The Man who could be King

Note: Image used is 'Odin as Wanderer' by Georg von Rosen, painted in 1886.

"You have an army, my Lord. Use it. The people love you, they want you as King, not your uncle."

Prince Theodore Gethrin stared at his father's favourite confidant, the elderly wise man of the village that became the heart of a growing Kingdom. "And you would, as ever, be my loyal advisor?" His irritation at the politicking of the last week got the better of him. His father was ill, dying even. He turned away from the Sage, dwelling on the lesser Lords who prowled the King's chambers, coyotes staring at the Bear King, waiting for that last shuddering breath. A Kingdom built upon blood and steel, poised to fall to sly words from false men. And now came the Sage, urging him to fight his own family.

"Same as I was for your father," The Sage took little notice of Theodore's attitude, knowing all too well the causes of it. "Your uncle, is not a man who should be King. He and the other Lords will resist you pressing your claim, but you have the right, and, more importantly, are the right man." The bent, wizened man drew close to the Prince, attempting to lay a calming hand on the young man's shoulder.

"He's not even dead yet, and you want me to assert my claim?" The Prince turned on his heels, the Sage's hand sliding off as the Bear's cub found a measure of strength, if poorly directed. His head was held low to stare the Sage in the eyes, green eyes of fury meeting unrelenting stone-gray eyes steeped in sadness.

"He is dying, though. You need to be ready and prepared for the Lords to object, and they will. They think you're too young. How you handle your father's death will allay or enflame their suspicions." For a brief moment, the Sage's voice was not that of the impartial stoic advisor Theodore had seen for 18 years. It was the same voice he'd overheard late at night when his father had nearly lost him to fever or had remembered the event by straying too far in his cups.

"And you would have me put the people against the Lords in this fight?" Theodore probed the Sage's mind, as his own wondered if there was something more than decades of mentoring behind the weight of his concern for himself and his father.

"Yes." The Sage's bluntness stunned the Prince momentarily, cutting every emotion at the knees as he balked at the callous answer. He continued, "Such is the way of things. A Prince, no less than a King, must balance both against each other, or else he falls prey to one or both."

"They'll die." Even as part of him finally realized the method behind some of his father's decisions, Theodore objected to the notion, aghast.

"They'll always die. Some today, some tomorrow, some the day after, on and on. Better that some die today so others may live well under a just King, than none die today that all may suffer your uncle to rule." The Sage had drawn to his full height, a hand or so taller than the Prince now. He seemed firmer than a few seconds ago, his vitality restored as he stared down Theodore's objection.

"And just how far are you willing to chase that belief?" The Prince countered, meeting the taller man's gaze with his own.

"That is not my decision. I am not the King, nor the Prince. I am but his advisor, his guide to the minds and nature of men lesser than himself. What he does, at or against my advice, is his decision alone." The Sage bowed, returning to his stooped posture as Theodore stewed in the strange philosophy espoused by the Sage and whether his advice was worth heeding.