Journal 2

I walked into Lord Tremere’s room and prepared myself for a day at his bedside comforting him and cheering him as best as I could.

“Good morning, Mister,” I said with what I hoped was a carefree air as I entered his room.

He gave a small smile in recognition of my childhood name for him. “Good morning, Minta,” he said weakly.

“So, what shall we do today? Would you like for me to read to you again? Or would you rather lose at cards?” I continued the charade, hoping that by pretending everything was normal it would be.

“No, we have serious things to talk about, Minta. We both know I’m dying.”

“Of course not!” I lied. “You are only ill and will soon be better.”

He sighed. “I’m afraid not this time. I shall soon be gone, but I need you to do something for me. Would you grant this dying man’s wish?”

I didn’t trust myself to talk without crying or even look him in the eyes for that matter. I took one of his hands in both of my own and nodded at it.

“Minta, would you marry me?”

My head shot up and my tears were gone. I looked at his face, trying to find a hint of him joking, but there were none. “Marry you?”

“In name only of course. You are the only one that cares about Marowmeyn. If it goes to my brother’s family, it will be lost in a card game or sold to pay debts. I don’t want strangers living here. After I am gone, it will legally be yours.”

I could not think of a thing to say. I had given little thought as to the future of Marowmeyn. When Lord Tremere died, in my mind so would Marowmeyn. He was as much a part of it as the stones that held it up. I could not imagine Marowmeyn without its master. How could I care for it the way he wanted me to if he was not there?

I was still holding his hand, but my gaze was on the wall as I tried to digest this new information. I was jolted out of my thoughts when he asked, “Minta, will you do this for me?”

“Mister, need you ask?”