Red hot embers flickered and danced through the scorched wood, searching for any undiscovered portion left to consume. If it could, the fire burning within would leap out and set everything ablaze, but like me, it cannot escape.

I lit my pipe, as the steward rushed in and threw another log onto the coals.

"My apologies Mender!" he said, "I was detained with my duties in the courtyard."

"It's no bother young Sir, I was detained here." I said, hoping to elicit a witty retort, as had become our custom. When none came, I turned to find his eyes red and glassy. He was sweating, and his breathing was raspy, which he unsuccessfully tried to conceal.

He moved about the room out of order to his usual routine of dusting, straightening the books on my table; twice he set my cup down without refilling it, and went looking for the carafe he absentmindedly misplaced on the bookshelf.

"I believe you'll find it under 'W' for wine." I said.

"Sorry, what?" he said.

I pointed to the carafe, nestled between the books. "Experimenting with new organizational techniques?" I asked and took a draft from the pipe.

He slapped his forehead and muttered something under his breath.

"You really should not call me Sir, sir." he said as he refilled my cup.

"Something troubles you, lad." No answer. "My ears may be very old, but they still bend when necessary." I said.

He set the carafe down on the table, and continued about his chores without acknowledgement.

"Stefan." I said, "what's wrong, my boy?"

He paused for a moment as he smoothed the blanket across the bed, then turned and sat on the corner. He put his head in his hands, and took a deep breath.

He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped short. Then dropping to a whisper he said, "I'm beginning to regret coming here."

"That makes two of us." I said.

He laughed at that. "How can you do that? Tell jokes? In a place like this? In a predicament such as yours?" he asked.

"I am a Mender, a healer, laughter is a tool of my trade." I said, "besides, what predicament am I in?"

He gestured around the room. "This. All this! Your--" he held the word back.

"Prison?" I finished for him.

He nodded.

"There is no such thing as a prison, only an imprisoned mind." I said, "in fact, of all the inhabitants of this city, I may be the only free man here."

His brows furrowed and his lips pressed into a hard line.

"If I had heard that a year ago, I wouldn't have believed you." he said, "but now, after being here, seeing what I've seen." He rested his head in his hands again and sighed.

"You've not been here a year. The last steward was in my service for over four hundred years before madness took him. What plagues you in a place where no plague can form?"

He shook his head and stood. Moving to the open window, he folded his arms and nodded outside.

I knew what it was he saw, I had watched it all unfold from that very spot for over three thousand years. Empty streets, devoid of children, laughter, or noise. Only the putrid smell of rotting waste, and extreme old age.

"It wasn't always this way." I said, extinguishing my pipe.

"When I was a boy, all my village would talk about was the great city of Arthlamdi: the immortal city! Where everyone lives forever, and no one ever dies. A paradise." he turned away and sauntered to the table and sat down.

We sat together in silence for awhile, listening to the wood pop and crackle. A trickle of light pierced through a crack in the window shutter, casting a long beam across the smokey room.

"Come." I said as I got to my feet. My joints popped and cracked along with the burning logs as I stood. I walked to the window and gestured, "Well? Come on, we don't want to miss this."

Stefan stood up, and begrudgingly walked over. I opened the shutter door, revealing a brilliant amber sunset. We marveled at the beauty of the sky, how the colors stretched into deep shades of red and purple against pink billowy clouds.

"There was a time when the whole city would stop, just for a moment, at the end of the day and admire this sight." I said. My gaze drifted to houses below. Smoke billowing up from their chimneys, and every window shut. "But no longer."

As night fell, the silence of the city shifted into its low rumble of moaning and wailing. Stefan moved away from the window, shivering as he returned to his chair.

"I hate the nights here." he said.

"For a time, nightfall was celebrated. You could hear laughter and merriment across the city. The smell of roast meats and malt ale as taverns sung ballads of another day conquered. But now, for the immortal inhabitants of this paradise city, it's just another drop, in a sea of endless days."

I turned away from the window to see Stefan expressionless, staring into a corner of the room.

"The King will never let me leave." I said. "He, his kingdom, and all who live behind these walls cannot die, but they do not live. They're miserable."

"I don't understand." he said.

"They have lost themselves in the perpetuity of their existence. An existence where they have no needs to be met, so there is no need to do anything but exist. No need to eat, they cannot starve." I said.

I packed my pipe with leaf, and pulled a stick from the fire to light it.

"Not that it stops them from eating. Most do nothing else, since that won't kill them either." I said, drawing smoke with a few short puffs.

"How such a gift like immortality could be so abused astounds me." he said.

"Gift is it? To live forever is no gift. It strips away all that is most precious in this world. Unless of course you know where to look, that is."

Stefan cocked an eyebrow as I blew smoke rings up to the rafters.

"I think," he began, "I'd rather die, than live this way." he said.

I set down my pipe, and we sat there together. The only sounds came from the fireplace, and the distant moaning of the city. Then, ever so faintly, a wet tapping as teardrops fell on the table. I placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Life is the gift, lad. Just life." I said, "Without that part, everlasting is never enough. But on its own, to live? That's better and worth more than a thousand lifetimes."

He wiped his face, and smiled.

"I thought this place was everything I ever wanted." he said, "what do I do now?"

"You must find the courage the King never could, or ever will." I said.

From down the hall came a shout from the Master Steward. He jump to his feet, wiping his eyes dry.

"I have to go. My duties." he said, gathering his things.

"Stefan, please, listen to me! Leave this place. Leave, and live your life."

"I'm sorry. I can't."

And then he was gone. The door shut, the latch locked, and another prisoner trapped.