“Another flagon Miltef!”

“I don't think I would be against another one either!” I glanced sideways at Dremm who was grinning from ear to ear.

“I really don’t think you should match me Dremm, we know I can down far more Luant swill than you. I wouldn’t want to have to pay for you to be carted home. I think we would need to have one specially made for your frame.” Chuckles rippled down the lacquered oak bar.

“Yes well to that I say… ah fuck it. I’m too drunk.” Dremm leans over and grips my shoulder. “Just assume I said something witty and feel insulted.”

I shove him off lightly.

“I have a decent imagination, but I think picturing you saying something witty is beyond my gifts.” Even Dremm had to chuckle at this.

“You do have an active imagination; you being able to drink more than me? Hah! You should be an artist, or a delusional.”

I rubbed my hands together vigorously in lieu of a response, the insistent chill of the outside air blasting in with each new face.

“Bleed me, it's cold in here, Miltef you have got to keep up with those fires, and tell those damn men to shut the door behind them.”

The barkeep looked up with an exaggerated slowness, gingerly setting down the tall glass he had been polishing for use.

“We are not in your manor Bevyn, if you are so cold you cannot enjoy your drink, the wood is out back.” Miltef smiled with a mocking politeness, its shape only made more infuriating by Dremm’s disgusting cackle filling the room.

“All right you all have had your fun, I guess another drink will help as much as the fire. You lot are insufferable.”

Dremm and I drank thoroughly. The tavern was filled to the brim with wealthy traders and anyone of political importance. They inhabited every square inch of the well-kept bar; and they were all getting piss-drunk. We opted to come here many nights of the week, down to the marketplace tier, to redistribute the wealth through barrels of ale. The Gleaming Gale this place was called, save for its overblown name, the place was quite pleasant and well-kempt.

There weren’t any of the customary unpleasantries of many establishments below the top tier. The wealthy that congregated here rarely brawled, they had funds enough to pay someone for their violent urges. If there was a brawl, it was brief and unsatisfying, merchants and politicians rarely had the physique to finish any fistfight decisively.

The conversation was typically concerning things of the upper-crust, business dealings, appointments, who would be taking whom to the next festivity. Though it must be said, at a certain point in the night, the demeanor of men teetered dangerously similar to a person of lower nobility. Drink had a way of doing that, ruddy faces chuckling about some joke that would not have been funny hours earlier. Men screaming over issues that would not have inspired a flicker of anger during the day.

The thing about being such an experienced imbiber was that people tended to get to this point slightly quicker than you. Then irritation sets in, you either must violently increase the volume of ale that goes into your gullet, or retire abruptly. My stomach had not made this decision yet.

Dream jostled my shoulder violently. “Whats a matter, you - you’ve seemed to prove my point. Told you- you he couldn’t match me Miltef.” Loud burp.

“Whatever men, I do have a whole other room of people to serve. Don’t summon me if you need anything.” The bartender slinked through the tight gaps in tables expecting healthy requests.

“You know you sound like a damned idiot with that numb jaw of yours.”

Dremm gazed lazily over, “You know I am so drunk right now I am invincible to your barbs. You seem like a perfectly nice young man right now, keem em coming. Hah!” I knew this wasn’t the truth of it, for someone so large he could be very soft in the heart. He also must have been very soft in the gullet because he got absolutely shitfaced at an unheard of pace.

We were pressed up against the bar amongst a mass of perfumed bodies. If somebody were to set the place ablaze surely there would be a massacre in trying to reach the doors. A throng of dignitaries and successful peddlers trampling each other to reach the outside air. The mobile fleshy crowd gasping beneath each other. I had to get out of here.

“Dremm lets go, we can have a nightcap at your place.”

“Pah, what are you on about? We’ve barely begun the night. Anyhow if my mother catches me with my coat covered in ale again she's gonna make sure my life is joyless forever. Or that's what she said anyways.” The cacophony of business dealings that would be forgotten by morning surrounded me. My dreaded future. Selling this, selling that.

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“Alright a little bit longer.”

Dremm beat his mutton-like hands into the bartop, “Aye there's a man!”

Suddenly amidst the multitude of wandering eyes and senseless noise, I felt a gaze on my back. Sure enough a timid voice leaked out right to my rear shoulder.

“Sir, or er uh, my lord. Uh sire?”

I lurched myself around, knowing I would find our head of housekeeping. Always an old man struggling with the proper courtesies asked of him. The Elisus man was squat and bristling with muscle from years of arduous tasks.

“You did well to find me here Bodil, you would have made it as a Constable in another life.”

Bodil simply looked at me with sad eyes. Always those sad eyes. After a bout of customary stuttering he managed to get to his point. Dremm had been looking on with amusement all the while.

“Your father has asked after you sire. I am afraid it is urgent.”

Gods. I do not know if I had ever heard those words in my life. It wasn't so much that they worried me, but rather bewildered. For him to ask after me with such seriousness was him acknowledging he needed me. That was truly a novel idea. Or maybe he wished to tan my hide. That would almost be more of a comfort. A lashing would be preferable than him having some freakish change of character. Dremm looked on with comical amazement.

“He must be quite sick. I don’t know if he has ever wanted you home more than you need to be.” We had a nervous chuckle at this, Dremm side eyed me with deep sympathy. Mocking Dremm may be enjoyable, but for all of his foolishness he was at least open to emotion. That had gone out of style here quite a while ago. I tossed Dremm a few coins for Miltef which he missed dramatically.

“I guess I’ll see you when I see you, don't get any fatter tonight.”

Dremm grabbed his belly dramatically,

“I won't make such a promise hah! You know I’ll see you tomorrow Bevyn.”

I guessed he was probably right. I nodded and sauntered out the door, the head houseman on my tail.

The night had taken on a dense pressure. It was just the fear of walking back to that damned house. Though Bodil had taken on an even more anxious energy than before. His frenetic movement was unsettling, that was probably what gave the night this weight.

Even while trying to stall my movement as much as possible, my manor came into view far too soon. Bodil nearly hopped up the stone steps, gesturing for me to walk through the now open doorway. His eyes carried a cocktail of anxiety ridden emotions. Odd fellow.

The fire lay low, though I could still see the empty chairs inhabiting the room.

“I figured he would be in the Great Room?”

“He was my lord. He said he would be.”

More nervousness overcame me, and then eventually dread as I saw a titan figure laying on the priceless rug.

‘“Father!” I closed the distance in intense strides. Kneeling over my fathers prone form I clasped his shoulder and shook him vigorously. His head lolled vigorously until two muted green eyes stared back at me.

“Hi Bevi. You took a ways- a while to come here.” Gods. He was just drunk. Not dead or seizing. He hadn’t called me that nickname since I was barely walking, and my Mother was still breathing.

“Father, you said it was urgent. I hope you didn’t just need me to haul you off the floor.”

He hacked violently for a moment.

“No.. no I just had not felt the need to move yet. What was it I was going - going to tell you.” My father’s eyes were affixed to the gilded ceiling. They looked to be seeing something ten miles beyond the room. His hulking figure rose and fell. The lines of his face had smoothed out a bit - the dying fire softening his angular head. When his voice came out, it echoed this gentle sight.

“Bevi, do you remember when we went to Luant. Saw the Gasping Falls, running down, looked like an endless river going straight down somewhere. Nowhere. Beautiful city. Beautiful city.”

“Yes.” I said cautiously. “Mom always said we should’ve taken our wealth there. Said our money was cheap here. Nothing meaningful to buy in this city.”

My father laughed uproariously at the ceiling. “She always hated this place Bevi. She wanted to travel, see the Temples of Zullan, those underground things. She always was fascinated with myth. Distraction is what I called them. Wish I - Wish I hadn't done that.”

I began to pick at the priceless rug beneath me.

“Yes. I remember you saying that.”

“Mmm...maybe we should get out of here son, I-” My father’s eyes lit up with a moment of awareness.

He shot up from his prone position, grabbing my shoulders with his bestial hands.

“Listen to me carefully Bevi, I was wrong.”

“What - wrong about what?”

“Everything I thought I knew for God’s sake.” His eyes were tinged with mania and something else I could not fully comprehend.

“All my life I thought that fear was death. I cannot be afraid, if I bring myself close to power I’ll be powerful too. But that was never true Bevyn. I’ve only walked myself into the path of some abominable behemoth. I’ve only brought us closer to something I can’t manage.”

His breath was a burning kiln on my face,

“You have to - you have to understand. I should have been afraid, afraid of it all. It would have kept us safe, fear would have guarded us. Or maybe I’ve always been afraid and wouldn’t admit it, maybe that's what killed us.”

I started at this, “Killed us? What are you saying? Father what has happened to you?”

As quickly as it started, he was back to his original form. His moment of tenderness and naked dread gone. He glared at me with a shatteringly familiar face, he rose shakily to his feet. His voice carried the tone of a man who did not believe his own words,

“Nothing Bevyn. The servant has clearly lost his mind, I did not bid you back here. Why would I want you home?”

He gave his customary sneer but it barely stretched the skin of his face. The anger he normally held did not even glimmer near his eyes. He shook his head, turned on his heel and slowly glided toward the staircase. An ashen phantom in his own home. The fireplace looked to be deceased.