The Cairn Beside the Lake

And so it came to pass that King Ertharion, Tenth King of Lombaia, stood beside the still lake below unrelenting and unassailable cliffs with the remainder of his harried host. In what was the tenth year of his reign and his forty-fourth upon this great green earth, Menigo the Betrayer, cousin of King Ertharion, pressed home his false claim.

From the northern hills and the western swamps they poured forth, and though King Ertharion guided his people truly, there was only so much a King could do when all his fields met Menigo’s flame. Oh how swiftly did neighbor betray neighbor when the black dragon sigil came forth! In their wake, Menigo reaped the wealth of Lombaia once shared by its good people unto himself and raised great castles from which his shadow extended. While he feasted within, even those who first flocked to him starved without beside the kinfolk they had betrayed, for the shadow of the tower was too strong a chain to break.

Messengers flew to all those whom King Ertharion counseled, but few rallied to him. Many fled to the Betrayer for they found refuge in his hosts and his gold, and those whose hearts lacked resolve found themselves turned by bribe and bawdiness until only King Ertharion’s brother, the Prince who shared his name, remained unaccounted for, and in his silence King Ertharion first felt the depths of betrayal.

Finally, as Lombaia’s villages lay under his host’s wretched blades, Menigo made his offer: King Ertharion was to toss down his crown and turn over his kingdom. For that, Menigo may spare his life.

From Prince Ertharion, no runner returned, no raven roosted, and so the King bade his gambit. With heavy heart, he abandoned his hallowed halls. Those that remained true followed King Ertharion southward seeking refuge from the flood, for he had been a good King to all of his people, and for each other they would endure the march.

But all tales must find their end, and King Ertharion stood against the cliffs with his remaining host, trapped between rolling hills as the host of Menigo pursued them against the lake.

With sword aloft and heart pure, the Knights of Lombaia stood side by side with their King as the dread horde overcame them. Despite the fury of their foes, their chipped swords and woodsman’s axes did little to dent the lines of Lombaia, for their arms were strong and their cause just. Alas, Menigo was a creature of great cunning and brought many banners under his dominance. Armor failed eventually and though the losses of those loyal to the King weighed heavily upon his heart, for every man of Lombaia that fell, it seemed a hundred of the Betrayer’s host paid the price. As the midday sun reached its highest heights, bathing his armor in gold, King Ertharion renewed his valiant, doomed stand. His sword danced as though he were once again a young man and their foes whittled below his power.

Still they would be overcome, for Menigo’s cruelty knew no bounds, and though he himself was too cowardly to march forth from his fortress with his vile host, eventually King Ertharion’s strength faltered. Beside him, his Captain Ærethed, with whom he’d drawn swords since they were but children, fell to a blow dealt cowardly from behind, and King Ertharion felt his defeat draw near. There was to be no quarter, no surrender, and below the King’s blade fell so many that in time they would name it Ertharion’s Breach for with it he sundered the line of Menigo himself.

It was but a temporary reprieve. The evil tide pressed not only against his host but also his heart. Amongst the battle's din, cries for wives left and laments for mothers filled the air, louder than any clang of steel. For if the King might give his life so that his men survive to see the morning sun, he would have done so long ago. Doubt nearly betrayed him, for perhaps with a word, uttered now that so many lay dead and the bloody cost of their continued defiance intermixed with the waters of the still lake, he might save those that still stood. The surviving company of King Ertharion stood surrounded, an island in the churning sea.

But an island that stood all the same, and while it stood, so did the hope that the people of Lombaia might still stand against those wicked foes. By the force of his will, King Ertharion let out a roar that roused even the gods in their high seats above, in their deep woodland realms, in their infernal lairs below the soil, and thus unto that bravest of Kings, they offered their blessings. They would fight on unto death.

Lo! Lo! From the East! From the West!

From atop the rolling hills came the glint of sun off polished steel. Such a glorious sight had not and would not be seen in Lombaia for a millennium as the Knights of Prince Ertharion, second son whose heart shone pure, charged headlong into the huddled mass sent forth by Menigo, who himself had no courage to fight. Spears shattered as horses broke the lines of those men, the strength of Prince Ertharion’s host crushed their malice, for greed could not hold their lines together against such willpower. Side by side they fought not as King and Prince but as brothers, fury unrelenting, and beneath those who would not break, Menigo’s host shattered.

Alas, the boons of the Gods were as cruel as they were kind, and sadly such a tale’s ending was written in the stars long before the sun and moon took their places in the sky above.

In the moment of triumph, as the host of Menigo shattered below the Brothers Ertharion, a lone arrow of black fletching, loosed in fear and cowardice, fell from above and thus King Ertharion received the wound that was his end.

Though his heart filled with sorrow as he cradled his fallen brother, Prince Ertharion’s resolve, resolve which already shattered one host, faltered but did not yield. Their tale was not yet done.

Forward Prince Ertharion led the host until he assailed the very walls of Menigo’s fortress from behind which the Betrayer refused to sally. Upon its highest tower they crossed blades and despite the peril he wielded, Menigo was overcome. But even disarmed Menigo the Betrayer was not yet defeated. For upon that high tower he told the Prince of another of his hosts, marching in all haste for this very fortress. All the Prince needed to do was spare him and Menigo might swear him his allegiance. Together, Lombaia would be but one fiefdom of the great empire they'd forge, and no more lives would be rendered forfeit on that day. Below, the Prince's host still bled from those ardent believers of Menigo who continued the fight long after sense advised they should throw down their weapons. The Prince's men were good, loyal men who deserved not to suffer any longer. A generous offer, even a wise offer perhaps. The red tip of his sword faltered but for a moment. Peace, for but a single life.

But that life was the Betrayer's. No corruption could defy the Prince and he cast down the Betrayer in the name of his brother who fell beside the lake. With Menigo’s demise, his onrushing host devoured itself for they saw his weakness laid bare beside the Prince’s own righteous justice. Those that survived the culling threw themselves prostrate before him. Though they were returned to the fold, Prince Ertharion denied them the mercy of burning their sigils for it was forever their shame to bear the betrayer’s standard.

And thus the realm was reunited under its new King, though they carried his brother in their hearts until the end of days.

To mark the cairn below the weeping tree planted to forever hold at bay the still water from that hallowed valley, King Ertharion II sank his brother’s blade into the stone, for no man nor woman born or to be might hope to wield the blade that held back the tide.

Generations uncounted came to honor upon that sacred cairn capped by his sword standing vigil. As the ages came to pass, the names changed, nations disappeared, and it was ever told that at the coming of the new age, an heir would arise and pull the sword from the stone to lead their people forth into the new dawn.

Alas, as those who watched firsthand the bravery of King Ertharion departed from this earth, they took with them the truth, the simplest of truths that were buried along with Ertharion below his sword.

It was never the sword that made the King.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N:

For what the myth got wrong. There's a small easter egg in here and I'll tip a dollar to the first person to call it out. If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. Want to read more? Below are the best of the very best of my works: