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Epicrates trusted them.
When in their presence, Epicrates’ eye never left those of the Sovereign, recounting the endless paths that he foresaw, all headed by them. But now, in this singular magical moment, Epicrates looked elsewhere. At the grass, at the trees, at the cracks in the pillars of the old tower’s courtyard. To the sovereign, the tower is beautiful. Or, perhaps, it was. To Epicrates, it was a symbol of everything he hated. Everything wrong with this current world of theirs, and its endless struggle for power. This tower was not merely built on top of a demon. It was built on top of a mountain of bodies, bodies that all sought to claim their self-righteous throne at its peak, shoving others down as they did. And no man deserves to sit at the top, to force his weight upon the common people. To demolish and rebuild each building block, unaware or uncaring of the fact that each brick, each person, is the reason he’s even sitting there at the top of the tower.
And yet, impossibly, the man on the throne now sat next to him on the same step of the staircase, equals in standing and in opinion. Of course, he’d foreseen this outcome. A path where he and the Sovereign become companions was, at first, outrageous to him. But he’d learnt to accept these visions and what they bring before coming to the tower, and he’d learnt to put his emotions away and prioritise the greater good long before the Sovereign took the throne.
To see it and to experience it are two completely different things.
He’d let himself get swept up in the Sovereign’s tide. He had no way of knowing how many times they’d done this already, and how this path was going to go. And so, he had his guard up. As he always did. He thought to himself, even in those gentler scenes he’d seen of the Sovereign, he would surely still be careful. The fate of Brizh- No, of the world, lay in their hands, and Epicrates had the power to sway them, if he played his cards right and this ‘loop’ turned out to be the right one.
But, in this moment, for the first time in his life, he felt some kind of peace. An odd sort of serenity, thanks to no other than the symbol of power sitting right by him. In the moments he’d let himself get distracted by his thoughts, the ruler, clad in white, had placed a book in their lap and begun reading. Epicrates found it rather disturbing how he failed to notice their movements. Each moment of his life, waking or not, he’d had to put effort into. Survival, social navigation, calculation, movement. It felt wrong to do none of those things. It felt foolish.
The Sovereign outdid him in that regard. But only in this instance. They noticed him staring at the book’s contents, silently questioning.
“...When I have time to read, I like to read fairytales,” They began, unprompted. Epicrates told them much about his own life on their first true meeting. Or at least, when he first truly met them. They asked him many questions, maybe ones they’ve even asked before and already knew the answer to. Perhaps out of sheer courtesy. Perhaps to curry favour with him. Thing is, he already knew a good bit about the Sovereign. The leper. At least, the parts that mattered in the grand scheme of things. That’s all his visions showed, really.
“I used to do it before I became the Sovereign, too. It was an escape from my life.” They continued, then paused, looking into Epicrates’ eye expectantly.
“And is it still?” He inquired.
“Somewhat. This tower changed my life in many ways.”
It saved their life. But not for much longer, if this path was the one. Though it would save their soul.
“It’s been stressful in different ways to what I got used to as a leper. But I manage.”
“...You’ve done quite well on this path, if it’s of any reassurance, friend.” Epicrates said, and the Sovereign laughed a little. Epicrates did not. If anything, he intentionally evened out his expression. This conversation felt fragile. He’s never really had talks like this. Without any clear intent or objective.
“That’s quite reassuring, coming from you. Actually, it feels like every step of the way, I’m messing something up. I don’t know how you do it, Epicrates. You always look so sure.”
His eye seemed to weigh them, to evaluate. It didn’t take much. Epicrates trusts them. Or, he wants to trust them. This version of them. The one he sees in front of him right now, not the ones he sees when they’re not there. A tapestry of tales, of the same figure and of different outcomes. Of the white mask a cold shield against the woes of the people, of the mask theatrical and dramatic and throwing caution to the wind…
None of them mattered, he had to remind himself. Not right now.
“I have a singular goal. And I’ve been working my whole life to achieve it. At some point, you simply grow confident because you have to. Up on that throne, Sovereign, no one doubts your words. That’s precisely why it shouldn’t exist.”
They nodded, the use of their title instead of Epicrates’ usual terms of address sinking the weight of the sentence into them.
“I know. We’ll defeat Arthur, then destroy the tower.” They said, a sudden resoluteness in their voice. Epicrates couldn’t help but grin. The more the two of them talk, the more he finds similarities between the two of them.
“You looked rather sure just then, friend.”
“Oh.” The Sovereign took a moment. “Grow confident because I have to, hm? I suppose you could call it that.”
“You would be sacrificing your life.”
“It must be done. The greatest thing a sovereign could do for their people is to be the last.”
It’s strange, he realises. To hear such words coming out of someone else’s mouth, and to hear them be spoken with such determination. He’s never felt quite so understood. He smiled as a certain fondness tugged upon his heart. He never once doubted his mission. Even now, he doesn’t. But in none of those countless paths that he has seen, is there one where the Sovereign survives this. And while that doesn’t bring about regret, it does bring about a deep sorrow.
He’s a realistic person. He does not make wishes, nor dreams of utopias. He knows the price that must be paid for progress, for the betterment of humanity. But he lets himself ponder that dream for longer than he would’ve liked, a dream of a resolution where the Sovereign can survive.
He shoves it away to the back of his mind, and simply smiles fondly at the Sovereign.
“...You sound more like me each passing day.”
“I hope they name a cheese after me too. After I die and all.”
“...”
Epicrates looked at them in disbelief. This, he has not foreseen.
“Sovereign cheese. Has a nice ring to it- Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No, it’s… sure, it has a nice ring to it.” A small laugh came out of Epicrates. It was an unfamiliar sound even to his own ears, and the Sovereign seemed to treasure it. Like some secret that they’d be taking with them to the grave.
He’s unsure what’s more ironic. The fact that his only friend was the sovereign of the tower, or that they would be dying soon.
“Thanks for indulging me.” The Sovereign’s expression could not be seen, not under that mask, but it felt as if that light-hearted moment was slipping away quite fast and something heavy was taking its place.
“Epicrates.”
He’s not sure his name ever held as much weight.
“After I… After we use the golden key. Will you stay with me for a bit? I know it’s a selfish request. You’d want to be out there, helping in the chaos. Helping rebuild. But, I’m sure it won’t be long, and-”
It’s the first time he’s ever interrupted the Sovereign, he realises. But he feels the need to.
"Of course, my friend. They are not helpless without someone to guide them, you know this.”
“It’s an exceedingly selfish ask.”
“No. I’ll be there.”
That confidence was there, the Sovereign realised. The resoluteness that only showed when it related to his grand mission. They’re honoured to be among his priorities. The Sovereign held out their hand. Epicrates took it in his and shook.
The Sovereign smiled below their mask. He heard it in their voice.
“...Then, let’s be selfish for just a little longer. Go on, open your book. I’ve always wanted to read side by side with someone.”
The sun would set soon, and the spell would break. The moment would be gone. The Sovereign would sit up from the stairs, and Epicrates would be below them once more. They’ll go back to their paper-work and decision making with the knowledge that this destruction gives way to new creation. And Epicrates will do the same.
We both share the same ugliness, and we share the same beauty.