3:14 Privileged.

"Did you get that down?" the elder guard asked the young page.

Stephen stealthily moved his gaze over to his sons, whom he had invited to the consultation to demonstrate what precisely Sylvester might be doing with his scribe work when he grew older.  The elder son immediately noticed the way that the two men worked together, but the younger son had been far too mortified by the fact that Purple Dragons were carrying on an interrogation of his uncle in the dining room of his house.  By now, about forty minutes into the conversation, his eyes had glassed over with the overabundance of unwanted and incomprehensible information.  Stephen restrained himself from sighing as he forced himself to look away before Saul noticed his gaze.

"And...got it," the page replied coolly, crossing a "t" as he spoke.

"Note that the Shadar-kai is docile, he said that as well," the guard added, turning his attention from the page back to Iordyn.

"Uh-huh, got that as well, up here, see?" the page replied, leaning over to briefly point the place out.

"And he said he doesn't know where they-"

"But you can start any search with Battlemage Ranclyffe," Iordyn finished quickly.  "He's the one who sent for the Dragonborn, and the Shadar-kai and the Tiefling seem to have just come with him, for whatever reason.  Blade Unessmus should still be with them-"

"Yes, you've said.  I know you're worried about them, so I'll tell you- just don't tell anyone that I told you," the older guard began, sitting a bit farther forward in the chair in the effort to keep his news out of the children's ears.  "There was a pair of us dispatched yesterday to find Unessmus, and neither of those two women were anywhere around when they arrived.  Apparently they'd been sent off into the night with the mage's female apprentice, which of course prompted the men to question why they were sent off without the Purple Dragon that had arrived with them.  There was much waffling and shuffling, but when they finally saw the man, he was an absolute mess- sweating, vomiting- couldn't even bear his own weight upright.  When they got back, they told the rest of us, and one of the younger soldiers that just got transferred here trained with him in Waymoot.  Says he was the same way when his family forced him to enlist in the first place.  'Can't help some folks,' I said."

"And what did they do with him?" Iordyn asked, the natural flicker of concern in his spirit growing into a larger flame.  "He'd said he was just going to be suspended-"

"Well, he was, until he failed to appear in the court to speak in his defense.  And when it was discovered that he didn't show because he was drunk- well, that was the end of that."  The guard shrugged and sat back again, crossing his arms over his chest.  "At least he didn't get time in jail for defaulting on his duty.  I'd say he got off easy- probably because he wasn't long in the Dragons anyway.  No big loss for anyone that he's gone."

Stephen snorted, a frown printed plainly on his face.  "But he's back where he started."

Iordyn looked over at Stephen, knowing that his older brother had been less severe with his comment than he could have been.  "Perhaps this is enough for the boys?"

The blacksmith raised an eyebrow, but nodded.  "Saul, take your brother outside.  Make sure you start that second bow right away- I'd better see bending wood when I get out there."

"Yes, my lord," Saul sighed, obviously disappointed.  Sylvester, however, bolted out of the room ahead of his brother, so uncomfortable that he forgot to properly dismiss himself from the room.

"You're planning on actually raising that little boy as a boy, right?" the elder soldier laughed, thinking this to be a great joke.   The silent glare he received from Stephen, however, was all the answer he needed, and the gathering quickly fell into an awkward quiet.

"Why don't I take a look at the young boy's letters- give him a few pointers?" the scribe offered, wanting to smooth the affections of the blacksmith.

"See if you can do anything about that 'M' of his," Stephen agreed in as polite of a tone as he could muster.  "I think it's fine, but he's completely dissatisfied with it.  He needs someone other than his mother, sister or I to take a look at it before he will believe that he's judging himself too harshly."

"One day, that perfectionist spirit may serve him well," the page suggested, gathering his scroll and his instruments.  "Today, however, I'll try to convince him that it's not so bad.  I thank my lord for his hospitality, and- I hope things turn out fine, Younger Ser Raibeart."

With that, the page showed himself to the door, peeking around near it until he heard the boys and could move toward them.  The guard watched him leave for a few seconds, then rested a chilly gaze on Stephen, who met the look with a challenging glare of his own.  Iordyn opted to ignore the cold war between the two.

"I'd like to question Blade Unessmus's release from duty," the archer began, sitting forward himself.  "To reward the need for discipline with the complete cessation of the same is unspeakably harmful- whoever made such a cold decision could find himself indebted to Lathander for that man's soul."

"Just Unessmus, now, and his soul is none of our business," the elder guard retorted, surprised at Iordyn's reasoning, "much less yours.  What murderer stops to question the fate of a drunk?"

"I'll remind you that my brother is no murderer," Stephen replied in a low, rumbling tone.  "He wasn't aiming for that man, he told you that."

The soldier raised his hands as if in surrender and sat back slightly in his chair.  "I heard him, Ser Raibeart, and personally, I think you have little to fear.  When we bring this report back, we're likely to be sent back out merely to collect a fine."

"What?" Iordyn shot, confused.

"Oh, come now," the guard reasoned, finally placing his full attention on the younger man before him instead of staring holes into his older brother.  "You can't be so miserly that 500 lions would dissatisfy you.  We have to give you some sort of penance, or people will talk."

"Iordi, it's likely that they'll press a harder charge on the Tiefling, who was really responsible for this," Stephen counseled quietly, leaning forward to pat his brother on the shoulder.  "Once they find-"

"Oh, is that the worry?  Frankly, I think it's too bad we can't just strike her down on sight," the guard laughed at once.  "It'll be 800 lions, once she's found."

"She's only just got here," Iordyn reasoned.  "It looked as though what she had with her was all she owned in the world, and she can't possibly have papers to work here yet."

"She doesn't need papers to work in a tavern or on the docks; perhaps she can do that," Stephen sighed.  "She'll be alright."

Iordyn turned behind him with a look of disbelief.  "How could she honorably earn 800 lions in a tavern, Stephen?  Or work on the docks at all?"

"You must have your eyes open, Young Ser Raibeart; you don't know what those creatures are.  Trust the situation to us.  She'll rot in prison, coin or no, and the whole city'll be safer for the trouble," the guard counseled gravely.  "As for the Shadovar-"

"No, no, no- she's a Shadar-kai, yes, but she's not Shadovar.  I told you that, too," Iordyn corrected immediately as he sat straight in the chair.  "This is all written down properly, I hope?"

"Of course it is," the guard laughed, finding that Stephen was glaring at him again.  Both stood up together, and Stephen stepped past Iordyn to show the man to the door.  "I must say, while your concern is nearly saintly, you should really focus on yourself, rather than worrying about the souls and futures of others."

"I trust that this will all work out for the best," the blacksmith stated flatly as he opened the door and stood beside it.  "The shop will be closed until this is settled, however, since the quality of my work will be affected adversely by worry for my brother."

"Completely understandable," the guard replied grimly.  With that, he placed his helmet on his head and stepped outside to begin searching for his page.  Stephen wasted no time in closing the door behind him without even checking to see if the guard and page had been reunited.  With a sigh, he turned around and leaned his back on the door, crossing his arms over his chest.

"What's the matter, Iordi?" he asked, leaning his head slightly to one side.  "I can hear you grinding your teeth from over here."

Iordyn sat back in the chair quietly for a few moments, then looked directly up at Stephen.

"Do you agree with that?"

Stephen raised his eyebrows, then crossed over to the chair that the guard had left, leaning forward in it so that his elbows rested on his knees.

"With what?  What he said about the Tiefling?  You yourself praised her virtues- mouthy, bent to fighting and a sour disposition- she caused the murder.  That's why her fine is higher."

"Stephen, he said she'd rot in prison anyway, whether she had the coin or not," Iordyn argued.  "This is the capital, the heart of Cormyr.  The cornerstone of her laws.  You find it acceptable- excusable, even- to suffer such double talking here?"

Stephen shrugged, then leaned back in his chair with a wave that seemed as though he were batting Iordyn's complaint out of the air.  "Suzailans aren't the benchmark of righteousness, Iordi.  You're hardly used to living in a place that's got more people than trees, and now you're landed with a bunch of fork-tongued, stuck up, spoiled fops.  The whole blasted city runs on who you are, who you know and how much coin you have."

Iordyn sighed sharply, bringing the palms of his hands down with force on the arms of his chair before standing up. 

"I didn't ask you about the Suzailans, Stephen."

The larger man paused for a few moments, as though he couldn't fathom what his younger brother was implying.  When his voice finally did manage to force its way from his body, it exploded fiercely.  "What do you want me to say?  You're getting a sentence different than that which the laws prescribe as well; will you carp about getting away from this with your life?"

"Yes!" Iordyn exclaimed loudly, throwing his arms up in the air in frustration.  "However mistakenly I did it, I killed another Human bei-"

"Human, there it is; there's your difference right there," Stephen shot back, standing up to look down at his brother.  "You are a Human and she is a Tiefling, in a city full of Humans that are as fearful and prejudiced of her kind as they are rich and privileged.  You were born into a family so close to noble that it makes true nobility nervous.  Even as the last son, and even if you never turned a single stitch in your life, you're still destined to fall heir to more money than some people ever make in their lifetime.  This Tiefling is an outsider.  A poor one.  Her demonic heritage aside, it's easier to throw her under the dungeon because no one knows her, she can't afford to make a stink about it, and she will not be missed by anyone that anyone else wants to keep quiet for any reason.  There will be a life for a life, and the dead soldier's family will be satisfied."

"And will you?" Iordyn asked pointedly.  "Will you be satisfied that some poor woman may die in the dungeons under our feet while I pay merely 500 lions?"

"What kind of question is that, you idiot?" Stephen crabbed in rage, reaching out and grabbing Iordyn by his hair.  "You're blood to me; what do you expect me to say?" 

"I expect you to see the wrong of this, is what I expect," Iordyn replied, his voice straining as he turned his head so that Stephen's hold wasn't as painful.

"The wrong was that bitch putting a Purple Dragon in the way of your shot," Stephen growled, letting go of his little brother.  "It takes effort to push a trained soldier where he doesn't want to go, and you say she literally leaped into the air and kicked the man into the shot so that it split his head in two.  She knew exactly what she was doing, and killed that man as surely as if she'd held your bow herself!"

"But she didn't!" Iordyn cried.  "I like my life, I do, but this is injustice, clear and obvious injustice!  Our father started all this expecting me to face up to what I'd done-"

"Our father is a cross old cur who thinks as much of you as everyone wants me to think of Sylvester," Stephen spat, knowing the weight his words carried.  "I'll show you that letter of his- in fact, I should have done when you came.  He thinks you're finally getting yours for not being a proper swordsman.  For taking traipsing off to study religion in the woods- for running from the war like a frightened woman."

Iordyn could only stare at Stephen for a few moments, all words knocked from his being.  He sat down slowly, as though his strength were fading away from him.  Stephen, pained and stranded between what he wanted to do and what he felt he should do, couldn't move toward him, but only looked at him with an old sorrow.

"I tried to tell him that you'd do anything he asked of you, and he would hear none of it.  Suze tried to tell him how many archers there were in other parts of the army, and he wouldn't buy of her, either."  Stephen finally sat down, with a sigh.  "Mother finally told him that you were so devoted to Lathander that you would soon become a priest.  None of us believed it, but she had to tell him something."

"She always says that-"

"What our parents tell you they've done and what they have actually done are two different things, Iordi, just like everything and everyone else," Stephen interrupted, shaking his head as he spoke.  "I- even I, you've just proven it- am just as guilty as anyone else of saying one thing, then doing and believing another.  Is that what you wanted to hear?"

After a pause, Iordyn shook his head in silence.  Throwing all concern for how things should be to the wind, Stephen got up out of the chair across from Iordyn and drew up the chair that he'd been sitting in behind him while the guard was still in the room.  Sitting next to his brother instead of across from him, he reached over the armrest and opened his calloused, scarred hand.  Through the tears of frustration, confusion and disillusion that Iordyn fought to keep in his eyes, it seemed as though years fell away from that hand, revealing the younger, fresher skin that lived there nearly three decades before.  In those days, Stephen had been teased for being so much bigger than other children his age, and Iordyn had been persecuted for being slighter of build than his growing mates.  While Iordyn could do nothing for his elder brother, Stephen had braved many nightly punishments for soundly beating Iordyn's bullies.

Younger brother put his hand in elder brother's hand, and the latter squeezed tightly.

"You're still doing it," Iordyn finally managed.  "You shut down your shop, to punish them."

Stephen gave a momentary frown and a sigh, then strangely enough, a tight chuckle.  "I might get a fine out of the bargain.  Commissioned blacksmiths aren't supposed to close for any reason.  Order of the crown and all that bullshit."

"Don't add to this," Iordyn advised in a voice so close to a whisper that Stephen had to bow his head to hear it.  "I'll have to suffer on my own.  Like Sylvester and that accursed 'M.' "

"I guarantee that either Saul or Sarai are still attempting to help him," Stephen laughed softly.  "Probably both of them, just as Adassa and I always did for you.  I try to force them to give the boy some space, but all four of us know it's a charade.  I'm not willing to play such games with you and the Dragons.  If you see the Eight Pillars, so do I."