A week later, a swift coastal sailing ship flying Greenvein City's Thornflower crest slowly drew alongside Pier Three at Minas Tirith Port, guided by a pilot boat.
Veylin stood on the pier, the sea breeze stirring the hem of his flax-colored coat. Behind him stood an honor guard in neat ranks, along with townspeople who had rushed over at the news and were craning their necks to watch.
The gangplank was lowered, and a party of people dressed as nobles disembarked.
Count Lyman led them, wearing a black formal suit, his expression unreadable.
Close behind him was a middle-aged noble whose face bore some resemblance to Veylin's, though his manner was gentler and more refined. He was Veylin's father, Baron Carman.
The last to disembark were two young men with complicated expressions. They were Veylin's two elder brothers serving in the army, Matthew and Samuel.
They surveyed the port their younger brother had supposedly built with curiosity and wariness, their eyes full of wonder.
"Father, Uncle, brothers." Veylin bowed slightly.
"Mm." Count Lyman swept his gaze across the pier.
Newly built jetties, towering crane booms, laborers laying a stone-paved road in the distance, and uniformed City Hall officials maintaining order everywhere... everything was orderly and brimming with vitality.
Baron Carman's face, meanwhile, was filled with pride and emotion. He patted Veylin's arm, momentarily at a loss for words.
"This... is even better than I imagined." The eldest son, Matthew, finally could not help murmuring. He had expected a filthy, chaotic frontier fief, not a bustling town already taking shape.
"Come. Let's look at your farmland first." Count Lyman clearly had little interest in these surface details. He cared more about the foundations of a fief.
Their four-wheeled carriage left the port and traveled east along a newly built dirt road.