Awakening, Quickening

Lord of Grebefal part 2

Harlan sighed again. He didn't know what it was about today–maybe it was the freshness in the air, that kept reminding him he was alone. His father, Uvin Grebefal, had been the gentlest, kindest, and cleverest man he had ever known, and he had been Harlan's only friend and family, most of his life, until he passed away two years ago from a severe winter illness. He had caught the illness trying–unsuccessfully–to heal people in the village who were sick; he could not, would not stay away. Harlan missed him terribly.
The sour-sweet scent of strawberries caught Harlan's attention now, and he reached the table, pulled out the chair and sat; reaching his hand towards the scent, he clasped his hand around the warm, soft bun. The sugar on the top made his fingers lightly sticky; he devoured it with relish, and reached for another, but the plate slid away from him. Mistress Fyn had appeared beside him and quietly removed it, setting another in its place–this one filled with strips of salty cooked meat. Harlan wrinkled his nose at the strong, oily smell, feeling mildly ill. He hated eating flesh. But he took a few in his fingers and began to gnaw on them, to appease the housekeeper; he heard her chuckle and slide the strawberry-buns nearer again. "Thank ye kindly, Master Harlan, and yer body'll thank ye too. Gettin' a whole breakfast today, not just the sweet bits."
Harlan finished three more strawberry rolls and choked down another meat strip before he was full. He washed them down with some fresh milk, the only animal product besides honey that he liked, cooked or uncooked. While he ate, he explored the room with fingers of his aura; he played this game every day, finding out what was the same as yesterday, what was different and new. Today, the inner shutters on the window-slit were flung wide to welcome the warm outside air, and the fabric covering the tables fluttered with a soft wuffing sound. A vase of large, thick-petaled flowers was new; it stood on the table, just beyond his reach, and the scent was mingled with the food-smells, making them sweeter. The side-tables and carpet were the same; the fireplace was the same, although the fire there was just a few coals–no need for extra warmth at the moment.

Harlan thought he knew why; the high ceiling and thick walls of the castle trapped heat well, and in the warmer months the long, deep, curved wall vents would be opened to the outside to allow air circulation and keep the insides cool, an invention of Harlan's father's. In the winter and spring, though, the chill indoors was still a bit much, so they closed the vents and lit a fire. It must be spring now; it's warmer, but we still need a fire.
"All finished, Master Harlan? Here's yer ablution and towel. What do ye fancy to do today?"
Mistress Fyn cleared the dishes onto her cart and replaced them with a hand towel and bowl of warm water. Harlan dutifully dabbed and wiped until all the stickiness was removed, then turned towards her. "Did I miss anything, Fyn?"
"aye–just by the collar, there's a bit of berry. May I?"
He nodded, and her soft footsteps came near; a gentle hand took the towel from him. He felt it dab a spot beside his collar, and then it was handed back. He held it out. "No, I'm done, you may remove it now. Thank you, Fyn."
Mistress Fyn took the things away, and rolled the cart outside the door. Then she came back and stood beside him. "Anything else I can do fer ye just now?"
Harlan shook his head side to side, the way his father had taught him. "No, not just now. I think I will work on my books for a while today, and maybe after lunch I will take a short walk around the tower. This fresh air has me feeling like getting some exercise."
Harlan felt the glow of Fyn's aura get brighter and warmer. "Aye, that would be right good fer ye to do, get some walkin- time in today. Do let me know if ye would like assistance, then". Her voice sounded pleased. "I'll leave ye be for now. I've washing to do."

Harlan nodded a 'yes' nod in her direction and rose from the table. He was unsure if Fyn saw his nods, but it didn't matter; politeness costs us nothing, Uvin had always reminded him. Treat others the way you'd like to be treated in their position, no matter what yours happens to be. Those lessons had been driven in with a healthy dose of respect. Harlan followed the bannister back up the hallway to his room; felt for the chair, and pulled it out, and sat down to work. He heard the approaching footsteps of Captain Jaksson, and arranged himself in a 'proper' position, hiding his legs behind the desk and sliding on his glasses. As much as he liked the Captain, he still didn't want him to know the full extent of his appearance. He preferred to appear as capable as possible, to avert any concern about his ability to be the Lord of Grebefal. Although the Captain had known him for quite some time; he doubted the Captain had any qualms about his abilities anymore. His preferences in socializing, perhaps, but not his abilities...