In Which Farilon Teaches the Unlearned Lesson

March 2, 1168

Having grown up with an almost perpetually ill mother, Farilon's children knew how to put on a brave face. Now that his own time was nigh, the king was relieved to see that none of the three of them had lost that ability; he felt he could enjoy his last few days with them to the fullest if none of them let their sorrow get in the way.

Really, though, he was just grateful that his younger two and their families had come all the way from Naroni for a few weeks. He'd been blessed with a last visit with all the grandchildren he'd scarcely seen, and he probably still had a few days to get to know them just a little better.

Right now, though, he was focusing on his children. His older grandchildren were out for a ride, and the younger ones playing under the supervision of his son-in-law and two daughters-in-law. He would see them again when he was feeling just a tad stronger; right now, he was more than a little tired. His now-grown children were about all he could handle just about now.

"Comfortable, Father?" asked Holladrin, taking his hand in her own, a soft, tired smile on her face.

Farilon gave his best attempt at a nod. "Yes, thank you, dear."

Meanwhile, Oswald briefly turned away from the fire, drawing the poker from the flames. "Warm enough, Father?"

"Quite," Farilon assured him. He half-expected Roderick to ask him something as well, but his middle child remained silent--indeed, the normally loud, almost obnoxious second son had let his siblings do most of the talking since he'd arrived. It must have been the residual awkwardness of his prior exile. Farilon himself had let that go years ago now, but perhaps it still took its toll on Roderick. Maybe it was irrational to expect otherwise.

Still, he was a bed-ridden old man with perhaps only a few days left to live; he had to make things right. "Oswald, Holladrin, will you please excuse us for a moment? I'd like a word with Roderick."

The two pairs of their mother's blue eyes locked, they both nodded. Oswald strode over from the fire and placed his hand on his sister's shoulder. With a last parting glance their father's way, they turned around and headed toward the door.

As the two of them made their exit, Roderick stood with the stillness of those infernal marble statues that Laralita had scattered about the castle in Naroni. Farilon didn't think it was because he'd spent so much time looking at those hideous things--well, not entirely, at any rate. "Sit down, son."

Nodding, Roderick hurried to the other side of the bed and obeyed--something Roderick had rarely done even as a small child. Perhaps this was the advantage to dying.

"Roderick, I hope you know how sorry I am for everything," he began, smiling in spite of his son's seeming refusal to look at him. "You made a mistake, of course, but I punished you too harshly. I hope you can forgive me."

Roderick sniffed. "Father, please--you know as well as I do that I'm far better off in Naroni than I would have been here. I'm still not even sure what I'm going to do with my second son; perhaps I shall exile him and see him start his own kingdom."

The pains in depths of his chest strengthened, but Farilon laughed all the same. "If every king with a second son did just that, we'd each be king of our very own acre--but I suppose it did turn out well for you. I just wish I could have seen more of you and your family while I had the chance."

"You didn't have a chance." Roderick's words were neither reassuring nor accusing--they simply were. "Your duties to Dovia come first, as do my duties to Naroni. You know it, and I know it, and Oswald and Holladrin know it too."

Farilon relaxed and permitted himself a small grin; after a stressful life as a ruler, a few last moments of contentment were more than welcome. "In that case, I suppose I've taught you all well."

"Indeed." The last word was as neutral as any of his others. Farilon did not know what to make of it, but he supposed there were worse things than brevity and the following silence. He'd apologized to his son, and his words had been accepted--that was all that mattered.

"Father?"

He turned his head to find that Roderick was staring at him, his hand raised, his expression troubled. "Father, do you ever look back on your time as king and wonder if people will remember you?"

Now this was the Roderick he remembered; Farilon did not care to crush him by telling him that he would not care in death. "I suppose the thought crosses every mind from time to time."

His son crossed his legs and clasped his hands, perhaps to keep from fidgeting. "How do you think one can tell if one has left a legacy?"

Silly boy. Farilon had taught each of his children as well as he could, but in his heart, he knew that for every man and woman, there were a few lessons that could never be learned. "Life is hard, son, whether king or common-born; just getting through it is a legacy in itself."

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