Well, he was here. Today was THE DAY. Today was the day he could finally ask himself the question ‘If I fail, how can I garrote myself?” or more appropriately ‘Has there been any other High Commander who suffered a case of idiocy like mine?’. In any case, Hadrian Evaristus was Not. Happy.

Well you wouldn’t be happy either if you had to tell a King, YOUR superior, that his son was a) alive, and B) right UNDER YOUR OLD, BULBOUS NOSE. Yes, you could consider the fact that Hadrian Evaristus was practically doing that female thing. PMS, or so you call it.

…

Of course you’ll stay quiet about that.

….

YOU WILL, AND YOU SHOULD.

Besides being the official residence, the Palace was, and still is the busy administrative headquarters of the monarchy and has probably the most famous and easily recognizable façade of any building in the known world. Hadrian had been here quite a few times when he was a kid, with the visits increasing since the King was getting sicker, and sicker. He always would pick on the guards on the front gates. Always, since it was his job. If their hugely ridiculous hats were lopsided, he would make them SUFFER. He picked the uniform for that purpose, picking on the guards like that.
Not like he LIKED IT, hell, he LOVED it, but don’t tell the next guards on the roster.
….
The gates were huge, iron wrought things. Open and closed like any other self-respecting gate, outward, inward, but not up or down, that was just weird. Hadrian cast an eye over the guards, but didn’t pick on them today, even though the guy to the right made him cringe. His saber was oily, for the love of the gods!

The gates were the only opening in the huge walls that surrounded the palace. The lawn was beyond the gate, the verdant green grass somewhat wilder than what Hadrian used to remember, and only a cobblestone path allowed Hadrian to move through the wild, angry grass that seemed to want to pick a fight with the road.

The Palace itself was one of those huge administrative buildings. The King and his family lived in the East Wing, everything else was for the government. It was to the East Wing he went to now, taking the longest route through. Before the East Wing was the Quadrangle, in which there was of course, a grassy lawn, and four doors. One which was the door to the East Wing, the other the door to the rest of the palace, the other one to the gardens and the other, lastly, for the throne room.

Hadrian headed for the King’s bedroom. He nodded to the sentries at the doors, reached out with a hand and knocked on the heavy oak doors before reaching out and opening the door a crack. Finding nothing unusual, he went inside and closed the door after him.

The King would be on his bed. He never did seem to muster enough energy to get up. No matter, it wasn’t his place to question the King. That bed was also weird. It was on an elevated dais, with steps, and it was a mammoth thing, with rich velvet hangings and everything. The red carpet here was only a thin line that cut through white marble. Pillars led up to the ceiling every now and then, resulting in graceful arches above. Hadrian wasn’t interested in the architecture. He had other things to think about. Moving forward, he formed the salute, right hand closed into a fist and resting over his heart.

“My Liege."

((OOC: *huggles* Hope your school work went well!))

The High King of Olencia did not have a very exciting life, at least not anymore. There had been dances and feasts when he was younger, with his wife, and when his children had been alive, his children, but all that was over now, and Belenus didn’t see the point in wasting money on that sort of thing. What was entertainment if he was not going to enjoy it anyway? He had one horse that he kept on hand, but by now, he was sure the thing was old and fat, or dead, as all things close to him seemed to be. Truth be told, he did not know for sure if all of his relatives were dead or not, but it seemed to him that if the headcount was off by a number or two it did not matter much. They may have been alive, but they were lost to him.

So, hence, they were as good as dead.

Even if he had been able to enjoy some of the lively activity of usual palace daily life, Belenus was not well enough to, physically. His illness had recently worsened, and often times, he did not bother to rise from his bed. His meals could be delivered to him. Papers that needed his seal could be brought on a lap desk for him to read and sign, and those who wished a presence with him could work through his advisors. The usual lot of them were peasants requesting seed or more land anyway, and for the most part, Belenus could not control such things. A sack of grain here and there was not difficult, but after awhile, it grew tiring handing out countless bags of crops.

It was the least he could do, after they had come all that way, one of the ladies of his court had once chided him gently. Well, traveling to the ends of the world and back wouldn’t get Belenus what he wanted, so why should traveling to the palace give them what they wanted? That was Belenus’s philosophy. If he couldn’t be happy, why did the rest of the world get to? The rest of the world got to keep their sons and daughters. The rest of the world still had loving eyes to behold in the moonlight.

Belenus was old, cold, and alone.

Sitting in his bed that day was about all he could manage. An assistant of his doctor had brought up some sort of nasty tonic that was supposed to clear his throat out, but all it did was make him cough more. Belenus was considering telling the doctor to eat horse dung and just let him die peacefully, but of course, the people would never accept him giving up like that. He had lost enough to the world. And of course, there was still the matter of who to appoint as his heir. Belenus had wasted many years, hoping that perhaps his son would appear out of the daisies. Now that he was old, washed-out, and dying, it was time to choose a suitable heir. Even Belenus knew that there would be fighting to pay for it if he did not.

He gave a rancid cough and then massaged his aching throat. It would be best if someone would just come smother him in the night. As long as he didn’t wake up, it would be a peaceful way to die. At least then, it could be argued that he was murdered, versus committing his own death. At least then, he could retain half of his honor.

Oh, pah. There were things yet to do in life. Though he couldn’t name very many.

Someone knocked on the door, and then admitted himself. Belenus didn’t much care about this entry, for various manservants were required to enter throughout the day. As the man approached to the King’s monstrous bed however, Belenus realized that it wasn’t just any manservant. No, it was Hadrian Evaristus, his Lord Commander. Compared to the rest of his men, Belenus at least had a liking for Hadrian, so it wasn’t that horrendous to be disturbed.

“My liege,” said the commander, giving the proper signal of respect to Belenus. He waved it away in annoyance. An old man in his ratty nightclothes was no one to give those kind of gestures to. “Oh, pah, Evaristus. What do I owe this visit to today?” He doubted it was anything good, by the way Hadrian was looking at him. Belenus assumed it could be no worse news than he had received in the past.

He waved it away in annoyance. Hadrian made no comment as he lowered his hand. Well, he couldn’t understand the feeling. He himself could still parade as long as his troops could, or fight and spar as long as the younger ones, but Hadrian had never been confined before. He couldn’t comprehend the fact you were stuck in bed all day, with no other thing to do, with a killer sickness. No, he couldn’t understand that at all.

“Oh, pah, Evaristus. What do I owe this visit to today?” The King asked. Well, here was the moment. If he had a death wish before, that part of him would be jumping up and down in glee. Complete with placards that said ‘I CAN DIE!’.

Not a good mental image.

I mean, if he said it now, it would make HIM look like the bad guy. The big bad wolf in those stories. So if Belenus gets angry, who gets killed and slaughtered? Him. So what he could do is to tell him if he was fit to travel, obviously not, and bring him to Penril, or bring Penril to him. In any case, he’d either try or die.

….

He’d rather be optimistic and try, but he couldn’t help but think that if he failed, everything he knew would be gone. Forever. Period. And then he’d think ‘how can I execute myself’ or ‘who would be the next High Commander?’ There was this promising youth back in the Fort but still…

Gack. He. Had. To .Stop. Thinking. Emotionally.

Okay, think POSITIVE. That young lad back in the Fort could probably be High Commander. Anything else?

….

Nope. Nada. Zilch.

He’s screwed.

“My Liege, there’s been a…. development.” He began. Think. POSITIVE. “It’s seems we have been looking in the wrong places, my Liege. Penril Tanith…” He trailed off. Okay, he had to break the news CAREFULLY. CAREFULLY.

“We’ve found him my Lord.”

How blunt can you GET!?

Belenus had always at least somewhat liked Hadrian, because he had been around for a long time. He hadn’t disappeared like the rest of his relatives or tried to cut off his head with that sword he always had or anything like that. It was always a plus when your men were loyal to you. Today, he was even rather glad to have the company, except that Hadrian seemed far more jittery than usual. Hadrian always kept his thoughts, but Belenus had a feeling that there was something more on his mind today.

He would have just said, “Spit it out,” but finally, his Lord High Commander seemed to find the words for whatever it was he meant to say. “My Liege, there’s been a….development.” Belenus frowned, wondering what on earth that could mean. The King hadn’t been involved in the Kingsguards’ affairs for several years, due to his illness and his lack of interest. Hadrian had always handled it well enough, and he assumed that he would continue to do so. He was young enough, anyway.

“It’s seems we have been looking in the wrong places, my Liege. Penril Tanith…” Belenus’s heart nearly stopped. His son? What did the High Commander know about his son? Belenus did not doubt Hadrian’s loyalty at all, but why was information about his son now turning up?

“We’ve found him my Lord.”

Belenus was speechless. He had hoped for twenty-nine years that something like this would happen, but he had begun to give up that hope. It was ridiculous to think it was even possible. His son was likely dead in some river trailing out of Olencia, a ruthless crime that he and Hadrian had been unable to stop. But the possibility remained that he could be… alive. “How do… where…” He could not form his questions correctly, and suddenly, the shortness of breath wasn’t just from his illness. He gave a sick cough, though he kept his eyes on Hadrian the entire time.

“How do you know it’s him?” he asked suspiciously.

“How do… where…”

Let’s see, shortness of breath, hesitation. OH GOD HE WAS KILLING THE KING! As the frightening wheezes came to a stop, Hadrian wanted, just suddenly, to procure a hangman’s noose right here and then. Quick death, yes? Much better. If the King died, he could kill himself, the guard would consider it murder-suicide…

Eep.

Okay, plus side… eyes were reactive. He kept his gaze on him the entire time. A sick cough here and there. Normal in the king’s condition. Nothing to worry about.

…

Besides, he could use his cloak to hang himself.

Optimistic, at least.

“How do you know it’s him?” Belenus asked suspiciously.

“There are… signs.” He said slowly. “He’s certainly blessed in looks. He still remembers those times in the palace…” You’re running on pure gut, but then the kid never denied it. Even said he didn’t want the crown. See, proof! Please don’t kill me. “I saw it…. The leader of the Slayers… they have this mark on their faces…. The man who came that night to kidnap Penril had the same mark… it’s on his face too. He’s the Ablest…. When I asked him, he said that…. He didn’t want the throne.”

Okay, now he had to pull the king back up. Beat him down with a loaf of dry bread and then lift him up with a crane. Technically a metaphor, but could be applied in these circumstances.

“But, I think…” He looked up, optimistic now. “You’ve always trusted me, Sire. I won’t go wrong. Not this time. If you can talk to him…. He doesn’t listen to me. But you can talk to him, sire. I’ll find him…. If you agree to it…. I’ll yank him from that inn of his…. Drag him kicking and screaming. The throne has to be succeeded, Sire.”

((OOC: Sorry this took me so long. Pen had to kick me to do it.))

“There are… signs,” began his High Commander. Belenus’s head was reeling. How could the Gods do this to him? Take his son away and then give him back practically on his deathbed? How could he be a good father now? “He’s certainly blessed in looks.” And what did that have to do with anything, Belenus wondered. He’d always been a plain man. Bah, brown nosing… “He still remembers those times at the palace…” Anyone could make that up, or obtain that information. “I saw it… the leader of the Slayers… they have this mark on their faces… The man who came that night to kidnap Penril had the same mark…” And what was his point? “It’s on his face too. He’s the Ablest…when I asked him, he said that… He didn’t want the throne.” The High King didn’t even hear the last part.

His. Son. Was. The. Ablest. Of. The. Slayers.

What that supposed to be a proud father moment or… Belenus felt like he was going to explode. This was all too much. Then the second part of what he said registered. “DIDN’T WANT THE THRONE?” The last part of the yell set off another coughing fit, for which he politely turned away from Hadrian to do.

“But I think… You’ve always trusted me, Sire.” That was true. Belenus was speechless now. “I won’t go wrong. Not this time. If you can talk to him… He doesn’t listen to me. But you can talk to him, sire. I’ll find him… if you agree to it. I’ll yank him from that inn of his… Drag him kicking and screaming. The throne has to be succeeded, Sire.” The last part was true. What was this about an inn? No matter.

Belenus was completely astounded at all of this information. They had found his son. He was the Ablest of the Slayers now. But he didn’t want the throne. “Yes, I suppose, have that arranged,” he said quietly. Belenus was at a loss. The only thing he could give his son – the only thing in his dying age – his son did not want. Depression descended on the king like never before. Well, perhaps, he could lay his eyes upon his son, just once… And then he could die.