[Orofaniel]

"The garden is not the same, is it mother?"

The whispering did not affect his mother; she stood there, steady as a rock, but Evrathol knew she was feeling weaker than in her earlier days.

Months had passed since the death of Queen Bekah. Evrathol remembered it like it had been yesterday. His eyes had seen much throughout his long immortal life, but the events of that day that he had witnessed would stay with him forever. He could remember how the Emissary had come to his mother's gardens. The cold and ruthless man that had disturbed the peace in Pashtia had been standing here, on this very spot. Evrathol shivered by the thought of it.

It was Evrathol's suspicion that the Emissary had killed Queen Bekah with his own hands that had been the greatest terror of them all. But how could he prove it? Evrathol was not to keen to go against the Emissary and his men alone. He knew he would not be strong enough to do so. But why hadn't Morgos, the general, taken more responsibility? He wondered what role the Princess and the Prince played in all this. Where they still mourning, perhaps, he wondered. The questions regarding the future of Pashtia tormented him, for he had no answers. He knew little of what was really going on in the Palace as he had not been there after the Queen's death. However, he had no wish of going there, because he was afraid the sight of it would weaken his hopes for a new and better Pashtia.

Oh, these ill events that has taken place in Pashtia...." Evrathol sighed. Indeed, many ill events had taken place.

He looked at his mother. She was grave and paler than usual. His mother had been devastated after the Priestess Zamara had withdrawn from her duties, and apparently gone mad. The Temple that had been a place for peace and quiet and his mother had used this as a place to collect her thoughts. Now however, she had arranged a small alter in her own home with Evrathol’s help. Nevertheless, Evrathol knew it was not the same.

"No, the gardens are different, I'm afraid," Arlomë then said quietly.

"But Mother, your plants....they need to be looked after," Evrathol said softly. "Many of them have already withered and died...Will you not see to the few that are left?" Evrathol continued. Arlomë remained quiet. "I have tried to look after them for you, but I do not share your knowledge and wisdom. Please, you must not let all of them wither. You used to..."

"That time has passed, son," Arlomë then interrupted. "The Pashtia we knew before is fading away…withering....But I feel that something is going to change. I do not know what it is. Do you feel it?"

Evrathol looked at her, amazed by her last words. His mother hadn’t been so enthusiastic about anything in a long time. However, he still sensed weariness in her voice. "I do not know what I feel. I just know that this Pashtia is nothing like it used to be - the evry same thing you are saying, in other words. It cannot continue like this. We must do something. Like we said we would do after the death of the Queen. Remember? Remember my suspicion?”

"Speak naught of it, son, because I dare not remember it. But please, let us speak with your father. He knows more about the events inside the place, don't you think?"