Just as the elder described, a brief trek over a northern slope revealed a humble manor atop the next hill. The closer they got, the more the weathered limestone brick and dust stained windows were visible. A dried up moat surrounded its premises, the wild grasses having long reclaimed their beds, and the serene hum of the breezy hills made the parapets whistle a hollow tune. The solid oak doors loomed over the two men as they approached.

“What in the devil is that supposed to be?”

“I believe it’s a lion.”

“Hm,” Lee conceded, rapping the tarnished doorknocker,”Think they own one?”

“Do you ever think before you speak?”

Lee snorted as he knocked again, the echo of the thunks bouncing sharply off the surrounding hills without answer. Just as he made to suggest they climb through a window, however, a pair of small hands creaked the door open an inch.

“Oh! You’re that kid from before.”

“I’m not a kid, thank you,” a flute-like voice snapped, the cautious crack of the door abruptly opening wide,”I’m the lord of the manor!”

A child in mud clad trousers scowled up at them, lip puckered and hand resting on an exaggerated hip. Shaggy, straw colored hair threatened to grow over his eyes, but the most noticeable features of his face were bright, orange stains spilling from the corners of his lips onto his pale, red cheeks. Lee did his best to not let his own flush in dread.

“I-I see. Does this lord have any parents on the premises?"

Folding his arms, the bite-size lord eyed them up and down, lingering a moment on Donovan,”Who’s asking?”

“Your prince,” Donovan deadpanned, his tone lacking any of the singsong indulgence Lee offered to the child’s charade. It was effective enough to make the young lord falter, but once he recovered he put on a sour face.

“That’s impossible, none of my vassals told me anything! Prove it!”

Big words for such a stubborn mite, Lee thought, his brow twitching with Donovan’s to the challenge.

“How would you have him prove it?” he queried, doing his best to hold up his civil persona.

The child chewed on his cheeks as he thought it over, eyes lighting up suddenly as he blurted out,”Do you have a sword?!”

“Wh- Of course he has a-”

“No.”

Lee whipped his head around with a dumbfounded look on his face, What the hell are you doing?

Seeing a rapier blatantly resting on Donovan’s hip, the kid sniffed in disappointment and pouted,”What kind of prince doesn’t have a sword?”

“The fifth son of King Elmond kind. Where is your father?” Don delivered, his demanding presence only digging the child’s heels deeper into the dirt.

“I’m not supposed to let strangers into the manor.” he said matter-of-factly, their stalemate electrifying the air between them.

“Oh for the love of- here!” Lee drew Donovan’s sword for him, a sound of protest from the prince too late as it was handed to the child. Eyes as large as dinner plates, he took in his treasure with an amazed ‘wow’, pudgy hands tracing every swivel of the hilt. As he was distracted, Lee scolded his companion accordingly:

“What are you, five?”

“I refuse to be bullied by some kid.”

“Bullied? Are you kidding me? It’s just a sword, Donovan.”

“No, it’s my sword, and I don’t appreciate you treating it like a toy to hand out to any snotty brat that asks.”

“You really are the youngest child, hm?”

Donovan glowered, and Lee pat him on the shoulder with words of reassurance his weapon would return as they returned their attention to the task ahead.

“So these parents of yours, young lord?”

Without looking up, the boy turned to lead them down a dark, columned entry hall,”You can call me Lord Callum!” The sword proved too heavy and too long for his weak stature, so the sword’s tip dragged on the floor as he walked. Lee chose to look ahead rather than dare acknowledge his companion’s glares.

Just as the outside was somber and forgotten, the interior of the manor was also left to neglect. Puddles of wax were caked under unlit candelabras, their charges having long ago burnt out without replacement. The only light lent to the space was from the grimy windows they had seen outside, casting everything in sepia sunlight where it could flood in from open hallway doors. It was no surprise to see cobwebs sagging in the far reaches of the ceiling- a suitable manor for a ghost town, to say the least.

After ascending a set of stone stairs to the second story by the lead of their gracious host, they were met by another closed, wooden door. The boy slowed to a sheepish pace.

“I’m not allowed in my father’s study.”

“Aren’t you the lord of the manor?” Lee teased.

“Not of that room, I’m not,” Callum shifted foot to foot, “you have to knock first, but he doesn’t always answer.”

Donovan looked to Lee, who shrugged, so he rapped a curt knuckle thrice against the solid timber. At first, there wasn’t an answer, but the clink and roll of glasses muttered from behind the door, then a voice.

“Callum! I told you,” the door swung open with a jarring screech of the hinges,”don’t bother if the sun isn’t up!”

Sunlight made the man wince, askew straw hair matching his rumpled clothes. Seeing his company, he made a meager attempt at hiding the liquor-littered writing desk from view.

"Oh. I'm ah...not seeing company, my lords," he threw an accusatory glance at Callum,"you’ll have to pardon the inconvenience, I'm-"

Scratching the back of his neck, Callum's father floundered for an excuse, but ultimately puffed out a defeated sigh,"quite busy."

"I can see that. I imagine you have time for your highness in your schedule, don't you?"

"You- he-" slicking his hair back, the man gaped, reassessed his company, then cleared his throat,"I- I suppose I do! My, my deepest apologies your highness, my vassals didn't tell me anything!"

Lee 'hah'd at the familiar words, but Donovan’s frown never eased.

"Why is the town dying?"

No tact!

Blood drained from the lord's face, but he chose to introduce himself first,"My name is Lord Eduin," a shaky hand was raised before it corrected into a bow,"W-why don't we take this to the salon...Callum?"

Callum, adopting his dad's uneasiness, rushed the way to another room. He held the door open with a new stiffness to his posture, his free hand gripping Donovan’s sword tight.

"No servants or maids to do your bidding?"

A grim smile,"I'm afraid they left with my wife."

"Ah…"

As the boy closed the door behind them, Lord Eduin encouraged them to choose between a dusty, velveteen divan or well-loved loveseat overtaken by Callum's wooden toys. They both declined. Donovan, again, took the lead.

"Tell me how it started."