In a kingdom far away, there was a town called Heatherbrook that was located in the Central Valley of Zaria, a small kingdom bordered by sea on one side, and nations on all others.
In the center of Heatherbrook there was a restaurant that was popular for its famous roast beef. This restaurant, (called the Iron Kettle), was loved by all, and patronized by many.
Hangings of green and gold adorned the walls of the Iron Kettle, and two dozen tables filled up most of the space inside. A small stage sat in the corner near the fire, and on the adjacent end was the counter and doorway that separated the kitchen.
Three men sat at one table near the fire, and sipped their hot chocolate as they talked over various happenings.
The youngest one, a lad named Gilbert, was the first to broach the subject of their newer king.
Gilbert leaned back in his chair, and wound his fingers around his mug.
“It seems the king hasn’t been doing much since his coronation.”
The middle aged one at the table stroked his short, gray peppered beard.
“Aye, but ‘tis only because he is still learning the ways of a king.”
Gilbert’s eyes narrowed at Alfred’s statement, but he just nodded.
“Perhaps. But if I were king-“
The oldest one cackled, the lines around his eyes deepening.
“Don’t wish it upon yourself, Sonny.”
The owner came over to check on them, with his large pitcher of hot chocolate.
“Need more hot chocolate?”
The oldest one held up his mug.
“If it isn’t too lukewarm.”
“Very good, Wayne.”
Alfred smiled at the owner.
“Anyone playing for us tonight, Phillip?”
Phillip drew his words out, seemingly unsure of what to say.
“Well… yes, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
Wayne sighed.
“A fellow did come by earlier looking to play here. I was a bit surprised, but agreed to have him play tonight.”
Wayne took a sip of his hot chocolate.
“You seem unsure.”
“He was a different sort of fellow, and didn’t look normal. He was finely dressed, his voice refined, and he seemed very intelligent.”
Alfred snorted.
“Are you trying to imply something about the rest of us?”
“No, I just…”
Phillip shrugged, letting his words drop off. The three men at the table looked at each other. Finally, Alfred broke the silence.
“He sounds… interesting.”
Phillip shrugged.
“Well, I have to get busy. See you later, boys.”
They acknowledged his goodbye, then stared at each other in puzzled silence. Gilbert cleared his throat.
“I wonder when this curious chap is going to show up.”
Just then, a gust of cold air swept through the room as someone else stepped inside.
The three looked up expectantly.
The newcomer was a young man, probably in his twenties, though it was hard to tell with his hood covering part of his face. What hair you could see was dark brown, and hazel eyes glittered from beneath the shadow of his hood. An expensive dagger hung from his belt, and a harp case was slung over his shoulder.
The three exchanged looks. This surely had to be the man Phillip had talked about.
The harpist slowly made his way towards the front, where Phillip met him and hurriedly whispered instructions into his ear. The harpist nodded, and sat down on the designated chair for musicians.
He hesitated for a moment, but then he strummed a chord. It reverberated throughout the room, and everyone stopped talking.
He strummed another chord. Then another. But then he opened his mouth, and sang.

Oh, Burden of a crown,
Block me from the sound,
Heard in every town,
In their arms I drown.

Life bloomed like a flower,
But I was crushed by woe.
Life was in the crown’s pow’r,
And the throne my worst foe.

His voice rose, desperation ringing out.

Caught in its trap,
Surrounded by strife,
I cried from the gap,
And ran for my life.

But it was not to be.
I am trapped forever,
And now I clearly see,
That I must endeavor.

So I strike the final chord
And with my breath I sing,
That until struck with sword,
He shall be a burdened king.

His voice drifted away, and the room transitioned into steady applause. At their small table, the three stared in wonder.
Suddenly, the harpist got up, and started for the door. Everyone gasped, and Gilbert bolted after him.
By the time Gilbert made it outside, the mysterious harpist was fading into the darkness outside.
“Wait!”
The harpist didn’t stop, or turn around. By the time the other two of Gilbert’s friends made it out, the harpist was gone.
They were silent, trying to figure out what had just happened.
“Strange,” Alfred whispered.
Gilbert’s eyes were transfixed on the spot where he had last caught a glimpse of the harpist.
“He… he’s… the king.”
Alfred sighed.
“Seems likely.”
“No, I know it was. I saw something around his neck.”
The other two waited for him to get to the punchline.
“It was the king’s medallion.”
Wayne’s forehead wrinkled.
“Are you sure?”
“I know it! It was a crown with a ribbon flowing through it, then their motto.”
Wayne let out a breath.
“Well I’ll be.”
They were silent for a moment. Gilbert finally said,
“And just think, before he came we were talking about him.”
Alfred shook his head in wonder.
“His song was so moving. I truly regret ever saying anything against him.”
Old Wayne laid his hands on both Gilbert and Alfred’s shoulders.
“This should be a lesson to all of us. Next time you wish to be king, think about your experience tonight.”
Gilbert swallowed, and both he and Alfred replied with an affirmative.
As they went inside, and sat back down, Gilbert looked over at the window. He shook his head. Thank you, Lord, that I am not the king.
And as the rain quieted down, the haunting music also faded away from their disturbed minds.