“How is defeat defined, Jarvis?” mumbled the King, Garzo, struggling to articulate under a heavy state of inebriation. He was priming his loyal cup-bearer, Jarvis Kriggs, during the closing hours of an exuberant night of profligate drinking and incessant celebration consecrated to a recent victory marking the end of a long war.

Annoyed, tired, but always benevolent, the sober Jarvis replied “Defeat?  Defeat is when one lies exhausted atop the ashes of a destroyed arsenal of hope and strategy, with nothing but the pure sensation of loss and discomfort left to champion. Defeat is that moment of realization, that bitter moment of realization that there is nothing more, defined by that familiar anticipation of impending doom that is no longer anticipation but a dense reality that has rested upon your scarred and weak shoulders.’’

Suddenly lucid after hearing his cup-bearers response, the king dismissed the conversation and pursued the familiar state of drunkenness that assuaged his concerns, being that the words of his servant evidently made him uncomfortable. In between his short, rapid quaffs, the King uttered, 'Well, i'm glad to finally relieve you of your duties, Jarvis. It is time for me to surrender to the forever looming night.”

"Blessed you, sir" said Jarvis, before promptly exiting the King's personal dining area.               

He left to the resonating sound of violent vomiting and proceeded through the eerily empty halls of the castle that just hours ago were overwhelmed with joyous festivities. Jarvis was a loyal servant of an extremely powerful and feared King, King Garzo. The King was a fervent drinker and lived a lavish lifestyle and was in the process of expanding his empire, reaping and subsequently exerting copious amounts of public resources to satisfy his war efforts. He had much success convincing his constituents that their arduous work to support the war was to preserve a healthy and prosperous kingdom now and for posterity. But Jarvis knew that the real front existed within the depths of the King’s mind; a personal struggle to establish a legacy similar to that of his venerated father, King Audric, whom he succeeded upon his sudden death.  Audric forged the Kingdom and maintained a terrific popularity amongst his people. Garzo, who lacked many of his father's valuable attributes,  would not submit to the unmistakable reality that he simply couldn’t ascend to the epic stature of his deceased father. And on that very front that Jarvis knew existed,  the King was invaded by seemingly inexorable sober thoughts of questionable greatness in the eyes of his people, that scratched and clawed from within the confines of his unhealthy disposition, yielding only to an excessive dependence on the mechanisms of a numbing foreign substance that humorously made the King appear more like a vulnerable, disposable pawn.

Jarvis continued through the empty streets of [capitol city], accompanied only by the belligerent voices of       wh**es and their pimps, walking steadily to his home.

He lived with his beloved grandmother, Rae , who raised him alone. His father was a noble warrior who fought and eventually died for Wintrop under Audric’s reign. His father’s chivalry warranted the assurance that Jarvis would be readily supported by the Empire, eventually allowing him to become Garzo’s cup-bearer once he reached the appropriate age.  He was relatively tall, bearing a stout pointy chin and placid blue eyes.  His grandmother enjoyed the similarities he held with his father.

Jarvis had finally arrived at his home, and upon entering his complexion changed immediately. The sight of his Grandmother inspired a renewed sense well-being and joy.

“Jarvush?” a wispy quiet, voice asked from a wooden chair.

Jarvis promptly responded, “Grandmother!” he placed his cold hands on her forehead, “Oh how I’ve missed you immensely.”

The quiet voice became abruptly hostile, “You’ve had me incredibly concerned, Jarvush!” she directed her stern, blanched countenance directly at the flummoxed Jarvis, “It’s been nearly a whole day cycle since I saw you last. You’ve had me incredibly concerned. You know how I feel about you being gone for prolonged periods of time!”

Jarvis’ complexion wavered once again, “Grandmother, I told you about the festivities! It was to be the busiest day cycle in many years!” He tentatively kneeled next to his Grandmother “I’ll be omitting the tomorrow-day at the castle from my priorities. I will alert Garzo and remain here to help with the livestock and crops.” He rose from his knees and spoke with replenished confidence, “How does that sound, Grandmother?”

“I just want you to be safe.” she said. “When you’re with him for that long it gets me quite concerned.” she said with a sincere undertone, glaring sharply at the fluctuating complexions of her exhausted grandson.

Jarvis spun the conversation, “We have a quota to meet tomorrow. He’s increasing the war efforts. These recent victories are challenging his confidence, and we must assist in supporting the noble men on the front lines before he becomes dangerously consumed by hubris. He will be delighted by our contributions, and there will be no incident with me staying here tomorrow. Get some rest, and good night my dear Grandmother.”

“Goodnight, Jarvis.” Rae said, floating the words across the room atop a gasp of relief.

“And please water the thistles”.

Rae was the mother of Jarvis’ father. Upon his death she felt obligated to intervene and raise Jarvis, and she did just that providing Jarvis with the only genuine sense of belonging he would ever come to know. She provided Jarvis with wisdom he proudly wielded throughout his life, and equipped him with the necessary skills to survive in such an unforgiving environment. To Jarvis, his relationship with his Grandmother was both his greatest strength and greatest weakness.

He watered the thistle plants and walked to his sleeping quarters thinking very fervidly about the circumstances bounded to his life. He was deeply worried about the King and his volatile tendencies, deeply worried about his ostensibly senile grandmother, deeply worried about a world without the one individual who reciprocated love and a sense of belonging. He was unable to sleep, anchored in lucid awareness by his plethora of worries.

During the nascent hours of the next day, Jarvis was engaged in a  staring contest with a crack in the ceiling above his bed, only to have it  interrupted by the sound of repetitious knocking on the front door.  Walking passed his sleeping grandmother and the damp pedals of the thistle he watered before attempting to sleep, he approached the door and discovered the King standing imperiously next to a carriage recessed on the far side of the street in front of Jarvis’ house. Jarvis approached the carriage reluctantly, following the distinct smile of the King along the red velvet lining of the exterior.

“Jarvis!” King Garzo shouted loudly, rapidly approaching Jarvis “What is your reason for not being present in my quarters this fine morning?”

“Sir, I must fulfill my quota to assist in the war efforts, it is my obligation to do so”

“Jarvis.”, the King grabbed Jarvis’ shoulder, “you work strictly for me, not the goons on the front. If you believe it to be necessary to temporarily absolve yourself from duty, you consult with me first. Get in.”

Jarvis entered the the carriage that embodied an atmosphere he knew all too well. The disgusting emotional emissions of a King sardonically smiling, sitting on a mountain of false legacies recognized only by himself. But this mountain, the only location Garzo rendered worthy of his throne, was perforated with small holes of uncertainty,  constantly changing in size with the his trips to the mirror. His twisted complex beset by various questions like“Was this victory enough to cement by legacy? Is there more expansion to be done?”, questions satisfied by an infinite pool of yes’s and no’s, questions that never had the luxury of exposure to the real world, questions engaged in a small war deep within the King’s abstract, pitiable profundity of presumed greatness.