I wonder what it's like to be the heir to a tryant High Lord.
A child to a horrible parent.
To grow up by their side, knowing as a kid what they're doing isn't right, but not knowing what's wrong.
To never be good enough, strong enough, powerful enough, brave enough, to never be right just existing .
No son of theirs would play an instrument made for people lesser than them, he should know he is above that.
No son of theirs would fly over their court using the wings he was born with, wings that showed his lesser heritage, he should know it isn't right to.
No son of theirs would grow to be kind in a court that wasn't made to be kind, he's the eldest of 7, he should know better than that.
No son of theirs would never just be a son, a child.
Forced into their position, no court would accept a half breed as High Lord, not unless he forced them, not if he wore a mask of his father, turning into him without even realising it with every passing day till he forgot who he was and became his father. Forgotten was the boy who liked to fly outside at night, the one who befriended others way below him as his father would say, gone was the boy who gave bastards a chance at friendship.
What would the court think if they knew their High Lord never even wanted to be one? He had to keep up his appearance, sit on a throne and demand a family with no home to give him something every two years. He hadn't learn anything on how to be a High Lord, he'd never wanted to be, content on being in a warband writing poetry, playing his fiddle for his friends to enjoy, friends his father would not consider good enough. Gone was the boy who felt joy at the simplest of things, not a little boy but still not a right man, even after knowing what he shouldn't do, ended up doing most of it while wanting to be different.
Then there is the heir who wears his own mask of indifference, he knows what his father does is wrong, and his act is to protect himself the best he could from the father who tortures his sons, the husband who beats his wife. Ordering his younger brothers like they are his hounds, losing his relationship with his favorite one because "Half" comes before brother. All he can do is hope he doesn't end up like his father.
But when does a mask turn into who you are? Who you were lost in the ruins of what was meant to be your childhood.
A victim in their story, a villain to whoever sees from the outside.
I wonder what it it's like to be the heir of a tryant High Lord, because from outside, it just looks like a High Lord who will never be good enough.
Because for me, that box is already crossed, to never be good enough, a child to a horrible parent, I can feel myself slipping behind my own mask.
A phrase that shouldn't be an insult is already coined as one.
"You act like your father"