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To be king is to bear the burdens of the people.

I've grown old. I've seen my people through both plague and famine, through banditry and corruption. I've borne and raised heirs; watched one succumb to greed, the other blossom into a flower of hope for the future. I've taught lessons, purged evils, and taken the burdens of my people upon myself as my father had. As his father before him. But, times change. As times change, so too must the rulers.

But I am old, and I am no longer what my people need.

"You're the best person I've ever known, sweet daughter," I said to her in the arena as I drew my blade.

I see a profound sadness in her eyes as she tells me that she'll regret my death more than any other in the world and can only shake my head as she draws her own blade. "No, Robali, not more. I'll only be the first. I may even be the most painful regret for a time, but there will be others. There must be others."
One last lesson, dear girl.

I kneel with my head bowed, blade presented on the backs of gauntlets battered by war and wait for her to take it from me. "The Heralds have spun the last of their tales of me and my exploits and I am too old now to be what the people need." My eyes open to see pristine sabatons on the sands of the arena before me. "It's time to end my story, Robali. Yours begins today, and I have one final lesson to impart to you."

Death is light as a feather. Duty, a mountain.

I feel the four-hundred year old sword leave the backs of my hands and lean back to sit on my heels, head held high. "Duty is ever the mountain you will bear on your shoulders, Robali. Nothing can be done to lighten its weight." A memory crosses my mind; an old once-friend I'd discovered had been unfairly taxing his people and skimming from the kingdom to line his own pockets. The feel of bloodied hair in my fingers as I held his head up for the people to see Justice done. "Show care in whom you trust to share the load." I can feel my voice break as tears roll down leathered and scarred cheeks.

My eyes are closed, but I can feel the tears in her gaze as she considers the space along my neck and the blade that's known the blood of every king and queen to bear it. "Death is the feather of release. Only in your death is your duty to your people over."

I let the silence linger, listening carefully to the repressed sob of a daughter about to lose her father by her own hand.

"It's time for my story to end, Robali. Set me free."

Nicely done. I didn’t see the last part coming, about how every monarch is executed in the end—I dig it.

Felt like a good touch to the prompt. I've got it in my head that it's tradition so the elder rulers can't poison the younger. A coming of age, but only for the worthy and those strong enough to bear the burden.

that is almost too good, holy cow.

I share a smile with my protégé as they bounce through the door of my home, ready to soak up another lesson in swordplay and bits of wisdom like the sponge of knowledge they were, no doubt about it. I couldn't have chosen a better successor.

Something must have shown on my face, they slowly stop smiling and come to a stop at my kitchen table. "Master? Is something wrong?"

"Depends on how you look at it." I stand and begin walking into the training room. Creaky floorboards and peeling wallpaper line the cramped hallway, as usual my student has to follow behind me. I think of when she was small enough to walk beside me in this hall as I continue, "Today will be your last lesson. It is the same lesson which made me a Master, and when you are ready you'll teach it to some bright eyed student as well."

"What lesson?" Ah, there is a hint of fear in her tone as I open the training room. The wood panel floor is polished with sweat and blood, sanded by countless feet sliding across it in duels. You can smell the age of the leather and plaster, the dust of the stone, but an open window freshens things up. I gaze upon the hundreds of weapons lined up on one side of the room; polearms, swords, clubs, staffs, anything a martial artist could ever wield, and each one worth more than the shabby home they were stored in. "Master?"

"Select your favorite weapon," I order instead of answering, "the one you are most comfortable and skilled with." I take up a longsword and walk to the center of the small arena, soaking in the room for what I know to be the last time. My student takes up a claymore, as I knew she would, and before she can ask again I raise my hand to gently stop her words. "I will explain now, but first: how old do you think I am?"

"40, 43 at most?" she guesses, and I bark out a laugh.

"HA! 43 at most! You are far too kind..." as her's has, now my smile slips away. "Child, I am old, no two ways about it. I have not bothered to keep track exactly, but I am well on my way to 100 years old if I am not already. I have dedicated the entirety of it to learning combat and then teaching it to you. I would like to think I was successful."

She tries to smile at me. "You are a great teacher, Master. I could throw a rock in this room and hit a weapon I know how to wield."

"You could, but martial prowess is not all of life," I say, brow furrowed. "That is what I worry about these days. Not if you are a good fighter, but a balanced warrior. If I helped to sculpt a proper young lady at the same time I was teaching a successor. I cannot measure how well you will live, but I can measure your skill with that blade." I quit staring into the distance and focus on her worried eyes, let the silence hang for a moment.

"... Today, I will die, and you will kill me." Only several years of training stop her from dropping her sword, and even still it is a close thing.

"W-What?!" she breathes out, quiet with shock.

"It is my final lesson, as I said, the same one my Master gave me." I pointed to her sword. "You'll notice that blade is no longer dulled for training, it is as ready to take life as you are."

"I'm not going to kill you! Are you insane?!" I smiled, remembering when I said exactly that to my own Master. She began to shake, sword rattling in her grip. I walked close to give her a hug, shushing her hyperventilation as I pat her back.

"Do not cry," I told her softly, though she did anyway. "I know exactly how painful it feels to be in your shoes, but you must know what it feels like to take life. To feel the weight of a sword for the first time all over again and realize it was heavier than you could have ever imagined. If you are to take any lives throughout your journey, I will not allow the first to be taken in anger and stain you."

"But why does it have to be you?! I have so much more to learn from you! Everything you know will be gone!" She stared at me with a pleading look. I nodded.

"I have taught you the basics and essentials, everything else is experience and knowledge. From this point I would only be a guide, and not a very good one."

"Better a bad guide than none!" She shouts.

"Then I have taught you nothing," I say quietly. I begin walking around her slowly, footsteps scuffing on the aged wood. "I would rather you say that you abandon the sword and all of my teachings before you say that again. Do you think I am heartless, mad, cruel? I thought those same things of my Master, but I found out just how crucial this lesson was later. I learned that death was a last resort in all conflicts, a sad reality when words no longer sufficed. I also found that death can be a mercy, even when we do not want it to be." I held up my sword and looked my reflection in his tired eyes as I stopped in front of my student. "The sword must never be brandished with a clouded mind or ill intent. It is polished and thus a mirror; our actions are reflected back at us, and we will always look back in time and see the ones we have killed in its surface. If you are to regret taking any lives, let mine be the first, last, and only one."

With a sniffle and a steadying breath, my student regained her firm posture. She was grieving like I was already dead. "You're the greatest person I've ever known. I will regret your death more than any other." My smile returned as we took our stances, boots shuffling on rosy wooden planks soaked with blood older than either of us.

"I know, my protégé. I give my blessing on the world you will make for yourself, starting from this humble place. But enough talk; let us start your story and end mine."

Anything in particular that sticks out or that could use some expansion? I might add to this after work.

a part two either just after or a little later that shows Robali thinking back on this moment and seeing how right her predecessor was would be kinda cool.

Robali sat in her study in quiet contemplation, the ancient sword bared from the scabbard. Scales gleamed along the entire back of the single-edged sword, trailing well down along the crossguard and disappearing into the wrapped hilt.

A week had been given for the mourning of the former King Lucius Dragonblade. A week to contemplate her teachings before the inevitable time came when she would have to apply them. A week to watch her elder brother become the greedy wretch she'd always known him to be. Now though, she contemplated something else.

'Blood for Liberty,' etched in fine silver filigree along the razors edge of the blade. Something about the etching stirred something within her mind. A memory, though only judge at the very fringes of her consciousness. Something profound her father had once told her of what being a ruler would mean.

'The tree of Liberty must occasionally be refreshed with the blood of patriots and tyrants,' something seemed to whisper to her.

The voice didn't bother her, in fact, as it was often that she thought of the sword as a sentient thing as much as she knew it was a symbol of her family's rule over their corner of the world. Now though, it seemed more...

'Real?'

"Who's there?" Robali called out, stirred from her position and glancing around the study; finding only stacks of books and the sword her company.

Something seemed to draw her eye to the word 'Liberty.'

'We are no strangers, you and I. Our pact is sealed. Liberty has been refreshed with the blood of a Patriot.' Robali could almost swear she could sense hesitation in the disembodied voice. 'Your father was a truly good man. A good Paladin.'

Robali felt the involuntary clench of her jaw at the mention of the man her father had been. Ten years ago, perhaps. Toward the end, he just seemed... Tired. Ready to retire to a countryside to be forgotten, as if his death weren't a foregone conclusion.

'You will know the same weariness in time, child. Duty is a mountain that weighs not on the body, but the soul. Duty will always crush the spirit. It was time.'

"Is that why he asked to be set free?"

'Good men are few and far between, child. Most will see themselves live just long enough to begin to embody the very things they once swore against. Some will hang on to those morals until the end of their days. Rulers, as you now are, and as you must now be, must be able to change with the times.'

'There is a time though, when the people need the change.'

Robali slammed a fist against the table, causing the sword to rattle upon it. "That didn't mean he had to die! He could have just passed on the crown!"

'That is the pact, Robali. That is the pact your family made with me to rule these lands.'

"Are you a demon then? Am I bound to a devil in servitude?"

'No, child. Demons and devils would have no use for happy countrymen, full bellies, freedom, and secure borders. They would benefit most from the strife your brother would cause. Did benefit from the strife your late Uncle caused.'

Robali sat back in her chair as if physically pushed, anger leaving her faster than it had come upon her. All she could feel in that moment was grim acceptance for what would have to be done... And a quiet gratitude that she had a great many years before her own time would come.

"Duty is heavier than a mountain..." With a heavy sigh and wetness stinging at the corners of her eyes, Robali asked, "Will I ask for it in the end as well?"

'That's your story to tell, Queen Dragonblade. But this I can promise you.' The voice of the blade fades almost to imperceptibility.

'It will be light as a feather when we welcome you home.'

beautiful, a lovely addition!

>"The sword must never be brandished with a clouded mind or ill intent. It is polished and thus a mirror; our actions are reflected back at us, and we will always look back in time and see the ones we have killed in its surface.

Badass. Quote saved for reference at my next cocktail party.

That's a great last line. First I thought about the feather, contrasting against the mountain. Cool, cool. And then I thought about the "home" part, and it really hit me. And then I thought about the "we" part and it blew my mind.

See, now I wanna know what conclusions you drew.