Someone Else's Kingdom, BOOK I - Chapter 49

The boy, aka, Prince Estorie, the son of the King of Tunid, was well taken care of on Brynnyfirdia. Living almost like a family member - albeit a quiet family member - in the household of Colm. The weather was cold and biting, but he nevertheless felt just about comfortable on the island. Inwardly, his plan was to simply endure the situation as best he could, until the situation was resolved and he could return home. As that was unlikely to be anytime soon he accepted the goodwill he was given with politeness, though he still spoke little. His compatriot, Coulema Galina, received hospitality as well, though without quite the esteem. By day, he was allowed to reside in relative comfort with Prince Estorie and Colm. The shackles nevertheless remaining around his ankles - just in case. At night, he was guarded and imprisoned, not too far away, in an adjacent dwelling. 

As the windy day began to end, and night began to drop onto the world, Galina finished the last gulp of his wine. It tasted harsh, and not as sweet as the wines he once enjoyed back on Tunida, but during the cold weeks he had grown accustomed to it. As he placed the goblet down on the heavy wood table his two guards, who had both also been enjoying their drink, came over and led him back to his quarters. Saying a cordial goodnight, not just to Prince Estorie, but also Colm - who he'd grown to admire somewhat - he left the fire-warmed room and headed out into the darkness.

As he left Colm continued the conversation, speaking to the young prince as if speaking out loud to himself. Knowing that, as the prince offered so few words, replies would be seldom forthcoming.

"You're a good-natured child," he observed, "And, I trust, like your father, you also have younger brothers. Will you be able to do what your father did? It would quite surprise me." As he spoke this, a young girl walked into the room - one of Colm's own grandchildren - carrying a large pitcher of water. Which she proceeded to heat gently over the fire.

The young prince, who was now watching the girl warm the water, didn't answer.

"It's a strange thing. Your friend Galina, likewise, seems an honourable man. Not what I was expecting from such a calculating tribe. Your father - in fact, your family in general - has waged war on this island for centuries. Usually it's the mainland kingdoms that do the actual warring, of course, but still, that impulse comes from your island ..and the fear from there too. A kingdom - so ruthless, it is said, that even the king himself must kill his own brother to come to the throne."

At this point another granddaughter of Colm's came into the room. This time with a small baby, who the two girls proceeded to bathe. The first girl testing the water she'd warmed dotingly on her arm before using it to wash the child.

"Yet, here you are ..a gentle boy, no different to my own grandchildren. How is it possible? Your father, a cold murderer. A murderer of his own brother, no less. How has he produced a child such as yourself? Have I missed something?"

"It was his duty."

These rare words of reply brought silence to the room. The two girls looked up as he vocalised them, suddenly paying attention, but only to the sound, not to the content. He spoke so infrequently that his voice had a novelty. As if a bird had landed unnoticed upon the window ledge, then had caught them off-guard with its piercing squawk. The words surprised Colm a little too, but landed in a way that they didn't for the two young girls.

"Duty?" he wondered - again, almost aloud to himself, "A strange duty. In a fit of anger, yes, I can see it. I can imagine someone killing a brother in a fit of rage. Or over a woman, maybe. Or some other feud ..but in such a cold and crafted way? I can't quite imagine it."

"If you can imagine a man killing for a woman, then why not for a whole kingdom," came the crisp reply from the prince. His scarce, bird-like words once again piercing and unsettling the toastie air of the room. "A kingdom is filled with many women," he went on, now with a natural confidence, "Isn't it more perverse to sacrifice one person for a small matter, than to sacrifice a person for an entire kingdom of people?"

The weight of the answer felt disproportionate to the previous lack of speech. It likewise stood in stark contrast to the youthful appearance of the young, island prince.

"You may have to do it one day," pressed Colm, admiring the argument, though not convinced by it.

"It will be my duty."

Prince Estorie then stared pensively towards the rosy-cheeked and contented child being bathed by the two girls. Colm, in turn, looking down at him, observing the precocious seriousness.

"Shame," he lamented, "..If you could end such practices we could have peace. We could avoid these wars."

"Or, perhaps there'd be more war and destruction."

As Prince Estorie spoke this last sentence, one of the girls, who'd being listening a little more intently to the conversation than the other girl, looked over, slightly puzzled. Colm was also a tad intrigued by the reply. Yet, as the two girls finished bathing and wrapping the child, before the red, crackling fire, he purposefully changed the conversation. It was getting very late, and such serious talk needed to give way to lighter things ..and a goodnight's sleep for everyone in the household.