01-22-2012, 06:16 PM
There is something unguarded about Evelyn that he had never expected; out here she seems younger, not less dignified but somehow more human. He knows he should be flattered to be alone in conference with someone so far his superior, but- perilously, he knows- he finds himself forgetting that their positions are so ill-aligned. He respects and reveres his King, but while in Nicholas's company he does not forget himself and relax. He is the only courtier- if courtier he is- who can be relied upon to drink moderately and hold his tongue.
The Lords of the court call his mindfulness servitude. He has his admirers, as well as his detractors, and is kept well-informed of how his reputation stands. The more scornful caricatures cast him as a kind of mascot of the King's, a powerful, simple, tame animal. Some conceal their own flattery, casting Wolfe as his namesake, or as a tame wild beast, while others see him in a less charming array, as a dray horse or other mulish and heavy-bodied beast. He is not entirely averse to this portrayal, irked though he is to be the subject of scandal. He aspires to be single-minded and loyal and strong.
What they think of as slow-mindedness is not an inability to adapt; it is an unwillingness to surrender integrity. He knows that his refusal to scuffle or slander or drink too much makes him unpopular, marking him out with great inaccuracy as ambitious and scheming. He does not court their favour, and is not pained when they withhold it. Their anxiety around him is the anxiety of morally pliable men around the incorruptible. More than one has tried to exert influence over him, assuming that because he is not a wealthy man a bribe will be irresistible to him. Those who bear a particular grudge are those who have been turned down, in no uncertain terms. They fear him speaking against them, fear his influence with the King, and know that he has a short temper and a fomidable sword arm.
It is respect, of a sort.
Something changes in his face when Evelyn talks about Liatto. He has strong feelings about what went on, and is not entirely proud that he restrained himself from dealing a blow to more than Liatto's pride. He doesn't like to hear Evelyn speak of it, and gets to his feet, needlessly agitated. Perhaps he misunderstands her motive for saying so, mistaking idle speculation with something more profound. He frowns. “He should. As for the others, they say that good men have nothing to fear.”
For the usually taciturn Wolfe, this is tantamount to a declaration. It is also very nearly anarchic, coming from the lips of a serf's son, a bonded man at least in rank. He is aware he has overstepped the mark, and shakes his head sharply at himself. This is what he feared; that he'd get too comfortable with Evelyn's easy way, and give away too much.
Thankfully, he is distracted by the team of horses stirring dust to the East, back towards the castle. He turns his eyes as Evelyn does. Ever the soldier, just their presence is enough to put him on alert; he glances around, and quickly remembers himself and retrieves his sword-belt, hanging on a tree. He would be mortified to admit it, but the sword-belt and his weapon are a comfort of sorts. He has developed an anxious habit- as all warriors eventually will- of running his fingers over the pommel of his blade when he is uncomfortable, reassured that he could draw at any moment. Business calls, at the castle.
Not, apparently, right away. He takes a seat obediently enough beside Evelyn, although he is distracted, his mind at the castle. He is anxious that Evelyn will be disturbed by proceedings, anxious that things will not go the King's way politically... anxious that it will be a threat to his own position.
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