Reginald was offering his hand when he looked up. He took it. A slight dizziness as he stood. As he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, he felt the blanket tugged off. Reginald began walking down the garden path as he folded it up in his arms. Now he was struggling to persuade his feet to move. Reginald paused to look over his shoulder. He saw a bit of a reassuring smile play across his lips. With a jerk, he finally freed his feet from the ground.
“Now that deliberations are over, you should try to rest between now and the Closing Banquet.”
“I'm not going to the banquet.” He mumbled.
“Of course you are. If I have to go, so do you.” Reginald said flatly.
“I'm not going.”
Reginald raised an eyebrow at him. His smile turned into a grin.
“There'll be alcohol,” He snickered, “And your bride to be will be there as well.”
He sighed, “Reggie…”
“What?”
With a turn of his head, he gave him a half-hearted look of annoyance.
“I thought you were helping me take a break from the ‘nonsense’.”
Reginald's grin curled.
“Your nonsense, not mine.” He said with a wink.
He rolled his eyes then went back to blankly staring ahead of him.
“No obligatory ‘you bastard’?” Reginald teased.
He grunted, and Reginald cackled a laugh. The halls were so barren compared to the previous mornings before. It seemed like everyone was taking a chance to sleep in. Reginald relieved himself of the blanket with the first servant that passed by. In contrast, the kitchen was bustling. Hardy foods were steaming. The smells were making his stomach even more feisty.
Reginald forced him to sit on an isolated counter. He waited, looking about but not observing. He waited in mental blankness. Just when he decided to grab something to tide him over, Reginald appeared. A smug smile was on his face as a bowl cradled in a kitchen towel was in his hands. He watched the curling steam rise from perfectly cooked pale blonde porridge. He took it when he held it out to him. Reginald disappeared and reappeared so quickly, it didn't immediately register that he was simultaneously pouring honey from a jar in one had, and heavy cream from a glass bottle in the other.
That finally brought a weak smile to his face.
“Thanks Reggie.” He said in deep gratitude.
“About time you said that.” He chuckled as he set the items on the counter next to him.
A flick of his fingers, and a spoon materialized in his hand. In mild amusement he watched him twirl it between his fingers. He finally offered it with a wiggle of his brows. He actually found himself half laughing. He took it and went about mixing up the ingredients.
“Why were you made an Ambassador and not a court jester?” He said as he took his first bite.
As the familiar taste hit his tongue, he was even more grateful. Reginald was right in guessing that his favorite food would bring much needed comfort to his soul. Reginald hopped up on to the counter. He leaned back on his palms and lazily swung his legs.
“A court jester's job is far too simple. It's easy to entertain. There's talent involved to make gossip sound official and use it to fool everyone into thinking everything is fine and dandy.” He replied nonchalantly.
“So that's what your role is? A glorified house wife?”
Reginald laughed at the ceiling.
“Essentially, yes.”
His grin stayed as he ate. Half way through his bowl, a cook brought a mug. The color of the liquid inside was a pale yellow with what looked like flower petals floating around in it. He frowned, then reluctantly took it. Staring at it for a moment, he swirled it. The contents spun in an intricate dance.
“It's that calming tea I told you about,” He flicked his hand in the air with a focused look, “Fae'Duc Jui’ in Ku'Vat or ‘Lotus of the Fawn’ in Proto.”
“Fawn?” He mumbled as he continued to watch the petals.
“I don't understand either. Fawns are not calm, but I'm not an elf. There's no point in trying to understand something that was most likely named hundreds of millennia ago.”
He nodded, then put it to his lips. It wasn't what he expected. Instead of a soft earthy tone, it was a sharp tangy sweetness. Like a fruit that was just on the edge of being perfectly ripe. He lightly frowned in surprise. Setting it aside, he went back to his food. It was quickly demolished.
Hopping off the counter with a content belly, he gestured Reginald to follow his lead. Snatching up the mug, they headed out of the kitchen.
“Off to bed now, I hope.” Reginald asked.
He shook his head, “No, I won't sleep. I'll go to my study and try to get through the piles of letters on my desk.”
Reginald playfully groaned.
“Must you be so difficult? You make my quota for wine consumption increase every moment. At this rate, I'll be completely inebriated tonight.” He lightly chided.
“Suite yourself.” He barely chuckled before sipping the tea.
As they came up to a forked corridor, Reginald abruptly turned on his heel.
“Enjoy your letters, dear brother,” He said over his shoulder, “I'd much rather entertain myself with Josep's company.”
He shook his head and watched him from the corner of his eye until the wall cut him from view. The halls were beginning to teem with life now. Sleepy eyes and groggy greetings were offered as he progressed. Most were making their way in the opposite direction. He was sure the dining room was beckoning them.
He leaned against his study door after locking it. Absent mindedly he kept swirling his tea. For a while he blankly stared out the window. He didn't completely perceive the blue sky through the panes. With a couple blinks to bring himself back, he rounded his desk. Sat in his chair and placed the mug beside him. Without hesitation he pulled the tallest pile of letters to the center. He grabbed the top one. Ripped the seal.
As he read through the first couple letters, he felt a weakness coming over his body. Into a third and it was turning into a heaviness. Like the slow trickle of sand falling in an hour glass, the weight began building. Burrying him in a gradual state of immobility. As he sorted every sequential parchment, it became exhausting to keep moving. Half way through the first paragraph of a report on the Northern toll roads, his eyes drooped. A start and he tried to keep going, but the words were getting fuzzy. He was quickly fading. Eyelids too densely weighted to stay open.
Like the gentle waves of a shoreline, the hands of sleep pulled him into an ocean of rest.