Linvin just stared at the gate. “That’s how we came to have the gate and this house,” he added.
“Your father did not stop there. He knew that society may have accepted him, but was still quite cold about his marriage to an elf. Jelena would not even go to social events, because of the disdain the bluebloods showed for her. Dirk would not stand for the treatment of his wife. He resolved that society in this town would revolve around his family, not the other way around. If people wanted his friendship and thereby his business, they would not only need to accept his wife but embrace her as one of their own as well.
“After you were sent away, Grithinshield Manor became Grithinshield Mansion and anyone who wanted to do business in this town, or this country for that matter, was required to bow to your mother as a noble woman of the highest rank and pay her homage.
“So you see, my boy, your mother only wanted to be a housewife and mother, then her son was sent away. After that, her home became the center of society. Now Dirk is gone and her son has come home to despise the life which she has been left to lead. She is alone, but surrounded at the same time. This is her chance to make the pretentious snobs of Fraylic acknowledge her as they did when Dirk was here.”
“I never said I despised anything,” Linvin defended.
“Your mother is no fool, Linvin. She is downstairs bewildered, lost and feeling quite alone at a moment when there should be jubilation in this house.”
Linvin hung his head until it contacted the sill of the window.
“How do you feel now?” asked Anvar as he drew on his pipe.
“Keep going,” Anvar urged.
“Like an ungrateful son.”
“You’re almost there,” urged Anvar.
“Like I should shut my mouth, go give her a hug and go along with her plan.”
“I think you’ve finally got the picture. Just make sure you do it in time to bathe before the tailors arrive.”
Linvin headed for the door and stopped a moment. “Those bath attendants mother mentioned, they wouldn’t happen to be female, would they?”
“Go!” ordered Anvar as he pointed to the door, “And have the good sense not to ask your mother that question. Remember, she still sees you as her twelve-year-old son. The carousel of possible brides she created for tonight was hard enough for her to handle.”
“You used to be more fun,” Linvin said as he exited the door.
Anvar once again drew on his pipe and then quietly murmured, “Times used to be much simpler.”