[center][h2][b]A Poisoned Fruit[/b][/h2][/center]

“Ah, there you are.  You know they’ll be wanting you soon Prince Stavin.”

The young man glanced back to scowl at the gardener who’d found him.  He stood up from his position, sat on an overturned vase in the courtyard garden, and turned to face the elderly groundskeeper.  “I won't stand the humiliation of it,” He complained, “For them to accept [i]him[/i] into their circle and ask me to stand there and watch?  I won’t stand it.  I’m not going and if they’re sending [i]you[/i] then they know I can’t be made to.”

“Hah!” The old man chuckled, “They don’t send me to do anything but water the trees and bushes, my prince.  I’d just thought to let you know the house servants are looking for you.  They’ll check my garden sooner or later, even if you’ve never taken the time to visit before.  Not everyone’s forgotten this place, you know.”

Stavin colored, his tan face flushing from the embarrassment.  All of seventeen years old, the boy, or man as he insisted on being called of late, coughed into his hand and croaked out an apology, “I- Uh, sorry.  I didn’t mean the offense.  Thank you, for telling me they’re looking, but I stand by what I said.  I won’t go.”

“Then don’t.” The old gardener shrugged and found his own vase to turn into an impromptu seat.  He motioned for the prince to return to his seat and went on, “But be sure you know why you’re not going.  When you’re as old as me, and your bones can’t even bear their own weight for long, you’ll begin to realize a lot of the things you did in life you did without much thought.  You’ll wish you’d lived for a reason, acted with a purpose, instead of just reacting to everything that came your way.”

“I know why I’m not going!” The young prince retorted, irritable once more, “They’re giving a bastard a place in the circle of Patriarchs.  A [i]bastard[/i].”

“Your brother.” The gardener observed.

“My nothing.” Stavin’s voice shook,  “I have nothing to do with that worm.  That parasite.  How dare they elevate him, how dare [i]he[/i].  My own father.”

“They say your parasite won a battle at sea.  The circle has long honored those who’ve defended it.” The old man scratched at his head and paused before adding, “Or so I’ve heard.”

“A battle at sea?  More like he butchered a gaggle of apostate fishermen!” Stavin spat, “Father is elevating him because he loves the reminder of his dead idiot mistress more than his own trueborn son.  It’s beyond insulting.”

The old gardener nodded.  He eyed Stavin carefully, and when he spoke it was with a seriousness that caught the prince off guard, “So you refuse to bear the insult and let everyone know what you think.  Reacting, young prince.  That’s all you’re doing, and you don’t even realize it.”

“Of course I’m reacting!  What am I supposed to do, go and witness my own father put that scum before me?  Like some sort of whipped animal?” Stavin said bitterly. 

“If that’s what it takes to get what you want.” The old man met the young prince's eyes and held them with a cool intensity, “Because that’s what this is about, young prince.  What you want.  You’re furious because you were denied it, but instead of rededicating yourself to it you’ve given up.  Decided to react.”

Stavin hesitated and looked at the groundskeeper meaningfully, “Why are you telling me this?  What you're saying is dangerous old man.”

“Dangerous?” He questioned the young prince, “What’s dangerous about a rightful son claiming what’s his?  Or do you mean to tell me you think your parasite should take everything from you without any effort beyond withstanding your temper tantrum?”

Stavin’s face reddened, but he held his tongue and his anger at the accusation.  He wasn’t totally lacking in self awareness, and it was perilous business to deny throwing a tantrum while hiding in a garden with a commoner.  He nodded slowly, but his resolve quickly faded and he spoke with no small measure of despondency, “It doesn't matter what I do.  Father will elevate that worm, and I’ll lose everything to him.  It doesn’t matter if I go or stay here.”

“Maybe.” The gardener agreed,  “Or maybe you’ve blundered your way into an opportunity.  Not everyone scorns this courtyard my Prince.  The plants hear things.  Their tenders remember.”

Stavin stood up suddenly, both furious and excited at the realization, “You’ve been spying on my father?  My brother?””

With a chuckle the old man shook his head.  He gestured to a creeping vine, covered in little black berries, that curled around the overturn vase he sat on as he spoke, “I wasn’t being metaphorical, Prince Stavin.  It’s not a well known secret, but the plants [i]can[/i] hear.  Some of them.  It’s a new magic, or maybe an old one.  Were you to take the berries from that vine and boil them into, what I’ll admit is a rather acrid tea, you’ll come to understand what I mean.  The plant remembers, and men can too.  If they know how.”

“I didn’t know you were a mage.”  Stavin said, looking dubious.

“Hah!  A mage.  No, just a curious gardener with a penchant for trying new things.  You don’t need to believe me, my prince, but the truth remains.”  The groundskeeper pulled a little sack off his waist and offered it up as he spoke, “You might find what these berries remember interesting.  Do boil them, though.  The fruit, I’ve found, has a deeply unpleasant effect without that step.”

The young prince eyed the sack for what seemed like an eternity.  Only seconds passed.  On some level the prince knew the old man's words were true, and it was there that he feared for what he might learn.  Perhaps in another life, if he were a different person, an older or a wiser one, then he might have refused the offer.

Instead, he snatched the bag and hid it under his robes.  He nodded, curtly, and spoke in a clipped tone, “The ceremony will be starting soon.  They’ll be expecting me.”

“I imagine so,” The gardener fixed him with a little smile, “You mustn't be late, if you don’t wish for them to suspect anything.”

For a moment Stavin wondered what he’d done.  What he would do.  In the end, it didn’t matter.  The gardener could have been anyone, in his heart Stavin knew he could not have lived with the embarrassment of doing nothing.  Of not trying.

He would not resign himself to reaction. 

[hider=summary]
Prince Stavin of Asa Marussa, Exile City of the North, is hiding from a ceremony honoring his bastard brother.  Humiliated by the thought of being snubbed for a greater role in favor of a bastard, Stavin hides in the courtyard garden so that he needn't attend the ceremony for his brother.  The Gardener finds him, and they speak.  Eventually the Gardener reveals the Whispering Weeds to him.[/hider]
[hider=mp summary]

-2DP: Whispering Weeds

These seemingly innocuous plants grow in the darkened corners of the world, thriving in shade but tolerating sun when needed. They come in a sundry of shapes and sizes, but all produce little black berries filled with a noxious smelling resin. 

To those in the know, this resin is key to the truth of all Whispering Weeds. If the berries are boiled the resin within thins and sweetens, eventually becoming a slightly bitter but wholly palatable syrup.  Brewing a tea with this syrup will induce auditory hallucinations, specially echos of secrets and confessions uttered in the Weeds presence.[/hider]