Quiet words penned by their new king had become of a different sort on the lips of the people. Over and over he had heard varied versions of Andras' call for volunteers. Whispered by some. Shouted by others. Whether they shouted or whispered all claimed that it would be they who would be of the most help to Andras.
Lovis sat in the most secluded corner of the tavern, with untouched ale before him. The woman who had served it to him had been a flirt. He had no desire to hasten her return with empty mug. Anytime that she looked his way he tilted his mug to show how full it still was. To himself, Lovis chuckled at her disappointment. Content with having staved off her return he would then return to surveying the life of the tavern.
Lovis took much enjoyment in watching folk. He distanced himself from his kinsmen of Delumine but he craved companionship. Watching them go about their lives was how he convinced his wanting heart that he was a companion to what he saw.
He knew that Sonrik's daughter, Isna, was to be wed soon.
Lovis would drop off flowers and some coin for the bride to be.
He knew that Yala's health was failing her and that her son was at his wits end.
Lovis would drop off herbs at her door.
Lovis knew them. He knew them even if he kept them from knowing him.
A disheveled man threw himself to mercy of the chair at the table next to Lovis' own. The one who had sat there before him had abandoned an almost empty mug in favor of dragging a rather willing woman to dance with him to a lively tune. The forgotten mug rattled about and fell, spilling the meager contents left; whenever the man jostled the table.
Lovis watched the other fellow fret over a letter that he wrestled from his satchel. Lovis watched him smear the ink whenever he tried wiping away the spilled drink he accidentally sat the envelope in. The man looked terror struck. Concern for the other kept Lovis' eye upon him.
Whenever the trembling hand of the other shook itself free from the letter and it drifted to the floor Lovis bent and he took it to his own, steady grasp. Hoping to be of use, Lovis pried and scanned the writing on the heavy paper. Still bent, he looked up coldly to the one who had dropped it. He stood so that he might stand taller over the other fellow still shrunken in fear, "You are not for this." The other man did not look at Lovis. Though Lovis' expression was carved from ice his words were not without kindness. Not without mercy.
Some men were meant only for the books. Once Lovis himself had lived a life in which it was all he was meant for. Once Lovis had tried to be more and it had been the death of him. The death of the man he had been.
Time had reshaped him. It and Oriens had molded him into something that they saw fit. Something deemed to be more useful. What Lovis had been was no longer of any matter. He was what he was. He envied the man that he left sitting in the tavern, the man who tried to hide his relief whilst Lovis walked to the alleyway in his place.
"I am Lovis," there was no need to announce from whence he hailed. Grimly he mulled over how only one, who had answered the call of Andras, had shown themselves. All the noise that he had listened to had been naught more than just that. Noise. Talk. Bluffing.
Sullen, Lovis watched the swinging of a store sign. He heard the imploring cry of the store bell, crying for the shopkeeper to aid an impatient customer. How disheartening it was that such a city had not been more willing to offer themselves.
Lovis waited for whatever was to come next. And for whatever was to come after that. He wondered what they might find and steeled himself for whatever it might be. To bed Lovis put his heart of a scholar and in its place he called forth the heart of a soldier, the heart that was ready to do what it must for Delumine.
