Just shy a few years, even, and at some stage he started not aging as well as he was, so it's a difficult thing to determine, exactly, how old he might be, apart from any evidence of the war still being a thing freshly ended. Closed up like a clam right now, of course, pulling on his resources to withstand even polite study as he takes a sip of alcohol, swallowing down the burn of it and flicking a mildly confused glance towards the book lying at LeMat's elbow, before familiarity flickers. More than likely, he has a copy of his own in the manor's library.

Back home. "You should try Kozlow. He reads less like pontification and doesn't use the word 'creative' in his titles. Where did you get such a thing?"

Lucius hasn't seen any artifacts of his world, here, but then again, he also probably isn't looking hard enough. Interest not in the book but in that potential tie back to the world he knows shows in the crack his aloofness takes, and that probably is a clue at least to how long he's been here.

Not very.