The Baroness
As far as the Baroness was concerned, certain matters of note had occurred in the castle, matters which she felt had not been properly addressed. She was put out, displeased, perhaps even unhappy, but she would never have described herself as “vexed”.
The servants, too, would not have used that term, but one can be forgiven for leaving their language off of the page, as it is perhaps to vile for the eyes of those not used to the robust and raunchy words of the common folk. Suffice it to say, none of them wished to attend her rooms, and the Lords help the ones who had to bring her breakfast or take in her morning tea. More than one had fled the room sobbing, their clothes stained with the hot, dark liquid and their eyes wide in fright. Baroness Sofia had a very penetrating voice, and was not afraid to use every vulgar word she knew to chastise those she felt did not perform their duties with proper alacrity. She also used words she did not know the meaning of, and many feared servants later agreed that they would have been doubled over with laughter were they not so certain she would do actual violence upon them were they to stay.
Fortunately, Baron Graham von Bruen had retained most of his humor, though it was apparent to those around him that much of the true joy in his life had vanished after his recent decision. Many had tried to talk him out of it, but to no avail.
“Stay awhile, Samwise,” Graham said to the young man who had brought him a steaming cup of broth, “I am ever lonely, these nights.”
“Of course, Baron,” Samwise said with downcast eyes, then moved to stand in the corner of the room. Graham could not help but smile, despite his bleak outlook of his future; his wife had thoroughly cowed the entire servant population of their estate.
“Samwise,” he said with a note of command in his voice, “come here and take a chair. Not the big one, mind you – I wouldn't want you to be too comfortable, but I can't have you standing over there like a peering shadow. I do have to sleep at night, you know.”
“Yes, Baron,” Samwise moved quickly to the chair and sat down, back straight and hands in his lap. Graham smiled again, a wan thing that did not reach his eyes – he did not care where the lanky servant sat, but knew that if he insisted on the cushioned chair across from his own, Samwise would never speak, let alone look at him. At least in the smaller, unpadded seat, the servant felt enough distance that he might just loose his tongue, if pressed.
“Tell me, Sam – what do you think of the estate in recent weeks? How do you find your duties here?”
Graham knew that Sam had been to see Sofia at least twice, and though he wasn't one to back down even in the face of pure, white-hot rage, all accounts said that the normally calm and collected servant had been shaken.
“Fine, Baron.” Sam still refused to look at him. While the dropping of eyes was not a strictly enforced custom in the region, Sam had always been exceedingly formal, and interactions with the Baroness had only reinforced that mindset.
“Fine? Well, I'm glad to hear that, at least. Thank the Lords you haven't had to go near my wife – even I'm afraid to approach her chambers, and she's here only at my pleasure. The woman is...direct, wouldn't you agree, Samwise?
He could see the servant's face color, though from embarrassment or an effort not to laugh, he couldn't be sure.
“What do you think of my decision, young Sam? Have I done wrong?” It was selfish, he knew, but he could no longer take the lonely nights, the second-guessing and the agony of being apart from Sofia. She was a good woman at heart, but to hear her speak he had ripped that heart from her and crushed it on the ground.
“No, Baron!” Sam's head came up sharply. “What other choice did you have? Few are so blessed to see the Lords in their lifetime,” the catch in his throat told Graham that Sam knew exactly how much of a “blessing” their presence truly was, “and how could you refuse their demands? They would have destroyed us all.” Tears stood in the servant's eyes. He, at least, was grateful for Graham's sacrifice.
“Yes,” he said quietly, “they would have. But would you have done the same, Sam? Would you have given them your son, let them drag him away in irons as fodder for the next Coming? He will likely die, my Jaren, and if he survives will be forever changed. Can you say that you would have done the same?”
Sam's eyes finally met Graham's own. “I hope so, Baron, since only a true and honorable man could make such a choice. We all loved Lord Jaren, and wished the best for him, but you have more than just one under your care, more than just one charge you must follow. The Lords would have accepted nothing else from you but your son, and war with them would have meant the deaths of everyone inside these walls. You did what you had to – you saved us all.”
Tears welled up, and he turned quickly to his broth. Samwise truly earned his name, but it would not do to have a servant see weeping.
“Thank you, Sam,” Graham said quietly, “now please, leave me be. I must prepare for the Coming.”
“What?” Sam's voice was stunned. “Baron you would -”
“I have no choice!” His voice was fierce. “I will not leave my son to die alone, no matter the cost. If his end comes, he will meet it in the presence of a loving father.”
Samwise went silent; he knew his place.
“Please, Sam – take care of her while I'm gone. I know she is a terror, but she is his mother and my wife. Do whatever you can for her.”
“I will.” Sam's voice was thick. “I promise.”
- D
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