"It is a pleasure to meet you, Arathinien An-Gelethen," Inric says, trying to maintain a calm, even tone. Nothing to see here, nothing out of the ordinary at all. "Oh, um..." the young man is understandably somewhat taken aback. Inric succeeds in wresting the dagger from his nephew and tucks it under his own tunic. "This is my uncle," Anvar says, not really managing to hide his own resentment. He is ostentatiously rubbing his wrist. "I am Invarioneth Sey-Jiyaranis," Inric says, and for a moment feels like he has signed his own doom by saying his name in the clanhold. But nothing happens. "If I am not mistaken," he continues, pushing the feeling away, "you are named for a kinsman?" Anvar gapes at him. "Oh yes, did you know him?" Arathinien is all smiles now. "He fought in the war. He died four years ago from the lung fever. But it's an honour to bear such a worthy name."