Forgive Me, My Dear, for the Fools Call Me into Battle

“Could I tell you a secret? It’s about my father.” The Prince, blunt as ever, turned to his servant unexpectedly, causing the Mage to lose his place in his book.

“The walls have ears, my friend. Are you sure you trust them?”

“They are my ears, are they not?”

The Mage chuckled, “They will be, but for now you are a prince.”

“And you are my most trusted advisor. Would you care to shoulder my burden with me?” 

“I suppose.” The Mage was not immune to flattery, nor was he immune to his Prince looking so serious and trusting.

“I…” The Prince started, “I believe…”

“Take your time.” The Mage placated, not wanting his friend to feel distressed.

“I think my father plans to kill me.”

The book fell out of the Mage’s hands as he grabbed his master’s shoulders, “What have you heard?”

“Bits and pieces. I almost walked in on him while he was monologuing.” 

The Mage nodded, “I see. This is good.”

“You’re taking this rather calmly. I know my father is going to kill me and you’re telling me that’s good?”

“Not like that…” The Mage started pacing the corridor, “Gods above, why must the castle be full of spies?”

“Spies?” The Prince questioned, “Surely my father would-”

“They spy for him!” The Mage snapped before quickly backtracking, “No, no they spy for the Fae as well. They spy for all races wronged by your family.” He frowned for a moment before his eyes lit up, “Meet me in the garden in ten minutes. If you’re not there, I’ll assume you’re dead.”

The Prince let out an ungodly screech, throwing his boot at his retreating friend. The King was a cold, cruel person and none knew that more than the Prince. The foolish, naïve Prince who saw the good in everyone, as the Mage would say. The walls have ears, the Prince thought, and he shuddered at the thought. The garden was safe. He would get to the garden and he would wait for his dearest friend.

The Mage was quick to join the Prince in their safe haven. He sat down against the fountain, “You were early.”

“Yes, I figured that way I wouldn’t be murdered.” The Prince replied humorlessly. The Mage ducked his head sheepishly, “Did I scare you?”

“Did you-” The Prince threw his hands in the air, “Of course you scared me! Who wouldn’t be scared of death?”

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you so.”

“You are such a liar.”

“I am.” The Mage chuckled, “But I promise, I’ll never lie to you again.”

“So… what will we do about Father?” The Prince was unsure of the procedures that come with hearing your father plan your murder. He figured the Mage would know. The Mage was taken aback at his friend’s bluntness, unsure of how to respond. Figuring that suggesting assassination wouldn't sit well with his kindhearted friend, the Mage was quick to come up with a new plan.

"Why don't we run away?" He suggested tentatively. He had ulterior motives for running away. Motives that he knew the Prince would never agree with, since they would end with the King’s death. The Prince's eyes lit up, "We could go anywhere… do whatever we want."

"It was just a suggestion." The Mage didn't register the agreement in the Prince's voice at first, ready to tell the Prince to forget about the idea. The Prince picked up on this and put a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, "I would love to run away with you."

“Really?” The Mage raised an eyebrow, “You would run away with me even if it meant betraying your father?” 

“As you would never lie to me, I would never lie to you.” The Prince smiled reassuringly at the Mage, “We’ll leave by nightfall. Do you have any loose ends to tie up?”

“None. I assume you do?”

The Prince laughed, “Surprisingly no.”

“What about the serving girl your father caught you kissing in the kitchens?” The Mage teased, chuckling at his friend's red face as he tried to regain control of the situation before the teasing escalated.

“What was it you said about spies?” The Prince mused, “She tasted like the Fae.”

“Oh, and you have experience with the Fae?”

“I have experience with everyone, my dearest companion.” The Prince gave the Mage a gentle shove, and the Mage responded by lifting the Prince into the air with a wave of his hand and dropping the Prince into the fountain. The Prince grabbed the Mage and dragged him into the water with a fierce battle cry. To outsiders passing the garden, the Prince and his personal servant were just displaying the most incredible show of immaturity the castle had ever seen. To the Prince and the Mage, it was a last attempt at normalcy before their world changed forever.

They escaped, they joined the rebellion at the Mage’s request, and they died fighting against the King’s forces. Their sacrifices were the turning point in the battle for the throne, and the rebellion overthrew the tyrant and began a new era of peace and prosperity. The gods looked down at the Prince and the Mage favorably, and raised them to their ranks, giving them new titles. The God of Kindness and the Trickster God, whose sacrifices saved their former kingdom. The new gods were honored by the kingdom, since their lives as mortals ended to save countless others. Years passed, temples were constructed, and the God of Kindness and Trickster God remained just as close as they had when they were merely the Prince and the Mage. All good things, unfortunately, must come to an end. Eventually the gods grew corrupt and heartless, abandoning their people. Even the God of Kindness fell to this pestilence of cruelty, becoming known to the mortals as the God of War. The Trickster God couldn’t bear to see his friend treat the mortals he used to love in such a manner, and he went into hiding in an attempt to escape the madness that was consuming his fellow immortals. He returned to ruins and ash, fire and blood, and his old friend standing in the wreckage of the kingdom he died and was reborn for. The Trickster drew his staff, “What have you done?”

The God of War gave a childish giggle, “Forgive me, my dear, for the fools call me into battle. Who am I to refuse their pleas?”

“You were never one to wage wars without just cause. You were patient, loving, and most of all you were kind. Have you forgotten that already?” 

The God of War turned around, his sword caked in the blood of the fallen. He stared at the Trickster, and for a moment he wasn’t surrounded by the ruins of the kingdom he would have inherited, he was in the castle garden with the Mage. For a moment he wasn’t a god of war or kindness, he was just the Prince. He dropped the sword and stumbled into his friend’s arms, “I’ve done terrible things, haven’t I?”

“Yes, you have.” The Trickster muttered, wrapping his arms around the God of War. This was once his childhood friend, the boy he ran away with, the boy he died for. He would do anything for the Prince.

It was such a shame that the immortal he held in his arms was too far gone for redemption.

“I have no right to beg for your mercy, and yet I throw myself on it. Could you find it in your heart to forgive someone like me?”

The Trickster drew a knife out of the God of War’s belt and raised it above the corrupted god’s back.

“Of course, my dear.”