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I wailed.  "Can't you let me die like a king, with some dignity?"

"But Sire, we need thee," the Ixies beseeched.

"You would use me too, eh?" I shrieked, waving my hands in the air.  "Begone, lest ye be burned as well in the purifying flame!"

I don't fully recall what happened after that.

The next thing I remember is lying naked, curled up in a ball on the ground, clutching Bucephalus and sucking my thumb.  The sticks from my would-be pyre were scattered all around the sward inside the ring of stones.

"This unworthy one is quite surprised to see the Pretender to the Throne behaving thus," General Bonsai rustled from just outside the circle.  "We had expected to find a maniacal villainous mastermind, but instead are confronted with the spectacle of an incompetent weepy buffoon.  One is reluctant to call it a disgrace, for fear of being too generous, and yet .. this one humbly demands to hear the whole story."

"It started with -" my Ixies began.

"The testimony of Ixies is like a Vulpitanian arborist:  Vague and unreliable," Bonsai quipped.  "This insignificant one modestly insists to hear it from the elf, as it is known that Elves Do Not Lie."

"What do you want to know first?" I sighed as I sat up and faced the small potted tree.

"How did His Majesty King Estmere meet his end?"

"I don't know," I grimaced.  "He was already dead when I got there.  His magick-blasted carcass was seated in the Coronation Throne.  I'm not sure what prompted him to sit there, but the Throne itself must have destroyed him due to the Vulpitanians' efforts at altering his lineage so he was no longer an elf..."

I don't know how long it took to tell my story under Bonsai's leafy interrogation, but I was starting to feel hungry when the Shrub General finally rustled his(?) tiny boughs and said:  "This one's roots are now thoroughly moistened with facts, and the truth, like a spring bud, has opened forth to entice the golden bee of judgement.  It is clear that Prince Adler is no worthy foe, but is instead a hapless pawn of others more deserving of our ire.  He does not merit the honor of dying by our branches.  We have, as the sage says, more worthwhile fruit to pursue.  Some trustworthy trees shall remain to monitor him, should he try to escape his prison.  Beyond that, his fate shall be in Fuma's hands.  Sayonara, Prince Adler Young."

With that, the Shrub turned and rustled back into the shadows of the tulgey forest.

"Well, I failed again," I sighed miserably.  "I guess I'll just starve to death here, now that they've got me blockaded.  Apparently I can't even kill myself right.  Why did you jerks stop me?"

"Because we love thee, Sire," the Ixies responded in chorus.  "Come on everyone, group hug!"

"Where are my clothes?" I muttered.  The sensation of dozens of Ixies nuzzling my fur wasn't making me feel any better.

"Cheer up, Sire.  This may seem a bitter mercy, but mercy it is none the less.  Now the Shrub threat is gone, thou art safe.  Now thou'st hit bottom, there is naught to lose!  Thou hast no way to go now but up!"

"I can't do anything," I moped.

"By thyself, maybe not - but thou hast us!"

"No thanks," I sniffed.  "The kind of help Ixies provide is help I'd rather do without."

"Though your scorn wounds us," one Ixie declared somberly, "tis not undeserved.  But take heart, Sire - or more correctly Grandsire.  Thou'lt find us less craven than our dams.  This I swear!  I'll not turn and serve thy enemies for the price of a mere cup of sugar!  Sisters, who'll pledge with me?"

"AYE!" the rest of the Ixies shouted in unison.

"Now then, what thou needest right now is a conquest, to boost thy confidence."

"I volunt33r!!1!" Angela Weakflit squeaked excitedly.

"I meant a military conquest.  Our enemies will be expecting nothing, so anything we do will take them completely by surprise."

"What I really need right now is my clothes, and some food," I pointed out.

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Comments

Simone Spinozzi

well... they cheered him... and you managed to make me feel sorry for him again. Congrats. 🤔👍

Walter Reimer

Misplaced priorities. Food first; his brain can't run on sartorial elegance.