Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Epilogue: The End

Percival sat on the western edge of the city wall, his legs hanging over the side as he watched the sunset in all of its radiant luminescence. It was the final sign that their first day back in the city was drawing to a close, yet the happiness of the occasion was far from all that was on his mind, as could be seen from the tears that washed blood and dust from his cheeks.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Percival turned toward the voice, and an elven maiden of about his sister's age stood about two units away, awaiting his answer patiently. "Far be it from me to stop you."

"Actually, you very well could, my king." She sat down beside him and turned to face the sunset's red and orange hues, which spread across the sky like fire held back by a barrier of crystal blue water. "However, I will sit and watch the sunset with you, your majesty."

"Please do not call me that," Percival halsed, wiping his tears on his sleeve. "I am not a fan of being the king, let alone being reminded that I am the king."

"Alright," she conceded with a shrug. "What would you have me call you?"

"My name is Percival. It has been for nearly 3,500 years and I have no desire to change it."

She smiled at the low levels of pertinence in his reply. "Alright then, Percival, answer me this. You have your kingdom back and are surrounded by people who love you. In your return to the throne, Thousands could have been slaughtered, but you and yours managed to keep the tally down to two deaths. Does that not outweigh the negative outcomes on this day?"

"You are asking me if taking back a piece of land was worth my brother's life?" Percival was angry at her, his words biting.

She faced him unchastened by his reproach, and answered "No, Percival. I am asking why you sit here isolated on a city wall crying instead of spending time with those you have left."

Realisation dawned on Percival's face, and a flash of disappointment seemed to pass over him from the maiden's point of view. "My sister sent you."

"Not quite. She wanted to send someone to check up on you, and I volunteered," the lass explained, curious as to his reaction.

"That was kind of you,..."

"Amanriel."

"Yes, well, that was very kind of you, Amanriel. You can tell my sister that I am quite alright." He turned back toward the sunset, but his eyes were closed as he mentally cycled through the list of those he had lost. Métimafoa, Orónëminya, Father, Mother, my grandmothers, and grandfathers, my aunts and uncles. All are lost to me.

"Or, I could tell her that her brother is sitting up here crying on the kingdom wall, feeling more alone than he ever has." She smirked at him, as he stared at her shocked beyond compare. "I am not a lier, Percival, and I would not have you make me one."

Percival smiled at her, unable to help but be amused by her utter lack of regard for authority. "Alright, Amanriel, I can accept that you do not want to lie, but what makes you believe that I am lonely? I am surrounded by people who love me, as you so eloquently put it."

"I worked as a singer in a tavern for twenty-three years; one of the loneliest places I have ever been was surrounded by people who did not or would not understand me. My reason must allow that you are lonely because it is only when we are alone that we can make sense of our solitude."

Percival glanced at her, and admitted: "Maybe I am lonely, and maybe it is insensible, but I cannot shake this feeling of loss." He stood on the wall parapets and crossed his arms behind his back which gave him a near-regal bearing, and one that was most certainly befitting of his status. "I must make you understand, Amanriel, that because of everything that has happened to me and mine, I cannot simply move on. For the first 2,000 years of my life, I live in a building with eighteen people who I saw daily, who I loved and who loved me back." He hopped down off of the parapets and faced her directly. "Of those eighteen people, only one remains; my sister. But those other seventeen, my aunts and uncles, grandparents and parents, and two younger siblings are dead and gone. And never again will I see them, lest some unnatural fate should befall me, because of this accursed immortality."

"Do not speak of such things!" She spat, her anger rivalling Percival's own from earlier in their conversation. "Look, Percival, I am sorry, for everything that you went through. It was not right. It was not just, and it certainly was not deserved. But do not wish for your own death, and by no means ever seek to bring it about in an expedited fashion. The time of our death is not ours to choose, nor is it always our choice whether we will die or not, but I know this: it would destroy those you love. This loneliness you are feeling, completely justified though it may be, would be cast onto your loved ones. Do not seek to do that to anyone you love."

She turned to walk away because, over the course of their discussion, the last of the evenings auburn and amber rays had slipped behind the edges of the world and night had fallen. But as she walked away, Percival felt a strange sense of longing toward her. She is wise beyond her years, he thought, as she walked away, but at the last moment, impulse seized him beyond his ability to control. "Amanriel, wait!"

She turned and looked at him once more, as he jogged over to her. "Yes, Percival?"

"Do you mind if I walk you home? You are someone who I could talk to for hours."

She cocked her head curiously and then gestured for him to follow. "Come along, Percival. I suppose I must lead since you do not know where I dwell."

"Do you not dwell in the castle? Faramaureä had said that she was going to have her ladies-in-waiting move in, for the sake of filling up some of the empty rooms."

"Yes, I intend to move in tomorrow. I have to gather the things from my parents' house, but I was not going to do that while they were away at the festivities. I was unwilling to let them feel the pain of coming home to an empty house."

"Call on me when it is time to move your belongings over, and I will help you as I can."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "The King is going to help one of his sister's ladies-in-waiting move in? Well, that is a scarcely heard tale."

Percival sputtered for a moment, but he very quickly came up with: "My family has always helped out anyone in this city who was in need. Why should that change just because there are fewer of us now?"

"You sister now has ladies-in-waiting. None of your relatives did that either," Amanriel said with a smile. "Nice cover-up though."

Percival laughed in spite of himself, as they walked along the cobbles of the streets toward her place. "Thank you, I do my best."

Amanriel turned to face him again, as they arrived outside her parents' house. "Yes, I suppose you do, Percival." She opened the door just enough to squeeze through, and when only her head remained outside, she added, "Oh, and Percival?"

"Yes?" he answered curiously.

"I am truly pleased to see you laughing and joking. It is by far an improvement from your mood previously." With that comment, she shut the door without so much as a goodbye, leaving Percival wondering when he would see her again.

Little did he know, that inside of Amanriel's house, Faramaureä was sitting at the table sipping tea. "Well? How did it go?"

"Exactly how you expected it to go, Faramaureä." Amanriel smiled ecstatically. Confusion furrowed her brow though, as she pointed out: "I must admit, I am not quite certain as to why you are doing this."

Faramaureä smiled faintly as she took another sip of tea. "You mentioned that you liked him. What kind of friend would I be if I did not introduce you to him?"

And so, Faramaureä spent the next two hours quizzing Amanriel on everything that had gone on that evening and telling her stories about Percival. They laughed and smiled for the time, and it was only when Amanriel's parents made a fuss about the time that they quieted down.

As Percival walked home under the starlit sky, he whistled a melancholy tune. He was still sad about his losses, but if his conversation with Amanriel had shown him anything, it was that there were still some things worth living for. Or someones he mused, as he sat down on a bench and gazed up at the stars.

And he knew, at that moment, that although the world was not all that it should be, neither was it all that it could be. He would spend the rest of his life making the most of every moment he had, however many or few that was. And that, was just as it should be.