Seven in the morning found a very weary Clarus wondering if his council robes had grown heavier during the night as he trudged up the steps to the Citadel. He wasn't certain what he expected to find inside, that morning, but something told him it wouldn't be good. Not long after he had sent Regis out to visit hospital patients, Weskham had received a call saying that the king intended to stay all day, rather than for the few scheduled hours, and that he expected not to see Clarus when he returned. Clarus had left in time to have dinner with his family for the first time in months, but texts from Weskham confirmed that Regis hadn't returned until much later.
Cor had been no help at all. Whether he was intentionally being obtuse or he actually didn't want to respond to messages while he was working was anyone's guess. Either seemed equally likely.
The fact was that after having hardly put in a solid hour of focused work in two months, the king had worked through a straight thirteen hour day, yesterday. It could have been the start of something positive. Perhaps Clarus was just being an alarmist, but he didn't like it at all.
Servants opened a pair of doors for him.
"His Majesty?" Clarus inquired, following a nod of thanks.
"His study, Master Amicitia."
"Thank you." Clarus didn't linger; he made straight for the room in question. There was nothing odd about finding Regis in his office at this time of day because he often still slept there. And ate there, now that Clarus considered. Had he even been in the dining hall since Aulea had passed away?
He still wasn't certain what he expected to find. An exhausted Regis picking at his breakfast while Weskham stood by, perhaps. Hopefully nothing worse—though his imagination could produce half a dozen worse scenarios in an instant. All of them, however, were nothing to what he actually found behind the open door of the king's study.
"Ah, good, you have arrived." Regis looked up as he entered, shuffling a batch of papers around his desk and stacking them neatly to one side. "We need to fit in a Crownsguard meeting prior to court. I require the intelligence from Niflheim before we meet with the ruling council this afternoon, and there are simply no other gaps. Can you be ready in, say, fifteen minutes?"
Clarus blinked at his friend. For a moment it was like stepping back in time. Was the year really 736? Or had it become 730 again while he wasn't looking?
If he squinted, he could almost believe it.
Weskham was standing to one side of the king's desk, flipping through a stack of letters and sorting them into two piles. Behind Regis' chair and to his left stood Cor.
Regis didn't look six years younger—time wore on him more heavily than it did on the rest of them—but he did look better… didn't he? Not as tired as Clarus had expected, at the very least. His eyes were sharp and focused. He was tidy, without a hair out of place, his suit perfectly pressed, his beard closely trimmed, and his crown sat well behind his right ear. Clarus could almost fool himself into believing he was younger.
But there were a few things that were not quite right, still.
There were still dark circles under the king's eyes from lack of sleep. His bespoke suit fit a little more loosely still from too many weeks of scarcely eating. Those he could have written off: of course they wouldn't change over night, even if other things had. But the fact that his breakfast tray was sitting on the coffee table, practically untouched meant some things weren't any better.
Still. Clarsul was probably just being fretful. Surely any change for the better was a good change.
"I am at your disposal, Your Majesty," Clarus said, managing with only the barest hint of uncertainty.
"Excellent. Cor, have your people ready by then—not here… it is rather a mess," he cast his eyes over the room, pausing for a moment in his desk organization. It certainly looked like the king had been living out of his study for weeks. Probably because he had. "The small conference room on the fifth floor should suffice."
"Of course, Your Majesty," Cor said, giving a short bow before heading to the door.
As Cor passed, Clarus shot him a curious glance. He looked infuriatingly smug. Just what had happened the day before, when Clarus had left them alone together?
"Weskham, will you have someone in here to tidy up?" Regis asked, rising from his chair as he settled the last stack of papers on his desk.
"Yes, Sire."
"I will see to those letters later today—leave them here when you are through. Have you scheduled time for the last of the hospital visitations, yet?" Regis spoke with a sort of fervency that had been missing from him all these weeks. Clarus hadn't realized how much he missed it until then. As much as he wanted leap for joy, to embrace his friend and celebrate his return, something held him back. Grief didn't disappear overnight. The appearance of having done so, however, seemed to spell trouble.
"Not yet, Sire," said Weskham.
"Well do that today, as well," Regis said, stepping away from his desk. He caught Clarus' eye as he turned toward the door. "Ready to face the war council, my old friend?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," Clarus said.
"That is all I can ask," Regis said, clapping his shoulder and moving past him. He swept into the hallway without waiting, trusting that Clarus would follow.
Clarus lingered a moment, throwing Weskham a curious look. Weskham simply shook his head, his meaning clear enough without words: you know as much as I.
Regis continued to surprise Clarus all day. He took the lead during their meeting with the Crownsguard, never once looking to Clarus, never once faltering. During court—and later during council—there was healthy discourse in all directions with the king taking his rightful place at the head.
Clarus wasn't the only person surprised by the change. He saw it on all the faces of his fellow councillors, in the crownsguards they met with in the morning, and even in a few passing servants. No one else seemed concerned that the apparent return of the king's usual mentality could have indicated a change for the worse.
He didn't slow down as time wore on, either, in spite of the long day he'd had at the hospital before. He took a working lunch at his desk—though he ate about as much as was usual, lately—before they returned to court. When council concluded that evening, Regis returned to his study with Clarus and Cor at his heel.
Weskham was already there.
"Tomorrow's schedule is on your desk for approval, Sire," Weskham said with a bow as they entered.
"Thank you, Weskham," Regis said, dropping into his chair to look over the paper laid in the middle of his desk. His eyes skimmed the column of words, flicking this way and that before he gave a short nod. "This is all good. Have the court scribes forwarded the drafted disability law, yet?"
"Yes, Sire, it's there," Weskham pointed to a stack of papers tied together with twine and stacked neatly in the corner of Regis' desk.
"Perfect. I shall read it tonight," he said, pulling it toward himself with no indication that he realized—or cared—it would be a multiple-hour job. "Clarus, you should be off. Your family is doubtless awaiting your return."
In fact, Clarus had been lingering on purpose, hoping to have a word with Weskham and—if opportunity allowed—Cor as well. After a long day, he was growing more assured that his instincts were right. Something was wrong with Regis—however it may have appeared on the outside.
"Your Majesty," Clarus interrupted, then thought better of the title. "Regis. Take a break. When was the last time you saw your children?"
That did give the king pause.
He set down the drafted bill on his desk and looked up at Clarus. For the first time, a hint of something tired flashed across his face.
"Not since yesterday," he admitted, his tone much more subdued than the high-energy pace he had set all day.
"You should see them. The bill will wait," Clarus pushed gently, only half because he wanted Regis out of the room. The other half was because he still believed those kids were the best thing for him.
"Yes…" Regis sighed, running one hand over his hair, encountering his crown, and removing it. "Yes, I ought to see them."
He set his crown on his desk and rose from his chair. "But I expect you to be gone when I return."
"I will be. Goodnight, Regis," Clarus said as Regis passed him in the doorway.
With the king gone, Clarus turned back to the other two. He stepped fully into the room and shut the door behind himself.
"What happened, yesterday, Cor?" Clarus asked.
"I told him to make a decision. He did." Cor said, as if it was as simple as that.
"That's it? You told him to make a decisions, and he's magically obsessed with work?" Clarus asked, forcing himself to keep his tone level. It wouldn't do for the servants outside to hear the king's closest advisors having a heated discussion about His Majesty.
"I pushed him to stand on his own two feet, rather than allowing him to hide behind me like a terrified child," Cor said. "Perhaps if you both hadn't been coddling him for two months then he wouldn't have been floundering for so long."
"So you're going to stand there and tell me you've done nothing wrong?" Clarus demanded, clenching his fists.
"I have done him a considerable service," Cor said.
"Weskham, tell me you see what I see," Clarus rounded on Wes for an ally.
Weskham removed his monocle, cleaned it on a square of fabric from his pocket, and replaced it.
"I believe Clarus is right, Cor," Weskham said at length. "Regis has always been devoted to his duty; that has never been the problem. Now I fear he will use it as a shield. If he continues to work himself as he has done these past two days, it will take its toll on his health."
Cor made a sound of impatience. "Would it cause you physical pain to admit that the two of you have been too permissive?"
"We have been trying to encourage Regis to face his grief," Clarus said with an air of forced calm. "Now it seems he may ignore it entirely."
"Admittedly," Weskham said. "We have not been overwhelmingly successful."
"Perhaps he has dealt with his grief." Cor folded his arms over his chest. "It just didn't include pouring his heart out."
Clarus caught Weskhams gaze across the room. He didn't believe it was true, but if Weskham thought it was possible….
The steward gave a half-shrug. "Either way, our choices are few. You might try to reason with him, Clarus, but I doubt it will have much effect. You know how stubborn he can be."
"So what's the alternative? Wait until he wears holes in himself?" Clarus asked, gesturing toward the shut door. "Shall we take bets on how long he'll last under eighteen hour days without eating or sleeping, and the weight of the ring on top of it all?"
"I'm astounded by your faith in our king's strength," Cor said dryly, cutting like he only was with Clarus.
"I do not doubt Regis' strength," Clarus growled, reminding himself once again to keep his voice down. "I merely have a realistic understanding of how heavy the burden he bears is."
Weskham cleared his throat. "The alternative is to wait," he said, stopping short their argument with his rolling voice. "Only time will tell how he behaves in the future. It should be clear early enough whether or not this new—I hesitate to call it mania, and yet that is what it resembles—this new stage will have an adverse effect on his health. At that intermediate stage, we might intervene as necessary. If it proves unnecessary then we need only keep watching and remain—as always—at his side, ready to assist in whatever way he needs us."
There was no objecting to Weskham's calm logic. So they adjourned and made ready to assist.
In whatever way he needed them.