A Father's Approval
"Ulius had a way of making his disappointment in you sting."
Moments after Undari learns his fate in Book 1, Not Too Far From Home, King Ulius and his son, Prince Miika share a word.
Ulius sat back in his chair, his eyes on the slit of his tent as his advisors exited. He’d just sentenced a man to death with little hesitation.
“Not you, son. Sit.” The king’s voice cut through the clamor of men leaving the pavilion. Miika felt a lump form in his throat as he watched his brother duck out behind the others.
His father clasped his cup and continued, “You thought it wise to have your opinion heard. What moved you so?”
“It was foolish of me, father. I apologize.”
“Do not apologize. Tell me what made you do it.”
The prince froze. He didn’t dare tell the truth. The King’s veiled insult, the way he’d grotesquely put a man to the sword, how he’d ridden down those men trying to flee - Ulius was in a mood that did not incline him to understanding, or mercy.
“I grew tired of the man’s games. We all knew- -”
Ulius looked sharply at Miika. “Stop it, boy. Do not lie to me.”
He stood, looming, and walked to the wine cart to pour the contents of his cup back into the cask.
“Your tears cannot bring the dead back to life, Miika. Yet they can most certainly be a death sentence to the living.”
“Men of your repute have little use for visual displays of emotion.” Ulius kept his back turned to his son.
Miika had been at this fork in the road before. Should he admit to his feelings? Be vulnerable? Or feign the callousness he knew his sire longed to see in him? Conversations with his father were never what they seemed on the surface. What looked to be a concession was often a trap.
Miika made the choice he always had. “It was the sun, father. The way your blade glinted took me by surprise.”
Ulius’s shoulders dropped and he sighed audibly before striding to the opposite end of the tent. Lifting the thick flap and stepping into the twilight, he motioned for Miika to follow.
The orange and purple sky seemed to stretch for miles beyond the edges of the war camp. An uneasy silence settled between Miika and his father, yet all around them the camp sang.
Weapons being cleaned. Armor removed. Laughter. Miika had almost begun to forget himself, but Ulius had a way of making his disappointment sting.
“You are a coward.”
Miika looked up from the road at his father. Ulius’s face was cold.
The king whirled and struck Miika across the cheek with the back of his hand. Miika stumbled but caught himself before falling to the dirt. Frozen on one knee, Miika looked up at his father. He couldn’t keep the tears from welling in his eyes. He was disappointed in himself for that, as if his father needed more proof.
“Fix yourself. If you aren’t going to strike back, get up.”
The singing had stopped. Embarrassed, Miika picked himself up and hurried after his father.
The two walked towards the far end of the camp. Miika’s cheek buzzed with pain, as his spirit did with humiliation.
“These men are still fresh. Eager to prove themselves. That makes them easy to lead.” The king gestured to a group of soldiers who’d been in their cups as he went on.
“In the early days of a campaign, the men who ride at the front of the lists don’t matter much. For they aren’t yet truly being followed.”
Miika had only been on short campaigns with his father. He’d only known what it felt to miss his bed, his home, his friends, but he’d always known he’d return them. The dread of riding into battle with little hope of survival was foreign to him.
“It isn’t until months and seasons on that men at arms begin to look to those who command them for direction. These leaders must be steadfast.”
The king veered off the makeshift path and through the mud and muck generated by the soldiers’ construction efforts. Miika tried to avoid it best he could, but his boots were still covered. The king walked headlong through it all.
Ulius came to the mouth of a small tent and stood at attention. The two guards on either side moved to make way. Each wore mail shirts with an ivory-colored gambeson over the top. The blood stains splattered across both men made Miika nauseous.
Groans of pain and agony greeted them, but the tent flaps held back the smell, at least for now. Miika had seen firsthand what his father had done, so it wasn’t difficult to imagine that the same could’ve happened to some of their men. Yet he hadn’t seen it until now.
Freshly cauterized flesh wasn’t the worst of the smells, but it was the one he could distinguish first. Once Miika and the king made it to the center of the operating tent, there was more. Vomit. Shit. Blood. Piss.
“When I was a young man, I thought of nothing but my own survival. I’d assumed those at my side did the same. Until I learned better. Many men who set out for war do so with babes in their wives’ bellies. They oft return to see children who are strangers.”
The sights and smells began to make Miika’s head spin.
“War is a hardship that few can endure. Yet we do, for the sake of blood and borders. For legacy.”
Ulius gazed around the tent, arms folded and posture proud.
“This is what a commander asks of his charges. And if those charges don’t trust the man asking, their concerns tend toward the latter.”
Miika finally spoke up - mostly to avoid retching. “It isn’t hard to blame them after seeing this. I cannot imagine asking men to give so much of themselves.”
“I know. Do you know why I struck you as I did?” The King paused and looked at his son with a little softness in his eyes.
“Because I made a fool of you, our house, when I let my emotions get the best of me,” Miika replied.
“You did. But that is not why.”
Miika tilted his head in confusion as is father went on. “I’ve no intention of returning home, Miika. We are marching to war. The time for you to grow up has long passed. My men will need someone to follow should I fall.”
Miika’s confusion fell away. Only to be replaced with despair as he listened to the King’s words.
“And they must know it cannot be you.”
Ulius placed his hand on Miika’s shoulder. “You will remain behind when we engage in battle tomorrow. The day’s glory will be your brother’s alone.”
King Ulius turned and left.
“Father!” Miika called. The King paused, turning his head slightly to glance at his son behind him.
“I will prove to you that I am worthy. Prove to your men I deserve their fealty.”
Ulius nodded, stepped out into the dawn, and let the tent flap close behind him.