Chapter Fourteen: Tower

Days all held the same meaning for him and for his own purposes he felt no need to gauge the weeks and months he spent alone in his work. However he didn't completely isolate himself from the outside world. He still had some awareness of the changing seasons, and he knew when the merchants would come with new merchandise. Drache brought him scraps of news to keep him aware of events. The scraps of news were the most important. It was Lezard's way of being sure that his activities remained unnoticed by everyone else.

It was through these scraps of news that Lezard learned what was happening to his father. No one knew he took residence here so he could receive no letters. He didn't visit the old house any longer and had even advised his father not to make any contact with him. But just as it was with the world as a whole, Lezard couldn't fully separate himself from his family. Drache arrived as usual with scraps of news clutched in his small claws. He deposited them in his master's waiting hands, who then scrutinized each one for hints of notice from the villagers.

"Valeth Residence Closed. Social occasions that many have grown used to being hosted in the Valeth residence have now been moved due to Lord Valeth's inability to host. Visitors are welcome but are discouraged from visiting in large numbers." Lezard stopped there, turning the scrap thoughtfully in his hands. It had been about two or so years now since he last saw his father, but he still knew the man very well. The wording of the article suggested that his father insisted on secrecy concerning… whatever was wrong with him.

Lezard had separated himself from his father and had promised he wouldn't go back, but… he couldn't help being curious. He couldn't imagine what would cause his father to close himself off. After considering it for some time Lezard decided he wouldn't be able to concentrate on his work until he knew what was happening. He hated leaving work unfinished but this took priority. Lezard left everything as it was and returned home, trusting Drache to guard things until he returned.

It was odd, but he thought when he was expelled from school he thought he had passed the threshold of the mansion for the last time. Yet here he was walking inside again after so long. His absence hadn't changed it very much. Everything looked to be just as he left it those years ago. The only distinct difference he noticed was the presence of servants near the front door, most likely placed there by his father to ward off unwanted guests. They gaped on his entrance and as usual he ignored their presence. He moved right past them without so much as a greeting and proceeded on to his father's bedroom.

Lezard came to the mansion with no expectations. So finding his father comfortably reading in bed did not shock him. There were no nurses hovering by his father's bedside, no clues to what was wrong. The older Valeth sensed his son's presence and closed the book he'd been reading. Apart from a few more grays in his hair and a thinner face, the father looked just as he did two years before. For a long time the two stood in silence. Really, what was there to say?

"I didn't expect you to come back," the father said at last.

"Nor did I," Lezard replied, "but I noticed you had closed the mansion and I couldn't help wondering why."

"I haven't been well," was the reply. "I get a pain in my chest if I exert myself too much. The doctors told me to take it easy, but I can't help but feel restless. There isn't much for me to do around here."

"You are strong," Lezard told him. "Whatever this affliction is, it will surely pass in time." It couldn't have been serious if his father could still move on his own. He watched quietly as the older man rose from his bed to stretch his legs.

"I'm going to die sooner or later. It may not be today, it may not be for weeks, months… maybe even years. But some day I will die. All mortal life ends eventually. Is that really why you came by, Lezard? So you could see me before I died?"

"Perhaps," he responded. He hadn't actually thought of it that way when he decided to come. But it didn't look to him that his father was dying, so he thought nothing of it. True his father had to stop pacing and steady himself, taking deep breaths, but Lezard thought of it as a sign of age.

"I know I haven't been the best father to you," the older man went on. "I didn't exactly do much to raise you. You always had a nurse or a tutor to look after you, and then you were in school. Nothing I can say now will change the past." He paused, turning to face his son. "Do I assume correctly in thinking we truly won't speak again after this?"

"I believe so, yes," Lezard nodded. "There isn't much we can say to one another, and I am over eighteen so I am no longer legally bound to you. I didn't actually intend to see you again after our last parting, but I read about you closing the mansion, and I was driven to find out what was happening."

"You always did have to know everything," his father said with a fond smile. "I am glad you came, though. There were a few things I wanted to say to you, and last time you left without giving me a chance. Now, I don't know what you've been doing with yourself and honestly I'd rather not know. But I hope that you stick to whatever it is you want in life. This is the most I'll do in fatherly advice: don't give up on what you want. Go for it, no matter what."

Very good advice, in Lezard's opinion. Advice he was planning on taking to heart. Not that he would ever consider giving up in the first place, but he respected his father and was grateful for the encouragement.

"I'm not going to say any of the usual foolishness, like saying how proud I am or how you'll always be my son. These are just words people say. All I really want is to know what you honestly think of me. I'll feel more at peace if I know the truth." Lezard couldn't help smiling a little at this. His respect for his father grew just a little in that moment.

"When I was younger I resented you for being neglectful, and I found your gatherings to be boring and tiresome. However, my time spent with books allowed for me to go to the academy, and I learned a great deal. I can say now that though I may not have affection for you, I certainly respect you." That was the truth, and the words seemed to satisfy his father.

The two parted with a shaking of hands. This time when Lezard left the mansion, he felt that this truly was the last time.

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It was a month after his birthday when he learned of his father's death. As with everything he got the news from Drache. Apparently his father had collapsed and was in considerable pain. He was gone before the doctors could do anything to help. He was given more details by the servants, along with the news that he inherited everything that was once his father's. Lezard respected his father enough to set aside days of mourning though he had to physically remove himself from his work to keep away from temptation.

Lezard organized two funerals. Or rather, he told one group about one funeral and had his own private funeral afterward. His father accumulated many friends during his years, and some of them were teachers at Flenceberg Academy. Lezard didn't speak to any of those paying their respects even if they offered him their condolences. They said things like "I'm sorry for your loss", which made Lezard remember something his father said: These are just words people say. In other words, they meant nothing. Mystina attended the larger funeral, but she thankfully didn't give him any of those meaningless words.

"So, what do you plan to do with yourself now, little freak?"

"Getting right to the point, eh, Mysty?" he teased her.

"I thought you would appreciate it," she replied, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "But really, what are your plans? You can't go off searching for the Philosopher's Stone when you have your father's estate to take care of."

"I'll handle it, Mysty," he assured her, "but thank you for the concern."

The other funeral was just him standing in front of his father's grave. He couldn't find anything to say but silence seemed appropriate. Once he finished paying his respects he returned to the mansion to take care of things. He was determined not to enter and instead instructed the servants to bring him what he wanted, or sent his cat and familiar to do the job. Lezard left his home with his father alive, and now it was an empty place with no meaning for him. He cleaned out anything that was of interest to him and moved it to his temporary living quarters. Without those things the mansion was nothing more than a building with no life.

Lezard sold the empty mansion when it no longer felt disrespectful to do so. The servants had a choice to stay with the family that bought the mansion, or go look for work elsewhere. Lezard had no use for servants, nor did he want them.

Flenceberg was no longer a suitable home for him. His temporary living quarters could not hold all of the things he took from home, and he didn't want to take up a permanent residence anywhere. He wanted to be independent of Flenceberg, to have a sanctuary far away from everyone. No place on Midgard would be enough.

He focused all of his magical energy in finding a new place for himself. He delved into books he had previously discarded as useless, dabbled in theories and speculations. Lezard even used his old method of calling on demonic assistance. Though he wanted something private for his use, he wasn't against it being something impressive and possibly intimidating. Of course it would have to be elaborate, like a maze, so trespassers who entered would get lost or go mad once inside.

A construct from another dimension, created by some unknown being of extraordinary magical ability. Such a creation was bound to be filled with secrets. It was perfect.