You would think that, as time progresses (and with it, technology,) the number of dissolved timelines would increase. It hasn't, surprisingly- with the advent of the Time Analysis Sect (or T.A.S.) the number of timelines that have found themselves abruptly 'cut from the trunk' has reduced to a sporadic trickle. No, far in the past, when things had less rules, less concrete boundaries with which to constrict natures, the timeline was a gnarled, knotty tree, curling back into itself, sprouting off and withering, and in one particular segment, split right down the middle, like lightning cracking down on a tree in the middle of a field. The number of dissolved timelines seemed to reach its' peak around the 8th to 10th centuries AD. With the obvious lack of documentation on why, a good portion of the T.A.S. is dedicated to its' rigorous analysis.

Though, none of this mattered to Rickard. All of this may as well be theoretical to him, as he would never be able to interface with the world he once (and never) called home, nor ever relay his portrayal of events to anyone who seemed to care. He could speak to others, speak of the way that time had gone for him, but never to people- never to anyone who actually existed. He, and all others who would speak to him, were figments, dreams, possible futures for men and women who may have had the opportunity to exist. Or not. 

"I always wonder," Rickard spoke into the open air, to nobody, hearing his hollow words bounce off of muddy gray brick, "What will happen when I die." His thumbs worked against the dusty surface of the picklehelm in his grasp, gently abrasing a specific part of the scalp to a gentle shine. "Or maybe I'm already dead," he continued, "Maybe I have never been born at all."

What he said was, factually, true: According to what he had been told by others, Richard II had not had a long and tyrannical rule of England, until he died suddenly of what could only be observed from the outside as a heart attack at age 65. He had, instead, starved to death at 22, been flayed alive by angry villagers at 40, died of consumption at 12, and, most interestingly, died suddenly of what could only be observed from the outside as a heart attack at age 65, except, he was not King of England, he was the Emperor of the Dutch-Anglo Empire-- and about 30 years prior. 

He had long since stopped attempting to make any sense of what the 'true' path of time ever was. It hardly mattered to him now; all he could do was ponder.