Note: Finally got another chapter done. Long one too. School's almost over, and I have more time to write now, so maybe I'll finish this over the summer. Please leave me some reviews and tell me what you think.

In the hour before dinner, Percival took a hot bath that was already prepared for him by the servants, then spent the rest of the time in a large game room where the children of the guests played. There were about a dozen little kids in the room accompanied by their nursemaids, who also came along with the Redrums's guests.

But Percival's main focus was on two very attractive women, older than him but certainly young enough, talking to each other in the corner. He strutted over and introduced himself as Lord Percival of Iksay (not that two noblewomen would ever know that Iksay was actually an obscure peasant village and not the title of some large tract of land his family owned). He learned that they were the fiancées of Orwell and Maksim, which disheartened him a bit, but did nothing to stop him from some intensive but harmless flirting, a natural talent of his whether his targets were noblewomen or not.

Just as Percival was relating to them a grossly exaggerated account about a battle that his lord Sir Sihelm once brought him along to, the dinner bell rang. The nursemaids led off the children to their own special dining room, while Percival escorted the ladies off the main feast, one in each arm.

In the main hall, were a long table covered with magnificent, mouth-watering dishes stood, Percival and the ladies ran into the Redrum brothers as they were just coming down the stairs. The women then went to their respective fiancés, each of whom gave Percival an icy glare. Percival grinned smugly back, then headed off to meet up with Borus again.

"So, did you get your inheritance thing figured out?" Percival asked as he stepped up beside the blond boy, whose eyes were upon the ground as he walked.

"Ha ha. Very funny. We didn't even get around to discussing inheritance. We just sat around, complaining about every stupid, trivial problem in our lives and blaming it on our father."

"Ah, the problems of the nobility. How can the petty plights of the peasants, naught but minor predicaments like poverty, disease, and starvation, even begin to compare with the enormous scope of their unfathomable inconveniences, like beggars at the doorstep or getting pestered by those stupid townsfolk who can't even defend their own damn villages against barbarian raids."

"Okay, okay, I get your point. Anyway, we did manage to all agree on one thing though," Borus said, casting a sidelong grin at Percival.

"And what may that be, prithee?"

"That if our father hadn't died right when he did, then we would've had to kill him ourselves."

"Oh," Percival chuckled nervously. "Right." He paused. "Well, on a brighter note, have you seen your soon-to-be-sister-in-laws yet? 'Cause they're both quite visually stunning."

"What a surprise," Borus muttered flatly. "Being wealthy and successful lands you a beautiful wife." Percival caught a brief envious glance that his friend shot in the direction of his Orwell, Maksim, and their fiancées. Borus quickly shook his head and looked back down.

"Hmm…Emily has a prettier face and nicer hair, but Laura has by far the better body," Percival mused. "Ah, man, can you imagine Emily's face on Laura's body?"

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Percival. Besides, do you really want to be where my brothers probably were last night?"

"Oh, don't ruin it for me, Redrum. With upper class ladies like those, you know, my imagination is all I have."

The two squires reached the tabled and took two seats next to each other. At the head of the table sat Orwell, and at the other end sat Mrs. Redrum.

"So I guess you've decided to pretend to be a nobleman, huh?" Borus quietly asked him.

"If that's what it takes to get women to talk to me around here, then I guess so." Percival suddenly thought of Maksim's questions that afternoon, which quickly got him to reconsider. He certainly did not want to be put in that kind of situation again.

"Up to you," Borus said with a shrug. "Just make sure that you don't get more than you bargain for."

"You don't have to tell me that, Redrum. I can take care of myself."

Dinner began with a prayer to St. Loa. At least that part nobility life was familiar to Percival, whose own family insisted on never eating a meal before saying grace. However, the numerous shiny eating utensils laid out before him made him tense. He had a feeling that they were supposed to be used when eating, but had absolutely no idea what most of them were. Finally, he decided to force down his hunger and watch Borus's mannerisms before he started to eat himself, although the delectable smell rising from the food made this task very difficult.

The feast was scrumptious. There were many kinds of freshly killed game meat—venison, pheasant, boar, rabbit, heron, and others—that Percival had never tasted before, since the lower classes usually lacked the free time to go hunting, and almost all hunting grounds were strictly reserved for the highest echelon of society anyway. All the dishes were lavishly dressed with delicious, exotic, and very expensive spices from far-off lands, no doubt credited to Maksim. Strong, aged, exquisite Chisha red wine was served with the food, just as Borus had told Percival earlier.

Percival remained wordless throughout most of dinner as the Redrum families and their guests questioned the Redrum brothers (mainly Orwell and Maksim) on their current affairs and plans for the future. The atmosphere was cheerful, and there was quite a bit of mirth. If Percival didn't know already, he would never have guessed that the last man of the house had just passed away.

It was when everyone had finished eating and the servants cleared the table and served the desserts when something completely unexpected happened. The Redrums and their guests were now just making conversation as they helped themselves to a wide variety of sweets. Percival noticed that Niccolo had remained quiet throughout most of dinner, only opening his mouth to give curt answers to other people's questions. Suddenly, without any warning, he turned to Mrs. Redrum and said in a firm voice, "Mother, I'm leaving the Church's service."

That statement coming from the third son of the late, esteemed James Redrum immediately silenced up the entire party, as their attentions focused upon the tall blond young man. Mrs. Redrum stared shocked and speechless at Niccolo. It was Orwell who finally spoke up. "Is this a joke, Niccolo? Because it isn't funny."

"No, Orwell. It's not a bloody joke. For the past five years, I've been forced to train to spend the rest of my life doing something that I hate. I had no say in this decision at all, and now that he's dead, there's absolutely no reason for me to continue down this path."

"Niccolo…" Mr. Redrum began softly.

"Mother, look at it this way. A true servant of the Goddess chooses to dedicate himself to Her. If someone serves Her solely because they were required to and doesn't really want to be a clergyman, then it's just a lie and a blasphemy to the Goddess Herself. I don't have it in me be a bishop, I sure as hell am not going to take and keep any vow of celibacy, so for me and the Goddess and everyone involved, this is the best decision. I've thought it over, it's final, and there's nothing you can say or do to change my mind." As soon as he finished his speech, Niccolo pulled out his chair, stood up, and left the room, leaving the entire table in dead silence.

After a moment, Orwell spoke up again. "I'm sorry you had to see the childish antics of my brother," he apologized to the guests. "Don't worry, Mother. I'll go talk him to his senses. He just—"

"Don't be an idiot, Orwell," Maksim interrupted. "The kid had a point, you know. You're not his father, so let him do as he chooses. He's a man now."

There was a pause, and it was apparent that the eldest brother, though furious at Maksim, didn't want to start a fight in front of all the guests. "Why don't we bring this discussion upstairs, Maksim," he stated bitterly.

"As you please." Maksim and Orwell both got up and headed out of the dining hall, their eyes coldly fixed upon each other.

As soon as they were gone, Borus turned to his mother. "Um…may Percival and I be excused as well?"

Still stunned at the events that just happened so quickly, Mrs. Redrum allowed for an extended pause before replying. "Y-yes, Borus. Go ahead." Her voice was little and shaky. Borus motioned for Percival to follow as he left the table and went upstairs.

"Wow," Borus said to his fellow squire as soon as they were out of the hearing range of the people still at the table. "I don't believe I've ever respected Niccolo as much as I do right now." He grinned. "Did you see that? My brother just up and told Mother exactly how he felt. He started to take his life in a direction that he himself wanted it to go. Now that takes guts."

At that statement, Percival suddenly remembered again the conversation he had with Borus over lunch, about how joining the Knighthood wasn't Borus's own choice, and how he still had time to reconsider his future occupation. He now understood more clearly the shackles that nobility traditions had tied Borus down with. If it was going to be Borus's decision to leave the knighthood, Percival had no right to try to stop him.

But nevertheless, Percival wondered that if Borus really was going to quit being a squire, would it be because he really wasn't satisfied with his current course of life, or because he just wanted to break away from the decisions that his father made for him? He knew that Borus always had genuine enthusiasm to be a great knight. Just because he could turn his life in a different direction right now didn't necessarily mean that he should, or he might end up doing something he'll regret later on.

Whatever the case, this wasn't exactly the time to lecture his friend. "Yes, that was rather impressive of him, wasn't it?" Percival agreed.

"Tell me about it." A wide smile formed on Borus's face. He suddenly turned to Percival. "Hey, man. You know where your room is?"

"Uh, yeah. One of the servants showed me earlier. Very spacey. I like it."

"Well, why don't you head there now. I want to go catch up with Niccolo for a while. I think we have quite a bit to talk about just between the two of us. He's in the perfect position give me some advice on how to best take advantage of Father's death."

"Um… how to best take advantage of your father's death?"

"Look, it won't take too long. I'll come find you when I'm done, and I'll show you our stables when I get back. Lots of fine horses there, but I'm sure you'd know better when you see them"

Any thought Percival had of possibly questioning Borus further was instantly shot down by that promise. "Okay, deal."

"All right. See you later." Borus eagerly jogged off in the opposite direction down the long, mazelike upstairs corridor and disappeared around one of the bends.

It took Percival almost ten minutes to find his way his guest room. His bags and sword had already been brought there by the servants and laid down beside the large doubles bed with fancy satin sheets that matched the plush carpet.

The spacious room was almost entirely empty except for the bed. To pass the time, Percival took his sword from its sheath and did a few swinging exercises in the wide open space. It wasn't long, though, before Borus knocked on the door and entered, looking disgruntled.

"Orwell and Maksim were both in Niccolo room," Borus stated. "Orwell was trying to give him a damn lecture about responsibility, and Maksim is just sort of there countering Orwell and making things difficult for him. It's kind of funny, really, because I can see the look in Niccolo's eyes. They can talk to him until the sky falls down, but he won't give a rat's ass about their words, because he's already made his decision. It's quite admirable, but I wish I could've gotten him alone for just a little bit."

"Yes, that is regrettable," Percival replied as he put away his sword. "But I'm still gonna hold you on what you said earlier. Let's go to the stables."

Borus rolled his eyes. "Girls and horses. I swear that's all you ever think about."

"That's all that matters. Come on, let's go."

The two squires headed downstairs and went out of one of the back doors of the mansion. They quickly crossed a well-maintained hedge garden in the quiet dusk and followed a stone path to a large, magnificent wooden building.

Percival couldn't believe at first that such a fancy building would be used for holding horses. The tall doors were open, and they went inside. The interior of the stable was no less dignified. If only these horses were actually aware that they live under better conditions than most peasants in the world, Percival thought.

There was a stable boy grooming one of the horses. As soon as he saw the squires come in, he came over and asked, "Master Borus, do you need anything?"

"Nah. I'm just showing the animals to my friend here."

"Would you like privacy, my lord."

"Uh, sure. Why not?"

Borus's response quickly got the stable boy gather his supplies and leave. By then, Percival was already by one of the stalls, checking out a splendid great black stallion that had immediately caught his eye. "Mind if I go inside?" he asked Borus as the blond boy walked over to him.

"Uh, I don't know if that one frightens easily or not."

"He doesn't. I can tell," Percival said as he opened the gate to the stall and went inside. "What's his name?" he asked as he stroked the stallion's well-groomed glossy jet-black coat.

"Not sure, but I think it's Blackbird. Or something else with a 'black' in it. We've had that one around for a few years. One of our best, according to the grooms. I believe it's one of our studs."

"Ah, that's a good life," Percival said as he patted the stallion's shoulder. "He is an exceptionally fine animal. Very solid build and calm character. Of course, I haven't seen him in action yet, but I'm sure that's magnificent too. Do you use him for hunting?"

"Yeah. All the horses here are used for hunting or just pleasure riding. The big working draft horses that plow fields are kept by the serfs."

"Do you think I can take this beauty out for a ride sometime tomorrow?"

"Sure. Just tell one of the grooms whenever you want to, and they'll saddle it up for you."

"Thanks, man," Percival said as he stepped out of the stallion's stall and closed the gate. "Heh, I remember my first horse."

"Yes, Percival, you already told me this story at least a dozen times. You were five. Her name was Griselda. She was one of the foals of a draft mare that belonged to this farmer who was one of your father's regular customers. She was born with a lame leg, so the farmer just gave her to you, because she won't be able to effectively do farm work. You rode her everywhere, even though she couldn't go very fast. She's still around back home, and she's still your favorite, even though your family has two other non-lame horses now. Is that all correct?"

Percival laughed. "All right, how about my first girl?" he asked as he continued on take a look at the other horses.

"You mean that horny seventeen-year-old carpenter's daughter when you were fourteen?" Borus replied, following his friend.

"Yep, that one. Well, I guess you pretty much know everything there is to know about me, Redrum."

"I've just been around you for too long." Borus paused. "Didn't you say she wasn't that attractive?"

"That's only compared to some of the girls who were real lookers that I've had after her. She wasn't that bad, and she gave me what I wanted. Besides, I don't think you're in any position to talk given your experience in such matters, or lack thereof."

"Shut up. You know, just because I want a girl for more than just sex—"

"Man, don't even try to use that chivalry crap as an excuse for not getting laid. It just makes it even sadder." He grinned widely at Borus to show that he was joking, and then ducked to just barely avoid a forceful punch from the irritated blond squire.

The two boys spent the two hours or so looking over the rest of the horses while engaging in lighthearted talk. After Percival took his time inspecting every one of the three dozen steeds in the stable, he picked up a brush from a supply shelf and went over to the stall where his own chestnut gelding from Vinay del Zexay was kept.

"I think I'm going to stay here for a while and groom my Felix down. You can go back."

"Why bother? Let the stable boy do it."

"I'm not doubting the quality of your stable boys, Redrum, but I'm sure I can do a better job. Felix would feel more comfortable if I groomed him myself, anyway."

"Suit yourself. I'm probably going to bed, so I'll see you tomorrow." Borus said as he started to walk out of the stable.

"Good night," Percival called out as Borus closed the stable doors to keep the chilly autumn night air out.

Percival took an hour or so to carefully brush down his chestnut. The gelding lied down in the hay bed to go to sleep afterwards. Having no desire to walk all the way back to his room in the manor, Percival curled up beside the chestnut, resting his head on its side. As a child, he had probably spent more nights in the stable beside his horses than in his own bed. He closed his eyes and fell asleep to the rhythmic movement of the chestnut's warm body as it breathed.