Elexand



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    He's better than Ormund at many things, always has been. Dueling (not grappling, never grappling), riding (but not hunting), humility over pride.

    Over the many years, he's learned that throwing the fight has a better outcome than beating his lordly cousin in any competition.

    Ormund is the Head of Hightower House, after all. Sometimes the knee must be bent.

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    "He was awful to you, earlier." Daeron looked distinctly uncomfortable as they sat together in what now passed for Gwayne's room in Tumbleton, a chess board between them. His nephew was wringing his hands as though they were wet rags and Daeron a washerwoman. "Those things he said..."

    {The false empathic look, paired with 'I'm sure you found solace with some of your brothers in arms'}

    Gwayne stared at the floor, counting the cracks he found there. "Put it from your mind, Daeron. It was meant to humiliate me, not you. Long has he missed throwing his knives at me, in my absence. That is all that was. His idea of fun. A warm welcome home, if you will."

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    04 Aug 2026