The Father of the Empire sits enthroned on the bridge of his warship, watching as his son’s fleet advances towards his own.
The party his son brings with him is large. His son’s close compatriots have aged in their years at sea, some of them the Father’s most trusted advisors, whom he commanded to guide his son in the traditions of conquest and command. There are more that he has added to his retinue, men he has ascended through the ranks, natives who have come to be trusted, as well as some noticeable absences. The Father sees his oldest commander and greatest friend is not among the party. He also sees that there are many of them and that they are heavily armed.
They greet first as Emperor and subject, and later, beyond the eyes of all others, they will greet as father and son. But the kneeling, however proper and respectful, is at once stiff and agitated. As if a great iron claw rests on the shoulder of his boy.
And the Father only then begins to suspect that something momentous and terrible has wormed its way into the mind of his son. A seed of treason.
Paddy Dobson
24th February 2023