Maddox placed his sword upon the desk. "It was an honor serving you, Your Majesty," he said somberly, "but my days being in the military are over."
King Vincent studied Maddox in silence, his gaze hard. "Lord Marshal Fowler. Do you know how hard it was for your grandfather to get you that title?"
"No, Sire." Maddox stood stiffly, his heart pounding. It had taken days to gather the courage to resign his position, an inner battle which he had finally won. But, even as his knees trembled in concern, his back was straight with certainty. Even the least perceptive of people could see that this division had not been made on a whim.
Vincent sighed, and swept aside papers and pens. Maddox's sword, gleaming with power, sat alone, the centerpiece for this feast of responsibility. "Of course you don't," he said dryly. "Even I fail to comprehend the lengths he went to so as to promote you. So, then," he inquired, "what's the purpose of resigning, then? Is your intention to prove your grandfather a fool?"
"My grandfather was a corrupted man," Maddox snapped, "but he certainly was no fool!" The fire in his eyes was quick to burn out, however, the fuel for his irritation consumed in mere moments. He continued, this time hoarsely and impassionately. "Rather, it is I who am the fool. I took on the role with hardly a thought. I have served far too long under false pretenses."
"But remind yourself, Maddox: these past ten years have not been vainly spent. You have led well."
"Perhaps I have," Maddox replied, matching the king's soothing tone with bitterness, "but could I not have served well by normal means, as well?" Vincent frowned. "Could I not have served well if I came to the position without the bribery and the pulled strings?"
"I understand your misgivings," the king began. "Trust me; I do. You are an honest man amongst scoundrels." As hard as he tried to seem sympathetic and compassionate, there was still a disconnect between toughened ruler and caring friend. "But what does it matter? What's done is done. You've polished a corrupted position and done far better than anyone could have anticipated."
There was a mournful gleam in Maddox's eyes, the death of a dream like a star shining within them. "It's not just the corruption which weighs me down, Sire. It's the loss of life, as well."
Vincent slide the sword back to Maddox. "It's the circle of life, Fowler. Especially in conflict. People die."
Maddox shook his head, rejecting it. "No."
"Take back your sword. The honor you've received is the honor you deserve."
"No! I cannot. Too many innocent people have fallen by that blade." His voice lost its danger, though it continued to hold no lack of conviction. "If I could, I'd cut off my own hand to separate myself from the cycle of death."
There was no humor in Maddox's words, but Vincent still derived some perverse mirth from them. He chuckled darkly and leaned back in his seat. Just like everything else in his life, even the wood of his chair gleamed richly. "If you're worried about breeding evil, then you cannot blame the sword, nor can you justify condemning your hand."
Grimly, Maddox nodded. "I know."
"So?"
Perhaps it was just a trick of the light, a trick played by playfully clinging shadows, but Maddox's countenance was haggard. "So I stand by my decision. Though a blade does not embody bad deeds, it's still safer to separate myself from the problem than to test the Heavens." His lips twitched up in a rueful smile. "A drunk who wants to fix up their life doesn't embrace alcohol. Instead, they guard against it, hoping to change for the better through separation."
The look in Vincent's eyes displayed his displeasure, but also an intense, rising desperation. "Maddox, we've known each other for a good amount of years," he started as he stood, his voice a severe rumbling of frustrated thunder. "And I know you well enough." He walked around the desk, each step slow and measured. "Well enough to know that you're valuable." He stopped beside Maddox. "If you want something, then just tell me."
Maddox drew his hands behind his back, left hand gripping right wrist tightly. "You know what I want. I've made my decision. My mind is made."
The king breathed in, a long, deep breath. "Then let me entice you to have a change of heart, at the very least."
Maddox listened as Vincent petitioned, then walked out of the room with both an agreement and a new title. He no would no longer lead an army, but he would still be doing an army's job. Still, it sounded like a pretty good deal, and he could feel a measure of hope filling him for the future.
He tested out the title, and the shadow over his heart diminished ever so slightly. Lord High Steward Fowler: manager of the royal household; royal babysitter.