Afternoon Confrontation
If not for the slight rise and fall of the man's chest, many would have thought the stranger in the hat to be dead.
His eyes were closed tightly. His mouth hung open slightly. There was a shallow exchange of breath going in and out of his nose. His eyebrows were knitted together in a deep furrow.
One of his arms was draped over the insignificant grey marble jutting out from the yellow and brown sand, as though he was holding the stone to his side. His other arm gripped the handle of his sword tightly, the veins blue and glaring on his skin. His body was slumped limply against the piece of stone, as though he was protecting the stone from harm.
His face was ashen grey, resembling the shade of the marble. His hair tumbled down his back messily.
And there he had remained, ever since yesterday's dawn.
And there he would remain.
They want to take down this place…them…my son…Alistair…they want to take down this place…your-no, our cottage…your garden…your grave…your gravestone…
Small and white, a butterfly fluttered its wings delicately in the heat of the Sun, hovering above the hot desert sand, searching…seeking…
But I can't let them do that. Never. NEVER. This is the only remaining link of you that I have left that is not lost in the sands of time. I can't give this place up. I can't…lose you again. I lost you twenty years ago; I lost you again fifteen years ago. If I let go of this last piece of you, I'll have nothing left.
The butterfly slowed, a speck of white in the sea of yellow and brown. Its white wings moved slower as it descended gracefully.
I was a fool once, twice; but I won't be a fool trice. I was a gambler, a superficial idiot twenty years ago, but I won't let that happen again. I know where my happiness lies and I know what I truly want. I won't let anything get in the way of my happiness. Not even my son and his grandiose plans.
Its thin legs treaded lightly upon the tanned skin with its dense network of valleys and hills of shallow wrinkles and blue veins. Its wings caught the light.
I'll protect you and your body. I promise. Fifteen years ago, I was helpless to do anything to help you. But today, I am fully equipped to protect you. I'll make up for everything that I had owed you in the last twenty years. I'll protect you with my sword, with my status, with my body. If I really need to…I'll defend you with my life.
The iridescent scales on the wings glimmered under the sunlight, giving the appearance of polished crystals. With a gentle shake of its body, the butterfly unfurled its proboscis.
You believe in me, don't you? I…I know I don't deserve your trust…after what had happened in the past…but I've changed! I have really changed! I am going to defend you and I mean it! So please…would you…believe in me once more? I swear, I'll never break any of my promises to you…If you would just let me…once would be enough…I'll prove to you…
The tip of the proboscis lightly brushed against the surface of the wrinkled hand, tracing the path between the valleys and the mountains on the skin.
The man raised his head slowly. His red pupils bore into the butterfly.
Is this a sign? Is it a sign from you? This butterfly…it's remarkable…I…I don't know how to describe it, but…it almost feels like you…
With a flick of its wings, the butterfly launched into flight again.
The man's eyes were red-rimmed, and his gaze followed the small creature as it grew smaller and smaller, till it was indistinguishable from a speck of dust.
The same feeling…
"Father."
The voice was crisp, sharp, cutting, polished and carried an air of superiority. The irritation in the tone was barely disguised by the pompous manner the speaker had enunciated the word.
He looked up wearily.
"Son."
The voice was tired, sorrowful, disappointed, but carried an unmistakable tinge of silently controlled fury and a certain degree of wariness, as though the speaker was addressing the other party with measured caution.
Alistair, nineteen years of age, was tall, lean and in the prime of his life. He had inherited the daffodil yellow hair from his mother, his crystal blue eyes from his mother, his small classic nose from his mother and his sharp chin from his mother. The only thing he had ever inherited, or learnt, from his father were the skills with a sword, the stubbornness and the long-lasting memory.
He had developed the penchant for chivalry, the false Rausten accent and his flair for governing and making decisions entirely on his own.
Said son inclined his head downwards so as to glance at his father, as though he was looking at a common abandoned dog on the streets begging for a scrap or two.
"Well, father…what is this I hear about two of our soldiers from the esteemed royal guard division 12 being murdered in cold blood yesterday morning?"
He did not reply. He knew it was his own fault, but the news had made him so distraught that he had momentarily lost his senses and caused him to accidentally kill two innocent people.
"It was…an accident…"
"An accident you say?" Alistair arched a graceful and finely-shaped golden yellow eyebrow. "I apologise for contradicting you, father, but my team from the royal investigation squad seems to think otherwise, that it was caused by the work of the former king of Jehanna." He paused, a twisted smile appearing on his face. "What do you think, father?"
He knew Alistair was baiting him, luring him like how one would lure a bear at the circus with a piece of meat and taunt it with stones and sticks.
"What do you want, son?"
Alistair shrugged his brocaded shoulders and examined his well-manicured fingernails. "I believe that that was very clear from the very beginning." Using a finger, the nail tapered like a French point, he drew an imaginary boundary all around the area. "I just want this place to build an oasis, for the people of Jehanna."
He laughed. It was not a hearty laugh. It was a bitter, acid laugh. "I've read the maps before, Alistair. You can't fool me. There is no source of water within a ten mile radius of this area. And you want to want to build an oasis here?"
The shoulders clothed in rich embroidered brocade shrugged again. "Anything's possible. My royal water advisory team has devised a method to change the course of the nearest river and direct it here to create an oasis."
He felt his teeth clench involuntarily. "You could have done so anywhere else. The nearest village is miles away. No one resides here. Few even pass by here. So for the location of an oasis, why must it be here?"
Another rise and fall of the royal shoulders. "Because I want to develop this place into a major city. Because this place has a nice scenery. Because I think it would help Jehanna in the long run. Because I feel it is necessary. Because I am king. Is that enough reason for you?"
"You are abusing your power!" He leapt to his feet. "I regret giving the throne to you so early. You're still childish, immature and rash, making decisions because of selfish reasons or because of a sudden whim. What have I done…"
"I don't make decisions on whims!" Alistair whirled around to face him. His steel blue eyes bored into red ones. A cruel smile adorned his face. "I had been planning for this for fifteen years…fifteen long years I have waited to destroy this place…to burn this place to smoking grey ashes, to drown this land in a flood of blue water, to reduce this land to a barren patch of dust…" He laughed. "A whim? Oh no, father, never a whim!"
He paled. Fifteen years? Fifteen years…
Fifteen years!
"You-you-you knew?" His voice came out in a short gasp. Everyone had thought that Natasha and he were the world's model royal couple. He had never guessed that his son had known everything.
"Oh, of course I knew…I'm your flesh and blood…how could I not know?" Alistair smirked. "I heard you instructing that man-now Advisor Gerik- to report news about the mysterious woman and to look after her for you. You would find him every time he was going to leave after dinner, every time he left after staying a night in the palace. You thought mother and I were deaf, didn't you?"
His grin widened. "I remember that day clearly, when Adivsor Gerik hammered on the gates of the palace at night, carrying a body. He was soaked from the rain, and so was the body he was carrying. You sent mother and I away, and you took the body to your room. It was a woman, pale from death, but still beautiful. She had flaming pink hair, wore dark clothes and high boots. She would never have been as beautiful as mother, but you! You treated her like she was the deity of the world, the light of your life! You held her limp hand, you stroked her wet hair, you shed tears upon her white cheek, you cradled her lifeless body, and you! You kissed her cold lips! You! You! You would rather love a dead woman than mother!"
The formal Rausten accent had turned into a frenzied scream as torrent after torrent of scathing words fell from his lips. His manicured hands were all over the place, forming gestures no one could comprehend. His blond hair was strewn across his face by the wind.
"You thought no one was looking, didn't you? You thought you were so clever, weren't you? But I was there, oh yes, I was behind the door, watching your every move in shock, horror and disgust. I realized that day, that very minute, that you did not love mother. Not a whit of tender feelings you had for mother. Then you carried her in your arms and stole away from the castle. I was behind, in a tiny cloak, shivering from the cold, but very much alert. I saw you walk, all the way, and I followed, all the way, till you came here, and started digging a hole. I made my way back before dawn, hoping to ask you when you returned. But you didn't return, not until an entire week later, as though nothing had happened. Mother didn't say anything, but did you know how much tears she had shed when you were gone? I was furious. I swore to myself, that I would one day destroy that woman's grave for mother."
The spittle forming at the corners of his mouth foamed. His eyes were wild, furious, pained, agonised. His hands were clenched into fists. The words continued pouring out of his mouth like a river swollen with the spring rains.
"Oh, you thought mother and I were both fools, huge fools. But you were wrong. Mother knew everything, and so did I. Then, not so long ago, Mother passed away. Yet, what did you do? Ask the advisors to organize a grand funeral, attend the funeral in black robes, and then return to your papers and manuscripts as though nothing had happened. Did you shed a drop of tear for mother? Did you caress mother's cheek? Did you pat mother's hand? Did you kiss mother's lips? No! Never! You looked at her body and left with the look that you would wear facing a stranger's body! From that moment on, I hated you, disdained you, despised you! It strengthened my will to destroy that woman's grave, and now that I am king, nothing will stop me from fulfilling my last act of respect for mother."
He spun around from where he was raising his hands to the skies and jabbed a finger at his father.
"Not even you."
As he watched his son walk away, an arrogant spring in his steps, he felt numb. The pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place, yet the picture had fallen into pieces. The more pieces were filled, the more broken their royal families' picture of harmonious bliss became.
His son's warning that he would be back tomorrow to demolish the area officially still resounded in his ears.
He had a deceased wife who he did not love, a son consumed by hatred, a woman he had always loved and never been able to be with, and a bleak future that comprised of total darkness and haunting shards of smashed grey marble.
It was all his fault.
No, it was all Lady Luck's fault.
It was both his fault and Lady Luck's fault. Lady Luck had cruelly given him the wrong sign. He was a fool for believing in the sign.
To think that one wrong choice made one breezy afternoon twenty years before would have made such a significant difference today…
And thus this concludes the second chapter of the trilogy. Yes, Alistair is kind of like an antagonist in this story. I don't believe the theory that you have a gorgeous dad you'll have a gorgeous son. Heck, look at Eliwood. Roy practically needs a permanent escort (aka Marcus). And Pent, father is awesome, son looks awesome but that's about it. Thus, I think Joshua is so awesome, to balance it all out a little the son should be a little more flawed.
Yup, to address any queries anyone may have. Yes, Joshua married Natasha and they had a kid.
Next chapter would be the conclusion, and I have a good mind to change the genre from romance to angst. Thanks for reading and please review! XD
