Baal

“The things I do for love.” --- Jaime Lannister

         Baal, the Royal Healer, loved the King; loved him as if he were his own father. Few highborn men would take in an abandoned child off the street; none would take in one named after a Prince of Hell, none but King Alan. He looked solemnly down at his hand, where his name was etched. It had been the most painful experience of his life, but the man who called himself Baal’s father said it must be done. He could hear his father’s voice, screaming in his ear.
         “Only a demon would kill his own mother. Everyone must know of what you have done, hellspawn.”
Baal did not quite understand how his mother dying in childbirth had been his fault, nor why he must pay penance for it. But he did, every time someone called him by his name, or he looked at his hand and saw the scars.
         It was because of his love for King Alan that he was seated at his desk this day. The mess could hardly be called a desk, in reality it was just a few pieces of wood, held together with a modest application of sap of the tree whence it came, and Baal’s hope.
            The Healer ran his hands through his jet-black hair, trying to understand what he could do for the King. How can I fix a destroyed spine? wondered Baal. He was not amazing at what he did; being tall, fit, and quite handsome, he never had to be. Riding through his Journeyman-ship on a sea of pleased---very pleased, women, was what Baal had done, and now his laziness was kicking him square in the ass, and killing the only man he loved.
            He was interrupted from his self-pitying reverie by the door to his tower slamming open, and Sir Richard sauntered in. Great, now I have to deal with him. Sir Richard was a short and fat man, almost entirely round. He was also a cruel man, at times putting Baal’s former father to shame. It was said that a peasant had once asked for one piece of copper, to buy enough food to survive the day. Sir Richard had him bound in the center of town, and threw copper at his body until it became a corpse, then left him there to rot.
            Sir Richard was also the younger brother of King Alan. Being the second and last child, he had been offered the position of Lead Protectorate of the King of the Seven Lands and Seas; a bloated, pompous title for a bloated, pompous man.
            “How is my brother’s remedy coming, demon?” asked the rotund highborn.
            “Answer me this, Richard---“ asked Baal, before being interrupted.
            “Sir Richard.” he interjected instantly.
            “Forgive me, Sir Richard, as I was saying. How am I to cure a broken spinal cord?” Baal felt bile rising in his throat as he used the title. If that man deserves his title, then I deserve to have this cursed marker driven from my hand.
            “It is not the place of me to cure my brother, nor is it the place of a spawn of hell. But since you are all we have…” The fat man let his voice trail off, in a silence brimming with disgust.
          It is not the place of an honored knight to kill his brother, but you tried anyway, dear knight. thought Baal. Officially, King Alan had been visiting one of the neighboring cities, and had fallen drunkenly off his horse. Unofficially, Baal was certain that King Alan had been attacked by his beloved brother. Injuries such as King Alan’s did not come from merely falling off a horse, and a man beaten comatose would be unable to tell the truth. The Healer knew that Sir Richard was next in the line of succession, and the first order of business of King Richard would be to murder the hellish healer.
            “I beg your apologies, Sir Richard. I am working my hardest, but at my academy we were rarely taught how to do the impossible.”
            “I understand. I myself know how hard it is to learn while between a woman’s legs.” a disgusting smile had spread across the man’s lips.
            “Why, my liege. I find it hard to believe that you can fit between a woman’s legs.” Baal smiled as wide as the fat man after saying this.
            Sir Richard, at the final remark, spat on Baal, and then turned and waddled out of the room. Baal wiped the spit from his face, and one thought came to his mind: I must get to him, before he gets to the King. The Healer went to his shelf, made of the same barely passable material as his desk, and grabbed his magical books---arcane and holy.
            Baal, the Healer, truly loved the King.