Monday, September 24, 2007


It isn't easy to be the King.

It seems like every day, there's another son of some minor noble family from back home, beyond the sea, waiting for me in my audience chamber, waiting for me to grant him some of my land, some of the land that you and I and our brothers at arms and so many others bought with our blood and courage, so that he can begin using those lands to raise an army that will fight my enemies in my name, and earn himself a name as a hero.

Which will eventually lead to him waiting in my audience chamber, yet again, to be granted even more of my lands.

And that will go on and on until we have given everything into their hands.

And then they'll probably rise up against me and kill me and take my place, if they don't find a way to manage it before I run dry of land to award their honors with.

It was so much better to be one of them, on the rise to power, than to be the one they come to and whittle away at for their rewards.

Oh, its nice, sometimes, to have them managing my villages and estates and collecting taxes for me.

But I used to like riding around and visiting with my villagers and making sure all their needs were met.

I can still do that, go out there, sample the latest batches of wine, talk with my villagers, but now its sorta like they're someone else's villagers, you know?

I mean, nowadays, if the villagers start complaining, I have to be all hands off, and say that they should take things up with their proper landlord, I can't let them break the chain of command, I'm the King, I have to stand behind my vassals, cruel and unusual and neglectful of their mundane responsibilities as they sometimes seem to be to me.

Yah, it sucks to be the King.

That's why, when we conquer our next enemy, I'm going to move to that country and start over, and leave all this behind.

I'll give this castle, this castle that's done nothing but make me as miserable as it makes me rich, paying me for the privelege of binding my arms so that these noble sons can keep coming in here and picking the flesh from my bones, away to whoever wants it.

Maybe I'll give it over to the common people, you know, establish some kind of democracy in my place, I don't really care, I'm no fool, there's as much room for tyranny in that democracy stuff as there is in anything else, I'd be replacing one set of fools with another heh.

But what do I care?

I'll be leaving this all behind.

To be back at the head of an army, in a faraway land, with the thunder of hooves and the rattle of steel in my ears and the smell of cheap beer on my breath, with the promise of heroic deeds and the appreciation of some farmer's daughter on the horizon, to not be trapped and withering in this dark prison of poisonous audience chambers and greedy families and compromise, aye, that's what I want.

To start over.

Let some other fool be King.

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