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?"