Squire Lost

Mysterious Stranger

The one perk to a storm rolling in was that fog didn't tend to hang around once the wind picked up. Unfortunately storms also brought rain, lightning, and more often than not, radiation. If he was lucky, his radiation exposure would be minimal and the storm would blow over quickly. If he was unlucky—well, he didn't want to think about what kind of weather he knew the Commonwealth was capable of.

Declan shielded his face against the high wind. The ghoul provisioner had been right about the storm. Unfortunately, his instructions to the other Minuteman settlement weren't quite as reliable—that or Declan just didn't understand them. He'd passed the super mutant camp a while ago and had done his best to sneak past unnoticed. The farther he walked, the more he started questioning if he should've. He distinctly remembered being told to go past the super mutant mess. Did that mean he should've walked past the entire settlement, or just walked past the blood and bones and actually gone inside? For all Declan knew, the ghoul's eagerness to help was just an act and he was actually trying to get him killed.

Lightning erupted overhead, illuminating the road ahead of him. There was nothing. On the right was a drop off into a bay of some kind, on the left was the rocky face of a steep bluff, and ahead of him was just an empty, desolate road. Despite the fact that he was all alone, he felt like he was being watched. The feeling made him uneasy. Declan stopped in the middle of the street. Gazing out into the darkening expanse before him, he debated his options-he'd passed a bus not too far back that would offer adequate shelter, but he'd lose ground and he'd have to spend the night close to Super Mutants.

The thought of being sniffed out and mauled by one of their hounds in his sleep frightened him. The thought of being torn limb from limb or crushed into a bloody pulp scared him even more. He shuddered at the thought and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Thunder rumbled up above and was followed by a sharp bolt of lightning. He ducked instinctively, and felt the energy radiating off of it

The booming thunder was deafening, and a stinging pain shot through his left leg. Initially thinking the lighting had tagged him through a tree root, he dropped to his knees and clutched at the torn material of his pants. It took a few more moments than it should've for him to realize that he hadn't been hit by lightning. With the wind still whipping the trees, leaves, and arid soil around him, he peeled the tattered fabric back to examine the damage. His fingers felt a weird knot on his exposed skin, and he quickly jumped up when the lump fell into his hand and started squirming around. He threw it onto the ground and kicked the wriggling blob to the side of the road. He slid his hand down to the hole in his pants. His leg felt normal, stinging and bleeding, but without any additional weird lumps. Something hit him in the stomach, but didn't penetrate his coat's leather exterior. Then something else hit him a bit lower but was again deflected by the coat. Whatever it was, it wasn't lightning. He didn't see any laser fire and couldn't hear any gunshots. He could hear nothing but the wind howling through the trees and could see nothing but dark silhouettes in the rapidly diminishing light. Staggering backwards, he fled from his invisible assailant but was pursued. He was hit twice more in the leg before he finally identified his attacker.

Away from the bluffs that had been shielding it from the oncoming storm, a lone bloatfly struggled to fly towards him against the wind. Getting his gun out, he tried to fire the weapon but it hurt too much to hold the pistol and pull the trigger at the same time. He switched to his non-dominant hand as the rain began to fall. Holding the gun clumsily, he aimed and fired. His first three shots missed, so he decided to hold the gun with both hands. He took the time to steady the gun with his injured hand—no easy feat with his body shivering and trembling from a combination of the wind and rain, his injuries, and fear. He squeezed the trigger but heard his gun go off before he felt it kick. The bloatfly burst apart upon impact, its remnants disappearing in the darkness. His hands dropped to his sides. The bloatfly didn't seem to have any friends backing him up and for that Declan was thankful. Still, he wasn't sure what to make of his last shot. Raising the pistol up close to his face, he turned it to the side as he examined it. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw someone standing in the trees. He lowered the gun and squinted in the darkness. Lightning flashed again, confirming that he was alone. Dismissing it as a radiation-induced hallucination, he opted to take the route that offered him some reprieve from the wind. He started up the narrow road that passed beside the bluff. The road was steep and he struggled to go up it, but he couldn't stop—not until he had shelter.

The wind beat against him, forcing him to shield his face from the onslaught of stinging rain drops. His leg felt like it was on fire and running uphill only made it worse. On the side of the road sat another bus. It was more damaged than the first bus he'd encountered, but it would do. He hurried up the stairs and fell when something caught hold of his foot. He landed on something that rapidly collapsed under his weight, leaving him sprawled across the bus's gritty floor. He cried out in both pain and alarm, and yanked his foot back so hard that he sent the skeleton he'd tripped over flailing down the steps of the bus. Lowering his pistol, he cried, relieved that it hadn't been another ghoul. He trembled as he tried to calm himself and get some semblance of composure. The skeletons scattered around the Commonwealth bothered him. Many of them were people who had died alone and were then left alone. No one ever found them or disposed of their bodies. He didn't want to end up another nameless skeleton for people to kick aside and ignore.

He scooted back until he was beside the driver's seat, closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of the rain pounding against the roof of the bus. The rain had blown in through the broken windows, but for the most part the center of the bus was staying dry. Just as his heart rate was starting to slow down, the skeleton of the bus driver tumbled from the seat and fell down across his lap. His eyes snapped open and he gasped in surprise. He frantically shoved the skeleton onto the floor and then kicked at it until it lay in a crumpled heap of loose bones partially encased in a tattered blue uniform. It was difficult to see much of anything in the bus, but he could make out the shape of the object that he'd fallen on. Keeping an eye on the driver, he carefully reached out and took hold of the object. It was surprisingly light despite its size. His fingers slid across its rough fabric exterior until he found a place where the fabric was torn. He pulled it back and the entire top opened up. He'd fallen on top of an unlocked suitcase.

Intrigued, he propped the top up against the side of the bus and reached inside. There was clothing of some kind, a squishy plastic bag of liquid, what felt like another pistol, some loose ammunition, and a long tin can. He snatched the can up quickly. It was far too heavy to be potato crisps—it had to be purified water. It would appear that his luck was turning around. His fingers frantically searched the suitcase for something to open it with. Finding something metallic, he grabbed it. He slid his thumb over the top and it fell open. He didn't have a can opener but he did have a lighter. Striking his thumb down, he lit it and looked around.

The bus driver lay in a broken heap by the wall and a second skeleton lay further away. He looked down at the can of water in his lap. For the moment, pain wasn't the most dominant thought in his mind. Peering back into the damaged suitcase, he could see a pink and white checkered shirt, clean pants, some rad away, another 10mm pistol, 12 rounds for it, and a handwritten note that read simply, Courtesy of the Minutemen.

Declan frowned. There had to be a way to get the can open. The rain began to let up as a bolt of lightning illuminated a dark green sky. For a moment, he could see that the back half of his bus was missing and that the only protection the old pre-war automobile was affording him was partial shelter from the wind and rain. He flipped the lighter closed and tucked it into one of his coat pockets. He had water, he just couldn't get to it. Maybe his luck wasn't changing for the better after all. Reaching out with his good hand, he caught some dripping rainwater in his palm and brought it to his lips. He closed his eyes and listened to the thunder. It sounded different but he couldn't quite explain how. There was a certain energy to it that he recognized as the ominous precursor to radiation storm. After everything he'd been through, he hoped the rad storm wasn't too severe.

A water droplet ran down his forehead and along his nose. He wiped it away with his right hand and then tucked the stiff and injured hand close to his body. His cap and coat were soaked but he didn't dare remove them. As much as he wanted to pull on the dry shirt, it simply wasn't worth the risk of not having the protection his coat provided him. He wondered how dry Kat and Gus were at The Slog. He didn't care how badly he hurt or how many skeletons he had camping out with him, he still felt safer on his bus than he did surrounded by those ghouls—mostly. Pressing his back against the driver's seat, he laid his pistol across his lap and retrieved the bullets from the suitcase. He carefully loaded his gun as he watched for threats through the large opening in the back of the bus.

His head felt fuzzy and numb and his stomach was twisted in a nauseated knot from pain, fear, and radiation exposure. He turned the can over with his good hand. There was a chance he could puncture it with his knife. He held the can weakly. In order to puncture the can, he'd have to have the strength to actually drive the knife through the lid. His eyes fluttered closed as the fuzzy feeling grew stronger. The storm raging outside certainly wasn't helping. Every bolt of lightning seemed to irritate his physical being. He might have been going a bit crazy but he was starting to believe it was actually making him feel even more ill. He slowly slid his thumb back and forth across the side of his can of purified water as he drifted off.

Over in Sanctuary, the people played baseball. They played under the glow of construction lights, on a makeshift field that sloped down to the wall along the Concord River. General Luke Miller had created the field as a way to distract himself after the Minutemen took down the Institute. Initially the settlers were skeptical, but they quickly took to the game and it became the most popular way to unwind after a long day of working on the settlement. Usually Luke played with them, but tonight he was preoccupied with a pesky wiring issue.

Wearing little more than a tattered t-shirt and jeans, he sat up on the roof of Jun and Marcy's house and reworked the line that went to the security light on their carport. Jun sat beside Luke, holding a lantern so that Luke could see what he was doing.

"Keep an eye on him, Jun!" Marcy called from the house. "One mistake could send this whole place up in flames. This old wood is kindling and we're the farthest house from the river."

They were hardly the farthest house, but Luke let it go, too preoccupied with his work.

"I think he knows what he's doing," Jun called back down. "He did a pretty good job with the rest of the place." Jun offered Luke an apologetic smile, a smile that Luke saw often from him. "You know Marcy means well," he offered. "Its just that this is our first place that's ever had this much electricity, and with the baby—she's paranoid."

Luke grinned as he worked on the wiring. He understood and was glad Jun appreciated what he'd done with Sanctuary. With structures already in place, clean water had been his first priority. It hadn't taken long for the hand pumps to get overwhelmed by the demand of new settlers, and their weak output wasn't worth the pain of installing them, so Luke had started building industrial sized purifiers out on the river—with Sturges' help of course. Before he knew it, he had a water surplus large enough to fund the repairs and reinforcements to all of the surviving houses, the construction of new houses, stores, a health clinic, a bar, and a bath house with functioning shower stalls. It was a far cry from how things had been prior to the Great War but compared to life almost everywhere else in the Commonwealth, it was paradise.

After the raiders started snooping around they installed street lights, security lights, and backup generators in the event the main generator ever went down. They'd built walls and defenses, workshops and furniture, and if Piper and Curie had their way, they'd be building a school in the very near future. He'd built and maintained equipment during his time with the military and he had spent the past year and a half applying everything he'd ever learned to his settlements and teaching skills to as many settlers as he could. Luke had never been one to brag, but he'd created quite the able-bodied work force and he was quite proud of what they'd accomplished.

"Still, keep an eye on him," Marcy told Jun. Luke grinned. She was almost as bad as his mother-in-law had been. Almost.

"I don't really know what I'm watching for," Jun confided in him. "I don't know how to do any of this stuff. I wouldn't know if you were messing something up or not."

"That's why I've got you up here," Luke told him. "You're going to learn. Next week I'm going to put a pair of lights at the north gate. I want there to be more coverage for our guys coming over the creek. You're going to help me do it."

"I don't know that I can."

"I have faith in you, Jun," Luke said as he tightened the last of the screws and connected the security light to a power source. The light jerked to life and began shining it's light along the street and the fronts of some of the other houses.

"There we go!" One of the settlers shouted from the ground down below.

Walking out to the edge of the carport's roof, Luke and Jun watched the ball game from above. Luke still wasn't sure how comfortable he was with the settlers playing a lot of night games, but he was fairly confident that the turrets they'd put on the concrete platforms both in and along the river, would provide a decent amount of protection from most threats. Someone got a solid hit down below, and he watched with great amusement as one of his plaid-clad settlers ran to first, taking the bat with them.

"He's supposed to drop that isn't he?" Jun asked. Luke smiled and nodded.

"Drop the bat!" Preston called out from the audience. "You're supposed to drop the bat!"

Luke sat on the edge of the carport, letting his legs dangle. Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He was so thankful for the peace that they were currently enjoying, it was nice to have a break from the almost constant fighting he'd experienced when he'd come out of the vault. Something happened below and he could hear a chorus of laughter. He didn't open his eyes, he didn't care. All that mattered was that his new family was safe, accounted for, and thriving—and in a place like the Commonwealth, that was an amazing thing. He opened his eyes and gazed out at the cloudy sky. In the distance, he could see flashes of lightning from an approaching storm. Silhouetted against the flashes of light he could also see a vertibird. It was hardly an unusual sight—the Brotherhood had stayed around even after the Minutemen had destroyed the Institute. They claimed they were gathering lost tech but truth be told, most of the stuff that they got they had received from him after the Minutemen made copies of it. Things that couldn't be copied, like equipment, were just stored away without the Brotherhood ever realizing that the Minutemen had possession of it.

He'd gotten word that a vertibird had gone down around Taffington and the Mystic River. He'd given the order to take West Everett Estates and eliminate the Super Mutant threat there, and while he'd been a bit uneasy with the order, Ronnie had assured him that their Minutemen were up to the task. Based off the reports he'd gotten, she was right. It was nice not having to lead every mission himself, even if it felt a bit odd to hand over the leadership position in the field. Someday he'd learn to stop doubting that woman.

He scooted off the edge and dropped down to a stack of storage crates below. Shoving his screwdriver into his handmade tool belt, he offered Marcy a small, cautious smile as he walked past her and crossed under the carport. To his surprise, she looked up from the newborn she was nursing and gave him a thin, ghost of a smile in return. His smile broadened but he didn't let her see it. He wouldn't want her to start thinking they might be friends or anything.

"Hold up," he said as he walked over to where Shaun was up to bat. "Here, stand like this," he adjusted Shaun's legs, "and hold your bat like—no, not like that," he laughed. "Raise this arm up some and keep a firm grip here," he adjusted the boy's stance. "And when you swing, don't let go of the bat this time okay?"

"Okay Dad," Shaun smiled.

Luke stepped far out of the way and watched as Shaun swung at a wildly thrown pitch. They were all so bad at the game, but they were having a blast playing it. The sound of the vertibird's engines grew louder as it circled Sanctuary. Luke looked up and watched as it landed on the old foundation he'd long ago designated as a helipad. Leaving the game, he made his way past the backyard gardens and over to the helipad at the end of the loop. As expected, Danse was already there. Preston followed him, but hung back and observed.

Luke watched as a soldier in power armor disembarked from the vertibird and stood at attention. He couldn't make out their rank due to the darkness and distance, but he assumed they were a Knight. They were followed by Elder Maxson. "This looks important," Luke said under his breath, this was the first time he'd ever seen the Elder off of the Prydwen.

They stood where they were and waited for Maxson to approach them. Danse went to attention but Luke did not.

Danse glanced over at him. "As a member of the Brotherhood—"

"He made it abundantly clear that he does not want me to be a member of the Brotherhood. He doesn't give me missions, he usually doesn't even acknowledge me," Luke reminded his sponsor quietly. "Besides, I'm pretty sure that technically, being in the Brotherhood while also being the General of the Minutemen is some kind of conflict of interest, and honestly, I'm not sure how I'm supposed to handle this situation."

Danse frowned. "For the most part both groups want the same thing."

"For the most part," Luke conceded. He knew, that unlike Maxson, Danse didn't want him to leave the Brotherhood of Steel. "Elder," Luke greeted Maxson.

"Knight Miller," Arthur spoke dryly.

"Around here, you should address me as General."

Maxson scowled but nodded. "General," he corrected himself in a low gruff voice.

So far the initial interaction had been a tense one. Still, Maxson was talking to him and that was huge progress compared to how things had been since he'd opted not to include the Brotherhood in his plans to infiltrate the Institute.

"So, what do you need? If I recall correctly, the last time we spoke, you told me that you would send for me when you needed me. The fact that you came in person instead of sending a messenger tells me that you need something very important."

"I assure you that the matter is of grave importance," Maxson answered. A bolt of lightning snaked its way across the sky.

"We'll talk in my house." Luke led the way down the road not waiting to see if Maxson approved of it or not. He walked briskly but it didn't take much for Danse and Maxson to catch up to him. The baseball game had come to an end with the vertibird's arrival and it was probably for the best because the storm was rapidly moving in. Settlers watched from the safety of their homes as the wind picked up.

When they arrived at the house, Luke pushed open the door and allowed Shaun and Dogmeat to go inside first. Despite the house's rough exterior, Luke had put a lot of work into the interior. Shaun hurried down the hall with Dogmeat following him excitedly, but Luke stayed in the main room and gestured to the furniture he'd rebuilt from scrap.

"Have a seat," he told Maxson. Not bothering to wait for a reply, he went to the iron cook stove in the kitchen and checked on the radstag stew he'd left in a covered pot. On the counter, a small radio played Skeeter Davis. He switched it off and watched the young Elder as he looked around the house. Danse and Preston followed them inside, but remained quietly next to the front door.

"I see you found your son," Maxson stated. "He looks a lot like you."

Luke nodded. He'd never be able to tell Maxson the truth—there were days he still struggled with it himself. The only member of the Brotherhood who knew the truth about Shaun was Danse, and that was only because Luke was trying to use the Paladin's attachment to the boy to eventually break the news about Danse to Danse himself. Truth be told, the Minutemen discovering the similarities between Danse and one of the rogue Institute Synths had been one of the main reasons Luke didn't hand over his information from the Institute in the first place. Their suspicions had been confirmed with the help of the enhanced VATS program on his pipboy, and it was in that moment that Luke opted to keep Maxson and his ship full of scientists, scholars, and soldiers as far away from his new best friend as possible. It had angered Maxson and frustrated Danse, but so far, it had kept Danse alive.

Shaun came back into the room and smiled shyly when everyone in the room stopped to look at him. Luke fixed him a bowl of stew and placed it on the island in the kitchen. "Do you want any?" he asked Maxson. He wasn't surprised when the Elder declined his offer. "Help yourself guys," he told the others as he fixed his own bowl. Carrying the bowl over to the couch, he sat down. "Hey Shaun, would you mind getting drinks?"

"No problem, Dad," Shaun smiled as he got up and went to the pantry.

"So tell me, what was so important that you came to talk to me in person?" Luke asked Maxson.

"We've lost a Squire," Maxson told him.

Luke hesitated, his spoon halfway to his mouth.

"What exactly do you mean by lost?" Danse asked quickly.

"Which one?" Luke inquired.

"Squire Declan. He's missing. He was on a training mission when his vertibird went down."

"When—" Luke started.

"Where did it go down, Arthur?" Danse asked.

"Over the river between Taffington Boathouse and West Everett Estates."

Luke watched as Maxson spoke to Danse. Despite Danse's involvement in helping the Minutemen takedown the Institute, Maxson didn't seem to be holding it against him. It was frustrating. Luke had enjoyed being an active member of the Brotherhood, and he didn't like being an outsider. "So it was that vertibird that went down in the Mystic," Luke spoke up.

"Is that why you authorized that attack?" Danse asked.

Luke nodded. "So long as the Brotherhood is fighting to make the Commonwealth a safer place, they are fighting on the side of the Minutemen. And anyone attacking a Brotherhood outpost or patrol will be dealt with the same way I deal with those foolish enough to attack a Minutemen settlement, checkpoint, or patrol." He stared Maxson in the eye. "I still consider us brothers, even if you do not. I had my reasons for taking on the Institute without you. If you were being honest about really caring for the people of the Commonwealth then you wouldn't let that come between us." He smiled when Shaun brought him some water in a chipped coffee mug. A loud crack of thunder startled Shaun, making him jump. Luke reached out and took hold of the boy's arm. "We'll head out at dawn. It is getting late and it is storming. I'm exhausted. I'm no good to Declan if I'm too tired to travel, let alone fight to protect him. You can bunk here for the night. There's room for your Knight and your Lancer in the bunkhouse by the landing pad. In the meantime, I'll have Preston contact Castle and put out an alert. I have Minutemen and Settlers all over that area. If anyone finds him before morning, they'll let us know."

"I appreciate your assistance," Maxson told him.

"Next time, don't wait so long to ask for help," Luke stated. The overhead lights dimmed but they didn't go out.

Preston put his bowl down and walked over to the front door. He pulled it open just enough to watch the rain pouring down and then looked back over at Luke.

"Yeah, yeah, you and rain. Run fast and maybe you won't get wet," he teased.

Preston shook his head as he held his hat securely to his head and slipped out the front door.

Luke went back to eating his food. "I'm not going to lie, I'm a bit surprised you're hanging around. I never thought I'd end up going on a mission with you. Are you sure you don't want any food? It's good. If you're going to be here all night, you're going to need to eat something" he told Maxson.

Maxson declined with a subtle shake of his head. The room was plunged into an awkward silence, so Luke just focused on his food and tried to look as if he were oblivious to The Elder's discomfort with being there. Shaun took off down the hall and returned a few moments later holding a laser rifle.

"Where did you get that?" Luke asked.

"I made it earlier. It is for you," Shaun smiled.

Luke sat his mug down and took the rifle. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the craftsmanship. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Maxson lean in a bit to get a look at the weapon as well.

"Do you like it?" Shaun asked. "Maybe, if you don't need it, you could sell it to someone else."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Luke told him.

Shaun smiled broadly. "Good. It's to keep you safe when you have to leave me. I don't like it when you leave me. But people need you. Just, just make sure you don't forget about me."

Luke stood up and pulled him into a hug. Sometimes Shaun's sentences sounded like a computer regurgitating its information processing out loud. "I would never forget about you. Not even the Institute could keep me from coming back to you. Never forget that." Was his attachment to the synth child healthy? That was debateable. Did he care? Not at the moment.

Shaun hugged him tightly and then took a step back. "I'm going to go read that book Nat gave me."

Luke nodded. "Go ahead, but take that stew with you. You need to eat." He waited until Shaun was in his room before looking down at the rifle in his hand. He turned it over, examining it again.

"What were they teaching children in the Institute?" Maxson asked.

Luke shook his head as he ran his fingers along the barrel. Had Shaun been an ordinary child he would've been shocked and impressed that he could build laser rifles at all—let alone laser rifles that appeared to be this sturdy and precise. But Shaun wasn't an ordinary child and had obviously had some questionable weapons manufacturing skills programmed into him. It was a little concerning. His thoughts about Shaun led him to thoughts about the settlement children old enough to use guns, which in turn reminded him that the Squires were sent out unarmed—also concerning, but for entirely different reasons. "Why aren't the Squires armed when you send them out into the field?"

"Because that is the regulation," Maxson said flatly as he stood.

"But why?" Luke pressed. "If you teach children how to properly handle firearms, you can trust them—"

"No you can't."

"I'm not saying give them a gun to have on them at all times, I'm not even saying you have to give them a powerful gun, but I had a BB gun when I was eight. My Dad was taking me target shooting and hunting when I was ten."

"This is not up for debate, General."

Luke stood up and placed the rifle on the island counter in the middle of the room. He was pleased that Maxson used his appropriate title even if the tone suggested he was irritated with him—again. "What, did the Brotherhood suffer some terrible tragedy because they allowed one of their Squires the ability to defend themselves once upon a time?" Luke pressed. He could tell Maxson was very irritated with him, but there was something else in his expression, was it embarrassment? "Did you accidentally shoot somebody as a Squire?" he teased. Danse shot him an exasperated look but he ignored it.

"Twice," Maxson admitted with some difficulty.

Luke had been about to say something else, but the Elder's unexpected confession stopped him short. There was a Brotherhood regulation barring Squire's from carrying firearms because the great and magnificent Elder Maxson accidentally shot two members of the Brotherhood as a child?

Maxson walked around the island and studied some pre-war photographs Luke had framed and hung on the wall. Despite the intensity of his gaze, he didn't really seem to be processing what he was looking at.

"They're mine from before the bombs fell. I had them buried in a time capsule. My wife's younger sister was still in school. It was a class project kind of thing," Luke told him. "That's uh...That's her. That's my Nora," he told him. "Us with the house on the day we bought it." He cautiously approached the much younger leader. He'd seen this type of tense body language before in other soldiers during war and in his settlers after particularly harrowing days. Not wanting to provoke anything, he kept talking casually. "That's me and the cat. It wasn't even white but that didn't stop Nora from naming it Sugar. She said I could never turn sugar down. ...She was right, the cat got to stay."

"I shot Sentinel Lyons while out on a training mission. It was just a flesh wound the first time but, the second time… She was Elder and she insisted on going out into the wasteland. We were on a patrol. It was an accidental discharge. I was bored and playing with my weapon..."

Danse looked up quickly, realization flashing across his face. "But the reports said Elder Lyons died in battle."

"Elder Lyons died due to an incompetent Squire's negligence," Maxson growled.

"But the reports—" Danse insisted.

"I thought the Brotherhood didn't keep secrets," Luke interrupted.

"The reports were falsified to protect the parties involved."

"Namely you," Luke interrupted again.

"Namely me," Maxson acknowledged him. "I plunged the Brotherhood into years of turmoil and weak leadership because I was a Squire not ready for the responsibility of having a firearm."

Silence filled the room as Luke looked over at Danse. He certainly hadn't expected that kind of admission. Danse appeared to be speechless and grappling with what to say. The howling of the storm grew louder as Preston opened the door and slipped back in. His coat was drenched and water ran off the brim of his had. Making sure the door was secure, he removed his hat and hung it on the hat rack.

"An announcement will play hourly about the lost Squire until we recover him," Preston told them as he walked back to the island and picked his bowl of stew back up. He pulled the stool around so he could eat and face them, and then sat down. He looked around the quiet room. "What did I miss?"