Aliases are alternative forms of a reference. They can include actual aliases for characters, nicknames, plural variations, gendered versions of some [Classes], and even typos.
Tyrion nodded at his second son, Hethon, who was perhaps fourteen. Hethon didn’t have the same sickly complexion as Sammial, but he was thin and nervous, hardly as imposing a figure as his father. Tyrion turned his head and his son breathed a sigh of relief. The [Lord] nodded and spoke in a crisp, commanding voice.
Tyrion nodded at his second son, Hethon, who was perhaps fourteen. Hethon didn’t have the same sickly complexion as Sammial, but he was thin and nervous, hardly as imposing a figure as his father. Tyrion turned his head and his son breathed a sigh of relief. The [Lord] nodded and spoke in a crisp, commanding voice.
Ullim stopped reading and Lord Tyrion looked at Hethon. In keeping with his nature, he did not reassure his son, but pondered the question as he would any military matter.
He slapped his knee and sheathed the dagger at his belt in a brisk motion. Hethon and Sammial watched their father, almost as fearfully as Ulliam. Tyrion strode towards the windows and stared out into the dark night. It was Sammial who asked the next question with all the recklessness of youth.
“The war was won by numbers and strategy, not the heroics of a single figure, Sammial. The Goblin King had not the strength to fight on so many fronts. Despite his hordes, he left himself exposed. Vulnerable. We could not defeat his main army so we crippled his limbs. We went after his Goblin Lords. Remember that, Sammial, Hethon. If a foe is too strong for you to take on from the front, bleed him to death.”
But as Tyrion Veltras sat in his war camp, listening to the rain patter down on the roof of his tent he spared a thought for his sons. They were young—of course, Sammial was eight and Hethon was…twelve? No, he would be thirteen now. His birthday had been two weeks ago.
For a second, all thoughts of war and plans vanished from Tyrion’s mind. He twisted in his saddle. Ullim was his [Majordomo]. Tyrion had entrusted the welfare of his sons, Hethon and Sammial to him. They were boys, too young to even become squires. Well, Hethon was not, but he wasn’t of the right temperament for that life. And Sammial was too wild, yet.
For a second, all thoughts of war and plans vanished from Tyrion’s mind. He twisted in his saddle. Ullim was his [Majordomo]. Tyrion had entrusted the welfare of his sons, Hethon and Sammial to him. They were boys, too young to even become squires. Well, Hethon was not, but he wasn’t of the right temperament for that life. And Sammial was too wild, yet.
Tyrion nodded. Ullim sighed with relief as he saw the [Lord] relax. Part of Ullim wished Tyrion took more of an interest in the other side of his class. Ullim was old, and he had known Tyrion growing up. He hoped he had the energy to raise the next generation of the Veltras family’s main line—Hethon and Sammial. They were young, but growing and lacked for a mother. A father too, at times. Tyrion tried, but like managing his lands, he had to know what was right first.
He struck forwards, bracing as he passed the training dummy. From his seat, Hethon Veltras, 1st Son of the Veltras name after his father, saw the [Lord] flick his lance tip up after he passed.
Hethon was thinner than his father. Less robust than the famed [Lord] who was, according to some lists, the second-best [Lord] in the world. Only—mentioning that would only make Tyrion unhappy.
