Author's note: Thank you all who have read and replied; your enjoyment and encouragement mean a lot to me, and when I say that I mean it. Now I would like to make one thing clear, because it seems I haven't done this before: At the end of this story someone is going to DIE. There, and I'm very sorry if there are people coming here looking for a very happy ending; it's a homosexual relationship in 18th century settings; the possibilities of them living happily ever after is not legion, you know. Well, it's not particularly tragic in my opinion, but I genuinely am sorry to upset any of you, though it does in some sense make me happy that my story moves people; I guess there's a sadist lurking somewhere deep in me, after all. Finally, my world history knowledge is zip, and all references to history within this chapter came from the magnificent wikipedia. If you should find fault with it, I beg your pardon. Otherwise, enjoy the show.
P.S: By the way, did anyone notice the joke in this chapter? I'm totally unrepentant about it.
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Chapter 7: Hero
Sunlight shone through the dull windows in weak rays, illuminating dancing spots on the equally dull ground. One could see the particles of dust floating aimlessly in the rays, before diffusing into the dark of the room. Outside, frost clung to the glass pane of the windows, despite the rare appearance of the sun during the winter season in the little grey town, in the light of which the thick layer of snow on the ground was glittering. That, however, had no effect on the dark room, which seemed to almost constitute a world of its own within the white of its surroundings. There was no candle lit within, and though it was clean, the room itself could only have been described as Spartan with scarcely any furniture at all. All that there were, were a wooden bed that creaked every time someone moved, a small wardrobe, a writing desk, which was bare, and a wooden chair. There was no personal trace within the whole of the room, not a painting, nor any decoration, nor even a letter upon the desk, as if for a very long time there had been no occupant there, if not for the lack of dust upon the scarce furniture.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon, and Dégel sat, not within the light of the white, white café, nor in the warm aroma of coffee inside, but in that small room barely with any furniture, upon the lone chair pulled next to the bed. It was cold inside, perhaps even more than the gale that occasionally snuck in through the crack in the door, which also creaked every now and then. The young man remained deep in thought, his hand absently threading into the mane of midnight-coloured hair spread out into a halo on the pillow, flowing from the one lying unconscious upon the bed, but which gave him an almost ethereal quality, reflecting the weak light from the window in blinding flashes with even the least of turning of the man. He was covered in a white blanket, clean, but bland, which blended into the state of the room – his, of course. Everything inside the room was still, as was Dégel himself; it was as if the whole space was plunge into a pause in time, only one different from those Dégel himself had been used to in the past until then, for there was something pregnant in the air, as if it was a sign of something terrible yet to come. Dégel pondered the thought for a while, before deciding it was not worth pursuing; in his current state Dégel had no means of deciphering the messages, if they really did exist, for there was no clear data for any deduction he might have engaged in. Kardia, on the other hand, had been involved in circumstances seemingly utterly separate from and irrelevant to each other in the past two days, and there was no reason to suspect foul play except for the incident at the Leblanc estate the day before, at the banquet.
Dégel grimaced at the thought. Even then he could recall the vivid sensation of ice sliding down his spine during those heart-stopping moments, from when he had heard the gunshot to the point when he arrived at the edge of the woods, breathless and shaky with terror. Apparently, the shot had missed, for there was no blood trail on the ground, and no sign of any struggle. A guard had reported that he had sighted someone leaping over the fences and had opened fire, thinking it was a burglar, but even as they scoured the area, there was nothing to indicate any disruption within the vicinity. Nothing had been lost at the party either, apart from a lady who could not find her ostrich feather fan, but that was a triviality not worth mentioning. When questioned about the appearance of the intruder, said guard had shrugged, stating that it was too dark to even see the silhouette of somebody, let alone facial features, before saluting the nobles to return to his duties, not forgetting to mumble something about 'meddlesome nobles who couldn't mind their own business'. The crowd parted soon after that, having found nothing to raise any further alarm. They could not even begin to imagine the relief Dégel had felt. Had they paid attention, perhaps someone with a sharp eye could have noticed the violent shudders threatening to make him keel over, as if he had lost all strength. Indeed, thanks to the darkness of the woods at night, Dégel was safe from questioning eyes, or if someone had noticed, they had wisely kept the observation to themselves. The relief at learning that his lover had most likely escaped unscathed was so great that, after having made his way back to the mansion, though he knew not how, Dégel had immediately excused himself from the remainder of the party, only to collapse upon his bed in an exhausted heap. Though occasional shivers still ran up and down his body, he felt as if something crushing had been lifted off his chest. It suddenly became easier to breathe, and the urge to laugh out loud was almost impossible to contain. Though, after a moment or two, concern for Kardia returned to plague his mind. Did he get home safely? Did he exert himself on the way to escape pursuit? Or did he stay within the woods to wait for his chance, when the crowd had dispersed? The various question flitted through his mind, though it was the last that made Dégel the most uneasy. He turned in his bed, pressing his ear against the mattress. The noises from the party downstairs wafted into his ears in a muffled rumbling, and Dégel frowned and turned again on his back. Sudden sharp pain reminded him of the events of that night, and Dégel blushed a brilliant shade of red in the night, infinitely glad that no one saw it. It was thus that the night passed, with Dégel spending his time alternating between one state and another. One minute he would close his eyes, and the vision of his lover falling at the side of an unnamed street would appear in stark details despite the darkness. He fancied he could see the blood dripping from pale lips, and hear the wet coughs that rang as the sigh of a dying man. Dégel would bolt upright then, feeling his face drenched in cold sweat, before realising it had only been a bad nightmare. He would lie down again, attempting to find sleep, when the pain registered, and he would recalled bliss for a short moment, which reminded him again of his lover, and his concern, and that, in turn, would slip into his sleep unnoticed. The next morning Dégel had woken up late, having only had a few hours of actual rest. He had dressed hastily, intending to go visit Kardia directly, but to his utter dismay and bewilderment, as he made his way through the dining hall, his father, who had never been there, was, in fact, there, having to seemingly materialise out of thin air. That fact, if nothing else, had forced Dégel to sit down and have breakfast. It was an unpleasant affair, to sit directly across his father, whom he rarely saw in the morning due to his own early schedules at the university. His brother Unity was sitting some way at the other end of the table, a peculiar look upon his countenance. There was something very strange about his brother that morning, though Dégel could not exactly spell out which, yet there was certainly a contemplative air surrounding him. At times, he would grab his knife convulsively, his pale eyebrows scrunched together in a violent expression, before realising what he was doing and released it with almost mechanical stiffness. Dégel noted the gesture down for later questioning. However, right then, the most pressing matter was with his father, who wore a look of profound displeasure. True to Dégel's regretful expectation, he had hardly raised his morning cup of tea to his lips when the baron Leblanc launched into an impressive lecture on good etiquette and manners, and how could the eldest son of the Leblanc estate, the heir, leave in the middle of the party held especially in his name like that, and oh, what would become of the estate then, and alas, must he go and disgrace his own father in such a blatant manner, etc. etc. For the most part, Dégel had been successful in blocking out the buzz in his ears by silently reciting his favourite verse of the Odyssey, but overall, it had been thoroughly unpleasant for him. Finally, when his father had stopped for breath, with as amicable an air as he could assume, Dégel apologised for his lack of manner the night before. He thanked his father again for what he had done for his son out of love, but also resolutely confirmed to his father that he had no interest in becoming the heir to the Leblanc estate, at least at the moment, but shall complete his duties as were required of him from that day onwards, so he should have no worries about his son's or the estate's future. Having said that to the utmost astonishment of his father, Dégel turned to Unity to apologise for his rude behaviour the night before, receiving an absent nod in acknowledgement, which was odd in itself, before excusing himself from the table. The baron Leblanc looked as though he had something more he wanted to add, but thought better of it and pursed his lips together, a morose look descending upon his brows. Dégel noticed it, too, and promised himself he would explain his resolution to his father in clearer terms later that night, when he had finished with his business, for he understood that his father really did love his sons, but his only expression of it were stern criticism and paternalism, seeking to establish for his sons their settled futures with an almost obsessive determination, if not by direct means, then by cunning through which they could but fall into as mice into traps, which only served to push him away from those he loved. But that, too, was for another time. By the time the thought had finished registering in his mind, Dégel had been at the door, putting on his great coat and dashing out with haste.
It was past noon when he arrived at the turning into the corner, when a dark column of smoke caught his eyes. There were frantic callings in his ears, and Dégel turned to see people pouring out to rush in the direction of the smoke. Unable to help himself, Dégel, too, turned to help, forgetting for the moment what he had come there for. He ran the short distance to the burning house along with the flow of people, thinking of the nearest fire brigade, wondering whether it had been called and if he should be running in that direction instead. However, the next sight had stopped his thought mid-track, for there, in the midst of the people, holding in each arm an unconscious child, and covered in soot from head to toe, was Kardia, the man standing tall in the middle of the bustling circle about him. Behind him, the last of the house was burning down, the flame roaring as hellfire, crimson in the midst of its white surrounding of snow. It was terrifyingly beautiful, the flame that reflected in the eyes of the man; he was beautiful, though drenched in soot, for in that particular instant, the whole world had narrowed down to that one man who had risked his life to save others, and everything else dulled compared to the single image of the man who could have been a god. There was no halo or heavenly light upon his head, only the commotion of the people running to and fro, taking the children from him and leading him away from the house to sit, but really, since when did heroes need baroque lighting in order to be revered as such? The breath was caught in his throat as Dégel gazed at the man, before something caught his eyes that made his heart pause in alarm. Kardia was panting hard, his breath wheezing. There was an unfocused look in his eyes for an instant, before, without warning, he collapsed. In that single moment, the chaos spinning about him stopped. Dégel shouted and with and leap and a bound, was at the man's side, holding him up with trembling hands. It vaguely registered that someone was calling Kardia's name, again and again, but the echo was so very far away from him, that he never realised it was he himself who was chanting the name, as if willing to wake the man up by sheer power of the will. But somewhere within his mind, a part of him still retained the rationality that had become part of his psyche, and Dégel knew he had to move Kardia away from the smoke. Thus, with the help of another man, whom he knew not, they moved the unconscious man away from the house and the crowd. There were some trying to follow them, but a glare from Dégel's direction was enough to send them away; the last thing Kardia needed then was another commotion around him. They laid the man onto a bench, before Dégel used his fingers to feel his breath. To his immense relief, there was still a weak flow of air going in and out, but it seemed as if even that weak flow was fading. His heart hammering in his chest, and not knowing what he was doing, Dégel bent down and forced open Kardia's mouth, before blowing into him what air he had. He could feel his chest rising underneath him, and the exhale coming out was a tad bit stronger. Suddenly entertaining hope, Dégel repeated the process again, completely ignoring the eyes upon him. In the back of his mind, ringing like bells over and over were the prayers he had said every morning, for the Lord to protect Kardia, to please please not take his life away, to, if anything, let Dégel himself suffer instead. He did not know for how long he had continued with his resuscitation, but at some point during his black desperation, Dégel noticed a doctor coming towards them and brushed him aside in order to examine the patient. As much as he would have liked to glower at the man for interrupting, at least he still retained the mind to let him help his lover. With cold obedience, he stood up and moved aside, still close enough to see how Kardia was being examined, but far enough not to get in the way, which sent a jolt of pain into his heart, for it was not he who could do anything to help, never him. The few minutes that had passed in pregnant silence seemed like an eternity to Dégel, during which he could clearly hear the panting breaths from Kardia, and the sound of his own pulse thrumming too loud to not be heard by others – he became aware of everything and nothing all at once, as if he was floating around, taking leave of his senses. There was something waiting to burst from his chest, and his hands clenched and unclenched themselves. There was almost a fever burning within him, and Dégel imagined how sweet it would have been for him to really suffer in place of the man gasping for breath before him. That one recurring thought frightened him, yet was the only thing that made sense at the time, and so Dégel clung to it as a drowning man to a buoy, floating in the tumultous sea of feverish thoughts. At long last, the doctor looked up and pronounced that Kardia was well; he was only unconscious because of undue compression on his lungs, but since resuscitation was performed in time, he now needed only to rest. The soot that he inhaled could be dangerous in his frail state, but that could be dealt with later; the peril had finally passed for him. To hear that announcement was like to hear pardon at the last minute, as the convicted who was already a step away from the gallows, and so Dégel stumbled to his knees, trembling all over. He could very well have cried in relief, but somehow his eyes were dry, and the only thing he could have done then, was to thank the doctor, and the Lord, and all those who had helped in bringing Kardia out of that place, over and over, until his voice turned hoarse.
During the haze that followed, Dégel recognised the young woman from the flower stall that Kardia worked in running towards them. He could not very well recall her facial features, but only that she had exuded an air warm and gentle as the spring that somehow managed to calm him down from his senseless state. He heard her saying that Kardia was staying in a room in the orphanage at the back of the church, and offered to lead them there. It was thus that with another nameless face, who helped carrying the man over, they made their way through the snow, which had started falling again, through the little garden at the back of the church, into the orphanage, a tiny structure that was almost completely hidden from view. Then, suddenly, children were everywhere, asking about Kardia's health; certainly they would have clung to the man had they not seen that he was not conscious and was being supported by Dégel and the other man. Big, teary eyes gazed up at Dégel, and in that instant, he forgot that he was irritated at another commotion. He was on the verge of telling the children that Kardia needed quiet rest in his room, and would come out and talk to them later when he woke up, when the young woman took the words from him. With a kindness that resembled the children's mother, she told them to wait until their 'brother' woke up, for he was tired after having rescued the victims, and assured them that their brother was fine; in the mean time, she had every confidence that his good friend, the kind monsieur, would care for him. For a second, Dégel could see concern flitted across her eyes, before she hid it away with her dusk-coloured hair. Pointing towards a small room at the end of the corridor, she herded the children away, leaving Dégel to struggle to move Kardia into his room. He thanked the good-willed helper, and worked to put the man in bed. Taking his handkerchief out, and having helped himself to the water in the kitchen nearby, Dégel methodically wiped away the soot clinging to his lover. The contact made him blush, but right then, all that dominated his mind was worry for Kardia's health, so that even though his hands shook as he moved to loosen Kardia's collar and to take off his waistcoat and his shirt, Dégel pushed ahead, past his excessive timidity, and wiped all the sweat that broke out from the slight fever the man was having. A raw red caught his eyes, and Dégel paid attention to Kardia's hands for the first time. They were slightly burned, the skin turning an unhealthy shade of red. There were blistering in places, but by the looks, the burns were not too severe. Heaving a sigh, Dégel went to find some water that had frozen into ice, and with as much care as he could muster, dabbed it against the burn marks. Kardia, even in his sleep, hissed from the pain, his hand motioning to jerk away, but Dégel tightened his grip on the arm, and held the ice still. He bit his lip until he tasted blood, the tears threatening to overflow. Until the doctor returned to look over his patient again, there was nothing he could do to lessen the pain. His helplessness before the situation stabbed him as a physical wound; Dégel had even thought to get one of the children to call upon the family physician, but however quick they may be, that would still be a while after the nearest doctor could come back from treating the children caught in the fire, and all would come to waste. The burns were probably minor injuries compared to those of the children, but all the same, they hurt Dégel as much as if he himself had been the receiving end. Gently, he took the large hands that had taken his own the night before in a tender cradle, and kissed each fingertip, as if the act could have helped the man in his troubled sleep. He had never wanted to let go, but as he had done all that he could then, Dégel pulled the blanket up around Kardia, and for a long while, sat listening to his slow, but strong breathing, all the while lost in the inner torment that he concocted for himself. If his helplessness was a wound, then prodding at it, irritating it until he felt the need to scratch at his own conscience until he was raw and in pain, was almost a morbid enjoyment for him during the infinity that he waited for the doctor to come back. And when the doctor did come back at long last, he only bandaged up Kardia's hands, promising to visit again in a day, before leaving Dégel to his own devices. The remainder of the afternoon, therefore, had become slow and sweet torture, such as to make Dégel sick to his stomach.
Dégel looked at the room, and for the first time noticed its blandness. The weight of their impossible situation struck him again, this time as something that threatened to crush him with despondency and guilt. Dégel realised, not only that he could not help his lover with his strange ailment, but he could not even help with any aspect of Kardia's difficult life, not his living standard, nor the orphanage that seemed to be his family. He could very well donate to the maintenance of the orphanage, and had indeed been doing so since he had learnt of its existence through Kardia some months ago, but particularly to this man, there was nothing he could do, for it would have been an insult to his pride – this he knew from the man's haunting attitude at his estate only the day before, and would not risk offending it. They could not elope, as with the romantic novels the ladies were so fond of, but were so surreal to the point of nonsense, and Dégel himself could not simply taint the good name of his family, whom he also loved with all his heart. The nobles' gossip he could endure, for these often were more fiction than fact, and the people were always less inclined to believe them anyway; yet to publicise their relationship, to make it into a scandal, would be suicide, and Dégel was determined to prevent that from happening, but that, in turn, would hurt Kardia. How sweet it was, to be a hypocrite, to recognise oneself and such, and to beat oneself over it, yet still pushing on anyway. As he had so clearly pronounced before, let them talk of Dégel himself, for he cared not for his own reputation, yet to separate Dégel Leblanc from the Leblanc barony would be an impossible feat to achieve, even if he were to be disowned by his own father. Their situation was truly static, one weighed down with guilt and responsibility, the other suffering from a love he held dear to his heart, one that was from the beginning accepted by none and condemned by all. For how long would they be able to stay together? They had forever to live, and forever to die, in a single minute within each other's arms, but could the impossible be achieved just like that, so and so? Dégel had long learnt not to look at life through rose-tinted glass. Which reminded him of the incident the day before. However one would look at it, it was strange for someone to have sighted Kardia making away from the estate in the dead of the night, through the woods even. Was it someone in his family who had witnessed them together? The thought dropped into the pit of his stomach as an icicle, suddenly sending chills all over his body. Memories of icy blue eyes glinting in the dark as those of a predator flashed through his mind, and Dégel could feel his heart freezing up in the process. It was foolish to doubt his own brother, but the obsession refused to release him from its grip, despite his previous decision not to ponder the thought any longer. It was thus that Dégel sat, completely still, in the twilight atmosphere of the little room, going round and round in the maze he had constructed for himself and becoming more depressed by the minute.
Suddenly a knock on the door woke him from his trance, and Dégel looked up in time to see the door creaking open with someone leaning upon it, arms folded on his chest in a casual manner.
'Good afternoon, gentleman.'
The man was tall, even taller than Kardia. He had unruly hair of the same colour, sticking up in all directions, and a wolfish grin upon his countenance tinged with sarcasm. He had travelled a long way to visit, it would seem, judging from the white dust covering his coat despite the snow. However, the most striking thing about the man were his eyes, which gave off a defiant aura that was almost insolent, as if challenging everyone about him to contradict him. There was a familiar feel about the man, one that Dégel could not shake off, despite being sure that he had never met such a man before.
'I came all the way from Austria for Christmas, and this is how you greet me, hm Kardia?'
Even as he was addressing the unconscious man on the bed, the stranger's eyes never left Dégel's, which in turn, raised the well-suppressed indignation within him. Looking straight at the man, Dégel replied in a cold voice:
'He is unconscious due to his efforts in rescuing people from a fire earlier, and I hope you do pardon him for that, my good sir. He needs peace and quiet to rest now, so will you not be so good as to return to the main house, where someone will be able to receive you with decent etiquette?'
If possible, the grin widened even more, before a free laugh escaped the man. Then he shook his head, as if to clear his thought, and turned to incline his head in Dégel's general direction.
'Duly noted, much obliged. And pray do not take offence, I have indeed heard from the children, but that was only how we usually greeted each other. And you, my good sir, must be Kardia's good friend to defend him with such fervour; surely you have heard of me from him? I am Manigoldo Feliciano, his childhood brother, to whom he may have referred as "the rascal" or "the bastard".'
To say Dégel was surprised was quite an understatement. So his suspicion had been correct, for the man before him bore a striking resemblance to the sketchy description given him by Kardia. The last he heard from Kardia, Manigoldo was serving in the heavy cavalry of the Austrian militia, having been promoted to the rank of Oberst, by reason of his having fought in the Succession War. However, Dégel betrayed none of his surprise in his neutral expression even as he stood up to extend his hand towards the other man – he did not like him, even from the first look.
'It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sig. Feliciano. I am Kardia's friend, Dégel Leblanc.'
As they shook hands, a look of disapproval crossed Manigoldo's countenance and remained there, so that when they had parted, a frown had crept onto the corner of his mouth, completely replacing the smirk. The man was not afraid of showing his dislike; he did so with open and candid feelings, in fact.
'You're the successor of the Leblanc barony?'
'Yes.'
'A noble. Hm. I never would have thought Kardia would make friends with the upper class. Apparently, I was wrong. Just as I was wrong the first time.'
'And what, pray tell, do you mean by that, my good sir?'
'Oh, nothing important. If you are a friend of his, I fancy you would have seen his attitude towards the nobility and clergy. Thus, it came as a surprise to us all that he decided to accept Father's orders and joint the Pontifical Swiss Guard at Vatican all those years ago, and now that he had made friends with you, a member of the nobility.'
'He has joint the Swiss Guard, you say?' Dégel was taken aback at the revelation. He looked quickly to the man lying in bed, utterly unable to comprehend the new information. He had only known that Kardia was not a native to the town, but could never imagine that he had had such a past.
Manigoldo raised a dark brow at Dégel's change in expression, before whistling in a shrill tone.
'And he has never told you that, either. Well well. These queer circumstance would certainly raise the question as to your relationship, M. Leblanc.'
Flushing with embarrassment, but stubbornly refusing to show his hurt, Dégel directed one of his colder glares at the other man, who, until that point, had been immune to his aloof demeanor. Standing to his full height, he faced the man with determination, directing his pent-up agony into fury at the convenient outlet who had just arrived.
'I know only that he has a wound in his lungs, which impairs his breathing. He never mentioned the cause of it, probably to spare me the painful details. I would have been very disconcerted otherwise, to learn that such a strong man would be so affected after merely inhaling some smoke.'
For a moment, it was as if there was electricity crackling between them as they glared at each other, neither willing to concede, Manigoldo with his nonchalance backed up by stubbornness, and Dégel with anger palpable in the glaciers within his looks. Finally, with a cluck of his tongue, the man standing at the door directed his eyes towards Kardia, before glancing back at Dégel, who was still glaring at him with heart-felt intensity.
'I will take your word for it, then. Hm. But this idiot hasn't changed over the years, has he? The last time he got shot in the lungs, was when he was shielding the Pope from that damned assassination attempt. Did you know, M. Leblanc, he could have been granted offices and wealth and whatnot with what he had done, but no, he had to refuse it all, and retired with the standard pension, if you could call it even that. And now this. Only look at his disregard for his own life; the fool wants to die in glory, that he does; such romanticism. And I quote, "It matter not whether life is short or long, but only that thou shalt burn to thy full potentials".'
Dégel stood, as if he had been slapped in the face. The words trickled into his ears one by one, but none seemed to register. Slowly, he turned fully to gaze at his lover, who was still lying unconscious. Really, who was it that said a Saint would be distinguished by his halo? Even without one, Dégel knew the one before him truly could only be recognised as such. As he gazed on at the man, Dégel wholly missed the look of pure malice Manigoldo was directing in his direction. It was a look filled with wrath, reproof, and perhaps a little bit of guilt, too, but that one emotion was quickly swamped by the flood of smoldering resentment.
'But what makes him a fool is that he came back here after relieved from duty.' – In a mock contemplative voice, Manigoldo spoke, his eyes following closely the outlines of Dégel's rigid back, - 'Kardia must have told you he was from Greece, did he not? It was a beautiful little village, surrounded by golden wheat fields that stretched to the horizon. Back when we were young, the little rogue really did miss it, his homeland, though he was too proud to tell any of us about it. Why he never returned there, none of us knew, but the fact is that after he left Vatican, the only thing he insisted on doing was to come back here – not that I have anything against it. But, well, this is what he chose, I suppose, though it is quite a shame he never really visited the hometown he loved so dearly in his childhood.'
An incline of the head was the only response he received from Dégel, but Manigoldo continued to smile, delivering the last strike with perfected nonchalance. 'Well now, I should leave him to you for the moment; he does seem to need some rest, and so do you, if I may say so. Only, there is one thing perhaps you should be aware of. Though I suppose we all know of his ailment, the truth is that Kardia has been trying to conceal it from us since he had returned from Vatican. His pride may destroy him one day, but little Sasha, the girl you see working with him at the flower stand, would have liked to think that it was out of concern for us that he, as with you, sought to spare us the details. Well, who am I to argue with that girl? So, M. Leblanc, do please take care not to slip any of this conversation to Kardia when he wakes up. Though I would have liked to suppose him still the little terror that used to run around the town picking up fights, and though you have seen the conditions in which he lives, the man before you truly is, in every sense of the word, a hero; I entreat you, a sensible noble, to pay him his due respect, as you would a hero of your own. Hm?'
With that said, and with a wave of the hand, the man departed in silence, not forgetting to close the door after himself.
