Paper after paper made its way to his desk. The castle air was chilled, as always, a crisp touch against the skin as he focused on his work. A hollowness had come to call his stomach home these past few weeks. Food, when he ate it, did nothing to fill it, nor did water or beer or wine. He could see the results in his hands – thin from malnourishment – and cursed the timing of his birth.

He scribbled word after word on the parchment, all together totalling his message of surrender, and by extension, the Uthain Kingdom’s surrender. If you could call it a kingdom any longer. Finished, blank paper replaced the parchment of surrender and more black words were written – the first of many pleas to the surrounding countries.

One, then the next, then another, he wrote them until his candles had burned low and the light of dawn filled the room. A knock came from the door as it opened, revealing Alrin Uthain. Casser stood and took a knee, putting a fist to his chest, uttering “My king” as the man entered.

“Stand. I am no longer king of anything,” he said. “What has happened to you, Casser? When last have you slept?”

Casser stood, his legs shaking from the effort. “What man can sleep after what I’ve seen? I’m not sure whether to envy or pity the man.”

“All of mankind has gained my pity as of late. May the gods have mercy,” Alrin said.

“May the gods have mercy,” Casser said.

Alrin moved to the desk, looking over the papers Casser had written. “You need rest, Casser. Your writing has worsened.”

“Shall I redo them?” He asked. He looked over the papers again himself. Alrin was right. His words were less legible than an official document mandated, even misspelled at times.

“No, it’s well enough. The seal will do the talking, the words are a formality.” Alrin turned back to him, looking over his face. “You’ve really declined. Forgive me for the rudeness, but I have to say it. It scares me, you know, to see a man half my age, a Domicus no less, looking as ragged as you.”

“We’ve all declined, my king.”

“Hrmph. King. Indeed, what you say is true,” Alrin said. He walked about the room, looking at the furniture or out the window, shifting from one thing to the next every few seconds.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Alrin?” Casser asked. The former king turned to him. Without a crown or royal wear, he looked no different than any man.

“Not you, I’m afraid. Nor anyone for that matter. No, I’m just looking about. Reminiscing, if you’ll allow me,” Alrin said.

“By all means. This is still your home, after all, king or no.”

Alrin turned his mouth up into a smile, but there was no happiness in it. He was dead behind the eyes. He continued his activity of walking about the room, pausing for a moment, then continuing on.

“Have you visited her recently?” Casser asked. It wasn’t his place, he felt, but there were few others left to care. He was the last Uthain to remain in the kingdom. The rest had hid away in Mythel.

“No. I can’t keep staring at a grave.”

“I’m sure Lady Uthain would have appreciated it,” he said.

“She would have appreciated a different country’s customs. Nameless, titleless, landless. I treated her like a decoration,” Alrin said.

Casser didn’t reply to the man’s words. What was there to say? The man had mourned for a year and a half, allowed his kingdom to fall into shambles as Darstin invaded, then again as it came back.

Alrin made for the door, pausing but a moment. “Send the letters when you’ve got the chance,” he said, then left the room.