Weak--Adra

I picked up the small silver framed portrait off the fireplace mantle and stared at it.  A mixture of emotions filled me. Longing, grief, anger and inadequacy were the first ones I identified before I forced myself to turn to Marcatot and raise an eyebrow.  He cleared his throat as he shifted his shoulders forward, staring into the crackling flames.

"You're mother and I have been ... ," he paused, looking at me for a moment, as if he was deciding something.  I lowered my still raised brow and handed him the portrait.  He took a deep breath and accepted it, brushing his thumb up and down the right edge, almost like he was caressing it. One corner of his mouth lifted, but moisture threatened to run down his cheeks.  He looked up at me and replaced the portrait in my hands.  He straightened and continued slowly, measuring his words. "Friends, yes, friends. For as long as I have been in your kingdom, your mother was my friend. Even now."

Marcatot turned away from me and headed towards the table off to the side of the fireplace.  He pulled out one of the wooden chairs and gently motioned me to sit.  I reluctantly walked the few steps to the offered seat. Marcatot waited until I was sitting until he pulled out another chair to sit on and angled it so that he would face me straight on.  His direct gaze made me uncomfortable and I looked down again at the portrait in my hands. This time there were no mixed emotions, only sadness, as I looked upon the gray eyes, filled with life and the long white hair she usually hid.  I did not hide the tears forming nor did I attempt to wipe them away. We both were failures, my mother and I.  We both had lost what we loved most because of our inability to end a life.  My father was in some godforsaken land in some godforsaken time, Ren was captured and our people's numbers nearly decimated.

"Your mother is not weak, Adra.  She never has been.  Just as you are not weak." I looked up sharply, causing the tears to overflow. I sniffed and glanced back at the portrait and then again at Marcatot. Was he reading my mind even though he claimed he couldn't? "You follow your teachings, your conscience, your heart.  You did not take that young man's life when you could have.  Mercy for your enemies does not make you weak.  It makes you strong."

I forced a cynical laugh. "His death would have been justified."

"Yes, Adra, I think you could have made that argument and even convinced those on the council with what we know now. But would you have ever been able to convince yourself?"

I stood up abruptly, knocking the chair over and dropped the portrait on the table.  I spun around and walked quickly out of the room towards the back door, towards the woods, towards freedom from caring and away from Marcatot.

 As soon as I was outside, I began to run.  Marcatot was right.  I would never have been able to justify Courtier's death to myself.  Courtier had done only what his father and his king commanded.  But Marcatot was also wrong, I was weak. It wasn't mercy for an enemy that had stopped me. It was fear of losing a possibility of  being loved.  My own personal need for love killed hundreds of innocent people.  I picked up the pace.  Maybe, just maybe, I could outrun my pain.