“Regrets... Regrets are bootless. A vain trick of the mind. An impotent raging against what cannot be changed anyway. A distraction from the moment.”

“No, no, no, Landemere. This time I'm putting my foot down. I mean it. Don't think you're going to smear syrup on my beard, as we say in Ramaldah. You're not making me change my mind by sweet talking me. I know your tricks, and I won't fall for them.”

“And yet it's there, we witnessed it being lit. And fires once lit have to burn until they spend themselves or someone extinguishes them,” Anaxantis said, with some deep regret coating his voice.”

“You’ll do,” Hemarchidas thought. “Isn’t this what we always end up with? What we truly want is unreachable, so we’ll make do with what is at hand. I know for you it’s different. I know for you it’s really me you want. You won’t regret it. I’ll love you for that, and for who you are. There is still a little part of me that wishes things could have been different. I’ll never let you know, feel, or even suspect that, though. I’ll make sure at least one of us gets what he truly wants.” He noticed Arranulf was studying his face. He gave him a reassuring smile and a light peck on the lips. “It’ll be all right, and I too will be all right.”

“However, what he wanted was impossible: the serenity of the Gods cannot be achieved by the sword.”

“He himself didn't see it as exceptionally altruistic, because he had understood one can't be truly happy in isolation or, worse, among unhappy people. The best protection against danger, unhappiness and the sordidness of human existence is to be surrounded by people who love you.”

“And what?" Arranulf yawned."How did it go?""How did what go?""Don't play with my feet, as we say in Ramaldah. You were seen, Landemere.”