Lisa picked up her bag and gave Conan a sad look. "Will you never be able to forgive me? You see, I know I'm beautiful and I love using it. You were the first to allow yourself not to be excited about what I was doing, and it infuriated me... But now that you've been defending me after everything... You're probably the first real man I've ever met."
"Then try to be a real woman, too," Steven suggested.
"I'll try, Callan, really," Lisa promised. "But, tell me, couldn't we become friends again?"
"Maybe," Conan tightly smiled at her. "It's up to you."
When Conan got home, an enraged Callan's father was waiting for him there.
"Since when have you started sticking your nose into my business?" he shouted. "And how did you get there at all? You put me down as the ultimate idiot, bloody wimp, you can't even imagine what my conversation with the boss was like after that! You can't imagine what a decent job is at all! Everything you have, you own, thanks to me, remember it, you, you, the miserable twat! And for you to remember it well, schmuck, I'm going to give you a thorough lesson not to go where you're least needed."
John Winterfell took a step towards Conan, his hand balled into a fist. He coiled back and lunged, his fist aimed at Conan's jaw. The boy calmly repelled the blow. The father hit again, Conan blocked it again. Having failed several times in an attempt to beat up his son, Mr Winterfell surprised blurted Conan. "What the hell, what does that mean?"
"I'm sorry, Dad, but I'm not going to let anyone beat me, not even you. And as for the event in the woods, I happened to be there purely by accident, I swear to you at the flag of Danvegen that it would not happen again. Can you calm down and talk without anger? It would be time to realize that I had grown up."
John stared at his son, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. Anger, frustration, but something else… respect. He looked silently at his son, who had blocked all his most famous blows and was now maturely explaining how they should have behave.
"You know, something weird seems to happen to me, I'm starting to respect you," Callan's father muttered. "Do you want a drink?"
Conan, sensing a shift in his father's demeanour, relaxed. "Yes, please. With pleasure. And I wouldn't refuse to bite anything either. Especially that wonder-delicious plant you call a potato."
Callan's mother, when she came home, found Conan, Steven and her husband together emptying a bottle of whiskey and discussing various fighting techniques. "I see, you finally get along well," she smiled with a twinkle in her eye.
"Yes, I hadn't noticed yet that my son had already grown up and become a real man." John taking a large gulp of whiskey declared. He then poured himself another drink and reached for Rose's glass, filling it with whiskey as well. "Join us, love."