Post by wren on Nov 17, 2006 8:29:05 GMT -5
The Reluctant King
Once upon a time there was a lush and beautiful land, filled with milk and honey and all those things that proved that a land was prosperous. A king ruled over this land; a king who was powerful and wise and very, very just. His iron hand was tempered with a velvet spirit and he saw Truth in all things.
One day, the king fell ill and the land went quiet. Everyone and every thing that walked upon the land spoke and moved in hushed tones, awaiting news of the king’s well-being. Normally, this would be because the king’s health was tied to the land but his people truly loved him and wanted him to be well for his own sake.
By his side, while he slept, was his most faithful servant. The boy sat by the bed, his head resting by the king’s hand, so that he would know the moment his master awoke. Often, even in his sleep, the king’s hand would pass over the boy’s hair, because he knew the lad would never stray from his side. One particular moment, the king stirred and the boy’s head snapped up. The king smiled weakly and the boy kissed his hand.
“You should rest,” the king said quietly. The boy shrugged.
“I shall rest when you are well again, Master.” The king took a deep breath, knowing the next few moments would be difficult ones.
“You must listen to me, my son, and you must mark my words now. It is time to tell you all that is in my heart. One day, I shall fall ill again and pass between the veils from this world to the next…” Already the boy was shaking his head. The king smiled knowingly. “Ah, no king rules forever, son. This is how it must be. The Lady of the Land must take a young husband now and again. And, when such time comes, that husband shall be you…” On and on, the king talked… of honor and duty, of love and light, of responsibility and of sovereignty. The boy did not want to hear the king’s words. He did not want to take what the king held out to him and, yet, he could not deny his master’s wishes even so.
“But, I do not wish to be king,” the boy protested weakly, knowing he would do anything his master asked of him. Already the mantle the king had placed upon him weighed too heavily upon his young shoulders. The king smiled warmly at the lad by his side and he mussed his golden hair.
“The best king,” he told his protégé, “is a reluctant king.” So, the boy then revealed everything in his heart. He told the king everything he’d ever done wrong, both real and imagined, and the king listened patiently. He was, in truth, disappointed to learn some of the things the boy had done. Still, when the lad had exhausted himself, his lengthy confession at an end, the king looked him in the eyes.
“I have heard nothing that changes my mind,” he told his successor. “And, much that reinforces my decision…”
While the king’s health rallied, he soon fell ill once again. This time, the end came and, for the boy and the people of the land, it came all too swiftly. Even while he dreaded what was yet to come, the boy stood by his king’s side as all in the land came to pay their final respects. His heart was broken, his spirit shattered and his mind could simply not accept that the man by his side would never again walk among the hazel grove or talk to him for hours of all manner of interesting things.
How could the king have left so soon, he wondered? How could he think the boy was worthy of such an honor, let alone ready for it? How would he ever fill such shoes as the king had worn…for no land had ever had a finer king.
All too soon, the day came that would see the old king buried and the new king crowned. Preparations had been underway for days and the boy had moved through them as if through a fog. There were so many things he still needed to know, so many questions he'd never asked of his mentor and his friend. And, there was still the matter of all he’d told the man before he’d died. What of that? Surely the king had been disappointed in him. Surely, the man had felt as if the boy had let him down.
Once the king had been laid to rest, the funeral party walked as one to the top of the highest hill in the land. There rested a large stone, shaped by the elements to the form of a chair. At its feet rested a smooth stone, smooth but for two impressions side by side. Here, the boy would sit and place his feet in those indentations and take his place as the new king. Here, he would symbolically marry the lady of the land, so that prosperity for all was assured.
But, when that moment came, the boy could not move. His body simply refused to settle into the chair. His feet itched at the thought of placing them where so worthy a pair of feet had rested. The Ollamh, the highest druid in all the land, saw the boy hesitate and stepped forward.
“On this day, youth replaces age,” he began, looking the boy in the eyes, “and on this day hope replaces experience. All our king was he passed to you. All he knew he taught you. All he loved he has handed over to your keeping. If you trusted his judgement in all things before, why would you doubt it now when it matters most?”
“I am not worthy,” the boy protested, his eyes filling with tears of grief and shame. “I shall never be worthy to walk in his footsteps. I have betrayed him and all of you with my weakness. I cannot bear a crown when I wear a wreath of shame upon my head.” The Ollamh nodded with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Know you what your lord and master said when it was he standing upon that same place?” The boy shook his head. How could he know? He had not yet been born. “He asked me how it was that he take his father’s place, when none could compare to so great and wise a king. Do you think any who have stood where you do now felt worthy to do so?” Well, truly, the boy hadn’t thought of that before.
“But, what I did?” he asked, still very unsure of himself. “What I told him? I know he is disappointed in me!” At that moment, a strong breeze blew across the top of the hill. With it came the sweet scent of springtime, the warmth of summer and a voice for all to hear.
“When you told me what you did,” the voice said softly, “on that day, you became a man. Do not think for one moment that any man has lived with no regret. Know, instead, that it is a truly great man who can stand and say what he has done and see it through to the end. You did not disappoint me, my dearest son, you made me prouder than I have ever been of you…” The breeze moved on and with it the voice. The boy stood in stunned silence.
A maiden stepped forward and offered her hand to the boy. He hesitated but finally took her hand and let her lead him the last few steps to the chair. He sat down, feeling the cold of the stone seep into his body, but he sat up straight even so. Staring down at the stone, he noted the two impressions that awaited his feet. They loomed large and deep and he again wondered how he would ever fill them.
The maiden knelt by his side and placed his feet upon the stone. Oddly, in that moment, either his feet grew or the impressions shrank… but, whatever happened, his feet fit perfectly. The boy looked up into the Ollamh’s eyes and saw wisdom, understanding and a great deal of sympathy there.
“You shall not walk in his footsteps,” the Ollamh told him. “You shall walk in your own. You will take all he has offered you, all he has given you, and shape it your own way. One cannot plant the same crop in the same place year after year and expect it to flourish. In the same way, one cannot expect a king to live forever. Change is part of life. Though he will walk beside you for one year, you will walk on your own two feet along the way.”
The Ollamh passed a large and ornate staff to the boy, along with the sword of the King. He held the precious objects, certain he could still feel the warmth of his mentor within them. He looked over his people and his land, his eyes sparkling with tears and knew, once again, he would never deny his king a single thing. This, too, he would do.