Vessiye's Study,
Vessiye Palace,
Jeruvael,
Illearia.

   Timore stood in the center of the room staring at his father intently. He was dressed in full United Countries' army uniform, complete with their white beret and the crest of the purple cross.

The four walls of the room were occupied with tall shelves filled with books.
The lighting was moderate, the room smelt of old books and wood polish.

The Vessiye sat in a black, leather chair with mahogany finishing, his arms propped up on a wide wood and cast iron table with its many drawers.
     
   "I was on a peace mission to Evarea, when I got the news of my brother's death."

     "I know. And for that I'm very sorry." Vessiye's tone was gentle and understanding.

   "How could you send him off to Aphighia? I know you didn't like him that much, but surely, you didn't want him dead!"

Vessiye stood up abruptly, pushing his chair backwards.

      "Timore! He was my son."

Timore lowered his eyes.

      "I'm sorry father. It's just...he shouldn't have died."

Vessiye came to rest a hand on his first son's shoulder.

         "I understand how you feel. And I will forever carry with me the guilt that unknowingly, I sent my own son to his death."

Timore looked up to meet his father's eyes. Vessiye continued.

      "We can at least take comfort in the fact that he died as a martyr."

                           ~