The Perfect Serve
The Voice of the Mighty One rasped softly, " I am thirsty, first slave, bring Me something to drink"
At the request of the Mighty One, the ancient slave rises slowly, joints popping in the quiet of the Mighty One's presence. He walks towards the servery dragging a crippled leg. A leg once strong and firm, but now worn with age and injury. After an amount of time that most Mighty would have received their beverage, the ancient one reaches the servery. Pride shines from his face to have been asked to fulfill his born purpose once more after so long. It drives him forward, despite the severe pain of his leg.
Content in the knowledge that the Mighty One knows the time of the service will be long, the ancient one still moves as fast as possible. Thoughts race through his head on what to give the Mighty One to show his love and honor. Years pass before his minds eye, back to the first time he ever served the Mighty One, before the title, before the glory, in the common youth both shared.
A smile appears on his creased face, the perfect vessel remains in the servery. Kneeling on the floor, he reaches past the slave cups to draw out a poorly made clay vessel. It is lop-sided, uneven, crumbling on the edges, and most would destroy it as unworthy of even a slave; but for this drink, it is perfect. Setting it with a mysterious reverence on the counter, he turns to the storage area, and finds nothing there worthy of the cup.
Distaining the fine wines, nectars and draughts in the servery, he hobbles his way to the well. His arms still retain a semblance of his youthful strength and allow him to draw up the wooden bucket. The cold water is poured into the clay vessel, the spills ignored for the moment. Smiling, he lifts the cup and makes his way back to the Mighty One.
The walk back to the Mighty One seems to take a lifetime, similar to one spent in servitude to the Mighty One. Memories pass through the ancient slave's mind, back to the first time he saw the Mighty One. A captive youth, still in his early teens, a spoil of war, he knew his life was going to be harsh for the remainder of its length. The Mighty One, then of a similar age, striding forward to view the slave's group of captives.
The Mighty One's mouth opened but only a harsh rasp came forth. Hearing the Mighty One's throat crack before a word could come out, the then youth knelt and held out his hidden cup of water to the Mighty One, the very cup in the ancient slave's trembling hands. The guards were scandalized that a captive slave would dare to offer a drink to the Mighty One; a hand rising up stopped them. The Mighty One took the slave mug and drank the warm water, then, smiled and motioned for the youth to follow.  Rising swiftly, the slave followed and never stopped.
A full 15 minutes after being asked to serve, the ancient slave reached the Mighty One's feet, and painfully knelt. Some of the water slopped over the side, landing on the Mighty One's foot, drawing gasps from the other slaves arrayed about the Mighty One.
During the entire episode, the Mighty One sat in silence, watching the ancient slave, a wistful smile touching the mostly solemn face. For a half century of years this slave has been a part of the household, always kept nearby, but never asked to present a beverage to any, the Mighty One would always have another do that task. Other slaves came and went but this one was held in highest regard, even being ransomed after a lost battle where the slave jumped upon the back of an attacker and was wounded to insure the safety of the Mighty One.
Lost in memories, the Mighty One thinks back on that first battle fought, the first victory of many, and this slave offering a drink from the mug held out now; a handmade mug to hold a few sips of water that would have gotten the slave slain for possessing it. None of the Mighty One's retinue offered any drink until this slave dared to show kindness, and the Mighty One responded in kind; the first slave ever owned, and always loved. If it were possible, the slave would be called a friend
Looking down at the frail form kneeling, the pitiful slave cup held in the wizened hands, the Mighty One smiled and spoke in a strong voice, "Thank you, My slave. You have given Me again the best service possible. I am happy and pleased with you. Thank You First Slave. You alone offered to quench My thirst once, so perfectly and appropriately, so I decided never to mar that perfection. Until now, you have never needed to surpass that. Well Done".
The ancient slave knew he was far from perfect then and now, but the words of the Mighty One were not to be contested. Closing his eyes, a single tear of happiness fell from his eye hearing the Mighty One's praise. His head remained lowered as the Mighty One took the water and drank. Taking back the cup, the slave smiled, and rose slowly; his heart pounding in his chest with pride, to return the vessel to the place under the counter. After taking 2 steps, he faltered, then stood straight and tall, and fell dead, perfectly happy.
The Mighty One looked at the body of the ancient slave lying on the floor. Nodding once, the Mighty One whispered to low to be heard, "The perfect serve and at the perfect time ".
				Copyright 2000 by Ed Stargazer