[h2]The Soldier[/h2] 
[hr] 

Hand resting on his sword hilt, Meldyr strode through the halls of the manor. He stood tall, feet moving in practiced unison while the heavy steps of his military-grade boots announced his arrival to any who were near. If one were to stop and look at him casually, they'd think he was handsome (albeit unkempt) if not for the very grave and daring gaze he would give any who attempted to draw his attention. It was not long until he made it to the feast, the guards standing at the ready outside the halls. 

"Men," he said curtly, giving them a nod. He wasn't one to be overly malicious to those under his command. He'd been an underpaid soldier himself for more years than he was comfortable with. But he was still firm, and he'd allow no slack, particularly not now. He hesitated and gave the soldiers a look, but whatever clue that might have given away the substance abuse Pieter had seen earlier was lost on him when he heard a crash in the room beyond. 

Without another word he stepped into the room, hand no longer resting on his sword hilt, but gripping it. That is, until he saw it was merely Lucien making a scene. He glanced to and fro around the room, as if he was trying to gauge an enemy's strength in a subtle manner, and not in a room full of supposed friends. 

"Lord Lucien," he said, his strong voice cutting through the silence that had followed the tossed blade, eyes intent upon the younger Delorano. "Perhaps we should wait for Nalia before we...discuss matters."