On Regret and Heartburn

Jettisoned out by the cruel, cruel world Lord Huttington sat perched upon his throne and considerd his options.
Obviously, demanding a refund and immediate transferal back into his body below was out of the question. Death was, more often than not, a one way ticket.
He sighed. A man could still dream, couldn't he? His naive optimism, a character trait until now, had suddenly fled and left in it's wake was a dreadful sense that this was IT. The End of his Days had finally come, his number was up.
And he had so looked foreward to fullfilling his dreams. Now it was too late, it seemed...

He looked down from his piece of sky and saw that all was not well with the world Down Below.
This saddend him. It was the first time in his life that he realised he had only been living for himself, for the moment in hand, with never a thought as to the Bigger Picture. Now it seemed that the Bigger Picture was giving him a much awaited and well deserverd slap in the face. As if to say; here is what you could have done, if only. If only what though?
Well, for one; had he had the nouse at the time (when he could still make use of his body) he might have taken Matt up on his unbecoming behaviour. Being father to this twerp did lend him some authority after all. At least in theory.

Yes indeed, he was the supposed Turd Matt's mother, Jaccinta (she of the green garters) had mated with. Not a turd at all then, as it turns out, but a Prince temporarily intoxicated by her wicked sense of dress, which tickled his (until then) very proper demeanour. Bright yellow lycra stretch pants never recovered their innocence in his mind. Nevertheless, I digress toward the tempting realm of nostalgia here, which is never a good thing. Especially if the relationship is doomed from the start, such as this one was. One certainly does not entertain thoughts of actually marrying one's mistress. Unheard of, except in Very Bad Fairy Tales.

So, to conclude; a man is allowed his moment of insanity and he had certainly had his in the form of mating with Matt's mother. Unfortunately the result was not quite as one would have hoped for. Certainly the result was not and never would be, heir material and thus the decision had been made (soley by him, naturally) that Matt was not to know his True Origins. A hefty financial sum had helped cinch the deal in his favour.

Now he was left however, in Death, with a ningling sense that perhaps he should have done a tad more. A 'tad' more was not exactly thought out in his mind, obviously having no idea as to what parenthood involved. But surely he could have done something? Oh, the anguish of being dead. It almost gave him heartburn.
He did now sorely regret not having done anything about Matt's absinth dealings. He alone knew what the boy was up to, but fearing exposure as the Father of the little rascal, he had chosen to save his own hide rather than that of the entire community.
Now of course, he could see clearly that he had only succeeded in temporarily saving his hide. For in the end it seemed he had been bitten by the green bug, too.

He realised that the time was nigh to cease avoiding his responsibilities and thus decided, once and for all, to seek out that damned Totem in the Realm of the Trees. He badly needed some advice.