Kings & Curses

Bended Knees

YAKKEN

Young men are naive, he thought. They are so foolish and ignorant, he thought. They won't listen anymore, but when the time comes that they are troubled, they will whine and complain about everything like a mad man.

"Those son of bitches do not know what they did." He muttered sharply, speaking to himself. He walked into the streets, now, some huts and some buildings are now opened, people walking around the street, some of them is sweeping the fallen leaves, some of them feed the kingdom's pigs and chickens— the kingdom has awoken, he thought.

He went straightly into the high walls of Ravenhal, that stood upon ages, kings and queens of this land perished yet it stands strong throughout the centuries. When he was still a knight, there are stories he hears about this walls, that the giants helped King Claymore build this kingdom, their knowledge about crafting, and their strength and staminas to lift such thick and unpierced stones from their times.

The old man reached the top, gazing into the empty lands that stretched into the far north. It was just misty and foggy from the distance. The other guards were still sleeping, drunk and wasted based from the pitchers of wine they absolutely stole from the stockhouse. Bastards, he thought.

He, once again, gaze upon the open fields, few trees wiggles from the cold wind; three or four is what he saw. He wonders, what the other northeners do outside this stronghold. Do they still farm, took care of pigs, horses, and chickens. Do they still hunt, do they still fuck, do they still drink wine, do they still dance, sing— do they still have freedom, are they still alive?

It's been almost fourteen years since he last rode a horse to see the outside lands of Ravenhal. They believe that two hundred years ago, the sun still smiles from above the great land of Ravenhal and give nutrients to plants and wheats, no snow, no cold. The legends that priests used to tell were, the Ravenhal is the brightes lands of all, that giants could be awake for twelve days straight, and endless summer it was. It was the most safest place ever since men created war, but then it all changed. Old Yakken remembered the story about the first king of Ravenhal, King Claymore, the Titan's tounge. He is the founder of this land, the keeper of the flames. But when he discovered that he could counquer other lands with other rulers, he was blinded by power and wanted more, like what men always do. He took lives of others and bathe into the blood of his enemy. The giants were not pleased by his doings, so they fled into the Unseen Lands and were never to be seen again.

Stories, they goes on and on. They will never end until there is none into this world, he thought. The stories that people of this realm knew about his friend, King Charles II, is by far the most pitied by other kings, but the story he knew about his friend, is by far the most heroic story a man can ever wrote. It is not about how many people praise or honor your name, not for how many kingdoms you have conquered, and for how many war you have been victorious— Old Yakken believes that it's about being a man and not to be blinded by the cravings of power among others. He knew that people will hate his royal friend, what he did was the wrong thing for the eyes of others, but for a father's heart, it's worth a life of a kingdom for his love ones. If others knew about the story of King Charles II, they will think that it is naive and selfish, but the gods themselves proclaimed that it will pleased their sight if a man sacrifice himself for those people he loves the most, a great love has no measures that even death himself did not reached.

Old Yakken bend his knee into the cold stoned floor in the wall, gently closed his eyes, spread his arms open into the air, and started praying. It's been a long time since he prayed, he thought, he hoped that he still remember the old ways...

I pray for thy grace,
I pray for thy guidance,
I pray for thy light,
That it shones upon this kingdom.
I pray for thy wisdom,
I pray for thy glory,
I pray for thy judgment,
That thy chosen ruler will be fine.

Please, look upon us, let us be protected
Inside these walls, let us be safe.
Use your birds to sing peace,
To echo into our great halls, let us be comforted.

Become our light into our dark days,
Cover us with your undying grace.
I will whisper this words,
To honor you and to pray to you my lords.

He was still kneeling in the ground when one of the guards started snorting. "Is this real? Or am I still dreaming?"

"Seven hells! We should wake up! This is a nightmare, indeed! The Old Yakken is kneeking, praying into the gods!" The guards laughed, and teased him. Well, he knew it was going to happen.

He stood up and exhales. His eyes landed on a young guard, he knew the father of the young lad. "Aren't you the bastard of Warren Gonzal, eh? You laughing proudly at a drunkard man, while your half brothers are living in the capitol, fucking ladies with huge tits and juicy asses! Here you are, guarding the walls, getting drunk, and dreams about fucking a horse? Pity." Being an inexpirienced old man is one of Yakken's assets.

The man's face flushed, embarassed yet triggered. The other guards can't help but to laugh and pity the young guard— like they always do throughout the whole day.

"Listen you fools!" Old Yakken announced. "Do you know what this house used to say from the old times?" Everyone was quiet, confused, some of them were thinking.

"The eyes of ravens sees everything!" A man of the guards yelled, proud that he knew he was right.

"Aye!" Old Yakken looked into the open fields again, where mists covered the lands, thicker than the walls were they stood. "The eyes of ravens sees everything." He whispered those words that made the other guards stare into where he is looking now.