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>[1/3]
No. No you hadn't.
"No. I'm a doddering old man with no accomplishments to my name. Within a generation, I'll be forgotten."
Anna gives a sad smile at that.
"History is written in blood. If you find your ink well barren, you should celebrate that."
You're tempted to argue further with her, but you haven't the time. She doesn't understand. She's a good person. Doesn't have the same hunger to be remembered, to be noticed, to be more than a footnote.
And doesn't know the hell that's coming to you all. There'll be plenty of blood for that inkwell in the coming days. You turn, then hesitate- look at the golden goblet in your hands. You put it in her hands.
"Keep this safe for me. I'll be back for it soon."
You hope. Anna gives a grin. You nod, and turn.
You turn on your heel. You're striding again. That felt good. Refreshing after all the tottering. Takes only a few short minutes before you're descending down into the dungeons. Guards on patrol salute, stand to attention, wait for orders, but you pass them by with only slight nods. No one can help you with what you're about to face.
The dungeons have only been rarely used during your reign, and the deeper, darker, more inhospitable parts haven't been touched since your grandfather's era. You have to stop partway through and go back for a lantern when the lit torches run out. Seems the servants stopped bothering lighting these depths. You can understand why.
Down and down you go, and despite your resolve, you feel icy trepidation creeping into your heart with each step lower. The bowels of the castle- not all of this was laid out by human hands, you're sure. At times, the stonework ends, and smooth cavern begins and ends again as seamlessly. Eventually, you find the witch's trail. She's been leaving candles on the way. Uncommonly kind of her.
Eventually, you come to the door. Heavy oak, banded with iron, twice as wide and tall as it needed to be. Seemed more fitting for a castle gate, come to think of it. A glance at the chalk scrawlings (And the rather wetter red parts) convinces you that leaving behind the paladins was a very good idea. Or a very bad idea. No in between there. Le Fevre is there, leaning by the doorway, illuminated by a glowing sphere hovering overhead, reading through a leather grimoire with both hands. Equally outsized and iron banded as the door. She doesn't look up at your approach. She seems to be mouthing along to something in the book.
You clear your throat. She raises a finger- just for a moment, before staggering to get both hands underneath the heavy book. She chews her lip in concentration a moment, before snapping it shut, and leaving it to hang off of her hip by a chain. You note she also has a rather large satchel hanging off of her shoulder. Had to weigh at least forty pounds you think- Le Fevre was stronger than she looked.
"That will have to wait. You're alone?" She raises an eyebrow, "Not going to bring the kids along for this one?"
