up at him. "Around Midsummer. How did you know?"

Searle's mouth broke into a curve that by Searle-standards might have been considered a smile. "At your wedding, all you could talk about was Leara, Leara, Leara; tonight, however, you've scarcely mentioned her. What else might have changed in so short a time?"

Lorn didn't answer. He only glanced down at his wedding ring and frowned. "What's it like?"

"What? Fatherhood?" He nodded. Searle looked at his son and wiped a bit of drool from the boy's mouth. "It's a bit difficult to describe. It's a frightening prospect when she's pregnant, of course, and the dread only grows with her middle, but once it's born... I don't know. I don't mean to sound cliched, but when one of the women walks out of that room with the baby in her arms and places it in yours..." He trailed off, a wistful, faraway, most un-Searle-like look on his face. "It's amazing, really. It's like you never knew there was so much love in the world before. You never knew you could love such a tiny little thing so completely, so thoroughly.

"And then, they stop being babies and become small people and you find new things to love about them every day. And sometimes, they even remind you of you." Karlspan yawned; Searle kissed his brow, then turned back to Lorn. He looked so sentimental and starstruck that it might have been funny under lighter circumstances. "They show you things you used to love about yourself, and remind you why you loved them. They almost make you forget that someone once stopped loving you." His face was cast in a somber shadow as he finished with a bittersweet sigh. The baby looked up at him, as if worried that he had ceased to exist; Searle reassured him with a squeeze. "Might I give you some advice, Lorn?"

Of everyone he knew, Searle might have been the last person Lorn would have thought to take advice from, but he was past the point where he could afford to be picky; he pulled himself out of his slouch and nodded.

"Tell them you love them." He rested his head against his son's as the little boy began to play with his hair. "Your children, your wife... all of them. Tell them you love them whenever you can. Tell them in private, tell them in public, tell them so damn often that they get sick of hearing it. Never miss a chance to say it. Life is short and cruel and unpredictable. You don't want to leave it thinking you didn't love quite enough."

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