You do not have permission to edit this page, for the following reason:
The action you have requested is limited to users in the group: Write.
Jorjen leaned hard on his pick, wiping sweat off his brow. Though there was yet a vicious bite to the breeze he was warm from exertion and ill humour. Devil take the hard ground, the Cornish, the Silchestermen and the [[Saxons]] all. He spat, staring evilly at the big bastard of a boulder sticking out the dirt right in his path. Every year the same. Go there, pick the earth, nevermind where stones or roots lay. Nevermind the village burnt, the sheep stolen, the wains taken and broken in the stream. Pah. And every year less to eat for the burden. Well. No use complaining. Whatever else went on in the great wide world, with kings and treachery and whatnot, this stone was coming out of the ground today. Jorjen bent his back to it, and his back was strong and his will mulish. He’d lost three this year past. A son and two daughters. Would have been worse, only he and the neighbour had a foolproof plan. Every year they built the middenheap as high as it could go, and over the past ten it had grown very high indeed. Whenever the raiders came they crawled right in, yessir, deep as they could go. Roomy enough for two hands of men, long as one hand was bairns. He grinned to himself, heaving mightily on [[The Rock|the rock]] with a long stick. For some reason the raiders were never keen on digging too deep in the middens. He sniffed. Well, for good reason. The smell never did go out, not even after the christmas bath. But, what was being called “shit-jorj” to losing all ones family? Ay, it was hard on the girls, the smell was, but they were alive werent they? The next neighbour over lost all theirs, and the man in the house besides. The widow had wailed and cried for weeks, til she’d screamed her soul all out and had joined her family in the heavens. He only wished little Bredda, quick Dun and tall Hame had made it to the heap in time. He wiped his cheek, damned the bite to the wind. Brought water to a mans eyes. Jorjen spied Lord [[Winterstream]] over yonder, on the flat empty green he used to run his young lordling and squire ragged. For all that Jorjen had lost, he had never looked like the lord did. Like as the walking dead. Jorjen crossed himself the roman way, not that he knew the difference. Something he’d seen a holy man do to ward evil once when he and his was up in Sarum to the market. The man just sat on a stump. Staring at nothing. His poor squire tried to train and so, but was doing a half assed job of it if Jorjen could say so. And he’d seen plenty of young cocky lads strut around that field. He shook his head. Seemed a lot being a lord. Whatever it was in them that brought them high sure could bring them low. Did they feel such things more than common men? The loss and the betrayal? Jorjen bent and grabbed both freed ends of the boulder, heaving mightily. He searched inside himself for the depth of emotion that must have besieged lord [[Winterstream]] to leave him so burnt out in its wake. Damned boulder all to hell, bloody bastard, outta the ground and… With a sucking complaint, the boulder came free of the frozen ground and sat him and boulder both on the ground. Ah the devil, he’d shat himself hauling so hard. Ah well, not that anyone would notice, he’d take a quick dip in the stream and off he’d go. One thing was for sure, Jorjen was happy enough where he was. The kind of feeling that left a man the way the lord was they could keep to their selves. <hr> ”We serve our lords at their whim.” For a moment, he thought that was all [[Meliodas]] was going to say. He’d certainly said it enough at court, or variations thereof. Many in [[Lyonesse]] did not feel comfortable with what King [[Idres]] had done at Netley. Cyn certainly did not. Riding through King Nanteleods camp as part of [[Prince]] Marcs’ bodyguard had been a nightmare. So much screaming, women… men. The smell of that place had haunted him for weeks. [[Meliodas]] emptied his cup in silence, and sighed. He looked tired. “I see fame and fortune for you, but whatever you do, never become what I am”. Cyn took the carafe and motioned to the kings’ cup, filling it at a nod, and then his own. Good wine, a red from the continent. “What’s that?” he said, striving for levity to brighten Meliodas’ mood. “A great king and a good man?” [[Meliodas]] snorted and drank. “You flatter me beyond what I deserve.” He stared into his cup for long moments. He spoke softly, almost to himself. “I strive to be a great king, but I will never be more than a mediocre ruler of a small but great kingdom. [[Lyonesse]] needs me, my people need me, but we would not exist without the protection and support of King [[Idres]]. It is not the place of a vassal king to question another. I would have advised against this had I been there, but the decision would never have been mine. Fighting with the [[Saxons]] is a sensitive subject for the [[Salisbury]] knights, but the [[Saxons]] have never hurt us like they have [[Logres]].” Cyn nodded, but was unwilling to let the king off the hook so easily. “But what do you mean Sire” A raised finger. “Your Majesty”. An instruction more than an admonition, a fleeting smile at the familiarity. “…uh, your majesty, why would I not try to be someone who tries to be good and do the best he can. Like you?” “Strive to be the best man and knight you can be, but never become a lord of the land. I envy you, you do not have the blood of kings in your veins.” “But your majesty, it also allows you to do good. Look at all you have done here.” [[Meliodas]] shook his head, rapping a knuckle on the table for emphasis. “My knights and people do good, I have at most done well. Kings do well, never good”. Cyn set his jaw, unwilling to concede the point so easily. [[Meliodas]] never saw just how good a man he was. “Bad kings lead to bad men, kings who do well let their people do good.” The king threw his hands up, rising from his chair. “I will give you some advice, take it as you will. Never serve a king who wants to be king. A throne should never be comfortable. Come with me”. Slightly drunk, the walk down the stairs to the throneroom was longer than it should have been. It was empty now, draped in shadow and the soft glow of braziers. The older man strode up to the throne, the barest tilt betraying the liquor in his belly. “Sit.” “But, but… you majesty, surely I ...” “Sit.” Awkwardly, Cyn climbed the steps and sat on the pretty gilded pillow upon the stone seat. He winced. It really was terribly uncomfortable, and not only due to the immense breach of etiquette. He half expected to be struck by some vengeful geas for his temerity. He grimaced, fidgeted. By god, someone would have had to make it this bad on purpose. “It is a tradition. My father and his father before him, the throne of [[Lyonesse]] has always been very uncomfortable to sit in. I try never to show it. As long as a king is too comfortable being a king, he will never be a good one”. Cyn suddenly admired the man he saw as his foster father all the more. The restraint it would take to sit on this thing for hours on end without complaint. “Can I please get off now Si… your majesty?” [[Meliodas]] chuckled, and waved him off the throne. “I’m going home next year. The ransom was paid, by my uncles I think. I was going to go this year, but I couldn’t bear leaving without seeing you.” The king reached up. The days when he could ruffle his wards’ hair by reaching comfortably down were long gone. Nonetheless, hair was ruffled, a familiar habit of the kings’ that Cyn had always found as endearing as it was infuriating. “Thank you. It is good to see you again Cyn.” Blinking to hold back warm tears Cyn clasped the kings shoulder, and had his clasped in turn. “I’m a little worried about what will happen when I come home. How will they know me? I’ve been gone so long.” [[Meliodas]] steered their steps towards the royal pantry, where the best wines were kept. “Dont worry about it, we will go to the new-years tourney together, and any who doubt will be set aright by a king”.
Unfinished Comments active
Save page Show preview Show changes Cancel