[hr][hr][h1][center][color=darkgray]Lucivar DeLuxor[/color][/center][/h1]
[h2][center][color=darkgray][u]Dene Nehel[/u][/color][/center][/h2][hr][hr]

The hours droned by as Lucivar sat behind his desk in his solar going over paperwork and signing various committee forms. It was mindless work as he went through and skimmed over them before signing off whatever someone had asked, or some new preparations for this or that. It was all the same and it gave him time to think and focus on his past. Something that had been bothering him ever since he woke up without a trace of who he was and how he'd woken up so injured. There was nothing beyond that memory, a few glimpses here and there would come up now and again, but they would disappear before he could snatch at them and peer through their windows as if teasing him over and over.

The healers said it was some sort of protection his mind had conjured, splitting off his memory and locking it away because it was too horrible. But that only made him more curious about who he was. What horrors happened to him that his mind saw fit to completely lock it away. And more, wasn't his mind [i]his[/i]? How was it that his mind could decide what and what not to show him? Another question that burned within him ever since he arrived in the city. He'd tried many things and many methods to try and open unlock his memories, went to the various healers around Dene Nehel trying to find anything at all to heal it or perhaps even find some answers, but all ended in failure.

Were it not for his responsibilities as the Warlord Prince of the territory, he would have put all of his time in researching the mind. That was the key. His mind. It locked away his memories, tossed the keys, and refused to give it back. And the most frustrating thing about it was that he didn't understand it, very few people did and the healers were useless in giving him answers, alas. A strange thing the mind, the way it could talk back like a little voice in the head, speaking and producing language, images, and scents. He wanted to understand how it all worked, what made it tick. Perhaps from there he could learn how to produce his memories and bring back who he is. But there was that fear still, that little gnaw in the back of his mind that whispered doubts. What if he didn't like what he found?

His mind locked it away for a reason, did it not? His curiosity demanded he find out what was underneath the lid, but his rationality said finding out might not exactly be to his benefit. Might even make him a worse person than he was now. But was this who he was? Was this Lucivar only a version of himself [i]because[/i] of his lost memories, and if he gained them back would he turn into something else? Worse perhaps or better still? A curious thought and one that frightened him. Alas, he knows his name isn't his own, that it was given to him and he stuck to it because there was nothing else with which to identify him. Lucivar, and yet he wasn't Lucivar. 

[i]Fuck. Look at me. I'm going mad.[/i]

He leaned back on his chair and wiped a hand over his face. A knock came at his door and he saw Andressa standing there. "A messenger is here to see you."

He blinked confusedly for a moment before he sat up straight, a smiling curling on his lips, clearing his mind of their worries. [color=darkgray]"Of course,[/color] he said. [color=darkgray]"Send him in.[/color]

The letter was quaint and short. Direct. At least the Queen didn't suffer him with vague nonsense, the poor girl. Overwhelmed and burdened, which was what had drawn him to her in the first place. To offer her his help and in some ways he had. He was almost sure without him this territory would have fallen far sooner to Dorothea's influence, but even he could not stave off the inevitable forever. He stood with a grunt and walked out of his rooms and across the hall, a small smile touching his lips as he knocked on the Queen's door. [i]This at least will be an interesting diversion.[/i]