Author's Notes: 1,423 words.
“Father!”
The
Mad King stopped, breathed dramatically, and adopted his haughtiest pose as his
son, dressed in a tight outfit and armed with a bow, raised a hand and ran
towards him. “I should hope your old
clothes fit fine,” remarked Catharnach, “as you may be wearing them for some
time.”
“I
did not expect him to be so brazen or strong,” said Ailean, raising himself up
to his father’s height with ease. “He is
far more capable than you, father, though you are both similar in age.”
Catharnach
waved dismissively and scowled. “I do
not want to be reminded of my mortality,” he said swiftly. “I would like to know why my son could
be beaten by an old man and saved by a little girl. I raised my son to be smarter and swifter
than that. When you lead the charge of your compatriots into the heart of
Wyandanch, you had best hope it makes up for the damage you have committed
against my throne.”
Caught
off guard, Ailean took a step back and resisted the urge to stutter. “Father, I did not know of this arrangement,
I had assumed…did Leathan arrange this?”
Catharnach
turned and began to walk, Ailean automatically following him as they perused
the rows of tents flying their country’s flag.
Soldiers in the vicinity fell upon one knee and bowed in reverence, and
the procession behind them marched solemnly.
Ailean could care less about such reverence, as he did not want to pit
his pride against his father’s, but hated the smug smile that the Mad King
wore. “You may call him your father, and
I your King,” Catharnach said simply.
“Fa—my
King, I dare not be indolent, but I should like to be informed of when our
battle strategy has changed. I do not
think my father has my interests in mind.”
A
confused soldier sounded on a trumpet when he saw his royals, but was smacked
upon the head. The music died about when
Catharnach wheeled around, hands twitching; the prince, used to his father’s
attempts to intimidate, was not at all affected. “He is an attentive and gracious man, with
the success of our country at the forefront of his mind. You would be well to be like him, as I can
only count upon you to ride gloriously into battle. When not covered with…excrement, that is.”
“As
you will it. Can I trust you to remain
faithful?”
Ailean
saw his father’s face contort strangely.
Saying nothing, the Mad King quickened his pace, nearly causing Ailean
to be engulfed by the oncoming wave of attendants. Eyebrow raised, Ailean easily caught up to
his father, who turned in another direction.
“Is that how he convinced you, my King?”
“What
he and I do is none of your concern, you pestering child, as much as you like
to think it is.” Catharnach leaped over
an arrangement of boxes, followed shortly thereafter by his son. Frustrated guards and servants worked their
way around the obstacle, some colliding with one of the tents. Ailean was admittedly impressed at his
father’s agility, considering Catharnach never walked around much and was
easily winded. Of course, he could hear
Catharnach’s breathing turn raspy ahead of him.
“Only
as long as you remain faithful to her, I have no troubles with what you are
doing,” retorted Ailean. Cathanarch
shouted something incoherent towards a guard and pointed the latter at Ailean. The soldier, dressed in a full suit of armor,
tried to stand in front of Ailean, trembling.
They breathed a sigh of relief as Ailean slipped right around him, the
former jumping back into a tent as the gradually diminishing gathering
followed.
The
Mad King disappeared among the multitudes of tents and soldiers. Ailean looked about him with an expression of
fury, balling his fists. For a few
seconds, he could only hear the sounds of marching soldiers and
conversation. “Do you not have an army
to command, you prat?” said the tent next to him. The concerned faces of the people around Ailean
filled him with a greater anger, and Ailean reached inside the tent and yanked
out the pole from within, showing his father crouching behind the canvas.
All
at once, Catharnach, staring at the assembled faces, rose to his full
height. Chest trembling, he nevertheless
managed to look ferocious in his stout stance and piercing stare, enough to
leave those around Ailean taking a few steps back. Ailean shot a look back in response, holding
his chin up high. “Your mother is
dead,” said Catharnach after a long pause.
“I do not need be reminded.
Silence
dominated the scene. Ailean watched Catharnach
slouch once again; the Mad King knees shaking as he coughed and gasped for
breath. Whatever depression rose in
Ailean – and it was strong enough that he could not stare at his father’s face,
lest he be further reminded of his grief – was not nearly as strong as the Mad
King’s was. Indeed, Ailean’s mother had
died when he was born, but he knew the way that Catharnach had always doted
upon her, what he had done for her sake.
His father’s love would always be stronger, but Ailean had always
envisioned her as kind, devoted, faithful, and charming. That Catharnach could not live up to such
standards still infuriated Ailean, as much as he loved his father, and so
Ailean responded. “But I believe him to
be using you. It shames her that you
should so readily abandon our Queen for the first person to so much as wink in
your direction.”
“And
do you think I would be happy pulling her up from her grave and seeing a
skeleton by my bedside every morning?” said Catharnach, spitting as he spoke,
voice jumping erratically as he interspersed random pauses into his statements. “Would you?
I called you here because I wanted to know if you would approve of my
killing a man, not to be chastised for attempting to bring back warmth into my
life. You may throw your winter upon
someone else.”
Befuddled,
Ailean saw the men and women around him surrounded the Mad King, saying nothing
and carrying with them expressions that seemed to be staring down at him. He bowed his head in defeat. “I am sorry, my King. I acted imprudently. I had overstepped my boundaries. Who is it that you should like permission
from me to kill?”
“Our
troublesome general, Belisarius,” came a scratchy voice from within the small
circle of people. “Your father and I
fear that he may choose to disclose that I have no plans of taking the city to
our…allies.”
Ailean
sat cross-legged on the ground. “Putting
a man in a position where they could easily die would certainly not give them
much respect for their throne,” he said, after a minute of contemplation. “That man is too uninterested in our efforts
to coax him into brazenness by land or by wealth. He has always been a threat to us, and I can
only say it would be simplest to kill him.
The matter is how to have him replaced.”
“Nobody
need know that he has been replaced. It
could be simple enough to say that he has fallen suddenly ill, and send one of
his more easily-coaxed soldiers to take his place in any further meetings.” His voice was now smoother, though it still
broke at times.
“My
King,” said Ailean, raising his hand.
“That would only make them more suspicious. Perhaps it would be best to recruit one of
our spies to look and act as he does, so that it does not look like we are
quelling dissenting opinions. We might
even surround him with guards, just to demonstrate that his concerns are being
taken seriously.”
Catharnach
responded quickly. “Too much
effort. They will be concerned no matter
what I do, because they already understand how much I value their lives. As long as I command the largest single army,
I can force them into compliance. As for
now, though, it would not surprise me if they are trying to talk to him, coax
him into revealing my strategy. Even if,
by some strange chance, they already know, he could easily be recruited into
conspiring against me, taking his soldiers with him. I cannot lose my advantage; he must be
killed. Deeply as you have wounded me,
my son, I believe I will do it myself.
Send out the call for a meeting, and I will let him know how I despise
cowards.”
Points: 25
Reviews: 472
Donate