The Weight of Years (Percy)

[DoS Archive]

From: leducblanc@aol.com (LeDucBlanc)
Date: 30 May 2000 17:19:33 EDT

The sheet of parchment was blank. It was intended to be a list of names, but as of yet there were no names on the list. It was not coming easily at all, and Duc Percival Marchand de Clermont knew why. He couldn't even think of the best candidates, let alone the single best choice. He needed advice, but there weren't very many people he could really ask. He had spoken briefly with Jaycy on the matter, but she really
hadn't taken it seriously enough. Perhaps a conversation with Daelin...
He knew the qualities that were required, but the problem was that potential candidates didn't have the right combination of the required qualities. There were men and women with some of the traits, but not all. Ironically, the one who came closest was a personal enemy. He managed to bring himself, as he thought about it, to write the name down anyway. Nevertheless, he had a hard time actually seeing himself speaking to the fellow. It was even
harder to imagine him accepting.
He was old. There was no longer any doubt of that. He was sick, of which there was even less doubt. It was possible there was a cure, but that would mean putting himself in a position that his personal honour and pride could not allow. It was better to make the choice on his own terms, as he knew that he was never truly immortal anyway. Eventually his will would have tired and he would have lost control over his age. The physical and mental shocks
had just brought it on sooner, that was all. He still might live a long time. Might even find the strength to cure himself by force of will. He had done it before, he might be able to do it again.
His mind turned back to the Tourney. It had started well enough, with a victory over Gunthar and another over Secondat. Then, after building up early leads against Jeff and Fandral Kurgan he was beaten as both opponents came from behind. Not that there was any shame in either defeat. There was really no shame in any defeat, for that matter, as long as he did his best. That was what the sport was about, the contest and the dance not the victory or
defeat after.
He had been impressed by what he saw of the old soldier, Kurgan. The man was no younger than he was, however. That would make him a poor choice. Otherwise he might be as close to perfect as possible. There was always a qualifier with everyone, it seemed. Would he ever find the right person? Was there even a right person? That was a question he did not like, the possible answer was unacceptable.
He had to find an heir.