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The man’s hand was raised just above shoulder level, palm outward. Virtus took it as a greeting. “Virtus, Virtue; son of Fidus, Trustworthy,” the man said, and Virtus furrowed his eyebrows as he sorted through the string of words. “I am Nithel, son of Father.”

Aren’t most people sons of their father? Does his father not have a name? Or is he like Rebere? Virtus offered a friendly smile, noticing the way the man stepped slightly in front of the other. Were they brothers? They didn’t look especially alike, but Nithel certainly acted like a protective sibling. A slew of words escaped his mouth on accident. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, but I don’t know the meaning of Nithel. Does Virtus really mean virtue? I was always told it meant strength.” He shrugged. “And yeah, Fidus means trustworthy. Or stalwart. Or pretty much everything else like that.” He laughed a little. These people didn’t need an up-tight soldier, especially if he wanted to get some information from them.

The man lowered his hand, giving Virtus a look the soldier couldn’t quite interpret. Confusion, maybe?

Virtus took a seat on a nearby windowsill, trying to look relaxed. He scanned the room once, not making eye contact, just assessing the present situation. It was a habit he kept trying to make less obvious. Drawing his attention back to the two young men, he offered a cheerful grin and locked eyes with the younger brother. The lad’s eyes were frightened, but Virtus could see he was doing his best to keep his chin up. Better play it gently. “Are those books? If you don’t mind my asking, what are you reading?”

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