"Elphir," said the little girl tugging at her eldest brother's tunic. He kept walking, glancing briefly at her as she padded lightly after him. His long strides took him half-way down the hall in a few moments. "El-phir," she said again more insistently as he turned a corner disappearing from sight. She made a little sound of frustration in her throat before chasing him around the corner.

Why did her legs have to be so short? With a shriek she collided against his sturdy form, as he grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her on his shoulder, continuing his walk. "What, most irritating of little sisters, is so important that you have to tell me?" He asked tickling her dirty feet with his other hand.

"Kicking her feet, she squirmed around trying to look at him. "Elanor, the new scullery maid, says that you must have near-on six feet on you, but I know for a fact that you have only two."

"Oh did she now Lothi? Did you set her straight then?" he said setting her back on her feet. "Or did you have to check first?"

"Well Gurvel in the village said his cousin in Lossarch knows a fellow with six fingers..." she trailed off, examining his boots studiously. "Maybe she just meant toes, or she's daft. That's what Cook says," she said with all the exaggerated seriousness of a six-year-old. They stared at each other for a moment, Lothiriel's eyes darting furtively back to her brother's boots with all the subtlety she could muster. And for moment it looked like he meant to just walk away, but backing up to the wall he hauled off one boot and wiggled his stocking-covered toes at her.

One, two, three, four, five...

"Well, if you are satisfied that I possess only the acceptable number of digits and members, I shall take my leave." He said shoving his foot back into the boot and working the laces.

"Well, where are you going now? Can I come?"

"Council, and no."

"But I know my letters and my numbers and Papa says you only come to the interesting council meetings, so why can't I? I'll be quiet."

"One, I suspect mother expects you in the solar, and two I don't believe you can be quiet. And anyway you're a little girl you've no business at a council meeting. It's bad enough when mother tries to sit in."

"But..."
"No buts." And with that Elphir started to continue on his way toward the council chambers, before calling back to the sulking Lothiriel, "don't forget to tell the scullery maid about your findings." His chuckle echoed down the hall, leaving her frustrated. But at least she had a destination.

Technically speaking, she wasn't allowed in the kitchens. But then again, technically there were a lot of things she wasn't supposed to do. It helped that she was pretty, and the only granddaughter of a well-liked prince, but more than that she had a knack for being in the right place at the right time. Or perhaps she just had a knack for being everywhere so probability was in her favor. At any rate as she peeked her head into the kitchens, her glance fell on a rather sizable stack of flaky buns currently unattended. Their aroma permeated the air, wafting around and teasing her nostrils mingling with the smell of roasting meat and rosemary. This almost made up for being left out of everything, but she still wanted to know what was so interesting that Elphir was going to council.

She'd wrapped her little paw around the still-warm bun when she heard an unfamiliar voice raise above the murmur in the servant's hall next room over. Nibbling on it, slowly approached the doorway. "The lords can sit in their council all day debating policy, but it won't bring back my family. They feel untouchable behind their great walls, but not all of us are so fortunate. I want those monsters dead, no matter the cost." She'd heard her brothers talk of battle and minstrels sing the lays of ages past, but never anything like this. He sounded so -angry, or scared she couldn't tell, but there was nothing glorious about it. It was all so confusing and he kept talking, but he was using words she didn't know and pounding his fist on the table, when he noticed her standing in the doorway eyes wide as saucers.

Gesturing at her, he shouted "why don't the great lord put his little girl outside these walls and see if he'll sit with his tankard at the table and argue acceptable risk? My little girl were not even so big as you when they came, while I was off rescuing stolen grain for the Steward. Those monsters killed my little girl. Slit her throat, while I fought a trade war."

By this time Cook had scooped her up, and was rushing back through the kitchen demanding to know why none of the workers had stopped her in the kitchens as one of the servants hauled the man away urging him to stop. A few minutes more she was just outside the door to her room with Cook still cooing over her, telling her everything was alright. But it wasn't alright, she hadn't understood all that he said. It would be some years before it all made sense, but she knew someone had died and no one had stopped it and there had to be some way to change that. Until then, nothing was alright.