The bolted door creaked slowly back on its massive hinges. The charmed one had arrived and in her coming she ushered the beginning of the end. She betrayed neither smile, grimace, nor compassion, but her eyes shone with the glimmer of ageless wisdom as she inspected the tower room and appraised its occupant. A staring match ensued as the younger woman met the elder's gaze, continuing for long moments until finally the crone turned to warm her hands at the fire and ease her ancient body into a chair. With creaking bones settled, the old one again turned eyes to that strangely disconcerting gaze, but this time she did not allow herself to be trapped in a contest of wills, instead, she broke the spell with a thinly veiled challenge. "A lovely prison, and a visit from a seeker of lost paths...all who are doomed should be so fortunate."

"Ahhhh," breathed the younger one in reply, "but then not every woman can be a Queen, now can she?"

The ancient pathfinder cackled, then fell into silent, searching speculation as she stared at the younger woman. "Give to me your sad tale, child; release your tormented memories."

"Why? It can serve no purpose but perhaps to cure the tormented curiosity of others."

"You're wrong, child. In your defiance, you are wrong. speak with me now or spend the everlasting eternity of afterlife wandering the world in searching torment, crying over answers that can never again be yours."

"Dead is dead, old woman; and I have no belief in this afterlife you claim...."

"No true gamester alive would place faith nor money on such a gamble, child. The stakes are far too high. And no, in answer to your next question, I am not a fakir. If I desired to delve your secrets, you nor anyone else could ever hold them from me; but in order to ease your surrender of this life. In order to assure you peace in the mists beyond, you must speak with me freely. By all that is sacred, the very Fates themselves have decreed, it must be thus!."

Determined disbelief read plainly on the younger woman's face, her most unladylike snort of derision was perhaps overkill.

The elder one ignored both. "If you so surely believe that this is in truth the end of all your existence, then what have you to lose by speaking? Certainly you fear not the tarnishing of your place is history...."

The younger woman laughed. "No, I believe my place in history could not be much worse than it stands now. But still, why should I give history my privacy to bandy about in sleezy taverns like a dirty jest."

"Consider this. My belief in the afterlife is as firm as your own disbelief. Therefore, I swear to you by the Fates' very benevolence that I am that which I claim to be. There is no way under sun nor moon that I would ever betray one who is so soon to pass over, but if I am liar and fake and seek only to know the truth of your life for my own gain, then others will hear your truths and perhaps learn from them, thus allowing you to leave a legacy that will in time cleanse your name in history."

"A fair argument, but not I fear, fair enough."

"Then you will never know what would have happened had you chosen the right path...."

By all appearance, the shock of elder one's words struck with force of a fatal blow and for a moment the younger woman seemed as one stunned, but she was quick to recover and reply in turn, "You know, then..."

"Aye, child, I know. So give to me your sad tale, release your tormented memories. Do so freely, but in the name of the Fates' questionable mercies -- do so now!"

The younger one appeared to think and the older held her breath. Finally in a voice haunted with pain, the younger woman settled into a chair and began to speak of that which she had for so very long carried with her in silence.

"He was a man, small in stature...but in spirit he towered mountains above all others I had known. To me he was the most handsome of men, burning with fire and passion, speaking with honest charm, filled with love, bursting with light and laughter, claiming with twinkling eye to be an outcast prince from a lost land of mist and magic beyond the farthest star born sea. In my eyes, he was a knight in armour, all I could ever dream of in a sworn companion or lover. In reality he was a thief, but in truth there could be no woman alive, who in learning to know him would not give freely all she had and more. And perhaps in his own way he truly was a prince, for in the tear stained eyes of a young mother, lost in the damning loneliness that comes with a marriage of bad pairing, he was surely all that a hero should be.

I remember my husband, so majestic mounted on his favorite stallion. It was a coal black beast of war bejeweled in rubies and bedecked in polished silver, who pranced and postured in anticipation of the bloodbath to come. And my husband, my lord and master, he also wore the red and silver and swaggered in arrogant confidence. Together they went from the city in triumph, back to the burned and blasted battlefields in the north where they would once again prove themselves to be sworn champions of the people. I'm certain none who watched that day will ever forget their blazing glory. Man and horse, together they presented an imposing portrait of fiercesome mass and rippling muscle, and in all the known world I'm sure there could be no other pairing of any two such magnificent beasts.

Always before I had been allowed to ride with him, and share for a time the the excitement of the battlefield and the world beyond the castle walls. But even small solace was taken from me for after many long years of barren failure, I had finally executed my sworn duty to my Lord and Master. I had given birth to a child, a son, a royal heir; and tradition, damned tradition, decreed that I could no longer accompany my Lord. Cast aside by ageless custom, I and the child were to spend the duration of all my husband's wars in the safely of secluded retreat by the quiet fields and forests of the outlands.

I mourned as I watched my husband ride away that day, but then the mourning ceased as I discovered my first taste of true freedom. Freedom...after so many years trapped within the dull and damning restrictions imposed upon a pretty pawn of a Queen beneath her husband's noble roof. Can I ever describe to you the very joy of it? Can I ever make you understand the relief of simply being myself or the true luxury of pretending to be someone else, someone unencumbered with blood royale and all its slavish demands? Could you ever conceive of the hell I lived in being his wife; day in and day out subservient to his will in all things, having to be something totally alien to my trueborn nature, living only for the wars in which I could some small bit of relief, when I could be something other than the perfumed and powdered royal whore? Yes whore, damn't! For what else is an unloved and unloving wife but a whore paid in respectable coin?

I doubt that the words have ever been created that could truly allow you to share the unbounded soaring of spirit that was for such a short while so completely mine. How can I make you see that time and circumstance lay at my fingertips to grasp or let slip through and how for once in my carefully ordained life, the choices were mine and mine alone? Oh, I knew that duty demanded it and that eventually I would have to return to his house; buried deep within my mind that realization was always with me, but I kept it buried far below the surface, for I was determined to make the most of the light before returning to the dark.

And this, this was my mood when he swept gently into my life that long ago day. He smiled and in doing so gave back to me my youth and beauty. He caressed my wounded spirit with a healing touch, sheltered me with love, warmed me with passion, listened when I spoke, and in turn spoke with instead of at me, demanded nothing, gave me legends and love songs, and for a time caused me to believe once again that life was to be treasured rather than merely be endured for the sake of a child.

I would look into his eyes and see not just love and desire embedded there but also respect, and I knew that in my eyes he could see the same, for we were as one being, long asunder and suddenly reunited, and renewed. For all that he was to himself and to me, I learned to love him so very dearly that near the end I revealed the dark truths of unfaithful wife and unfaithful queen. I waited in scarcely trembling bravado for him to walk away in wisdom and fear, but he did not walk; instead, he gave to me dark truths of his own and with open arms offered to me and my child all that a thief's skills, truelove and bitter exile could provide.

All the tears in the world could never have washed away the unmerciful temptation I felt; and by the Fates' holy visions, I did try, but the burning passion remained undiminished, and so on what would be our final night together, as I lay tenderly embraced in his arms, I traced every sweet feature of that beloved face; and as he breathed the rhythmic patterns of deepest sleep, I allowed myself one last warm kiss and then my blade fell swiftly to send him into eternity.

Noblesse oblige...I wonder who first coined the phrase and I wonder if she knew it was a crock even then. I stole the life from my beloved thief because I could not escape with him into the rainbowed vistas of oblivion and I, who had faced demon hoardes and unnumbered armies of blood thirsting mortals, could not find the courage to endure the knowledge of his walking the earth without me--the memory of his touch ever tempting me to cast aside my bonds and flee to the warmth of his embrace. I had to walk away clean. I had to know that there was no going back, and thus he had to die so that I could carry on, for was I not by blood, birthright and sworn oath a Queen? It had to be thus, for even as precious as his life was to me there was one even more so...a life that was to me more valuable than any other--the life of my son.

I could have run with my thief, long and hard, to seek a place of haven far beyond the reach of my husband's vengeance, but I could never take my child with me for he was a King's blooded heir, and I could not selfishly cheat him of his birthright. But to leave my son behind? To never again gaze with loving wonder into his eyes so huge and trusting? To never again hear his laughter or see his innocent smile? This I could never have borne. And truth be told, even if I had been able to summon the courage to turn my back and walk away I would not have done so, for I was above all else a Queen and it was my blood sworn duty to stay. No...I could have never turned my back on duty, have never left my son with only the influence of his father's harsh ways to guide his path. That thought was more than I could in good conscience abide. And so, by my own hand, my own true love had to die so that I could return once more to the golden cage decreed for me by blood and fate.

And now with your coming it is the beginning of the end and I cannot but smile at the irony of it all. I stole life from my beloved thief and in doing so unmercifully slaughtered any beauty of soul or being that was mine by birth. This I did to give my people a true king, a man of compassion who would temper courage with caution, wisdom with laughter and obligation with concern. As his mother, I was so certain that these were things only I could give--only I could teach, but in all my calculating I did not account for the poisoning of my own soul with such bitterness and resentment.

Peasant or Queen, it matters not how much love a mother may feel, not when she lives each day of her life being eaten alive with the malignant horror of paradise lost. How can one so helpless ever nurture the burgeoning needs of a child? How can one who endlessly wanders in a sea of self pity ever teach patience, encourage laughter, ingrain concern, or give joy. And so I sit here in my ivory tower looking down on a land swept by a pestilence which I wrought. A land bled dry by taxation to support wars of ego. A land where the masses live in poverty. A land where love, the laughter of children and the wisdom of the elders are treasures long buried beneath hunger, disease, and apathy. A land that takes its very nature from the king who rules.

My son, The King Of The Land. A man, who like his father before him so many long years now in his tomb, rules as Lord And Master of us all. My son, who is all that I taught him, by cold example, to be. Before I kneel to him in final obeisance I will look one last time into his stern face -- that harsh mask of handsome nobility to turn any woman's head, and I know that I will finally let him see the tears, and I will watch as he sees my tears and his mask of impassive disdain changes to disqust, and I will most probably laugh, knowing that he believes that I cry because I am weak and fear the ending of my all that is my life.

I will not try to explain for he could never understand that he is mistaken and that my tears are for him, my son, and for all that I once was so very long ago, all that I should have been and could no longer be, all the love that I withheld from him, all the times when I was too blind to see, too lost to listen, simply did not care, and did not applaud...and I will cry because in my romantic arrogance I once truly believed myself to have the strength of a martyr.

I truly believed that my son's need for me was surely so strong that I could never be replaced by another--that I and only I could be his mentor and his salvation...and in believing so, I willed a destiny of pain and misery for my son, for the people he would rule, and for myself. And in recognizing this fact for the final time, then and only then, will I kneel before my son and bow my head. I pray he at least will have the decency to use a keen blade. But then why should he? Fates know I spent his lifetime tearing at his soul with a dull one...."

Silence reigned in the chamber for long moments as the younger bowed her head and the elder sat in careful calculation. Finally the old one made ready to speak, but she had hesitated too long and the younger cut her off with sharp and forthright words.

"Now, old woman...now that I've kept my part of this hellish bargain, now will you draw a flame from the fire and sprinkle into it your hallucinogenic powders, lulling me gently into visions of a past that would have been had I not killed my lover?" She laughed mockingly before continuing. "Let me save you the wasting of your tricks, old woman, for I can read this path as well as you.

First you will dramatically declare that at the last possible second I backed away from the heinous deed, and then in a voice cracking with the sympathy of shared pain you will reveal how crept I from my child's life with a final heartrending kiss. And then--then, you will romanticize the travails and travels of my lover and myself in search of our sanctuary. Next, your voice will rise ever so gently in smiling timbre as you sketch a portrait of our life together, and you will speak with laughter in your eyes as you tell of the abiding love, unselfish devotion, and great happiness we shared. Ah but what's this...a note of sadness slips hesitantly into your voice, you hang your head and speak of how he held me tenderly in his arms on the nights when my body trembled with bitter tears after glimpsing a dark haired child in the marketplace. Oh and how the pathos will sound in your voice when finally you tell with halting words of how my guilt ridden madness grew and grew until at last one fatal night I could bear it no longer and how in a fit of insanity born of remorse I murdered my lover as he slept. No old woman, stay your tricks...do not waste your time with weak justifications and scenerios of what might have been...my conscience is not so easily cleansed...and horrible though they may be my truths are my own and I prefer their company in this world and the next.

When finally she was truly allowed to speak, the old woman knew better than to waste time in dissimulation, and thus she did not. "But why, since you believe not in an afterlife, and since you knew my tricks, guessed beyond all doubt that I was a fake, why did you give me your sad tale?"

"Who says that I did?"

"But why would you lie?" The old woman's voice cracked on a querulous note.

"Who says that I did?"

"Well which is it child, have you told the truth here tonight or have you not?"

"Perhaps not...perhaps so. It could be that I just desired after all these long years to tell someone, to finally have it out in the open. It does not really matter though, now does it. Either way you can never speak of, nor gain by what you've heard here tonight. You may be a fake, but never-the-less the wisdom in your eyes shines through, and you are far too clever to ever repeat anything that might cast aspersions on the virtue of a King's mother. After all, if people were to believe that a Queen had been unfaithful after the birth of her son...would they not then be also inclined to question if she too had been unfaithful before the birth--especially if the Queen in question had been married many years before finally becoming with child and perhaps even more so, if she had never again given birth? No...this is indeed a tale which not even the kindest of Monarchs would ever leave someone alive to repeat...and my son is not known for his mercy. I'm ready to die old woman, are you?"

The old one saw her profits slipping away and cried aloud in near hysterics. "By the capricious Fates, tis true what is said. You are insane! Child, listen to an old woman's wisdom. This way everyone loses, it isn't fair..."

"And just who, old woman, ever promised you that life would be fair?"

ON THIS DAY OF THE FATES, SIXTEEN HUNDRED AND TWENTY THREE BLESSED YEARS AFTER THE COMING OF THE GREAT COMET, IN THE FORTY- SEVENTH YEAR OF HER LIFE, IN THE THIRTY-FIRST YEAR OF HER REIGN AS CONSORT, IN THE SEVENTH YEAR OF HER TWAINING FROM HER LIEGE LORD, QUEEN ALISTA CELESTE, BORN INTO THIS WORLD PRINCESS OF THE HARLISHIAN REALM, WAS BANISHED FOREVER FROM THIS EARTHLY REALM FOR THE HEINOUS CRIME OF ATTEMPTED REGICIDE. MAY THE FATES HAVE MERCY ON HER SPIRIT.