The Crown of the King was rather ugly, a sort of burnished copper lumpy circle that had been shined in an attempt to make it more regal. Its weight made the head tilt slightly, and looked awkward on even the most fashionable men.
Uneasy lies the head that wears the Crown. Jendi's father always said that. Jendi
was never sure if his father meant the actual Crown itself, or just being the King. Jendi hated and feared that Crown, as did all good men. And yet, the Crown itself chose Jendi to be King. Out of all the men in the land, his name appeared in the ashes of the previous King. To refuse the Crown was to condemn the entire populace to destruction, famine, and death.
Jendi only wanted to plow his fields and grow his family in peace, but he dared not refuse the will of the Crown. He put his affairs in order and when Jendi left for the palace, his entire family went into mourning.
The reluctant Jendi sat, uneasy on the bloody throne, the Crown awkward upon his head, awaiting the Court. He shifted in the seat, desiring at least a momentary comfort. He was unsure of his responsibilities on the throne, until the citizens appeared and the Crown spoke to him. One by one, the people voiced their concerns, their complaints, their crimes.
Drops and trickles of blood began to appear from underneath the Crown as the thorns pricked Jendi. He grit his teeth against the pain and spoke the words the Crown told him to say. After an hour, rivulets of blood began to flow from the crown, into Jendi's eyes and mouth and ears, then over his shoulders, passing into the seat of the throne before falling in a puddle around the base. Jendi coughed, wiped his eyes, dying, and still Jendi dispensed the Crown's justice.
He was honor bound to try his best to fulfill the will of the Crown, until the very end.