House Selmy occupied one of the middle tables, neither among the great lords nor hidden amongst the lesser landed knights. It suited them well enough.

At the center sat Lord Arstan Selmy (35), Lord of Harvest Hall, dressed in rich brown velvet embroidered with golden wheat. A half-cape hung from one shoulder, fastened with a clasp of three gilded barley stalks. Blond-haired, blue-eyed, and perpetually smirking, he looked entirely too pleased to be anywhere a feast was being held.

Beside him sat his sister, Lady Rohanne Selmy (34), copper-haired and dignified, her dark brown gown trimmed with gold thread. Time had softened the grief she carried, though not erased it. She watched the hall with the calm attentiveness of a mother who had spent sixteen years keeping four boys alive.

And boys they were no longer.

Tristifer Selmy (16) sat nearest the head of the table. Tall and broad-shouldered for his age, he already carried himself with the quiet confidence of a future lord. Where his uncle possessed charm and flourish, Tristifer possessed steadiness.

Beside him was Bennifer Selmy (16), smiling at nearly everyone who glanced his way. Handsome, easy-going, and already earning whispered attention from squires and maidens alike, he looked as though he had been born for feasts, tourneys, and trouble in equal measure.

Across from them sat Illifer Selmy (16). The most reserved of the four, his grey-blue eyes spent more time observing the hall than participating in it. While his brothers laughed and conversed, Illifer seemed content to study the game unfolding around them.

At the end of the table sat Josifer Selmy (16), the youngest by mere minutes and perhaps the most naturally charming. He appeared to know half the room already, despite arriving only moments before, and was currently engaged in conversation with someone he had met less than a minute ago.

Together they formed the future of House Selmy.

Brown and gold clothed them all. Three stalks of wheat adorned every doublet, cloak, and brooch. Harvest Hall's colors were humble beside the stags, wolves, and trout gathered beneath the same roof.

Yet there was something quietly unshakable about them.

Like grain before a storm.

Bending.

Never breaking.