Khaavren looked at his master, as if seeing him for the first time, and, in a sudden return of the youthful loyalty that had been all but eradicated by the heartless years, dropped to his knee, took His Majesty’s smooth, manicured hand into his own sword-callused one, and said, “Sire, only the fates know the final outcome of the battle, but surely there is glory in knowing one has not surrendered, and surely there is comfort in knowing one is not alone.” The Emperor nodded, and the Orb turned to a soft, gentle green as he straightened his back. “Yes,” he said. “That is a kind of glory, and that is surely a comfort.”

Steven Brust, Five Hundred Years After