God Save the King

I awoke to a bleak day, as always. It was raining (as always), but that wasn't what made the day dark and desolate. I had the utter misfortune of living in destitute poverty, homeless on the streets of Trottingham, one of the many impoverished and unemployed ponies in the big cities of Great Griffin. I would awaken every day to find hunger, thirst, and sorrow in bountiful quantities, while hope of a better life diminished with every passing second.

Ah, but I haven’t even introduced myself, have I? My name is Valiant; I’m a pure white griffin, with blue eyes. I was born in the Griffish Isles, in the capital city of Trottingham. Most of the inhabitants of the Isles (named as a result of the griffin aristocracy which had ruled the region since Duke William of Noremaredy had conquered it) were ponies; griffins like myself were a minority. I never met my family; as far back as I can remember, I had been an orphan. For reasons that would remain unknown to me throughout my youth, I was abandoned by my parents and left in the care of the local orphanage, which is where I had spent most of my life up until recently. I just turned sixteen years old a few weeks ago, which is when I had to behind the orphanage and strike out on my own.

I woke up, but I didn’t get up; I kept lying down on the patch of dirt I had been sleeping on, not having the energy to do anything else. I had been lacking any kind of motivation for quite some time; living a harsh life as an orphan, and then going into poverty and homelessness tends to take away one’s desire to get up in the morning. Ponies walked to and fro on the streets around me, carrying out a variety of tasks; I tried to ignore them, and the noise they made, to the best of my ability.

After a few moments of me idly lying on the ground, I couldn’t help but overhear something very interesting. The town crier was walking by, making an announcement to the whole town; it was an uncommon sight, and only happened when something very important had occurred.

“Hear ye, hear ye! His Royal Majesty, King Philippe the Second, has tragically passed away! He died of old age, last night!” the town crier shouted. Ponies gasped in shock, and started gossiping and speculating; it was a major occurrence to have the ruler of the Griffish Isles die. It was especially important news seeing as King Philippe had no legitimate children to pass the throne to. A large crowd started gathering around the crier; I got up and simply listened and observed from a distance.

“Although he had named no official heir, the royal household has announced the existence of a child of the late King, the existence of whom has been kept secret until now, that will inherit the Crown! Though the identity of the child has not yet been revealed, the royal household assures everypony that his or her identity will be announced publicly very shortly!” the crier continued.

I couldn’t help but feel envious towards the lucky bastard who was going to take over the throne. I wished that I could be lucky enough to just inherit a massive fortune, although I knew it was never going to happen; I didn’t even know who my family was. We aren’t all fortunate enough to have a family at all, let alone a wealthy family of nobleponies.

As the crowds dispersed and carried on with their daily activities, I laid myself back down on the ground. I took a drink from a bowl of dirty water I kept next to me, and, not having much of anything else to do, I laid back down and returned to sleep. Some period of time later, I found myself waking up once more; this time, I had been woken up by somepony else.

“Ahem. You are Sir Valiant, correct?” a mysterious stranger said to me. He was a white unicorn stallion with a brown mane and green eyes, wearing a fancy suit and top hat, with a stack of paperwork for a cutie-mark, speaking with a fancy gentlecolt’s accent.

“That depends; who wants to know, and why?” I asked, looking down at the ground and nervously rubbing my talons together. Unlike most folk from Trottingham, I didn’t have much of an accent; I normally spoke with a very neutral voice.

“My name is Pen Stroke, sir; I am the steward for the royal court. I am here on important official business on behalf of the Crown.” the stallion introduced.

“Very well, I’m Valiant. What business could a representative of the government possibly have with a nopony like me?” I asked.

“I would like to announce that you are the sole child of the late King Philippe, making you the next in line to inherit the Kingdom of Great Griffin. Bastards are not normally eligible for the throne, but, seeing as there are no legitimate heirs, the Crown falls upon you.” Pen Stroke explained.

I just stared at him for a few moments, expecting him to shout ‘gotcha’ and start laughing at any moment. After several seconds of him continuing to look down at me with a completely serious expression, I gave a dumbfounded response.

“You’re joking. I’m a homeless orphan; I’m not royalty. Don’t you government ponies have anything better to do than go around making jokes like this?” I said.

“I assure you, sir, that this is no joke. I have documentation proving that you are the bastard son of King Philippe.” Pen Stroke asserted, pulling a rolled up piece of paper out of his saddlebag and presenting it to me.

It was a letter of some kind, covered in fancy writing. Unfortunately, I couldn’t read a word of it; not because it had illegible writing, but because I couldn’t actually read anything at all. I was illiterate, as the result of poor education and neglect from the orphanage I had been raised in. I did, however, notice the royal seal stamped on the bottom of the page, which lent some credibility to the stallion’s statement.

“I, uh…I can’t read this.” I said, looking away.

“What? Why not? Did you never learn to read cursive?” Pen Stroke asked.

“I never learned to read at all…” I admitted.

“Damn it, you’re illiterate! I told the King that it was a terrible idea to send his only heir to some third-rate orphanage, and it would seem as though I was completely right. This is going to reflect terribly on the Crown.” Pen Stroke exclaimed. I just kept looking down at the ground, feeling ashamed.

“Very well, allow me to narrate the contents of this letter for you. It is addressed to Helping Hoof, the mistress of the orphanage you were sent to. Ahem: Dear Helping Hoof, it is with great sorrow that I must announce to you the birth of my bastard son, Valiant, the result of my escapades with one of the castle servants. Were it to be made public that I have been committing adultery, especially with lowly servants, it would be a major blow to the reputation and prestige of the royal court; to have a bastard child be created from such an illegitimate relationship would be an even more devastating blow. It is for this reason that I must insist that you take my son into the orphanage, and forge documentation which claims he was abandoned by unknown parents. It is of the utmost importance that my fatherhood of the boy be concealed at any and all costs; the legitimacy of my dynasty would be greatly shaken if it were discovered. With any luck, my wife will finally be able to bear a legitimate heir at some point in the future. I shall, of course, be making a generous donation to the orphanage as a means of making it worth your while to help conceal my extramarital activities. Yours Truly, Philippe the Second of the House of Trastámare-a, King and Sovereign Monarch over all the Griffish Isles.” Pen Stroke narrated.

“By Providence, I suppose it’s true, then; I really am part of the nobility.” I said, barely able to believe it.

“Indeed; you will be crowned as the King of all Great Griffin, subject to the will of Providence alone.” Pen Stroke said.

“But I don’t know anything about being a leader! I can’t even read, let alone rule an entire kingdom!” I exclaimed, greatly doubting my merits for the position which had been offered to me.

“You need not worry, sir; my job as steward is to oversee the royal administration. I, alongside the other members of your royal cabinet, will offer my advice on all matters pertaining to your governance of the state. On a related note, I’ll also find somepony to give you a proper education and deal with the problem of you being illiterate. Now, come with me; I will escort you to Trottingham Castle, where we can begin preparing you for your coronation.” Pen Stroke explained before turning around and beginning the walk to the royal castle at the center of town.

Without further comment, I followed Pen Stroke, my mind full of anticipation and excitement over my upcoming new life.