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Unrequited Love
one year ago
The dull thumping of steel can be heard on the stone causeway as Marion marches towards his father's chambers, clothed in regal silk, flanked on both sides by his trusted guards.
Stopping outside, he breathes deeply. He puts up a hand on the door. His senses have been in a state of panic since morning. He focuses on the soft wind kissing his cheeks, the dim chirping of birds outside. Balling his fist, he breathes in deep and tries to control the involuntary shaking that comes over his hand.
He stands there with closed eyes for a few moments, breathing in and out, the peaceful morning calming and providing confidence to his agitated mind.
'I must not waiver", he thinks to himself.
With steely eyes and knotted brows, he thumps on the door twice, thrice. A moment of silence, when he swears he can hear the sound of his own breathing. Cutting across the silence like a knife through butter, a rich baritone echoes from within the room.
"Marion, is that you?"
Marion stands in stumped silence. Shaking off his frugal state, he answers, "y-yes father, it is me. May I come in?"
"Ah, Marion! Come, come!"
Signalling his gaurds to wait outside, the young prince takes one last look outside and then without ceremony marches in the antechamber.
Sitting at a wooden desk, is King Hector. A solidly built man of 40, sporting hair that will put even a lion's mane to shame. He grips his longsword and puts it to the side. And then he stands. The king is 2 full heads taller than the prince. If it was not for the kind smile gracing his features, Marion is sure he would have shité himself.
"Son! What brings you to me at this hour? Have the envoys returned already?"
Holding his shaking hand with the other, Marion speaks.
"No father. It is not about the envoys. I wanted to discuss a matter of personal import with you"
A look of worry comes over the Kings's features. Rubbing a hand over his beard, he bends low and puts a hand on his son's shoulder.
"Speak freely, son. As long as I am here, I shall strive evermore to restrain what plagues you so."
Finding some semblem of solace in his father's words, Marion feels confident. Forgetting his self-doubt and fear, he continues, his mindset cemented in the fact that once the King listens he will surely understand.
"Fa-father....I heard you were sending envoys to look for a suitable bride for me. I must say I was a bit surprised, shocked and angry at the information, but I understand the reasons behind it. This is beyond me. The whole kingdom's fate rests in my hands. As such, I also know you've appointed our friend Cassius' daughter Mira to study with me in Master Feren's care....I believe we both know that is to cultivate a bond beyond friendship....
But father....there...th-there is something you must know...I do no fe-feel the same love she feels towards me. As such, it has been a long time that I wanted to discuss this with you. But fear and shame have always held me back. I've tried father, I've tried but ....I am different. I do not feel love towards Mira or the Shieldmaidens you appointed as my personal gaurd, or any of my friends in Master Feren's studyhall. I ...I have been suffocating all this while, constantly worrying and crying, trying to find a solution...to know what is wrong with me?! But father, trust me, I've tried everything. If you may ask, yes, yes, I do feel love. But that is for another. I love Alexander, Ser Alexander, the one you appointed as my weapons trainer. Father, believe me when I say this, when I am around him, it seems all these worries go away leaving my soul in blissful euphoria. When he holds me, I feel shivers creep up my spine and I want him to never let go. It has been 6 years, father and I have kept this with me. No more. I cannot hold this in no more. I feared what you would do if you came to know, but it is better than dying little by little everyday, keeping this inside me, like a great secret th-"
Marion's words are sharply interrupted as the King's fist connects with his jaw. A ripple of violent energy splits across his jaw. His head snaps back as two of his teeth chip out and are blown away from the impact. He falls down backwards, like a log. His nose, broken, his lips, cut and bruised. A deep red coats his face as more and more blood spills out. Marion feels like his world split apart. He can see nothing but darkness in his eyes and his father's room seems like a far away place. He groans and moans as his senses slowly returns and he feels the acute lancerating pain that wrecks through his face.
"YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU DISGRACEFUL WHORE-BRED SON OF A CUNT! YOU BLOODY BASTARD! All these years I've wasted behind you, for what ? For this ? For you to play games ? YOU DARE SPEW SUCH SHITÉ TO ME?! I SHOULD'VE SEALED YOU IN THE WOMB THAT BIRTHED YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL CUR!"
With that, the furious King plants a brutal kick into the still prone form of Marion. Spittle, blood and snot flows up from his mouth and nose as his body naturally bends as the savage impact.
Marion grunts as he tries to form coherent words to beg his father for mercy.
"SILENCE WENCH! I SHOULDVE LEFT YE TO THE DOGS, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! YOU ARE NO SON OF MINE, YOU FILTHY DISEASE-RIDDEN CORPSE OF A MAN!"
With that the old king picks up his longsword and walks furiously to the wretched Marion. He slowly unseathes the sword, letting the twang of the blade ring loud and true throughout the room. With a maniacal look in his eyes, he puts a foot down atop Marion's throat and spits in his face. And then, with a furious shout that would even rival the thunderstorms, he brings the sword down with the fury of the Gods themselves.
"AAAHHHHH FUCK! FUCK!!!" Marion wakes up with clammy skin drenched in cold sweat. His tunicless body heaves as his lungs wrack in air by mouthfulls. His bloodshot eyes are as wide as a cornered prey's and his flared nostrils remain witness to the nightmare he just lived through. Putting a hand on his throat, he slowly calms down as he closes his eyes and breathes in deep. A unclothed calloused hand comes out of the bedsheets beside him.
"Son, come back inside the covers, you're making me cold."
"Yes fathe- yes love, yes, I will do just that."
With that he kisses the King's hand as he takes one final breath in and shakes his hand and wraps himself under the voluminous covers of the bedsheets alongwith the King.
The dishevelled clothes on the ground, chairs and the bedpost remain witness of the love that ensues.
