Work Text:
inheritance
...
A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse!
Richard The Third Act 5, scene 4, 7–10
...
Something had changed. He sensed it.
Something in those blinding blue winds had changed. It tugged at him insistent, whispering, murmuring a name.
His name.
His birthright.
The one that both enslaved and crushed him underfoot.
The title that had brought tattered black cloth and the low rumbling voice, time after time. The traitor, the upsurper, the false King.
How he had wished to crush that thin, sallow face, wished to rip that black figure from the blue sky, laugh in raucous joy as he toppled the King and his stolen name running his own sword of lies through his gut. And laugh, and laugh, and laugh to the skies as he took back his throne.
Long live the King!
Too long had it been, trapped in this loathsome hell, a horse, imprisoned. Under a stolen name.
His name that had been twisted, perverted. The title that he had been robbed of.
He hated, loathed, despised, and cursed that name. His name! The throne of his name! Defiled! Used! Stolen!
That same name that he once spat from his mouth like venom, like a lie, a bitter irony, now called him.
Called him!
And he answered.
It had changed.