"Lord Asagi! Lord Asagi! Lord ASSAGGII!"

He wasn't there. He was a chameleon. He was invisible. He wouldn't be seen. Wouldn't be caught - wouldn't be dragged to yet another meaningless, bureaucratic meeting with his father and the doddering counselers. He wouldn't be stuck in yet another morass of endless discussions which dragged on to the detriment of well -

"Lord Asagi! Your Highness ASAGGII!"

A bad omen - He's using the full name. That doesn't bode well.

"There you are."

The Prince of the kingdom, squatting between a mallorn bush and a twigtyrn, glared up at the scowling countenance of his valet, Garn. Arms folded, Garn snorted. When he had first taken service with the King, many years before, he had been filled with respect for the royal family. However, as time had gone on, he had begun to realize that the Prince for whom he had served was no ordinary individual.

That was one charitable view he took on it. Lesser men would have despaired. Garn sighed as he contemplated his royal charge. The Prince Asagi was in his finest: a grand suit of black edged with silver and intricately spun lace, as was necessary for royalty - fine braiding with the family lion emblem embroidered neatly on the back - and the feet encased in the finest calf skin available. There were faint traces of the most expensive perfumes possible. All of this now ruined after a few hours skulking in the bushes and dirt - and Garn's nose wrinkled at this particular - and perhaps a little too close to pigs as well. Added to all that - a hint of sulfur...

"I was going to ask where you have been," Garn said blandly, striving to keep himself calm. "But I can guess that his Lordship has already been to the alchemists, I see."

"Something like that," hedged Asagi carefully. He knew better than to mention the fact that he had been able to rise at the early hour of seven to have a conference with his father's court alchemist-mage, Azaziel. There was something calming about sitting among the bubbling pots and flasks, listening to the steady hiss of slowly released steam - something almost drowsily comforting about the hum of incantations and the slow writing of the spell-casting runes.

His father, as usual, took a dim view of these kinds of activities. Noting that the future king of Eldarion would be better used to a knowledge of the court than dabbling in the dark arts.

"But they aren't dark at all!" Asagi had protested. "It's about making our crops more fertile, and learning how to extract and utilize the metals we can find in our mountains. This could effect our economy - and the lives of our people. Especially since Azaziel has more than once come to the aid of doctors and veternarians alike! With this kind of progress, surely our land will come to prosperity - not through committies and sessions and impinging on the lands around us -"

"Asagi."

Just his father's voice alone stopped the torrent of words. Like a stone falling into a water puddle - like a dam - a wall. Asagi fell silent, face set, fists clenched.

"It shows good character for a king to care for his people - but at the cost to his kingdom? No. These are troubled times, Asagi - more troubled than you can ever know. It isn't just the threat of politics from our neighbours... but a darkness is growing - and sitting with one's head in the clouds - that is just one thing a King cannot do."

"I don't -"

"You don't what - intend for it to go that way?" The king's words cut through Asagi's objections like butter. "You think it will turn out for the best - you have so much pride in your inventions and incantations - muddled by the mysteries. Asagi - do you want the kingdom your father, grandfather, great-grandfather - the generations before - who carved out this land for themselves with their very own blood - do you want this all to go to waste?"

Asagi had said nothing in return. He had turned away and left silently, as he had done all of his life. And behind him, his father yelling after him: "You will be a wastrel - a shame to our house - you will bring us all to ruin! You'll see -"

The door had shut firmly behind him cutting off the voice of his father with dreadful finality. What scared him more perhaps was the fact that he didn't care...

-

And here he was. Several weeks later, still stewing over his father's words. Still evading. Still hiding out in the greenhouses, the stables and the fields. Still stealing visits to Azaziel. And Garn would go to an early grave, thanks to him.

Garn sat down heavily on the chief gardener's bench and watched his young master.

Young? He snorted to himself. Young at heart, yes. Soft in the head, definitely. But this was a man who had passed his coming of age. And what was he doing? Skulking like a child, no less, in the muck.

"Your father, his Royal Highness, was expecting you," Garn said after a moment.

Asagi sighed.

"I knew."

"And you ran away."

A beat. Garn added, "Like a lily-livered coward."

Asagi blinked and then, turning red, muttered to himself in outrage, "So that's what he's saying now? Fool."

"Asagi - he is anxious. The way things look for us all... it's not good. There are reasons you can't understand -"

"Then why won't he explain it to me?"

"He will, my lord, in time."

"In time?" Asagi rose, hands on hips, dark eyes heated. "Garn... I'm past my thirtieth year - and still he is holding onto my apron strings."

"Perhaps," Garn suggested carefully. "If you completed your royal duties -"

"As if my going to the Council would change anything... I am sick and tired of hearing his inane babbling -"

"He is your father -"

"He can go to hell," snapped Asagi and strode out of the greenhouse, snagging his greatcoat on his way out.

-

Outside, Asagi made his way upward, back to the castle - which he knew would satisfy Garn's eye for a while. But once within the gate, he veered abruptly to the left and made his way up the main gate's tower to the wall. It was a great wall - which could fit a cart most neatly and then some men walking on either side of it. Built by his forbears for times of war, it was a testimony to their endurance. A warring breed, they had been, who seemed to feed off of the blood of the innocents as easily as the fruit of their lands. Asagi wondered how he could have been born into a life such as this - into this kingdom - this family -

It brought to mind his mother. He could only vaguely remember her - a fuzzy memory of a happier childhood - and a fair face bending over him. Her hair, according to the Palace portraits, had been long, sleek and black. On a less grumpy day, his father had once admitted that it was her long dark tresses which had ensnared him -

And her gentle spirit - a person who could see the good in everyone.

How she could have married to such a family in such a kingdom was beyond his guess. Perhaps, she had been part of a diplomatic process - a military political necessity. Asagi had heard of such things... Or perhaps she had fallen in love with a different man...

The prince sighed as he stared out over the large capital which spread out below his feet. Built into the mountains which shielded it, the city was spread out in grey into a grey horizon under the grey sky. It fit his mood, somehow. A kind of wallowing hopelessness.

Would things ever change?

-

That night, the lowering grey clouds brought rain and lightning. Thunder rocketed off the cliff faces and the wind, picking up, moaned and howled at the cracks of the houses, prying at the loose bits of window casing. It whistled and called - it seemed to call Asagi's name. Looking up from the book he was reading in the dim candlelight, the prince cast a glance out of the windowpanes - but the thick glass was black with night and wet with the heavy rains.

Laying aside his book, Asagi rose, left his room and found his way down the dark corridor to the open baulstrade. Huddling, back to the wall, Asagi watched the elements wreak havoc with the thatched cottages below - the houses of the less fortunate, he thought morosely. But perhaps none so unfortunate as he. When he returned to his room, he felt colder and damp and restless. Dimming the candles, adding firewood to the hearth, the Prince crept into his large bed and slowly dozed off into a fitful sleep.

-

He was running - trying to chase something. It kept whipping out of his hands - as though he were trying to grasp at the rags of something - at the tatters of something - a memory - it was important - he was sure of it. So sure of it. He could stake his life on it. He was losing it - desperate - panicked - he was reaching for it - it was slipping from his hands -

He woke up - jerking upwards - eyes open and for a moment, Asagi sat there panting. Then, he fell back on his pillow, unconscious.

-

When he woke, it was to Garn. Garn.

Garn.

“Garn.”

The word felt strange on his tongue - and then he remembered - vaguely. As though seen through some kind of translucent silk - soft and fuzzy - a memory of a stooping, grizzled retainer. One of those souls who had been trapped a long time ago - working in the castle forever, happy - the fools - to serve the King.

Garn. Calling his name.

"What is it, Garn?"

"Your Lordship - it's morning. Time for breakfast. I see that you haven't run off to Azaziel yet."

"Azaziel."

Asagi repeated and blinked.

Azaziel. Yes. The chemist. The mage-alchemist. The kindly old man who had taught him his letters and raised the young boy in understanding of the kindly arts. A wise man.

"Your lordship?" Garn drew closer.

"Nothing, it's nothing," Asagi rose then, swiftly pulled on his clothing. "What was the agenda for my day?"

"Well -" Garn blinked, staring at Asagi as if the prince had grown two heads. "Your father wanted to meet with a few of the city's officials while surveying the work on the fourth wall. After that, was a luncheon - and an afternoon break - with a dinner meeting. Two diplomats from the Far East arrived yesterday - which is what your father wanted your presence yesterday -"

Asagi nodded.

"I'll be off then."

-

The rest of the day seemed to be spent in a blur. Disorienting and unfamiliar - and yet not. There was his father, who looked happier and much more calm. Perhaps it was because Asagi showed up for all the things that he needed to attend. Perhaps it was because his son was finally becoming the man the kingdom needed. And there were the diplomats - no doubt confused by the Prince's sudden arrival. Reports no doubt had traveled far and wide that the son of King Algeon was a retiring man and fond of learning and husbandry. Yet, he was - Prince Asagi - resplendent in his outrider clothing, discussing with urbane wit on the matters of the kingdom. And there were the courtiers, the old men who were his father's constant foundation, watching the whole proceedings with fawning interest.

It irked him - how these befuddled men would cloud the air with their false pleasantries and superficial overtures. As the minutes passed, the feeling grew - annoyance, aggravation - familiar feelings - he could remember feeling them yesterday -

But there was something else lingering there.

Anger. Anger and discontent. Isolation. Loneliness... and a need for change.

There would be some kind of change. At all costs.

Azaziel would have the answer. Azaziel always did.

-

Azaziel wasn't in his laboratory, nor in his chambers. After searching the castle's library and greenhouse, Asagi stood in the main gates, tapping his boot thoughtfully with his riding crop. It was if his teacher had disappeared into thin air. The temper he never knew that he had was rising again - a kind of choked rage which seemed to flail at nothing.

For some reason, he found himself blaming his father. It would be his fault. He was sure of it.

After a moment of stewing, Asagi's chin set in determination. He would find the old philosopher if his life depended on it. He would find him and -

And what? What would happen then?

Without thought, Asagi, leading his favourite charger forward, made his way through the streets until he found himself at the outskirts of the city. Beyond the second wall, lay the third suburbs. The merchant classes huddled there - in between the markets and the open air fairs which displayed the wares of the countryside. Here, the rabble of those living beyond the third wall could spill in to make a quick coin.

Asagi was left well alone - but he could feel their eyes. It made him feel raw and sensitive as though the very air he breathed some kind of a noxious fume. The weight of their expectations sat on his shoulders and the anger against the whole thing - against their whole existence -

Against -

Mounting Caron quickly, Asagi made his way past the third gate and out into the open beyond. He had just visited it in the morning - but in the setting sun, the long shadows of the slowly rising wall, the wooden framing and scaffolding, the pulleys and the ropes which hung slack - these all seemed foreign now. Asagi turned left and wandered down a well-beaten path. It lead to a quiet place - the graveyard with the ancient mausoleums. And beyond the quiet woods which melted upwards into the mountains.

He found the place - his mother's tomb. It was a awful monstrosity of bad taste and lacklustre scupting. The winged faerie seemed to look less delicate than buffoonish, their fat cheeks puffing out in mock play. Even the carved flowers seemed too big, too heavy for the slender door frame of the mausoleum. Asagi entered only briefly. Enough time to say a quick word and set some blue flowers before the grave.

Columbines, they were. Plentiful on the sides of the road leading down to the graveyard. Columbines, they are for memory.

Memory.

Asagi thought of his day. Thought of his mother. His mother. He couldn't seem to remember her - but he had rather thought he remembered her the day before. Had he not?

He sat there in the deepening dark. Reveling in the silences. Caron quietly pulling at the tufts of grass. The wind creaking through the boughs of the trees which covered the graveyard. The sound of gravel underneath his boots.

He thought of his mother - the mother he could no longer remember. He could only say three words then:

"I am sorry."

I am sorry for failing you. For forgetting. For the yesterdays, the today and the future. For what will happen.

Sitting there, he could feel more and more a oneness with the dark. As though, with the trees, his soul had fallen into shadow.

I am sorry for what I am about to do.

-

He checked Azaziel's room before he retired for the night. It was as he feared - the mage-alchemist was indeed avoiding him. Asagi stood in the quiet room, listening to the hiss and bubbling of the flasks. He thought of his own laboratory with the work in it yet to be finished. He thought of his father, looking pleased and proud as Asagi showed the two diplomats around the castle. He thought of the courtiers who had watched him carefully, talking amongst each other -

Standing there, overwhelmed by the events of the day and the night before, uncertain of his past and even more so, of his future, Asagi wondered what he could do. Something that would show his father - that was certain. He would make the man eat his words - but it would be an act of desperation, not wisdom, he thought.

No matter, the dark voice whispered. It will be a glorious act. A beautiful descent. You know what you must do.

Asagi cast his eye around the room and shivered. So what should I aim for? What should I achieve?

He contemplated it – and the answer came out of the black night. He wanted a kingdom that lasted forever. In this room, you will find the key -

Without further thought, Asagi lunged forward, pushing past the desks to the bookshelves toward the back of the room. There was one case, in particular, which Azaziel had always kept under lock and key. A quick application of his favourite wire, and Asagi had the doors opened, his fingers ran down the edges of the ancient tomes lovingly. Some of the titles were in different languages, but after a moment, he found one book - a small one with a brown covering. The title merely stated: "A study in eternity."

Promising.

Closing the cabinet, Asagi made sure everything looked undisturbed before going on his way. If Azaziel wouldn't help him, he would just have to make sure change happened by himself.

Whatever the cost.