A Diary Entry - The old Duke

[kuerbis 3802]

✠ DOMINVS VOLVIT, SIC FACTVM EST ✠

 

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[!] 

A new entry had been made in the Crown Princesses personal diary. On this particular day, her handwriting appeared gloomy. The entry dates to a day after the Princess's father had passed away.  There was no chance for outsiders to stumble upon her writings, for they were well-hidden in the Crown Prince’s apartments in the imperial palace.

These pages would not become public knowledge until after her own death. 

 

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18th of Sun’s Smile 645;    Back when I was young, I rarely ever saw my father. In fact, sometimes I thought he hated me, for he preferred to spend his time at sea, away from his youngest children. Back then, the old Duke of Asturias was always a mystery to me. He spoke fondly to me on the rare occasions he was home, but there was always some distance between us; one, my mind simply could not grasp at such a tender age. He commanded every room he entered; and demanded well-earned respect. Father was a man with many secrets. I imagine he died with most of them. I wish I could’ve uncovered some more when he still drew breath.   Despite all his absences throughout my childhood, I grew up happy. When I was young, I had my sister and Marcus to keep me company, and the list of friends I had kept growing steadily. Every time father came home, I got to tell him about all the adventures I had, and he got to tell me about his. Of course I refused to admit it as a child, but he always had the better stories. Heaven knows if they were all true; if he withheld a detail or changed a detail or two, to impress his two youngest daughters. Life at sea had always seemed so intriguing to me. Sometimes, I wish him and my older brothers had taken me with them on their long voyages. The battles with pirates, the plundering, fighting off sea monsters, oh how thrilling these things sounded out of their mouths! Life at sea creates a certain kind of person. I imagine most sailors to be people with leathery skin and a sway in their step; people with outrageous charm. They are ruthless, in a way, but they would die for those they care about. That, at least, was the kind of person my father was. Hardened by salt and rum, but softened at the heart because of the great love he held for his family.   I was too young to properly remember my mother, but when my younger sister Antonia died, I believed something had died with him. It must’ve happened around my fifteenth year. Father was so grief-struck that he would leave for the sea once more, and I would not see him again, no matter how many times I wrote. Only upon my official engagement to Marcus, when I sent him the urgent note that the Emperor wanted to have a conversation with him about the marriage contract, did he, at last, return. This was, when I had turned eighteen. Back then, I was shocked to see how much he had aged in such a short time. Whereas I remembered his hair to be salt and pepper coloured before he left, it had turned almost entirely gray upon his return. His mustache was overgrown, his skin bore deeper lines than before, but I swear that his eyes looked more youthful than I could remember. He greeted me, as though no time had passed at all, and I must admit, the ire I had felt for him before he came home disappeared in an instant, once he bestowed upon me one of his rare, fatherly embraces.   It was during my early adulthood, I truly got to know him. Father insisted, I was better raised on land; and that someday, I would understand his reasons. Maids and Tutors tended to me before I became a ward to Emperor Tiberias at around the age of eight. To a child, of course it felt terribly unfair, to be left behind, though I must say, Tiberias took me in as one of his own and raised me as such. Only now, in my thirtieth year of life am I starting to begin to grasp all the things my father sacrificed throughout his life in order to give his children what he never had. My favourite story of his was the one he told me, when I was having my first son. He’d spend the months I was confined to my chambers with me, and ensured my wellbeing and comfort. He never spoke much about my mother until then, and I never dared to ask. Too great, I reckon, was the gap in his heart she left when she died. He told me about the many years they spent at sea before settling down and getting married. I suppose, the both of them never truly settled down after all. Mamá was only ten years my current senior when she died in a giant prawn attack, as my father said.    Sometimes I believe he, too, would’ve preferred to die young. If you die young, you are forever young in the minds and hearts of those who remember you, at the sacrifice of time. To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t want to sacrifice a single moment I spent in his presence. I am grateful, for the years I’ve known him, even if I never fully understood him. I am grateful he got to meet his grandchildren by me and by Joan and Marlon. He died knowing our House stands firmly on its two feet, with a secured future. He died doing what he loved, watching the sunset in a hammock on an island. Never again shall I meet a man quite like my father, but I shall live on with my chin raised up high, knowing that he now is exactly where he wanted to be; back home with Mamá.   [!] A sketch had been left in between the pages. It bore the initials of the Duke of Asturias; a worn pencil drawing of his daughter, Valentiná at a young age, alongside another ward of Emperor Tiberias.    Sketch by @Aeus