The King's Brother

King Darvy sat in his red, cushioned, high-back chair. The night felt ominous as he stared outside the open window of his chamber as he held his fist to his chin, thinking. The castle of the kingdom of Throan lay atop the peak of Mount Hayle. King Darvy sighed as he admired the windows and doors of the castle that glowed with firelight in the distance.

Oh, my brother, why can we not live in peace? Why must be at enmity? Darvy thought. He looked at the old grandfather clock when it rang nine-teen times. He felt his stomach grumble. His mind still entertained his thoughts of his sorrow.

Darvy rose and walked out of his chamber door to a hallway lined with guards and braziers. He turned left and sulked to the eating chamber. Many people sat before untouched food platters and empty plates. All eyes in the silent, immense room looked at him enter. He trudged to his seat at the long banquet table laid out foursquare.

He gave a deep nod, and the people began eating and conversing. Darvy looked at the cross on the wall opposite him. He frowned and looked down.

A man in an azure robe sitting at his left put a hand on Darvy’s shoulder. “My Lord, I assert you entertain thoughts of the unrest between you and your brother’s kingdoms,” the robed man said.

“Indeed, noblemen Olious. It greaves my heart the one true joy in my life separates us.”

Olious squeezed Darvy’s shoulder, and he looked at him. “Remember the words of our Lord Jesus Christ: I have not come to bring peace, but a sword and that a man’s enemies will be those of his own household.”

“So, you have said. Why does my brother find our virtuous Lord so offensive?”

“You know your brother, King Grithin, to be opposed to the righteous life.”

Darvy shook his head. “But why can he not see his folly and that he is wrong. It is a simple thing!” said Darvy as he pounded his fist on the wooden table.

A servant in a checkered tunic approached Darvy and whispered into his ear. He jumped to his feet and dashed off then left the eating chamber.

“My Lord! What is it?” said Olious as Darvy stormed out. He shuffled through the hall where his chamber door lay and passed by it. He walked out of a door and into the main antechamber. Darvy motioned for a servant standing against the wall and he sprinted to Darvy.

“Yes, Lord?” said the servant.

“Prepare my carriage! I am to head for the Valley of Heth at once!”

Olious ran up behind Darvy. “Lord, what is the matter?”

The king’s face beamed wide. “Grithin wants to talk! He wants peace!”

Olious looked down with a frown.

“You believe he is not going to cooperate?” said Darvy.

“It is not his nature, Lord.” Said Olious.

“Perhaps we witness a miracle!”

Darvy dashed out of a castle door and into the courtyard, where his chariot sat with torches fixe around it.

Darvy hopped into his carriage, and he set off to the valley. In a few minutes, he made out firelight about a dozen yards away.

Ten minutes later, Darvy discerned his brothers face. He had short raven’s hair slicked back. His face appeared narrow and his dark, deep-set beady eyes, made his visage like a serpent’s. He wore a coy grin and once Darvy came to Grithin, he spread his arms to embrace his brother.

“Brother! It has been ages. How does Ife in your kingdom fare Darvy?”

“Swell brother. And you?”

“Splendid!” said Grithin. “I will be blunt brother. It is a foolish thing for two prosperous brothers to be opposed over a matter of morals. Let us put aside our differences and disposition.”

Darvy flinched and reeled back. “What do you mean?”

Grithin lowered his head and clasped his hands together and put them to his chin. “Let me put this delicately.” He paused. “Why should the bond of blood, be overcome by tedious matters of spiritual apologetics?”

Darvy straightened his back and glared at his brother. “My faith is not a tedious matter.”

Grithin frowned briefly than put on another smile. “Com now, brother. Do not be so pretentious. As the saying goes; to each his own.”

Darvy cleared his throat. “If that were true, then if a man deems the sky blue and another man thinks it red, both are right.”

Grithin retained his smile. “Ah, so astute. You make good argument. But why have you never looked at things my way. You are missing out in life.”

“Perhaps, but what I am ‘missing’ will last only a lifetime. Sin has a season. What shall you do when you die?”

“I do not share in your belief in an afterlife. Who is not say I am right and you wrong?”

“If you would let me show you, I could prove it! Give me a chance!”

Grithin contorted is face and spewed out words. “I will not submit to a false God! Man made the Word which you trust.”

Darvy shook his head and chuckled. “You have not changed a bit. I was a fool to believe it.”

Grithin ran to Darvy and struck his cheek. Grithin breathed heavily with hate.

King Darvy’s face and eyes did not change; his face did not grow red with anger nor did he raise his eyebrows in pain or rejection. He sighed calmly as he walked to his brother and cupped his face. He did not pull back.

“I forgive you,’ said Darvy in a soft voice. “May God have mercy on you.”

Darvy trudged to his carriage and got in. “Take me home, rider.”

As he rode home, he mused. Despite all his efforts, the situation remained the same: Their relationship was complicated.