Worthiness

What Defines It?

A/N: This is my entry for the Vocal Word Hunt Challenge. My words were: Horses, Heir, and Fortune. When I found them, I thought I would write a small little medieval tale. Well, 5000 words later, here I am with my longest story yet! Enjoy!

King Dante the Fourth ruled over his Kingdom in exactly the same way his three forefathers had done before him; with a rigid iron will. The number of soldiers matched that of the farmers who fed them, and the kingdom walls were thrice as tall as the tallest trees in the forest that stood near them. The Kingdom had withstood all the bandits and sinister armies that had tried to crumble it, each time with Dante fighting on the front line, a golden crown atop his black hair. Such was his resilience; he was known in neighboring Kingdoms as Dante the Bulwark, an unshakable foundation of blue-blooded fury.

Nevertheless, as his fortune accumulated, so did the forces wishing to steal it. It was three months into a brutal siege upon the Kingdom’s walls when the King decided he needed an heir to secure the future of his subjects. The attacks were getting bigger, and more organized. Rumors from the neighboring kingdoms sang of a jealous alliance against King Dante.

How powerful the myth of a better life can be, to dishonest minds.

Dante married a lady-in-waiting who he had known for many years. Though, perhaps, on the course for love, the marriage rushed their hearts. The result was a quiet marriage of two curious souls. Courtiers would snicker at their blushes and shared glances in court, but they didn’t pay any mind to them. Content as they were in their little pocket of giddiness.

As the fat buds grew on twigs, the new Queen’s womb soon swelled with the promise of fruit. In fact, such was nature’s enthusiasm, the Queen’s womb grew quickly, and large; very large. The courtier’s jested that the King’s child would be as sturdy as he, as a babe. The King laughed along, but his chest ached for his wife’s safety. Her midsection was swollen and worryingly purple. He asked physicians and apothecaries if there was any way to hurry the birth along. The physicians covered her belly in leeches until the purple faded to white and the apothecaries gave her sweet-smelling tea to drink. Perhaps it was their ‘treatment’ was the cause of the calamity which ensued.

The birth was more awful than any siege Dante had endured with his Kingdom. He was unprepared for the helplessness he felt as the blood poured from his wife onto the bed sheets below. Tears burned down his cheeks and dissipated into his beard. He knew from his time in battle, when a pool of red got to a certain size, there would be no recovery. When his wife began to mumble her screams, his panic turned to the life of his child. He begged the physicians to help them. When they moved toward her to help, the weak Queen suddenly roared a guttural, primal, scream, and pushed her child into the world.

Joy flooded the King; he had a child! A son of truly massive proportion. Squealing his life into the open air. The queen beckoned them both to her side. Knowing her time was short, Dante clutched the child to his chest and lay beside his wife in bed; one last time.

“My darling, what a gift you have brought to the world, to me,” the King wept.

“He has my hair,” the queen exclaimed weakly.

“Aye, a blonde halo, he shall have your kindness too no doubt.”

“I am going to die.” The Queen stated.

The king looked at the physicians within the bedroom. They looked at one another; lost.

“Darling…”

“All is well Dante. I am going to die, as many women before me. I have my happiness in your eyes, and my son’s cries.” She looked towards them both, tears beginning to fall slowly.

Suddenly, the Queen’s eyes widened, and she gasped. The King looked to the physicians who gazed between the Queen’s legs in awe. Slowly, one of them reached down and produced another child. A small, parasitic, yellow child. There was a moment of silence before weak cries came from its mouth.

“My dear, another one!” the King exclaimed to his wife. “Another, my dear, you have given me two! What a wonder you are!”

The sickly child was handed to the King, another boy. His hand was bent at an odd angle behind his back. The King grimaced.

“Dante, worthiness is more strength.” The Queen managed a stern tone, weak as she was. The King looked ashamed of his reaction to the limb.

“Zelindo,” the queen mumbled, eyes closed.

“For the first?”

“The… second…” her breath was rattling in her chest.

“He shall be Zelindo and the other, Cassian, no more Dante’s” The King’s voice formalized to address the physicians in the room.

Holding two screeching sons, the King watched as his wife, his bashful love, his invincible support, died. Life left her body quietly, and the King cries soon joined that of his sons.

Prince Cassian grew to be as surprisingly large as a man as he was a newborn. By his twentieth year, he was taller and wider than his father – with an ego to match. Anticipating his kinghood, Cassian was often prancing around the forest on hunting trips with his boisterous band of ‘brothers’. Brothers that shared none of his blue blood, but all of his attributes as a noble hunter. They would return with saddles full of game, and bellies full of mead, ready to charm any woman willing to tolerate their breath.

Prince Zelindo grew to be a quieter soul. Unable as he was to draw a bow or hold a sword in his right hand due to his deformity, it was natural that he took interest in other pursuits. Despite King Dante’s efforts, Prince Zelindo had little interest in masculine activities. Instead, he could often be seen frequenting the castle libraries with his crowd of courtesans. Together they would peruse the pages of ancient tomes, and giggle about the goings-on around the castle.

One day, the King asked both of his sons to attend his chamber together. An occurrence which had not been observed since the boys’ childhood. Prince Zelindo was the first to arrive, shooing away his cohort and nodding low to his father. They waited together for the arrival of Cassian.

“I am not surprised at his tardiness.” Prince Zelindo stated plainly.

“Nor am I,” the King said with fondness.

“You find his irresponsibility amusing?” Prince Zelindo scoffed.

“His irresponsibility? No. His uniqueness? Yes.”

“I find his uniqueness quite repulsive.”

“As I find yours, brother!” a heavy wooden door swung open behind Prince Zelindo, straining its hinges. In strode Prince Cassian, boots caked in mud and skin tinged pink with the sun. The deformed prince clutched his hand to his chest defensively, his head stooping down. There was an unwieldy largeness to Prince Cassian’s presence that went beyond his skin.

Prince Cassian didn’t bother to bow to his father. Instead, he grabbed the nearest jug of wine and poured himself a generous goblet.

“I assume this summons is an important one, father?” he asked.

King Dante looked displeased at the brothers. He had hoped they might put their differences to one side as they grew. Instead, it seemed that as their lives lengthened, so did the distance between them. He scratched his beard thoughtfully, observing his sons. Zelindo hid behind a vale of black hair, shielding his eyes from his brother, but glancing at his father. None of his fanciful giddiness had entered the chamber with him. Giddiness inherited from his mother no doubt. She was a joyous woman. The King smiled at her memory. Zelindo had her slight frame, her porcelain skin and her temperament. Cassian, however, carried none of his mother with him. He was Dante as a young man - noble and brash. The only sign that a witches spell hadn’t manifested a replication of the King to take his place was his halo of curled golden hair.

“I have summoned you here to discuss which of you will replace me.” The King stated plainly.

The brothers heads perked at this. Cassian’s sopping beard removed itself from his goblet in shock. They spoke at the same time.

“Of course, it shall be me!”

“Are you ill, father?”

Cassian looked excited, Zelindo looked sickened.

The King quirked his eyebrow at Cassian, who had the decency to look guilty for his ambition.

“As you know, you were born on the same day…” the King paused in preparation to lie to his sons “…at the same time.”

The lie which he decided to feed his sons was one he felt necessary. Zelindo had an obvious imperfection and was born after his brother. Knowing such could cause Cassian to believe himself King by divine right. Such confidence would raise a lazy King indeed. Apathy was not something King Dante tolerated, not with a Kingdom to care for.

“I intend to test your worthiness this year.”

Zelindo paled further. Cassian puffed out his chest.

“The test is simple. You will be given a month to prepare yourselves, a young horse, and a small dagger. Then, you will live in the woods for a full year – alone.”

The brothers spent their month of preparation in solitude. Prince Cassian trained his young horse to endure long hunting trips and sharpened his dagger against whetstones from the finest blacksmith in the Kingdom. To top it all, he trained himself in the art of spear throwing, as he was used to hunting with an expensive crossbow.

Prince Zelindo banished his cohort from the library, to focus on his study of the natural world. He knew little of the forest and thus sharpened his mind against the whetstone of words. He took small excursions to the forest on his own young horse, breaking them both into the unfamiliar trees. The horse was surprisingly responsive to the gentle treatment, appearing to know where Zelindo wanted to go without him tugging the reins. The dagger he was gifted with remained sheathed.

Soon enough, the day came for the Princes to leave the Kingdom and venture into the forest. The King stood at the gate to bid them farewell. He had a bittersweet look upon his face. He held his hand up to Cassian as he galloped away on his horse and nodded his head to Zelindo as he led his companion into the trees.

It took half a day for Zelindo to become completely infuriated with the forest and by extension, his father’s test. Cassian’s worthiness would surely be proven with ruthless efficiency. Perhaps he would take the opportunity to finish Zelindo off and blame it on a wild hog, not that he would mind his life being taken at that moment, miserable as he was.

He walked until his legs were sore, which was far enough for the Kingdom to shrink a little in the distance. The canopy was heavy there, covering Zelindo in a cold chill. He found a clearing in which he could feel the sun and his horse could graze. He decided to settle there and tied his companion on a long rope to a nearby branch.

He took stock of the clearing. Poppies, ribwort and other medicinal herbs littered the ground. Through the trees, he could see a trail of furred moss, no doubt leading to a stream. Edible mushrooms stuck to the thick trunks around him. He felt his mood lighten significantly.

‘Yes,’ he thought ‘this will do’.

Cassian, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. He rode his horse until it was panting and shaking – until the Kingdom was but a speck in the distance. He too found a clearing and quickly tore up the green threads there to build a handsome fire, one he could re-light at the end of the days.

He tied his horse tightly to a nearby branch to ensure it wouldn’t run away and set up some snares to protect himself from any curious wolves or bears.

‘Yes,’ he thought ‘this will do’.

Spring soon melted into Summer and the Princes had risen to the challenge set by their father. Zelindo had built a hut from mud, thin branches, and grasses. Within he crafted a small grass bed on which to sleep.

He found weaving baskets to be a great challenge but used his knowledge of plaiting the courtesans’ hair to his advantage, using his mouth in place of his right hand to hold the reeds. Soon enough, he had two, one for foraging food, the other for foraging medicinal herbs. He discovered several which were not listed within the Kingdom’s library and tested their effects. One had a remarkable cooling effect on his joints. He used it to ease the pain in his wrist from his bent hand, chewing it into a paste before rubbing it into his skin.

His fortune was built on sweat and scorching pain. More than once had he cut and split his left hand in the name of progress. Zelindo had found a new determination in the trees. He wanted to return home to his library and his friends with his father's approval intact.

One day, he was watching his horse graze when he decided to name the beast. Pure white as he was and elegant in his neck, Zelindo settled for Cygnus, after the swan that flew in the sky.

Cassian had built a small bed of twigs and animal furs on which to sleep. He made rope from the grasses which he tore up from the earth and used them to tie the spoils of his hunting to his horses’ back. Together they dominated the landscape and found themselves lean and muscular.

Cassian found little challenge in the woods. When he lay down to sleep in the open air, he gazed at the stars and dreamed of his father's smile when he would return home.

Things began to turn in Autumn. Zelindo found himself becoming dangerously thin. He had managed to survive on plants well enough, but they had begun to die. His heavenly clearing had turned into a brown sludge, and he was beginning to feed on the herbs which he hung up to dry in his hut.

Eventually, he conceded that Cygnus should have his dried herbs and grasses to survive the winter. Zelindo had pushed his time as long as he could and would have to go hunting.

He strapped his knife to his belt and Cynus’ saddle to his back and set out into the trees around his clearing. Rabbits and hares littered the ground, good options for a meal – but too fast for Zelindo. He also saw the pawprints of wolves and bears along his journey, good options for large meals – but much too ferocious.

Eventually, as night was falling, he stumbled across a herd of deer. Zelindo made the choice to build a small fire and stay the night with them in his view.

‘I shall make my move in the morning, I cannot risk an injury on a moonless night,’ he concluded.

Using the knife he was given, Zelindo sharpened the branches of a strong, heavy tree into three spears by firelight.

Cassian, too, was hunting that night. He bounded after a large boar on his own horse. The terrain was rough, and the boar was showing its stamina. The chase went on until Cassian could barely see, squinting into the darkness.

Several trees tapped on his legs in passing before his horse ran straight into one with a thud. Cassian was thrown from his saddle and together, they tumbled heavily down steep tree roots.

When Cassian came to, he could see his horse on its side, unmoving. He heard a grunt above him and looked up to see the boar but an inch from his face, tusks glowing in the night. Cassian scrambled to grab his dagger from its holder and stand to face the beast. He roared and lunged, aiming for the heart. The boar did the same.

Zelindo woke to the sound of the deer shuffling in the distance. He gathered his spears and climbed onto Cygnus. He strapped two spears to the back of his saddle, so he could reach around and throw them with his left hand. Cygnus began to walk towards the deer, slowly.

Together they circled the herd. There were plenty of young to choose from, but Zelindo did not wish to kill them. The Kingdom used this forest to supply food through the winter, and killing young years before they matured meant an unsteady supply. Indeed, killing females could staunch the supply too. Instead, he turned his attention to the male deer. As dangerous as antlers could be, Zelindo had Cygnus on his side.

Zelindo used his keen eyes to spot an old male that was moving with a limp on its hind leg. His antlers were chipped, and his coat was dull.

“That one, Cygnus. The end of his life is near, and he has paid his dues to the forest,” Zelindo spoke to his horse as a companion. “Today, I will end his life, and kill my first beast.”

Cygnus seemed to understand his words as, as soon as they left Zelindo’s lips, he began to canter towards the deer. His heavy feet thudded into the wet ground and the herd fled with the grace of a flock of birds.

The deer with the limp tried to run from the horse but found himself too slow. When Cygnus approaches his hind, he turned and faced them, antlers pointing menacingly forward. This was to be his last fight, and he was a creature of pride.

Together, the deer and Cygnus danced around in circles. The deer would charge, and Cygnus would gallop away before returning and rearing up on his hind legs.

Zelindo threw his first spear. It missed the deer entirely but stood firm in the ground, a perfect mirror of the deer itself.

When he threw the second, his aim was true, but the deer charged at Cygnus, causing him to turn in panic and kick at the beast with his hind legs. His leg hit the deer in the chest with a deep thump, and it collapsed for a moment. Seizing his opportunity, Zelindo jumped from Cygnus’ back and drew his third spear, throwing it into the beast’s side, deep.

When he knelt beside the dying deer, Zelindo stroked its cheek as tenderly as one might a lover, admiring the soft fur under his hand. Then, he plunged his dagger into its neck and watched its blood mix with the mud below his knees. It was a profound moment for the Prince. He felt a tear sting on his cheek. He would not regret this kill, nor feel blame, but he mourned the loss of a proud soul, nevertheless.

Cleverly, Zelindo butchered the deer where it lay, and left the scraps to the wolves in the hope they would not follow him home. Then, he hauled the carcass onto Cygnus’ back, and followed his hoof-prints back to the clearing. Zelindo was thrilled with his first successful hunt – with no small amount of assistance from his proud white horse. He spent the journey back promising the horse as much dried grass porridge as he could eat. Cygnus seemed very happy indeed at this reward and a bounce bobbed to his step.

Before doing anything to the deer carcass, Zelindo fetched some dried grasses from his hut and placed them in a large basket. He then walked a few feet away from the clearing, where a stream trickled through the tree roots, to dip the basket, softening Cygnus' meal.

Then, Zelindo carefully constructed a frame of sticks and leaves above his campfire within which to hang cuts of deer meat so they could dry to preserve before turning a whole leg on a spit.

The two were in such gluttonous fervor that they almost didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. The only warning they had was a grunt that sounded from behind the hut. Cygnus’ elegant head swished through the air and his ears trained to the noise. Zelindo drew his dagger in his left hand.

“Who is here?” His voice sounded prouder and deeper than he anticipated - as if the hunt had given him confidence.

A mighty whump then sounded from the stranger. Zelindo ran around the hut, brandishing his blade, only to see a man unconscious. A man with curly yellow hair.

“Gored by a boar!” Zelindo’s voice raged at his unconscious brother.

With the help of Cygnus, he managed to get his brother to lie on the grass bed inside the hut. It was clear what had happened to him. He had run afoul of a boar.

‘Such a juvenile error to make,’ Zelindo thought.

There he was; no company, no horse, and hardly any blood left in his body by the looks of things – and miles away from the Kingdom!

Zelindo grabbed the medicinal herbs he had been able to collect in the Spring and made a paste from them to pack into his brother’s wound. The location had worried him, the puncture was in Cassian’s lower side but it did not smell foul, meaning the boar hadn’t ripped his bowel. He was one lucky man, but that did little to calm Zelindo's anxiety.

The next days came and went in repetition. Zelindo took off his shirt and dipped it into the stream, bringing it back to Cassian so he could suck the water from it. He dug the paste from the wound and replaced it with a fresh one. He washed his brother’s clothes and left them to dry on a tree branch, and lastly, he cursed his brother for his stupidity and intrusion.

Cygnus tried to lift his spirits by slowly walking over to Zelindo at night and blowing air into his hair. I made Zelindo smile, however fleetingly.

Cassian was soon beginning to flicker his eyes open. For the first time in the brothers’ lives, he was silent. He watched his brother treat him, listened to his angry mutterings, and took all wound-poking without complaint. Eventually, Zelindo was getting worried.

“Will you just say something, Cass?” Zelindo brought out his final blow – an old nickname Cassian couldn’t stand.

Cassian’ eyes met his own in an instant. They had the King’s eyes, Dante’s mahogany brown. Zelindo expected anger in them or contempt, but he met none. Instead, he saw an all-encompassing…

Agony

“Why save me when you could have the Kingdom to yourself? The subjects, the fortune, the adoration? Why save me from this?” Cassian’s voice broke. He was crying. “Perhaps death would be better than knowing my incompetence. How can I expect to lead a Kingdom as I am?”

Zelindo could only watch in astonishment as Cassian spoke.

“How can you stand being yourself?” He asked abruptly, looking at Zelindo’s curled hand. Zelindo caught him staring and scowled, bringing his arm closer to him. Cassian seemed to fight the urge to look away, his tears drying up.

“If this is about…”

“It is about that – and everything else.”

The two sat in silence for a moment, unsure how to proceed.

“Sometimes I think I killed Mother, and this is my punishment,” Zelindo abruptly stated, now fully cradling his right arm.

“How do you stand it?”

“I don’t have much of a choice.”

Cassian seemed to be deep in thought. His heavy brow descended onto his face and his nose scrunched up.

“I don’t want to be King.” He stated painfully, his eyes tearing again.

Zelindo was flabbergasted. Cassian was meant to be King! He was the perfect heir. Perfect body, perfect strength, perfect damned hair that made the ladies swoon! Cassian knew as much, using every opportunity to boast his suitability and belittle Zelindo in the process. Such was their relationship from the moment they could talk.

“You don’t have much of a choice.” Zelindo echoed his earlier words.

By the time Cassian was back on his thundering feet, Autumn was forgotten and so was the Princes’ conversation from that night. It was as if Cassian had forgotten entirely about the ordeal, returning to his old ways quickly.

However, Cassian did not leave Zelindo. When asked why he simply cited his lack of a horse and how it would be unfair to take Zelindo’s. Cygnus stomped at the idea of being taken.

Together, they worked a hard winter. Stubbornness gave way to the ice and they found themselves playing to their strengths. Cassian would collect firewood while Zelindo took care of food, pulling roots and tubers from the ground to eat. Cassian complained at the diet, suggesting that ‘the horse’ would see them through the winter with full bellies. Zelindo shouted at his brother for suggesting it, shocking them both. Cassian did not mention eating ‘the horse’ again.

Cygnus was happy to help carry small catches from Cassian's snares, mostly rabbits, back to the clearing, though it was Zelindo who collected them. Somehow, they found themselves warmer and healthier than all through the bountiful months.

A strange night saw the brothers clap one another on the shoulder before bed. Cassian’s hand landed heavily on Zelindo’s shoulder. He briefly wondered if that was what it felt like to be the ‘intended’ heir. A heavy weight on his shoulder, stretching his neck and pushing down on his chest. He did not like it.

Winter gave way to Spring. The herbs Zelindo discovered in the clearing began to sprout again under the Prince’s feet, even more plentiful than before and it was soon time to pack things onto Cygnus’ back and return to the Kingdom.

The trip had changed the brothers significantly, body and mind. Cassian was far quieter than before, stroking his beard in thought as his father often did. Zelindo filled this quietness with his own words, with a surety he never knew he could possess. Zelindo had gained muscle and had found new herbal treatments for the pain in his hand. Herbs which he hauled onto Cygnus, intending to make a study of them, perhaps even write a herbal guide one day. Cassian had lost a lot of muscle but moved more carefully to compensate. He no longer stomped through, no, he walked alongside.

Together, they returned to the Kingdom.

The new Princes soon stood before their father in his chamber. The chamber where the challenge was set, where the journey was started by their father. They looked upon it with new eyes, satisfied eyes.

Their father stared at them from his chair, an eyebrow raised.

“Well?”

“Zelindo.” Cassian stated firmly.

“What?”

“Excuse me?”

“Zelindo will be King.”

The King smirked.

“He has proven himself to be more than a survivor. He is a competent hunter - who respects life, an excellent healer – who has an intricate understanding of the natural world, and a capable leader – returning his horse to you in better health than it left.”

Zelindo could not believe his ears. Not only had his brother spoken with such eloquence and, well, large words, but he had also proclaimed him the true heir.

The concept suddenly hit him; to be King. All those people, court, politics, blood, tears…

"But I am not strong enough!"

Cassian laid a hand on Zelindo’s shoulder, lightly.

“I will manage the Kingdom’s safety. I have learned to not take such big risks. My strength cannot overcome all, I must have a strategy too. This will serve me well and leave Zelindo to manage his people without fear.”

Again, Cassian was speaking with such surety, it shocked Zelindo.

"But I am not..."

"Worthiness is more than strength, my boy!"

Those words had not graced the castle walls since the boys' mother had been alive. They vibrated in the air - tangible.

“You believe him worthy, Cassian?” the King spoke again, with gravity.

“I do.”

“Good, so do I.” The King clapped his hands together, golden rings glinting on his fingers.

“Zelindo shall be the heir to the throne, I shall have the papers signed in the morning.” The King turned and poured wine for his two sons into silver goblets. “Now, regale me with your stories, I am sure you have many! How did you find one another again?”

With that, and perhaps a little assistance from the wine, Cassian launched into a theatrical tale of his time in the forest.

Cassian’s voice soon faded into the background as Zelindo appraised his new role. As uncomfortable as the weight of Kinghood felt, he had time to learn from his father. He had always yearned to play a more active role in court, but shied away from the strange looks his hand would receive. He vowed to never do that again. His brother would be his working hand, and happily so if Cassian’ smile was anything to judge by. Together they could move forward and learn to ease each other’s burdens.

‘Yes’ they all thought, ‘this will do’.

A/N: Tell me, dear reader, what defines worthiness to you?