Oleg Ivanovich Ryazanskeey sat on his throne, as he usually did. As the Grand Prince of Pereslavl-Ryazanski, he had to be availible, although he felt like the matters he had to take care of had got severly less the older he got. He could not understand who took care of everything. Or it was just his memory that failed him again, he couldn't tell. But he did not complain, oh no. He knew his health was bad, but his mind was clear as the water from the clearest well in Ryazan in his opinion. Sure he forgot stuff sometimes, but not too often, he thought. He spent half of the 24 hours on the throne, taking care of one or two, mostly foreign matters, a day, and sleeping between them. When he didn't eat. The rest of his days he spent in bed, thinking and sleeping.
***
Anastasia had nearly finished her sewing. She loved to sew, it was her favourite hobby. She could never get enough of it, and there was always a need for something to be sewn in the principal family. A tear in one's trousers, a seam that had gone off. She was right now finishing the collar of a new shirt she was going to give to her father, the shirts he had right now were just too old and shabby in her opinion, he needed something new. He couldn't die in one of those shirts, that was for sure. And the end was near, noone could deny it. The Grand Prince' health had got worse drastically only this last year and the Principal healers said they could do nothing about it. Although sick, the Grand Prince' word stood however, and what he said was law. And there would never be a rebellion, Fedor loved his father too much and on the countryside the people still lived in fear of the Mongol. No information of the Grand Prince' sickness had leaked outside the court, as far as she knew, and the people were very loyal to their Grand Prince who had defended them against both the Mongol and the Muscovites successfully. God would remove him from the throne when he deemed it necessary, there must be a reason for God to keep him and then us mere mortal shouldn't intervene, Anastasia thought. Putting the last seam together, she turned it inside out and looked at it. Looked good, she thought, as she put her tools in the fine wooden box with beautiful decorations, dedicated only to them.
After having cut the loose threads she went downstairs to give her father the new-sewn shirt. She hoped he would at least try to seem thankful and remember who she was, something he did not always do. It hurt her so much when he asked her who she was, last time he did so was the day before Fedor left. She had not answered him, instead she had run up to her room with her eyes filled with tears. Today however, if her father's memory failed him afain, she had decided not to repeat that. It wasn't her father's fault that his memory was getting worse and worse the older he got, and running away wouldn't help her father, rather getting him worse. Fedor wouldn't do that, and she felt ashamed of herself for doing it. She had always looked up to her brother, and admired him. He had always seemed perfect, while she herself did way too many mistakes to become anything. She felt clumsy and insufficient in his company, and she probably would hate him for being so perfect. Fedor couldn't be hated though, there was something with him that made him too wonderful to hate, to fair to be mad at. He had always been there for him, he was the kind of guy who was perfect but did not seem to care about it. He would make a most splendid ruler, Anastasia was sure.
Approaching her father's throne, she stopped some 15 meters from him. Suddenly she did not know what to do, for the first time she felt insecure in front of her very own father. What if he would reject her? She could not be sure he wouldn't do that and that made her feel very bad but she had to do this though, heck, it was her own father she was going to meet. She slowly started to walk up to the throne again, the sounds of her steps on the wooden floor echoed and mixed with the snoring of the sleeping Grand Prince on the throne, her old father.
"Father?"
No Reaction, Olegs chest rised and sunk slowly. At least he wasn't dead.
"Father?" A bit louder this time, and her father made a noise, reminding Anastasia of the boars she once followed Fedor and father hunting, while she was young. She had loved it, but that was the one and only time she had joined them. Her father simply thought that girls should not be out hunting boars in the woods, but rather sit at home and sew, which Anastasia admittedly didn't have anything against. Hesitating for a second, she went up to her father and shook his shoulder gently.
"Father, I bring you a gift"
***
Oleg slowly opened his eyes. He could see a human face near his own, but the mist did not allow him to say if it was a woman's or a man's face. Oleg moaned, who was this figure who dared waking the Grand Prince of Pereslavl-Ryazanski? It was not one of the advisors who sometimes woke him up to take care of some letter addressed to him or some issue in the domestic policy.
"Father? Here, I have sewn you a shirt"
Father? Oleg couldn't remember he had a daughter. He could recall he had a son, some unable bastard who was going to succeed him, not suitable to rule even the smallest county. He would bring this Principality, the life work of Oleg, to ruins, he knew it. Oleg couldn't understand how his son could have become so lame, weren't ruling skills inherited from father to son? Fedor must have some sort of disease. Yep, that must be the case. And that disease would bring his Principality to ruins.
"Damn you satan" he mumbered
Sorry father, what did you say? I have sewn you a shirt. I think you need a new one"
Who was this stranger woman? She dared insulting his shirt.
"Leave, woman. I do not know who you are, or what business you bring me from my sleep, but I do not want to talk with you"
"But Father?"
"Leave, woman... I do not wa...zzz"
Oleg fell to sleep. Anastasia with her eyes filled with tears put the shirt on the floor near her father's feet, and hugged Oleg, but Oleg just turned around making himself free from Anastasia's hold. Anastasia put a felt over her father, so that he wouldn't be cold, and then ran up the stairs, with her eyes filled with tears. Oh, God, what went wrong? she thought, closing the door behind her and quickly jumping unto her bed, burying her head in the pillow. Her father hated her, he had asked her to leave him alone.
