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Bored of the adults' conversation, the small child slipped out of his father's lap. Possessed by the urge to wiggle, he didn't seem to notice his father's anxious glances his way, afraid of them both being kicked out of the important meeting, or the mixture of amused and displeased (mostly displeased) glances from the older members of his house as he began to wander.
He wandered to the outskirts of the room, beginning to run his hands along the carved stone walls of the room, walking quietly from corner to corner. His hands and feet occupied, he occupied his mind with thoughts of earlier that day, when his father had allowed him to play with the paints and a spare canvas in his studio whilst he worked. He'd made his own masterwork of little handprints in different shades of blues, whilst his father had continued to add details to a piece of him held in his mother's arms.
When thoughts of all the different colours and paints hidden away in father's studio began to bore him too, he turned back to the rest of the room. Scanning the backs and faces of the adult Baenres sitting around the table, his eyes landed on the one sitting near the end of the table, leaning back in his chair with his ankles and arms loosely crossed. Uncle Jarlaxle.
He liked Uncle Jarlaxle, more than his other aunts and uncles. He was so much less uptight than the rest of the adults, always greeting him and his father with a smile, willing to indulge in a little bit of childish whimsy with him. And he dressed in more colours than the small child had ever seen before, minus his father's collection of paints, with his shimmering cape and big feathered hat. He had yet to shout at or threaten him to keep him in line too, like his other aunts and uncles did. He was so unlike any of the other Baenres in the room, the child had always been drawn to him.
Quietly, he appeared at Uncle Jarlaxle's side, tentatively tapping at his thigh to get his attention. His uncle glanced down at him with amusement twinkling in his uncovered eye, a small smile playing across his lips. His uncle reached up, removing his captain's hat and placing it on his nephew's head. Too big for him, it slid down over his eyes, and he heard Jarlaxle chuckle as his little hands reached up to push it out of his face.
Across the table, his father and mother both grimaced.
"Szorn. Come back here, please," His father hissed quietly.
Jarlaxle waved a hand dismissively, "Relax, Naviidi. He's not bothering anyone."
Jarlaxle reached down, wrapping an arm around his nephew's waist and hauling the child into his lap. He leaned in to whisper in his ear.
"Sit quiet with me, hm? You're making your father nervous."
Szorn nodded to him silently. The movement caused the hat to fall back over his eyes again. Again, Jarlaxle smiled, and reached to right the hat himself.
It would still be hours before the meeting was over, and Szorn resigned himself to settle in on his uncle's lap, resting his cheek against his chest. Soon, the boredom turned to crankiness, which turned to tiredness. Eventually, the child slipped into a nap, curled up against Jarlaxle's chest.