The morning air was crisp, a scent of dew about the plants upon the castle balcony. The grassy courtyard below was bereft of the flowers Lady Uthain had once loved, replaced by the sounds of mock battle and childish grunts. She did not entirely dislike it, being the doting older sibling that she was. Alas, she did still crave for those silent mornings, those peaceful moments between her and singsong voices of the birds.

Lady Uthain leaned against the stone edge of the balcony, elbows down and hands holding her head as she watched Little Robb practice fencing below. The boy was skilled in many things, though never the best, and combat was no different.

“Keep at it, Robb!” She had waited for a lull in his practice, just enough for Robb to look up and wave before whichever instructor had come today pulled him back to practice. She smiled at the sight, and the memories it brought back up.

“Ah, fencing. Of course.” The voice was high and shrill, though not to the point of total unpleasantness. It’s source was none other than Bethel, Lady Uthain’s assigned maid, a woman as rotund as she was kind, and as kind as she was skilled at her job. Which was to say, she was a very rotund woman indeed.

“It’s been so long.” Lady Uthain dreamt back to her childhood days, days filled with more running than a courier and more fencing than a soldiers. Days when being in a dress were for special occasions, rather than a constant affair.

“I could get us some brooms, my lady. Then we could have at it.” Lady Uthain giggled at the suggestion, as well as at the poking gestures Bethel made.

“Maybe one day, Bethel. Is there something you needed from me? If not, I’d like to take a stroll to the Red Quarter.”

“Afraid so, my lady. Your uncle is calling for you.”

“What, no hints? It’s not another courting dove, I’d hope.” She’d had quite enough of that for the year.

“No no, nothing like that my lady. Well, I don’t believe so, anyway. Your uncle just said he wanted to speak with you for a moment.”

Lady Uthain raised a single eyebrow and received a shrug in reply. “I’ll be on my way, then. Thank you Bethel.”

“No need to thank me, my lady. Tis my job, my lady.” Lady Uthain walked past her maid, flashing a quick smile that faded naturally as she left her room. The hallway was empty, the open windows allowing only enough light to travel by. The sun was up, but the hallway face west, leaving it cold enough to make her shiver slightly.

Her uncle, Large Lord Robb, was a man of eccentricities, more so than herself, and the proof could be seen in the markings. The door, only four rooms down the hallway from Lady Uthain’s own, was marked with the carvings of all the places her uncle had been, all the things he had seen. The top of the door was carved with images of men and women, some in armor and others naked, many given a coat of paint in such unusual colors as red and blue. The center of the door was carved in the image of buildings and mountains, the magnificent centerpiece being none other than a rendition of their very own castle, copied from the painting of the late Dirk Kellings. Lady Uthain had seen the man paint it herself, though that was when she was quite young and when Kellings was a man a foot and a half in the grave. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful work, and the carved rendition was nearly as perfect.

The bottom was layered with rows and columns of animals, the last row incomplete, ranging from bears to tigers to creatures stranger still, many Lady Uthain had never seen herself. Of course, the bottom deserved special attention this morning, as the wooden outline of the last creature was discolored from the rest. Fresh, and newly carved.

She knocked on the great door, always with a ginger touch. Silly, it may seem, but she did not wish to disturb the door, nor the adventures and sights upon its wooden flesh. When no call greeted her in return, she realized her touch was too ginger indeed, and so Lady Uthain knocked again with more confidence.

“Come in,” came the reply. Lady Uthain opened the door and took a careful step inside. The interior, much like the door itself, was a room that showed her uncles personality all too well. Every corner of the room contained some piece of unusual art, one of a melting building and another of a burning cat and many more besides, and everywhere she looked there was a mounted head of some beast or a suit of armor made from scales or straw or some other unusual material.

“You asked for me, uncle.” Large Lord Robb was not a man whose appearance fit his title, being a man of such short stature, but his work ethic was like no other. Even now, bent over his desk, he scribbled away at some letter or another, occasionally dipping the pen in the tiny bottle and carefully scribbling some more words.

The man scribbled in silence, apparently forgetting his niece in the wake of some written thought. His head rose just she opened her mouth to call to him again. “I’m going on a trip. Would you like to join me?”

To the point, as always, and as always forgetting the details. “I’m going to need a little more convincing than that, uncle.” She smiled at his nonchalant realization. She would accept his offer, of course, there was no doubt about that. She was, however, on bad terms with surprises.

“The Artif in Sansbrook, what’s his name?”

“Liard, I believe.”

“Yes, him. He’s found something that interests me. Some new beast, or so he tells me. I’d like to take a look. Would you join me?”

“Of course, uncle. Need you ask at all?”

“I thought as much, but it is unbecoming of the King’s brother to order his daughter around.”

“Unbecoming of the great Large Lord Robb? Why, that’ll be the day.” She smiled as her uncle did. A little tease, something they both seemed to miss.

“We’ll leave within the week, assuming you have no other business to attend to.” Large Lord Robb returned his focus to the papers upon his desk, unconcerned with her response. Her uncle, of all people, knew well enough as to her activities.

“We are quite in luck then. My duties as of late have been to watch idly as the pompous and the ill-minded attempt to court me.”

“Good for them that you’re so frigid, then.” He gave a short chuckle, and she rolled her eyes.

“I am not frigid, uncle. The men who court me just so happen to lack that special quality a girl should look for.” He gave another chuckle, his eyes darting across the papers in front of him.

“Keep telling yourself that, my dear. It might have worked out for your mother, but you need to keep your expectations in line with reality.”

“Oh yes, because father was such a great man before becoming king.”

“Of course. Don’t you know? He happens to be my brother. She should be delighted to be of my relation.”

“Ah yes, the great Lord Robb, second of his name, unmarried and father of three. Good day uncle.” She gave a curtsy as she turned to the door, which for all its intricacies on the other side was, disappointingly, merely a block of wood on this one.

“Good day Lady Uthain. May your next courter be made of finer stuff.”