Hynes Family/Connaver/Reunions

Connaver was dog weary, tired as he had ever been in his life. He had orders to train his men, and that was what he was doing, riding them relentlessly, pushing them and himself to their mental and physical brink, preparing them.

The ambush and subsequent slaughter in Leibo had convinced him of one thing; He hated losing men, and would do anything in the future to keep that from happening, and the first step was training. Relentless training, so that his men were the best they could possibly be.

His Captain, an older man, a much respected burgher and veteran of the Great War, had protested Connaver's relentlessness. He'd felt bad about having to bust the man down, but he was the leader, and the Captain was there to advise him, not publically question him in front of the men. So he had, rather forcefully and publicly, berated the Captain.

Rest would come soon enough, and he only hoped that he would have some forewarning between the training period and the time the marching orders were received as to allow his men a proper relief.

He returned to his Quarters in Semall, a small Inn catering specifically to foreign nobles away from their Estates, looking forward to a hot bath, a quick meal, and a drink before returning to the training grounds.

"Been keeping busy, Arseling?"

He froze in the door to his quarters, bristling at the vaguely familiar voice.

"Your...grandmother...sent me. Wanted me to ask you why you hadn't came to see them yet. You have been in the City for over a day, now."

Conn nodded towards the man's back. "Uncle."

"Enough of that nonsense," he said, wheeling to face him, smiling broadly, falsely, his wrinkled, gaunt face lined with a patchy wisp of neatly trimmed, gray whiskers. "Johann will suffice."

Slowly, Conn began to unbuckle his swordbelt and harness, laying it on the bed. "I've been training my Troop."

"Ah, yes, Soldiers of Itorunt, training them to go off to the slaughter. You know in my heyday we had two of the largest realms on the continents busting down Bescanon's front door and Ibladesh pouring up towards Partora, hungry for our blood! And we did immeasurably better."

Conn grimaced, crossing the room slowly, pouring wine from a flask into twin goblets. "Drink?" He asked, offering it to his Uncle.

"Don't mind if I do," he said, plucking the goblet from Conn with one hand, the other still held firmly behind his back. He sipped at the wine, and then smiled. "I'm happy to see your...father's...eccentricities about drink didn't rub off on you." He took another sip, turning it into a swallow, and then a long, glass draining gulp. Sighing, he laid the goblet aside. "Refreshing, really. So, tell me, I assume you know your own history, so I won't go into great detail about the whole you being nothing but an ignorant, starving peasant routine, so let me ask you one question; did you ever really think of my late cousin as your Father?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes."

Johann smiled, cold and cruel. "Then I guess that makes you....well, something close to family." Seizing the flask from the table, he popped the cork, and tossed it absentmindedly into a glass. "The son of the late, great Alois Hynes, model of the family!"

"Why are you here?"

"You're doing poorly, Conn. Not living up to the potential of your Father at all. You lack a certain...lets call it spirit? No, moral righteousness, yes. You lack the Moral Righteousness he instilled in himself, that rather pompous air he carried with him. Half parts naivety that bred a sort of kind heartedness, and a firm belief in the base goodness of Man. You...are a peasant. He was sheltered, you watched your father killed by raiders....probably MY raiders, if you want to get down to it. And then you watched your mother die of starvation by an uncaring people who were too busy trying to survive they could not spare time looking after a widow, or her orphan. Those experiences combine to breed a wholly different person than Alois, and some of the things he taught you, boy...well, they only ever applied in his world. Tell me; When he first took you in, did you plan to rob him?"

Conn blushed, turned away. "That was years ago, how am I supposed to remember what I thought?"

But he did remember, and somehow Johann knew. He began to chuckle, quietly.

He stopped, looked at the flask, the vaguely coloured glass, sloshed the liquid around a moment and then laid it to the side. "I fear I've drank too much today already, young Conn. I tend to...ramble when plied with enough wine. I've gotten off point..."

"You haven't drank much," Connaver said, furrowing his brow.

"Not here, no. Anyhow...my point is, Conn, we are not so different. Me and your Father, I mean...we hated each other, but were not so different, simply that our views clashed. And you? We are the same. The...the exact same!"

The drunken ramblings weren't frightening him. On the contrary, he felt no hostility from him at all. Simply a longing.

Johann hung his head, laughed, long and hard, palms pressing into his eyes forcefully.

Conn stepped forward, "Uncle..."

"I'm riding with you," he said, tone flat, yet carrying a commanding edge. "When you leave, when your Troop disembarks, I'm riding with you."

"Can't," he said flatly.

Johann chuckled. "The Hell I can't."

"Father..." Conn caught himself, closed his eyes, grimaced, "Alois..told me to never go to you for anything."

"That's all well and good, boy, and I don't blame him. However, there's one thing I do know, and so did he, that would have gave him cause to rethink his decision if he were here today."

"And what's that?" Conn asked.

Johann tried to rise, got halfway, and began to sway. Slowly, he lowered himself back into the chair. Looking up, meeting Conn's eyes with his, he smiled. "Ain't no one else in this entire realm, or the entire world, that knows better how to kill those skirt wearing priests the Ibbies call soldiers than me!"