Conan -

And in the morning? If he still lived—he would decide whether to be a king again.

Here’s a short piece written for Conan — capturing his voice, his world, and his relentless drive. The Weight of a Crown Not Wanted

Tonight, there would be blood and fire and the old, clean joy of battle. And in the morning

A scout burst through the doors, armor dented, breath ragged.

He set down the goblet.

Conan stood.

“Crom,” he growled to the empty hall, “I have never asked you for mercy. I do not start now.” The Weight of a Crown Not Wanted Tonight,

The crown remained on the cushion.

And the Picts were about to learn why old men in taverns still whispered the name of the Barbarian King. Conan stood

“Let them come,” Conan said, and his smile was the edge of an axe. “I was not made for thrones. I was made for this.”

Let it lie.