“I'm not good at complex plotting and planning, but I think that you should send at least a letter to Maria and explain things, maybe apologize for hurting her feelings, even though it wasn't your intent? She got on her knees, in public, and begged my forgiveness for what she did, even nearly getting me killed. And I'm about to go and beg Smythe of Westend to let me heal him because the kingdom needs it, even if he'll probably kill me for leaving him crippled as soon as he can manage it. It seems like a good day for begging and groveling all around, doesn't it?”
Rolph raged inside for a full minute, for a second Tor thought he was really going to lose it and hit him, or try to at least, but he calmed and knelt instead after a while, bowing until his head touched the floor with a soft thunk.
“Then let me start here. I didn't know it at the time, but my actions set in motion very bad things for you. I should have realized it and made corrections, but I was too blind, too stupid to see it. I-”
“Oh get up. There's no debt's between friends and besides, if you could have taken any of what happened on yourself to spare me, I know you would have. Now let's get that apology out before Maria manages to get Karina and your mom pregnant too, shall we?”
Mirth flowed then, even though he hadn't meant it to be funny. Did they think that she couldn't do it? She was far more clever than Tor had thought and she'd been around him a lot over the last week, even though he'd kept his distance. After all, it wouldn't do to look like she was seducing him into finding in their favor. Especially since he was obviously already trying to do all he really could for them.
So, at that, the engagement to Varley was broken and he was, well, he wasn't alone was he? Tor still had friends and even a couple that were willing to sleep with him, for whatever reason. They didn't make him pay at least, which was a plus, if only for his ego. Petra had kind of put him off in regards to marriage, but seemed happy to be his girlfriend. That was good enough wasn't it? He was young and really, he wasn't going to get a lot older, one way or the other. Either someone would kill him or he just wouldn't age, like his uncle, grandfather and mom. What was his hurry? He wasn't alone now. It was an improvement for sure.
Looking a bit put out still, the Prince, his short hair still a dark brown, though a little red was showing and his skin still deeply colored too, but fading to his natural lighter tan color, stayed with his mother to craft the first apology. They all knew a single letter wouldn't be enough. Rolph jokingly wondered if sending his left testicle in a box would be enough, but the Queen, not laughing shook her head.
“Doubtful. Plus, that's the royal testicle, at least until you produce and heir and a spare. Groveling will have to do and I doubt you'll get off as easy as you did with Tor. Most people secretly like to see others humble themselves and will let it draw out. Might as well start now. The sooner you start the sooner you can get the taste of her boots off your tongue.” Her tone was dark, even though the words nearly made Tor laugh. Rolph did, if a little dryly, but then went to set up a writing station.
Richard led him to Smythe himself, who, attempted murderer or not wasn't locked in the dungeon, or even in an isolated hospital, just in his room. There was a Royal Guard on the door, who bowed to the King and eye-balled Tor, his hand going to his weapon in the little pocket on his side. It was just a force lance, the kind he'd designed when David Derring had been challenged to a duel to the death by a southern Count. It was a good and dependable model, better than most that the military had still. It also wouldn't do anything to Tor at all. Tor considered handing over his own weapon as a good faith gesture, then let that idea go. Not anymore. He wasn't going unarmed, especially into a room with Smythe in it.
The man sat in bed, a dun colored night shirt showing. He didn't do anything, no music played to entertain him and he didn't have a visitor to chat with or read to him. To his left was a pitcher with water in it and a cup, there was dampness on the table and the room smelled more than a little of urine. Either no one had been doing much for the man, or he hadn't let them.
“William? It's me, Richard.” The King’s voice was soft and nonthreatening.
“Good! Strangle me, or use a cutter, and take my head and we can be done with this farce, can't we? I tried for the boy and failed. He should have killed me, but didn't. Don't you see how dangerous he is? He knows he's so strong he doesn't even have to kill his enemies. The guard, Michel? He said that two days after the fight Tor just got up and wasn't even blind anymore! Already built himself a new shield and weapons from bits he took from the wall of the room itself. That was it, it was our best shot and I wasn't clever enough. I'm sorry, but I won't live like this anymore. I'm useless to the kingdom now. End it. Or damn it, give me a knife and I’ll do it.”
The words were strong, almost fierce, but there was despair and fear underneath. Fear of him. How the hell was he supposed to deal with that? The truth he supposed.
“Playing with you? Are you crazy, or just stupid? I nearly died at your hands! I didn't kill the military guys because they're not my enemies. You aren't my enemy… though it's incredibly hard to tell most of the time. Anyway, stop sulking and get back to work you lazy prick. Ward undeclared war and asked for an honest investigation of his claims of innocence in the poisonings and the Queen’s day attack, but no one thinks anyone can do it fairly but you. No one. So if you're willing to not be a spaz anymore, and are willing to start acting like everyone says you normally do around anyone but me, I'll fix your eyes for you. I can't regrow your hand. I tried with Trice… Patricia Morgan, but I'm working on a magical one for her and if it works, I should be able to make the same for you too. If not, well, freaking deal with it. You tried to kill me, which I assure you wasn't needed. I'm really nice! Just ask anyone that knows me. But I swear, if you try acting like I wronged you, I'm seriously going to punch you in the mouth, one hand or not.” Tor moved over to him and took off the healing amulet. The King gasped slightly when he saw it. Right, he hadn't seen any of the new work yet, it was kind of neat, if he did say so himself.
“Now, do you want to see again or not?”
To his credit, Smythe actually hesitated, wondering at the cost. Would it take money? His eternal allegiance? His betraying the kingdom?
“Nope. All I ask is that you judge me based on what I do, all of it, and not a few isolated events, or out of fear.” Tor had a thought and shrugged, even though the man couldn't see it.
“Tell me, how many men have you killed?” Tor asked abruptly.
“I don't know.” The answer was honest at least, if a bit confused. “Hundreds at least, maybe more. My actions and orders have lead to the deaths of thousands, certainly.” He said it blankly, without any hint of pride or remorse in the words.
“Right, and how many people have I killed?”
“I don't know that either. As many as you wanted to, I'd hazard.” The voice went slightly wry.
“Fine, if you want to look at it that way, I guess that's true. The answer is none. Zero. Even when attacked, injured, betrayed and in a combat rage. I'm simply just not a warrior, Smythe. I'm a builder and the son of a small village baker. You're trying to judge me like you would someone like… you. A warrior, maybe even a legendary one. I'm simply not that. I… don't think I could be. Oh, I could kill someone, once, I think, to protect someone innocent or maybe by accident and as odd as it sounds I can make weapons that kill people all day long and not even think about it overly, but you think I'm some big threat to the kingdom when I'm just not. My big go too move in a fight is running away for goodness sake!”
The amulet was turned on with a flicker of intent and dropped on the other mans chest. He gasped and writhed a little, but not in real pain. That looked different. The cloudy white eyes cleared and the old man sat straighter. Like with Trice the hand didn't come back, but the wound would be healed under the bandages. If he'd had joint problems that would be fixed now too. Everything pretty much. He held the stone for a long time, like all the old people had done, the occasional pop or crackle coming from his body, until finally he looked at the King and smiled.