[Kransha]

The Prince was obviously either too befuddled or too weak to consider prosecuting Morgôs for his assault. It had not been very violent, but any physical attack on royalty was a crime worthy of imprisonment. Siamak probably did not realize it, but he now held something over the General. Morgôs knew he would have to be gravely wary. He sat down again, allowing the tension of the situation to be slowly assuaged by a brief passage of time, and then spoke again, trying to be as tactful as possible as he answered. Quietly, clasping his hands together carefully, he said, “I have sworn to you fealty, Prince Siamak.” in a gentle tone of voice.

“This much I know.” Siamak retorted, “You need not be coy now.”

“Of course.” Morgôs spoke apologetically, looking dejected, but then perked up suddenly, arching his back and budding forward, his keen eyes looking into the youthful, curious eyes of the Prince. “You, Siamak, are the first son of the royal family for over five generations that has not been placed under my wing as a student. Your father was both a protégé and a philosophical acolyte of mine, until the age came that his father began to personally groom him for the throne. You have not known me during your lifetime, and I did not teach you as I taught your father and his father. The reason for this, I suspect, is because it is unsure whether you will be King or not. Your sister, Gjeelea, was, at one time, recommended to be my student by your father, but the plan was rejected before she even knew of it because of the turmoil such an action might create. Now, though, I have chosen he who I think would be the greater monarch.”

This was a great admission by the General, but Siamak knew it was merely repetition, and, looking unimpressed, said simply, “I am honored, but you still speak of things I know.”

“I want to teach you.” Morgôs shot, curtly, taking Siamak a little aback, but not much, “No offense meant,” he continued, “but I have heard tell of your noncommittal position in the court, your lack of frequent political action. If you are to be King, you must be taught the ways of Kings, the old laws, philosophy and theology; things untaught by your carefully scanned royal teachers, censored scholars who would not dare tell you in excess of any failures your ancestors made. You must learn of the guidelines of kingship, so you may take the throne from the grasp of your sister, who seems to have a firmer hold on it than you.”

There was an ill silence that diffused over the two, and Siamak seemed to consider. It was a whole minute or more before he spoke up again, and when he did, all he said was a repetition of Morgôs’ proposal. “So,” he murmured, contemplative, “I have accepted your allegiance, now you wish me to accept your tutelage?”

“Yes.” Morgos was launched. “If you accept, I will return regularly to the Palace and share wisdom that I can with you. I will teach you the ways of war and politics, but more than what you’ve been taught. I, unlike your teachers, have lived most of the history granted you in tomes of lore. Your father was able to respect this tutelage, but did not fully grasp it. Your grandfather embraced it and became one of the greatest monarchs Pashtia has known in centuries. I can make you into that, Siamak.” Morgos realized the danger of saying this, but it was crucial. He did have to rear the Prince if he wanted the right Pashtian on the throne. He had to make Siamak strong, even if that meant guiding him every step of the way. It was far better than allowing Gjeelea and Korak to gain the throne, dooming his people and, possibly, the country. His speech was fueled by eager intensity, and he continued with avid Elven grace. “I can make you a King, but beyond that. I can make you greater than your grandfather, if you fully take in what I teach you, without revealing the extent of the teachings to your parents.” He was again energized, but careful not to become excited, for fear of accidentally becoming mad again. He simply spoke, using his oratory prowess, projecting grand rhetoric throughout the lavish room. “I can tell you far more than I’ve told any King before you,” he said in conclusion, brandishing his fist for illustration, “and give you the grooming of a true King of Pashtia, a mighty lord with the power of an immortal mind behind him.”