It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.
~Marcus Aurelius
He sat at his desk for some time- four hours, to be specific. The candles burned nearly to the end of their wicks, before he moved. “Are you well, m’lord?” I asked him, when I was sure he had gone the way of his lady wife. Quite mad, she was, quite mad. He seemed quite nearly on the brink of it, himself, as he stared at the papers unceasingly.
His answer was calm, as smooth as the silk on a Tubori dress–not nearly as transparent, however. “Quite fine, Reed, thank you,” he told me. “I just can’t stop wondering why things happen as they do. The Lord of the Springs guides us, and yet it seems we make some awfully big mistakes, sometimes.”
But a simple servant, at the time, I really didn’t know how to answer him. Lord Amdair had always been the sort of man prone to deep discussion, if given opportunity. I, however, preferred to keep my head down and away from any such matters. Easier not to offend, that way.
“I could’ve been King, I suppose, if things had gone differently,” he went on. With a hefty sigh, he consigned his documents to the flame. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I’ve no wish to sit that throne. It may as well be made of spikes.”
At this, I offered a question of my own. “M’Lord, isn’t His Majesty a friend of yours?” I inquired lightly. Ever helpful to know one’s master’s allegiances, I’ve always said.
Lord Amdair turned to face me, his face half-lit by the waning light from his desk. “He is, and yet he will be chiefly in my prayers, since he was unfortunate enough to -win- that throne.” he told me solemnly. “No easy job, that.”
I cleared my throat softly, committing that answer to memory–as one of Lord Amdair’s few servants in the city, at that time, it was my duty to assist him wherever called, not simply as housekeeper and butler.
My lord was not finished, though: “I’m almost confident I’ve made mistakes, Reed. Before, when I was at court. Perhaps even now.” he told me. The last paper of his nightly reading was gently picked up and held out to the candle. “I suppose this is a new beginning, of sorts, isn’t it? One without the elegance and grace of Charmaine’s court, and with more… gritty duty. There’s a lot of wounds to heal.”
The paper burned up quickly, once left alone; the ashes were swept aside into a disorganized pile on the floor, joining months-old dust and torn scraps of mail that hadn’t moved since the Lady stopped coming by.
“Reed?” my Lord Amdair called, as he rose to his feet and prepared to depart. “Send for a historian, if you would.” he requested. “Someone with credentials. I need to do some digging.”
