He sat the tankard on the desk, fitting in neatly in the ring of erosion that came from years of spending long hours pouring over reports and missives.
The light of the fire dimmed as the remaining logs crackled and hissed. Alistair sighed.
How long had it been exactly? Twelve years? Thirteen? The flooded together in his mind, each day leading mindlessly into the next.
He knew when he accepted to role of king that it would be hard, but he did not expect opposition from every corner.
The constant dissonance from the lords plagued him everyday and every decision he made only served to anger them further.
He thought smiling. They wanted a puppet, but he would not allow himself to be controlled.
There had been a time in his life when he gladly played the follower, tried to please everyone and allowed himself to be tugged about on a string.
It had been her who told him to stand up for himself, who made him realize that the world is full of people who would take advantage of his good nature.
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