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So the thing about their king is that he's... Really freaking bad at being a King.
He's distant. He's more of a manager than a king, really. After that first gift of gold, he doesn't really do anything besides dictate where to go and what to do.
Purple has experience being a king, which pretty much entirely consisted of him giving gifts to the people, albeit in specific amounts to maintain control. They think that’s still better than their king, who doesn't give anything to the piglins at all anymore. Gold is their way of life, and it's like he doesn't care.
So, naturally, Purple steps up.
At first the piglins were confused at the gifts. Mostly because they were not trades. The first time Purple gave them an ingot and got back a bottle of water—precious in the nether, they'd refused it. It was useless to Purple specifically, first off, and they weren't expecting a trade. Just a gift. The gift that their king had promised them all. It was a trade, really, just–for the work that they’d all done already.
Prince Purple, is, unfortunately, what they're called now, because of that. Mostly because 'your highness' felt weird and 'Monarch…'
Well, Monarch felt wrong. Because their king was right there, and, well… it was what the villagers called them. Their Monarch Purple. Their exiled monarch, thrown in jail and only out through bribes before escaping that Mac entirely. It brought a bitter taste in their mouth. So no, not monarch, Prince Purple would do. It's odd, but… not bad.
The title came with a level of respect, too. The piglins don't attack them, even when they don't wear gold, even when they go out into the nether and mine gold, they just sort of anxiously wait for Purple while they craft the nuggets into ingots, and then happily accept the newly created gold ingots that Purple gives them. They snort greetings to them and even, at some point, start to help teach them the language, more or less. Purple can’t really… speak it all that well (something about a lack of piglin vocal cords), but understanding it is good enough. They’re a stick figure, but charades with a different species left communication to be… lacking.
It’s a lot of work. Being a king is a lot of work. Being a prince is apparently even more work! More work than Purple needs to do, really, but when the other person refuses to do it, it’s just… how it goes. Purple picks up the slack, and the piglins go to them, not their King, with grievances and good news alike.
Which is what brings Purple to the worst biome in the nether, the soul sand valleys. Purple once had to go around and collect as many bone blocks for their garden as they could, and had acquired a hatred for the place. The whispers of souls that come out of the sand when they walk with the iron boots the piglins had graciously provided them with are unnerving at best.
Soul sand is just… awful. The Piglins hate it too. Which is why it's such a surprise for Purple to be led over to one.
"What's the problem, guys?"
The piglin that requested them pulls them over with an urgency they usually don’t, forcing Purple to slide along the sand like they were ice skating to keep up.
"Whoa, whoa, slow down—" the piglin does not slow down. On the contrary, they go faster now that they’re closer. Closer to what, Purple doesn’t know. to a place where a few of the piglins have gathered. Purple recognizes them as a group that hadn't reported for duty this afternoon. That explains one thing, then–whatever has upset this one is bad enough to stop all of them from coming in to work.
The soul sand valleys are, obviously, spotted with valleys. There are also sudden drops and ravines, like cracks in the earth. Purple has slipped into a few of them themselves a few times.
One of these cracks in the earth is where they're all gathered, looking down the tiny space between the sand and fretfully snorting. The ravine isn't very large, for once. Purple themselves could hop over it easily.
"What, did you drop something? Guys if this is about an axe—" Purple stops.
There are echoing snorts coming from in the ravine. The ravine that is too small for a regular-sized piglin. Oh. Oh no.
Purple rushed over, kneeling to peer into the space below. Their buzzing Elytra causes the rest of the group to move away from them a little, giving them space.
A piglet piglin. Trapped within the cracks.
Purple breathes. Ok. Ok. They can either shovel away the edges of the ravine, though that might cause the whole thing to collapse—no wait, it wouldn't, Minecraft and all that… but this is sand, right? What if it does collapse? What if soul sand is affected by gravity too? There were bits and pieces precariously floating, but Purple can't tell if it's glitched or if it's meant to do that. This place was pretty far off. It definitely hasn't been loaded by players before. Purple doesn't have a clue. They don't want to risk it.
Maybe a fishing rod? No, they didn't bring it with them, they only ever use them for striders. Do piglins know how to use ender pearls? No, wait, there isn't any way to know how injured this one is. What if the kid dies using an enderpearl?
Final option, then, instead of risking the kid panicking and running directly under the falling sand. Purple drops into the ravine.
Probably a bad idea, but… yeah, no this is a bad idea, but this is probably the best idea that Purple has right now.
The pigletlin runs over to them, hugging their legs. Not that bad, then. Purple reaches down and picks the kid up, before figuring out what they could probably do. It is way too cramped for their Elytra, and they didn't have their hands free, so there's no way to build up using blocks.
Parkour out it is, then. Purple has gotten a good feel for parkour. They like to think it's something that they taught themselves, more or less, because all Mother ever did to teach them was say, “Move like this” and then parkour away. Sure, Purple learns by example, but not by example alone.
Purple is good at parkour. And, of course, stick figures are by nature great at wall jumps.
They adjust their grip on the kid, holding on a little tighter. Then, they leap towards the closest wall. It's a bit of a tight fit, but they manage to kick off the wall, then the opposite… isn't quite a pattern, because it's a naturally generated ravine; it's uneven, and different in every jump. It still gets easier the higher they go.
They fumble the last jump, though barely scrabbling into the edge. God, fuck, it would be embarrassing if they fell—
A piglin grabs their arm, and hoists them up, back out of the ravine.
Purple searches for the kid, who's now being held on the shoulders of the "leader" of the sounder. Something in them relaxes for the first time since they were called over.
"Alright. Cool. Cool… I should head back now. Um, next time this happens get someone to cover your shifts because there's like no one—"
They're cut off by a hug. A lot of hugs, actually. A few pats on the back and chuffs that mean Thank you, my Prince, that makes Purple feel unexpectedly warm.
"Uh—it was no problem, really guys, uh," Purple stutters, "It's my job, I think."
"It isn't."
Purple jumps, and due to the nature of the Elytra gets carried up a few blocks up in the air, forcing them to awkwardly hover down to avoid an aimless glide or a faceplant.
Maybe they should've milked it, though, and stayed up in the air. It is very rare for them to ever be truly face to face with their king for long, and something tells them they would've appreciated the ability for this conversation. It's always hard to feel like they're being taken seriously when their king has to look down on them.
Purple waves the Piglins away. They wave back, joyfully, especially the pigletlin. Purple turns back to their king.
"You helped them,"
"Yeah." Purple crosses their arms. Honestly, it feels a more like they're hugging themselves than anything else, "Is that not allowed?"
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why help them?"
"Because… they needed help?"
"Why do it yourself? Why not make someone else do it? Why not just give them some tools and have them dig the piglet out? They're capable,"
"Well, sure they are. But they asked for me." Purple doesn't know why, but they feel defensive, "They asked, and I'm the one in charge who has the time to do it. So it has to be me."
Their king stares at Purple, with an indiscernible expression on his face. It is not a comfortable feeling.
Then he nods, like that answers everything.
"Alright,"
"Alright?"
Their king walks past Purple, well, glides past really, on soul speed enchanted on netherite boots, much better than Purple's own iron ones. It's a much stronger enchantment too; Purple has to fly in order to catch up to their king's stride.
"You are allowed to delegate, in the future," their king says and before Purple can retort, "But if you truly want, it's not up to me to judge what you do whenever you're not needed by me, Prince."
Purple chokes on their own spit. So their king has heard the piglins calling them that.
"Ah, well… thanks?" Purple flaps their wings a little harder, flies a little faster to hide their embarrassed blush over the fact that their king knows that Purple is being called a prince by the Piglins. Mortifyingly, they can hear their king chuckle a little behind them too.
Something occurs to Purple.
"Is there a reason that you came all the way out here, my king? Did you need me for anything?"
"No, I was just… curious." Their king looks away, "Though if you'd be willing…"
Well, there's the true reason that their king came all the way out here, it seems. Purple listens as he gives them a few command—suggestions, things to help set up the parkour. Things are starting to fall into place.
Their king is bad at being a king. Really, that's because he's never really… cared.
King doesn't care about his subjects. He never has. He does not care about anyone in his kingdom.
Purple knows this.
They wonder, later, why they never considered themselves a part of his kingdom, despite being called a prince.