Viva La Vida

Part 13

Dear Liam,

I don't think I've ever written a letter before in my life. I'm serious. Either I've had a secretary type something official up for me, or I've sent an email. But since you're in that prison of yours, isolated in the Stone Age without technology, I reckon I'll have to make do with what I can get. You'll get this within a day or so of me sending it, anyway—it's not like I'm using the post!

Anyway, enough of that. The reason I'm writing to you is because I have some good news. There's nothing I love better than being the bearer of good news, and lately I've had quite a lot for you. To put it simply, without all the formal bullshit noble-speak that I've been putting up with the past few days, you have a load of powerful friends here at court. People who have either gotten word of what we're doing, or guessed it, and want to throw in their lot.

How's that for good news???

I'll bring a formal list when I get back to base—I don't want to endanger our friends by writing down all their names in one convenient spot—but until then, know that we have some real punch on our side. I think people are starting to get the message that the rebellion isn't slowing down, and Simon probably won't stay on the throne forever, and probably a lot of nobles would rather have you on the throne than Azoff, so they want to make sure you're the winning team. Duke Sanders helped too, of course; and once we get you out of jail and talking to people, I'm sure you'll rake in more support just like you raked in him.

We're on a good track, mate. We've got a real chance of pulling this off.

It's risky, putting our plans on paper like this, but I had to let you know, mainly because I reckon you lot are feeling pretty down back at base, what with the whole Circle situation. Don't worry about that, though, I'm sure it'll work out. Anyway, about the writing-shit-down thing—once you get this letter, destroy it, okay? I'd suggest eating it, but if you can't eat that much paper at once, rip it up as small as you can and eat it in increments. Or something equally effective.

That's all, Payno! Keep your chin up, mate. We're all watching out for you.

Niall.

"Every goddamn person wants to tell me I don't need to worry," Liam says, throwing the paper down on the bed and then throwing himself after it. "No one wants to tell me how much danger I'm actually in."

"How about you focus on the good news we just got, not the fact that Niall innocently tried to reassure you about the Circle," Harry says mildly, staring up at the ceiling instead of at Liam.

"I did focus on that," Liam replies, trying not to sound too peevish. "Now I'm focusing on something else."

He knows he's being ungracious about the whole thing, but he just—he wants something to happen. His limbs are itching to move a greater distance than the length of his cell, and he feels useless just sitting here while the other boys do all the work. The way he looks at it, he's been kidnapped and held hostage for weeks now (how many, he's not sure). He's earned the right to be a bit irritable.

"Being petty doesn't become you, Liam," Harry half sing-songs, his voice still mild, like he can't work up enough energy to put any force in his tone. "S'not kingly."

"I know. But right now I don't much feel like a king, Harry."

"The king should always be the best man in the room. He should always be the strongest when there is doubt, the bravest when there is fear, the kindest when there is cruelty. If a king ceases to be the best man wherever he goes, he ceases to be a king." Liam blinks a little at the words of his father coming out of Harry's mouth; he hadn't thought his friend had known about that particular mantra. "A true king isn't a king because he has a crown and a throne, Liam. A true king is a king despite the fact he doesn't have any of that—maybe even because of it. You're only going to be a good ruler if you can be one now, when it's hardest."