In Which Octavius Learns What Life Is

August 23, 1160

Maybe it was just time to give up. All Octavius had were his two wonderful children, and they were probably the only reason he had no desire to throw himself from the tower window. Other than that, he had a mad wife who was a danger to his family and herself, and who had hated every fiber of his being before going insane anyway. He had been separated from the vast majority of his family for almost six years now, and he had just learned that his oldest brother was dead.

When had he seen Primus last? Cambrin's wedding, was that right? That was three and a half years ago. If he'd known that that would be the last time he'd ever see his brother alive, he might have thought of some more profound parting word than "Goodbye".

Someone knocked on the door--however, it was not Florian's impatient tapping, nor was it low enough on the door to be Sparron or Jeda. Octavius sighed.

"I told Florian that there is only one adult I'm willing to see right now," he called to whoever it was.

"I know," replied a familiar voice he had most certainly not been expecting to hear. "He told me to go on in."

He almost felt like smiling. "Please do."

He briefly looked up to see Holladrin open the door and enter the study, all white linen and dark velvet, golden hair and satin skin. "I'm sorry about your brother," she told him, simply and truthfully. "He was a good man."

"That he was," Octavius agreed with a sigh. "Please... sit down."

Nodding, she did as she was told, gliding across the wooden floor and delicately lowering herself to the cushion beside him. "I met your children briefly," she told him, "in the front room. They're very sweet, and positively adorable."

Octavius removed his hand from his forehead and straightened. "Indeed, they are. Thank God for my children; oftentimes, I feel they are the only ones keeping me sane."

They sat in silence for a moment or two, the very air around him noticeably more comforting than it had been not long before. Then--

"Laralita told me about your wife. Roderick didn't want me to know, but she figured I would find out soon enough anyway."

"How much did she tell you?" he inquired after a rather slow breath.

"That she went mad, and that you have to keep her locked up for the children's sake."

"You know everything, then."

There was a marked sadness in her eyes as she listened to his reply. He almost wished that Laralita had not told her anything; the news, it seemed, had disheartened her. And why shouldn't it? Medea was her cousin, as well as the sister of Oswald's wife Athalia, her best friend. At this point, it almost made sense that she was more shaken up about the ordeal than he himself was--and yet, there was still a certain sympathy about her, as if her primary concern was his suffering as opposed to her own.

"Holladrin?"

Carefully, he slung his arm over her shoulders, pulling her nearer. "It's fine. I... I've made peace with it," he insisted. "Just now. Seeing you here... I've accepted it. Thank you."

She smiled; if she was beautiful in her misery, then there were no words to describe her in happiness. "I'm glad you feel that way. It's difficult sometimes--moving on."

"It is," he confirmed, "but I suppose in the end, that's what life is, dear Holladrin--moving on."

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