Brigit's Flame, August, week #2
Title: The King's Pride
Author: keppiehed
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word Count: 714
Prompt: “Inertia”
A/N: Methinks a theme is emerging! I needed something fun, and this is doing the trick. I hope you enjoy as much as I do; I love to borrow from the greats that precede me. Here is week #2 for brigits_flame.
Rules of time do not apply at night. The king had always suspected this to be true, but he discovered the fact firsthand the evening he sentenced his favored advisor to death. Favored advisor? Friend. His friend. The king wiped his sweating brow and checked again the progress of the moon across the sky. The moon was a trickster, a cheat. It had moved an indiscernible distance while the king knew it must have been hours, at the very least. Would this torturous night never end?
The silence in the hall was heavy as the weight of water used to be when he would swim in the waters of Chinnereth as a boy. The king barked out a laugh. As if such a thing as lack of sound could have substance. He never thought it could-had never pondered that idea before, in fact-but now he knew better. This quiet had seeped into ever corner, every deep cranny, and it sought to suffocate him with its insidious stillness. The king ought to have allowed drinking and music to alleviate the pall, but he couldn't bear for merrymaking, not on this night. Not when he was dying out there, alone.
An ache started in the king's temples. The iron band of the crown was wearing a blister on his forehead, and he longed to remove it but instead left it in place. Even if the metal wore straight through to bone, it served as a fitting reminder of the responsibilities of ruling, of how impossible it was to be content and also be king. It seemed so glorious when he'd been coronated, all celebrations and speechmaking. No one had told him about this gut-twisting agony, of how he would need to make decisions that would send loved ones to their death. No one had mentioned the blood that would stain his hands or how alone he would be. The king stared up at the stars. Of how long the nights would last.
Remorse beat through the king's veins with every pulse, and he blinked at the horizon. There was no light to presage the coming dawn, but he could wait no longer. He stood to face the knowledge of his deed.
“Come forth and attend me!” he called. “We ride now to make ready for the breaking day.”
The trek through the desert seemed endless. The king did not see the moon set nor the stars dim. He saw in his mind's eye the ravaged limbs of the man he'd condemned. He saw splatters of blood and splinters of bone. Each step brought him closer to the carnage he had decreed by his own tongue, but he knew he would not blink when it was revealed to him. He must be strong.
The crowd gathered around the tomb-for what had been a mere cave the previous day was now sure to be a tomb-and the king saw his own seal still in place. “Remove the boulder!” he called, his voice unwavering even in his distress.
The boulder had been rolled downhill to seal the entrance. Today, it would not budge. Two men, then three, tried to shoulder the burden but it would not move. The king imagined that the inertia of injustice held it firm.
“Hurry!” the king cried. “The sentence has been carried out. Remove the stone!”
But even three men could not work against an immovable force. It sat, unrepentant, immobile.
Anxiety rose in the king's breast. He motioned for more men. It had to be moved, at any cost, no matter how many men it took! Guilt pumped through his gut as the boulder began to roll. Against all sense, a flicker of faith flared in his chest and the king could not stop the words that flew from his throat unstoppered: “Daniel? Are you survived?”
The boulder finally gave way, along with the king's disbelief, and the first ray of dawn shone strong upon Daniel, unharmed in the lion's den. “I am survived.”
The king could not conceal his relief at the miracle. Tears sprang to his eyes before the emotions of the preceding evening coalesced in a murderous rage. King Darius, eyes slitted in enmity, turned to his crowd of false ministers and said, “Now, my friend, you shall be revenged.”
Author: keppiehed
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word Count: 714
Prompt: “Inertia”
A/N: Methinks a theme is emerging! I needed something fun, and this is doing the trick. I hope you enjoy as much as I do; I love to borrow from the greats that precede me. Here is week #2 for brigits_flame.
Rules of time do not apply at night. The king had always suspected this to be true, but he discovered the fact firsthand the evening he sentenced his favored advisor to death. Favored advisor? Friend. His friend. The king wiped his sweating brow and checked again the progress of the moon across the sky. The moon was a trickster, a cheat. It had moved an indiscernible distance while the king knew it must have been hours, at the very least. Would this torturous night never end?
The silence in the hall was heavy as the weight of water used to be when he would swim in the waters of Chinnereth as a boy. The king barked out a laugh. As if such a thing as lack of sound could have substance. He never thought it could-had never pondered that idea before, in fact-but now he knew better. This quiet had seeped into ever corner, every deep cranny, and it sought to suffocate him with its insidious stillness. The king ought to have allowed drinking and music to alleviate the pall, but he couldn't bear for merrymaking, not on this night. Not when he was dying out there, alone.
An ache started in the king's temples. The iron band of the crown was wearing a blister on his forehead, and he longed to remove it but instead left it in place. Even if the metal wore straight through to bone, it served as a fitting reminder of the responsibilities of ruling, of how impossible it was to be content and also be king. It seemed so glorious when he'd been coronated, all celebrations and speechmaking. No one had told him about this gut-twisting agony, of how he would need to make decisions that would send loved ones to their death. No one had mentioned the blood that would stain his hands or how alone he would be. The king stared up at the stars. Of how long the nights would last.
Remorse beat through the king's veins with every pulse, and he blinked at the horizon. There was no light to presage the coming dawn, but he could wait no longer. He stood to face the knowledge of his deed.
“Come forth and attend me!” he called. “We ride now to make ready for the breaking day.”
The trek through the desert seemed endless. The king did not see the moon set nor the stars dim. He saw in his mind's eye the ravaged limbs of the man he'd condemned. He saw splatters of blood and splinters of bone. Each step brought him closer to the carnage he had decreed by his own tongue, but he knew he would not blink when it was revealed to him. He must be strong.
The crowd gathered around the tomb-for what had been a mere cave the previous day was now sure to be a tomb-and the king saw his own seal still in place. “Remove the boulder!” he called, his voice unwavering even in his distress.
The boulder had been rolled downhill to seal the entrance. Today, it would not budge. Two men, then three, tried to shoulder the burden but it would not move. The king imagined that the inertia of injustice held it firm.
“Hurry!” the king cried. “The sentence has been carried out. Remove the stone!”
But even three men could not work against an immovable force. It sat, unrepentant, immobile.
Anxiety rose in the king's breast. He motioned for more men. It had to be moved, at any cost, no matter how many men it took! Guilt pumped through his gut as the boulder began to roll. Against all sense, a flicker of faith flared in his chest and the king could not stop the words that flew from his throat unstoppered: “Daniel? Are you survived?”
The boulder finally gave way, along with the king's disbelief, and the first ray of dawn shone strong upon Daniel, unharmed in the lion's den. “I am survived.”
The king could not conceal his relief at the miracle. Tears sprang to his eyes before the emotions of the preceding evening coalesced in a murderous rage. King Darius, eyes slitted in enmity, turned to his crowd of false ministers and said, “Now, my friend, you shall be revenged.”