King Minar the Forgotten

“Sire?”

Minar stirred in his throne; perhaps he had been dozing or daydreaming again. 

“Yes, Vaikar?”

“I was just announcing the arrival of Lord Brethar and Lady Ingwyn.”

“Ah… yes.”

He sat up a bit straighter and readjusted his crown. The weight of it sat heavy upon his head, and its once bright shine was now nearly as dull as its wearer.

Vaikar cleared his throat. “Shall I announce them, my Liege?”

Minar waved his hand in ascent and Vaikar announced the Lord and the Lady to the Court. The large oak doors at the end of the hall were opened and a stately couple strode through them walking in step, their chins raised high. Minar remembered a time when he, too, carried himself with such an air. 

When they reached the dais, they bowed low in unison. Minar stifled a sigh.

“Please, rise and approach, my Lord and Lady. What is it you have traveled here to request?”

Lady Ingwyn was the first to speak. “My Liege, we come urgently to seek your aid.”

Minar leaned forward a bit in his throne, a flicker of the old flame shone behind his eyes.

“I am listening,” he said evenly, though his heart leapt.

“Our crops have suffered greatly this season due to an overpopulation of crows. Our magi are addressing the crows, but our commune will not make it through the winter with our current supply. We seek a supplement from your Majesty’s reserve, at least until the end of the season. Our magi predict that with the bird populations under control, we will only need your reserve until the end of spring.” 

“Your crops…”

He slowly sank back, folding back into himself, the spark extinguished. Why had he expected something else? Why had he yearned for something else? But instead he only received tidings of crops and birds. Birds.

“Of course, my Lady. You may speak with my harvestmaster, Lord Hailgar, to arrange the supply.”

The couple bent low again. “We thank you for your time and grace, my Liege.”

When the doors closed behind them, Minar released his sigh and closed his eyes.

“Is something bothering you, Sire?” came a quiet voice to his right.

Minar’s gaze slowly drifted to Vaikar who stood beside the throne. Vaikar was leaning toward him in a nonchalant yet conspiratorial manner as he gave a quick glance toward the members of the Court. Some of them were whispering to one another. The others watched the king with hawk’s eyes.

“Yes, Vaikar, but nothing from which you can relieve me,” he replied in an even tone, not giving away his distress in his demeanor.

Before Vaikar could answer, Minar rose from his seat, descended the dais, and exited the throne room. Faintly, he heard a single trumpet announce his departure. 

As he traversed the long hallway to his quarters, the portraits of his predecessors loomed over him, their eyes staring down at him with condescension. There was King Ingnar the Steadfast, his father, and Queen Solwyn the Relentless, his grandmother. So many kings and queens who achieved greatness in their lifetimes, who conquered and defended, strategized and executed with might and finesse. Minar stopped at his portrait, the expression in it grave and solemn: an honest representation. Who was that man? King Minar the Weak? King Minar the Idle? 

It was said that an idle ruler marked the end of a civilization. Perhaps that was the way it must go. There had been times of peace in the distant past, but even then, there were skirmishes amongst the communes - petty battles that were fought over territories in which a king or queen could intervene and settle the matter, either through talks or force. Even during times of peace, there was no true peace. But this time was different. No more wars: the last settlement of the Great Enemy, the Vzynians, was destroyed in the Battle of the Sun, started by Queen Solwyn and ended at the Final Stand of Steargard, led by King Ingnar and Prince Minar, who was then a young man of twenty-five. No more skirmishes: the borders of the communes had been well established by the Treaty of Steargard, which was signed during King Minar’s reign. By that time, the prosperity and frivolity following the fall of Vyzn had worn off, and Minar’s ease soon became restlessness, which then turned to despair. He marked the last in a line of greatness, a golden age that would end in obscurity.

“Who are you?” he muttered to his portrait before continuing down the hall to his chambers.

===========================================================================

It was near supper time when he heard a soft knock at his door. From the covert manner of the knock, Minar could deduce who was on the other side. 

“You may enter, Vaikar.”

The door opened slowly and the thin man slipped through. Vaikar shut the door quietly and slowly approached the writing desk where Minar was scratching away at some parchment. It was a few seconds before Vaikar broke the silence with a sharp intake of breath.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, my Liege. But there is something I must discuss with you,” he said, the words nearly tumbling out.

“Please, Vaikar, you may drop the niceties. You know the Court does not have ears here.”

Vaikar nodded in acknowledgement and straightened slightly. Minar inclined his head to demonstrate that he was listening, though he didn’t take his eyes from the document that he was writing.

“Minar, I must bring up a matter which I know causes you much pain, but I can no longer bear seeing you in this state,” he blurted out.

“And what state is that?” asked Minar blandly.

“Well, this!” He motioned to the space around the king, his voice going slightly shrill. He took a deep breath and continued, “You shut yourself up in your chambers, take meals alone, and nothing seems to excite you anymore. I remember a time when you strode about the palace as though you were the Savior Knight himself - proud and regal, in full command. But now… and forgive me for stating this fact, but it is as though the phantom of King Minar haunts this place.” He sighed before continuing in a slightly subdued voice, “Please, Minar, I beg you to tell me of your grief. You have been suffering alone, and I somewhat blame myself for letting you go on like this for so long. You’ve just been so closed off ever since… well…”

“Ever since what?” the king asked, an edge to his voice now.

“Well, ever since Talwyn passed away from us. I see that her and Elwyn's deaths still weigh heavy on your heart. I’ve stood by your side and watched you spiral further and further over the years, and I want to help pull you out of it, if you would just talk to me. I want you to know you are not alone.”

Silence met his speech and he glanced at Minar, whose eyes were downcast, his writing hand stilled. His expression was unreadable and Vaikar took this as a sign to remain silent.

After some time had passed, Minar finally said in a voice barely above a whisper, “You’re wrong, Vaikar.”

Vaikar blinked. “I’m… sorry? I don’t understand. Wrong about what?”

Minar sighed and met Vaikar’s eyes, the burden of a hundred generations reflected in his gaze. “I have accepted long ago that my wife and daughter are no longer within my reach. I do not grieve for them, but for myself now, selfish as that may seem.”

Vaikar gaped, “I… I don’t -”

“I know you don’t understand, Vaikar. I don’t expect you to. My fate, as it seems, is to die without glory, without accomplishment, without a legacy. This peace time, though I don’t begrudge it, is also a time for languishment, for idleness. I have no wars to win, no glory to seek. Instead of lords seeking my help in battle, they seek my crop reserves. Now we battle birds instead of men. What great leader can you name who has not earned their title in some feat of conquest? Of what renown am I to claim at the end of my life? Kings and queens are believed to be immortal, but no more, for I am the one to end their immortality. Just like the dynasties of old, my line will sink into obscurity, and I will be but a name with no bearing. Perhaps not even a name anymore. What have I to show for my life? Who am I to my people, other than their king by title only?”

Vaikar didn’t speak, and Minar realized he had been near to shouting by the end of it. The king rose from his seat and walked to the portrait of his wife on the opposite wall.  

“I am getting old, Vaikar, and I am without an heir. I see how the Court watches me as buzzards do a dying beast. When I die, they will be at each other’s throats for their claim to the throne. Though you are right, in a sense. If Talwyn… if Talwyn and Elwyn survived childbirth, things would be different… Perhaps I would be a more worthy man. That is what haunts me.”  

Minar turned to Vaikar, his expression grave. “You see now why you cannot help me, Vaikar. Not this time.”

Vaikar only stared at Minar, a mixture of confusion and disgust contorting his features. 

“You think you have no legacy? Minar, how can you say such a thing? Yes, it is true you have no heir, but you helped to rebuild the communes and keep them united after the fall of Vzyn. This kingdom has not known peace like this in over two hundred years. How can you say that is not an accomplishment, or that you mean nothing to your people?”

“You give me credit for things I did not do, Vaikar. The peace came about because the war was won under my father’s rule, not mine. You also push your accomplishments on me as though you weren’t the one who enacted the treaty for the communes while I was drinking myself into oblivion,” Minar replied with gritted teeth.

“I only did what you required of me at the time,” returned Vaikar.

Minar waved the statement away as though it were a fly and turned away.

“You cannot take everything on yourself, Minar. That is my job, to help you,” Vaikar called to him, his voice growing stronger.

Minar whirled at him, his finger pointing accusingly, and Vaikar shrunk from him slightly. “I did not ask you to do my job! I am the king!” He recomposed himself, but the anger was still in his eyes. “Though I hold no blame for you. I knew once a treaty was enacted, this,” he opened his arms wide, “would be the result: an end of an era of greatness. And with Talwyn and Elwyn taken from me, I am left with nothing…” 

Minar paused as he began to pace. “It was inevitable, but I was too afraid to face it. Do you think my father, my grandmother, would bend to their cowardice as I did?”

“You cannot blame yourself! You were grieving your wife and daughter!” 

“I was grieving the man I used to be!” 

Minar’s flare of temper seemed to enlarge him in the eyes of Vaikar, and for a moment he was afraid. But finally the moment passed, and Minar appeared again as Vaikar’s old friend.

“Whatever you may think, you’re still the one who the people look up to and admire,” continued Vaikar quietly. “You’re not forgotten by your people. I just wish you would not forget who you are.”  

A heavy silence fell about the room and Vaikar turned to leave. He was one pace away from the door before Minar stopped him.   

“Wait, Vaikar, please. I’m sorry.”

Minar slowly approached, a gentleness in his step. Vaikar turned to look into the king’s eyes. The old sorrow had returned to them, but there was something else that flickered softly behind them now. 

“Forgive me for taking my frustrations out on you. It isn’t fair of me. I… I just don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore.”

Vaikar shook his head. “Do any of us ever really know who we’re supposed to be, Minar?” he sighed, his previous exasperation leaving him. “Perhaps you’re right. I cannot help you, for this is something you must discover for yourself. But I am still here, always by your side, my Liege.”

Minar smiled faintly and placed a hand on Vaikar’s shoulder. “My dear friend, you have helped me in more ways than you can imagine.” 

===========================================================================

After Vaikar had gone, the king walked onto his balcony, the Sun already sunken below the horizon. His kingdom sprawled before him, the small buildings and farmlands stretching all the way beyond his vision. He suddenly heard a flutter of wings and a large black bird perched itself on the parapet. It regarded him with its beady eyes and cocked its head. The king didn’t shoo the bird, but instead observed it as it hopped to position itself facing the Sun. It peered over the parapet down below and the king followed its gaze. The cliffside extended down into a deep chasm, the bottom of it obscured by shadow. Minar slightly withdrew himself from the parapet and narrowed his eyes at the bird. It cawed at him and then leapt into the air, soaring away toward the setting Sun. He watched it until it was no more than a black speck in the ruby sky.

===========================================================================

The next morning, the king did not attend his meeting with the Court, much to their disdain, nor did he take his breakfast. Vaikar began to worry. Though Minar performed his duties with resentment, he still performed them all the same. Vaikar excused himself from the Court, and he could feel their eyes on him as he left the throne room. After making sure he wasn’t being watched, he knocked on Minar’s door.

“Minar, it’s me,” he whispered urgently. “Open the door.”

He put his hand on the knob and found the door was locked. Hearing no answer from within, he knocked again and fumbled for his key. Only two keys could open the king’s chambers, and Vaikar owned one of them. He swiftly unlocked the door and walked in to find the chamber empty. 

“Minar?” he called, but he knew he would not hear a reply. The king was gone. A piece of paper on the writing desk caught his eye and he quickly retrieved it, and found it was addressed to him in the king’s handwriting. A short note was scribbled, and its contents put Vaikar’s heart at ease.  

My dearest Vaikar,

By the time you read this, I will already be gone. I have left a mandate that will leave you in charge of my affairs in my absence. You will find it enclosed within the sealed envelope on my desk. I am sorry to lay this burden on you, but you have carried it for me thus far and I am merely making it official. I would warn you to be wary of any plots against you by the Court, but I know you are already well-aware.  

You may have already guessed, but I have decided to embark on a journey, for I feel if I remain here another day, I may fall into a pit of anguish from which I cannot escape. I am ready for new adventures, and new beginnings. 

I have one final request for you, Vaikar: have hope for me that I will return someday, a changed man.  

Your friend,

Minar