As it had been since the days of Heron, all the people of Passeri came to offer their condolences to the family and to grieve and offer prayers over the grave of their son. For a full day -from the earliest twilight of dawn to the final ray of sunset-, the embalmed body of the child lay inside a lidless casket beside his grave – as was custom – before the bearers gently lowered him to his final resting place and laid the coffin's lid and then the earth over top of him. The day after Breyon's funeral, Lord Elrohir himself – Duron's old commander from the Tabanthan Conflict – arrived to try and comfort his friend and his wife.
He was a tall man, rather slender, with grey eyes and light blonde hair. He wore the proud armor of a Hylian Knight, though the years were beginning to weigh upon him and the Lord rarely ventured out on campaign anymore. He was beardless, with a strong chin and sharp jaw. When Alfon saw him approaching, he thought the man looked as "the weathered and worn image of a once great warrior."
Without any banner or trumpet sound, he mournfully rode his horse to the family's home and bowed very lowly to Lady Alima. "My lord, my lady," he began, "I pray the Goddess brings you comfort during this time of loss. May we cherish the boy's memory and take solace in knowing that he is wrapped within peace and joy beside her now." His words were kind, but they did little against the anguish that they felt. Alfon's mother could not bear to speak about her departed child and -after a brief curtsy to his Lordship- excused herself to her chambers. The Baron offered to walk with the Lord about the grounds – to avoid troubling the family any farther – but the Lord called Alfon over to them and insisted that he join their walk.
For several minutes, the two talked quietly to one another while the teen silently followed. Duron managed to recount a brief telling of how Breyon was lost, but quickly turned the conversation to other, emotionless matters: the health of the regional crops, the efforts to expand and improve the roads, even Duron's predictions for the weather in the coming weeks. But the Lord kept returning to the health of the household and the future of Duron's remaining children. "I would like to help you, if I can, Duron." He revealed.
When they were far from the house, Elrohir stopped them and began to urge his friend to accept his offer. "Your eldest needs instruction and guidance… but your other son and daughter will need your complete devotion to get through these terrible times. Return the letter with your eldest, Alfon, let me take him as my squire – I will teach him everything he needs to know! Your lands are safe and well managed… go back to your family and grieve with them."
Alfon's attention perked up at these words, and he looked curiously at his father. He had never been told of any 'letter' from the Lord and the prospect of leaving the damaged home behind spoke to something in his heart. But Baron Duron refused. He had seen conflict once in his younger days and -now that he was a father- he wanted his children to have no part of the Army's role. "I appreciate your offer, my lord." He answered, "But I need my son here… and he'll have no part in war. This family has lost enough already." "Father?!" the teen tried to object, but a harsh shout from the Baron silenced him.
"You'll not change your mind? Not even in time?" Elrohir asked him, downcast. "No, my lord. Not even if the Goddess herself demanded it – I will not send my son off to the Army." He answered. The Lord flinched at this – strictly speaking, any statement of denying the Goddess was blasphemy – but he allowed it to pass, understanding the pain of his recent loss. They finished their walk in silence and the nobleman bid them farewell. "If ever you need anything, my friend, only call upon me and I will be here." Duron bowed his head and thanked him, before the Lord turned to Alfon, "Be well young man. The future brings many burdens for you to bear and you must be strong to carry them! Your family, and your people will be counting upon you! See that you do not falter!" "Yes, my lord." The boy answered, bowing his own head.
As the pair watched him leave, the son spoke quietly to his father, "No man in our family has ever been taken as a Lord's squire, father. It could do much for our family and our vassals." Baron Duron scowled darkly and let out a pained sigh, "There is nothing you need that only he can teach you. I will show you how to be a good Baron here. Let others go and murder one another senselessly." "But father-" he tried, but again, Duron shouted his boy down, commanding him to forget the letter and any thoughts of becoming a squire.
Hamlon's health slowly improved, though his mind and status within the home steadily declined. Little Aleya seemed to be plagued by a stubborn case of pneumonia and remained bed-ridden and weak for many months. Even after her fever had passed and she was able to walk again, her heart and lungs never fully recovered. She remained feeble and prone to sickness. So much so that her father and mother's grief and fear were never allowed to completely subside. At every cough and groan, they were reminded of the child they lost and the creeping sickness that threatened to take their precious daughter.
Alfon never forgave his brother for what had happened to Breyon & Aleya and he never hesitated in reminding Hamlon of just how much of a failure he was. The two quarreled constantly and often came to blows, but the Baron would swiftly pull them apart and punish them for acting 'like animals.' "What's done is done!" he would shout, "Nothing we do today can change yesterday! Just learn and move forward! You are brothers!" Despite his words, the two boys would not forgive each other and remained bitter enemies for several years.