Gygax sat in the council chamber, trying to listen to the reports of his generals, but his fury was building, and his ability to focus was dwindling by the minute. "All of you are telling me where they are not." He sat upright and placed his hands together on the table before him, which brought everyone's attention to bear. "Perhaps one of you has something useful to tell me?" The generals alternated between twiddling their thumbs and looking around, in what was likely an attempt to look nonchalant. But when a group of fifteen people do is all at once, it becomes increasingly noticeable. "Get out," he bellowed, sending his generals scrambling, grabbing scraps of paper and maps as they exited with great haste.

Gygax placed his hands over his face in exasperation once they had all exited. I search for my beloved, and no word reaches my ears. He lowered his hands and looked out of one of the two windows in the rear wall, that overlooked the sea of green known as Elorean. Her real home. He looked at the facades of sandstone and frowned. Even if you were home; you wouldn't be here. He touched the scars on the side of his face, and in spite of the tenderness of the wound, he took solace in the pain. I think I may have to accept that she will never return. Even if she did, she would never be happy by my side. Which is worse: knowing that the one I love flees me on the lam, or knowing that she is safe but unhappy with me?

There was a knock on the door, and a guard peeked his head in without waiting. "Your Majesty, you have a messenger who says he needs to speak to you."

"Send him in," Gygax ordered, straightening in his chair. As the messenger approached, Gygax recognised him. "General Luinëcalima, I am pleased to see you have returned from your patrol of the North. I am told you have news of the Heirs?"

"I do, Your Majesty." Luinëcalima's eyes seemed to scan every inch of Gygax's face for a reaction, as he stated: "Percival has declared himself King-In-Exile."

Gygax sighed. "I can hardly say I am surprised. It is unfortunate; I had hopes of peaceful reconciliation, but the stone is now rolling. It would take an act of the Gods themselves to stop it, and they do not seem the meddlesome type." Gygax thumped his hand on the armrest of his chair.

"I doubt reconciliation between the Heirs and yourself was ever a possibility following their flight, My Liege. You did kill their family, and used my hand to kill their grandparents."

Gygax looked at him, eyes widening. "You support their claim."

"I will not deny it." Luinëcalima stood, and set his rank token on the table. "I suspect you'll have me replaced."

Actually, this might be a good thing. "Take up your token, General. You are not yet relieved of service."

Confusion furrowed the gerneral's brow. "I don't quite understand. I admit that my loyalties are against you, and you keep me in charge of a significant portion of your army. Why, if I might be so bold?"

"At least I know where your loyalties lie, sir. Your replacement would be unknown to me. Besides," he said with a knowing glance, "keeping you by my side means keeping you away from theirs, and you have proven most effective in your exploits. I would hate to have to fight against you."

"Then take this," The General drew his sword, and set it un the council table, "For I will not bear it against them."

"I do not care if one man bears a sword, Luinëcalima. So long as you lead your men against them, you have your freedom." Luinëcalima stood and did a stiff bow, but Gygax grabbed his wrist. "Do not mistake my decision for mercy. If you betray me; I will have your head for treason." Releasing the man's hand, he concluded: "I am your king, regardless of how you fell about me, and I will be treated as such."

Luinëcalima walked away, but he paused by the door, "You may be the King of Meneltarma, but you are not my king. My King is dead."

The quiet shutting of the door was more impactful than any slamming of the door could have been. The room was virtually noiseless, save for the whistling of the late-autumn breeze rattling the window panes as Hellion's Forces tore down Daemues' Fortress of Colours, where the Scepter of Change was defended. But alas, the Wars of the Aifae Deities were far from the mind of Gygax, who arose once more and looked out of the back window at Le Elorean. The woods opened before his mind, and when he closed his eyes, he saw Faramaureä sitting on the druid throne. Come home to me, Beloved Faramaureä. You are all I have left.

...

The castle halls were never empty during the day, but at night Gygax would oft wander their ancient sandstone walls. Sleep is not the only thing that flees me, he thought. Even after I acheived my goal, I find no rest. I am the most powerful man in the land of Aponar ar Quendie, and still I lack contentment. His slippers marked a soft pattering as they stepped over the cracks in the reddish-brown tiles under his feet. The gentle air was chilly in this hallway; he had demanded that the windows be left open when the palace staff had come to close them. "My wife lives without a roof or walls to call her own; separated from those she loves, both living and dead. I will share in her anguish, in what small way I can." But it brought him no comfort. Alas, it only made him bared to the thoughts that plagued him. Still, it allows me to excuse the occasional shudder from a discomforting thought.

The moonlight crested the halls, and he knew there would still be hours before dawn, but he would not find rest in the intermittent time. I can scarcely catch a wink, and when I do catch it, I find no rest in the torture of the Gods. Damn them all. He reached the end of the hallway for the third time and grimaced. Even so, an evening of restless sleep is better than no sleep at all. He turned and with determination in gait, entered the Bedroom of The King.

He looked around at the faded golden letters on the walls; their dim light only increasing the dread he felt as he looked at the silken bed before him. He shuddered at the thought of what awaited him, and then scorned his heart. You are being pathetic. We of the Free People possess powers of which the Gods can only dream. Taking off his outer robe, which he had donned to pace the halls, he placed it over the back of a nearby chair. Then, he crawled into bed, and poured a glass of the vile elixir the Mistress of Potions had prepared for him. "So it begins," he whispered, and then downed it as to preserve his resolve. Not even a minute had passed before he saw no more.

. . .

The sound of a knock awoke the king as he lay in his chamber. He sat up in bed a saw the morning light was no longer shining through the windows, yet it was day time. "Come in," he called, after putting on the robe from the night previous. Entering in was ???; and he recognised her from their previous encounters. "Good Morning, ???. How was your evening?"

She smiled a half smile, and curtsied. "I slept well, Your Majesty. How was yers?"

"The usual," he admitted. "I can't seem to get a good night's sleep without Martamo sending me horrors from afar."

"Hiuosse," she corrected, but he failed to hear her

"What was that?"

A look of horror struck her visage, and she fell to her knees in deference. "I'm sorry, mi'lord. I meant nae offense. I just--"

Gygax held up a hand to stop her begging, and gestured for her to rise. "How horrid were the previous rulers that you think I would punish you for a word? Tell me: What did you say?" She blushed and looked at her feet, but before she could speak, Gygax said "Look at me, Gildraen. It is rude not to look someone in the eyes when you speak to them."

"I'm sorry, mi'lord. I dinnae mean tae offend, but ye hae it wrong. It is nae Martamo who sends Night Mares, but Hiosse the Malevolent. Oft daes he torment the minds o' mortals and immortals; ilka man and woman feels his grasp at some point in their life. Luckily for us, we are blessed by the Vigilence of Martamo, wha' keeps 'im at bay, by holding the Throne of the Dream Realm."

Gygax gave her a queer look. "You know that much about the Deities and you work as a maid?"

The girl smirked and pulled the bedding off the bed, which was covered in sweat, but she was too restrained to wrinkle her nose. She was hasty as she dropped it in the basket. "I'm just followin' in the family business. My Grandmother served Nesbitt, My Mother served Estelondo, and I serve you and yours." Grabbing the potions cups, she placed them on the tray. "The only reason I am so familiar wi' the gods is because mi' father was a priest wha' left the order tae marry"

Gygax nodded and for a moment and expectant silence filled the room before she bowed. "With your leave, mi'lord."

He nodded, and then remembered something he had wanted "Would you send someone to draw me a bath, Gildraen?" She nodded, and walked away, leaving him once again to his solitude.

This loneliness isn't good for me. He thought to himself. "I wait not for myself, but for those I love."

...

An hour had passed since Gildraen's departure, and still he could not get her from his mind. Therein a battlefield raged, more fierce than any before, as he strove his desire against his commitment. Gygax had always been impulsive, and sought his desires a well as he could, but this was different. He was married, albeit to a girl who hated and feared him so completely that he was convinced that only his death could satiate her distain. Not that you can blame her, the darkness inside of him said, as he tried to relax in the scalding, perfumed water. But he feared that darkness, so he returned to the battlefield in his mind. Around him arrows and swords of argument and impulse clashed and hewed as this divided house tried to calm the civil war that raged."Enough!" he slammed his hand off the tub side, sending a tsunami over its walls and flooding the floor beneath him. "Shite!" His mood embittered, he tried to step out of the tub, and slipped on the wet floor.

Any who passed would have described his countenance was foul, with his eyes closed, brow furroughed, and fists clenched. But inside, his mind was not angry, in spite of the pain. He was disappointed in himself. Everything I do ends in failure. He reached out a hand, grasping the side of a tub, and pulling himself up. I have nigh infinite resources and I cannot find them. He pulled on his robe, and drew it closed. He glared at the reflection of himself in the mirror. Even more, they declared themselves against me and are raising an army to usurp me, and yet I cannot find them. Useless! His fist flew from his said and a shower of glass fell from the front of the mirror.

The door burst open, his guards wielding their swords in hand. But this only infuriated him further. "Get Out!"

"But my leige--"

"Out!" With and nod and bow from each, they exited, closing the door behind them. He looked once more in the mirror; the warped image hiding the anguish on his face, but he turned away, disregarding the injuries the glass he stepped on perpetrated. Numb to the pain, he walked down the hallway, leaving bloody footprints in his wake.

...

The council of generals kept staring at him, as though they awaited an explanation for his appearance. Let them wait, he decided, as I have waited for them to make progress. "Do any of you have any information for me?" he asked, pulling a long draft of wine from his goblet. The glances to each other were almost hopeful, which told Gygax the truth.

"It's been a mere 23 hours since the Prince proclaimed himself, Your Majesty," said one of the generals, a man Gygax did not care to recognise, especially with the amount of wine he had consumed. "We just need more--"

The goblet missed the general's head by a hundreth of a unit, shattering against the wall behind him. "Do not dare," Gygax spat, "To demand more time from me." Settling down, he strightened his robe with blood covered knuckles. "Either you are all traitors, and are refusing to work for me," he accused, "or you are idiots, and I need to find more generals. Figure out which it is. Dismissed!"

The general's clamoured to their feet, some shooting him disgruntled glares, but all bowed as they left the chamber. "Send in Gildraen with some bandages and my proper apparel."

A moment passed before Gildraen ran in with a full medkit and his clothes in a bag, and stopped in shock in the door. Gygax sat at the table, his feet and now both hands covered in blood, as he drank more wine from a second goblet he had taken off of a nearby tray. "What happened, Your Majesty?" she asked, once she recovered. She ran over and saw the shards of silver glass that still lay in his open and bleeding wounds. As if in response, Gygax tried to take another drink, but it slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.

"Shite," he slurred, and reached for another glass off of the tray, but she grabbed his wrist.

"Not yet, Mi'lord. I need tae clean oot yer wounds." She grabbed the pitchuer off the table, and took a swig. "Aye, that'll dae," she muttered to herself, showing it to the drunken king before her. "This is gaein' tae hurt, Mi'Lord, but I hae tae clean the cuts. Try tae hold still." She then poured some of the wine onto his hand, and he pulled it back in pain.

"What are you trying to do, kill me?"

"Nae," she said like she was speaking to a child, "I'm trying tae help ye, mi'lord." Gygax grimaced as she poured more, and then sit down the pitcher. "Now, I hae tae remove the shards ye hae in yer pads an' palms." She picked out a pair of twissors. "Care tae tell me how ye managed this?"

"I punched a mirror," he stated, with an obvious air of restrained pain as she pulled the pieces out.

"And then walked through it?"

"Yes."

"Idiot."

He gave her a shocked look, and she laughed in response. "Yer nane gaein' tae remember this wi' how much alcohol ye hae taken as a dram." She pulled the last piece out of his left hand, and pulled out some bandages. "Care tae explain why ye punched a mirror and then walked through it, before snapping at your generals, and drinking yourself tae the edge o' oblivian?"

"I am the king," he said, puffing out his chest. "I do not have to explain myself to you."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, dipping the bandages in the red wine. "It might not be something ye hae tae dae, but it will be better for ye than holding it all in an' then hurting yerself when ye snap." She finished tying the bandage on his hand, and poured some wine on his feet, before pulling a shard out. Gygax winced, and she smirked. "Yer bein' a babe; actin' like ye ne'er hae felt even a spot o' pain"

Gygax may have been drunk, but that struck through. "I have felt more pain that you could ever dream, wench." He stared down at her, while she recoiled in fear. "You think this is pain? This is an irritant. My true love died in my arms." His anger slowly replaced itself with the tears that filled his eyes. "Do you know what it's like to have the purest, smartest, wisest, funniest, and most compassionate person you've ever met die in your arms after you tried to warn her it was coming? Do you?" Gildraen was silent, where she had recoiled, so he leaned forward and spat. "And that's not all, because the Gods are incited in wrath against my family. No, that girl, the one for whom I would gladly give up my life and kingdom, was killed under my mother's orders." The tears fell over their wall, and cried, "I had one chance at happiness, and it all fell to pieces because that bitch could not keep her wretched hands out of my business." He sighed, as though tired of it all. "I killed the man who killed her, and then challenged my mother, who had me locked in the dungeons for three months for being 'disrespectful.' All that has happened since the day I entered the city of Meneltarma, was done to avenge Hunawen." He clutched his left hand so tightly that blood welled up through the bandages. "Except, Faramaureä. She was the spliting image of Hunawen, and I begged her father for her hand, and when he gave it, I failed to win her. Her father had agreed for us to be married, but I was just marrying a second version of Hunawen. And then she, that beautiful, young maiden, who intended no harm to me, turned me down, and I snapped." He put his face in his hands, and the tears flowed, but no more words came, as after a time, his breathing evened out, and Gildraen realised that at long last, the king had cried himself to sleep.