The Tales of Tamil - Uh, Talimor

"Yes sir. Right this way." The honorific 'sir' sounds strange from Tarra. She leads you between the rows of soldiers, who watch you sternly and silently as you walk by. Tarra leads you around the base of the statue, where a small garden is located. Nestled into the flowers is a plaque written in Volvish, which you're very curious to read.

"Do you know what that says?" You ask Mia. Overhearing, Tarra responds.

"I can read it to you if you like, Your Majesty." You're taken aback, partially from hearing such a respectful tone from Tarra, and partially because 'Your Majesty' is entirely in English.

"Uh... Yes. We can do that." You reply. Tarra begins to read the plaque.

"Our beloved Mesiah, leader, and king. A powerful warrior. Through his love we were saved. (Something) by him and finished after his departure."

"It doesn't have his name?" You ask. Mia gasps a bit, and Tarra shakes her head seriously. You're incredulous, looking between the women, failing to understand why they're upset. "What is it with everyone in this world?" You ask.

"Right this way, Your Majesty." Tarra leads you up a set of stairs. They're a cold stone, and there's more than two dozen of them you must climb. You follow her, and Mia wraps her arms around yours, matching your step. She looks up at you, smiling. You don't feel confident enough to return her positivity.

At the top of the stairs, a small group of people has gathered, obviously eager to meet you. Three of them stand out, a group of elderly men wearing elegant purple clothing, almost lordly. They remind you of Catholic priests. Each of the men is older, perhaps in their seventies. The old men look at you curiously, peering at you with serious eyes. These men exude wealth and power, and each of them is surrounded by an entourage of well dressed courtiers. You follow Tarra to within a few feet of them, when she stops, stepping to the side and introducing you.

"Your Majesty, the Triumvirate, (Something) Law, Castellano, and Ratzinger."

"Mesiah," There is some stir as one of the three men speaks, you think his name was Ratzinger. He appears to be the eldest. He's frail and shaky, which means that he needs plenty of help from his posse as he drops his cane, kneeling to the ground.

Another of the men, a much younger and healthier man that Tarra had called 'Law' shoots a glare of hatred at Ratzinger, very briefly, before recovering and kneeling as well, repeating the title.

"Mesiah," He says.

The third of the triumvirate joins the first two, and soon the whole crowd is bowing. Even Tarra drops to one knee. You feel Mia beginning to pull away from you to join them, and you grab her arm, holding it close.

"Not you," You whisper. "I'm not doing this without you."

For a full thirty seconds, you stand with Mia in front of the bowing crowd. It occurs to you that they may be waiting for you to make the first move.

"Tarra," you speak loudly enough for everyone to hear. "I'd like to speak in private, if we can."

You're woefully unprepared, and you absolutely require more knowledge before taking this on. The women were so intent on getting you here, neither of them seemed to have thought about what you might do once you arrived.

"Yes, Your Majesty." Tarra rises from her knees, and slowly the group of people stand to their feet. The Warrior Woman leads you past the crowd, where you catch sight of Ratzinger, the elder of the Triumvirate. He is weeping openly, and you can hear him speaking.

"It is him. After all these years. He even sounds the same," The younger Triumvirate, Law, shoots a glance at you, and you make eye contact. He's not as overwhelmed as Ratzinger. Law's gaze pierces you, laying you bare. The skepticism in the old man's eyes tells you he can see right through your charade.

The first room inside the palace is massive and opulent, with a broad staircase and crystal chandelier. Trying to count doors is a hopeless effort, as both the top and bottom floors have more than a dozen. Luckily, Tarra knows exactly what room to take you to, leading you behind the staircase. Through a door you find a smaller room with several chairs and a low table, bringing the word 'parlor' to mind.

"So uh, we have to talk." You start as soon as the door closes behind you.

"We don't have much time," Tarra explains, "The Triumvirate will want to speak with you privately. But you're doing great so far. If you're not the Mesiah, you're a (synonym, equivalent) to him." Mia nods in agreement with her, talking quickly.

"Ratzinger recognised you! He knew the Mesiah personally. There's no mistaking it now." The young woman smiles, squeezing your arm tightly. You raise your hands, waving them to silence.

"Just, everyone hold on a second. The 'Mesiah'..." you make quotes with your hands, "...is my uncle."

Tarra stares at you, processing. Mia gasps in shock.

"Why didn't you tell us the your uncle was the Mesiah?" Tarra demands. You roll your eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me the Mesiah was my uncle?" You shoot back. Tarra hesitates, thinking for a second.

"...Okay. It doesn't matter now. You look enough like him, and Ratzinger thought you were him, so we're in. Law is going to be angry." Tarra's forehead creases and she scowls with deep thought.

"Why is Law going to be upset?" You ask.

"Law likes his power. He's the head of the Triumvirate, and he's our biggest (something). If he can prove you're not the Mesiah, he stays in power, and we're all dead. If you're (something), he loses his power. Which means he'll be (something) at Ratzinger for (something) you as the Mesiah so early. Law probably wanted a (something). It's a big win for us." As Tarra finishes explaining, you look at Mia, completely lost.

"I understood about half of that," You say.

The young blonde woman stands next to you, looking very worried.

"Law is against us. Ratzinger is with us." Mia summarizes. The young woman is only half paying attention, as she seems lost in thought.

"You okay?" You ask her.

"Maybe this is what he wanted." Mia ignores you, lost in her own thoughts. "Maybe the Mesiah wanted to pass me on... to his heir. His rightful successor." She looks at you, her piercing blue eyes resolute. "Maybe I was destined for you instead of him!" She speaks with the conviction of someone who has discovered a sovereign truth of reality. You clench your jaw, trying not to yell at the poor girl in frustration.

She really just doesn't get it.

"And maybe the 'Mesiah' is a guy who borrows fifty bucks for gas and then goes straight to the slots. A guy who's not allowed in any 'Captain D's', in any city." You say sarcastically. Neither of them understand exactly what you mean. Mia frowns angrily, and you can tell you've hurt her feelings.

A knock at the door interrupts your conversation. Tarra cracks the door, speaking quietly with someone outside. When she returns, the Warrior Woman speaks quickly.

"The Triumvirate want a meeting. We can't really turn them down for long." She breathes in, collecting herself. "What's the plan?" Tarra asks.

"What's the plan?" You repeat, incredulously. "I thought you had a plan. This whole thing is your plan!"

"Don't yell. They'll hear you." Tarra says sternly. "They're going to want to reminisce with their old friend. They're expecting to talk to the Mesiah. Do we tell them you have amnesia?"

"What the fuck." you say, as more of a statement than a question. "This is not a 'romcom'. We are going to die if we fuck this up," You speak quickly.

"I don't know what a room-cum is." Tarra interjects.

"I thought 'fuck' was...sexual." Mia says, trying to understand. You ignore them and keep speaking.

"I'm telling the truth. They might like me if they know I'm the Mesiah's, uh, brother's grandson. What's the word in Volvish?"

"Nephew," Mia replies.

"If they know I'm his nephew. Tarra?" You look to the woman who has been the de facto leader of your little group. She quietly debates with herself, nodding her head side to side, weighing the options.

"...It could work," She starts to say, "...but you'd better tell them now. If you wait to tell them, they'll (Stick/pin) you as a liar."

"Alright," You prepare yourself.

"But if it doesn't work, we're dead. And Law will be against it," She concludes.

"Well, I'll convince the other two." You reply. Tarra clenches her teeth, grimacing.

"I don't know," She says. You're getting frustrated.

"Tarra, you've been telling me what to do this whole time. It's my turn to decide, and I'm deciding to tell the truth." Mia squeezes your arm.

"I'll follow you anywhere, Your Majesty," She says.

Tarra seems to let the issue go, throwing up her hands. She walks to the door, opening it. A young man leads in the triumvirates The edlerly, well-dressed gentlemen shuffle in amidst a crowd of servants.

How are you going to phrase this? What's the best way to frame this? Technically, your Uncle did send you. You can easily get away with calling his deathbed confession a 'commission' for you to take over as Mesiah.

"Your Majesty..." Ratzinger's voice is raspy and tired. His advanced age shows when he speaks. "...It is an honor to stand in your (area/proximity) once again. If I may be permitted to sit, Majesty, I have not aged as well as you."

"Of course," You shrug, gesturing to one of the open chairs. An aid helps the old man to sit. Law approaches you, bowing graciously.

"Your Majesty, forgive my most humble question, indeed I am unworthy to question even your most basic teachings, Majesty. Will you show us a sign, to be certain it is you who has returned, and not an imposter?"

"Uh, Mr. Law, if you'll wait a second, I'll explain everything." You cringe as you say 'Mr.' an unmistakably English word.

But maybe that adds to the authenticity?

"I'm, uh, not..." You almost say 'not the mesiah' but you stop yourself, deciding how to break it to them more positively. "The Mesiah is my uncle."

Yeah, just rip that bandaid right off.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Tarra cringing, as if involuntarily preparing for the worst. Mia squeezes your arm.

"He sent me here, to..."

In truth, your Uncle Dave hadn't been very clear. All he told you was that he fucked up, and asked you to fix it. You've no idea what that meant, But you don't think they'd take too kindly to being told their Mesiah had admitted to making mistakes.

"...to finish his work." You fight to keep a straight face as you say it. Hopefully that sounded convincing enough.

With some translation help from Mia, you tell an embellished story of Uncle Dave commissioning you, telling you about Volvsvaer and the door in the basement. In the version you tell, you exclude his death, and your confusion, painting a more heroic picture of yourself. With a sick crawling feeling, you're reminded of Uncle Dave painting himself as the hero in 'Tales of Tamilor' Or 'Talimor' or whatever. You make sure to include how Uncle Dave willed his property to you, and asked you to carry on where he left off.

The triumvirate watch, transfixed, as you tell your story with Mia's help. In the end, they sit silently for a few seconds, taking it all in. Ratzinger is the first one to speak up.

"I was close friends with Mesiah in my day," he says, and Law rolls his eyes, as if he's heard that line before, "I will confidently say that this man is a descendant of the Mesiah." Ratzinger finishes with a coughing fit. After waiting politely for the old man to finish, Law cuts in.

"The Mesiah has many descendants," you mentally catalog that horrifying tidbit for later, "None of whom are his rightful successor. What makes this one special?"

"He speaks the Holy Language," Castellano, the third member of the Triumvirate, talks for the first time. Though not as old as Ratzinger, he speaks slowly and carefully. "and in fact, seems unfamiliar with Volvish. His wife must aid him." It feels strange for someone to refer to Mia as your wife. It also feels strange to hear English called 'The Holy Language'.

"What does that prove?" Law asks skeptically.

"That he is not from our world," Ratzinger nods sagely, agreeing with Castellano's wisdom.

"We should throw this imposter out," Law speaks quickly, angrily, as if he doesn't believe what he's hearing. "He may be some whelp descended from the Mesiah. That does not make him the Mesiah's successor. We should continue to wait with faith and patience for the return of our Lord in person."

"And if he were truly the successor sent by the Mesiah?" Ratzinger asks. "You would insult the Mesiah in that way? You would damn us all."

"We shouldn't discuss this in front of him," Castellano silences the arguing of the other two. "And we don't have to decide right now. The wise path is to wait. If he is truly the successor, the Mesiah will show us some sign. If no such sign comes, we shall know. Agreed?" The slow speaking man waits for the other two. Mia squeezes your hand, lacing your fingers through hers. You feel her trembling, her whole body shaking as she presses against you. Tarra is doing her best not to show any emotion.

"No. We should do away with him now, to not risk the Mesiah's anger." Law glares at you, openly angry.

"I agree with Castellano," Ratzinger's raspy voice answers. "We should wait. Though I might add, I am already convinced of his divinity."

You count the score in your head. Ratzinger on your side. Law against you. And Castellano undecided. It's come out better than you'd thought.

Law storms out of the room, his attendants following closely behind him. Castellano is much more reserved, bowing to you politely.

"Successor or not, it is always a pleasure to see one so alike to our Mesiah in (Visage/image)." You smile and nod at the old man.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well," You reply.

Ratzinger makes no attempt to move, staying firmly in his seat. You look at him expectantly, assuming he'll make an exit as well. He does not. After a few seconds of waiting, you realize he has fallen asleep.

"Tarra, do we... leave him?" you ask. One of his attendants nods.

"Please." The man says.

Your party makes their way out of the room, back into the main entry hall.

"Where do we go now?" You ask Tarra.

"I don't know," She replies. "I don't feel like we're free to leave, but..." She's interrupted by a young woman in fine clothes approaching. She introduces herself promptly.

"Good evening. I am Sara. (Something, a title most likely) Castellano has asked me to accommodate you. If you'll follow me." The three of you follow Sara up a set of stairs, down a hallway, then another, then another. As you're walking, you notice a small group of soldiers following you, and you assume they've been sent to keep an eye on you.

The halls of the palace are labyrinthian and vast. The many corridors were almost always lit by windows, either overlooking the city outside or a series of inner courtyards, decorated by trees and plants.

Sara leads you to a door, so deep and lost in the hallways of the palace you could never find your way back.

"Here you are. I'll be attending you full time, so if there's anything you need, you can ask me..." She goes on to explain a few things about the palace, what wing you're in, who prepares the food and how the taps work. Besides being excited about tap water, you zone most of it out, replaying the scene with the Triumvirate in your head.

"...and Tarra, if you would please come with me. (Something) Law would like to speak with you in private. I'll take responsibility for your charge's safety." Sara glances at Mia, a perfect smile plastered over the woman's features.

"Of course," Tarra replies. Mia seems upset with the arrangement, silently shaking her head at Tarra.

Is she going to be reassigned? Hasn't she been with Mia a long time? Is it possible that Law is upset with Tarra for some reason? After all, he's not happy to find you...

"Sara, I have a request," You speak to the smiling woman.

"Of course," She replies.

"Pass on to Law, or Castellano, or whoever, that I'd like to..." You pause to ask Mia for the word, "...Retain Tarra as our security. We're very pleased with her performance." Still smiling like a plastic mannequin, Sara nods.

"Yes. I'll pass that on," She nods to Tarra, leading your companion away into the palace. The soldiers stand in the hallway, watching you. They don't move, and they don't talk. You let yourself into the room and for just a second, you're worried the guards will follow you inside. They do not, and you are left alone with Mia.

The room given to you is incredibly Victorian. The walls are white, inlaid with gold designs. The carpet on the floor is plush, a thick velvet, and the chairs are hideously overstuffed. Light streams in from skylights above, giving the rooms a cheery glow. Every piece of furniture is decorated with floral designs. It's probably the height of luxury in Volvsvaer, but it's an interior design nightmare.

You explore the apartment, locating a bathroom with hot and cold taps, a large tub, and a toilet. You're very grateful for that after relieving yourself in the woods for four days. Or was it five?

The bedroom is equally as elegant and posh as the rest of the apartment, even equipped with a small kitchen. You drop into an overstuffed chair, idly wondering if your filthy travel clothes will stain the upholstery. Mia sits opposite you, fiddling with her hands. She seems nervous.

"How are you?" You ask her.

"I've got a lot to think about," She replies, worried.

"Yeah, the threat of possible execution has the same effect on me." You reply. It's not your most empathetic answer, but you're tired.

"Not that," Replies Mia, "I've lived with that for years. I'm just... questioning a lot of things I thought I knew." Her shoulders sag, and her gaunt eyes suggest a weariness beyond the physical.

"Is there anything I can do?" You ask.

"Can you love me?" She asks, her eyes innocent and full of hope. You feel sad for her as you answer.

"I don't know." You think about your answer only after you say it out loud. "I don't really know you that well."

"I understand." Mia sits quietly for a while. At your so-called wedding, she had the same expression as she has now. Guilty, apologetic, sad.

"I love you, Your Majesty." She bows her head a bit.

"I believe you," You reply. "I believe you're really sincere about that. But I don't understand why."

"You're his blood. You've walked with him." She takes on a mystical, starry-eyed expression, holding her hands over her chest. "How could I not love you?"

You stare as she speaks, pity growing in your chest like a visceral illness. You're almost nauseous as she continues.

"What is it like?" She asks. "To be near him?"

You remember days long gone, visiting your uncle alongside your parents. His home (not the cabin he willed to you) stacked waist deep with trash. Roaches and mice all over the floor. Being told to stay in the car because that was no place for a child. You remember a sad, drunk old man, so desperate to be the center of attention he'd tell outlandish tales, exaggerating his own achievements to anyone gullible enough to believe. A pathological liar, a narcissist, and a very broken man.

"I think the image you have of him is probably not the same as the one I have," You reply.

Better to let her down easy. She genuinely believes in his religion. Who knows how she'd react if she knew what he was really like. Is everyone in this world like this? Do they all believe that cranky, drunk old Uncle Dave is a heaven-sent god figure?

"I'd give anything to know him," She replies. "To sit at his feet."

You physically cringe when she says that. You've seen your uncle's feet, and it was not pretty.

"Uh, sure." You reply.

"You think I'm a fool," Mia is emotionless when she says it. You try to deny it, but you can't. Her gaze pierces right through you, and you have to look away. She continues talking.