Page 61 of Bound By Blood
But these aren't random strangers seeking charity. They're allies who fought beside human defenders, families who've already proven their willingness to live in harmony with former enemies, children who represent the future we're trying to build.
"The practicalities require discussion," Father says finally. "Housing, provisions, work arrangements, integration protocols. Complex matters that demand careful consideration."
"Of course." Beric's diplomatic training serves him well. "We ask only for the opportunity to prove our worth through honest labor and loyal service."
Movement catches my attention as Drokhan approaches from the direction of his war-band's camp. Even in this crowd of mixed refugees, his presence commands attention—the way people automatically create space for him to pass, the subtle deference shown even by proud warriors like Gathak.
"Chief Drokhan," Father acknowledges formally. "Your counsel on these matters would be valuable."
"Lord Edran." Drokhan's response carries the measured respect of one leader addressing another. "I have observed these refugees during their journey. Their conduct honors both human and Orc traditions. They prove cooperation serves all peoples better than conflict."
"And their loyalty? Their intentions?"
The question is loaded with implications about trust, risk, and the price of extending protection to desperate people. Drokhan considers carefully before responding.
"Children who share bread with former enemies do not plot betrayal. Warriors who bleed defending refugees do not harbor malice. These families seek what all families seek—safety for their young, purpose for their strength, hope for their future."
His words carry the judgment of someone who's spent three months observing these people under the most stressful circumstances possible. If Chief Drokhan of the Stoneborn Clan vouches for their character, few would question that assessment.
"Very well," Father decides. "We'll establish temporary housing in the old garrison barracks. Food and basic provisions until more permanent arrangements can be made. Lord Beric, we'll discuss integration details tomorrow."
Relief washes through the assembled refugees like a visible wave. Children who've learned to hide their emotions finally allow themselves to smile. Adults who've carried impossible responsibility for weeks finally permit their shoulders to relax slightly.
"House Thorne's generosity will be remembered for generations," Beric says with genuine gratitude.
"House Thorne honors ancient traditions of sanctuary and hospitality," Father replies, then adds with pointed emphasis, "We trust those traditions will be respected by all who benefit from them."
The subtle warning doesn't escape notice.We extend protection, but we expect appropriate behavior in return. Step carefully.
As the refugees move toward their assigned quarters, I catch Drokhan's eye across the courtyard. He gives an almost imperceptible nod of approval, acknowledging the small victory we've achieved. One battle won in a much larger war for acceptance and change.
But even as servants bustle about preparing evening meals and arranging bedding, I notice the way certain household members watch the proceedings with obvious disapproval. Sir Avery, our chief household guard, keeps his hand near his sword hilt despite the peaceful nature of the gathering. Master Willemwhispers urgently with other senior staff, their expressions troubled.
Not everyone embraces change.
The reckoning comes after evening meal, when Father convenes an impromptu council in the great hall. Sir Avery stands at his right hand, flanked by Master Willem and several other household seniors. Their arrangement makes clear this isn't a casual discussion.
"Lady Eirian," Father begins formally, "your recent experiences have obviously influenced your perspective on traditional policies regarding Orc relations."
Traditional policies.A euphemism for generations of mutual hostility, border raids, and reflexive hatred. I straighten in my chair, drawing on every lesson in diplomacy and courage the past months have taught me.
"My experiences have shown me that traditional approaches no longer serve anyone's interests," I reply carefully. "Continuation of old patterns will only perpetuate old suffering."
"And you believe accommodating Orc refugees represents a viable alternative?"
Sir Avery steps forward, his weathered face tight with disapproval. "My lord, with respect, housing armed Orc warriors within our walls poses obvious security risks. What guarantee do we have of their true intentions?"
"The same guarantee we have of anyone's intentions," I answer before Father can respond. "Their actions over time, their treatment of the vulnerable, their willingness to honor agreements and build trust."
"Pretty words," Master Willem interjects, "but history teaches harsh lessons about trusting natural enemies. The Church itself warns against?—"
"The Church teaches mercy and compassion," I interrupt, feeling heat rise in my voice. "When did those virtues become conditional on heritage or birth?"
"When survival becomes uncertain," Sir Marcus replies bluntly. "My lady, you've been away for months. You've seen only what they wanted you to see, heard only what they wanted you to hear. How can you be certain you haven't been deceived?"
The accusation hits like a physical blow.Deceived.As if my judgment, my experience, my transformation mean nothing. As if months of shared struggle, mutual respect, and growing love could be dismissed as elaborate manipulation.
"I've seen Orc warriors die protecting human children," I say quietly, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I've seen human mothers nurse Orc infants. I've seen enemies become allies through shared purpose and mutual respect. If that represents deception, then perhaps we need more of it."
