The sun was just starting to set, and Tiberius sat in the poison garden watching the sky change colors and sipping from a glass of dry blue wine. Here by Grandfather’s tower was the most peaceful part of the estate, where the walls gave way to impassable cliffside. Not so long ago, the thought of this view would have broken his heart.
It still might, if he thought too hard about it. For now, he was only burning time. Everything was in readiness – he just needed Enzo. He’d always been better than Tiberius at translation, coded messages, all that and the like. And why not? Grandfather would not have wanted his legacy read and understood by anyone else, much less disseminated among the Magisterium like any good thesis.
So of course he had not taught his heir this. Tiberius held the first volume open in his lap, one of many. Lukios had been, oh, perhaps the age his grandson was now when he’d begun this record. Feeling his years but not yet suffering from them. That meant there were over 50 journals in all, identical leather volumes of 120 pages each.
This could take days. All the more an excuse to invite Pavus to stay here, day and night, until they were done with all of the diaries. It was, of course, a bad idea.
Lyric had spoken to him once on the road – about how she could and would continue to hold multiple loves in her heart. TIberius wasn’t quite sure he was capable of the same. He’d never tried, of course. It had always been Enzo until he and the whole of Tevinter were lost to him. No matter how inconvenient that had made certain aspects of their lives.
And part of him – even now – suspected it would always be Enzo. Wondered if Orlais and Mel had only been a twinned and temporary madness. That, however, was to do a disservice to everyone. Looking down at his Grandfather’s tidy handwriting, Tiberius tested the edges of his grief and found it still ready to bleed at the slightest touch.
No. It was a little better than that. He could look at Lyric without wanting to weep – he could see her as something other than the ghost of her dead sister. Unforgivable, to dismiss that progress.
"My Lord Umbra, your guest has arrived.”
Tiberius glanced up, eyes skimming over his armswoman as if he’d forgotten her existence. He cleared his throat and stood, refilling his own glass from the bottle. Another waited, set a little bit apart.
“That’s good. Show him in, please.”
It still might, if he thought too hard about it. For now, he was only burning time. Everything was in readiness – he just needed Enzo. He’d always been better than Tiberius at translation, coded messages, all that and the like. And why not? Grandfather would not have wanted his legacy read and understood by anyone else, much less disseminated among the Magisterium like any good thesis.
So of course he had not taught his heir this. Tiberius held the first volume open in his lap, one of many. Lukios had been, oh, perhaps the age his grandson was now when he’d begun this record. Feeling his years but not yet suffering from them. That meant there were over 50 journals in all, identical leather volumes of 120 pages each.
This could take days. All the more an excuse to invite Pavus to stay here, day and night, until they were done with all of the diaries. It was, of course, a bad idea.
Lyric had spoken to him once on the road – about how she could and would continue to hold multiple loves in her heart. TIberius wasn’t quite sure he was capable of the same. He’d never tried, of course. It had always been Enzo until he and the whole of Tevinter were lost to him. No matter how inconvenient that had made certain aspects of their lives.
And part of him – even now – suspected it would always be Enzo. Wondered if Orlais and Mel had only been a twinned and temporary madness. That, however, was to do a disservice to everyone. Looking down at his Grandfather’s tidy handwriting, Tiberius tested the edges of his grief and found it still ready to bleed at the slightest touch.
No. It was a little better than that. He could look at Lyric without wanting to weep – he could see her as something other than the ghost of her dead sister. Unforgivable, to dismiss that progress.
"My Lord Umbra, your guest has arrived.”
Tiberius glanced up, eyes skimming over his armswoman as if he’d forgotten her existence. He cleared his throat and stood, refilling his own glass from the bottle. Another waited, set a little bit apart.
“That’s good. Show him in, please.”
05-23-2024, 08:27 PM
