Chapter Text
Far, far away, in a distant land, there once lived a benevolent king named Tim. He was dearly beloved of all his subjects, for under his rule they prospered. All were happy, perhaps, save for one—the best knight of the land, Sir Jason.
Nay, he desired not more power for himself, nor more riches. But he loved King Tim silently, from afar, with a heaviness of heart that came from the surety of a love unreturned, and for that his happiness was spoiled—but one may call him as content with his lot in life as he was with all else.
(And what of it if Court Bard Dick made gentle jest of his affections at times? It was mere sport, and Sir Jason was content.)
(However, if one were to speak of the time Sir Jason’s prized mount dropped Dick on his arse… well, let it not be said the knight was always forgiving.)
That would’ve been that, but this is not how the story goes.
It was a time of tribute and festivities, for King Tim’s birthday was nigh. His closest and dearest allies knew of his great love of knowledge, and so his majesty delighted in being gifted many books. Also among them were reams of silken parchment and quills of finest hawk feathers, that King Tim may indulge in his scholarly pastimes. It was a grand sight indeed.
Yet there was one small, odd casket that did not fit with the rest, and no one knew where it came from. The servants said it was given at the castle doors by a hooded figure, to be presented to his majesty. Here Sir Jason’s heart stirred with worry.
“Your Majesty, this may be a trap from our enemies. Shall I command others to open it instead?”
“Yes, but with spears please. We would not want our soldiers to get close to a trap.”
“Of course.”
And this was how the most curious gift at King Tim’s birthday feast was presented to him: a gold necklace of unparalleled beauty, with a single amber gem the size of a chicken’s egg and splayed with multitude of colours sitting at its centre. Instantly His Majesty felt a leaning to it, and as if in a trance, he grasped it in his bare hands and put it on.
“Your Majesty!” Sir Jason cried out.
“I am fine, Sir Jason. Please, you must not worry so, lest you fade in beauty ‘fore Dick.”
Sir Jason flushed red amidst the laughter of others and Dick’s good-natured protests, and said no more. The festivities resumed. (And if King Tim visited the treasury before sleep, no one took note of it.)
The signs were subtle at first: King Tim beginning to wear a few more rings, or a daily discreet visit to the treasury. That was why no one perceived the trouble, and no one, not even Sir Jason, was there to stop it.
And thus it came as a great shock, the first of many, when King Tim demanded a raise in taxes.
“But sire!” Lady Harper cried. “The harvest this year has been bountiful, and we are not in need of more tributes. How shall we answer this to the people?”
“Tell them it is as the king commands, and as the king wills it, so shall it be done.” His Majesty replied imperiously, before leaving with a sweep of his robes.
Then came an odd story repeated among the servants in the palace, that King Tim was beginning to sleep in the treasury every night. The maids tittered nervously amongst themselves. Surely his soft bed linens were far better than all that gold? But they dared not raise the matter with their superiors, for it was a mere oddity, was it not?
Finally the greatest shock of all came: one day Prince Damian, the next in line to the throne, was summoned by the king. And upon his appearance, he was seized.
“What is the meaning of this?!” the Prince demanded in a fury.
“It is as it appears, Damian. You are no longer to be prince of this kingdom or my heir, as befits one who intended to overthrow me. You shall not receive any trial and shall instead be summarily executed. Guards, let him spend his last night in the dungeon.”
“No!” Prince Damian cried as he was led away. “Unhand me! I have never done such a thing! Tim!”
(He was gone, escaped, come morning, and alongside him Lady Stephanie, who had lent him her aid. In a few months’ time, there would be news among the kingdom of the beginnings of a resistance against the king.)
Meanwhile Sir Jason was becoming more distraught by the day. For he had sworn his knightly oath (and his heart) to his only king, but what should become of that loyalty and love in the face of this madness? Shall he serve this cold, greedy tyrant, who no longer appeared as the one he loved?
Not that he had a choice. More and more, he was summoned to King Tim’s personal quarters, and more and more, he began to see. That King Tim never ever took off the amber-gold necklace. Not in his sleep, not even as he performed his daily ablutions. His heart began to fill with suspicion and several important questions:
What was it about this necklace?
Why did His Majesty have it about his person all the time?
What would happen if I took it away?
He found the answer to the last one, and more, the next time King Tim bathed.
“My king,” Sir Jason asked. “Would it not be better if you left this necklace with your clothes as you bathe?”
“It’s fine, I like it the way it is.”
“But surely it must be uncomfortable and heavy to wear for so long. Will you not rest your weary neck?”
“I’m perfectly alright, Sir Jason. Please leave it as is.”
Sir Jason could have obeyed. He would have obeyed, except an unnamed dread began to take shape in him, a fear that put him ill at ease. So he reached out a hand instead, and laid a finger upon the necklace.
“I could—”
“I SAID LEAVE IT!” The king screamed, slapping his hand away as Sir Jason gasped. For in that instant, in King Tim’s rage, his sea-blue eyes had turned amber, and greeted him with a snake’s gaze instead.
Everything fell into place.
Dragon, thought Sir Jason with no small mounting horror. My king has fallen prey to the sickness of the dragon.
“GO! LEAVE ME BE!” bellowed the possessed man, and the knight needed not be told twice. But he ran not to cower away in fear. Nay, he went with purpose. For he knew now what must be done to save his country and his king.