If serving others were deemed a heroic act, then Cecil would undoubtedly stand as the epitome of gallantry. His servile demeanor comes with captivating dramatic flair, drawing all those around him into his charismatic presence. Yet, behind his polished facade, I perceive an adept manipulator, full of cunning, deftly maneuvering to advance his own status.
Danan. The Third Great Age. 3031.
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Slumber and reality converge as Danan awakens from his inertia with a drawn-out grunt, squinting through sticky eyes bound like balls of clay. Danan props himself up, reclining on his elbows, and takes a deep, waking breath.
The bright morning sun shines into the huge bed chamber. His mouth is sticky, and his throat is drier than ash. Danan's mind searches through thick clouds of mental fog. The warm air is rich and laden with the smell of heady musk and rich spices. Bees hum, and peacocks scream. The faint sound of tremendous applause echoes in the distance. Wood beats down on hard stone with a loud, rhythmic knock.
Danan's senses return, and his vision swims in a sea of yellow orbs. The tiny specs of light dance and play like snowflakes in the breeze. His headaches with a dull ringing in his ears.
A low and muffled voice calls in his hollowed world. "Good afternoon, sir. It's a very welcome sight to see you awake. I thought you may sleep for a great age."
Danan's ears squeak and pop open as he coughs. He rubs vicious circles over his heavy eyes with a furious repetition of blinks.
"Thank you," Danan mumbles through clotted lips. "Where am I?" His vision swims amidst the bright sunlight pouring through the open windows, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow across the opulent room. Disoriented, he rubs his temples to ease his throbbing headache.
"Forgive me, sir. I forgot my manners," the high-pitched voice pipes up again. "I am Cecil, and you are on the estate of Lord Varesh. You've been sleeping for no less than six turns of the sun."
Danan takes in the grandeur of his bedchamber for the first time. Nestled within a soft cloud of pristine white bed linen, Danan marvels at the grandeur of his surroundings in an enormous, vaulted bedchamber adorned in lustrous white. The straight, polished walls ascend to a lavish stuccoed ceiling layered with opulent ivory and gold. Fine frescoes decorate the walls above an intricate mosaic floor. The immaculate space features exquisite hand-carved wooden furniture throughout. A large, round polished table with two long, sweeping legs stands at the center of the room. An open cabinet houses a small collection of strange yet beautiful fossils of exotic birds and beasts, suspended in time. Curious statues stand in alcoves, and great gleaming marble columns support majestic archways connected with joining doors.
"I've tended to you day and night, sir," the youth says, perched on a luxurious sleigh sofa at the end of Danan's imposing bed.
Cecil's face is pale and austere, his high cheekbones holding a tight, pretentious smile. "Is the chamber to your liking, sir?" The youth flashes a cheshire grin of clenched white teeth. A pair of neat, plucked, and elegant eyebrows rise in curiosity above a polished brow with perfect, side-parted, slick black hair. Cecil dons a rehearsed smile, clasping his hands in prayer and tapping his nimble fingertips together. "I dare say this is a little more comfortable than your former quarters."
Danan tugs at clumps of ruffled hair and gawks like a fish in a bowl as he searches for words, adrift in a sea of formality. "The One and Lord Varesh have been most gracious, sir."
"I am no sir," Cecil announces, then stands with a sudden bound, clicking his polished heels together with an elaborate knock. He raises his head high on his gangly neck. Cecil polishes his nails, and his words drip with condescension, each syllable meticulously pronounced. "I am a mere servant of our lord, his personal aide." Cecil peers down at Danan over his hawkish nose, smoothing down his tailored yellow silk robe with white trousers that cling to his toothpick legs. "Lord Varesh has impeccable taste, sir. His love for freedom and harmony is clear throughout his estate. Each room is meticulously decorated with a distinct purpose," Cecil boasts, gesturing around the opulent chamber with a smug grin.
Danan's gaze drifts around the opulent room, searching for anything familiar in his bewildering new reality. He runs his hands over the white bedding, soft as snow and warm as summer. Heavy red velvet curtains hang from his grand four-poster canopy bed. A silver jug of water and a small vial of thin black liquid rest on the bedside table.
"Allow me, sir. This is where you will fulfill your household duties," Cecil gestures with self-importance, performing a flourish with his hands. He points to a wooden writing desk beneath an open bay window. An elaborate, soft-cushioned desk chair overlooks an orchard swimming in honied sunlight, its trees laden with bright baubles of citrus fruits. Birds sing, bees hum, and the breeze rustles through the leaves. Cecil awaits Danan's praise or recognition.
Danan struggles to find words amidst the mental swell. "Thank The One." His voice wavers with the weight of formality.
"Excellent, sir," chirps Cecil in mock politeness. "I am here to ensure your utmost comfort. These chambers shall be yours for as long as you are a welcome guest." Cecil pirouettes, arms open wide in a grand display. "I replaced your robes. Your new attire hangs in your parlor. You shall wear the household's black robes." The servant gestures towards a high, arched doorway on the far side of the room. "I took the liberty of drawing you a bath; the water should still be hot." Cecil sneers, sniffing the air. He wrinkles his nose at Danan's stench.
Danan mumbles something unintelligible.
Cecil stands tall and straight, shoulders back, head held high, with a lofty grin most people would want to punch. "I shall leave you to bathe and dress for dinner. You will find everything you need in the parlor. Attempt to look presentable."
The overly-earnest servant points to the bedside table. "Lord Varesh has prepared a restorative tonic for you. The taste may be a little bitter, but it will revive you from your lethargy. I dare say it can even revive the dead." Cecil's right foot taps on the floor like a ticking clock of polished leather. "Drink up, sir."
Danan glances at the small, tapered vial filled with black liquid. He picks it up, gives it a quick sniff, and wrinkles his nose as he casts an uncertain look at the servant. After a moment's hesitation, he tips the black liquid into his parched mouth and gulps it down in a single chug. The thin, black liquid erupts in a fit of coughs and splutters. Black spittle sprays onto the pure white bedding, and coffee-colored drool runs from his grimacing mouth. "Forgive me," splutters Danan, chewing on an imaginary morsel of food. He grabs a cup of water and guzzles it down, washing away the bitter taste.
Cecil frowns in airy disapproval. "It's an unfamiliar and rare taste. The tonic is made from a unique seed harvested beyond the Winter Isles. Its extraction is a laborious process, involving a lengthy brewing method. To some, including King Adal, its restorative properties are worth more than gold." Cecil performs an over-elaborate bow. "I shall return in due time, sir. In the meantime, I will request more hot water. The main house serves dinner at nightfall. I dare say you must be rather peckish. Lord Varesh will offer a small selection of his favorite dishes." The gallant servant turns on his heels with a resounding click and struts out of the bedchamber, his head jutting back and forth like a proud peacock.
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Danan rests, basking in the cooling breeze that wafts through the window. He sinks back into his bed, as soft as puffy clouds. Time slows, and life returns as the bitter elixir breathes vitality into his dormant being. He sniffs himself, screwing up his face in distaste. He slides off the bed, and the room seems to spin as his unsteady legs struggle to support his weight.
Danan takes hesitant steps, stumbling over the unfamiliar patterns of the mosaic floor, swaying like a drunk as he pads across the sun-warmed tiles. He stumbles into a bathing room as opulent as the bedchamber, where a giant sunken marble spa bath steams in the room's center.
Danan steps into the marble bath, watching his own reflection. He eases himself in, limb by limb, from toe to neck, until the piping hot water laps over his entire body. He moans with pleasure as the deep heat unwinds his fatigue. The delicate aromas of botanical salts permeate his senses, and time flickers away in the dreamy candlelight. He takes a deep breath and plunges underwater. He opens his eyes, and through the golden glow of rippling water, another face peers down at him. Danan resurfaces in a frantic splash of flailing limbs and sloshing water.
A young scullery maid glances anywhere but Danan's nudity. Rosy-cheeked, the maid pours two large pails of steaming water into the bath and stifles a giggle in the growing silence.
Danan, having spent his life living amongst only men, loses himself in the new anomaly. A woman. He explores every inch of her being. His searching eyes linger on her soft bumps, her shimmering golden hair, and her delicate, dimpled cheeks. There's a stirring in the water, and his hands plunge down to cup his rising sin. The housemaid leaves with quick footsteps, holding in a mouthful of giggles. She leaves Danan to bathe in his sin.
The first of many revelations; the sight of a woman.
Danan finishes his bath and explores the parlor room. He hesitates before the grand parlor mirror, coming to an abrupt stop. The man, unrecognizable to the staring onlooker. His eyes bulge at the surprise of self-recognition. His frame is solid and lean, yet bruised black and blue from his fall. Danan runs his fingers through dark strands of long, wavy hair. He has thick brows, a knotted beard, and a hedgerow mustache that is thick and overgrown. His fingertips trace down the angular lines of his stoic face and his small nose. His flat smile is tight-lipped and harder than he could have imagined.
The second revelation; his own reflection.
A small knife with two sharp blades designed for cutting lies on the parlor table alongside a single-bladed knife. The act of grooming is a trial of uncertainty, marked by cautious snips and hesitant glances at his reflection. A new world reveals itself as Danan loses himself in self-exploration. He trims his bushy beard and mustache with awkward cuts. He uses the razor-sharp silver blade to clean shave his jawline, nicking himself as he shaves with cumbersome swipes. His hair comes well-groomed and combed back after a wild dance of haphazard clicks and snips. Danan opens and sniffs at scented oils in vials. His fingers hover over the vials before he tentatively selects one, his choices guided by chance. Some vials hold light-colored milk that is smooth on the skin. He applies oils to the wrong places and brushes skin creams through his hair.
Danan's new silk robes hang from a tall wooden rack. His fingertips dance over silk as delicate as petals. He slips on the unfamiliar silk robe, the fine fabric sliding like air over his skin as he fumbles with the robe's collar. Soft leather sandals replace his old calf-skin shoes.
The mysterious ball of yellow cloth sits untouched on a small wooden shelf. Danan tucks the ball into a pocket on the inside of his robe and wanders from the parlor into the main bedchamber as if lost in a dream.
"Good evening, sir." Cecil bounds into the bedchamber with energetic, leaping strides. "You scrub up rather well, sir." Cecil stands face-to-face with Danan, both men standing at equal height. He adjusts Danan's robes with fastidious care. "There. That's as good as we will get. A little more time with more considered grooming will make you a holy gentleman." He brushes imaginary dust off Danan's shoulders and pins a silver brooch, featuring The Great Eye of The One in the center of a rose, onto Danan's silk robe. "Best not keep our lord waiting. He's rather hungry."
Danan's own hunger is not forgotten; his stomach somersaults and twists into a tight, hollow knot. He follows Cecil out of the bedchamber and into the estate courtyard. He looks up into the breathtaking night sky, where spiraling arms of lucid starlight splatter across the void. The courtyard's fountains bubble with sparkling torrents, the droplets falling like precious glassy stones. The washing breeze enchants his senses with jasmine, musk, and heady lavender. Danan comes to an abrupt stop, spellbound by the beauty of the garden. The evening breeze rustles through brilliant green leaves. The garden sings its enchanting melody as luminous fireflies dance to the chirping of cicadas. Lanterns illuminate the shaded, stony pathways. Brooks bubble, streaming with soft and clear waters. The creeks pool into watery mirrors, reflecting the luminous heavens.
The third revelation is that his new world is beautiful.
"Do come on." Cecil marches through the garden, leading Danan to a large, double-story villa. Golden light seeps through the villa's closed wooden shutters, and the smell of burning fruitwood wafts in the air.
"This is where I leave you, sir." Cecil turns on his heels and prances back into the depths of the dreamy night.
Danan stands, uncertain, before an open double doorway.
"Don't just stand there. Come in." An authoritative command beckons Danan to step into the light.