text: In the courtyard, you grab a passing servant girl by the arm
  
  
  "Have you seen my son?"
  
  
  The servant seems unsurprised at your arrival; evidently news travels fast. She bites her lip nervously
  
  
  "Ah... yes, yes I have, but-"
  
  
  "Where is he?"
  
  
  You inquire incredulously. The servant blushes
  
  
  "He's in the stables my lord, but I really don't think you should-"
  
  
  Waving off her concerns, you thank her and depart towards the stables.
  
  
  The stables are large and ornate, a mix of carved wood and interlocking wicker. The smell is heavy of stale hay and horse manure, but the atmosphere is pleasant nonetheless.
  
  
  At least three-dozen horses of various shades rest in the shade of the stable's long awning, but your son is nowhere to be found.
  
  
  On a hunch, you decide to check the stable master’s quarters, at the rear of the stable.
  
  
  As you approach the door you hear a muffled laugh through the porous wood of the door. Undoing the latch, you throw open the door and enter the dimly lit room.
  
  
  Inside, you son Eamon, a long-haired blond boy of seventeen lies under an old cotton blanket alongside a freckled girl of similar age. The pair are twined together, moving rythmically, and apparently neither noticed you open the door.
  
  
  You clear your throat politely. The girl gives a shriek of surprise, and covers herself with a fold of the tattered blanket. Your son looks equally surprised, but emits only a startled cough. You grin
  
  
  "Hello Eamon"
  
  
  You turn your attention to the girl lying beside him.
  > You say "What's your name?"
  You flash the young girl a warm smile
  
  
  "Hello there, what's your name?"
  
  
  The girl stammers out an answer
  
  
  "L-lynette, milord"
  
  
  You nod solemnly
  
  
  "A very pretty name. Who gave it to you?"
  
  
  While you spoke, Lynette had slipped on her threadbare tunic, in her panic she has managed to entangle the fabric around her face, and the cloth muffles her voice
  
  
  "My mother works in the kitchen, milord"
  
  
  "And the father?"
  
  
  You inquire
  
  
  "I don't know, milord"
  
  
  She replies quietly, having finally wrestled her tunic into its proper position. With her attention switched from her tunic back to you, her embarrassment returns
  
  
  "If milord will excuse me, I should be getting back to the kitchens"
  
  
  "Of course"
  
  
  Blushing profusely, the young servant girl scurries towards the door, executing a clumsy curtsy as she passes you. Your son stares after her longingly, he sighs, and you nod knowingly
  
  
  "Is she a favorite of yours?"
  
  
  Your son looks shocked
  
  
  "I love her, father"