The Trouble with Tamaril

[M.E.A.T]

“And a good evening to you as well!” Marcus called out with a smile lined with humor and good intentions. Only once pleasantries were returned and the door was closed then sealed with a click of the lock did he let out a sigh. Finally he was given a reprieve from the hysteria of the day. Shaking his head, he walked over to his desk and sat in his chair with a creek and promptly slammed his head onto the solid wood. The pain that flared through his skull made him regret this decision immediately as he had been nurturing a headache most of the day. A low groan escaped from his lips and he placed his head in his hands.

By the Dead he was tired and that was not helped by the fact that he had spent the majority of the festival putting out fires. How had he never noticed that everyone in Meadowmere was insane? More importantly who in their right mind thought putting HIM in a position of authority was a good idea?! On any other normal day, he was the one starting the fires. He was a bigger threat to Meadowmere than most of their enemies. Everyone knew that. Why would anyone trust him to help with anything, let alone put their faith in him?

Marcus’ head only began to throb harder as time went on and he let out a frustrated growl at the pain. He didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter though. Gladius was out for blood and Raine was drunk. Not to mention dear old Simon had decided that today of all days was a good time to leave. So they had just left him to try and keep things from boiling over.

He rubbed at his temples as he tried to consider what to do. He had sworn an oath to protect Meadowmere, and as much as others may not buy it he was a man of his word. Or he was trying to be at the very least. Marcus started to chuckle; honestly it was quite funny in a way. The least qualified man for the job trying to protect people from themselves? That was like the blind trying to lead the blind. But this was his lot in life. He had promised Simon that he would protect Meadowmere and that was what he intended to do whether he was fit for the job or not.

Marcus stretched out his neck as he looked around his room. Weapons and letters were scattered all over. He picked up the one he had stolen from the Jernigan Archive and reread it. One more name on the list he needed to find. Laura Denali. He hoped she had more answers than Mic Lir had provided. Tossing the paper onto his desk, Marcus looked at his oldest remaining foe. His bed. He considered trying to sleep for a moment, but sleep never came easily anymore. Not since the Ferryman. So he simply stood and went to the door swinging it open. If he couldn’t sleep he could at least make better use of his time. They all knew he wasn’t fit to be a guard, but he could pretend. For his sake or theirs he wasn’t sure. But say one thing for Marcus Everan Ariquis Tamaril. Say he’s a liar. One thing he was good at. So he plastered on a smile lined with humor and good intentions and walked out of his room, waving out to the first person he saw. “Good evening! Would you care to get a drink?”

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