Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction / Legend Of Zelda Fan Fiction / Devil May Cry - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Knights of the Realms ❯ Ch 6 - Straight Out of Line ( Chapter 6 )

KNIGHTS OF THE REALMS

 

 

Straight Out Of Line

 

 

 

 

Another day had ended, with nothing to mark its passing. The King of Babylon had sat on the throne and presided over a days worth of formalities. Generals had reported, as had advisors, merchants, and ship masters. The court told him what a fine job he was doing, that his father would have been proud. It was another day in the life of the King of Babylon.

 

And another wasted day for the Prince of Persia.

 

Court life had been taking its toll, but never before had the Prince felt the weight of his heritage so much. Babylon and all of Persia was prospering, and its King was beginning to lose his sanity. The Queen could see this. She, more than anyone, knew what he was going through. Fortunately, she was comfortable in the court setting, and she did all she could to help her husband endure it, but it wasn't enough. Even the sparring did little for him anymore.

 

“My Lady? We're here.”

 

The Queen snapped out her thoughtful state. “Oh, thank you, Zopyros,” she said, the old advisor having escorted her to her chambers, the King having been cornered by another general seeking his favor.

 

“Is all well, My Lady?” Zopyros asked, insightful as always.

 

“As well as it has been,” she answered truthfully, and the advisor nodded sagely.

 

“Yes, the Prince is not suited to the life of a ruler. He is a warrior.”

 

The Queen sighed. “Unfortunately, his warrior days are over. Babylon is at peace, and needs him to lead.” She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shield herself from the helpless feeling she got whenever she thought of that fact. “It's because of his birth that he's fated to rule.”

 

“Fate,” rasped the old man, a faraway look in his eyes, “is a fickle thing, My Lady. I once told the Prince that he could not change his fate. That no man could. But would he listen? Oh no, and…well…you know the story, My Lady,” he finished, his eyes twinkling.

 

She studied the advisor for a moment. “My husband made a wise move, making you advisor, Zopyros.”

 

“You flatter me, My Lady. If you would excuse me, I have duties to attend to.”

 

“Of course, Zopyros,” she said, waving him off. “Thank you.”

 

“You are welcome, My Lady.” The old man bowed, then hobbled off.

 

The Queen entered her chambers, leaning on the doors after closing them. Crafty old Zopyros. She should have realized that while the King would shoulder the burden and sit through court day after day, the Prince, the man she fell in love with, would have none of it.

 

It was only a matter of time, she knew, before the warrior within him leapt straight out of line.

 

 

“Fish! Fresh fish!”

 

“Dates! Pomegranate! All fresh!”

 

“Sir, a carpet! A lovely carpet for you!”

 

“No thank you,” said the Prince, turning away from the vendor. He pulled his cowl further down over his face, obscuring his features in shadow. He was just another prospective consumer in the market, another man that didn't want his face seen. He was nobody. And it felt good.

 

For once, he wasn't the King of Babylon. It wasn't perfect, he wasn't the King, but he didn't feel quite like his old self, but the crowded market place was insurmountably better than the Royal Court. He felt like he could breathe here. He could move at his own pace, he could go where he wanted without having to give an explanation as to why, and without an escort. He could interact with people as an equal.

 

The only thing that would have made it better would have been something to kill.

 

He continued his wandering and came to another part of the market, where street performers could show their talents without the full on press of bodies that were around the large stalls. Snake charmers, fire breathers, sword swallowers, and acrobats were abundant. He looked around and saw a group of children playing in the opening of an alleyway, just down the street. He whistled, twice, and one of the girls in the group looked up and around, until she spotted the Prince. She left her friends and made her way over to him, but not directly.

 

“Asha,” he addressed her as she drew near. She had been one of the Princes friends, and he had feared that she had perished when Babylon was attacked not so long ago. Thankfully, she wasn't. The Prince liked Asha; he saw a lot of himself in her.

 

“Prince,” she replied in a hushed voice, able to recognize the differences between the Prince and the King.

 

“What is new on the streets?”

 

The girl stood a little straighter, proud to be the Princes primary street informant. “Not much,” she began. “There was talk of a riot in response to the raised fish prices—“

 

“Not much?” asked the Prince. “I would think plans of a riot would garner more attention, Asha. Should I order the guard down here?”

 

“You didn't let me finish, Prince,” she said, smiling at his impatience. It was one of the things they had in common. “The talk was quelled soon enough, once they realized that without the fishmongers, the fishermen wouldn't need to fish as much. You'd be surprised, Prince, but sometimes people do think.” It wasn't a reprimand. Just an observation.

 

He smiled. “Very well, Asha. Anything else?”

 

“Well,” she started, somewhat embarrassed. “I don't think the Prince would really be interested in the matter, but there is a street performer…no, I'm sorry for wasting your time, Prince.”

 

“Go on, Asha. You might be surprised at how much I actually like some street performers,” he said. Every time he saw an acrobat or sword dancer, it let him relive past events, when life hung in the balance between a misplaced foot or a poorly judged leap.

 

The good old days.

 

“It's this old acrobat, my Prince. He was never very good, barely made enough to live. But…recently, he's been doing better. A lot better. He's making more than other acrobats of the greater skill.”

 

“How?”

“Well…I can't explain how he does it. No one can. But he takes volunteers from the crowd, gives them a sword, and has them hit him as hard as they can.”

 

The Prince was confused. “But, that would mean he's dead…”

 

“But that's the thing. He never gets hit. He moves out of the way. He's right there one moment, and the next, he's behind you! It's amazing. He moves faster than the eye can follow, like, like…” she paused, thinking of someway to explain.

 

“Like time has slowed down for him?”

 

“Yes!” cried Asha. “How did you know? I didn't think you'd seen him already.” She looked at the Prince, and noticed the haunted look in his eyes.

 

“You will take me to this man, Asha. Now.”

 

She was suddenly afraid. “Y-yes, my Prince.”

 

 

“Hyaaaaaahhh!”

 

The man swung the sword with all his might, right at the smiling face of the street performer. Just before the blade met flesh, he moved, avoiding the blade and moving so fast that he was able to catch the man's hand on the back swing. The volunteer sword swinger was as bewildered as every other previous volunteer and every one that had seen the performance. “How…?” the man started to ask.

 

“Ahh, but if I told you, then everyone would be doing it, wouldn't they? Then how would old Rasheen make his living? Great skill is required, my friends, as is a little luck,” Rasheen said, grasping the amulet that hung around his neck.

 

“Luck, you say?” asked a man, cloaked with cowl drawn low.

 

“Yes, the luck of gods and men!”

 

“No magic, then?” the hooded man asked.

 

Rasheen looked closer at the man, trying to see beneath the cowl. “No, no magic. I'm an honest performer.” A chuckle went through the crowd. “Who are you, asking about magic and such?”

 

“Where did you get that amulet?” the man asked, changing direction.

 

“I bought it,” Rasheen said defensively. “A fisherman found it in his nets and sold it to me.”

 

The hooded man took a step forward. “I think you should be giving it to me, now. You have no idea what you're really dealing with.”

 

Rasheen smiled. “No, my ill fated friend, it is you who has no idea what you're dealing with.” He pulled a knife from his boot and, with a speed that the crowd couldn't follow, he rushed the too inquisitive man.

 

 

The Prince expected the rush, spinning away so that when Rasheen went to grab him, he clutched only air. Confusion turned to fear when he felt cold steel against his throat. “Like I said before, you have no idea what you're really dealing with.” The Prince pressed the blade a little harder, just breaking the skin. “I do.”

 

“I-impossible!” Rasheen gasped. “How could you…?”

 

The Prince chuckled. “Great skill is required, my friend. No luck, just skill.” Rasheen felt his courage desert him, felt something else dribble down his leg. “Give me the amulet,” commanded the Prince.

 

Rasheen's trembling hand moved up to grasp the amulet, and he tore it from around his neck. He handed it to the Prince and stumbled away, clutching his neck, as the Prince released his hold. He stared, wide eyed and scared at the cloaked man. “Wh-why do you want it so much?”

 

The Prince was looking down at the amulet, Farah's amulet, wondering what it's presence meant. “I can't find a reason,” he said, looking up and into Rasheen's eyes, “why I should justify my ways.” With that, the Prince turned and walked away, leaving behind a very stunned crowd, and a street performer that desperately needed a new act.