In Which Lorn's Book Is Bested

August 10, 1179

"Hello, buddy!"

Lorn tried to act natural as his brother embraced him. His long-dead brother. His long-dead brother who was now inhabiting a stolen suit of armor. Some experiment of Remiel's. Two months after Severin had told him and he'd yet to figure out how he felt about the whole thing. He guessed he'd focus on having his brother back, at least whenever something else didn't rush to the front of his mind and ruin it. "I heard you went fishing with our little brothers yesterday." That was, the little brothers who were mentally older than Farilon--not that it would have been tactful to say it. "Was that fun?"

Farilon nodded, taking a step back. Was it a good sign that his hugs were shortening in duration? Their mother didn't look overly optimistic. Then again, she often didn't when Farilon's back was turned. "Searle caught a couple. Farilon and Mernolt weren't so lucky."

"Ah. Well, there's never any guarantee with fishing." Especially when your metal hands couldn't properly grip anything thinner than the hilt of a sword, and Lorn was pretty sure none of their stepfather's rods were so thick. "Better luck next time, right?"

Another nod, just as enthusiastic. Behind him, their mother swallowed--no doubt worrying about him falling into the pond and rusting, as if a little rust would be the most of Farilon's problems. Poor woman. No stranger thing had ever occurred, Lorn was damn sure of it. And it had to be her son. If his own feelings were mixed and confusing, they were a flickering candle next to her morning sun.

He'd have to talk to her, he supposed. He'd talked to her before, of course--more than once--but no doubt she hadn't talked enough and he and Ovrean were likely the only ones who could listen. He doubted she'd told any of his other siblings yet. And of course she wouldn't talk about it with Farilon. "Say, Farilon... I need to talk to Ovrean about something. Knight business. Could you maybe go fetch him for me?"

With a quick salute--possibly the first and last Lorn would ever get in his life--Farilon clunked away, the plates of his metal skin screeching as they met. Someone would have to oil that boy's joints.

Lorn waited until the sounds grew faint before joining his mother on the couch. He didn't know where the conversation would lead, but it was probably for the best if Farilon wasn't around to hear. His brother was aware enough of his situation without it being shoved in his face like that. "Do any of the others know?"

"Nora said that she would tell Xeta." His mother's voice was neutral, but he could see in her face a trace of relief, that and some gratitude. And some fleeting look of failure. "Abrich's coming for supper tonight, and tomorrow we're going to Rona's, so they'll know before you see them next. I don't know how we'll tell the younger children, but..."

"But you'll have to at some point."

Never one to deny the inevitable, his mother nodded. "At some point, yes."

Some point that wasn't now. She could work her way up to telling the youngsters with Abrich and Rona. At least they would recall who Farilon was. And at least they could appreciate the joy, however strained and conflicted, of having him back. "But you're enjoying him, aren't you?"

"Oh, yes!" Stupid question. Of course she was. "How many mothers get a second chance with a lost child? I'm loving every minute with Farilon just as much as I loved every minute with all of you--and with him before."

She was right, as always. Would Lorn have said the same had it been Ricky? Or one of the girls? He liked to think he would have.

But... "Do you think he's happy?"

"Yes." His mother bowed her head, distracted by the sight of some square inch of fabric on her lap. "For now."

For now. From pure conjecture, Lorn could have written a book on Farilon, but it never would have said as much as those two words. "And you worry he won't always be."

"Yes."

He wasn't sure why she'd bothered. She hadn't needed to say it.

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