Note: Yeah, so I finally wrote another chapter of this. Not much to say here. Borus's family finally comes into the story, including his brothers. Sorry if the technical details I made up for this story are way off from actual medieval stuff (I'm a computer science major, not a history major). Anyway, I am still hoping to finish this story, but don't get your hopes up.

"Borus! You're finally here!"

A middle-aged woman with braided blond hair and wearing a dress that must have been worth more than the Fraulein family's entire savings stood from the couch in the cavernous, luxuriously decorated living room. She stepped up to her son. Sitting on the sofas and armchairs all around the room were about twenty other refined-looking folks, whom Percival guessed were relatives of Borus. They looked over at the two squires and started quietly whispering to each other.

"Hi, mum," Borus muttered, looking down at the ground. "Long time, no see." His mother opened her arms, and Borus gave her a hug rather reluctantly. He quickly pulled away, unwilling to show too much affection with her in front of so many people.

The rest of the relatives then received the blond teenage boy heartily, commenting on how much he's grown and how strong he looked and such. Borus looked at them quizzically, tensely smiling and answering their questions. He appeared to be meeting most of them for the first time in his life. Percival stood behind the boy at the center of the attention, glad that he'd gone unnoticed so far.

Borus finally turned to his mother. "I do apologize for being late, mum. We were… delayed on the trip here."

"Well, it is a long way from Vinay, Borus. I wouldn't expect any better. You must be tired."

"I'm all right. Sorry about my father." Borus looked down at the ground in a rather unconvincing attempt to appear truly sorry.

His mother sadly shook her head. "It was his time. His four sons have all come of age, after all…" She then turned to Percival. "I see you've brought a guest."

"Hullo, Mrs. Redrum," Percival said courteously, bowing a bit. Percival was anything but shy, but the entire situation was so alien to him, as it would be to any peasant boy, that his heart started to beat fast and his palms grew sweaty. Fortunately, he always did a good job of hiding any signs of nervousness.

"Ah, this is my friend Percival," Borus introduced. "He's also a squire of the Knights. I hope it's all right for him to stay with us."

"Well, of course it is. Your two eldest brothers both brought guests too. Their fiancées, in fact." She smiled. "I suppose you're a little young for that."

Borus chuckled nervously. "Yeah…"

"So, Borus. I don't suppose you remember all these people here. Let me introduce you…" For the next fifteen minutes, Borus's mother went around the room, telling Borus the names of his relatives, as well as his (often very distant) relationships to them. Percival completely lost interest by the second introduction, and from the look on Borus's face, he was just as bored. Percival did notice, however, that none of Borus's brothers were among the ones here.

"I'm sure you'll want a hot bath right now," Mrs. Redrum said to him after the induction was finally over. "I'll call the servants to run one right now. You too… uh… Percible?"

"It's 'Percival', milady."

"My, that's a hard name to remember. Is it alright if I called you 'Percy'?"

Percival cringed at the sound of the nickname he hated so much. "Well, actually milady, 'Percible' is perfectly fine if you can't remember 'Percival'. In fact—"

"Yeah, sure, mum," Borus suddenly cut in. "You can call him Percy. Right, Percy?" He smiled innocently at Percival.

"All right, Percy," she said. "I'll tell them to run you a bath too." Percival gave Borus a death glare. Oh, there was gonna be hell to pay.

Just as Mrs. Redrum was about to call for the servants, she suddenly stopped. "Oh, wait a minute, Borus! You haven't said hello to your brothers yet!"

"Uh, I think I'd rather go with the bath," Borus muttered softly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Borus. They're in the sitting room. Discussing inheritance, I think. Apparently, your father was a bit vague on the terms in his will. You should go, unless you want to miss out on your fair share."

Borus sighed. "Fine. Which sitting room?"

"The second floor one," his mother said. "Go on now. And bring Percy with you. I'm sure he'll want to meet them as well." Borus sighed again as he turned to leave the living room, motioning Percival to come with him. "Dinner'll be ready soon," she called after them. "You can take your baths afterwards. Just change into some clean clothes beforehand."

"See how these stupid family reunions are now?" Borus said in an annoyed voice to Percival and he led them through the mansions seemingly endless halls and rooms and up the stairs. "First I get to be fussed over by a bunch of distant relatives I've never seen before. And now I get to be tormented by those three assholes."

"Aw, it can't be that bad to be home," Percival replied cheerfully, not quite catching onto Borus's worsening mood. "I mean, just look at the size of this place! Hell, you could ride a horse through here!"

Borus completely ignored Percival, lost in his own rants. "And when my dad was still alive, he'd then give me these torturous talks about how I'm too young and stupid to make the smallest decision for myself. And how I'd screw up the family name if I did. And how, being the youngest and most useless son, I'd never live up to my wonderful brothers unless I were to do something like become some great knight and get killed heroically in battle." He scowled, growing ever angrier as he talked. "Goddess, he wanted me to die just to bring glory to his name! He cared more about his damn own reputation than about my life! I'm so fucking glad he's dead!"

"Redrum…" Percival trailed off, unsure of what to say. Both of them remained silent for a while as they walked.

When Borus had a chance to cool down, he turned to Percival. "Call me 'Borus', all right? At least for now. People won't know who you're referring to otherwise."

"Okay, Borus. But if you dare utter the word 'Percy' again—"

"Yeah, yeah. You'll run me through with your sword, impale me against the wall, and castrate me with your boot knife. Gotcha."

"Yep. That's the idea. But that last part was a just bit too graphic."

Borus forced out a laugh. They had reached the second floor sitting room by then. Borus took a deep breath and walked into the room, with Percival following.

"Well, well. Look who finally decided to show up." Inside the sitting room, three men sat on couches around a coffee table. Ah, the Redrum brothers, Percival thought. "Good to see you again," the eldest of the three said, his voice flat and unenthusiastic. The second eldest said nothing, only nodding once at his youngest brother in greeting.

"Who the hell is that?" The youngest of the three looked at the dark-haired boy beside Borus.

Borus looked at the ground as he introduced his brothers to Percival. "Guys, this is Percival. Percival, this is Orwell," he said, pointing at the eldest. Orwell, as Borus had told Percival earlier, was twenty-nine. Having studied politics at the prestigious University of Bergen in southern Zexen and graduated with honors, he had high hopes and (now, with his father's death) very good chances of being elected to the Zexen Council at the next general election in the coming spring. Also, as was customary for the eldest son, he currently stood to inherit his father's manor.

"Maksim," Borus continued, waving his hand over his second brother. Even before Borus had told Percival about Maksim Redrum, Percival had heard the renowned young entrepreneur's name mentioned quite a bit among the streets of Vinay. At only age twenty-four, Maksim had already made his own sizable fortune from the spice trade with Grassland. He was currently the head of the powerful Spice Merchant Guild, which he had founded himself (with his father's help, of course, since he was not allowed to legally sign any contracts before his father's death). Even though Redrum Manor was not his to inherit, it didn't matter in the slightest, because he had his very own equally impressive estate in the countryside just outside Vinay del Zexay (of course, it had officially been under his father's name, previously).

"And Niccolo," Borus said as he lastly introduced the brother who was closest to his own age. As according to nobility tradition for third sons, Niccolo had been sent off by his father into the service of the Church at age fourteen, as the Archbishop of Syon's apprentice. Now nineteen, he had two more years to go before he himself is appointed bishop and given his own diocese. Percival instantly perceived that Niccolo carried a look of sharp bitterness and cynicism upon his face, and he certainly looked nothing like a member of the clergy.

Niccolo rolled his eyes. "So you finally made a friend, huh, Borus?"

"Yeah," Borus angrily retorted. "But it looked like you haven't, since you're the only one who didn't bring anyone home with you."

"All you brought is another squire who probably just wanted an excuse to get out of training for a couple of days. When you bring a girl home, which of course won't happen, but let's just say you do, then we'll talk."

"I don't see why you're talking. You didn't bring a girl home, either."

"I'm a clergyman, you dumbass. I can't bring girls home."

"Not that it stops you from frequenting whorehouses, I bet."

"Shut the fuck up, kid. You don't have the right to talk to me like that." Niccolo's voice was perpetually calm, but acutely vicious.

"Yeah, well, I don't think clergymen have the right to use that kind of language."

Niccolo stood up abruptly and brushed back his curly blond hair that partially hung over his eyes. Tall and lanky, he towered over Borus. "All right, you're just begging for me to kick your ass now."

"Oh, for Sadie's sake, will you two grow the hell up!" Orwell shook his head in frustration as he interrupted his two younger brothers before their quarrel escalated to anything physical. Niccolo glared at Borus, but sat back down. "How in the world am I related to you people?" Orwell muttered to the side. Borus and Percival took a seat next to each other on an empty couch around the table.

Orwell looked up and smiled politely at Percival, who had kept quiet the entire time. "So, Percival, is it?"

"Yes." Percival stopped himself just before adding the formal address "my lord" after his statement. Orwell looked very much like the high-born nobleman that he was, and Percival had been conditioned his entire life to speak to such people with the utmost respect, but it would have sounded awkward in this situation for some reason. Percival couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"So what family are you from?" Maksim asked. He didn't sound the least bit interested in Percival's reply, but rather was just trying to be polite.

"Er, the Fraulein family."

"Huh. Never heard of it. What does your father do?"

Percival started to grow very uncomfortable. Obviously, Borus's brothers had automatically assumed that he was from an aristocratic family as well. He didn't quite know how to break it to them that his father was a mere blacksmith who didn't even own any land. He looked to Borus, but his friend just looked at him back indifferently. It's up to you what you want to tell them, Borus's eyes told him. "Uh, he deals in horseshoes," Percival finally said.

"Oh really?" Maksim's interest suddenly perked up sharply. "Does he belong to the Metalworks Guild, by any chance?"

"He, uh, has connections there." It wasn't an outright lie, but it was a big stretch of the truth. His father did sometimes sell the extra horseshoes that he forges to traveling merchants from Vinay who belonged to the guild. For some reason, Percival simply couldn't bring himself to tell them the straightforward truth.

"Does he? You see, my Spice Merchant Guild's biggest competitor right now is the Salt Trader's Guild. I'd like to merge our guilds so that the Spice Merchants can hold a monopoly on all spices, but the other guild isn't quite so willing. If we can form an alliance with a guild as powerful as Metalworks, then we may be able to ask them to manipulate their prices so as to help us drive the Salt Traders out of business, after which the Salt Traders will have no choice but to merge with us. But anyway, since your father has connections within Metalworks, I'd like to send a messenger to speak with him about it. Where does he reside?"

Holy Goddess, what did I get myself into? Percival thought, his mind in a panic. He caught a glimpse of Borus beside him contorting his face to hold back a laugh. "He lives about a two-day's ride to the northeast of Vinay, near the Grassland border." All right, Percival thought. This has gone on long enough. If he asks me the name of my father's manor next, I'm just gonna come out and tell him that he doesn't own one.

But, to Percival's great relief, Maksim was interrupted from further inquiries by Orwell. "Look Maksim, I don't have the time or patience to listen to you discuss your business right now. We're here to talk about the inheritance."

Maksim glowered at his older brother, then turned his head. "Just because I went out and made a name for myself instead of depending upon my birthright from Daddy, there's no need for you to be bitter."

Orwell gave Maksim a stony glare, and Maksim stared at him right back in the eyes. For a moment, it looked like another fight was about to erupt among the brothers. Percival suddenly stood up, realizing that this was probably his cue to leave. "I'm sorry," he said uncomfortably. "It really isn't my place to be here. I'm gonna head off."

"Yes, will you?" Orwell said, temporarily breaking up the tension between himself and Maksim. "Sorry, but these are Redrum family affairs."

Percival patted Borus on the shoulder as he stood up. He leaned close to his friend's ear. "Have fun," he whispered, grinning.

Borus quietly groaned. "This is gonna be a long evening," he whispered back.

Percival walked to the door of the sitting room and opened it. He took one last look back at the four brothers, with Borus slouched miserably on the couch, and then walked out of the room to head for a nice hot bath.