Maegon had seen plenty of death in his time, but it had always seemed somehow abstract and detached before. Even though he was capable of mustering compassion for the suffering from his heart, it was always compassion without real empathy. He could not really feel the loss of a child or a loved one succumbing to an illness that could not be cured. Of course he tried all he could to help the dying, but they were never a part of himself. People died all the time. He had seen it all too often.
Martun’s death had touched him more than any other death he had witnessed before.
It was not just the sight of his dead body, face forever distorted in a ghastly grimace of horror. It was not because he had known the man and sheltered him under the roof of the Hall of the Gentle Hand. No, what he felt was guilt because Martun’s death did not evoke true sorrow in him. Instead he felt relieved, because Martun had tried to prevent Romenstar from performing his magic healing sessions in the atrium, the sessions that had attracted so much visitors to the Hall of the Gentle Hand and filled the coffers with coin.
Now Martun was dead, and Maegon could only feel relieved. It saddened him to realize how little mercy he had left in his heart. Somewhere along the way he had lost his compassion and humanity.
Soon after Martun’s funeral the Hall of the Gentle Hand had again opened it’s doors for the ever growing crowds of sick people outside. Maegon felt pity for Romenstar who seemed so upset by it all. The crowds, Martun’s death and this strange realm he was now living in seemed to utterly confuse Romenstar.
But the healings continued. Sick people regained their health, cripples could walk again, the blind could see again, lost ears and fingers were restored. Every time Maegon thought he had seen it all, Romenstar surprised him with even more miraculous spectacles.
A new day was dawning, and it began again. An enormous, moaning crowd surged into the Hall of the Gentle Hand, gathering into the atrium around the pool, filling the atrium and the corridor to the brim. There was no room for every visitor to enter at the same time anymore.
This is for the good of the Hall of the Gentle Hand, Maegon tried to assure himself, but his conscience whispered back that it was more to do with greed and hubris.
But something was wrong. The crowd was waiting, but there was no sign of Romenstar. Where was the Blue Wizard? Everyone was waiting. The crowd was getting impatient.
Getting nervous, Maegon slipped through a doorway behind the atrium and walked along the dimly lit corridors to Romenstar’s room. He knocked on the door. There was no answer. Maegon frowned and tried the handle. The door was not locked. It opened into a small chamber where Romenstar was lying under the covers in his small bed, eyes closed, breathing faintly. His blue robes and conical hat lied on the floor next to the bed.
”What’s wrong, Romenstar?” Maegon asked.
”I feel so weak, so weak… where is Morinehtar? I need my friend.” The white-haired man rolled to his side under the blanket, opened his eyes and stared at the floor. ”I can’t come to the atrium today. The darkness, the darkness is devouring me…” His voice died.
He really looks pale, Maegon thought, startled.
”Are you sure you don’t need anything?”
”Yes, I… there’s nothing wrong with me, it’s just… the darkness…” He was unable to complete his sentence again. It had happened before, during a healing session a few days ago. Romenstar’s voice had just died and he had been unable to perform the spells that day. It had happened many times in the last few days during their discussions over dinners. Romenstar seemed to get weaker every day.
”Everything is all right”, Maegon said gently, finally understanding. At last he could understand all the suffering that had been accumulating into Romenstar for two thousand years, all the suffering that weighed him down. As the feeling of empathy slowly filled Maegon's heart with real, physical pain, he could finally understand. ”Everything is all right. Rest now, dear Romenstar.”
”You are too kind”, Romenstar said, lifting his gaze and looking at Maegon with his bright blue eyes, smiling faintly.
”Not at all”, Maegon said, but Romenstar had already closed his eyes. Maegon took a few steps closer to the bed, alarmed, but Romenstar was not dead. He was breathing, but he was in a deep sleep.
Maegon’s eyes fell on the blue robes, conical hat and the staff of gnarled wood lying on the floor. The crowd was still waiting in the atrium. He had listened to Romenstar’s spells so many times he could recite the words himself now, even though he did not understand their meaning. Was Romenstar’s power in the words, in the staff or in the man himself?
What if Maegon could be the Blue Wizard of Imloth Melui himself? Just for one day. What if he could heal the sick, what if he could perform miracles and magic spells? What if he could really heal people, give the blind their sight, give the mute their voice? Just this one time.
Maegon looked at Romenstar, but the old man was in a deep slumber. He touched his forehead, but Romenstar would not move. He stripped down his clothes and picked up Romenstar’s blue robes and conical hat. He looked at the old man as he put on his clothes, but Romenstar would not awake.
Finally he touched the staff of gnarled wood, but did not feel any surge of power from it. It felt like a wooden staff, and nothing more. He glanced at Romenstar, but the old man would still not stir from his slumber.
Maegon left the room quietly, leaning on the staff, imitating Romenstar’s fumbling steps as he walked along the corridor towards the atrium. Maegon, the Blue Wizard of Imloth Melui!
Before he reached the atrium, a man dressed in a dark gray cloak emerged from behind a column behind him, clasped his left hand on Maegon’s mouth and stabbed him in the chest multiple times with a dagger he was grasping in his right.
