As the eldest, I have always known that it would be my birthright to someday inherit the throne. I imagined all they would call me, Aonghas the Warrior, Conqueror of the Weak, Leader of the Strong. My other two brothers accepted this.
Druhan was just, and he realized that I should have the throne and, unless I were to die, he would never be king. Callum is compassionate, he has no desire to rule, and he will never gain leadership status as third in line. Caedmon is my least favorite brother, as the question of my birthright has led to our worst fights.
A wise scholar, Caedmon would rather debate about logic and what was best for everyone. Why talk when you could take action instead?! I would clearly be the better ruler. Why can't he see that? Besides, it isn't like our father could change his mind about something like this! It is traditional for the crown to be passed down to the eldest, after all!
Just get him out of the way…
Ha! Caedmon is no problem! He has no hope to change my rightful destiny, and he would never dare to take direct action!
Still better to eliminate the threat.
••••
No. Caedmon is my brother. There is no threat from him, and he would not do anything to harm me.
My opponent is dragged out of the arena, bleeding and unconscious. Part of him are swollen and bruised, others broken and red. A victory.
"Well done, your highness," a lowly servant calls out. What is his name again? Farqahr? Finlay? Doesn't matter. I glare at the silent crowd.
"Wonderful, my prince!"
"An excellent job!"
"A true defeat, that was!"
Cheers and compliments quickly fly out. Much better.
I swing both my swords in the air and stick them in the ground as I exit, the crowd willingly parting for me. Yes. I will be a great king.
Caedmon stands alone in the hall to my room. He nods as he sees me approaching.
"You fought well, brother," he says solemnly.
"I would think you had been waiting for me, brother," I say, ignoring his praise. He hates fighting and his words are empty.
"Did you have to be so hard on the poor man?" I laugh gallantly.
"If you are going to defeat a man, defeat him thoroughly!" I proclaim. Caedmon shakes his head.
"That man may never fight again," he argues, "He will be crippled for life! Victory is showing mercy towards your enemy in battle!"
"You know nothing of battle," I scoff, "Now, let me enter my room." I easily shove him aside and open the door, taking care to slam it shut.
Caedmon and I, despite our personality clashes, look similar to each other. We have the same muscular build, full beards, tanned skin, black eyes, and darkened hair. Even though there are five years separating us, we are nearly the same height, as well. It is easy to tell us apart, though. I am covered in battle scars and surrounded in the hardness of a true warrior, while with Caedmon, it is easy to see he is nothing but gentle, and his only scars are from measly paper cuts.
A fool, a fool…
Yes. For all his supposed wisdom, Caedmon is nothing but a fool.
Once I am king, everything will be devoted to military and fighting and making men stronger. The strongest always prevail, after all.
There is a knock on the door.
"Caedmon, go away!" I roar, "I am busy!" To prove my point, I strike the wall loud and hard, adding another deep scratch in the stone.
"Pardon me, my lord, but the king requests your presence." A servant. Oh.
"Tell my father I am busy…" I think for a moment, "Carson!"
"Cameron, my lord," he says. He sounds offended. Honestly, they sound close enough, and how is one man supposed to know the names of everyone in the palace, even if he is the king?
"And the king has made it clear that it is an urgent matter," he adds.
"Very well," I grunt. I shove open the door. It's the servant with the crooked nose. He follows me as I begin to walk.
"I don't need a bloody escort," I growl. Crooked nose looks embarrassed.
"I think the king wanted…"
"I don't care what my father wanted," I snap, "I want you to leave. Go clean the chamber pots or something. And that is an order." He hesitates, and I crack my knuckles. He yelps and foolishly scampers away as fast as he can. Sometimes, I just need to show them a little taste of my power. A servant should know two things: his place and his lord's strength.
I arrive at my father's chambers and go inside without knocking.
"Most men will ask permission before entering a room, particularly the room of a king," my father murmurs, in his bed and staring at the ceiling, same as the last time I saw him. Ever since the illness took hold, he rarely leaves his room, or even gets out of bed. I nod sagely.
"As they should! I will make sure all men do that once I am king! It will teach them respect!" I proclaim. My father sighs, as if I've missed his point.
"The servant boy said you wanted to see me?" I prompt.
"Yes," he sighs, looking up at me, "My time in this world is drawing near. Do you know what this will mean?"
"Of course," I scoff, "It means that I will be king of this land and carry on our family name! But you have no need to fear, you still have much time left." He sighs again.
"It also means you and your brothers will have no one but each other. Have you considered what will become of them?"
"I suspect they can marry a princess or high lady in a neighboring kingdom. A kingdom only needs one king, after all."
"And what do you plan to do once you have taken my place?" I think for a moment.
"Make sure the men are strong and ready for any battle," I reply, "Expand the kingdom. Go down in our legends as the strongest and bravest of all kings." Shouldn't that much be obvious? I am destined for greatness, after all.
"And what of the people?" my father questions.
"What about them?"
"Not all of them are strong, not all of them can fight," he says.
"They can learn."
"What about the old? The babies? The crippled? Your brother Druhan tells me the man you fought today won't be able to walk again. What will you do for men like him?"
"It's their own fault if they're crippled," I scoff, "It's not my problem if they can't defend themselves. The kingdom can only support those who can support themselves. I have no use for old warriors who can't lift a sword, and the mothers can care for their children on their own."
"I see," he says softly, "That is all. You may go." That's it? How was any of this urgent business? This was just a small conversation, nothing important! And since when does Druhan tell our father of what happens concerning me? I should make him pay. Probably not worth it, though. I turn and leave without bidding him farewell. The old fool should know better than to waste my time with idle chitchat. I have much more important things to do than talk with elderly men who can't be bothered to get out of bed.
