Willow's Lament

4.

"Sera," the silver haired man spoke first, hurrying over from behind the King's seat to engulf me in his embrace. Though he didn't look it, he was actually my grandfather; on my mother's side of course. My father Brandon had no living relatives left.

"Grandpa Theo," I replied, returning his hug. I couldn't pretend to be as cool-headed when he was the one beginning the conversation.

"How are you my princess? Come to rein your father in? I fear at this point that you are the only one who could succeed with him in that regard." His eyes were kind, reminiscent of a playful youth but contained by his innate fatherly nature. His daughter, in life, had been no different.

I sighed and shook my head. "No grandfather. I need to speak with you." I turned and addressed the room. "To speak with all of you."

There were several nods in response and a man closest to my father the King, replied "Of course, Princess."

I remembered him; his name was Marcus Abraham, a proud statistician with dark brown eyes and curls of the same shade. It was an identifying quality of his to utter pleasantries while still managing to seem condescending as he looked down at me along the edge of his crooked nose.

I knew that if I was looking for chivalry, I would not find it here. So I did the one thing that I thought I would never do in the face of these bloated bigots-- I tried being respectful. "Thank you."

"But of course, you can only expect us to listen, if you are even granted the full measure of that courtesy. We are the High Court," Marcus bellowed. "It is our duty to judge duly, fairly and with sound reason. Estranged or not, your title will not afford you any automatic favor here."

I smiled, not at all surprised by his grand standing.

Marcus Abraham was a statistician; a man confident in his ability to analyze probability but, that was only under circumstances where he did not have to openly, physically confront his opponent. His efforts to appear menacing, to induce fear, were frankly, quite pathetic. Open ended threats; insinuating the inevitable uncertainty was a coward's version of self defense but I couldn't expect anything less from a man who only ever planned for war but had never actually been apart of it.

He knew nothing, understood nothing and so, always felt the need to make others painfully aware of the dismal and temporary power he had as Court member but I was not moved. I was not phased. I did not flinch.

"Are you their mouthpiece today, Marcus?" I asked, pleased when the question got the response I wanted.

He was taken aback, confusion flickering in his brown eyes as if he hadn't expected me to call his bluff. He blinked.

I continued, "Do you speak for them all? All twelve including your King?"

The other members stared at Marcus now, all except my father who watched me with a kind of interest that still managed to seem disinterested at the same time.

"Its quite presumptuous. Even more presumptuous than it is for you to assume that am I here to leverage my royalty in front of you as if it entitles me to your approval."

I think I realized too late that I was angry, and stepped closer to the round table and away from my grandfather's cautionary grip on my arm.

Marcus rose to his feet as if expecting my unspoken challenge.

"Sera, my dear," my grandfather Theophilus Arrian called after me.

In part, I ignored my granddad's warning. "If you think for a moment that I am here to kiss your self serving, grovelling ass..."

"Enough," Brandon bellowed. He rose to his feet and Marcus shrunk down into his seat, leaving me to face my father alone with the wood between us.

But the table seemed to represent more. In this moment, the wooden island between us symbolized the distance I felt between my father and I for the majority of my life. An insurmountable cleft-- an ever present chasm and he had been the one to created it.

"I haven't the time to indulge in your nonsense, Marcus. Nor is this the place for your petty squabbling." He turned to me, "Why are you here, Sera?"

I debated whether or not to respond, watching the embarrassment wipe the smug look off of the statistician's face.

"Permission to take leave to embark on special assignment-- my King," I muttered through gritted teeth.

"What sort of assignment?" he replied, sinking down into his seat. The marble columns around the room seemed to funnel the silence in and around us.

"I have reason to believe that the reason behind the recent spike in lyche sightings has nothing to do with a population increase. I think we may be dealing with an organized syndicate."

The King rose from his seat again, glancing hesitantly and fractionally at the other Court members. He folded his hands behind his back. "You can substantiate such a claim?"

"With absolute certainty? No; not as yet." Even as the words left my lips, I knew that the admission would be my undoing.

He scoffed. "Then we are done here."

I square my jaw, angrily watching his back that was turned to me now. "I have a gut feeling, Your Highness and I was taught to listen to those instincts. Am I wrong to trust them-- those instincts embedded in my genetic makeup?"

There was a silence in the room, as the smaller Court members, like sheep, looked toward their shepherd. And I was made to look like the wolf stalking the borders of the herd.

As any good shepherd would be, he was immediately defensive and dismissed the herd.

"Leave us," he commanded of the waiting audience. They moved without any hesitation, chairs scraping against the stony floor. Even the arrogant Marcus Abraham made no move to protest, joining the single filed line toward the door.

"I need you to leave as well, Theophilus." King Brandon addressed my grandfather who stood behind me.

Out of respect for my mother, my father had initially kept my granddad around as an adviser and that remained true even after my mother's passing and with good reason.

Theophilus Arrian was a brilliant historian and cartographer and following in the footsteps of his dearly departed father, he was now known as the designated keeper of all of Gaelae's secrets.

Physically, he would have been considered a modern marvel by human standards but in contrast, he was just a testament to the irregularity of our species.

Our cells would continue to regenerate and rejuvenate themselves until they simply stopped doing so. Whether it was part of some preordained plan or undeniable proof that the German Übermensch did not exist-- that the idea of perfection was an unattainable construct, the mechanism behind this phenomenon is still left to be discovered.

Though he was reluctant to reveal his exact age, he had confessed that he was at least three hundred years and his father before him had lived for more than twice as long.

Yet, he still looked like a man in his prime-- like a spirited twenty (20) year old with a firm grasp of his own invincibility.

Theophilus adopted his role as a loving and wise grandfather and he stood behind me, protectively putting his hands on my shoulders,

"What are your intentions, my King." He made no attempt to hide his skepticism.

My father's face became contorted in a menacing scowl. "i would never hurt my own child and I resent that you would even insinuate such a thing."

"There are other ways to hurt another person without being physically abusive. You never cared to hear what Sera had to say prior to this so why must I expect you to act differently now? This city has not seen or heard from their princess for over five years, though the hurtful rumors still proceed her. Her character is constantly under question, if it has not yet been completely assassinated by now and you are primarily to blame. How can I expect you to behave differently now, my king?" Theophilus' words were spat like venom in Brandon's direction.

"And where were you, Theophilus?" The King retorted violently. "If I am really the monster you paint me to be then, why were you not there to stop me? Why are you the adoring, perfect grandfather now?"

"Because I was mourning my daughter, Your Highness!" The tone of my grandfather's voice surprised even me and the surprise was clear on my father's face."

"She committed herself to your cause; she gave her life to raising your child. She gave everything she had to ensuring that your child, this beautiful young woman before me, had a life that she was deserving of. Never had I thought that after the woman you claimed to love gave her life for your foolish prophecies, that you would have the gall to abandon the fruit of her labor.

I was not there because you are a man, Brandon and I never thought that you needed to be taught how to be a proper father. You love this title and your sycophantic Court members more than your child and you cannot blame me for that."

If I had any way of perceiving that this meeting would result in this, I don't think that I would have come here. My father's resentment for me was no secret to anyone here.

I had disappointed The King twice: once, from the moment I had entered the world from my mother, Elira's womb and turned out to be a girl instead of the son he had been promised. My very existence seemed to be an insult to him in that sense.

The second disappointment came when I refused to fully accept my role as a Defender. The King wanted wanted two things where that was concerned.

1. He wanted to possess and police my s****l liberation-- he would chose a husband for me, borne of pure Defender procreation with whom I would have a life and children.

2. The additional component was that with or in the absence of a suitable mate, I would donate my blood and healthy egg cells for the creation of a master race of Defenders through genetic engineering.

Clinging to whatever bit of dignity, self respect and morality I still had left, I respectfully declined at the age of thirteen (13) when the idea was first proposed to me. When that was not sufficient, I had refused my father rather disrespectfully and retreated to the human world where I matured and became what I am now, at the tender age of eighteen (18).

My defiance perhaps can be considered the third disappointment.

For some reason, the sight of him now, as he seemed to still be reeling from my grandfather's words made me think that he was only now understanding how his cruelty had impacted my life. I had never seen a handsome man look so confused and for the first time, I really noticed how he was dressed.

The suit was tailored for his broad frame and completely black, making his tie the focal point of the ensemble. I recognized it the moment I saw it. It was a bold red color with the Carlisle family crest-- a fist grabbing hold of the sun-- embroidered with gold thread in the center.

My mother had made the tie personally for him.

"Leave us please," the King repeated, in a hushed tone this time.

"As you wish, my King, but I will be here for my granddaughter this time. I will be just outside that door." He kissed my cheek before leaving, the door closing with a thud behind him.

When we were alone, King Brandon addressed me. "Tell me about this hunch, Sera." It was the first time my father had ever called me by my name when he wasn't trying to be condescending. I cleared my throat.

"For the past three months, I have witnessed, or rather came face to face with an increase in reported lyche sightings and I don't mean in the sense of more assignments. I know that you are well aware of the exact number of errands I have been commissioned for by Merrick on your behalf. Rather, I have found that the number of hostiles that I am told to expect to encounter is usually highly under-exaggerated. You tell me to engage with three (3) lyches in an abandoned farmhouse outside of Donegal, Ireland for example, but upon arrival, I am met with thirteen (13) individuals. At this point, I have begun to completely disregard the majority of the intelligence relayed to me by your men, except for the location of course."

"So what? Are you accusing my men and myself of deliberately withholding information which may have endangered you?"His entire line of questioning since I had arrived had been of a suspicious nature. I suppose I knew now where my inherent skepticism came from.

I frowned. "No, of course not. If I were to accuse you of anything, then you would be more than aware of it. Besides, I am more than capable of handling a handful of creatures."

"Then how else might the information you're receiving be inaccurate? And if you were noticing these inaccuracies, why haven't your reports been reflective of this, Sera?"

"They have. Always. I can assure you of that and so can Merrick. As for what is being done with those reports, only the person responsible for their management would be able to answer that question."

"Marcus?" he asked but hardly in a surprised way.

I shrugged. "He is your appointed military statistician. Defender reports are critical sources of evidence to inform the suggestions he makes during your Court meetings. If he were ignoring them deliberately, I would not be surprised; he has never truly believed that the lyche threat was ever truly a threat to begin with.

"But that cannot be the reason reason why you came here bearing your instincts. I do not believe that you have simply come here to poke holes into Marcus' sense of judgement."

"You're right. Its not just the numbers being ignored or the inconsistency of the reports. I have encountered thousands of lyche congregations from San Francisco to New York, up and down North America but rarely anywhere else; as if that hemisphere had become their preferred stomping grounds.

Recently, I have also made contact with a lyche claiming to be a lieutenant who reported to a superior whom he referred to only as: "The King Without Borders." They are forming coalitions; finding ways and seeing the utility of working together. The only question is who are they mobilizing against."

He began to pace back and forth introspectively. "That is only one occurrence. That is not nearly sufficient evidence to prove the existence of a universal lyche leader."

"Would you rather that we wait until I encounter more of these enforcers or maybe even this King himself?"

"Of course not. You know that I would rather it not come to that; I prefer to retain the upper hand. However, I am interested to know the exact details behind this encounter." Gingerly, he perched on the edge of the table, one sculpted eyebrow raised over his left eye in question.

I started stumbling over my words then. "I was coming to the aid of a human male in danger in his home. The so called lieutenant was found there, demanding to know the location of a fabled object of interest to his supposed leader."

"I knew it," King Brandon replied, shaking his head in disbelief. He dismounted from the table's edge. "Your irrational insistence on involving yourself with humans has always been the main influence behind your rather poor sense of judgement..."

I tried to defend my point, speaking over him unsuccessfully. "That is hardly the point. What is of greater importance is the significance of the object the creature was searching for. The lieutenant had been given strict orders to not return without it."

Yet, he continued anyway. "It is your weakness, Sera. You fail so miserably as a Defender because you assume that your choices have anything to do with their safety. Do you even know to whom you have allegiance?"

"I am sworn to the Defender's code," I retorted, even as his face twisted in anger. If I were anyone else, perhaps, I would have had the common sense to be afraid. When I was younger, the same would have been true but my fear of his anger and of his disapproval was in fact, the reason why we were in this present predicament.

"No," he shook his head. He was slowly coming closer to me.

"I have taken the oath to protect the sovereignty of this title; the sovereignty of He Who Created All; the sovereignty of all created life forms. That includes--"

"You are sworn to Gaelae!" He interrupted me, screaming the words into my face. "You are sworn to protect this city and its people. Not the human race. Why is that so difficult for you to accept?"

"This has nothing to do with me!" I screamed back.

"Yet, you expect me to believe that you coming to the rescue was just a coincidence? That you just happened to be without assignment, within the vicinity of a human male who was about to be victimized? Were you trained to believe in such coincidences as well?"

There was no way that my father could ever be allowed to know about Tommy and our friendship. At this point, after all he had done, he had no right to know anything related to my personal life and I refused to give him hostages to be used against me. As such, I was almost short of an answer to his question. "Lyches threaten all life, and human lives are included in that number. I cannot be expected to remain unconcerned where their lives are being endangered. That goes against what I swore to uphold. Any allegiance or lack thereof that you perceive I have for your city is due solely to the fact that you have made it clear that I am no longer welcome here.

I am not the soldier you prayed for and I would suggest that you stop hoping that your threats or your anger will make me anything less than what I am. I just thought that you should know what I am about to do and why I am doing it."

The King was a stubborn man, his jaw still set with anger but his eyes had somewhat softened now. "You seek my permission to authorize your own missions." It was more of a statement of fact than a question.

"No," I replied. "I don't need or want your permission. I will do what I feel is best regardless because its not this city and your reign that I am concerned about. People-- Gaelaens and humans will die if this turns out to be anything like what I am expecting. If you haven't the mind to perceive that obvious threat then there is no point in convincing you."

He scoffed. " I have never understood why you were so defiant, especially when it came to the requests I made of you... daughter." He said the word 'daughter' as if it were a foreign phrase, his lips contorting awkwardly around the syllables as he enunciated. I imagined that he had never even thought the word before.

"I believe the word your looking for is demands and not requests. You are a terrible father, not that you need me to spell that out for you and not that I even consider you to be a father to me in the first place. I ask nothing of you, my King. Nothing but this one thing-- that you stop trying to order my steps. Stay out of my life and I will stay out of yours."

He frowned and it was perhaps the first human-like emotion that I had seen from him since my mother's passing. "I would very much appreciate it if-- no, I want you to be apart of my life, Sera." His tone was softer now, a foreign kind of tenderness as he reached out to touch my face. This newfound paternal gentleness fit him like a very ill-fitting mask.

"You want the glory, a soldier's pride that you think you will experience from the title I bear. You never wanted to be the father to a daughter." I pulled away from him and it stung, more for me than I was willing to bet it had hurt him. Damn these irrational feelings.

"I think that you may be right. I don't think I ever knew how to love as a father should. Perhaps, I have failed, you though foolishly and selfishly, I'd like to think that I have not." My father smiled. "You see right through me, my child. Just as she always had."

The corner of my eyes stung as I remember my mother, Elira Arrion-Carlisle. For a moment, I thought I could see the glimmer of unshed tears in his own eyes before he turned, putting his back to me. He stalked forward in the direction of his chair at the Court's round table.

"I cannot authorize a decision to organize a battalion for your cause without convening the Court and taking a vote," he continued.

"I don't need a battalion." I responded. "I am more than capable of carrying out the reconnaissance on my own."

"Very well," he nodded, still not looking in my direction. "Find me proof of this. Bring me a sworn enforcer from whom information can be obtained, whether willingly or by force. Then we may discuss what will happen after."

"Thank you," I replied, a little surprised that he had actually agreed. Not willing to give him the opportunity to reconsider, I turned and headed for the door.

"Sera," The King called after me and I paused without a word.

As if he were aware that I had stopped moving, he continued. "You have her eyes," King Brandon murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "You are everything that she was and though that may seem impossible for you to understand, that in part, explains the way I have acted toward you all this time. It was nothing that you did, though there are some conversations that occurred between us that I wished you had handled differently. They were my actions alone and I take responsibility for them, though I may never truly apologize in the way that you would like."

His back was still facing me, his fingers caressing the arm of his chair as if he were lost in a memory and I was sure that I knew exactly the one.

It was a memory I had not been alive to witness but one my mother spoke fondly of on the nights when I was younger and exhausted from my training-- exhausted from training to be the kind of fighter that would finally earn my father's approval.

She would tell me of the time that she finally told my father that she was pregnant for the last time. About how it was here in this room while he sat in his chair reflecting upon the proceedings of the Court meeting which had just been adjourned. She would tell me of how her excitement at the news was only dwarfed by that of my father and the faith in the prophecies which he had clung so strongly to.

I assumed she told me that story to affirm how much of blessing my birth was for their family but I never saw it that way and looking back at it now, neither did my father. I was not the son he had wanted. I was not the suitable heir with whom to leave his legacy and I regretted every moment I had spent trying to prove to him that I had the potential to be.

"I don't need an apology, my King," I replied, my palms pressed against the cold metal of the door. "And no, I don't remind you of her. We don't have the same eyes-- perhaps they are similar in color but not in what they hold beneath. She was love and light and if I possessed any of that in my youth, it has long since been chased away by anger, bitterness and pain.

I am not the image of your wife. I am nothing like her, not that this fact would ever stop you from blaming me for your death...and I know that you may always hate me for that. But I cannot continue to pretend that I am not what I became, against her wishes and solely to earn your approval.

I became a warrior, father-- a vile killer. Is that not what you wanted?"