Wulfric opened the door.
Darion had seen Wulfric's face in many states over his time as Baron. Tired, focused, occasionally surprised and usually just neutral.
But the look on his face now was different. The man's face carried something he hadn't put there on purpose and couldn't quite hide. Sadness, maybe. Worry underneath it.
"Evening, m'lord," he said. "Welcome back."
"Where's Garren?" Darion said.
"Upstairs. In his room."
Darion went up. Seren and Vera stayed where they were in the entrance hall, not speaking. He didn't ask them to follow.
Garren was in his bed, which was already unusual. Garren was not a man who lay in bed unless he had no remaining option.
He was propped up against the wall with a blanket over him and his left arm bound against his chest with cloth that someone had wrapped too loosely and that Darion could see would need to be redone.
His face had that particular grey color that pain produced over a long period.
He looked at Darion when he came in.
