Pelier. Second Summons: Paris & Prince William.
I believe the setting was the second summons Sir Paris received from Prince William in Pelier. I am not sure, but I think the subjects discussed on-camera were:
(1) Jules' request
(2) instructions to Paris as to how to deal with Rhori's boon
(3) mild pleasantries about the Prince being somewhat tired of all the writing he'd been having to do.
It became clear to Paris that her Prince had said what he had called her in to say, and that it was going to be soon time for her to take her leave of him. She hesitated, knowing that it might have helped her had someone acknowledge Grief's needs to her earlier in the process.
He stood by his table. The wan light that bathed it from the nearby window did nothing to hide the tightening of his jaw, the lines of stress around his eyes. A face made unconsciously older by the last few days, the last few months.
"My liege?" Paris' voice was gentle and still hesitant, "If you will -- I would speak -- to William rather than my prince -- for just a moment?"
His sharp blue eyes studied her in, she thought, surprise. Another line of concern added to his face; and, with forced absentmindedness, he moved to the chair behind the writing desk. It was only when the desk was between the two of them that he relaxed, a little. With a small nod, and a smaller smile, he said, "Go ahead."
She swallowed, not fully certain that this was the right help to offer, but sure that she should try -- if her own experience counted for anything. There was no thought of her own relationship to the prince as she spoke. "When you find time -- for yourself rather than only for the immense needs of this kingdom -- please -- find someone who -- cares for you." Her voice, still soft, grew more assured. "And allow him or her to give you the gift of - of a shoulder and a handkerchief. Healing takes time. But it needs a starting point. I know."
Visible relief moved over his face, and the smile turned wry. "But Paris, I will have an entire nation joining me in my grief. For thirty days, nothing will be done. And yet much will be done," he ended with a whisper. He leaned back in the chair, looking well past her. "One thousand. Nine hundred. Forty-four. That's how many have died from that day and night, from my orders, so far. Not counting my parents." He shook his head, and returned to smile softly at her. "You don't deserve this. Look, Paris," and he stopped with a sigh. "Thank you. I will, I think. But it will be some time. I still have to get my village to safety," he finished with a sad smile.
"I know," she answered simply.
"Grief" copyright 2000 P.Shea & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.