Hey!
Well, this was very fun to write. Albeit a bit weird. I really have no clue what was going through my head when I wrote it. But i like it, and I hope it changes you in some way. Writing this changed me a bit anyway.
May this make you think,
Jen
-
I stood there, next to my father and brother. The king and prince of our country were a glorious sight to behold. They were exact replicas of each other, save my brother's inexplicable towering figure. We were there to witness another execution. And I hated it.
My father was not king by birth. Instead he was the second son who had to watch as his brother who he loved try to usurp his own father's throne. That day changed him. And my mother's death in Alain's and my child birth sealed the deal.
His iron rule did not go over well with some of our people and as such there were uprisings and currently we were in a civil war. In what ever honesty I can afford you, I must digress and say that I am one of those people who lead the rebellion. But not because I want the throne.
All my life I have seen my father rule and make everyday decisions that decided the fate of millions, and when I was younger I thought he was the perfect picture of who I was supposed to be. I thought him a fair and just man. But as I got older, I could tell that something wasn't right with his heart. It had been blackened by his past.
I had tried to make myself forget. He was my king and it is written that "God establishes kings" so I tried to hard to agree with his way of justice. But I found I couldn't. And one day, he himself turned me into a rebel.
He had been dining with me and we were talking about politics and justice as we usually did. The only thing was that I didn't agree with him. A woman stole from a noble whom she served to feed her children. He wanted her flogged. I disagreed. I wanted jail time, nothing more. The woman had a family that needed her to be able to work, not an invalid. Oh, how could I have been such a fool as to actually voice my opinion?
I told him so, and as the naïve girl I was, I asked him to change her punishment which was set for later in the day. I'll never forget the look in his eyes as I questioned his decision. Before I knew it, his hand was at my throat, and he told me in no uncertain terms that I was never to question him about anything again and that I had too much freedom already and that this was a man's world, I needed to learn the art of women's court and how to arrange alliances through a good marriage.
By the time he let go, I had marks on my throat from his hand. And I hated him. My allegiance hadn't changed. I was loyal to Camelot and its king, but the king I recognized did not have a throne yet. My loyalty was not to my twin brother whom I regarded as my king, but to my Lord Jesus and His laws.
My father was mad in his grief and suffering, that much was clear and he was willing to harm his daughter. That night I had walked out into the pouring rain, ignoring all notions of health, and simply reflected on who I was. I had changed. One act of violence from a man meant to protect and guide me made me new.
Soaking wet, I returned to my chambers and planned. Then whole while I was planning I was praying. The Lord had something planned for me and this was the first rung of the ladder.
I couldn't and wouldn't kill my father nor would I have him killed. He may have harmed me, and I may not have recognized him as my father any more, he was still the current king and my brother wouldn't be a great king if his reign started with his sister murdering his father.
So I turned to the rebels. They needed a leader and who better than the military genius behind my father's successes. I knew I was taking a huge risk when I became a leader. I would have to pick my battles very carefully as my father would still be using the old plans that "Thomas" had drawn up for him. I couldn't very well have him demanding new ones when I couldn't play "Thomas" and get caught.
So as I stood behind them, my blood boiled. Unnecessary violence. Years ago, my brother had been named crown prince and as such could take over if the king went mad. My grandfather had put it in the charter that once named, the title crown prince could never be revoked in case of a king's inability to rule as he should.
Oh, if only my brother wasn't so blind! If he could only see how wrong my father's decisions were. His innate sense of justice and mercy and duty would kick in and we'd have a new king.
But love and devotion to my father had taken away his perception of reality. My brother had haver truly seen my father's soul. He had never seen all the sides to him I have. He never questioned my story of an attack in the woods that caused me to loose my inability to sing or talk normally, when it had been my father's hands that had done the damage.
How I hated what cards life had dealt me. And insane father, a blind brother, and a whole army at my bidding that couldn't even win the war without my father's death. And the fact that I am standing here, watching an innocent man accused of treason about to be killed, I wanted to retract my order of not killing my father.
I had everything in my favor; the rapidly fading autumn that was turning to a cold and wet winter, my army outnumbered my father's by three to one, but even with all the tactical advantages and strategic checking of the king right before a checkmate, it all meant nothing. The army and the battle plans helped me none if my brother and king didn't even know he was the latter to me.
Suddenly the man cried out from his walk with the shadow of death, "Lord let the true king of our country reign! The Lord is sovereign and shall know the hearts of all men even the king!" And with that, the executioner removed his head from his shoulders.
My father was livid. "They have a leader." The madness was in his eyes. I looked down, not daring to speak knowing my ruined voice and chances at marriage would set him off again. And while I wanted my brother to see his father in the light I did, I didn't want to make him choose.
"My lord, we have another prisoner to execute. We should do it before the crowd leaves."
"Yes; yes of course. Continue." The man, the incredibly brave man nodded and called for the next prisoner. When I saw her, I wanted to throw up. A small child, not even ten winters old held her chin up high. I knew her to be the daughter of one of my higher ranking generals of my army.
The chill, almost wintery gust whipped the rags that she wore as clothing, and I wanted to scream bloody murder. A child, an innocent child; what could she have done?
And then the symbolism hit me smack in the face and made me stumble backwards. He would kill this child to scare the rebellion and punish her father. And I wouldn't stand for it. I broke into a run down the stairs that separated the girl and I, pushing her frail body back to her father, and standing where she stood.
"No. Not today."
I only needed to speak those three short words for my family to understand. My brother looked appalled, and my father even more angry than I ever imagined he would be when he found out. "You do realize that you will be killed for committing this treason against your king don't you?" His smile was mocking, as if I was a stupid girl who didn't know a thing about the man's world around me.
My throat hurt and my voice was scratchy. "I never committed treason against my king, my lord. My God would never condone this; he would never condone nearly strangling your teenage daughter for speaking her mind. You were never my king. My brother and my God are the only kings I will ever recognize. Not you, never you."
The freshly fallen snow told of childhoods lost; of memories never to be remembered and never to be made. The ice sang about what went on in the lives of children, the stories never shared and never written down. After all, this was winter. Autumn had passed the moment I ran down those steps. I was gripped by the hands of winter; the hands of death and life that so loved to wreak havoc on the world for those three months of the year.
My throat hurt from all the speaking and the thin, cold air. "If you want to kill me then go ahead. I'm already here."
That sent my father over the edge. He gave the order for me to place my chin on the stone. As I stared heavenward, I found it so heavily ironic that I met my death not suddenly on the battlefield with my army fighting for my cause and my people, not calmly, with my army and my cause and my people being the death of me.
My brother stared at me with wide eyes, suddenly rendered motionless. I called his name and told him one thing, the only thing I could get out with my raspy voice. People had gotten used to my communication using my servant or a quill and parchment, so hearing me speak so much was a shock.
"My brother, listen. Even the lost get found. Be your country's keeper, so that the whole world will know that you're not alone. Even in the dark you can still see the light. It's gonna be alright. This is the first day of the rest of your life."
Such ironic last words as the French sword came down on my neck and I knew no more.
-
The sword came down on the princess's neck and blood spilled everywhere. People began openly crying and mourning. The brother looked at his king and father to see that he was no longer breathing, and that his eyes stared into nothingness.
The physician later ruled it a heart attack from the shock of ordering and witnessing his own daughter's death. The guilt and shame had been to much for even his blackened heart.
Sitting down, the prince sobbed openly, crying out to God, asking how he could have been so blind and so deaf. His sister's last words had not been her own at all, but quotations from songs they had learned as children.
Time went on, spring came, and then summer, and the prince slowly became the king his country needed him to be, one rooted deep in the faith. He may not have been the military genius his sister was, but he was as close as many could get.
In many ways he was unlike his sister. Constantly he compared not only his self, but others to her as well. He now saw just how different she was, physically and mentally. Besides having deformed vocal chords and not being the thinnest girl he had ever met, she was strong and true, as well as faithful and loyal to a fault. And she had loved her God with all she had, even to follow His commands above her ruler's.
Brave? Undeniably. Foolhardy? You could probably argue that. Loving and true? No doubt. But there has always been something about her, an inner peace that he craved.
His intentional blindness had crippled his heart in more ways than one. He bore the guilt of not taking the throne sooner, of all those innocent lives lost. And he felt that he would bear it until he left this earth to be with God.
But every time he felt guilty for her death, there would be a small voice in the wind saying, "I bore that guilt on the cross. I bore that shame when I died for you. All your hurt and sorrow and loss I bore. And it's not your burden to bear any more. It's mine now. You are not your worst day."
