Warning: pre-war, more assassins, more kings, and soon-to-be tragic arrogant princelings.
Note: For Pagan Month at gw_ozzies.
Summary: The King of Sanq attempts to teach his son a valuable lesson.
Sanq did not have military, but it did have guards, and they were just as vicious as any other when a threat upon their King had been made. Milliard Peacecraft the First watched with some form of detachment as a man in his early fifties was dragged into the throne room and dropped at the royal's feet. He was well beaten, and one of the guard sneered and made to strike him--again--but the King held up a hand and glared. "That will not be necessary, Kain."
Sanq might have been a leader in Total Pacifism, but that did not mean their prisoners were treated like guests. Kain, head of the royal's personal security, clearly begged to differ the command, but he backed away, and said, "Sire."
The King stepped down from the throne and lifted the prisoner's chin. The man was battle scarred with leather skin and eyes like a double barreled shotgun that seemed to hate the King of Sanq for all that he represented. The King, so loved by his people, found this oddly refreshing. Or perhaps he didn't believe the act at all.
"You are the assassin Pagan Romonov," the King said. "I've heard of you. You work for--"
"I work for no one." The prisoner's voice was well defined, like that of an aristocrat, and it was so contrary to his profession that one had to wonder of his origins. He made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, but the King was healthier, stronger, and not without training--he deftly spun his would-be assassin into a hold, holding him to the ground. The monarch's eyes were bright with unspoken curiosity.
"You haven't answered me. You are Pagan, are you not?"
There was a moment's hesitation where Kain and his men shifted hands to their weapons again, but the King signaled them calm behind him. Pagan said nothing, and the King, somehow amused by this, merely smiled.
"Of course you are."
There was no answer. He stood and thrust Pagan to the guards, and called to Minister Darlian who was waiting and watching by the far door. "Get my son," the King said. Darlian nodded and left.
The guards made to drag Pagan away, but the King stopped them with a raised hand.
Kain was confused. "Sire?"
"Hold Mr. Romonov steady."
And then Darlian reappeared with a boy no older than five attached to his arm, who was looking at Pagan with wide eyes--this was the first time the boy had seen a prisoner, but it wouldn't nearly be the last. Darlian led him to his father's side, and the King took the boy's hand, gesturing to Pagan.
"This man tried to assassinate me, Milliard."
The young prince took a breath and held up small arrogant fists. "Then kill him, father!"
The King, long used to such attitudes from his son, only laughed, a large hand falling into Milliard's soft blonde hair. "I think not."
Milliard shook the hand away and glanced up at his father in question, but the King's eyes were on Pagan again, and they were deadly serious.
"Free him."
Kain stared. "Free the prisoner, Sire?"
Milliard jumped up. "You can't be--"
"That is what I said, Kain. Remove his restraints."
Pagan was floored and could do no more than stare as Kain, also staring, removed the cuffs around his wrists. A hand remained on Pagan's arm, but the King glared, and Kain released him reluctantly.
Then Pagan smiled, and it wasn't nice. "You are a fool," he said. "I could kill you and your son before your men lift a finger."
The King wasn't smiling and he wasn't amused, but he wasn't intimidated either. He stared for a long time with a blank expression on his face, the young prince twitching at his side. And then he said, "You could. But you do not desire it."
"Don't I?"
"No," the King said, quite serious. "You don't."
And for the first time, Pagan wavered. He looked away.
"The first rule in politics, son," who was of course quite confused, "...is to know your enemies."
Pagan looked up and snarled. "You do not know me!"
"No," the King said. "But I know that you did not kill me."
The assassin huffed, but didn't dare deny the truth.
The young prince continued to stare. "I don't understand, father."
"I should not be alive. It is well known that Mr. Romonov never misses his targets, so either he missed for the first time in thirty years, or he did not wish to kill me."
"Maybe he missed," the younger Milliard said.
His father smiled again, lightly. "You have a lot to learn about people, son."
Pagan said nothing, glaring at the floor in frustration.
And Milliard stared at Pagan. He didn't understand any of it, but he knew there was a lesson to be learned as in everything his father tried to teach him, and so he stared, trying to find the reason for actions of his father. There was a thought.
"You don't agree with them," the young prince said, to Pagan. "With the Alliance."
Pagan's expression was unclear as he glanced at the boy, but his words were soft. "Of course not."
The King was pleased.
Pagan was still frustrated. "Do you want me to just walk away, Your Highness? I will be disgraced for my failure. I have been sent to kill you, and I will finish my job or die." But he made no moves.
"A pacifist nation needs protection, Pagan Romonov, and a man such as yourself must follow his own heart. If you do not wish to kill me, then don't. Protect me instead."
Pagan stepped back, once again floored. His jaw dropped, but he closed it again, taking another frustrated breath. "You're mad," he whispered.
The monarch seemed to weigh the words, and then shrugged in a manner entirely elegant. "I am a King," he said, and laid a hand on his son's shoulder. As if that explained everything.
Tongue tied, Pagan said nothing.
The prince frowned. "Are you letting him go, father?"