The characters featured do not belong to me. This work is not for profit and meant as artistic expression inspired by the original work.
#Untitled#
by Beth
Coll stepped to the side. The jug smashed on the wall, spattering it with the red of wine.
Diarmuid dan Ailell had been nodding off while his brother raged at their father. Had been smiling when the verdict was pronounced. Had been calm during the ceremony that named him as heir in the place of the banished one, and the banquet after.
Now, Coll thought, came the breaking.
"How dare he." Diar's stained shirt and matted hair still looked white in the night's darkness as he grabbed hold of the window's frame. "Why did he leave me to this? I'm not - I'll never be a king. All he has to do is say 'jump' and people ask 'how high'. I'm the jester, the carefree one. How dare he... give me cares."
It was not only the drink talking. Diar's face was too tight, his breathing too fast. It went deeper, to his root.
"It's not like that." Coll tried to catch Diar's eye, anchor these frenzied thoughts. "He-" that name, already forbidden "-people obey him. Your people love you. We'd follow you to the death."
Something of this got through to Diar, because the Prince stepped forward. Coll towered over him, but somehow that never mattered to Diar.
"Coll." A true smile. "Be careful, Coll. I might ask that of you."
It was the right thing, the only possible thing, to kneel in front of Diar and press his hands to his forehead. "You have my oath and my life. You have always been the king of our hearts."
A laugh, then, jerky and high. "That's treason."
"Does my king ask for my life, then?"
"No, Coll." Diar pulled him up and embraced him. "I need someone who listens when I'm drunk."
~FINIS~