Jackson No More

Even the best of Kings can get knocked on the head.

His name was Jackson and the people liked him. He ruled for 7 cycles, his family for hundreds. While some of the family felt the pangs of inbreeding, the Rutgauer blood was strong and Jackson could've ruled another 50. If he didn't love jousting so much.

The tournaments had become near stage plays, with each of the warriors enacting a story line written by one of the priests named Laren. Everyone has their guilty pleasure and this was Jackson's.

And then one day, Laren wrote King Jackson into the play. He was to pretend to be one of the squires, hiding until the evil knight character is about to poison his opponent. The priest wasn't sure if Jackson would do it, but word was passed that he'd love to come aboard. "Whatever you need," he said.

Jackson dons the robes of a simple squire and goes to his mark, face hidden from audience. He awaits his cue with a grin, his wife, the queen, within a stone's throw. "Where is Jackson?" He hears the common man asking. The King snickers.

A lame donkey ironically named the King trots up to Jackson... The donkey tries to sniff him out... Jackson shooes him, but the donkey wont let up.

"Ay, look! The king's tryin' to fuck that squire!" The common man turns, laughs.

"Shoo!" Jackson mutters at the donkey, trying not to make a scene. The donkey gives Jackson an evil glance... he turns slowly... leaps and kicks back hard with both his legs.

King Jackson takes a nasty hit to the head. The audience explodes with laughter until Laren calls it off, gets aid for his injured King. "I'm so sorry my Lord! We will mend you, sire, we will pray for you all hours of the night."

Jackson says nothing, his forehead split open and leaking blood down his face. He's dazed, there's a glaze over his eyes... "What would you pray to?" He says it with a tone of disgust, very much out of character for the beloved King.

"My lord, I would pray to God, the almighty." Laren asks, confused.

"Oh, why wouldn't you pray to your King? Tell me Laren, who makes the rules?" Jackson shows unbridled rage, a sight never seen, even by the Queen, his closest confidant. The blood runs further down his face, it becomes a mask of madness.

"Jackson! My dear, are you OK?" The Queen rushes down to her husband with tears.

Jackson pummels her across the face, she's knocked out cold. "DON'T YOU FUCKING THINK OF IT!"

The audience gasps...

"BRYET!..." The King yells, slumped on the ground and seething. "BRYET-COME TO ME!"

"My lord, you're hurt." A knight rushes out from behind curtains, comes to the King's side. "We need to get you to the healers."

The knight tries to pick him up, but Jackson beats him across the face. "GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME... Do you not know who you touch?!"

The knight swallows his pride, sets him back down gently, his red face turning redder. "Yes my lord."

"I will tell you what to do and you will do it." The King's left eye slips out of sync with his right as he speaks. "And what you will do, is hang this priest for attempted regicide of the highest order."

The audience shrieks with horror, some not sure if this is part of the show.

Bryet waivers, he looks to Laren who shivers and backs away from the notorious killer knight. "Laren. You must not run." He steps forward, the steel, metal in his armor jingles loudly with each step.

"I am innocent! I had nothing to do with that donkey, that was the stage hand! I can show you who it was!" Laren shrinks away from the audience, the King's gaze, the knight's approach.

The audience begins to boo Laren, they chant for his head.

Jackson's wild gaze tracks the priest as he fails to flee... the King smiles.