Thou shalt be king over Israel, and I shall be next unto thee
Jack has been preparing for this as long as he can remember. When he was four, too young to know succession came on the heels of death, he whisked away one of his father's jackets to the attic. He remembers the weight of it--bulky and awkward in his hands, too long beyond his feet, heavy on his tiny shoulders. But he put it on anyway, tightly grasping the too-smooth fabric to hold it up and ignoring the way it slipped. He stood on the tallest box he could find before an even taller mirror and he imagined how it would be. The reign of King Jonathan does not begin so differently.
A horn-call announces his approach. Two lines of soldiers march out before him in the sunlit marble expanse of Unity Hall. With a sharp turn and salute they mark a path for their leader, their eyes raised beyond the horizon. He walks between them with pride. They are his men, and this is his country. Lingering a moment beside his mother in the hall, he offers a few words and a tender cheek-kiss to the grieving widow.
Her dress is still stained with his father's blood and with every word her heart cracks under the weight of what he has done. Before his lips touch her cheek, he reminds her, "As you've always said, Mother, many times -- the people must see us be us, even when we're not."
David waits for him in the wings. Jack goes to him and pulls his brother-at-arms into an embrace, solid and grateful. Rarely has he shown affection for the man, but now, here, seeing him and knowing with such clarity what could have been lost, he needs to be certain he hasn't. To be near him feels like a flurry of wings, and the smile that breaks across Jack's face is for a moment untainted.
"I was afraid you wouldn't make this," he says when he's pulled away, fingers tugging at the chalk target on David's uniform; he brushes a bit of it away with his thumb. No one marks this man for death.
"It was you. You saved my life- why?"
"We're rid of the poison. My father is gone. It's my turn to rule, and I want to do it well. I need someone good around here." His eyes meet David's, searching, finding. "I will try to do right by your example. I swear to you, from this moment on, I am your friend."
They proceed to the board room, crossing before the gathered ministers and the full panorama of Shiloh to find their seats at the front, Jack in the king's place and David beside him. They sit in unison. The chair is- uncomfortable, but everything else feels right. It must be right.
William Cross moves in from his place by the window.
From the time he understood what it would mean to become king, he practiced giving this speech. Staring up at the ceiling on sleepless nights or steeling himself in dormitory mirrors, in silence he recited it. It always started like a eulogy, kind words to mourn the passing of a giant, but ended in the promise of new life. The details change, but the words are ready and waiting.
"They took from us our best. But we cannot let the work of rogues impede my father's best ambition--peace. To that end, let it be said, let it be known, let it be remembered that I, on the day of my melancholy ascension, saw through that goal."
Beyond David, his uncle sighs.
"But we needn't give up our land to achieve that peace; we can reach out to Gath-"
"Enough. We suffered enough peacock speeches under him; if there's to be change, let's start there."
For a moment, Jack only stares at his uncle. No one interrupts the king. No one halts the force of his will. The audacity of it or the momentum of his own dreaming trip him up, costing time he can't imagine he lacks.
"I don't speak the backwards language of kings, so I'll talk plain: Silas is dead, killed by Gath assassins. The media will confirm the story today. Jack will be king; his first order will be to avenge his father's murder. Gath has never wanted peace with us; they want war, and we will give it to them. Ready our planes to strike."
"No." Jack stands strong and determined, but his words go unheeded.
"Perhaps we should wait, mourn our loss, not let grief cloud our good judgment."
"The country doesn't want this."
"They will, when we're attacked. And Gath will strike, right here in Shiloh--you can count on it."
"No, war is not the answer. As king-"
"Sit down, Jack."
A hand lands on his shoulder. The King's Own move a single warning-step closer, and Jack realizes this has never been his reign at all. It's William's. It has been since the moment his uncle approached him with this plot, this crime against the natural order of things that deposing a tyrant may not excuse--but it must. Jack must be king. Even within these binds, as the face of the crown, as William's puppet-- William is just a man and one day Jack will be rid of him-- he will rule this kingdom-- there is nothing else-
"They found his ambulance," his cousin interrupts, addressing William. "There's no sign of him."
"Who?"
"Silas. He's gone."
[dialogue © canon]
A horn-call announces his approach. Two lines of soldiers march out before him in the sunlit marble expanse of Unity Hall. With a sharp turn and salute they mark a path for their leader, their eyes raised beyond the horizon. He walks between them with pride. They are his men, and this is his country. Lingering a moment beside his mother in the hall, he offers a few words and a tender cheek-kiss to the grieving widow.
Her dress is still stained with his father's blood and with every word her heart cracks under the weight of what he has done. Before his lips touch her cheek, he reminds her, "As you've always said, Mother, many times -- the people must see us be us, even when we're not."
David waits for him in the wings. Jack goes to him and pulls his brother-at-arms into an embrace, solid and grateful. Rarely has he shown affection for the man, but now, here, seeing him and knowing with such clarity what could have been lost, he needs to be certain he hasn't. To be near him feels like a flurry of wings, and the smile that breaks across Jack's face is for a moment untainted.
"I was afraid you wouldn't make this," he says when he's pulled away, fingers tugging at the chalk target on David's uniform; he brushes a bit of it away with his thumb. No one marks this man for death.
"It was you. You saved my life- why?"
"We're rid of the poison. My father is gone. It's my turn to rule, and I want to do it well. I need someone good around here." His eyes meet David's, searching, finding. "I will try to do right by your example. I swear to you, from this moment on, I am your friend."
They proceed to the board room, crossing before the gathered ministers and the full panorama of Shiloh to find their seats at the front, Jack in the king's place and David beside him. They sit in unison. The chair is- uncomfortable, but everything else feels right. It must be right.
William Cross moves in from his place by the window.
From the time he understood what it would mean to become king, he practiced giving this speech. Staring up at the ceiling on sleepless nights or steeling himself in dormitory mirrors, in silence he recited it. It always started like a eulogy, kind words to mourn the passing of a giant, but ended in the promise of new life. The details change, but the words are ready and waiting.
"They took from us our best. But we cannot let the work of rogues impede my father's best ambition--peace. To that end, let it be said, let it be known, let it be remembered that I, on the day of my melancholy ascension, saw through that goal."
Beyond David, his uncle sighs.
"But we needn't give up our land to achieve that peace; we can reach out to Gath-"
"Enough. We suffered enough peacock speeches under him; if there's to be change, let's start there."
For a moment, Jack only stares at his uncle. No one interrupts the king. No one halts the force of his will. The audacity of it or the momentum of his own dreaming trip him up, costing time he can't imagine he lacks.
"I don't speak the backwards language of kings, so I'll talk plain: Silas is dead, killed by Gath assassins. The media will confirm the story today. Jack will be king; his first order will be to avenge his father's murder. Gath has never wanted peace with us; they want war, and we will give it to them. Ready our planes to strike."
"No." Jack stands strong and determined, but his words go unheeded.
"Perhaps we should wait, mourn our loss, not let grief cloud our good judgment."
"The country doesn't want this."
"They will, when we're attacked. And Gath will strike, right here in Shiloh--you can count on it."
"No, war is not the answer. As king-"
"Sit down, Jack."
A hand lands on his shoulder. The King's Own move a single warning-step closer, and Jack realizes this has never been his reign at all. It's William's. It has been since the moment his uncle approached him with this plot, this crime against the natural order of things that deposing a tyrant may not excuse--but it must. Jack must be king. Even within these binds, as the face of the crown, as William's puppet-- William is just a man and one day Jack will be rid of him-- he will rule this kingdom-- there is nothing else-
"They found his ambulance," his cousin interrupts, addressing William. "There's no sign of him."
"Who?"
"Silas. He's gone."
[dialogue © canon]