The Harroway Family's Dinner

Chapter 7: The Harroway Family's Dinner

The grand dining hall of the Harroway estate, though not as opulent as some of the neighbouring noble houses, still carried an air of dignity. Its stone walls, lined with tapestries depicting the family's modest history, echoed with a quiet sense of nobility. A long wooden table sat in the centre of the room, illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of candles suspended from an iron chandelier above. The usual servants moved about, carrying trays of roast meats, vegetables, and freshly baked bread.

Alden sat at the far end of the table, his mind distant, his eyes flicking from one detail of the room to the next. The wooden grain on the table, the fine embroidery on his mother's gown, the soft rustle of fabric as his siblings settled into their seats. It was as if everything had taken on a new clarity since his reincarnation, but his thoughts were far from the usual noble conversations. His mind hummed with ideas of selective breeding, genetics, and the grand vision he'd had in his dream.

But tonight was not about the future. It was about the present, and Alden knew that his family had begun to notice the change in him. It was only a matter of time before they confronted him about it.

His father, Lord Eamon Harroway, sat at the head of the table, his greying hair neatly combed back, and his expression as stern as ever. Though their family held noble status, they had long been overshadowed by wealthier and more influential houses. Harroway lands had been struggling with drought, and the family's influence had diminished in recent years. His father, ever pragmatic, had been focused on maintaining what little power they had left.

Next to him sat Lady Elara, Alden's mother, a woman of quiet strength with warm brown eyes and a gentle disposition. Though she rarely spoke during family meetings, her keen observations were always present. Alden could feel her gaze on him now, concerned, probing.

To Lord Eamon's right sat Alden's older brothers. Edmond, the eldest, was tall and broad-shouldered, his face chiseled with the features of a man destined for leadership, though he had always lacked the subtlety for it. Next to him was Gregory, the second son, known for his quick wit and sharp tongue. He was more politically savvy than Edmond, though his ambitions rarely stretched beyond their small estate. Neither had ever paid Alden much mind, save for the occasional jest about being the "forgotten" third son.

But tonight was different. The room was filled with an odd tension, and Alden could sense the growing curiosity directed towards him. The recent weeks had not gone unnoticed. His absence from the usual frivolous pursuits of noble life, his strange focus on the fields, the odd discussions with farmers—it was clear that his family had begun to wonder what had caused this change in him.

Dinner began in silence, as it often did. Plates were filled, wine was poured, and the occasional clink of silverware echoed through the hall. But as the main course was brought in, Lord Eamon cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

"Alden," he began, his deep voice cutting through the air with a measured tone, "you've been spending quite a bit of time away from the estate these past few weeks."

Alden looked up, meeting his father's gaze. He had been expecting this.

"I have," Alden replied evenly, setting down his fork. "I've been working with the farmers."

This admission was met with silence, save for the soft clatter of Gregory's fork falling to his plate. The room seemed to still, all eyes now on Alden. His family had long viewed the estate's farmers as little more than labourers, useful for managing the land but beneath their attention. The fact that Alden, a noble son, had been working among them would naturally raise questions.

Lord Eamon frowned slightly, his brow furrowing. "And what, exactly, have you been doing with them?"

Alden took a breath. He had known this conversation was inevitable, and he was ready for it. "I've been helping them implement techniques to better manage the drought. We've been using methods to conserve water and improve the quality of the soil. More importantly, I've begun a project of selective breeding with the crops—choosing the strongest plants to cultivate seeds that are more resistant to the dry conditions."

Edmond, who had been quietly cutting his meat, set down his knife and leaned forward. "Selective breeding? You've suddenly become an expert on farming now?"

Alden's gaze remained steady. "In a way, yes. I've studied biology and agriculture in my time away from courtly matters. The techniques I've introduced are based on principles of genetics—an understanding of how plants pass on traits from one generation to the next."

Gregory smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Genetics? And you think the peasants care about… what? Passing traits? Shouldn't we just be hoping for rain?"

"There's more to it than waiting for luck," Alden said firmly, his voice calm but insistent. "We can shape the future of our crops. We don't need to rely on unpredictable weather if we breed plants that can thrive in harsher conditions. In time, we could improve not just our yield, but the entire estate's prosperity."

Lord Eamon leant back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "This… selective breeding. It sounds like a slow process. How do you know it will work?"

"I don't," Alden admitted. "Not yet. But I've seen the early results. Some crops are already showing more resilience. It will take time, but the potential gains are enormous."

Lady Elara, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke, her voice soft but filled with concern. "And is that why you've been so distant, Alden? You've barely spoken to any of us in days. It's as if you've become… someone else."

Alden paused, sensing the deeper concern in his mother's words. She wasn't just worried about his new pursuits—she was worried about the fundamental change she saw in him. And in a way, she was right. He was different now. How could he explain to them the depth of his transformation, the knowledge and purpose that had come to him since his reincarnation?

"I've been thinking a lot about our future," Alden said carefully. "Not just for the estate, but for all of us. This world has more potential than we've realised. If we embrace new ideas, new ways of thinking, we can rise above our current situation. The drought isn't the end—it's an opportunity."

Gregory snorted, leaning back in his chair. "You sound like one of those philosophers from the capital. Always talking in riddles about 'opportunity' and 'potential'. What's gotten into you, Alden? Since when did you care about the future?"

Alden met his brother's gaze with an intensity that silenced the room. "Since I realised that if we don't change, we'll lose everything."

The table fell quiet again, and for a moment, Alden wondered if he had pushed too far. But then, to his surprise, Lord Eamon nodded slowly.

"You may have a point," his father said, his tone thoughtful. "The drought has weakened our standing. If what you say is true, if you can improve the land… then perhaps this is worth pursuing."

Edmond's expression darkened. "Father, are we really going to entertain this? Alden's been out playing in the dirt with farmers, and now he claims he can save the estate?"

Lord Eamon silenced his eldest son with a raised hand. "Let him try," he said simply. "We've nothing to lose, and if there's even a chance this could work, it's worth it."

Alden felt a surge of hope. His family might not fully understand his vision, but for now, he had their tentative support. It was a start.

As the conversation shifted to more mundane topics, Alden allowed himself a small smile. He would need more than just their approval—he would need funds, resources, and time. But this was the first step.

And with that, the seed of his future had been planted.