Swordmaster

An Heir's Doubt

To be a king...

The highest position in a Nation.

Ridivan stared out of the window at Abydon – the Nation he would one day rule over. He watched its citizens going about their business. Nearly one million souls total, across the city and numerous outlying towns. And he'd be responsible for all of them. For their health, wealth and prosperity.

It was that burden that mitigated the pomp and pageantry that came with the highest seat in the land. A King never stopped working for his people. That's what Barish always said.

Ridivan wasn't sure if he'd be able to carry on such a legacy. Even though he was becoming more involved with the day to day affairs of the Nation, he still felt leagues beneath his king. Like a child playing pretend. Yet he still garnered almost the same level of respect as his king. He was still held high above most others.

He tore his gaze from the window, gazing past the monstrous elevated bed that dominated the north side of his chambers. His eyes settled on the white mourning ribbon hanging over the exit. They were over a hundred years past the lake war, yet it still remained fixed to the wall – a permanent reminder of what they'd lost.

Ridivan didn't think any of them had stopped mourning. Not the King and certainly not the Swordmaster. A scowl tugged at his lips at the thought of the Swordmaster, and his eyes were drawn to his blade. It was on the ground, near the door. He'd cast it down as soon as he returned to his chambers.

To think Leandyr had the nerve to insult Enver like that. It had taken everything within him not to bash his best friend over the head. No, he wouldn't give Leandyr what he wanted. But that look the Swordmaster had given him. Even thinking about it made his muscles tense.

But there was something else under that apprehension. Worry. Worry that his friend was slowly spiraling out of control. Perhaps he should talk to Barish about it. Surely the King would know what was going on with Leandyr.

Ridivan was pulled from his idle pondering when the door to his chambers opened. He didn't have to look up to know that it was Enver, as his cape was the only one allowed to barge in unannounced.

"I thought you'd be in meetings," Enver said. His words were followed by the thump of a stack of books landing on his desk. He'd commandeered one corner of Ridivan's chambers and turned it into a riff-raff shrine of knowledge and scribery.

Stacks of books stood like alters, surrounded by offerings of quill ink and parchment. Only a small, square was left empty, which Enver used to scribble away scribelythings. It was a sound Ridivan woke up to most mornings – the scratching of quill on parchment.

"I have to meet with the Council in an hour." He walked over to the desk, peeked at what Enver was doing, and as usual, found it uninteresting. Save for his cape's handwriting. Envers slanted curling font was worthy of transcribing the words of the gods.

"Are we still going to the Tarry later?"

Ridivan tugged at a lock of Enver's curly, black hair. The tendrils coiled around his finger, its soft caress like silk.

"Ridivan?" Enver said, snapping a finger in front of his face. "The Tarry?"

"Yes, of course..." He'd need to unwind after such a long day. The sun had only reached its highest point and he already felt stretched thin."Enver?"

He didn't look up from his work. "Hm?"

"Have I ever done anything to make you feel as though... you're beneath me?"

The scratching stopped, and Enver looked back at him, one eyebrow arched. "Am I not though? You are SahnCera, heir to all of Abydon. And I am but a lowly Scribe.T'would make for an excellent tale though, wouldn't it? The Heir and His Scribe."

"Why are you avoiding the question?"

"Because, my dear Van, you're just asking me that because of what the Swordmaster said earlier."

Ridivan narrowed his eyes. "How can you be so sure?"

"Books aren't the only things I read for fun. The answer is no, by the way."

"It doesn't bother you? He called you my accessory, for Shifah's sake." He balled his fists at his sides.

"I'm not condoning what he said. You have every right to be upset. Leandyr seems to be more ornery than usual lately. But I don't have energy to waste being angry with him. I will remain unbothered." Enver continued scribbling away on the parchment.

Ridivan leaned against the wall beside the desk. "I don't get it. I don't get why he's behaving like this.Causing mischief, lashing out at everyone. We're not children anymore."

"Indeed. But things have been very different since the Queen died. You all have been different." He rubbed at a smudge of ink on his hand, frowning when it only streaked and got worse. "You doubt yourself much more than you used to."

Ridivan couldn't argue with that point. "She had a lot of faith in me. Sometimes I worry about not being able to fill Barish's shoes. Zehra thought I could become an even greater king than him and... I don't want to dishonor her memory by becoming less than what she thought I could be."

Enver took his hand, brushed a thumb over his knuckles. "You know what I think? I believe you will the greatest King Magika has ever seen." He winked. "Certainly the most handsome."

"I like that assessment."Ridivan could help the grin that spread across his face.

"I'd take it with a grain of salt. It may be a tad biased."

"Just a tad?"

"Just a tad."