1Creator's note---
If the previous chapter was about Place, then this one is about Time.
From the moment I started typing this, I knew the beginning of this chapter would be the biggest risk of the whole story. The whole thing was supposed to be in footnotes—I modeled it after an award-winning short story I had been reading called "The Depressed Person". The source impressed me so much: I had never read something that was both scathing and sympathetic so congruently. It was the most ambitious segment of the narrative.
It doesn't work for the story. There. I've admitted it. It belongs to something else, entirely. However, I still believe it works for Zelgadis. He's not OCD. His compulsion is driven by his need to apply a logic system to whatever he encounters in order to avoid the chaos of both his external and internal world. His obsession with power never disappeared, it merely transformed to mean power over himself. It is a last-ditch effort to grapple with control issues—he is at a developmental crossroads, and having been through some of those myself, they are frightening. Besides, he can't deal with his relationship to Amelia until he deals with his relationship to himself.
People either "get" this section, or they don't—and that's my fault. If I were a more mature writer I would have done it with a lot more finesse. Flawed as it is, I still think it's funny.
This section is also about contextuality. Without context, I can't get to the sexy bits, which is why we're all reading this anyway.
I guess the end justifies the means, which is ironic because I stuffed this chapter full of Machiavelli quotes.
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Of course the Banquet was spectacular, the product of the Seyruunian-state's vast resources; a prolific sea-port based economy—specifically that which specialized in the frequent successful extraction of it's neighboring sea's bounties, supplemented by Seyruun's extensive auxiliary agricultural yields from its surrounding peasantry (fertile indeed due to the city's preternaturally fortuitous geographical establishment), also supplemented by a thriving system of inter-kingdom trade, facilitated further by its advantageous sea-port status (Seyruun was, at least, one of the most successful city-states of its respected place and time, and probably (in respect to its rudimental parliamentary government and complex bureaucratic rule, existing in an apparently non-conflicting state with the traditional monarchy system of the era, and in conjunction to the cultural/political/economic progressiveness of said government and its constituencies (all beneficiaries of a high standard of living due, again, to its auspicious geographic positioning)) was, in its body politic, the closest to a modern republican polis, within its feudalistic, meta-medieval context). Zelgadis, of course, did not engage in the classical pageantry that was the Banquet, but rather, partook of his supper in the preferred solitude of his private guest apartments. This did not detract from its excellence.
And so, with his accommodations pre-arranged as such, he was at his leisure to pass his residence at the palace without compromising his own personal habits, and to continue doing so, with the inherent addition of enjoying the many comforts his Seyruunian environs had to offer, indefinitely, in accordance to his established routine, as his purposes there might require. Thus, for a fortnight, his time passed uneventfully.
Zelgadis was particularly proud of the schedule he had developed over the strange years; a period of time that would, in any other opinion, be deemed as tumultuous and intrusive to a creature so inclined to compulsive regularity as he. Ironically, it was this fixedness of habit that allowed him to cope with his otherwise unfortunate circumstances.
He would rise each morning with the first grayish light of pre-dawn, spend twenty minutes of observed meditation reflecting on the interpretive meaning of his dreams prior to waking, the pre-determined tasks before him, his long-term personal/ spiritual goals, their holistic meaning to history and the rest of the universe, his short-term goals, the meaning of life, and then finally digressing from polymorphic abstract consciousness into ambient, Zen-like nothingness.
He would then devote three-quarters of an hour to a strict regimen of physical training (sometimes incorporating both magical and non-magical exercises in sorcery and sword-technique) before addressing the matter of breakfast (he would arrange his food-stuffs in order of nutritional value and their respective categories and sub-categories (he had already indicated to the staff his preference for foods rich in mineral and vitamin content, high in proteins and essential fiber, and low in fat, carbohydridic, and caloric value (none of the servants ever actually entered his apartments—this, of course, was due to his inherent distrust of strangers and private habits. His meals were simply left on a tray outside his door, and they were taken from the same location when he was through; he oversaw the upkeep of his chambers himself which was not at all difficult, being a man of fastidious neatness—the palace hire made no protest, having been instructed that this would be so, and possibly because they, too, feared the stranger, being superstitious in the nature of common folk, and the arrangement was a graceful means of avoiding him without risking insult to the royal guest))) which would take up no more than ten minutes, and then another ten to partake of his morning tea ( 2.5 cups of an aromatic, unsweetened, herbal energy blend) before proceeding with his morning toilette ( an exact, deliberate affair; he was a man of impeccable hygienic practices) which would consume him for the remainder of the three hour morning-process, save for the five minutes he allotted himself for gathering the necessary items for that day's activities—always pre-collected and located in the same niche relegated to house them for the purpose of convenience—and met his dedicated and exclusive palace aide, Hansa, who would invariably be waiting and ready just outside the entrance to his suite, so that his day's activities would begin at the hour conventionally recognized s the waking period for an ordinarily early-rising person of Zelgadis's equal, non-service-oriented status.
The rest of the day was spent performing pre-determined tasks, breaking for a light luncheon (pre-prepared and again followed by tea, with which he also took some time, using it to reflect on what had been and what needed to be accomplished for the day, and what, logically, would be adjunctly needed to accomplish these things presently, and in the near future, discussing this, then, with his attentive and compliant personal who would then make any suggestions in case he, Zelgadis, might need to modify any of his previous notations). He would then see to these things, acknowledging a period of time that may or may not be necessary for the expedient handling of any undo events, catastrophes, unpredicted eventuality, or the involvement with additional business any excess time left him free to pursue (this allotment of time was now modified to accommodate further Library investigation or follow up investigation, having been previously allotted to his past adventuring (with its implicit spontaneity)).
It would be early evening now, and Zelgadis would again re-convene with his servant to discuss that day's business and proposed future business (the servant would then make the necessary arrangements for this), before retiring to his chambers. Here, he would again depose himself to an hour of physical exercises before partaking of his evening meal (complying with all previously mentioned requirements), perhaps indulging in a non-stimulant tea, or the occasional flagon of fine vintage Seyruunian wine, or the rare quality malt beverage, before seeing to his evening toilette. When this was done, he had three hours before his self-imposed curfew, designed to facilitate six hours of REM cycle sleep before he had to wake for the next day. In this time he could then meditate on the day's events, make any necessary adjustments to his short and long-term plans, digress into more abstract/intellectual pursuits, exploring some of them on a more creative level he deemed integral to his personal mental/spiritual/artistic well-being (he read and wrote voraciously, sometimes indulging in musical activities—a particular hobby of his (he wrote many songs and ballads, of which he felt, a little embarrassingly, sophomoric and self-gratifying) that he would have more time to pursue had he not otherwise been consumed by his importunate fate).
He had adhered to more or less the same agenda for most of his adult life (a period of protracted maturity that began upon his blighting transformation) and would continue to do so throughout the course of his stay within Seyruun's walled interiors. Of course he allowed for the occasional deviation . The initial Library tour, was one, obviously, and the impending likely event that some external palace function could and would conflict with his personal agenda, especially with such larger circumstances proceeding within the palace itself that paralleled his non-inclusive objectives.
Fortunately, affairs within the palace itself regulated themselves with the precision of clockwork—the powers-to-be exhibiting laudable administrative proficiency. Every consideration had been addressed to accommodate his specific needs and purposes without interference, and the best aide the palace could provide had been assigned to him, perhaps at the inconvenience of the palace's operative machine (or perhaps not; Zelgadis suspected that he was a rather small affair in comparison to all that was going on, and that while Hansa could indeed do the job of four lesser pages, why assign four servants to a task that one could handle when it was obvious that four would be more needed elsewhere?).
The potential worth of Hansa's service alone exceeded Zelgadis's wildest expectations. The page never ceased to impress him. Hansa uncannily seemed to anticipate, and attend to, the ever-changing needs of his assigned person, even before Zelgadis himself could identify those needs.
Hansa was a small young man, diminunized further by the clerical uniform he wore, modified and adorned according to his elevated rank among the other, less capable, palace servants. One would ordinarily be tempted to overlook such a youth, or even prematurely write him off as a sickly, bookish adolescent finally within his element as a petty clerical cog fulfilling some nominal role in the hulking machine of Seyruun's bureaucracy.
Such an observation would be a discredit to both the young man and the observer. Hansa was a man of extraordinary talent and rare intelligence, a great scholar of extensive ecclesiastic tutelage and possessed of an expansive magical, spiritual, and political knowledge, the venerable chamberlain Eu'Falaada, and now, unintentionally, friend to the unsociable, slightly older Zelgadis. This friendship, while reciprocated, was not outwardly encouraged by Hansa himself. He never spoke more than what was necessary, and certainly not on the same candid level as he did that first day on the monastic walk. He silently discouraged any probe into his own pat (which Zelgadis suspected had nothing to do with any sensitivity on the subject, but rather a disinclination to investigate something of such little importance), or any talk about his own personal relations, beyond his fondness to and complete loyalty to his mentor, Eu'falaada. This irrationally frustrated Zelgadis, who could not fathom why such a talented man would, as Hansa had, given up his former life (where he would probably be well on his way to becoming a high priest) to one of unconditional servitude to his State; a life of hearing without hearing, of being unseen, and when seen, immediately forgotten. Perhaps Hansa recognized that this was, perhaps, a common bond that lent itself to their affinity for one another, or, equally, recognized that the reason they had been so well suited to each other did not really matter. On some unconscious level, Zelgadis probably saw this, too.
All of this, of course, was owed to the fantastic administrative designs of Seyruun's Princess, Amelia Will-Telsa de Seyruun, who had been conspicuously absent in the passing weeks. Not truly absent—she was always within the vicinity of the Palace and its functions—if Zelgadis were inclined, he did not doubt he would be granted audience when ever, and for however long he requested it. But neither of them requested the company of the other; the princess was apparently very busy (therefore, any avoidance on her part was a moot point—this inexplicably vexed Zelgadis) and he was very busy (with no reason to contrive to be so in order to avoid her, which also inexplicably vexed him). Gradually, within the next week, Zelgadis came to the startling revelation that he was BORED, and had perhaps been so since long before entering Seyruun.
There was no reason for him to be: the both the palace and the city were in a constant state of flux, the Library immense in size and mystery. Yet, as he entangled himself with its intrigues, he found himself pursuing its other curiosities that had nothing to do with his condition, naturally, resulting in small deviations from his schedule. These, in turn, became larger and larger, and thus Zelgadis found himself adhering to very little of his schedule at all. This led him to the conclusion that either his quest or his schedule was the source of his discontent, eventually leading him to conclude that it was himself (!) that he found so boring.
This realization was a source of much disturbance, and only served to heighten his growing displeasure.
Such was apparent this one annoyingly uneventful afternoon. Having sent Hansa off to perform some task (he no longer cared what; this day he had devoted himself to ponder over his irrational malaise in an attempt to discover (or invent) a cause outside of himself, its solution, and get on with the rest of his life), he was left to himself. He conveniently found an isolated alcove in the garden square of the building situated above one of the larger Library vaults, well-suited to his depressing missives since, no longer able to distract himself with a nagging question concerning the rationality of containing volatile magics beneath important Seyruunian landmarks before learning that many of the vaults containing the larger, more dangerous magics weren't physically beneath the city proper, but located in some congruent dimensional reality (a trick, as a gift, learned from the Monster race, who were responsible for the endowment of many of the Library's magics—the answer supplied, unsolicited, by Hansa, which in hindsight, now seemed quite an obvious solution), he had nothing better to think about. Preoccupied with dark thoughts (and their implicit affront of his person), he almost missed overhearing an exchange within his unintentional vicinity.
Curious, he presumed to eavesdrop further and recognized the voices of the princess and what he assumed could only be her advisors. Never once departing from the proper administrative rhetoric and decorum, only an ear trained and familiarized with erudite knowledge of social theory and political philosophy (such as he, himself was) would be able to discern the progressively heated turn of their dialogue.
"It is not very flattering, Your Grace."
"But it is not my wish to be flattered, sir. Besides, in defending against flattery, one runs the further risk of incurring contempt. For there is no way to protect yourself from flattery except by letting men know you will not be offended at being told the truth. But when anyone can you the truth, you will not have much respect. It holds, then, that the only option is to surround yourself with a council of worthy men and only they be allowed to tell the truth, but only on those points where the Prince asks for it, not on others, and this is one of those others."
"A Prince ought to proceed cautiously, moderating his conduct with prudence and humanity, allowing neither overconfidence to make him careless, nor excess suspicion to make him intolerable."
"I wholly doubt that there is any in this kingdom with any missives as to my conduct or reputation, both of which I am loved for, that you here gathered have all witnessed over the years. My Reputation is solid in the eyes of the public, and that this would cause that opinion to waver is of negligible consequence considering our purposes here. Many hold that a shrewd Prince will, if he can, subtly encourage some enmity to himself, so that by overcoming it he can augment his own reputation."
"A Prince may not have all the admirable qualities, but it is very necessary that he should seem to have them. While this evokes several qualities that are not…un-admirable…it would be wise to keep in mind that this might not evoke qualities for which you wish to be admired for."
"Since it is impossible to have and exercise them all, because the conditions of human life simply do not allow it, a prince must avoid the public disgrace of those vices that would lose him the State. If he possibly can, he should also guard against vices that will not lose him the State."
"And by this argument it also holds that a Prince should not be too worried about incurring blame for any vice without which he would find it hard to save his State. For if you look at matters carefully, you will see that something resembling virtue, if you follow it, may be your ruin, while something else resembling vice will lead, if you follow it, to your security and well-being."
"I am not at all sure as to what this will do to ensure your well-being, Majesty—as it is, your reluctance to take definitive action has already caused unrest among the delegates, and even amongst the people themselves. Your recent good works will not be enough to sustain them, they are impatient for a decision on this, while you seem to be sending mixed messages, especially where your virtue is concerned."
"The problem is not whether your actions bespeak deceit—that you have only pretended to be of virtuous character, but whether or not you are willing to take action to ensure the security of the kingdom. A Prince will also be well thought of when he is a true friend or an honest enemy, that is, without any hedging, he takes a stand for one side against another. It is always better to do this than to stand on one's neutrality; because if two of your powerful neighbors come to blows, they are either such people that you have to fear the winner, or they are not. Stated simply, this recent change is simply not committal enough; you appear capricious and deliberately elusive. It is one thing to ensure Seyruun's legacy as the capital of white magic with a Library, and quite another if this action merely appears as if you are stalling."
"And in keeping with consistency, would it not be better to solidify the image already engrained in the public eye, than to risk taking an action that would cast doubt upon the integrity of that opinion?"
"I am doing nothing other than being what I am. A ruling entity known for upholding justice through liberalism does not mean that my recent action is its opposite to be excluded from that identity. I refuse to accept that this is so, that the State's head cannot be faceted and remain consistent of principle and image—it is not the same, and I despise inconsistency, and revoking a decision just because it defies public opinion is weak and unworthy to rule. What makes a Prince contemptible is being considered changeable, trifling, effeminate, cowardly, or indecisive; he should avoid this and make sure that his actions bespeak greatness, courage, seriousness of purpose, and strength…"
"And there is such a difference between the way we really live and the way we ought to live that the man who neglects the real to study the ideal will learn how to accomplish his ruin, not his salvation."
"Thus he has to have a mind ready to shift as the winds of fortune and the varying circumstances of life may dictate."
"Any man who tries to be good all the time is bound to come to ruin among the great number who are not good. Hence a Prince who wants to keep his authority must learn how not to be good, and use that knowledge, or refrain from using it, as necessity requires. But with this, consistency, too, is most important."
"Keep in mind, Majesty, that men in general judge more by the sense of sight than by the sense of touch, because everyone can see but only few can test by feeling. Everyone sees what you seem to be, few know what you really are; and those few do not dare take a stand against the general opinion, supported by the majesty of government."
"A Prince, therefore, should win victories and uphold his State; his methods will always be considered worthy."
Under such strange circumstances, Amelia had suddenly and conveniently (one would at first suspect) reappeared in his life.
It was not a calculated even—not as if, for example, it had been some contrived occasion where he (Zelgadis) had removed a certain text from its Library shelf only to find her (Amelia) on the exact opposite side reaching for the same text, resulting in an "accidental" meeting. Neither the princess, nor her attendants had any previous knowledge that he would be there at that exact moment (and, contrariwise, nor had Zelgadis known she would be there), and had not, in fact, noticed his presence at all, remaining unaware of his unintended voyeurism. The sighting itself was unsentimental and very brief (the stone bench where he had been situated was completely surrounded by neatly pruned cypresses and great marble urns of cascading perennials), thus, he only saw her advancing profile through the closest sliver clear of foliage; a narrow field of vision and a banal narrative conceit, however, remaining, in this happenstance, a unique tableaux. From his limited vantage, he then saw that their entire overheard discourse had to do with nothing more concerning the State than the seemingly trivial matter (his assumption was to be immediately revised; apparently, he would learn, this was a subject of apparently much concern to the State) of the Princess's dress.
Not that the design or cut was in any way improprietious. The barred shoulders were compensated for with the regal drape of her mantle, and except for this, the rest of her frame was fully encapsulated in tastefully close-fitting cloth, the demure neckline still accentuated the immodest curve of her woman's breasts—but any garment, save a boys squarish tunic, would have done the same. No, it was the color of the dress that caused such alarm: an uncharacteristically brilliant crimson (itself another banality, but only such because of its proven effectiveness). The soft flutter of cloth stopped within the frame of his view, and Amelia turned to her council, favoring each an authoritative glance in turn, excluding none (including Eu'faalda, who numbered among them) with the weight of its measure.
"The tern 'should' is never used when addressing a Prince. The Prince is the State, I am the State, and, as such, am married to the State. If you, in compliance to my father's wishes, insist on marrying me to someone other than the State, then perhaps you would be more successful if you had me dressed as something other than a nun."
The fire of this statement, its willfulness, reminded Zelgadis of Amelia's former self, someone, it now seemed, from a time so long ago. It was arresting and beautiful in its purity, stirring a wealth of feeling from some unknown source within him; he was moved. So, too, were the others who now quaked beneath its emotional weight (what was it? Annoyance? Disgust? Indignance? Scorn? Wrath?).
Eu'faalda, the wisest and most familiar with the princess, among them, was the only one to meet her stony eye, and for the briefest moment, Zelgadis saw an understanding pass unspoken between them. Then he sympathetically shook his wizened head, perhaps embarrassed for his peers and himself, and met her eyes again.
"But you, madam, are not a Prince," he said without embellishment. To this, Amelia blanched—Zelgadis had never seen the look that passed her eyes—before those eyes dulled and her face once again assumed a mask of impassivity she now constantly wore. She was, first and foremost, a royal entity, and Zelgadis knew of her inherent political ability, being observant enough to identify this quality in her years before when there was the rare occasion of seeing her immersed in this particular element (this he also believed was an admirable trait—these seemed so few at the time, but now it struck him that this was because any occasion of seeing her in this context was so rare then, as opposed to now), yet, for some reason, this also seemed inexplicably sad.
"You are, of course, right," she said finally, "you are ALL right. I am Amelia Will telsa, Princess of Seyruun. How fortunate that I, the State---how fortunate are ALL—that there are such jurisprudent council at our employ." She bowed before graciously excusing herself to attend a small party of suitors that had just now begun to assemble in the garden enclave. Deep within the recesses of his person, Zelgadis felt a small object become impossibly heavy. He watched he disappear again, only hearing her quickly and gracefully receive them, as her previous company, too, dissolved to their own unknown tasks.
The pang of emotion subsided in him, and with it the burgeoning weight, before Hansa, having completed his superfluous errand, rejoined him.
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In the naturalistic sense of things, it came as no surprise that the consequence of this was the conversation between himself and Hansa the next day. Zelgadis, disinterested in the dry interchange of that day's Library findings, or rather, the lack of any, was somewhat embarrassed to admit to his preoccupation when his aide, concerned of his charge's displeasure in their lack of results, made unnecessary apologies for such. Not wishing to insult the diligence of his servant, Zelgadis found himself compelled to confession, during which Hansa listened quietly until he was done (as it turned out, there was surprisingly little to little to say about it, save for his curiosity concerning Amelia's current situation). Upon its conclusion, the page, who had never spoken so much since their first meet, offered a startling amount of insight on the subject.
"You and the Princess knew each other adventuring, yes?" he asked.
"Yes," said Zelgadis.
"And she never mentioned anything about her personal life in that time?"
"Well, not really," he admitted sheepishly, "I remember her telling us a little bit, but there were other things going on at the time, so I didn't make much of an effort to take any significant note of those things beyond a limited awareness. Most of the time, the rest of us just assumed that the personality she projected was all there was to it." He omitted her confession of her feelings for him in the last hours of their final adventure, and Zelgadis hoped that Hansa wouldn't notice this, as it was his profound ability to notice such things. If he did, he made not indication of it in his next statement, which offered only marginal relief to Zelgadis.
"No doubt you were all very busy and it never occurred to anyone to ask," Hansa said, understanding. He smiled, which made Zelgadis grimace, and the page registered this and shook his head.
"It is no fault of yours of your companions. To a certain extent, you were all correct in your assessment. She was and still is very much the person she appeared then, and it was not in anyway deceitful of her to want to appear so. Very few people, indeed, know what a private person she has always been. It is only more apparent now because of the mounting issues and responsibilities of these times sometimes overlap these personal issues now that she is no longer of an age where she can distract herself with adventures outside of her duties to the State. Do not misinterpret this—she was always aware of these things, and she wouldn't have taken on the added responsibilities of the Library project if she had ever despaired over her circumstances. She always felt as if her concerns were of less importance than those of the people surrounding her. She is a princess, and such is the nature of that role."
"You seem to know her quite well…"
"And you are curious as to how I became so familiar with her, given the unlikeliness of such a thing," he finished for him. Zelgadis nodded and his companion smiled again.
"I will remind you that I have always been her servant and never held any pretense to being anything more. Our roles are such that I understand my unreservedness of this. But if you would know so much, I have known the Princess since childhood, when I was taken as an orphan to this great monastery to study the ways of my order. I met her here; we studied under the same priest—you remember that she had been a shrine maiden before her administrative duties required her full devotion. She had sought out my company, perhaps seeing that we were the same age, and since the disappearance of her elder sister along with the isolation of her position, I was a convenient means of replacing her otherwise absent playmates," Hansa observed Zelgadis's reaction to this before continuing,
"Do not misunderstand. She was always aware of our respective roles and knew that, as a servant, I couldn't refuse. We both knew that friendship had little to do with the arrangement, and that it was status and convenience that made it possible for any reason. She might have truly wanted to be my friend, but knew that this would bear restriction in the end. It would be considered improper, you see. So it became something innocuous—how couldn't it be? She was, we both were, very young after all, and the ability to bully a small boy, one without the option to refuse, into playing at justice avengers and standing as a target for practicing spells is too good an opportunity for any child to ignore. By her nature, she was incapable of any malevolent intentions or abuse of her status towards me—and I was too aware of status to let that happen. She never demanded that I played the part of the romantic prince who would rescue the princess from the evil something or other; the way children do at that age. If anything, she was the one doing the rescuing, and I was the one who needed it in our games—the odd monk, guard, or palace drudge usually was the evil something or other in our games, and there was always a lot of pretend fuss over who would play what, but those games were always the same."
"But that still does not paint an accurate portrait of what actually happened. We did like each other, despite our roles. She was and still is possessed of a great strength of will, an infectious innocence of mind, and that rare quality of beauty. I knew better, but as an orphan boy of low status, I was flattered by the extent of her interest in me. We grew apart as we grew up, of course. The pressures of her office, you understand, became greater with age, and I, of course, had my own studies and vows to my order. But she never forgot me; it was her influence that brought me into my position, and by her introduction I became Eu'faalda's acolyte. If things had been different, I would go so far as to say we might have been friends."
"This is how I know her, but it offers no insight into your question of her demeanor," he continued, "Unfortunately, I can offer little more than what is publicly known about the Seyruun Royal history, most of which, I am sad to say, is unfortunate. The Royal family, though the current administration has been one of the greatest reigns since the kingdom's founding, has always been internally unstable, especially concerning the issue of succession"
"Yes," said Zelgadis, "I was here when her cousin attempted to betray Amelia and her father, I have also been told by Lina Inverse, during our association, that she had also played an intervening role when the king's brother attempted to assassinate him, which was how we all became associated with Seyruun early in our adventures. I just recently learned of what became of her sister and mother at our first meet. I can see how all of that could affect her, and I can also see that in light of experiencing such personal tragedy and all of the political ramifications in respect to this and its effect on Seyruun, the recent events involved with the process of her engagement would be of great concern. I would assume that neither the King, nor Amelia would want to take any chances," he reflected.
"You are correct in your assessments, which also explain much of what has been going on here at the palace during your visit. Since you are a visitor here, and not familiar with the local lore and rumors among the people here, I will mention a story that is told among them. It is a very popular story, not only whispered between servants and told to children by their nurses, but by men at the taverns, women in the market places, peasants, merchants, and the nobility alike. I remember hearing versions of it as a child, despite it's being a relatively new tale:"
'Once upon a time, there was a princess, and with her father, together, they brought justice to their land and the kingdom was happy again. The princess was happy fighting for justice with her father and because they loved each other, the princess never kept any secrets between them. But perhaps the princess was not as happy as she seemed. She promised never to forget what had happened to her mother and her sister, and though she loved her father, she thought that maybe he couldn't save them because one prince was not enough to bring justice to the land. So she learned magic instead of how to use a sword. This way she might someday, and in her own way, become strong enough to be a prince before anyone would notice what she had been doing. Without knowing it, she had begun to keep secrets. The princess grew up, and because she and her father had brought so much justice to their own kingdom, the princess wanted to do the same for the lands that existed beyond its walls so that no one else would lose their mothers and sisters. By now she believed she was really a prince who only pretended to be a princess. She felt guilty for keeping this secret, but it would be okay, because she loved her father. When she asked her father about those lands, he laughed and said that, yes, it was true that other lands needed justice too, but she was a princess and needed to stay in her own kingdom because that was how a princess was supposed to fight for justice.'
"There is more to the story than that, but I have said so much, and I and afraid that it all does very little to answer your questions. I am sure your will here more complete versions of the tale during your stay."
"No," Zelgadis interrupted, "No—as always, you have been more than helpful, and I thank you," he added, sincerely grateful, "I guess my problem is piecing it all together."
"Isn't that always the case with such things?" said Hansa. He closed his eyes, as if recalling some happy memory, before continuing, "I realize now, that I might have been infatuated with the Princess, it was bound to happen—but that was a long time ago, and we know differently now, don't we? 'Nostalgia colors events in time, and we are men of reason, after all,' so the saying goes," he looked at Zelgadis, smiling his cleric's smile. Zelgadis also smiled at the old adage, not really sure what made it so funny.
"If anything," he shrugged, conceding.
"As a man of reason, I am sure you will put these things together in your mind eventually. As for myself, I am a cleric and am concerned with the realms of the spirit, more so than that of the mind. I fear I can be of little more help to you in that respect, since as a cleric, I know the realm of women less, and they also say a woman's mind borders the realm of no reason."
"However," he continued, "I do know that if a person is concerned with the well-being of another, then they might be better off broaching that subject with whom it concerns, and there is no better expert on the realm of women than a woman. She is not so changed, sir. She would not seek you out, but neither would she turn you away. I know this much, as well."