It seems to me that the scroll is my best chance to figure my role out and come up with a plan of action. It's too closely related to me, since it has my name on it. I don't think there is a hero or king with a name quite like mine. Call it conceit if you will, but I would have known if there was.
I turn from the room with a sweep of my unwanted mantle and let myself into the quiet hallway beyond. I still hear the clank of the guards' armour nearby, but it's small comfort. I rush to my chambers as the first light of dawn begins to turn the carpets gold before me and yank the door shut in my wake. Not that it would stop any determined assassin, but the note says I will be exposed as a sham. I find it hard to believe they would do so in the lonely confines of my room. Nobody would see the show.
The thought makes me grimace and I set the scroll down on my desk with a clack of the wooden rod that holds it shut. This is all I have to show for my efforts. My disappointment is stronger than my helplessness. That's saying a lot, because I feel like I am floating in place with no idea how to get out of the boat I am stuck in. Worse, it seems the king that appointed me his heir believed in legends and children's stories.
I set a heavy jar of bluish black ink on the corner of the scroll and unroll it as far as I can. It is then that I realize it will snap shut by itself if I don't find something else. The dagger I use for eating is at my hip, and I pull it from its sheath with a hiss. This I set on the bottom portion of the scroll so its weight holds it down. With this set in place, I grasp one of the spluttering candles so I can see. Soon the sun will be up anyway, but I want to get as much crammed into my head as possible before that crown rests on my brow.
Even with the helpful illumination the text makes no sense to me. My name is written in aged ink, and I am celebrated as some sort of hero born of an unusual relationship. My parents are kept in the records, but to me they are nothing more than names. I do not know them, and I never will as they passed away with the pox disease that spread through the kingdom many years ago.
This never bothered me before, but now I am restless and tired. Some instinct tells me that, although I only ever oversaw a small portion of land, I am not what I thought I was before. Even aside from the fact that I am now the king. I never wanted this position. I just need to prove myself. The scroll tells me fire is my best friend, but as I gaze into the candle's steady flame I am not so sure. Could it be suggesting I show a display of power through violence? How can I when there is nothing to be violent to other than a group of helpless, pathetic peasants?
I'm sure this will do me no good, but perhaps my real rivals are the nobles that eye me from beneath lowered lashes. They are my true danger because they know more of how the kingdom is run than I do. They are the ones I have to put in their place. But the scroll isn't helpful in that regard. It flings riddles at me, and tangles my thoughts so much that I, at long last, feel my head thump down to the desk.
That is when someone knocks on the door behind me. I jerk upright and twist in my seat so I can face the door. They must consider dawn a decent hour to disturb their king at. I set my mouth in a firm line and push myself upright. Even if I don't feel ready, I do my best to bring minor order to my appearance.
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