Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters and even they seem
to resent it lately. I don't own ME. I don't own Legolas or Aragorn, and
I have no money so think "Blood/Turnip" or "Diddly/Squat" as the
mathematical equation of what a lawsuit could get from me.
Jastaelf: I present you with a small chapter, but I hope this meets your approval so that I may read the next chapter of "Dark Leaf".
And I am no longer behind. Sheesh.
It was dark. The fire had long since died down, and the orange coals glowed sullenly through a covering of ash. They were barely visible through the dark cloth of the bedcurtains, and their occasional pop was the only sound in the room besides the creature's heavy breathing.
That was the name that Legolas had placed on the entity that controlled Aragorn's body. The creature. He would not justify its existence with a proper name. It was a creature made up of barely controlled cruelty and instinct, and it somewhat answered to the mage that had created it. And somewhere within it dwelt the mind of his friend.
The creature was exhausted from its earlier sport and slept deeply. Its head rested on Legolas' chest, the rest of its body sprawled on top of the elf. An arm rested heavily on his stomach; a leg was still between his own, almost as if claiming future rights. Legolas shifted in the bed slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, and the creature responded by stirring and clutching the elf even tighter. Legolas winced as sore muscles that he shouldn't have had in the first place throbbed in memory of their earlier abuse.
He allowed his eyes to unfocus as he gazed at the canopy above them. He could almost pretend that there were stars above, gleaming softly down from a midnight sky. Almost. It had been a week since he had seen the stars, and he missed them.
Sleep, even of the elvish kind, eluded him, and he turned his mind to the problem at hand.
He allowed his eyes to slide down to the dark head that was pillowed on his chest. The long hair covered the torc from his sight, but he could still feel the baleful cold of it so close to his skin. ::How is it that no one has noticed this evil thing?::, He thought to himself. ::Even I could tell just by looking that it is something of ill intent::
For the first time since this waking nightmare had started, he allowed his hand to explore the golden collar around his own neck, and trace the knots and whorls he felt there. ::Mine does not feel like his. It does not have the feel of malice woven into it, just of function and form.:: He was unsure if that thought comforted him.
With deliberate movement, he slowly lowered his hand towards the torc. His knuckles began to ache with the chill when he was but an inch away. He took a deep breath and forced himself to lay his fingers upon the blisteringly cold metal.
Hate. Vengeance. Punishment. A thirst for revenge that was so strong it made his stomach churn and clench. The cold was merely a physical manifestation of the evil emotions used to forge the torc. He gasped as he tried to work his fingers around the metal, feeling as if his flesh were being stripped to the bone. It would not budge. The pain was excruciating, but he tried again, shifting his grip so that he could grasp more of the offending article. Nothing.
The creature woke slightly, grasped the small hand and pulled it away. Legolas did not struggle, the cold having leeched the strength from his fingers. With a sleepy grumble, the creature repositioned itself and fell back into a deep sleep.
After a few moments, Legolas freed his hand from the loose grip and drew it up before his eyes. It burned, every nerve still on fire from its contact with the cursed thing, but the skin was unmarred. His eyes narrowed as he turned his hand to and fro and considered the situation.
He was lost in thought when the household began to stir around them. He barely noticed when one of the maids came into the bedroom and rekindled the fire, or when the others came in to clean. The dark turned to grey as the new day dawned, and still he thought.
The creature's hands began to move slowly across his body as it passed from sleep to awareness. He gave a token resistance, but knew that he would be unable to fight it off. And while he listened to the bedframe squeak, and watched the torc sway in front of his face, he pondered the situation deeply.
When the creature had finished, given an awkward pat on the head, and left the room, he rolled onto his side, pulled his knees up to his chest, and sighed. He did not like where his thoughts were leading.
It was with some amount of pain that he finally moved and put his feet on the floor and emerged from behind the bedcurtains and faced the pallid sunlight of the new day.
The room was empty and quiet, almost peaceful. He found himself in front of the mirror, and looked at the woman within.
Her shift was torn and hung open on top, and was bloodstained on the bottom. Bruises on her neck and collarbone were a lurid purple against her otherwise flawless skin. Her lips were swollen and stubble burned. Disheveled was probably the mildest word for her, yet she was still heartbreakingly beautiful.
But the most striking things were her eyes. They were the same blue as the gem that shone at her throat, but they were fathoms deep. The sadness that was reflected there tugged at his heart as he slowly reached a hand up, and they touched fingertip to fingertip in the mirror.
"Am I able to speak to you of this?" he wondered aloud in the quietest whisper. "After all, we are one in the same, are we not?" He paused and wondered how much of himself he had just lost, making that admission.
She did not answer, so after a moment he took that as an invitation to continue.
"I cannot win if I fight them directly or physically. I simply am not strong enough. I am trapped at every juncture. I must find another way." He looked at her intently. "Everything has a weakness. I will have to find the weakness that I know exists in the mage, and exploit it."
Her eyes narrowed as she considered this, and she cocked her head to one side, obviously following his train of thought.
He continued. "It's not unlike setting a trap in the forest at home. When I would hunt something that was bigger or stronger, I would have to devise a plan and a snare that could capture it. It's not that different at all." It sounded to his ears that he was trying to convince himself.
She raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Yes, yes, I know. I will have to learn about my prey. Watch him. Lull him into a sense of security, so that he will grow careless. He is already arrogant with what he perceives as victory." He paused for a moment. "I must make him think that I am no threat, but I must still try to influence Aragorn away from him as much as possible. I do not know what is left of him in there, but I fear that he may cease to exist if this continues."
Her face reflected his own troubled state of mind at that thought. The corners of her mouth turned down into an uneasy frown, and her eyes shifted to meet his again.
"I will have to be compliant. Obedient."
Eyes flashing, she raised a finger to a chin in thought.
"Yes, but not too obedient. That would make them even more suspicious, wouldn't it? Aragorn remarked on that last night."
They both winced together in unison, their thoughts obviously going back to the night before at the same time.
"I must also find who I can trust here. This prey is too big to hunt alone. I think that I can depend on Arnlaug and Valda. There must be others."
He allowed his gaze to fall on her shift, on the bloodstains, and then back to her face. The expression had hardened into a mask of anger.
"And then he will taste my steel. I will put an end to this. I am patient. I am immortal. I have time."
After a moment he allowed his eyes to fall to her abdomen, and he felt a moment's hesitation.
"Or do I?"
He met her eyes again in the mirror, and this time they looked especially haunted.
0-0-0-0-0-0—0-00-
After a soft knock, the door swung open and Valda walked in, accompanied by Lanelese and Clotild. The maids curtseyed deeply while Valda walked slowly to stand at Legolas' side, and surveyed him with a look of dismay.
"I want a bath. I cannot bear the smell of him on my skin", Legolas said quietly.
Valda gestured to the maids, who immediately busied themselves with the chore at hand, and then she drew the elf to sit painfully on the window seat and wait. She had brought a long, heavy robe that she wrapped around Legolas' shoulders.
After a moment of silence, Valda spoke quietly. "The King has commanded that he shall luncheon with you privately here this afternoon." She paused at the silent shudder that Legolas gave. "He is very cognizant of his duties."
Legolas simply nodded, drew the robe more tightly across his chest, and then quietly asked, "Where is he now?"
The Countess thought for a moment. "I think riding. His normal routine is to wake at dawn and ride with Davyn. Then he closets himself with the council every morning until noon. He normally has lunch with Davyn, and then spends the afternoon either hearing petitions with the council or making inspections of the construction projects. I would expect with you here, the normal routine will be somewhat altered."
Legolas nodded again. "And Davyn is always with him.
With a curious look, Valda nodded. "Yes. Always."
Legolas was silent again, and watched the maids directing a group of menservants to empty buckets of steaming water into a large wooden tub. He noticed that the menservants would look furtively at him for a moment and then scurry out. Many of the glances were a combination of awe and appreciation. ::All they see is the King's prize. They do not realize that while they are the servants, I am the slave.::
"Valda", he said quietly, so quietly that no one, not the servants, not the maids, not the woman in the mirror, could hear him, "Whom can I trust? Who can I depend upon? Where do your loyalties lie?" He turned and fixed the woman with a deep gaze.
Valda's face went blank. "My loyalties lie with Gondor, Legolas. I will do what is best for my people, no matter what the circumstance." She sat straighter and Legolas was reminded that this woman was of the highest noble blood. "I think I can say the same for Arnlaug and for Gilby."
"And for the moment, your goals and my goals are the same." Legolas sighed. "But if my goals were to change, what then?" He didn't expect an answer to this question and was not surprised when she remained silent.
"What of them? Can they be trusted?" Legolas nodded towards the two maids who were now scattering herbs and dried flower petals on the steaming water in the tub.
"I personally chose them for your household. They are both extremely discrete, exceptionally loyal, and highly intelligent." Valda inspected a nail on her left hand closely. "You'll find they're also very attentive listeners to things they think may be of value to us."
The elf raised his eyebrows and then nodded. One did not live in a royal court, obviously either elven or human, and not realize that the best source of information was the servant's quarters. Many a careless word had been dropped when there were only those people that most nobles thought of as less than themselves about.
It was with a slightly lighter heart that he was able to bathe, Lanelese chattering cheerfully while she wielded her sponge with great vigor, Clotild offering a quiet but no less amusing counterpoint. She simply waited for her fairer partner to breathe to insert a comment here and there. It almost took his mind off of the upcoming meal.
Clotild had brought out a pale blue gown that laced up the front, and a simple white chemise. Small blue slippers completed the outfit. Lanelese combed out the blonde hair and left it loose around his shoulders.
Legolas soon found himself sitting by the window again while the small table and chairs were prepared for an intimate luncheon. The garden was visible from the window, but was bare from the harsh winter. The dark skeletons of trees reached towards the pale sun, seeking the warmth of spring, but failing. He was reflecting upon how similar his own heart felt when Valda touched him on the shoulder.
"Tell me", she said "how is it with elf women when they bear children? How long do they carry? How do they know when they are bearing? What do they require during that time?"
He blinked for a moment, his expression blank. "I know nothing about such things, Valda."
"Surely you know something. Surely you were around women who bore children?"
"I am among of the youngest of my kind. There were very few children born to my people after me." He turned his attention to the window and then continued. "I was raised as a warrior and a prince, and if I could not ride it, kill it, climb it, or fight it, it did not interest me. I had no intention of marrying or fathering children with our time so short in this land, and I never learned of such things."
Valda frowned. "You are even more vague that Arwen was. I did not think that was possible. At least she was able to tell me that she thought elf women carried their children for a year, perhaps longer." She then smiled tightly. "The good thing is that no one else knows such things either, to include the mage and the king. We can probably tell them anything we would like and they would have to believe it. I think we can…" She paused for a moment, searching for the right word, "..Manipulate the facts when needed to get you certain things."
He looked at her, waiting for her to explain.
"I am quite certain that a breeding elf will need to be outside in the sun and air much more than a breeding human, for example." She smiled again. "And I'm also quite sure that a breeding elf will need to have ample time out of her rooms to walk about the palace and exercise. You see what I mean?"
"I do not wish to speak of such things." He said it flatly, not wanting to deal with that right at this moment. He would address that issue only when he absolutely had to. The concept was still entirely too foreign for his mind to wrap itself around.
She frowned again, but nodded her understanding. "The king will be here shortly. We should leave you now." She and the maids curtseyed and then left the room, throwing the bolt behind them.
Legolas stood and walked to the mirror. The woman within looked much better, her bruises already fading, and her eyes not quite as haunted.
::Well, I may have to be obedient and compliant, but I can work my way into it over a few days. Which means today, I can try my best to inflict a little pain on the creature in the process of becoming defeated and harmless:: He balled his hands into fists and waited.
The woman in the mirror smiled grimly, and her eyes glittered with deeply hidden amusement when she heard the bolt pulled.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The first week passed with little incident, except for the King's black eye, which no one was allowed to discuss. It was said that the king was an amazingly attentive husband, spending each night and each noon meal with his new queen, forsaking his mage to do his duty for his country.
The second and third weeks passed with even less incident. It was said in the servants quarters that the queen was becoming gentle and mild, (the rumor Lanelese and Clotild encouraged), and she was a good influence upon the King. His mood was noticeably better, and he spent less time with his mage. This made many people happy, except of course, for Davyn, who endured this with a harsh smile.
There was much sadness as well, for the Chancellor of Gondor had fallen ill, his joints swollen and his body wracked with fever. The physicians said that there was little hope, but the man still clung to life with the stubbornness that he had always exhibited. It was whispered that he did so to spite Davyn, who would surely be appointed Chancellor in his stead.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Jastaelf: I present you with a small chapter, but I hope this meets your approval so that I may read the next chapter of "Dark Leaf".
And I am no longer behind. Sheesh.
It was dark. The fire had long since died down, and the orange coals glowed sullenly through a covering of ash. They were barely visible through the dark cloth of the bedcurtains, and their occasional pop was the only sound in the room besides the creature's heavy breathing.
That was the name that Legolas had placed on the entity that controlled Aragorn's body. The creature. He would not justify its existence with a proper name. It was a creature made up of barely controlled cruelty and instinct, and it somewhat answered to the mage that had created it. And somewhere within it dwelt the mind of his friend.
The creature was exhausted from its earlier sport and slept deeply. Its head rested on Legolas' chest, the rest of its body sprawled on top of the elf. An arm rested heavily on his stomach; a leg was still between his own, almost as if claiming future rights. Legolas shifted in the bed slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, and the creature responded by stirring and clutching the elf even tighter. Legolas winced as sore muscles that he shouldn't have had in the first place throbbed in memory of their earlier abuse.
He allowed his eyes to unfocus as he gazed at the canopy above them. He could almost pretend that there were stars above, gleaming softly down from a midnight sky. Almost. It had been a week since he had seen the stars, and he missed them.
Sleep, even of the elvish kind, eluded him, and he turned his mind to the problem at hand.
He allowed his eyes to slide down to the dark head that was pillowed on his chest. The long hair covered the torc from his sight, but he could still feel the baleful cold of it so close to his skin. ::How is it that no one has noticed this evil thing?::, He thought to himself. ::Even I could tell just by looking that it is something of ill intent::
For the first time since this waking nightmare had started, he allowed his hand to explore the golden collar around his own neck, and trace the knots and whorls he felt there. ::Mine does not feel like his. It does not have the feel of malice woven into it, just of function and form.:: He was unsure if that thought comforted him.
With deliberate movement, he slowly lowered his hand towards the torc. His knuckles began to ache with the chill when he was but an inch away. He took a deep breath and forced himself to lay his fingers upon the blisteringly cold metal.
Hate. Vengeance. Punishment. A thirst for revenge that was so strong it made his stomach churn and clench. The cold was merely a physical manifestation of the evil emotions used to forge the torc. He gasped as he tried to work his fingers around the metal, feeling as if his flesh were being stripped to the bone. It would not budge. The pain was excruciating, but he tried again, shifting his grip so that he could grasp more of the offending article. Nothing.
The creature woke slightly, grasped the small hand and pulled it away. Legolas did not struggle, the cold having leeched the strength from his fingers. With a sleepy grumble, the creature repositioned itself and fell back into a deep sleep.
After a few moments, Legolas freed his hand from the loose grip and drew it up before his eyes. It burned, every nerve still on fire from its contact with the cursed thing, but the skin was unmarred. His eyes narrowed as he turned his hand to and fro and considered the situation.
He was lost in thought when the household began to stir around them. He barely noticed when one of the maids came into the bedroom and rekindled the fire, or when the others came in to clean. The dark turned to grey as the new day dawned, and still he thought.
The creature's hands began to move slowly across his body as it passed from sleep to awareness. He gave a token resistance, but knew that he would be unable to fight it off. And while he listened to the bedframe squeak, and watched the torc sway in front of his face, he pondered the situation deeply.
When the creature had finished, given an awkward pat on the head, and left the room, he rolled onto his side, pulled his knees up to his chest, and sighed. He did not like where his thoughts were leading.
It was with some amount of pain that he finally moved and put his feet on the floor and emerged from behind the bedcurtains and faced the pallid sunlight of the new day.
The room was empty and quiet, almost peaceful. He found himself in front of the mirror, and looked at the woman within.
Her shift was torn and hung open on top, and was bloodstained on the bottom. Bruises on her neck and collarbone were a lurid purple against her otherwise flawless skin. Her lips were swollen and stubble burned. Disheveled was probably the mildest word for her, yet she was still heartbreakingly beautiful.
But the most striking things were her eyes. They were the same blue as the gem that shone at her throat, but they were fathoms deep. The sadness that was reflected there tugged at his heart as he slowly reached a hand up, and they touched fingertip to fingertip in the mirror.
"Am I able to speak to you of this?" he wondered aloud in the quietest whisper. "After all, we are one in the same, are we not?" He paused and wondered how much of himself he had just lost, making that admission.
She did not answer, so after a moment he took that as an invitation to continue.
"I cannot win if I fight them directly or physically. I simply am not strong enough. I am trapped at every juncture. I must find another way." He looked at her intently. "Everything has a weakness. I will have to find the weakness that I know exists in the mage, and exploit it."
Her eyes narrowed as she considered this, and she cocked her head to one side, obviously following his train of thought.
He continued. "It's not unlike setting a trap in the forest at home. When I would hunt something that was bigger or stronger, I would have to devise a plan and a snare that could capture it. It's not that different at all." It sounded to his ears that he was trying to convince himself.
She raised an eyebrow questioningly.
"Yes, yes, I know. I will have to learn about my prey. Watch him. Lull him into a sense of security, so that he will grow careless. He is already arrogant with what he perceives as victory." He paused for a moment. "I must make him think that I am no threat, but I must still try to influence Aragorn away from him as much as possible. I do not know what is left of him in there, but I fear that he may cease to exist if this continues."
Her face reflected his own troubled state of mind at that thought. The corners of her mouth turned down into an uneasy frown, and her eyes shifted to meet his again.
"I will have to be compliant. Obedient."
Eyes flashing, she raised a finger to a chin in thought.
"Yes, but not too obedient. That would make them even more suspicious, wouldn't it? Aragorn remarked on that last night."
They both winced together in unison, their thoughts obviously going back to the night before at the same time.
"I must also find who I can trust here. This prey is too big to hunt alone. I think that I can depend on Arnlaug and Valda. There must be others."
He allowed his gaze to fall on her shift, on the bloodstains, and then back to her face. The expression had hardened into a mask of anger.
"And then he will taste my steel. I will put an end to this. I am patient. I am immortal. I have time."
After a moment he allowed his eyes to fall to her abdomen, and he felt a moment's hesitation.
"Or do I?"
He met her eyes again in the mirror, and this time they looked especially haunted.
0-0-0-0-0-0—0-00-
After a soft knock, the door swung open and Valda walked in, accompanied by Lanelese and Clotild. The maids curtseyed deeply while Valda walked slowly to stand at Legolas' side, and surveyed him with a look of dismay.
"I want a bath. I cannot bear the smell of him on my skin", Legolas said quietly.
Valda gestured to the maids, who immediately busied themselves with the chore at hand, and then she drew the elf to sit painfully on the window seat and wait. She had brought a long, heavy robe that she wrapped around Legolas' shoulders.
After a moment of silence, Valda spoke quietly. "The King has commanded that he shall luncheon with you privately here this afternoon." She paused at the silent shudder that Legolas gave. "He is very cognizant of his duties."
Legolas simply nodded, drew the robe more tightly across his chest, and then quietly asked, "Where is he now?"
The Countess thought for a moment. "I think riding. His normal routine is to wake at dawn and ride with Davyn. Then he closets himself with the council every morning until noon. He normally has lunch with Davyn, and then spends the afternoon either hearing petitions with the council or making inspections of the construction projects. I would expect with you here, the normal routine will be somewhat altered."
Legolas nodded again. "And Davyn is always with him.
With a curious look, Valda nodded. "Yes. Always."
Legolas was silent again, and watched the maids directing a group of menservants to empty buckets of steaming water into a large wooden tub. He noticed that the menservants would look furtively at him for a moment and then scurry out. Many of the glances were a combination of awe and appreciation. ::All they see is the King's prize. They do not realize that while they are the servants, I am the slave.::
"Valda", he said quietly, so quietly that no one, not the servants, not the maids, not the woman in the mirror, could hear him, "Whom can I trust? Who can I depend upon? Where do your loyalties lie?" He turned and fixed the woman with a deep gaze.
Valda's face went blank. "My loyalties lie with Gondor, Legolas. I will do what is best for my people, no matter what the circumstance." She sat straighter and Legolas was reminded that this woman was of the highest noble blood. "I think I can say the same for Arnlaug and for Gilby."
"And for the moment, your goals and my goals are the same." Legolas sighed. "But if my goals were to change, what then?" He didn't expect an answer to this question and was not surprised when she remained silent.
"What of them? Can they be trusted?" Legolas nodded towards the two maids who were now scattering herbs and dried flower petals on the steaming water in the tub.
"I personally chose them for your household. They are both extremely discrete, exceptionally loyal, and highly intelligent." Valda inspected a nail on her left hand closely. "You'll find they're also very attentive listeners to things they think may be of value to us."
The elf raised his eyebrows and then nodded. One did not live in a royal court, obviously either elven or human, and not realize that the best source of information was the servant's quarters. Many a careless word had been dropped when there were only those people that most nobles thought of as less than themselves about.
It was with a slightly lighter heart that he was able to bathe, Lanelese chattering cheerfully while she wielded her sponge with great vigor, Clotild offering a quiet but no less amusing counterpoint. She simply waited for her fairer partner to breathe to insert a comment here and there. It almost took his mind off of the upcoming meal.
Clotild had brought out a pale blue gown that laced up the front, and a simple white chemise. Small blue slippers completed the outfit. Lanelese combed out the blonde hair and left it loose around his shoulders.
Legolas soon found himself sitting by the window again while the small table and chairs were prepared for an intimate luncheon. The garden was visible from the window, but was bare from the harsh winter. The dark skeletons of trees reached towards the pale sun, seeking the warmth of spring, but failing. He was reflecting upon how similar his own heart felt when Valda touched him on the shoulder.
"Tell me", she said "how is it with elf women when they bear children? How long do they carry? How do they know when they are bearing? What do they require during that time?"
He blinked for a moment, his expression blank. "I know nothing about such things, Valda."
"Surely you know something. Surely you were around women who bore children?"
"I am among of the youngest of my kind. There were very few children born to my people after me." He turned his attention to the window and then continued. "I was raised as a warrior and a prince, and if I could not ride it, kill it, climb it, or fight it, it did not interest me. I had no intention of marrying or fathering children with our time so short in this land, and I never learned of such things."
Valda frowned. "You are even more vague that Arwen was. I did not think that was possible. At least she was able to tell me that she thought elf women carried their children for a year, perhaps longer." She then smiled tightly. "The good thing is that no one else knows such things either, to include the mage and the king. We can probably tell them anything we would like and they would have to believe it. I think we can…" She paused for a moment, searching for the right word, "..Manipulate the facts when needed to get you certain things."
He looked at her, waiting for her to explain.
"I am quite certain that a breeding elf will need to be outside in the sun and air much more than a breeding human, for example." She smiled again. "And I'm also quite sure that a breeding elf will need to have ample time out of her rooms to walk about the palace and exercise. You see what I mean?"
"I do not wish to speak of such things." He said it flatly, not wanting to deal with that right at this moment. He would address that issue only when he absolutely had to. The concept was still entirely too foreign for his mind to wrap itself around.
She frowned again, but nodded her understanding. "The king will be here shortly. We should leave you now." She and the maids curtseyed and then left the room, throwing the bolt behind them.
Legolas stood and walked to the mirror. The woman within looked much better, her bruises already fading, and her eyes not quite as haunted.
::Well, I may have to be obedient and compliant, but I can work my way into it over a few days. Which means today, I can try my best to inflict a little pain on the creature in the process of becoming defeated and harmless:: He balled his hands into fists and waited.
The woman in the mirror smiled grimly, and her eyes glittered with deeply hidden amusement when she heard the bolt pulled.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The first week passed with little incident, except for the King's black eye, which no one was allowed to discuss. It was said that the king was an amazingly attentive husband, spending each night and each noon meal with his new queen, forsaking his mage to do his duty for his country.
The second and third weeks passed with even less incident. It was said in the servants quarters that the queen was becoming gentle and mild, (the rumor Lanelese and Clotild encouraged), and she was a good influence upon the King. His mood was noticeably better, and he spent less time with his mage. This made many people happy, except of course, for Davyn, who endured this with a harsh smile.
There was much sadness as well, for the Chancellor of Gondor had fallen ill, his joints swollen and his body wracked with fever. The physicians said that there was little hope, but the man still clung to life with the stubbornness that he had always exhibited. It was whispered that he did so to spite Davyn, who would surely be appointed Chancellor in his stead.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-