"The mad king sat
On the Iron Throne
Sipping mead from a goblet of gold.
The mad king sat
On the Iron Throne
Gorging on treacle and pudding
Whilst his people starved to the bone.
The mad king
Sat on the Iron throne
His neck was slit
By one of his own."
It was a poem my brother used to sing when we were younger. He'd tell me of lands waged by war, of riches aplenty ,hair fine as spun silk and fire breathing dragons. He was a good guy, my brother. The person everyone looked up to. Training to be on the guard – the highest position on the Ark that someone of our status could aspire for,not once did he xomplain about having a fugitive for a sister.
I see him at age 10. Driving a knife in his leg to explain the mysterious splotches of blood on the bed to the visiting officer. I see him at 24, shooting a member of the council to pay for a one way ticket to what he thought was an inhospitable planet so he could be with his (seemingly) ungrateful little sister. You deserved better.
I see him today with a familiar resolve in his eyes as he offers to carry Gaia to safety. I see a leader who would rather get shot a billion times than leave the wounded behind on the battlefield.
He turns to me and I'm startled at the bitterness etched on his face – "you did this", he spits out, gesturing at the bodies strewn around us. An abysmal reminder of what is left of Wonkru.
Am I still a queen if my subjects are dead?
I can't let him put his life on the line. If anyone will be walking across the field, open to enemy's fire, it can't be him. He is what the survivors need. All heart, and little brain, my brother is exactly the kind of person who can rebuild a dying society. Once we have control of the Valley, all we'll need is hope and good faith. The bloodied battlefield makes it glaringly obvious – the warriors won't save the day, the empaths will.
So, if even one more person dies today, it has to be me.I tug at his arm, pulling him behind the boulder for cover –"My brother, my responsibility", and it's okay big brother, if you wish me dead- I would too. So I take his stead. Guns at the ready, shooting at the eye in the sky. I must take out all the sheds on the hills that surround us if Indra, Gaia and Bellamy are to make it to safety.
I think of the Mad King, slain by a member of the royal guard, laughing as the sword sluiced his neck and for the first time in 6 years, I feel at peace. Killed in combat. I take down 12 of the 13 men shooting at us when my ammunition runs out .From the corner of my eye I see the last of my friends running into the safety of the shelter. If this is death, then so be it.