Within the walls of Evergreen Castle, the old king had been waiting for death. Bed-ridden and barely able to see the faces of his own family, his lords had thought him dead for a long time, yet the stubborn old man refused to die.
He was surrounded by gifts now-- flowers he could smell but could not see, and messages only his loyal servant or a member of his council would read to him. The chamber in which he resided was dim, as the curtains only allowed a ray of sunlight to pass revealing a frail man and a visitor: Lord Frigand of House Figher, Warden of Figher Castle and the Purse of the Kingdom of Greenhold, who read to the king another one of the letters.
"I don't need your pity, Lord Frigand," the king remarked as his breath became long and thin.
"Then who to read your letters, your grace? Surely, you do not mean you would appoint a mere man for such sensitive matters." Lord Frigand held in his mind suspicions, though he would only hint at it to his king.
The old man turned away and stared into the ray of sun that entered his room. "Forty-five years of ruling's made me weak. What purpose is there left to live? I am to die." He stared back at the lord. "Of my son, Lord Frigand?"
"I hear from the servants that he has returned to his own chamber of comfort, your grace-- the library."
He merely nodded. "Leon... he was never a soldier, was he? Do you remember when the lad was only ten-and-six?"
"Aye," Lord Frigand answered, a smile forming on both their faces. "No matter how much Ser Harryn trained the prince, he would always run back to his books at the end of the day. His sister was the opposite."
"She is indeed." The king's face had brightened. "A little girl she may be, but she knows how well to hold a blade. Though now she may be more accustomed to an ax than her old sword."
"Perhaps Ser Harryn should have trained her instead of the prince."
"A lady leading an army of knights?" asked the king. "Oh, how the council would howl at the sight of it! It would be an outrage to the people of the kingdom."
The lord laughed with him. "Of course, your grace. How often does one see a lady charging into battle? No... the churches would find it too radical."
The king scoffed at the word, "Radical, of course they would think it that way."
Silence followed soon after.
Lord Frigand took upon his hand another letter, this time from Lord Haegan of House Wheron. The red seal of wax, stamped with the head of a deer, was taken off and the parchment was opened. "The last letter of the day, your grace. A message from Lord Haegan."
The old king turned his head, his smile faded. "The last letter of my days. Yes. Go on, then, read it to me. Let's see what Old Haegan wants now."
The lord unrolled the letter and read it aloud...
"Your grace;
Upon hearing of your condition, we have sent our greatest apothecary, to perhaps make your years longer as you reign upon your kingdom. The princess is with us here in the city. She is our humble guest as she visits the gravestone of your late son with Ser Harryn. We hope our scholars of medicine will aid you.
The Yorills, your grace, have also taken the duty of ruling on your behalf. Lord Turon of House Yorill, as your Chancellor, has been leading the small council well. Lord Frigand should have arrived by the time this letter does. He informs me that he, too, would see the king before the worst to come.
Sincerely,
Lord Haegan Wheron
Master of Law"
The king nodded lightly. "Now I know that my daughter is safe. That is well." He then faced towards where he could barely see the figure of his Purse. "What of the queen?"
"She grieves within her chambers. She has not come out since morning."
"Summon her here, Lord Frigand, along with my boy," ordered he.
The lord nodded and went for the door. Only a slight open was needed as he ordered one of the guardsmen outside the king's chambers to call upon the queen and her son. Only for a short while did they wait as the doors were opened and Lady Daena entered the chambers, followed by the prince.
The old king could not see, but he could hear the door close. "My queen, is that you? Why... of course it must be. You wear the scent, but sadly, I cannot see your beauty."
The lady truly was a treasure. When she was merely of ten-and-eight, her father had agreed to marry her off to House Marigold to be wed to the then Prince Macael. Although, it would soon come to be that she desired instead his brother, Gabriel. This conflict among the brothers sparked a joust between them- a competition for her lady's hand. Alas, Gabriel was victorious, and his brother, filled with sorrow, was found dead soon after in his own chambers.
"You lay here like a helpless lion," the queen remarked.
The king smiled. "Indeed I am, and this is a lion that will feast in a haven."
The prince said nothing and stared at his father's dying body. How hard it must be for the boy, Lord Frigand thought.
"Then I pray it be a feast plentiful. I wouldn't desire you to starve when you are already dead," said the queen. "Our son is here, too, Gabe. He stands tall, just like when you were a boy."
"I remember when I could still carry him. He was just a wee little lad! Do you remember it, Leon?"
The prince looked at his dying father, sweating and helpless, not able to look at his own son's eyes. "How could I forget? You raised us well, father, sister and I. How cruel must the world be to take your soul so soon?"
The king gave nothing but a smile.
Lady Daena held her husband's hand, now merely skin and bone, with so little flesh left. "I love you, Gabriel. Even as you lay here, I will always love you."
"Then may the gods allow us to see each other in the afterlife."
Once more, a moment of silence befell the room as the king became weaker. It was then that he could no longer lift his arms. By that time, the apothecary sent by Lord Haegan had arrived, opening the door without a knock as the guards announce his presence:
"Apothecary Gedryn, my lord. Healer of House Wheron and Appointed by Lord Haegan, your Master of Law, for the king."
The man's face was of determination and, oddly, excitement. He was, after all, a scholar filled with curiosity that discriminated no man. "I am the healer of the king, sent by Lord Wheron. I have brought my instruments."
"You're too late," Prince Leon replied. "He lays here now, dying. My father will be dead soon and there is nothing we can do."
Gedryn stared at young Leon, "There is often still hope in medicine. Rarely is there a case with no cure." The apothecary inched his way closer. He was no younger than sixty, and with him he carried his fairly large bag of instruments, vials, and herbs. Upon seeing the man, his excitement withered away to bewilderment. "How long has this condition lasted?"
"It only began a week ago," explained the queen. "We thought it no worse than a fever. Two days after, he collapsed as he stood from his throne. By then, he was rushed to his chambers to rest, where it seemed he aged a decade and lost all his strength. Here he is now."
Gedryn looked closer at the king, trying to muster a smile, hoping that what he said were to be true now. "What was he served the day of his collapse?" asked he.
"Bread and wine for his breakfast, Ribs of a stag for lunch, and none for his dinner. Do you imply it was his meal that caused him this condition?"
The apothecary did not reply as he took from his bag a needle and pierced the king's finger, drawing blood. "It would be my first suspicion. Considering his old age, one would determine the cause of his death was, of course, his age. His condition, however, is too sudden to be one of time. No man collapses suddenly and becomes bed-ridden to his length of stay in this mortal coil."
"Then tell us, apothecary, what condition does he have?" asked Lord Frigand.
Gedryn worked with his tools meticulously, now smearing the blood on a glass slide. At once, he reached into his bag for a small vial of clear fluid and took a droplet of it unto the blood. He knew the symptoms the second he entered the chamber. This was his last hope of ever curing the king. "I will see that soon, my lord."
"What do you see that we do not? It is simply blood," remarked the queen.
But the apothecary was patient. He knew his craft and he knew it well. A moment after, the liquid had split into two-- blood and something else. As Gedryn the apothecary looked closer, he saw that it was what he knew. A small curse slipped from his mouth.
"I beg your pardon, your grace. I must speak to Lord Frigand alone."
It was done, and the family was left to tender to the dying king as Gedryn and Lord Frigand spoke outside the keep of Evergeen, atop a balcony high above the fields below, and higher than the walls.
"What of your findings?"
"Tears of Ivy, my lord," the apothecary replied. "My first suspicions were true."
Lord Frigand examined the slide further. "Is there a cure? Could you, perhaps, brew a potion from the vials within your bag? Tell us what you need and we will give it to you."
The apothecary's face said it all. His eyes were teary and his stare into Lord Frigand's own soul made the silence heavier. "There is no cure for Tears of Ivy, my lord, not in his condition. The poison is only cureable within three days, and it acts as if paralyzing every muscle. Your duty now, Lord Frigand, is to find who poisoned the king. Someone here is plotting. Protect the family."
Those were the last words of Apothecary Gedryn as he left the balcony and hurried downstairs to return to Wheron Castle. The lord was left standing there as he looked upon the setting sun, knowing within his very soul that this dynasty would soon set upon the death of its own.