Deathstalker 06 - Deathstalker Legacy

never did care enough, about most things. I drifted through my life, always following the path of least resistance. Hell of a thing to say about a life as long as mine, but there you go. I don't care. Perhaps . . . because so many people so badly wanted me to care . . ."
    "Father . . ."
    "I cared about your mother, about James, and about you; and that's all. Your mother and James are gone, so that just leaves you. And you . . . are everything I wished I could be and never was. Passionate, committed, honorable. I'm proud of you, son."
    Douglas just nodded numbly, too surprised even to say anything in return. King William looked out over his Court.
    "Be King, Douglas. Do the right thing, as often as you can. They won't love you for it. They'll adore you from a distance, but that doesn't mean anything. They only ever love the symbol, the public face, not the person underneath. In the end, they only remember the things you didn't do that you promised you would, or the things they think you should have done. Or the things you got wrong. And if you do manage to do something right; well, that's your job. That's what they pay taxes for. And Douglas, never trust Parliament. As far as they're concerned, you're just something they can use to hide behind. A public face to take the blame when things don't work out the way they were supposed to." William sighed, and suddenly looked even older, and smaller. "I did my best . . ."
    "Of course you did," said Douglas, when the pause seemed to be going on too long.
    "Do you know how it feels," said King William, leaning close to look him straight in the eye, "to know you did your best, and know it wasn't good enough? To know that all you managed to do was maintain the status quo? I hated being King, from the very first day they jammed the Crown on my head and bound me to my Throne with chains of duty. I only stayed on so long because your mother so loved being Queen. And because I wanted to spare you the burden of being King for as long as I could. So you can at least have a taste of the freedom I never knew. You're walking into a velvet-lined trap, Douglas. And there's nothing I can do to save you."
    Douglas didn't have a single clue what to say for the best. Not once before, from his childhood days to full adulthood, had his father ever opened up to him like this. They'd never been one for heart-to-hearts with anyone, either of them. And now ... it all sounded very much like an old man desperate to say the things that needed to be said while there was still time. Douglas wished he could feel more touched by it.
    He'd never felt close to either of his parents. They'd always kept him at a distance, perhaps afraid to lose another child they loved. They were always there for the public, but never for him. A less well-adjusted man would be bitter. And now; to learn it had all been deliberate, so that he could grow up to be his own man, and nothing like the father who had cared for him after all, in his own way.
    Douglas was still searching for something to say, when a familiar voice called out his name. He looked around gratefully, ready to seize on any diversion; and there, striding across the floor of the Court towards him, came the Paragon Lewis Deathstalker, current holder of a proud and ancient name.
    Douglas hurried down the steps, leaving the Thrones behind him, and the two old friends clasped hands warmly. King William looked on, trying not to be too impatient, as Lewis and Douglas brought each other up to date on what had been happening in their lives in the few weeks they'd been apart. The King would have sent anyone else packing with a flea in his ear, old friend or not, but Lewis was different.
    William approved of the current Deathstalker.
    Lewis had one of the best-known faces of all the Paragons. Broad, harsh-featured, ugly. Full of character, but already showing the signs of many hard knocks. The Deathstalker had never bothered with even the simplest cosmetic touches, to move his face towards . . . well, rugged, if not actually handsome.
    As far as Douglas knew, the thought had never even occurred to Lewis. The Deathstalker was short and blocky, well muscled by choice and exercise rather than via the shortcuts of the body shop, and so broad-chested that in certain lights he seemed almost as wide as he was tall. He wore his jet black hair in a short military cut, mostly so he wouldn't have to bother with it, shaved when he remembered, and had surprisingly mild brown eyes and