My Game of Thrones

The room was rank with the smell of the child.  His mother crosses the room, her nose wrinkled in disgust.  “You have done it again.  You know that this can’t keep happening.”  Her son looks up at her, disinterest written across his face.  She sighs, “Come with me.  It is time you took your place on the porcelain throne.” 

She has been telling him this for days, nay, months, but still he resists.  He ascends the steps, head drooping in sorrow and mutters, “But I don’t want to.”  His mother’s eyes flash in anger, “Of course you don’t want to!  No one wants to, but you must.  It is your place, your duty, no, your destiny to fill the throne.”  He looks up at her hopefully, “Is there no one more suitable?” but his plea goes unanswered.  His mother continues past him beckoning for him to join her. 

A bath is drawn and as he sinks into the warm water questions flit through his head.  Must this be the way of things?  Day in, day out, always worried about the throne?  It has swallowed greater men than I.  Will I be up to the task?  How far must I roam to find a suitable position and can I always be assured it will be there when I need it?  I thought I would have more freedom before I was tied down to the restraints of this rule.  Why must this responsibility rest upon me? 

His cleanliness attended to, he is lifted from the bath.  Dried off and prepared for his new robe he faces the throne.  A gleam of light reflects off the fine porcelain almost blinding him.  His mother holds out her hand to him offering her assistance.  He smacks it away in disgust.  “I will not have you shirking this duty.  You have spit on our family honor long enough.”  She says.  He had warned her many times that he would not be goaded into this.  If he sat the throne it would be of his choosing.  His mother’s face softens.  Maybe she has realized her mistake in pressuring him.  “My love, I only want what’s best for you.  This is a hard road but one well worth traveling.  You were born into this purpose and I know you are strong enough to handle it.”  Maybe she is right.  Maybe his destiny begins with the throne.  “I want you to see something.”  His mother says, swinging open the door to the wash house.  Immediately he is overcome with the smell of the place.  She gestures broadly to the room.  “This is what happens when you do not control yourself.  Do you see the filth?  Smell the stench?  Do you think this is how all people live?  You are above this.  It does not have to be this way!  Today you will assist with the washing.  Maybe then you will understand the importance of restraint.”   

It was a long and tiring day working with the chamber maid, embarrassment and regret slowly settling into him the entire time.  Hanging the last pair of breaches a movement catches the corner of his eye.  His mother enters the room beckoning towards him.  “I believe you are now ready.”  Resigning himself to the inevitable he reaches for her hand.  She grins as she assists him through the house to throne.  A sense of power ripples through him as ascends the step stool to take hold of his destiny.  He has known for so long that he was next in the line of succession and now is the time to begin his reign on the porcelain throne!  His only hope is that he is not already too late.