The Tales of Tamil - Uh, Talimor

"Any last bit of advice?" You ask.

"If you muck this up, all three of us are probably dead." She says.

The dining room table is quite long. Ratzinger's servant shows you to your seat, close to the head of the enormous table. By your estimate, twenty people could sit on each side of the huge piece of furniture, yet it's only slightly wider than a normal table. The tablecloth is Purple and red, with intricate inlaid designs, and dishware matches, with a gold trim around the outside. The silverware is heavy, and feels like actual silver. Above the table, large chandeliers hang just above, their fluttering lantern light scattering on the table below.

Tarra was very clear: Guests will be seated from least important to most important. It appears that the only one not yet seated was Ratzinger himself. At least two dozen eyes watch you walk to your seats. Mia holds on to your arm tightly, keeping her chin up. You're not so focused, making eye contact with more than a few people, who look away as soon as you do. The attendees are well dressed, wealthy people.

The servant leading you in shows Mia to her chair, which you pull out for her. A slight but shared gasp echoes from the occupants of the grand dining hall, and even Mia looks at you as if you've done something wrong.

Was that a social faux pas?

Your 'wife' curtseys, and takes her seat. As you move to sit next to her, the servants speaks:

"Your Majesty's seat is beside the Bishop Ratzinger, if it pleases him." You pause. If you sit directly next to Ratzinger, there will be one seat between yourself and Mia.

"Is there any way we could rearrange?" You ask. "I'd like to sit next to my wife."

"He has the accent!" Someone whispers nearby. You glance in that direction, causing a noble lady to look away, pretending like it wasn't her.

"I will bring your request to Bishop Ratzinger right away, Your Majesty." the servant bows slightly and leaves. You don't bother to wait for an answer, sitting directly next to Mia. She leans over to whisper.

"It may have been more polite to take your assigned seat," She says.

"It may have been more polite for the good Bishop to seat me by my wife," You reply, not as quietly. Several people nearby whisper to each other, perhaps discussing your issue with the seating arrangement.

You've got to be careful. You need these people on your side.

The sound of halting steps and cane distracts you, and you look up. Expecting to see Ratzinger, you are surprised to find a different elderly man, being assisted by the same servant. He is stooped badly, and leans heavily on the servant. You stand, intending to pull his seat for him as well. The old man looks up, and catching sight of your face, drops his cane. Leaning his weight totally on the servant, who struggles to assist, he prostrates himself before you, arms outstretched.

"Oh, that's not necessary," You say, feeling quite awkward by the reverent display.

"Mesiah," the old man calls out. "I thought surely I would be gone from this world before your return."

"Let me help you up," You reply, moving to the old man's side and assisting the servant in bringing him back to his feet. With some struggle between the three of you, he makes it to his chair, nearest to the Bishop.

Once everyone is seated, Bishop Ratzinger is finally shown to his seat. He stands beside his seat, wearing ornate purple and black robes. He smiles at you before calling everyone's attention.

"It is time at last to celebrate," He wheezes a bit, but his voice carries fantastically well for someone his age. "His Majesty, the Mesiah, has seen fit to grant us a successor," Around the room, you hear gasps and hushed whispers.

"In the form of his nephew. Your Majesty," Ratzinger bows slightly in your direction. Thinking that's your cue, you stand up and wave to everyone in attendance. You're about to take your seat when Ratzinger prompts you further.

"Will you bless us with some words, Mesiah?" He asks. You want to say no, but you remember Mia and Tarra's advice: keep Ratzinger happy.

"I am pleased to receive Bishop Ratzinger's invitation tonight. When my uncle called me to finish his work, he assured me many of his friends would be here to accept me. I am sure the completion of that work will be alongside great men such as Bishop Ratzinger, and with the help of fine people such as yourselves," You say.

Well, that wasn't too bad. You've given worse impromptu speeches.

Your heart is racing, and the people begin to clap, quietly, politely. Ratzinger thanks you, and says something about a new era for Volvsvaer. You're not listening much to his speech, instead you focus on lowering your racing heart.

Who knew public speaking was so terrifying?

Mia lays her hand on yours, squeezing gently as Bishop Ratzinger says a prayer over the meal. You don't think anything about it until you realize he's praying to your uncle. A chill of revulsion runs down your spine as he concludes the prayer with worship and praising words to your Uncle Dave.

The prayer has barely finished when the elderly man sitting beside you begins speaking.

"His Majesty's nephew! Forgive my misunderstanding. You are the perfect image of him," He says.

"No worries," You reply.

"I am called Micah. I can tell by your accent that you must speak his Holy Language," The man smiles, like he's unlocked a secret.

"It's my native language," You reply. "I struggle with Volvish a bit still." The old man clears his throat, and then proudly responds in mostly understandable English.

"[I have devoted my life to the study of your language.]" He says.

You're pleased to hear English, even with such a thick accent as the old man has. He's surprisingly cogent.

"[It's great to talk to someone in my language. It's been a while. Though I have been teaching my wife a bit.]" You reply in English, and his eyes light up.

"[It's been a long time for me, too.]" He says. Micah is giddy to talk with you, and he tries a few phrases. You correct only a few small mistakes he makes, shaping up some mispronunciations. After a few minutes of conversation, you realize the entire table is quiet, listening to the two of you closely. As you say something that makes Micah burst into laughter, Ratzinger tactfully inserts himself into the conversation.

"So then, (something) Micah, what do you think? Is this the heir of the Mesiah?" You struggle a bit understanding him It's almost like grinding gears when you switch back to Volvish. Micah laughs again, nodding his gray head enthusiastically.

"He is one of two things. Either he is sent by the Mesiah himself, or he is the world's foremost English scholar. Better than me!" Micah announces proudly. Around the table, you hear more whispers and muttered conversations. A slight tug on your arm and you turn to face Mia, who smiles widely.

"You're amazing," She whispers.

Yep, you're amazing. You speak English, your first language. At least it's easy to convince them you're not from Volvsvaer.

Ratzinger smiles as he explains to you.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, I'm sure you're aware that there are those among us who doubt your divinity. (Something) Micah is one of our foremost leading experts on the Holy Language. I hope our test did not offend." You smile cordially in response.

"No offense at all, it was quite nice to have someone to talk to."

The rest of the dinner isn't as exciting. Several of the guests attempt English at you, laughing at themselves and comparing between them. Mia impresses Micah (who you learn is called 'Professor Micah') with her English skills. He says even the small amount she's learned from you has placed in the top percentage of Volvish English speakers. Ratzinger asks you several questions about your uncle, which you give either partial or whole lies to in response. Tarra warned you not to say anything bad about Uncle Dave, which limits you to lies or silence.

Towards the end of supper, a number of outward facing doors are opened by servants, prompting some guests to move to the exterior. Outside of the dining room is a small courtyard with outdoor seating, lit by the glow of torches. Many of the guests stop by where you're seated, trying to shake your hand or speak with you. In fact a queue forms, and Ratzinger calls for Tarra and the other guards to be brought in, surrounding you so that you can finish your meal. Once you and Mia have both finished, Mia takes your arm, and you join the more relaxed atmosphere of the outdoor garden.

Outside, people carry glasses with them, being continually filled with wine by servants. You're careful not to drink too much, fearing what a low inhibition could cost you. Mia is not nearly so reserved, and the servants fill her glass several times.

Though the relaxed atmosphere of the garden is intended to be a free-form mingle, a line quickly forms. Important people come through, introduce themselves, and talk at length about... themselves. Most of them are very boring, and you have a hard time keeping track. But you do your best to flatter and stroke their egos, knowing how important the support of everyone is.

"How am I doing?" You whisper to Tarra as one older couple bids you good night.

"Great. People think your accent is cute." She says, her voice muffled by her armor. You shrug, happy enough with that.

The next man is by himself, and introduces himself with an honorary prefix for a land holder.

"I'm Duke Rider," He shakes your hand a bit too firmly, leaning in closely enough that you smell the alcohol on the slender, wiry man's breath. "It's an honor to meet you, Your Majesty,"

"My pleasure," You respond, faking another smile.

"So, I have an offer for you, if you're interested," He begins, a mischievous gleam in his eye, "And I think you'll like it, if your tastes are anything like your uncle, the Mesiah." The Duke is careful to include an honorary title when he mentions your uncle. You tactfully choose your words.

"I have many things in common with my uncle. And some tastes are my own." You really don't have much in common with your uncle, but Tarra has advised you to keep as close to him as possible.

"Ah, perhaps you share a taste in women? I see you've already taken company with the lovely woman assigned by the Triumvirate," He smiles at Mia, and she appropriately smiles back. The man continues speaking.

"But I've got a daughter that will take your breath. I saw you pull out the young lady's chair this evening, so humble for a king. I bet you'd be a fantastic son-in-law. I'd love to have you come by and meet her. She's young and healthy, just your type. The most beautiful raven hair you've ever-," you cut him off mid sentence.

"Oh, I'm quite happily married, thank you." He shrugs, pressing on.

"Well, if you ever change your mind, enquire after Duke Rider. She's a beautiful young girl, Your Majesty, just eighteen last month, with a lovely figure."

"I'll keep her in mind," You involuntarily gag a bit when he describes his own daughter as having a 'lovely figure'. Once he moves on, you take a minute to complain to Mia.

"He didn't care at all that I'm married," You whisper.

"The Mesiah was known for having over forty wives, and many concubines, Your Majesty. I never expected to be your only one."

You can't picture your uncle having even one woman interested in him. It's almost hard to believe it's the same man.

"I can barely handle the one I've got," You smile, but she doesn't seem to take the joke.

"I won't mind if you find another woman," Mia leans in close, "It could be sexy," she whispers in your ear. You raise your eyebrows, a little surprised by her forwardness.

Late in the night, Ratzinger makes a closing statement.

"We are humbled by His Majesty's presence," His speech quickly grows long winded, and he continues on, thanking you and everyone else by name for their attendance. You wait for everyone else to leave and bid goodnight to Ratzinger. He expresses a desire to meet with you privately soon, and you agree.

"Your support is appreciated," You tell him, as his servants are cleaning the table nearby.

"I'm afraid we'll never convince Law,'' the old man replies. His voice is at its raspiest, and his eyes droop. "But Castellano... He's an old soul. He was a boy when he met the Mesiah. He may yet be convinced." Ratzinger's eyes droop heavily, and he looks as if he may fall asleep in his chair. "I'll call a hearing... tomorrow. You can present your claim then..." He lets out a long snore. You pass by one of the working servants, and inform them that the Bishop has fallen asleep.

Mia has become separated from you, and you walk through the gardens searching for her, with Tarra and the other guards right behind you. You find her draped across a lawn chair, legs spread and wine spilled on her shirt, snoring gently. Tenderly lifting her in your arms, you carry your wife out of the dining hall.

Holding her like this is easy, and you're reminded of your new strength. Behind you, Tarra follows at a short distance, and behind her two more guards. You're not sure who the guards work for, but you've been given the impression that you're not permitted to freely roam the palace. You wonder what they would do if you tried to leave. When turning a corner, Mia's head bumps your shoulder, and she startles awake. Craning her head around, she takes in her surroundings. The little woman is a lightweight, and the wine at the party took its toll on her. She looks up at you, smiling.

"Hi," Mia says, grinning stupidly. "I wanna put your thing in me," She's speaking loudly enough that everyone in the hallway can hear her.

"That's sweet, darling, but I think it's your bedtime," You reply, stifling a laugh. Mia is disappointed, scowling a bit. She looks over your shoulder and catches sight of Tarra following behind you. She waves enthusiastically at her warrior friend, then grabs your neck to pull her mouth close to your ear.

"Tarra is super sexy in armor," She whispers, also loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Mmhmm," You mindlessly answer. You're mostly ignoring her while you try to remember the route back to your quarters.

"I want to watch you fuck her," The young woman's whisper actually echoes around the hallway.

"I think I should have cut you off," you say. She falls silent as you make a turn, only for Tarra to call you back.

"Wrong way, Your Majesty." Tarra points down another hallway.

"Thank you," You reply. You turn, making your way past portraits of your uncle. Giving them a sidelong glance, you see a regal, powerful man in armor, holding a sword aloft. Behind him, a battlefield full of corpses. It's almost like seeing a caricature of your uncle. It looks like him, and yet, Dave never did a noble thing in his life.

"Will you?" Mia asks.

"Will I what?"

"Fuck Tarra. I want to watch." Mia runs finger down your jaw, touching your lips gently.

"Only if you promise not to tell my wife," You joke, and Mia laughs raucously.

Tarra knows the palace well, and leads you back to your quarters. The skylights overhead have long since darkened, but servants have brought candles. The plush apartment is darkly lit with an eerie glow, making the rooms feel smaller and more claustrophobic.

In your arms, Mia has begun to snore gently, her head rolling back onto your arm. Picking your way past the fancy furniture, you pass through the bathroom into the bedroom, gently depositing your slumbering wife on the bed. As slowly and quietly as you can, you pull her heeled shoes from her feet and cover her with a blanket. Mia yawns, stretches, and grabs up a pillow. She wraps her arms and legs around the pillow, squeezing it happily.

A loud clunking from the entry room jolts you, causing Mia to groan in her sleep. Walking quickly back to the door, you catch Tarra before she drops another piece of her ceremonial armor.

"Quiet," You whisper as loudly as you can. "She's sleeping." Tarra throws her hands up in mock horror, rolling her eyes.

"Taking off this armor is loud," She huffs, exasperated.

"Well let me help then." You aid Tarra as she removes piece after piece of the shiny metal plate, setting them to the side quietly. Finally she is free of her kit, wearing nothing but her sweat soaked undershirt and shorts. The loose fitting clothing gives you a good view of her scars, and your eyes linger on her neck and chest.

"What are you looking at?" She snaps. You shake your head, awkwardly looking away.

"Sorry," You reply, guilty. The Warrior walks to a chair in the main room, sitting down with a sigh. She splays her legs out on either side of her, sinking down into the chair.

"How'd we do tonight?" You ask, hopeful. You sit opposite Tarra, kicking off your boots.

"Pretty well. It was a lucky stroke that the English expert was there. Well, not lucky. Ratzinger knew what he was doing."

"But it's not Ratzinger I have to convince, right?" You ask. Tarra shakes her head, staring at the far wall of the room. Without the sun from the skylights, you can barely make out the floral designs covering the wall.

"No, he seems pretty convinced already. Tonight's victory was with his guests. You impressed them. Ultimately, the Triumvirate will decide your divine status, but public opinion is important too. If the people accept you, the leadership will side with them or risk a rebellion."

"That's the most optimistic thing I've ever heard from you," You reply, smiling at her. She shrugs back, sinking into the chair.

"It's the first time I've felt optimistic."

"In your life, or about this?" Through lidded eyes, she squints at you.

"Both," she replies.

"Mia has that effect on people," You chuckle. Tarra's eyes glow with warmth.

"Yeah, she does."

"You care about her a lot," You say.

"Yeah, I do." Tarra replies. "People ask if I'm her mother. Can you believe that? Do I look that much older than her?" She asks. You study the warrior's face. She's older than Mia by a few years, but she does look aged. Wrinkles around her eyes and on her forehead show when she's stressed, and possibly when she laughs, if that were to ever happen.

"You look lovely." You try to reply neutrally, but the language barrier means you're not sure how appropriate the compliment is.

"Lovely? Your wife seemed to think so. Are you planning to fulfill her request? I'm legally obligated to comply... 'Your Majesty.'" She emphasizes. Tarra winks at you.

"Ha. ha." You deadpan. Tarra sits up a bit, collecting herself.

"Seriously though," She continues, "I need some. It's been a while since I've had a decent lay."

You're taken aback a bit, your eyebrows raising in confusion.

"Wait, really?" You ask. Tarra shrugs.

"If you like, I'll suck you." She replies. Your heart rate jumps, and the surprise shows on your face.

"This is kind of sudden." You say. Tarra shrugs, slouching down in her chair.

"I understand. Don't worry about it." She replies. Both of you sit quietly for a few moments while you process the exchange that just took place.

"Well I fucking don't understand. A week ago you wanted to run me through with a spear. Now you want sex?" The warrior gives you a sidelong glance, irritated.

"Calm down. Things have changed." She says. You look at her incredulously. She sighs, addressing you directly and evenly.

"Fine. Everything on the table: Mia asked if I would. She's always known she'd be sharing the Mesiah once she finally met him. She said she wanted to share with me. I agreed. You're not bad looking," Tarra runs her eyes over you, from the head down. "Anyway, she told me you were easy."

"Well, I don't know about th-" You start to say.

"Extremely easy. She told me about the night at the inn." She cuts you off. You both sit silently for a while, an awkwardness between you.

You definitely want to have sex with her. But it might be awkward? Mia definitely seems on board with it. Tarra seems on board. Why not? Maybe you are easy.