Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Forlorn Throne ❯ Changes ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: Forlorn Throne and all its content belong to me, Verity.

 

ï¢Dedicated to Roxanaδ

 

 

Chapter III

Changes

 

If you shall see him, turn your eyes away. If he shall call you, make sure to stay away. His voice of a siren, his touch that of seductive warmth, honey was his words. “What do you wish for, power, love, pleasure possibly? This shall all be yours, at your beck.” His voice a thousand whispers, tugging fingers that touched the flesh, breathe so warmly that it left the flesh aflame. “What is it do you wish? Never ending life?”

 

If you shall see him, turn your eyes away. If he shall call you, make sure to stay away. He is a siren, his voice resounding in the night. He is all and he is naught, he is true and yet false. Dreams follow at his heels, in truth he has the power to make all that you wish true. He will answer you, if you shall pray long enough, he shall even visit you in the flesh, or simply in your dreams more intimately with you. But know that if you shall accept his offer of well wishes, that you will offering your never ending servitude to his cause and being.

 

Writing on `Malevolence' Author Unknown

 

He arrived upon early morn in Haven, at the gates he was allowed in by an old familiar guard he had known for some time, the set of his jaw was grim and he bowed his head in consent gravelly, well knowing that Amyas must have been here for their king. The once enthusiastic attitude of Haven was now somber in a way, dark colors hung from tavern signs, merchants did not shout their wares as they once would have, children were kept inside and dogs that would have chased them lurked in the alley ways avoiding the trampling feet of all that wandered.

 

Many had come to pay their honor to King Uriel, a number of lords had crossed land and sea to pay homage to their late King and not just that, but many peasants have as well, for Uriel had treated all as his treasure, there would never be a man such as him, and they were right. How could such ill luck befall their beloved King when they most needed him? They had just broken free of Lord Geoffrey's terror and still sparse amounts of his men still wandered the land, raising battle skirmishes along their borders and terrorizing merchant caravans. In truth, the war was still not over even if Lihan did manage to thwart Geoffrey's attempt at settling a foothold on Achorn Hill.

 

Not only that. But those who had followed Geoffrey into the war willingly and posed themselves against the King were ostracized from the allegiance of those of the King and court. This left the land in an unsteady balance as the exiled lords searched for a semblance of loyalty for the throne. Once there would have been peace in this land, and it was such, somewhat, but after the death of King Uriel that was all thrown to the wind. Now the land mourned the loss of this great King for they knew not only that they would never have such a man as he but that there would be no peace in the land, unless his son, Norvelle, now Prince and King-in-Waiting can lift them from where they are now.

 

Those who knew Norvelle from afar doubted that he would. He was always a regal lad, an eye for the fine things and pleasures not only that but he was a cruel young man - Some even said that his mother was a viper because of it and in truth, she was, somewhat. She was a cruel woman, oft drinking far too much than she should and shaming herself in constant scandals and there were a number of rumors that she had partaken in a number of trysts with men. Now, such rumors would have taken question to Norvelle's bloodlines, in truth they did and he held no resemblance to the late King Uriel but many had said he simply held the looks of his mother more than that of his father and that was somewhat true. He had the golden tresses of his mother, curled and tumbling down to his shoulders, and the eyes of a clear lake in the midst of dawn, not only that but he held the sun kissed flesh of his mother that some would say was that of his father as well. But despite that, many had doubted that Norvelle could live to his father's expectations on the throne and much less, rule the land in a steady hand.

 

These were the thoughts that burdened him when he raised his head to find that his horse had been leading the way, it was a slow pace and that was more due to the overabundance of people than anything. So he swung down from the saddle and took the reins in hand and had begun to walk his horse at a leisure pace through the crowd. Many had cropped their hair low for the mourning, leaving only a mess of tousled hair on their heads, others settled to wear somber colors on their person. Guards patrolled the lanes of the serpentine cobble stoned streets, ushering them along, it was then that Amyas realized he did not know his true destination. He was to arrive at Haven, but what then? He was not told what else he must do but simply head to Haven and that will lead him onto his destiny.

 

So he continued, blindly mostly, his horse snorting behind him as the stallion swayed its great head to and fro to look over its surroundings, Amyas continued onwards thoughtful and sorted through his thoughts, his eyes taking in all the sights, much had changed in Haven…Too much had, he could hardly remember the last time he had truly laid his weary head in the guard barracks of Haven, the last time he shared a hearty meal and smiled, laughed even. It had been many years and too many days too count, war, it was too much and had spread along their land like wildfire. By the gods, he only wished to rest and lay his weary head in the hands of his woman.

 

* * *

 

His home had changed, far more than he had wished it to. He remembered days when he would be carried in a litter like a pup, feeding from his mother's fingertips whilst she scratched his stomach, sending him squirming in the piles and piles of rich fabrics as the world around them passed by with greetings and splendid murmurs. That was quite a pleasant life, wasn't it? Oh, he enjoyed it much and from then on things had always gone well, his mother was well respected, quite lovely indeed as well and so was no normal lass, no, not at all, she was something completely different. He had learned of what his mother was when he was of age and did not fault her for what she had done, for when she had him she had halted her ways and settled her life with what coin she had saved, or so she said, he was always curious as to what those strange messengers came with, she had always shooed him from the room like some unruly cub. Elandria, his mother, was a courtesan, no, not in anyway was she some low class brothel lass, she was for the noble born and not just for pleasures of the flesh albeit she did partake in such. She knew to read literature and recite poems and held the tongue of a story teller, she had the hand of a writer and the feet of a cat, lithe and graceful she was in her days, flesh of the white moon and hair as ivory as tusks. She was magnificent and splendid in her days, or so she told him constantly, that lords would challenge themselves just to have her upon their arm when they entered a ball and nothing else. But never did she speak of him as to who was his father, he decided it must have been some noble lad who had possibly paid enough coin or simply she had liked him but when she had grown round of belly he had wished nothing to do with her and did not wish to be abdicated from his power for siring a bastard on a courtesan. Or possibly she simply never told him? Always…Always she said, you would find out, you find out when you are old enough. Twenty-six summers, and he is not old enough? He scoffed at that thought.

 

Everything was changing much too rapidly for his tastes, no longer did anyone smile at him for a look of dismay and sorrow filled those of Haven, the King had gone to the other lands, to the skies above to share in the feast of the old kings, or so he was taught. His once splendid ivory hair was cropped down as his mother had instructed him to do so, parts of it came down to hair length and others well...It was tousled and unruly and usually his mother would have scolded him and rebuked him for such but she said nothing, she seemed stricken and ill as of late and it made him fear the worse. She had told him once that she met the King and that she had gone to the ball with him once or twice, or a number of times, she could not remember for her mind was growing much too old for her weary body that once could trot with the best of them on the marble grounds mind you! But she told him such splendid stories of her life, she had met so many of the noble born and had been graced with so many gifts that she had more than enough to share over a lifetime thrice over. But he wondered, as he sat here above the main square of Haven, on the balcony of the Inn, peering over the heads, a mug of wine in his hand, mulled and brooding as the dark mood of all around, his mind filled with sudden fearful thoughts of what might happen to his life for things changed much too rapidly for his tastes. He suddenly how would his life end if his mother had passed due to her ailing grief - He knocked on the wood of the balcony to ward off any ill luck at this thought. But nonetheless he wondered, truthfully he had never worked for coin for his mother, somehow, had more than plenty about the household and he was suspicious of that coin for he did not think it possible for a young lass to such so much as to last a lifetime, that was fairy tale talk! So he would have to work with his hands, not as if that was a nightmare or anything and he was sure that someone would give him a task or two, for many had loved him and - “Oh, Amadeus. You look so dark.” Elynor spoke as she wandered out onto the balcony to peer over the wooden railing to the many heads down below; it looked like a river of hair, flesh and clothes along with an unhealthy amount of gossip. He raised his eyes to Elynor. She was the serving lass of The Sylph, it was a cheap Inn and for that, many had visited it, albeit it was in a rather more poor section of Haven. She lovely and possibly the reason he had often visited, freckles danced along her nose, her smile was stunningly white. She was small and slender, her hair was braided and pulled back behind her head where it twined and fell to her back, and she wrinkled her nose at him as he eyed her and still smiled till it had begun to fade away. “What? Is there something on my face?”

 

He shook his head at her, smiling as he did some and set down his mug on the balcony railing before turning to her fully, one hand on the railing as he leaned against it. She was dressed in that commonly seen rough spun shift of brown, wearing doe skinned slippers and her skirts swirling about her legs, she was reaching up to touch her face and hair before he smiled and she dropped it away. “Shouldn't you be working?” “Not quite yet, I have a bit of a break for a moment and I decided to see what was troubling my Ama today.” She smiled at those words and turned to raise her elbows on the railing and lean her back against it, looking up at him but no words were exchanged. “So…Aren't you going to tell me?” “Tell you what?” “Ah, don't play such foolish things with me” She scolded him and he smiled, the fading sunlight danced lovingly on her hair, making it seem red and than the chestnut brown it actually was. “I've just been wondering” “Not over your mother again” “Just that” She let out a sigh and turned when he did, to look over the railing. “Things will be okay Ama, you know that Helm will give you a task here if you wished it, he loves you well enough to not let you go starving.” “I know” “And even then I will berate him till he does take you in!” Like always, she sometimes would continue talking without listening to a word he said, he found that he never minded, it actually made him smile to hear her threaten someone that she would never raise a hand to. “I know she had been growing old and weary as of late and the King's death has seemed to sent her in a dark stricken mood, I fear the worse” “Many do, our future is constantly an uncertain thing Ama, now, come now, don't look so down! Smile for me!” She commanded and he did and she laughed “Oh that looks so false it needs to come truly from the heart, like this, see? Splendid.” She smiled genuinely to him and they both laughed.

 

“Ah well, you're right.” “Aren't I always?” She pointed out and he turned to her just then when she embraced him roughly “Ah Ama, things will be alright, be sure to know I'll always be here for you and I'd let nothing horrid happen.” With that she leaned up upon her tip toes and pressed a kiss upon his cheek when Helm called out “Elynor!” “Break is over” She murmured and stepped away hurriedly before rushing off “Ely” “But she was gone and he could not say another word. He stood there quietly, her scent lingering in the air and he sighed, turning to his mug and finishing off what was left before deciding it was finally time to return home, for the moon was beginning to rise already, and the land darkening.

 

* * *

 

He had been founded by some lad he gave him a scroll, rolled and sealed and then had disappeared into the folk all around, he had spent some time trying to find the lad with no success and decided to finally unseal the small rolled parchment and he did. “The Sylph” was all that read and he stuffed it away into one of his saddle bags, he knew well that there was an Inn named the Sylph and that will mean where this message had intended him to travel to, but first to relieve himself of the burden of his horse, it wasn't hard to find a stable, it was just trouble finding one where his horse could be settled into an empty stall, after coming to a third one his horse had been taken in and promised that he would be cared for, sword belt at the ready and his pouch of coins stuffed away to keeping from being pick pocketed, he was off. It was late into the day when he had arrived at the sylph, it was a large place, and round, everything was. Down to the seats and tables, it was three stories tall, rather large for an Inn in such a run down place of Haven but it had received more business than most others for they sold ale cheap and their rooms near the same, for a few extra coins a bath would be included alongside such, as he was entering he had run into a young lad who seemed much in a hurry and a dark cloud hung over him, no doubt something troubled him and something in his lavender eyes reminded Amyas all too much of someone he must have known but it had been years the cropped hair had left his mind at a tangle, it was too late to ask anyway now for the lad was already gone, inside he was greeted by a young lass with lovely chestnut hair, much younger than he himself and was led to one of the tables in the corner where soon he was offered a mug of ale and he accepted gratefully as she went off at the Inn Keep's call.

 

So he sat and waited, his head a dull throb from the ache he had as he drank that watered down ale and then raised his eyes to look over all who were there. There were a few he spared him a glance and no doubt recognized him for being in the King's guard for some time, but that did not matter enough for any to pay him a call, he was thankful for that in a way. He wondered who would come to him, who speak with him and then he sat in front of him, Johan. The man leaned forwards, his face lined heavily with worry and quite the weary look upon him as he murmured quietly, pitched low for Amyas' ears only. “I apologize for such a way to bring you here, when I had gotten word you were in Haven I had a message sent to you in haste and somewhere set where no man would come in and listen in on us” Amyas listened quietly and said nothing, eyes downcast onto his ale, so, there was something going on in Haven and he grimaced at the thought that he had been being watched ever since he came in under the gates. “And what calls for such secrecy?” Amyas asked and Johan was going to speak but stopped when a lad set down a mug for him and went off, then he spoke. “Come with me, when I leave I will wait out back by the well, come in a few moments time so it seems we are not together.” With that Johan left a copper coin and stood from his seat and left and Amyas finished off his ale and in hopes of dulling that ache and to not waste such a wonderful mug of watered down ale, he drank off Johan's, switching the mugs so it looked as if were still on his first. When that was done, he left, leaving a copper in his stead.

 

He met him out back as he said he would, Johan was in the shadows and when Amyas stepped out into the moonlight and leaned against the well that no longer was in use he turned his gaze to Johan, who looked out into the dark alley that Amyas walked through just a moment ago. “No one followed you?” “No one” “Good.” Johan turned back to Amyas and stepped close. “The King has died” “So I've heard” “And you're here to pay him respects” “Something like that” Amyas smiled wryly “Well, whatever had sent you the inkling to return to Haven, thanks be to the gods for you could not have come at a better time.” “And why is that?” “I am not sure that you know but Norvelle has relieved all of his father's guard” “Norvelle? Only Uriel would be able to do such a thing. He relieved me I'll have you know.” “And so he did, but I believe it was Norvelle who moved his father's ailing hand.” Amyas grimaced at those words “Not only that, but we believe it is Norvelle behind Uriel's sudden illness and untimely death” “Now Johan, it is treason to speak in such a way” “And what will you do about it? Drag me to his guard and have Norvelle flay me and you for listening to such treason?” Amyas fell silent. “What proof do you have?” “None…As of yet, but we are working upon it, I believe the King was poisoned by the command of Norvelle's.” “Let it be Johan, you have no evidence of such and you will only receive lashes for this, Uriel treated us well, I doubt Norvelle would have wanted such old warriors anyway as his personal guard. Things are changing old friend and we must go with it.” Johan let out a frustrated sigh “And would Norvelle poison his father Johan? He is the only one with a claim over the Throne after his father, is he so impatient?” “Uriel was as healthy as an ox, Amyas! He would have lived well beyond a century if Norvelle waited.” It was true, Uriel had never been known to take to any illness, Amyas looked away uncertain and sighed, shifting to sit on the stone of the round well. “But that's not what bothers me Amyas…” “Hm? What is it?” He raised one brow and turned his gaze to Johan who took a deep breath and spoke.

 

* * *

 

Amadeus had spotted a familiar man on the way into the Inn as he left, he knew him by sight, he was apart of the King's previous guard and news had sprouted that Prince, or soon to be King, Norvelle relieved all of the guards of their positions, he didn't doubt that this man would probably drain away all of his final payment drowning in sorrow at a loss of what to do with the rest of their lives for there was nothing left for them but to grow old and wither away, a lamentable truth. But despite that, the man looked at him as if he had saw him before, it gave him an odd shiver down his spine like a cold hand but he paid no mind and hurried off.

 

It was dark, the moon had begun to pour along the clear streets and bathe it in its silver twilight. Just to think, only moments ago it had been so busy and packed, with folk hurrying to their beds as he did the same now, huddled underneath his cloak. And so he went, his feet carrying him ever so towards his home, he passed a number of folk, two young lovers hurrying to find their bed sheets and share in their love, a guard on patrol with a swinging lantern in hand. An old man sitting upon the tail of a cart while a younger pushed it along, the wheels upon the cobbled stones were an odd sort of music. Soon enough he had returned home, it was a larger place than was needed, especially since his mother had long ago relieved her servants except for Elyse, a wonderful lady who had oft helped in the care of his childhood and such things, he had reason to believe Elyse had been alongside his mother for much longer than she pretended to be, but no matter. She unlatched the door and walked inside, shutting it and latching it securely and setting down the bar, there was a lantern burning brightly, no doubt left for him, he took it down from its hook and wandered down the hall until he came across the main lobby. Two stories it was and a splendid place with a number of art works decorating the walls, the most splendid might have been the portrait that over looked the staircase in the main lobby, it was a landscape of some far off land that would have settled for a fairy tale no doubt. He wandered up the steps without another look back to the portrait, soon he came to her chambers, the master bedroom, with a balcony that looked out to the river that cut underneath the walls of Haven and separated this part of the city from the rest, it was a beauty of a view. Inside his mother sat on her beloved chair clutching some piece of fabric in her hands and curled up, the fire dancing along her flesh that was once as smooth and flawless as a pearl, her hair had grayed, he had once seen a portrait of her, she was lovely in her days. He pried the fabric free from her hands after setting down the lantern and stroked her cheek softly before settling his arms underneath her carefully and sure not to wake her and carried her to her bed to settle onto the covers, she clung to him and whimpered, murmuring something “Uri, oh Uri” She murmured. Possibly it was a past lover; he didn't question her but pried free from her clutching hands and tucked the covers about her. “Good night, mother.” He murmured and kissed her brow.

 

He watched her stir in her bed, murmuring to those long ago days that had once been hers as a lovely young lass, stolen away from her when she had ground round with him in her belly, he wondered if she had ever faulted him for ruining her splendid life…No, she always told him she had never regretted it, that she loved him. He moved from her to fetch the fabric he pried from her hands, another piece of work, she had begun this knitting phase years hence, it had busied her but now her hands ached her too much to truly knit for long, he never understood why she bothered anymore, but never bothered to ask for fear it might insult her. He set it down on the armrest of her chair and went to make sure the shutters were latched, they weren't, they were wide open to the night chill air, and he shut them and pulled in the drapes to tie them. He gave one last look over the room, so this was the remnants of his mother's life, loneliness, he grimaced, and pain. He wished he could ease things for her but he could only do much to make her comfortable. He lifted up the lantern and grudgingly left the room, shutting the door quietly before heading down the hall.

 

He had come across his bed chambers and pushed inside before setting the door back against the door jamb and latching it securely. He set down the lantern and went to the hearth whilst stripping his cloak free of his body, tossing it to the chair that faced the hearth stones. He kindled the fire till he was content with the life it danced with and placed another log to join the union of the flames, returning to the lantern, he smothered the flame. This was his chambers, pleasant and simple with a number of things that might have mad someone think him eccentric in a way. Mostly it was just keep sakes and mementos from a time of his young years, little carved figurines of warriors and beasts, a coverlet that had been his favorite when he was a child and little gifts given by his mother. There were small boxes of jewelry, securely locked, vials of exotic scents filed along one dresser and beside that stood an ornate full body mirror. A shelf, clinging and bolted to the wall securely, was bustling with odd things. Tea cups and a pot, white as pearl and done all over with blue with prancing wolves, hunting and in play as cub and adult beasts. Beside that was an arrangement of brandy and glasses. In one corner was a display of swords within their oiled scabbards laying across the stand, one above the other. All in all, there was enough to keep any boy busy.

 

He toed out of his boots with a groan and crawled into bed, suddenly his bones ached and felt chilled, his spine tingled and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he crawled under the covers, forgetting to shut the shutters, Elyse liked to leave them open to air out the chambers but suddenly he was too weary to gather himself and lurch to his feet. The shutters seemed too far, the shadows danced when the flames did, the velvet drapes swirled like the dust clouds in the wake of a steadfast stallion. He pulled the covers tight about him and let his head fall to the pillow. Sleep took him.

 

* * *

 

He was walking, above his heart there it stood, the item bestowed upon him by Johan. “Read it and you will see what ails my heart, Amyas.” A book it was, Uriel's personally written journal, leather bound and aging, how Johan had gotten his hands upon it, he did not know. Did Uriel bestow it upon the captain of his guard? Or did Johan pilfer it from his chambers when he had gone sniffing after Norvelle's tracks? Nonetheless, Johan had deemed it dangerous to speak of whatever was written in the leather bound journal, which he must see with his own eyes and in the safety of a securely locked chamber. He did not return to the Sylph, no, he would have but Johan warned him that it would look an odd thing if he had and that he was better off seeking another for the night and he had. It was a small place that was quite shabby and somewhat empty, the owner was just shutting up the place when he came and knocked upon the door, peering in through the shutters he could see the man and his wife wiping down tables and setting out fresh sand along the wooden floor boards. They allowed him in after a few coaxing words and begging excuse that the other Inns were packed to the brim, with a few coins of payment was allowed a room on the third landing and with another word, a bottle of brandy and a glass.

 

He shut the door, latched it and made sure it was secure. He went to the shutters and latched that, pulling in the rough spun drapes and tying them. He searched the room thoroughly before lighting a fire in the small hearth. It was a simple room, as simple as the shabby Inn was. He undid his sword belt from his waist and set it on top of the table set in the middle of the room along the bottle of brandy and glass. A feather bed was set in the corner and in the other a chamber pot. He paced about the room as he freed the leather bound book from where he had hidden it and set it down on the table beside his sword and the bottle of brandy that will give him the spirits and will to read through the thick journal on this night. There, it lay there before him now, shut and settled. It looked as age as his ailing King the last he had laid his eyes upon him, he stood there, hands on his hips as he peered down at it. All he had to do now was to read it.

 

It took him longer than he would have thought to simply build the will to lift the book once more, he knew he would delve into a world that was not his, into the thoughts of the King he served oh so loyally in those many years, a man who he would have gladly given his life for. He moved over towards the hearth and set it down upon the hearth stones before returning to the table and fetching the bottle and glass and setting it down as well beside the room. Moving to the bed he fetched a sheet to drape about his shoulders from the chill of the room. He sat down upon the hearth stones cross legged and uncorked the bottle, pouring the spirits into that glass and lifting it to take down the jot with a sigh, holding the glass to his forehead along his hand and shutting his eyes, letting the warmth of it raise his spirits before he refilled it and finally undid the leather bound book, flipping back the cover carefully to reveal the small lettering of his King that nearly strained his aging eyes. He pulled the book into his lap, the firelight his only aide, his fingertip guiding along the words as his eyes followed.

 

It carried on well into the night, his eyes had grown weary and ached with the reading, a number of times he had shifted his legs for his foot had fallen asleep, his back ached and he rose to step about before returning with a jot of brandy and turning another page. It was odd to delve into his former King's mind, to know such little things about him, in and out. All those secret thoughts he held in which he only poured out into volume after volume of leather bound journals. This volume was of his last entries of the final dwindling years of his rule. He had written mostly of squabbling from other lands, worries over Lords who seemed to wish to claim war against him and his land, worries of what he must do and how he must execute them in such a manner in which his people would not suffer. He had written of his hunts out in the wild his hounds, he had written of his son and his loyal honor guard. He had written of simply things that happened throughout his life, such small things, such as how splendid his hawk had looked when it had taken flight from his wrist after chirruping to it affectionately, or how well the cook had prepared his favored dish and then…He came across it. He had been weary, near ready to doze and simply drop into his bed, the fire in the hearth had grown to nothing but mere glowing embers now, the glass of brandy was near empty, he realized he had not been breathing when he let his breath out and shifted the book so he could manage to place in another log of wood and blow the embers to a lively burn and to take to the new addition of stock in the hearth before pouring the remnants of the brandy and pulling the leather bound journal back into his lap.

 

This was what worried Johan so much, this was what had been expected for him to read and to understand the view that Johan had taken upon the matter of their King's untimely death. King Uriel had disclaimed his son as the true heir of Haven, claiming that Norvelle was unfit to rule the land, was this so? Had Norvelle read this? He read onwards, Uriel had never considered Norvelle to be placed into his will but…What? What was this? Amyas furrowed his brow in confusion. “I have written my rightful heir to claim the throne when I am gone from this world and join the land of Kings. I will enclose such details and entrust this with my guard when I am to pass, to have my rightful son take claim upon the throne and rule in my stead. I only wished I could have truly held him as my own.” He let out a breath and raised his eyes to the hearth fire, dancing where it lay upon the logs. His rightful son…? Was there something he had missed in the journal beforehand? No, not at all, there had to be more volumes, there had to more. But he had clearly stated he would speak to the guard of such…But Johan told him that they were all relieved by Norvelle. Did Norvelle know of this? Did he take the necessary precautions to avoid being disclaimed from his claim on the throne? Was Norvelle true blood of the King, or was he the offspring of some minor lord the King's unfaithful wife had lured into bed with?

 

For a moment fear struck him and his heart lurched in his chest with dismay. If this was so, if Norvelle was not blood of his former King, if his claim upon the throne was an illegitimate one…That the rightful heir lay somewhere in the realm, how would they know? He feared that the King had died with such secrets due to Norvelle's hand, it was clear and made clear sense in his eyes - Norvelle's mother had always been a woman hungry for power and he didn't doubt her son was much the same. Even so…He needed the other volumes of his King's journals; he didn't doubt that somewhere there were hints of his true son's birth and where he might lay. But what if it was too late? If Norvelle had read this, he didn't doubt the man would have put the other volumes to the torch along with the rightful will. Or would he have kept it? He only hoped.

 

He was suddenly weary and exhausted, he let out a deep breath, there were only a few more journal entries after the last he had read, he would finish that on the morrow, he shut the book securely and stood up after downing the final jot of brandy he had poured. Glass and bottle in hand he stood and set them on the table and stuffed the book underneath the featherbed to keep out of sight, such an item she never be kept in the open. He crawled under the covers, sprawling out comfortably for the first time in some while, his eyes shut and he let out a sigh.

 

There was much ahead of him and somehow he knew the end was no where in sight.