A would-be king seeks to take his throne.
There once was an island nation.
On the island, the water was clean and clear, and flowed freely from the springs; fishing boats always came back with full hauls; the people were happy, and healthy.
Once, they had had a king.
It had been some centuries since a monarch had ruled them — the last king had died young of a sudden accident, his first son not yet born, and the royal council took over the kingdom’s governance.
The young prince, when grown, did not want to be king, and left the council be.
Over time, the council evolved. Where positions were not passed to a council member’s child, the new addition was selected by the members left.
The council was varied, made up of senior craftspeople, village elders, alderpeople, and veteran workers now retired.
The council did its job: it governed.
The nation, as I have said, was prosperous.
But as much as the king had chosen not to take his power, those centuries ago, his line had not ended.
The would-be king was a young man, strong and hale and charming. He was a remarkably good leader, and often led hunts, and dividing any venison he returned with around the others in the village. He could be counted upon to resolve a conflict between friends; he was educated.
He was the friend of any person he met, but he had one friend particularly. He, too, was descended of noble stock: once upon a time, his ancestors had been the knight protectors of the king’s honour and health, and even now, the king’s shield took his role very seriously.
To look at the two of them, one could easily have thought them brothers.
The would-be king loved his nation, but thought that were he to lead it, he could lead it past its mere comfortable prosperity, and to wealth.
In remaking a kingdom of his nation, he could make them a power in the eyes of the world; he could make them a superpower in trades with other nations; in time, he liked to think, in his dearest of dreams, his kingdom could become an empire.
In order to be crowned king, as every king who had come long before him, he needed permission to ascend. The nation, since its island had first risen from the waves, had been loved and protected by a goddess, and it was her blessing he needed for his coronation to proceed.
The would-be king and the king’s shield started their pilgrimage at dawn, and began to make the sacred trek into what had once been the royal groves, but now belonged to the people.
Hacking their way forward, the would-be king and the king’s shield passed through the huge thicket that had once been the palace rose garden, now overgrown with flowers and thorns alike.
They moved through the labyrinthine halls of the palace, working their way through its strange and meandering halls, thrumming with magic that would belong to the would-be king with his crown. There was great power, after all, in the throne of the king: there was magic in it.
And it would be his.
Beneath the marble sprawl of the palace was the most sacred of springs: from this hidden pool was the goddess seated, and having gone so many centuries with no one to speak to, she rose to the surface of the fine, clear waters, curious as to her visitors.
“My lady,” said the would-be king, and fell to his knees with his brother beside him. “I come to humbly beg of you your blessing, that I should rise to the throne, and be king once more.”
“The royal blood flows in your veins,” said the goddess softly, examining him with curiosity shining in her eyes. She shimmered in the light, seemingly made of water, and the king’s shield, overwhelmed by her beauty, averted his gaze, his cheeks burning.
“It does, my lady,” agreed the would-be king.
“My land has prospered without a monarch to lead it,” said the goddess, tilting her head upon one side. “What need does this kingdom have of a king?”
“This land is beautiful,” said the would-be king, “but it could be dazzling. We are prosperous — but we could be great. With me upon the throne, my lady, we could lead the world.”
“What need have my people of the world?” asked the goddess. “They are already happy.”
“But they could be more,” said the would-be king.
“It is not easy to be king,” the goddess said. “Your forebears made many sacrifices, for the good of their people. Would you make a sacrifice, to receive my blessing?”
“Of course, my lady,” said the would-be king. “I would do anything for my people: it is my duty.”
“And you, this young man’s brother-in-arms. Would you make a sacrifice, that your king should receive my blessing?”
“Of course, my lady,” said the king’s shield, without hesitation. “I would give anything for his majesty: it is my duty.”
“You will give your life,” the goddess decided. “If your king will take it from you.”
The king’s shield faltered, glancing up from the floor, and he looked at the goddess’ beautiful, smiling face, made up of softly shifting waters. He looked, too, at his brother’s face, the fear in his eyes, the resolve in the set of his mouth.
“But he is my brother,” said the would-be king in a whisper. He did not meet his brother’s eye.
“You told me you would give anything to receive my blessing, that you might take your crown,” said the goddess. “Do you renege?”
“If it will allow you your ascension,” said the king’s shield bravely, “I would have you take my life, majesty. It is my duty: I should be honoured to give you this.”
“I cannot kill you: I love you.”
“I love you, majesty, but before love comes duty.
“Chop-chop,” said the goddess softly. “To be king is to make hard decisions: to be king is to make sacrifices.”
“Very well,” whispered the would-be king, and drove his dagger through the shield’s heart. His brother choked, paling, and fell dead upon the ground.
“The king’s shield falls,” the goddess said. “Was he one of your people?”
“What?” demanded the would-be king, tears on his cheeks.
“The king’s shield,” the goddess said. “Your brother. Was he one of your people? Your subjects?”
“Of course,” said the would-be king.
“And yet you killed him, for power alone. Tell me again, what good is a king?”
The would-be king stood staring at her, his hands bloodied with his brother’s life, his mouth agape. Tears stained his cheeks.
“I will not give you my blessing, child,” the goddess said. “You have shown you would choose your power over the life of your people: you have shown a king would bleed my nation, not improve it.”
“And to teach me this,”said the would-be king, “you have killed my brother?”
“No,” said the goddess primly, and the would-be king looked at the wound in his own chest, impaled as he was by his own blade.
Already, the king’s shield was rising.
“But,” begged the king’s shield, rushing to hold the would-be corpse as he choked and spluttered, “does duty not come before love?”
“Love is the greatest duty of all,” said the goddess, and fell back into her sacred pool.
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