In the commotion and clamor of the storm that was the baron's decree, Sylvain struggled to remember what happened next. He could barely recall the moments after the explanation on the strange devices the baron gave him, they felt far away like the fleeting memories of a dream. As if they may have occurred to someone else and he was only watching through their eyes and had not been able to properly experience them. The young man remembered the words of the Lord Mayor and various faces- one's that Sylvain was positive he was supposed to remember the names of. There wasn't much else besides a feeling of complete loss, but not grief: the loss of control. He was adrift in a storm, not in the calm waters of the lakes and swamps near Careaux but the terrifying and massive Ocean of Mirrors that lay far beyond the South.
Sylvain was a fisherman. A Careaux boy, a common-as-dirt marshlander from the Isles, and not some mage- some noble mageling that was plucked from obscurity by the Lord Mayor. This has to be a mistake. A tragedy for the Baron when he realises, but that is not for me to worry about. I will be sent home soon and this will all be just a funny story I can tell my friends. Friends. Friends, but not his family. Sylvain was raised by the community, his mother passed away when he was young and his father was some traveler that had gotten her pregnant before leaving as fast as he could. At least, that is how it was always explained to Sylvain by others. His mother, when she was still alive, said his father was a good man. A great man, that would come for him one day. He believed it when he was still young, but after she left him and no one special came to her funeral he gave up on such foolish notions. The explanation from others in Careaux, while not a traditional comfort, still made him feel better than the idea that the man that sired him might be dead himself and unable to come find him. Now he knew more of the truth, if the Baron is to be believed.
A bastard sure, Sylvain knew that he was one. He even jokingly wore the badge proudly- 'the most handsome bastard in Careaux' -was the half-sarcastic moniker he called himself amongst his pals. With the community rallying to ensure he was raised well, and him not being the only bastard in town, it never seemed like much of a burden. This was despite the common beliefs that might be associated with the term here in the 'true society' the baron was so proud of. Sylvain had more questions than answers after all was said and done, but he had little time to consider them as the rest of his morning was exceedingly busy. The day was spent being ushered around by servants and brought to various members of the household staff, where he was introduced and then handed off to one after another. Most notably Mr. Evaird, the under-butler, who accompanied Sylvain from the beginning of the day and made polite conversation with him and corrected any of his mistakes with an understanding smile.
"Sora Chateau, that's the estate's name, is rather large for that of a barony's lord when compared to the noble's in the country-side or even the lesser cities along the River Bright."
Sylvain was curious why the man would tell him this, but after navigating twisting halls and going up certain stairs only to descend others to reach seemingly hidden destinations within the grand home it became clear.
"Mister Evaird, do you know what is going to happen to me?"
Sylvain eventually broke after the second fitting for formal clothing and accouterments and decided to try and get information from any who might have it, but only Mister Evaird would look the young man in the eye. The kind under-butler became the primary target for Sylvain's information campaign, yet the slightly older man did not seem to mind the pestering in between the various visits to this or that location or person within the estate.
"Truthfully, Master Sylvain, I do not know what will come of you. As you have heard from the gossip, you are not the first of the late Lord Leon's progeny to be brought to the house to meet with our Lord Leblanc."
"How many were there?"
"I don't believe it would be wise for me to share, perhaps when you are more settled and we both know what your future will entail we can discuss this. I do believe it would be rather unfortunate for you to hear it from the servants rather than the household. However, if the gossip about such events reaches your ears, return to me and I shall do my best to explain."
"Thank you, Mister Evaird."
"It is my pleasure, Master Sylvain."
The circuitous route throughout the grand estate, Sylvain learned to officially be named Chateau de Sora, took the majority of the remaining daylight to be accomplished. It was a rather late dinner that Sylvain received, long after being groomed and fitted and flaunted to others throughout the various rooms and halls of the Baron's Manor. A rather lonely affair, it was a single chair and table at the foot of an enormous bed in his new room. The bed itself dwarfed the entirety of the fisherman's personal lodgings back in Careaux, but it felt so empty to him despite the furnishings and artistic decorations.
Before settling for a meal Sylvain looked into his reflection in the dressing room attached to his bedchamber, gazing into his reflection and not quite recognizing the man that stared back at him. His previously curly and messy hair was trimmed and styled just below his ears and his clothing was finer than memory served. But those bright eyes betrayed any hope it could be a window that Sylvain gazed into. How many times will I ask what I am doing here before I get tired of the question going unanswered? I can't imagine the ones that came before me were quite as uncomfortable as I, as I'm sure they were at least those from wealthy homes based on the details I was able to extract from the assistant butler. My heart has been hammering away at my chest all day so lets try and enjoy this meal and afterwards some sleep.
Sylvain was for the first time without any servants standing over his shoulder or watching from the corner of the room since his brief meeting with the Baron. He slowly ate, mechanically lifting the food from his plate with a glazed look in his eyes. It was a pleasant surprise that the food was very reminiscent of his home. Perhaps a bit spicier than what he normally preferred, but it was still the staple of his home and he transitioned from mechanical movement to the slight urgency of hunger in the face of a good meal. Right as Sylvain could feel the stress bleeding out of his stiff shoulders, the door to his suite was shoved ajar and two teenagers entered his quarters.
He could, like with the Baron upon reflection, see hints of his own features in them. The young man seemed to have a great deal of similarity in the wideness of jaw but lighter and straighter hair than Sylvain. They shared the same bright blue eyes and sturdy build, but like most men he was taller than Sylvain. The young woman, Sylvain imagined to be newly within or approaching adulthood, stood slightly farther back and had darker eyes than himself but with more similar hair than the young man. While the gentleman wore a neutral expression, stoic like the Baron's, the lady was clearly between being annoyed and sad. As tension slowly built it was the man who broke the silence. Shattered it even, with the sentence he spoke in a somewhat mocking lilt.
"So you are meant to be our brother."
The man spoke the words like a curse, and Sylvain had to force himself not to go slack-jawed at their utterance. Brother? Is this some sort of a prank? Why would the Baron need me if my father had legitimate children? The fisherman was reeling, but took a deep breath and tried to approach the situation like he really had done some harm to them. Sylvain would certainly be hurt to learn his mother had other secret children at their age, or at least he imagined so. He gave a somewhat sad smile and nodded before speaking.
"Good evening, I am Sylvain of Careaux. I am sorry about all this, I don't really know what to say." Sylvain knew he had fumbled a bit, but kept going in hopes of making an impression that wouldn't be bad. He knew that the household wouldn't like him but hoped he could at least leave these two with an understanding that he wasn't here to do them any personal harm. "I suppose I should start with: It's nice to meet you both?"
The young lady's frown slowly morphed into an expression of incredulity, perhaps at Sylvain being somewhat soft spoken and appearing genuine in his empathy. Her brother shared no such confusion, and he frowned at the words. Sylvain was standing at this point, the food forgotten in the stress of an impromptu meeting he was being subjected to. Right as the seconds of silence began to enter the territory of intense discomfort, the young man spoke again with a bit more malice dripping from his words.
"Sylvain of Careaux," the man seemed to taste the words and decide they weren't to his liking. "Surprisingly, your name doesn't match your peasant marshland accent. That is in the Vermilion Isles, yes?"
Sylvain shifted his eyes, taking a glance at the speaker's sister as he prepared an answer. Right as the brother finished posing his question, her brows furrowed and she opened her mouth as if to speak then quickly closed it with a frown. She turned her head and looked to her brother, perhaps to give a knowing look, but the young man was oblivious to it. Sylvain cleared his throat and adjusted his new shirt, the clothes that were previously only slightly uncomfortable when compared to his normal attire now seemed to be strangling him.
"Yes, it is in the Isles. A smaller village, or cluster of villages really. Lots of fishing and hunting, ehh, not much else."
"Oh," the man seemed to perk up at the mention of hunting. "What type of game is there out West?"
"For the most part in my area boar, alligator, beaver, or water birds. We have had the occasional bear wander into the region, and a few times a pack of wolves might cause trouble and we have to pick one off or scare the entire pack away."
"Bears and boar sound interesting, what about the alligator if they are in the water can't you just have them shot?"
Sylvain's gaze flickered back to the sister, who was clearly becoming annoyed by the conversation. He wanted to shift the topic or perhaps ask her why they came but felt the need to answer the younger man's question before attempting to speak with her. He was still quite nervous, and was sweating like he was outdoors as opposed to the comfortable and cool interior of the estate. Her eyes locked on his own for just a second, and he could almost swear they were daring him to keep talking about hunting- but he decided to answer the young man anyway.
"Well, we trap them or hook them first but we do shoot or impale them. We don't really use the rifles of the militia or army, our village has only a few of them and we keep them for something larger that might wander in that we can't hunt through normal means. Or if the rare bandit makes their way west, but that hasn't happened since I've been hunting and fishing." Before further mention of wild game could occur, he turned to look at the young woman who had begun to tap her feet impatiently. "My lady I-"
"Brother," she spoke, cutting off Sylvain in address to the young man beside her. "We need to go. Mother is expecting us and we weren't supposed to leave her waiting. You will have plenty of time to get to know our" she flicked her eyes back towards Sylvain for just a moment, her expression subtly darkening "our brother."
The young fisherman opened his mouth, unsure of what exactly he was going to say. He was prevented from being able to when a voice, slightly higher than his own but still with more depth to it than the young noble in front of him, called out sounding somewhere between annoyed and concerned.
"So what exactly are the two of you doing here instead of having dinner with auntie? Who are you speaking-"
A man that was incredibly reminiscent of the Baron stepped through the doors, the servants that Sylvain hadn't noticed were gathered right outside his room quickly parted as the noble made his way inside. Sylvain and he shared common features, not quite at the level of the two half-siblings he was just making the acquaintance of but still enough to notice if one paid attention. While taller and built more leanly than the other men in the family that Sylvain had seen he was still similarly dressed but more ornately fashioned. Sylvain thought that he was dressed as if he had just returned from an event or outing, but he could still easily make out the colors that the household favored and a similar style to the two younger nobles. His eyes started soft and caring, until he fully entered the room and noticed Sylvain standing awkwardly beside his dinner table. The man glared at Sylvain, face hard and voice firm, as he uttered a command to the two.
"Go to your mother, and don't step foot in this wing again without explicit permission from either myself or Lord Leblanc." His register went down slightly upon noticing Sylvain, and it stayed that way when he spoke up once more upon the servants and two younger house members scattering. A servant walked by, one dressed slightly more formally than the other, grabbing Sylvain's chair and placing it behind the man before exiting the room and closing the door. What kind of power play is this supposed to be?
Sylvain was amused at first, thinking that this man was more a less intimidating mirror of the Baron than anything else. His composure was solid and expression neutral as he locked eyes with the gentleman, but his mood slowly soured as the noble before him spoke.
"Sylvain, I want to make myself clear." He spoke each word with a pause, as if each was its own sentence and held impossible weight. It was still clearly a mask that the man was wearing, but as he went on the fact that it seemed a cheap intimidation of Baron Leblac couldn't prevent the young fisherman from feeling humiliated and berated by the words. "My name is Marcell Zepherin Savier Leblanc, the heir to the House Leblanc. I am not only the dynastic heir to this house, but I will take up the mantle of Baron and rule the Barony of Port Dusk as an honorable and respectable vassal to the Marquess Cavalier. I want you to ensure anytime you address me, think of me, or follow my instructions to remember this. Understood?"
By this point Sylvain was getting upset, not very much as even he knew that the man was within his rights to speak to him this way. It still grated on him, especially when it seemed like they were the same age and perhaps would soon be of the same or similar societal class. After a slight pause, Sylvain made to speak when realizing that it wasn't a rhetorical question but was interrupted just as the words formed at his lips by the noble heir continuing his diatribe.
"You are a peasant, raised to work the land in the distant villages of the Western Fringe," Sylvain frowned at the term but kept silent. "You are not educated in the ways that are acceptable amongst nobility. This means that until you are adequate in your understanding and behaviors, you will only be interacting with myself or the Baron. You are not to speak to my cousins in the manner that just occurred, I don't care if they seek you out. Say you are not ready to speak with" his eyes quickly flicked up and the peasant's frame "to speak with anyone educated or of true society and then relocate yourself."
The few remaining words, uttered from the mouth of Sylvain's cousin, did not register as they washed over him. With all amusement long gone, he stood in silence as he was chastised by his betters until he was eventually left in silence. He returned to his meal to find it had gone cold.