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"Devon and Damien"Chapter 6: Act 1
Springtime in the realm of Hessea proceeded as usual. In fact, if one were to examine the growing trees, budding flowers, and green grass, he would never be able to tell that something was amiss. The people attempted to go on with their everyday lives; shop-owners resumed business, traders continued to import and export goods to and from the kingdom, and the sounds of running children filled the streets. The cool, breezy weather afforded them some comfort and tranquility, even causing some to shirk responsibility and engage in a little needed rest and relaxation. For the trained observer, however, it was obvious that things were different. The shock of the prince’s murder still in their minds, the people longed for some panacea to ease the fear, anxiety, and gloom permeating the atmosphere. Some found this in the form of gossip; every tavern, meetinghouse, and store in the capital city housed its own clique of individuals espousing their own theory on what had happened. “I think it was the former general… I heard he showed at the ceremony after all these years,” an elderly barfly stated as he took a sip of his ale. “Tristam?” Another man replied with a puzzled look on his face. “Sure,” the old man nodded. “I think he planned the whole thing. Why don’t you think he’d love to have the prince out of the way!?” “What are you talking about?” The other three men asked, somewhat annoyed, having been trained in the past to ignore this particular gentleman’s conclusions. The man shrugged. “Well… you just wait and see; you’ll all be begging me to forgive you when I’m right.” “Oh, shut up,” one portly man replied. “If you’d use your brain half as much as you’ve used that mouth of yours over the years, I think you’d be a lot richer and the rest of us would have a little less stress and hassle.” “I’ll drink to that,” the other two men exclaimed, raising their glasses. The first man just shook his head, chugged his drink, and continued voicing his various theories and opinions. Probably the most absurd theory that had been put forth was that Nathan was not really dead, but had staged his own death. Despite a viewing of the body that had been open to the public, some still claimed that Nathan had gone into hiding, resentful of his royal upbringing and longing to live a “normal life,” as it were. Obviously, those who held this view were looked upon with even less credibility than the elderly gentleman previously mentioned. For Faleaon, king of Hessea, however, this situation was more than a matter of gossip; for him, it was reality – painstaking reality. Ever since he had been the king, Faleaon had carried himself with a sense of dignity. He had never failed to impress those he met, for his charisma and congenial nature had awarded him much respect and many friends. He had always prided himself on always, as he put it, “having it all together.” When his wife Tarin died, Faleaon had carried on, mourning but still presenting an essence of authority and fidelity to his people. Clearly, this was not that same man. He had hardly eaten or slept since the murder. Although he was only 63 years old, Faleaon looked as if he had aged considerably in the past few days. His countenance was visibly different; no longer was there a sparkle in his eyes that indicated a quiet confidence in his own power and in his family’s future. He now sat in his throne room practically the entire day, clutching a shield that bore his family crest. He had given it to Nathan on his 10th birthday, and he still remembered the pride he felt in not only giving the item to his son, but also in recounting the history of his family line. “Someday, son, you will share these things with your children,” he would tell him. “And when you are king, you will add your own chapters to the account.” Tears filled his eyes as he recalled these things, even reminiscing of a young Nathan bouncing on his knee as a small child. Being king had never prevented him from being a family man or having a personal life; the day Nathan was born was declared a national holiday. The king presented his newborn son to the people from his balcony, beaming with pride as the people cheered the future heir to the throne. Faleaon refused to see anyone, save his children. Joram brought him reports of the military’s investigations into the assassination. He would simply nod his head, thank his son, and continue staring at the shield. Joanna brought his meals to him, although he did not eat them. He simply encouraged her not to worry about him and promised that he would eventually eat. Although she was much like her father, Joanna did possess some of her mother’s boldness and candor. She finally pleaded with him, “Please, Father, let’s talk.” She knew that he had so much he wanted to say, yet was reluctant to say it. “It’s me, Joanna,” she begged. He raised his head and thought for a moment, then lowered it again. Joanna observed that her father seemed, for lack of a better term, devastated… as if he simply could not comprehend the events that had occurred. She decided to start the conversation whether he was willing to talk or not. “I… asked Devon to track down the killer.” The king raised his head once more. “W… why did you do that?” Joanna seemed somewhat relieved that her father seemed interested in talking with her. “I don’t know; it was the wrong thing to do, I know, since I haven’t seen him in so long. Even with everything that happened between us, I just didn’t feel that I could trust anyone else.” For a split second, a sense of dignity and pride began to return to the king. He even managed a slight smile. “I remember how you two used to look at each other. It reminds me of how I used to look at your mother.” “That was years ago, Father. I was foolish to ask anything of him… yet he accepted.” The king seemed suddenly rejuvenated by the chance to discuss something other than the murder, if only for a moment. “My dear, I always told you that there was more to this situation between you and Devon than met the eye. That look I told you about? For a split second the other night, I saw it again… in him.” “Father, I seriously doubt…” Faleaon cut her off. “And the reason you asked him is for that same reason… you still care for him.” “Father, please, don’t be ridiculous. I’ve moved on. So has he.” “Sure you have,” Faleaon smiled, somewhat condescendingly. “I’ve lived a long time, Joanna. I know people. I study them. I know you better than you think I do.” “Then what am I supposed to do? Run to Devon Tristam, throw my arms around him, and thank him for making the last five years of my life a living hell? He doesn’t deserve that much, Daddy.” Faleaon seemed touched at this. “You haven’t called me that in years.” He stood up and walked around the room, tears filling his eyes once more. “Nathan was my firstborn, Joanna. I always felt such joy that someday he would take my place as ruler of this kingdom.” He paused a moment and went on. “When your mother died, I cried. I was heartbroken that the only woman I had ever truly loved was taken from me. But somehow I felt she would live on in my children. Maybe it’s not just because it’s Nathan in particular, for I would be as devastated if something happened to you or Joram as I am now. But I guess Nathan’s death has struck me with the reality of my own mortality… well, my family’s mortality. Nothing is guaranteed.” “But you can’t just go into a shell,” Joanna replied. “The worst thing you can do is close your other two children out; they need you too.” This statement seemed as if it made good sense to Faleaon, for he brightened up a bit once more. “You are right, my dear… I should seize the opportunity while I still have it. I guess that’s why I’m so concerned about this situation between you and Devon. Joanna, listen to me: Prince Jerrod is a fine man. The marriage would make a wonderful alliance between our two kingdoms. But you need to get this settled once and for all between you and Devon before you make any final decisions. Nothing is guaranteed, my dear. You too must ‘seize the opportunity.’” Joanna found herself wanting to agree, but at the same time desired to change the subject. “Have you received any news on the investigation?” Faleaon shook his head. “Nothing much. Joram brings me constant updates from General Warren, but no leads.” He managed another slight smile. “I too took matters into my own hands.” Joanna seemed puzzled. “What do you mean?” “I hired someone to personally investigate the assassination. You are the first person I’ve told. If the general found out, he would be insulted. But with something this important to me, I want the job done right.” “Who is he?” Joanna asked. “His name is Damien Reklaw… he’s a mercenary. I’ve had some dealings with him in the past.” “I had no idea… I take it he’s good at what he does?” “He’s the best,” Faleaon nodded. “He’s rather enigmatic, though, although he hides a quiet intelligence and deep reservoir of feeling. I’m probably considered one of his only friends. In fact, I’m one of only a few who know him by his first name.” Joanna nodded. “Well, whoever it is, Father, I trust that you know what you’re doing.” “So do I, my dear.” Faleaon reached out and touched his daughter’s face. “You are so beautiful, yet also so patient for putting up with someone like me. I have become selfish in engaging myself in my little ‘pity party’ without regards for the rest of my family.” “Nathan would certainly not want that,” Joanna replied. “The best thing you can do, Father, is to be the king… in a time like this, the people need you to be the Faleaon that they have come to respect and honor.” Faleaon nodded slightly, breathing heavily as he took one more glance at the shield in his hand. “Sometimes the hardest thing to do in life, Joanna, is to accept it. Accepting life itself can be a stressful, draining endeavor. Perhaps I should focus on living my life rather than wasting all my time and energy on trying to ascertain the reasons for what happens.” “Father, there’s nothing wrong with asking why. Do you not think that I have asked that same question? But we cannot stay there. We have to, as you say, live. That is what I learned to do with Devon, and that’s what I’m learning to do now.” Faleaon smiled, hanging the shield on the wall nearby. “You really are wise beyond your years, my daughter. You will make a great wife and mother. Come and join me in the royal dining hall… I believe I shall dine with you and Joram alone this evening.” She smiled, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and left the room. Faleaon took one more look at the shield. “How does a man move on with his life?” he thought. “How do I ‘accept’ life?” He lowered his head and spoke aloud. “How do I accept a future that I do not want to face, yet I do not wish to ignore either?” His thoughts then turned to his daughter Joanna and he exhaled heavily. “…Perhaps I shall not have to face it alone.” |
