Chapter 404: Tired
Deep below the Lothian Manor, Bors Lothian carried a small lantern down a twisting flight of spiral steps before entering a dimly lit stone chamber. Moisture beaded on the walls in some places and mice scurried into the darkest corners of the chamber at the sight of the soft golden glow of Bors’ lantern.
The walls of the chamber had been hewn directly into the stone of the earth and while it was very long, the chamber itself was no more than twenty paces wide. Enough to accommodate two rows of crypts, holding the fallen heroes and departed loved ones of the Lothian family.
One crypt, engraved with a crest of lilies and an embroidery needle, held an oil lamp that cast a faint golden glow across the other crypts in the chamber, casting deep, inky shadows that danced like living things.
"Hello, Isla," Bors said, kneeling on the cold stone floor and placing his lantern on the ground as he folded his hands in prayer. "It’s been seven years already since you left for the Heavenly Shores. The boys are grown now. I should be able to join you soon but... I worry about our sons," he said with a heavy sigh.
Moving slowly, he extinguished the lamp burning atop his late wife’s crypt and began to meticulously clean the accumulated residue from the glass of the lamp while he spoke.
"I’ve done the best I could with them, but I know that I would have done better if you were still here beside me," he said. "Owain is strong and capable of defending our home from the demon hordes and Loman has held to his faith all these years. You would be proud of them my love," he said, pausing in his work as his mind filled with memories of simpler, happier days.
There had been a time when Isla brought the boys into his stately office every day. She’d sit in her embroidery chair near his desk, plucking away at her needlework while Loman read at her feet, breaking the silence of the office only when he needed to ask for help with one word or another in whatever book his tutors had given him most recently.
Owain had never been so well behaved, but in his father’s office, even as a teenager, he would wander from one trophy to the next, reading the histories that accompanied them and imagining himself as a hero adding to the collection one day.
Now, Owain was already accumulating a number of trophies of his own, though none were worthy of a place in the office collection yet, he was certain to add to them one day. And Loman...
"I promised you that I’d look after them," Bors said, putting away his cleaning rag and pulling out a small bottle of lamp oil to refill the freshly cleaned lamp. In the first year after her passing, he felt like the oil had barely burned down between visits, but over the years, it had come closer and closer to running empty by the time he next visited. "At least until I’ve seen my first grandson born. When I know the future is secure, then I can join you on the Heavenly Shores," he promised.
"Only, I’m afraid the wait may be even longer than I imagined," he said. Using the flame of his own lantern, he relit her lamp and placed it back atop the cold stone crypt. "I spoke with the girl that Owain intends to take as his second wife. She’s clever but very, very young. She thinks that the world will dance to her tune because her father is a count and she has some skill at enticing people into her schemes."
"Perhaps if she were her sister’s age, she would have grown out of this foolishness, but I’m afraid that she will bring disasters down upon our boys before she learns the limitations of her power," he said, shaking his head as he recalled her performance at dinner this evening.