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The youth, mirror-image of his Father, wracked the depths of his mind for the good that had come since Hel's murder, in their own home...
So far, it felt like there was nothing...

"I cannot think of anything..." He sighed with defeat, lowering his head. 
After a time, he sought to attempt to re-direct, if only briefly "Mother seems hesitant to pick which of us will be Heir. We have all trained hard to be worthy of the title." 
He didn't intend to complain, only to state as he saw things currently; "I think I understand why she isn't hasty, especially after..." He left what he meant to hang in the air - Hel's death.
Clearing his throat softly, Lucius began to speak again with an inhale - when the fur along his spine rose - a surefire tell that he thought there was danger nearby. 

His eyes began to scan the terrain as his nose worked the air for a long silence...
"Do you smell that?" He rumbled softly, brows knit quizzically as he looked to Creole for input, to reach out - to assure he wasn't going insane now.