Contemplations
Roald rode in silence, ignoring the hushed conversation of the soldiers
accompanying him. He tried to fall behind, but each time the silver and blue of
their tunics disappeared from his vision one guard would come back, making sure
everything was all right. They were more attentive to their orders than they
had ever been in the past; he suspected Jonathan had something to do with it.
He wasn't lost in thought. Thought did no good. What was there to ponder? His
nephew had been heretically brought back from the Black God's realm, his wife
was dead--his world was falling apart. Thinking just led to more pain. And what
was pain without Lianne's cool hand on his cheek, reminding him that things
would get better?
"But they won't," he murmured. Never again would he see his lovely wife, once a
vibrant woman, but forever altered through Roger's deeds. She was the one who
has encouraged his sorcery, no less. And what did that give him? No queen, and
an untrustworthy duke who skulked around a potentially evil sorceror.
Roald looked at the palace: the Conte colors flew proudly, even at half-mast.
And for how long would they be at half-mast? Mourning for the duke was quickly
followed with mourning for the queen. Who next? Would Jonathan be taken? Would
Roger plan something new, or was he right in that Sir Alan--Alanna--was the
evil in Tortall?
Trial by combat deemed that the girl was right. But would the gods allow a
murderer to rise from the dead? Were both equally wrong in the balance of good
and evil, and the gods favored neither? Or had the gods simply forsaken them
all together?
No, he knew the Gods still cared. He had seen Mithros's stern, yet loving face
on Midwinter. He had heard his wife's peaceful whispers right before her death,
and knew the Black God was standing with them. The Gods would never abandon
Tortall, so long as there was faith in the hearts of the king and his subjects.
He looked up into the sky, where a falcon swept gracefully above. To be free of
life--what a relief it would be. Soaring in the skies as a spirit, in that
brief time before the Black God's judgement… wasn't that supposed to be the
sweetest moment of a soul's existence, according to the priests of the Black
God's Temple? His obligations as king would be over. He would no longer have to
listen to the nobles who were angry about Sir Alanna. He wouldn't have to look
at his son's silent accusations every time Roger swept through the corridors.
He could be with Lianne.
There were many ways to die. An accident would be best--something that would
prevent Jonathan from ever learning the truth. Losing both parents would hurt
the boy, but suicide would tear his heart apart.
He shook his head forcefully. Suicide was not an option. No Tortallan king
could ever take his own life, no matter what. And how would the Black God judge
him, knowing he had been a coward who couldn't face life? No--his duty was with
his people, and to face the problems of the realm without complaint or any
display of suffering. It was his penance for letting so many horrible things
happen. A better king would come along in his time--Jonathan was clearly
beginning to prove himself capable.
Roald turned to his men. "Let's ride as we used to," he said firmly. He liked
the grins on their faces--as if their old king had returned to his senses.
One of the soldiers gave an excited battle-cry and galloped deeper into the
woods. Roald smiled at the men and followed. The pounding of hoofs against the
forest floor in their familiar rhythm seemed to mirror Roald's heartbeat. His
spirits rose as they rode on an old, but familiar path. He would face his
countrymen with pride. He would do all he could to ensure that Jon was a better
ruler: make sure that he married a stronger woman. He would teach him to be
aware of his enemies at all time, to show him that peace is not the goal of a
king--but the result
of a good king.
He had seen the lowest point of his despair, now he could only recover and get
back to work. He would always miss Lianne, there was no question. But he would
live for her; he would do all he could to protect and nurture their son.
He rode faster, preparing for the gorge ahead. Once he crossed the large gap,
he would ride back to the palace and take Jonathan in his arms. He would be a
king again, not a pale shadow of a man.