Family is important. (Drake)

[Anonymous]

Emrys sat by the window, looking out over the gardens of the Horn.  Beyond, he could make out a tiny shape in the practice yards, bobbing unsteadily back and forth: doubtless the youngest Villis brother was trying to be acrobatic on the jousting barrier.  Not easy, since the thin wall was designed to be fragile.  Shaking his head, Emrys turned from the window to take a long, unpleasant swig of the potion he drank daily.  He had been avoiding it, because this one, a half-poisonous cyanate concoction, was chokingly bitter.  Once he'd finished it and gulped orange juice to eclipse the taste, he turned back to the code he was writing, though he kept half an eye on the clock standing in one corner.  

He'd asked his eldest son to see him soon.  He hadn't been able to visit with Tarys as much recently as he'd have liked; after Vrenia had died they'd grown apart somehow.  Tarys had grieved, and Emrys had tried to give support, as he had to all of his children, but Tarys seemed to have taken grief as a reason to turn inward and away from him.  He hadn't turned back.  Emrys supposed it was also the natural result of adolescence.  

Tarys had grown up unfailingly scrupulous and hard-working, and he looked exactly like Vrenia.  He'd clearly been ready for the baronetcy at sixteen, though Emrys had kept a close watch on him.  He wrote letters, sent his other eyes to Stonesthrone, and saw him a few times a year, at Hornshunt and the solstices.  He supposed he didn't always keep up with him as he should, but Emrys knew he tended to absorb himself in his projects and Tarys was remarkably good at fading into the background.  Not at all like Vethrys, who had rejected him loudly for awhile until, two or three years ago, she'd begun to show an interest in how he ran the province.

Just in time, really.  He'd need his childrens' cooperation now that Serendipity's situation seemed so uneasy.  He'd gotten the raven about Lord Siilan's disappearance only three days ago, shortly after he'd dubbed his son a knight, and it didn't bode well.  Vethrys had insisted, with her usual fecklessness, that Siilan had fled his guilt in the King's kidnapping.  Emrys wasn't so sure; his Hawks had turned up nothing.  Nothing in Cerenis.  Nothing in the northlands.  No word from the islands.  Nothing, nothing, nothing.  And it had been a season since King Fenway had vanished.  They would find the king somehow, but by this point Emrys feared the worst, and the regent, while perhaps an admirable man, was underqualified.  Emrys hoped fervently that he'd be able to hold the country together.

At a knock on the door, Emrys set down his quill and half-stood, bracing one hand on his desk.  "Tarys?  Come in."

[Anonymous]

Sir Tarys Thandryon. The term was still running through his head, still sounded strange on his tongue, still delighted him every time someone who had known him since he was scrapping with his sister in the gardens mentioned it. He wanted to get to Stonesthrone and start actually running the place properly. Never mind that he had been a Baron since he was sixteen; it was now that he'd been knighted that they would really start paying attention to him. Before now, of course, he'd essentially been a squire rather than a baron. He could have taken over the running of Stonesthrone then and forgone his knighthood, since being a baron was better hierarchically than being a knight, but he had been sixteen. What sixteen year old boy with the resources to do so didn't want to become a knight? Barons were nowhere near as glorious as knights, because anyone could become a knight, couldn't they? It was a useful thing to do with a child of a certain age, if you had the money.

In any case, Tarys had been summoned by his father and this time he hadn't been able to make an excuse for himself. He had been making excuses since his mother had died, and when he hadn't been able to use the barony as an excuse then he had been able to use being a squire. But his father had just knighted him, and the steward had reminded him that his presence might be required at a memorial service for his mother. That date was more than a week away, but it would be easier to stay here than to go to Stonesthrone, then come back to the Horn then go back to Stonesthrone again. The Barony could be without it's baron a little longer; the chief steward there had been running the place for a while.

He knocked on the door to his father's room, and upon receiving permission to enter did so. He was dressed in the colours of Stonesthrone, for once adequately tailored so that he didn't look like a complete idiot. But the crest above his heart was the Thandryon unicorn; as yet he had no crest of his own, although he was sure that he would need to get one before he jousted at Hornshunt. Although the Stonesthrone colours were probably enough to identify him on the battlefield and in the jousting arena. Stonesthrone colours with the Thandryon crest on top would have to do.

"You wished to see me, my lor-? You wanted to see me, father?"

[Anonymous]

Emrys finished pushing himself to stand on feet that had, as usual, grown a little numb with cold.  He was a little hurt, just a little, at Tarys's first response to him.  Of course, he told himself, he had been 'my lording' him up and down the Horn's halls; in public it was customary.  Just a reflex, he thought, so he decided to be lighthearted.  He could hardly scold his son for something so small days after he'd become a knight.

"Sir Thandryon," he said, bowing his head a little and moving out from behind his desk to smile at his son.  "Tarys."  He held out a hand to clasp, noticing Tarys had grown.  He was taller than Emrys now, broader.  Healthier, thank the Seasons.  Sir Thandryon, Baron Stonesthrone.  It was so much, so young.  He'd been twenty-four when Therys had died, and still felt unready to take her mantle.  Tarys was a different sort of person, of course.  Very different.  Emrys resisted the urge to run a hand through his fine, blond hair, which was really the only part of him that hadn't changed since childhood.

"I thought we might have a talk.  Baron to Lord, son to father--as you like," Emrys said.  "I value you as-as both."  He squeezed Tarys's hands between his cold ones and stepped back.  "All seems well at Stonesthrone and I hear little but good, but I'd like to hear more from your lips, and more on what you think of the affair of the King, and Lord Siilan.  I wish you could sit on my council as your sister does."  But Tarys had his barony.

[Anonymous]

Tarys managed a smile as his father followed the same traditional greeting method he himself had introduced into the room. The title used was perhaps a little low - baron, he was sure, ranked higher than knight - but it was one of those slightly awkward things to work out. He guessed his full title would be Sir Tarys Thandryon, Baron Stonesthrone, or something similar, but he was not a common born wagon-brat to go worrying about such things, really. And he didn't have to worry about such things when they came from his father's mouth either; Lord Emrys Thandryon would not insult anyone that way if there was a more clear cut way of doing so. That sounded rude, now that Tarys thought about it, but he simply meant that his father wasn't one for beating about any bush.

He moved forward and carefully wrapped his hand around the older man's wrist. his own strength was still growing, as he spent much of his time working amongst the men and women he ruled, hammering away at Faesteel with thin fingered and well calloused hands. His concern for his father's health may not have been apparent in his face, since he had long since learned to keep his emotions to himself in all things, as young boys did when their older sisters called them bastards and their mothers confirmed the correctness of such jibes. Not that Vrenia Thandryon had purposely told him to hurt him. It had been a death bed confession, and Vethrys knew none of the truth of it. Nor did Emrys, or if he did he didn't show it.

His father had stepped back, but Tarys followed him, taking his arm and helping him to a chair. No doubt Emrys would claim that he was perfectly capable of walking himself, but Tarys could see the goblet on the desk, and didn't need a sense of smell (his own had been lessened by years working in forges) to figure out what it was. Nobody drank wine this early in the morning, and the goblet seemed too ornate for mere water. Of course, his father was a High Lord and could have drunk anything from any kind of vessel he chose, but he was also a sick man. Most people knew it, even if the potions were still giving him enough juice to get through a day without looking weak. Tarys might not be as close to Emrys as he had once been as a boy, even if he had been closer to his mother, but he was still able to tell that certain things were having a negative effect on the older man's health. That couldn't be good.

"Stonesthrone has the benefit of a capable steward," he joked as he took a seat himself. "Although I never said that and will vehemently deny it if he says that I did."

He was more than capable of running a barony, despite what his chief steward might think. So he was only nineteen. What did that matter? His personality was suited to running something, although he wasn't looking for anything more than the Barony he already had. Such ambition would be dangerous, given his sister's martial talent, and he didn't want the Thandryons to become one of those families that stabbed one another in the back for the slightest bit of power. Virtue was rare? It didn't need to get any rarer.

"In truth I know little of the situation," he admitted. "I do not wish to believe that Lord Siilan could have anything to do with the abduction of His Highness, but if any of the High Council could be in on it it would be him I would pick out. Disappearing at such a vital time reeks of something."

He hid his emotions at being thought worthy of a seat on his father's council, even if he couldn't sit on it. He would probably take Vethrys' place when Emrys finally passed, but, the Gods and the Seasons willing, he would be a lot older then. Sitting in the council chamber right now was not for him, unless his father ordered it to be so. He knew the bounds of a son's duties, and to deny his Lord and father his services would involve a lot of unrest and certain revelations that Emrys did not need to hear.

"In what way may I be of use to you, father?"

[Anonymous]

Emrys settled into his chair.  He hadn't really needed the hand Tarys had provided, but his son's concern was welcome anyway.  He folded his hands, resting one elbow on his armrest.  After so long sitting on official councils, he'd become used to upright posture, though his body was always a little awkward when pushed that way.

"Ixan isn't wrong to think well of himself," Emrys said mildly, "and it might do some good if you didn't deny it."  He made a slow motion with his hand, implying that it was none of his business.  And it wasn't.  He'd decided early on that while he'd make suggestions, he'd never try to direct Tarys in his management of Stonesthrone.  His time to do that had passed.

"You're already very useful, Tarys," he added, after a pause.  "I don't... I can't speculate about Lord Siilan, but I've promised Ravensway I'll help them.  Our searchers after the King can just as easily look for the Lord.  I was hoping you could spare a few men and women of your own, I'm asking more from everyone, but these are logistics..."  Emrys knew himself, he was bound to wander off on tangents when he got into conversation, and he felt strapped into formality with Tarys.  

Emrys pitched his voice differently, more softly, the 'close family' tone and not the formal one.  "... How are you, Tarys?"  

Not Tar, he didn't like that, though it'd been what he called him when he was a child.  'How are you' meant any number of things.  Emrys leaned forward, watching his son.  The magical clock in the corner ticked evenly.

[Anonymous]

Of course, his father and his chief steward were old acquaintances. One might even say friends, if a Lord could be friends with a bondsman. It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility, although Ixan Xandar was on Tarys' staff now, not directly linked to Lord Emrys any more. It would just be easier to deal with the man if Xandar (and to Tarys he was still Xandar, they were not on a first name basis yet) could stop treating him like he was still young enough to bounced on his knee.

Still, that was his own problem to deal with, and his father waved the issue away. So Tarys listened, and nodded his head when asked to provide members of the search party. He would have sent people any way, so being asked just went to show that he and his father thought in similar ways. Some might say that it ran in the family, but Tarys probably wouldn't agree.

"When I heard the news I ran a quick search. You know that several of the smiths and I are runesmiths, mage-smiths, whatever you want to call it. I tried to find one of us who was sure of a gift given to His Highness, but none of us was certain that the king would have had a such gift on him when he disappeared. Even if he did carry such an item, it would be unlikely to be left on him; the ability to track runed items is not uncommon amongst mage-smiths."

Tarys still had a link to the more powerful items he had made, and to those that meant a lot to him. As a result he could track several people who he had gifted runed objects to, but the king was not one of them. It only worked for the person who had made the object, and as far as any of the Stonesthrone barony mage smiths could tell, all their gifts were moving around, where they were supposed to be, or locked up in the treasury. Runed items were rarely everyday wear any way, but it had been an off chance. One that hadn't worked. Life, naturally, was not that easy.

"We found nothing awry," he added, aware that he had lapsed into silence to run the memories through his head. "No random daggers floating about in Connlaoth, no charm bracelets out of place in Thanatos, nothing that wasn't roughly where it was supposed to be. So of course I'll send people to aid in the search physically. It's the least I could do."

The young baron managed not to sigh as he thought of who he would have to send, and before he could descend into another silent reverie he heard his father ask how he was. That was a question and a half, for sure, it could mean so many things. But he decided to keep the answer simple. How was he?

"I'm still trying to get used to having a proper title," he said. "I know I've been baron for three years now, but Sir Thandryon sounds much more... real, I guess. It's still strange to hear it."

[Anonymous]

Emrys was loath to suspect Chailyn, but given the Head Mage's disappearance along with the King, it didn't seem thoroughly mad that his mages and his other eyes hadn't found him.  Connlaoth, with its Mordecai, could account for the same thing.  Thanatos?  Emrys had never seen it himself; his other eyes couldn't travel that far.  He had contacts, few enough; and he couldn't think of any motive... he'd gotten some information from Thanatos that had seemed promising, but he'd had to inform the Lord Knight Commander.  He didn't have the resources to investigate himself.  

He nodded along with Tarys, tapping his knee with one finger.  He still had a headache from last night, which he'd spent out of his body, using his other eyes in a hawk over Connlaoth, but put it out of his mind.

At last he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from its peak.

"I understand," he said.  "There's something about a title you truly earn.  It took me years to grow into High Lordship, and Kiran's praise always sounded sweeter than my title."  He smiled.  "And you have your smithing, too--I hope the protective spells I sent you were at all useful; I'm afraid my knowledge isn't current any longer."  When Emrys had been younger he'd taken a keen interest in the armorers' craft, along with a general fascination with smelting and the composition of metals.  It'd passed when he'd moved on to his next obsession, though he tried to keep up with his son's occupation.  When he'd found a book of ancient Serenian runes, he'd copied some rarely-read pages and sent them to Tarys.  

"As you know, I'm a jack-of-all-trades, master of none--I'm glad you have your affinity for smithing, I admire it, that dedication.  Our family seems to have the need for some constant occupation, or... I wish you could convince your sister to find a more constructive outlet.  I'm sorry she missed your ceremony.  We've had words over it."

[Anonymous]

Magic had its benefits and its downsides. Vethrys and Asharys would never understand that, since they had both shown little sign of magical ability, but if the nod his father gave was any sign of anything then Tarys could guess what that goblet had held. There were potions and concoctions that could keep a stomach from turning over, or keep concentration from wandering when magic had been used. It wasn't just a simple case of being able to do something; once you started actually using it on purpose it left its mark on you. Still, it would have been nice if magic could have been useful. But failing that, they would have to deal with this physically instead. He would send people to participate in the search as soon as he got back to Stonesthrone; no doubt Xandar would already have a list of people ready to go when Tarys returned.

But his father changed the subject and he had to smile when it turned to smithing and his father's knowledge. It was well known that the older man was something of a glutton for information, and that wasn't always a bad thing. Emrys had sons and daughters to protect his borders, and that gave him a lot of time to find things out that his children could use, however archaic it was.

"They were very useful, thank you," he replied. "Several of the younger smiths have added anti-fire protection to their forges, the proper old ones. Makes me wonder what they were using before."

Tarys' own runes still lacked a little definition and were mostly made up to suit what he was thinking when he made things. He was nineteen, after all, and still trying things out. Even after ten years he was still mixing things together, although to be fair for all that time he'd been both an apprentice smith and a squire, and was not quite as good as high Lord Emrys at retaining knowledge on multiple subjects when he found one more interesting than the others. Oh, he could multi-task, he had learned many skills in the past three years alone that a Knight would have little need for, but he was nowhere as proficient at it as his father was. He was too young for that, of course.

"I barely made it it time for her ceremony," he added, making light of Vethrys'  non-appearance at his. "The king is missing, father; finding him is much more important than attending your baby brother's knighting ceremony."

[Anonymous]

Emrys sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, sitting back.  Vethrys had been doing nothing useful and they both knew it.  She was only petulant because he had spoken to her about canceling public tourneys.  Not that she hadn't points to make about the importance of the trade the Hornshunt brought, or the opportunity to keep an eye on Lords from the other provinces.  But those hadn't been excuses for her absence and Emrys knew it.  

Still, all to the good if Tarys was willing to forgive his sister--after all, in this situation forgiveness was his.  It wasn't Emrys's job to make sure his twenty-two-year-old daughter showed up on time to an event.  But then, it shouldn't be his job because he should have done his job earlier.  Vrenia had been right, he ought to have insisted she squire for someone.  Tarys had done so well with Sir Sutlin.

"That's true," was all he said, letting his hand settle back into his lap.  "I'm glad there's no bad blood between you two."  As children his two eldest had always been at each other's throats, but they didn't seem to hate each other for it.   "Besides, she'd be late for her own wedding... certainly that, she already is.  I've spoken to her and she says she'd rather you married first, though you may ignore her if she speaks of that, Tarys, I don't expect it of you yet.  Nor will I care whom you choose, when you do."  He looked levelly at his son, thinking, of course, of Vrenia.  They hadn't been in love, but they had been real friends.  He wanted security for his children and his province, not politically brokered matches, that would end badly.  Worse than it had ended with his wife?  "I do hope you know that."

[Anonymous]

Bad blood between himself and Vethrys? Tarys wasn't sure where his father could have gotten that from. Seriously, they'd had  issues as children, sure, but didn't all siblings have those little scuffles? And anything that had developed since (especially once Tarys had shown that he was magical and had runed her sword by mistake) had been kept relatively lowkey, hadn't it? Certainly Tarys wouldn't have expected his father to have noticed anything, since it was highly unusual since Tarys had been squired out for the three of them to be in the same room together alone. Even after Vethrys had been given a sword it had been unusual to get Tarys and Emrys in the same room. Tarys had been learning to smith soon after Vethrys had been squired out, and had spent whatever time he wasn't spending in a forge he was dead to the world in bed or learning whatever lessons he had to learn as well as learning to control his magic.

Still, talk had turned to marriage, and Tarys paused for a moment. That was a touchy subject between him and his father, although he'd never told Emrys that. His' mother's marriage to the man had hardly been the best of unions, for all it had led to his own existence. It was small wonder that Vethrys had avoided it so far; whatever was said about no political matches and marrying for love had to be taken with a pinch of salt. Even if Tarys didn't make it political, somebody would. Somebody always did.

"I... I've never really thought about marriage," he said, truthfully and somewhat evasively. "So I never really knew what you thought about the subject. We've never really talked about this kind of thing."

He'd learned about the birds and the bees after Sir Sutlin's brother's squire had dragged him to a brothel when he was fourteen. that had been an informative night, to say the least. In fact, he could count the number of proper conversations he'd had with his father since his mother's death without taxing himself. He was hardly an idiot.

"But I pity the poor guy who gets stuck with Vethrys as a wife," he added, with a slightly mischievous grin, the kind he might have used as a child. "She's hardly easy to handle."