The Surmount Butler ground his teeth. He had several layers of plans and time. As long as he had time, he could end up in the superior position. But the ex-lordling must know that also.

What angle could he possibly have? The child had come in here for another purpose...His faction's assassin was yet to be activated.

What had happened to the other assassin? In fact, who had gone first?

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Daniel glared, just briefly at the Surmount Butler. He was close to his aim, now. But if he pushed, the Surmount Butler may just stop playing.

Daniel considered the Lren Style Begging.

"The Lren Style." he began. "Ancient Style of actions and methods for dealing with others. Now it is just a set of movements and actions for Servants and courtiers, but it began as a philosophy."

The Butler glared. "Ancient History has no place here."

Time for a tiny poke. He stood upright but kept his feet in the position to facilitate the bow. "You have been a Surmount Butler for many decades. You know all the actions and the hows. But I find your lack of the Whys to be shocking."

"Those who are young should remember their manners."

"This humble servant apologies," Daniel said. "That is the Lren Style."

"That is basic Servant etiquette."

"And yet, it came from the Lren Style."

"You come into the banquet hall without invitation, without permission, without manners, at this time at night, to lecture me?" The Surmount Butler said, words sharp.

"I came...to improve myself."

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The Surmount Butler started to grin.

"You came here to flee your assassin, eh?"

The truth of that statement was strong across the Law of Fae.

"You came here to beg for protection, didn't you?"

The Lordling glared at him. Such as a haughty look for such a lowly Fae. The brat still considered himself higher up, like the great and the mighty.

What he didn't know, what he might never live long enough to realize. There was only one way to go. Big powers crumpled and were destroyed by even larger powers. It was a long way down to the desolation of being a Lowly, powerless Fae.

The Surmount Butler hoped, unreasonably and against his own best interests, that the brat Elswith did live through the night. That the brat would long enough to truly realize that he would never rise the ranks again.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

So (Name ) could personally watch those haughty blue-grey eyes turn lifeless. Not lifeless from death, but lifeless from regret and remorse.

The world steps over those who fall.

And sometimes, the world steps on top of them.

"So you came here to beg."

That clinched jaw on the Servant Branch's face. The stiffness in his unfashionably wide shoulders. The way his hands twitched.

"Bitter, isn't it? When salvation comes at the doorsteps of an enemy." The Surmount Butler tittered.

There was no need to give shelter to the former Heirling.

But there was also no reason to give the Victory to an enemy faction, no matter how aligned their current goals were.

Considerations. Considerations.

"Go ahead. Beg me. Use whatever you know from the Lren Style. Beg me to let you stay in this Estate."

The Servant went down in the proper Lren Style for Begging, however, he stopped at the beginning. One foot in front of the other, then down on both knees, head tilted at enough to expose the neck, one hand on the heart, the other touching the ground "Please. Do me this favor." the new attendant said, voice strained. Directly asking for a favor now. He was running scared. "Allow me to demonstrate my Lren skills."

With that clause, the little brat would sidestep most of the favor of asking to stay. That wouldn't do. "No. Beg me to allow you to stay here, because you are weak."

That shortest flash of hesitation. "This humble Servant..."

"Stop." The Surmount Butler walked around the room, standing tall in front of the kneeling Hall Attendant. A month ago the idea that this may happen would be laughable. Young Master Orville's playmate had grown first into a very strong Heirling, only to throw it all away. "What's your name? All day, "this humble Servant this, this humble Servant that." What is your harbor name?"

"Branch." The brat whispered.

"Branch. Branch of what house."

"Of no house."

"What tier of you?"

"Lowling."

"How does it feel, to be out of your own? No direction home? A complete unknown."

The Servant Branch looked at him, slightly breaking the Lren style, curiously at those words, before returning to looking at the ground. "That this Branch is known by the Surmount Butler is all the notoriety this humble servant needs at this time."

"Now. Beg me now."

"According to the Lren Style, this humble servant Branch, lowling, of no house, does..." The surmount Butler could see the muscles go tight along the fallen lordling's neck. "Please allow this Servant to perform my duty."

"Hmmm."

Considerations. Considerations. Allow the Attendant Branch to hide from the assassin, garner favor, or allow the assassin lurking outside to come in?

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He could see the Surmount Butler leaning his way.

"I beg you." he said, words like swallowing glass.

Begging.

It was bitter.

It was deeper than that. It cut him, he could not pretend.

Daniel had plans, dreams, and his true name.

And yet he was powerless.

To stand by his principles had cost him everything.

Just allow him to do the Lren Door Opening. Just that. Just his duty.

"No." said the Butler.

The game twittered at that.

Daniel almost fell.

He had done the thing. He had begged. He, the Lordling Heirling of the Red Sword, had begged.

He had begged.

The Surmount Butler grinned, dark teeth sharp. "How does it feel?"

The bindings enacted, forcing an honest answer. It was fast, but Daniel was able to still curb his speech, slightest touch on the tightening noose of magic. "This Servant..." he gritted his teeth as the knots grew tighter once more. "Feels like he has no direction home."

The Surmount Butler leered overhead, standing like a scorpion posed to strike.

"How does it feel? To be a complete unknown?" he leaned down, inches from Daniel's face. The smell of the Surmount Butler was that of old oil and dusted powders, sharp and yet coated.

Daniel felt like the world was falling away from him. He had said the words he was never supposed to say. He had begged. And perhaps now he was in more danger than before. The Golem had had no Authority over him.

The Surmount Butler did have Authority.

Music played in the back of Daniel's mind, a song growing. A song of mourning and scorn. "Like a rolling stone."