Damn you, Anaxantis. You and your brother were supposed to sit on your princely asses, organize the occasional banquet, use your high sounding titles to ravish the local girls, or boys, or sheep, whatever takes your fancy for all I care, and leave serious matters to your elders.

Your explanation is good, but your herring doesn't fry, as we say in Ramaldah," he exploded.

He himself didn't see it as exceptionally altruistic, because he had understood one can't be truly happy in isolation or, worse, among unhappy people. The best protection against danger, unhappiness and the sordidness of human existence is to be surrounded by people who love you.

Regrets... Regrets are bootless. A vain trick of the mind. An impotent raging against what cannot be changed anyway. A distraction from the moment.

War, they say, is the answer of those who have no arguments left.

However, what he wanted was impossible: the serenity of the Gods cannot be achieved by the sword.

Deal with all this, live with myself, you mean? I honestly don't know. I stand often enough at the abyss of my soul, asking that same question, looking down into the dark crevices where the black monsters dwell on the bottom. They gaze up at me, and I look them in the eyes. “This also you are,” they say, and I almost fall into the void.”“And then?”Anaxantis shrugged.“And then? I turn around and go do what needs to be done. What else is there?

Oh, hon, it's the little courtesies that make life bearable, I find, wouldn't you agree?

No, no, no, Landemere. This time I'm putting my foot down. I mean it. Don't think you're going to smear syrup on my beard, as we say in Ramaldah. You're not making me change my mind by sweet talking me. I know your tricks, and I won't fall for them.

And what?" Arranulf yawned."How did it go?""How did what go?""Don't play with my feet, as we say in Ramaldah. You were seen, Landemere.