"A house divided against itself cannot stand." – African Proverb
The palace of Sundiata felt colder that morning, the cool dawn air creeping into every corner as if even the walls sensed the unrest within. Sundiata, the Iron Lion, paced the grand hall with measured steps, his gaze hard as steel. Each footfall echoed off the tall marble pillars, lending weight to the silent tension that hung over the court like a dark cloud.
It had been weeks since the council of nobles had forced their demands upon him, requesting a council to share power, seeking to dilute his authority in the name of peace and stability. They masked their defiance as loyalty, but Sundiata saw their intentions clearly. Yet he had yielded, allowing them to form their council under his rule—at least for now. He knew too well that while they bowed before him in public, in private they plotted, calculating each step and waiting for him to falter.
A flicker of movement caught his eye, and Sundiata's gaze shifted to Bakari, his trusted advisor, who entered the hall with a slow, respectful bow. Bakari's eyes held a mix of worry and loyalty, but beneath that, Sundiata sensed an unspoken tension. Even Bakari, who had stood by his side through countless battles, seemed troubled.
"My king," Bakari began, his voice low, "the council awaits your presence in the inner chamber. They have gathered early."
Sundiata's jaw tightened, his gaze hardening. "So eager to discuss matters they cannot control." The disdain in his voice was sharp, but beneath it lay something darker—a glimmer of doubt. Could he truly hold this kingdom together with whispers of rebellion lurking in every shadow?
Bakari nodded, choosing his words carefully. "They are... persistent, my king. It may be wise to hear their thoughts, if only to gauge their intentions."
Sundiata's gaze narrowed, his fingers curling into a fist. "They seek to undermine me. To take what I have fought for and turn it into a council of cowards." His voice dropped to a low growl, the anger simmering just beneath the surface.
"But control can be maintained, even through compromise," Bakari said softly, his eyes flicking up to meet Sundiata's gaze. "Sometimes, even a lion must lie low, watching, waiting, until the time to strike is right."
Sundiata turned, his eyes dark with unspoken fury. He knew Bakari was right; brute strength alone could not always sustain rule. Yet it grated against his nature to bow, even for a moment, to those who would doubt his power. For years, he had ruled with strength, earning both loyalty and fear. But now, as the kingdom demanded peace, his iron grip on the throne seemed to slip just out of reach.
With a nod to Bakari, Sundiata strode toward the inner chamber, his steps deliberate, measured. The heavy wooden doors loomed before him, carved with intricate patterns of lions and warriors, symbols of the strength that had built this kingdom. He took a steadying breath, bracing himself for the inevitable clash with the council.
The doors swung open, and a dozen pairs of eyes turned to meet his. The nobles stood, a sea of silk and gold, their faces carefully arranged in masks of deference. But behind their polite smiles, Sundiata saw the glint of ambition, the flicker of defiance.
At the head of the council table stood Toma, a powerful noble whose influence stretched through nearly every corner of the court. He was respected and feared, a man who knew how to manipulate words as deftly as Sundiata wielded his sword. Toma's expression was unreadable, but his gaze held a quiet challenge.
"My king," Toma greeted him with a respectful bow, though his tone was edged with something just shy of insolence. "We are honored by your presence."
Sundiata gave a curt nod, his gaze sweeping over the gathered nobles. "You summoned me, so here I am. Speak, then, and let us be done with this."
Toma straightened, his demeanor calm, almost calculating. "We seek only to discuss the matters of the kingdom, to offer counsel and ensure stability. The people look to us for guidance as well, my king. They are weary from years of war and wish to know that their king values their welfare as much as he values strength."
The words were thinly veiled, but Sundiata caught the true meaning beneath them. They questioned his rule. They doubted his commitment to peace. Yet, to call them out openly would only strengthen their position. Instead, he let his gaze rest heavily on Toma, letting the silence stretch until even the most brazen among the nobles shifted uncomfortably.
"The people's welfare is always at the forefront of my mind," Sundiata replied, his voice as cold as steel. "But strength is what protects that welfare. Without strength, this kingdom would crumble to dust, a memory swallowed by the sands."
Toma inclined his head, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Of course, my king. But strength can also be wielded through unity. A council of trusted advisors—men who know the land and its people—could serve to lighten the burden on your shoulders."
Sundiata's eyes flashed with anger, though he kept his expression composed. "Do you believe I am incapable of ruling this kingdom alone?"
A murmur rippled through the nobles, but Toma held his ground, his tone smooth, almost soothing. "Not incapable, my king. But even the mightiest tree benefits from the support of its branches. We merely wish to assist, to ensure that your vision for Sundiata is realized."
The analogy soured in Sundiata's mind. They spoke of support, but he knew they sought control. They would turn his strength against him, wield his own kingdom as a weapon to weaken his rule. But he could not afford to let them see the extent of his anger. Not here, not now.
He leaned forward, his voice low but firm. "You wish to offer support? Then let it be known that support is a privilege, not a right. Any who misuse it will answer to me directly. I am not here to be ruled by council, but to rule by right."
Toma's smile faded, and a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. For a moment, the tension in the room grew thick, the air charged with unspoken threats. Sundiata held their gazes, unyielding, reminding them that he was not merely a king, but the Iron Lion who had fought to keep this land safe.
Slowly, he straightened, drawing himself up to his full height, his voice ringing through the chamber. "This council exists because I allow it. But never forget that the strength of this kingdom lies in my hands. You would do well to remember who holds the throne, and the power that comes with it."
A murmur of assent rippled through the nobles, though Sundiata could see the resentment lingering in their eyes. They had wanted to challenge him, to weaken him with words, but he had met them on their own ground, refusing to yield an inch.
As he turned to leave, his gaze caught Bakari's, a flicker of understanding passing between them. This battle was far from over, but for now, he had won a small victory. The council would bide their time, whispering and plotting in the shadows, but Sundiata would be ready.
Because a lion did not yield, even to the mightiest storm.
Sundiata left the council chamber, his footsteps echoing through the quiet palace corridors. Though he had held his ground, he couldn't shake the weight of Toma's words. In his mind, he replayed the noble's veiled challenge: "Strength can also be wielded through unity." It sounded noble enough, but beneath that, Sundiata sensed something else—an attempt to redefine his rule, to shift power away from his throne.
The palace halls stretched before him, dimly lit by the morning light that trickled in through narrow windows. Servants moved quickly out of his path, their eyes downcast. To them, he was an unbreakable symbol of strength, a living legend. But as he walked, the silence pressed in, a reminder that even legends could be questioned.
Nia was waiting for him outside the grand hall, her expression unreadable but her presence steady. Her sharp gaze met his, and without a word, she fell into step beside him. For a while, they walked in silence, but Sundiata knew she had sensed the unease that lingered in his mind.
"De council grows bolder, my king," Nia observed, her tone calm yet edged with concern.
Sundiata let out a short, bitter laugh. "Bolder, or more desperate. Dey fear I am leading dem into ruin."
Nia's expression softened, but her voice remained firm. "Perhaps dey fear more dan dat. Toma and de others…dey see strength in unity, in diplomacy. But dey forget dat de strength of dis kingdom has always been its warrior king."
Sundiata's gaze flicked toward her, his eyes narrowing. "And do you believe dat, Nia? Or do you, too, think my strength a danger to de kingdom?"
Her answer came swiftly, her eyes locking onto his with fierce loyalty. "My king, I have seen your strength in battle, seen de way it inspires de warriors, de people. I know your heart. But I also know dat power is more dan muscle and sword. It is de heart dat carries de burden. Dat is what makes you different from men like Toma."
Her words struck him, a gentle reminder of the delicate balance he walked. Power was not a tool to be wielded recklessly, but a responsibility, one that came with both glory and sacrifice. Nia's faith in him was unwavering, but he could feel the weight of her unspoken concern.
After a pause, he replied, his voice softened but resolute. "Dis kingdom was built on strength, Nia. It is strength dat keeps it safe."
"Yes," she agreed, her tone steady, "but even de strongest walls need to bend. A kingdom dat cannot change will crumble, even if it is built by a lion. And sometimes, a king must show restraint—not as a sign of weakness, but as a sign of control."
Sundiata's jaw tightened, her words settling over him like a weight. He knew she was right, knew that the path forward was not as clear-cut as it once had been. The kingdom was changing, and he had to change with it. But to show restraint now, with the nobles circling like vultures—could he afford to do so without risking everything he had fought to protect?
Before he could respond, the steady sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the hall. Bakari appeared, his expression grave as he slowed to a halt before them. He gave a quick bow, his eyes flicking between Sundiata and Nia with a sense of urgency.
"My king, there is news from de eastern borders," Bakari said, his voice low but tense. "Our scouts report dat Malakia's allies have begun to stir. Dere be rumors of an alliance forming, though no one knows for certain de scale or timing of deir movements."
Sundiata's fists clenched, his jaw set. The council's defiance was one thing, but the threat of renewed conflict with Malakia's allies was another entirely. A war on two fronts—the court within and the alliance beyond—would stretch his strength to its limits.
"Do dey seek to test us?" Sundiata asked, his tone dark and unyielding.
Bakari's gaze did not waver. "It would seem so, my king. Dey believe we have grown vulnerable after de last campaign. Dey may think de nobles' unrest signals a kingdom weakened from within."
Sundiata's heart beat faster, a surge of anger rising within him. How dare they see his kingdom, his people, as anything less than unbreakable? His mind raced with thoughts of strategy, of how to secure the borders while dealing with the growing unrest in the court.
Nia's voice cut through his thoughts. "If we march to de east again, we risk leaving de capital exposed. And de nobles will not hesitate to use dat opportunity."
She was right. Every decision, every move he made was like stepping on a knife's edge. One misstep, and the kingdom could fall into chaos. He looked back at Bakari, his gaze fierce, though uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his resolve.
"We will not let dis alliance go unanswered," he said, his voice steady but filled with underlying tension. "But we will also not leave de palace unguarded. Send word to our eastern generals to fortify deir ranks. If any sign of movement is detected, we will strike first."
Bakari nodded, though his expression remained troubled. "And de nobles, my king? Dey grow anxious for signs of stability. If dey sense weakness now..."
Sundiata cut him off, his voice cold and unyielding. "Let dem sense whatever dey want. I am de Iron Lion, and I will not be dictated to by whispers and shadows."
Bakari bowed, though his eyes held a flicker of doubt. "Of course, my king. But remember, de strength of dis kingdom lies not only in fear, but in de people's trust. If dey see dat you fight for dem, dey will stand by you—nobles or not."
For a long moment, Sundiata remained silent, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon visible through the palace windows. Bakari's words lingered in his mind, a reminder that his rule depended on more than just fear—it depended on loyalty, the loyalty of those who looked to him not only as a king but as a protector.
Finally, he nodded, a subtle shift in his stance as he absorbed the weight of his next decision. "Let it be known dat I will address de kingdom," he said, his voice low but resolute. "We will remind dem of who we are and of what we fight for. If de nobles wish to challenge me, dey will do so openly, where de people can see deir intentions."
Nia and Bakari exchanged a glance, a mix of relief and admiration in their expressions. By addressing the people directly, Sundiata would cut through the council's whispers, giving them no shadows to hide behind.
Nia stepped forward, her voice soft yet steady. "De people trust you, my king. Dey see you as more than de Iron Lion. You are de heart of dis kingdom. Remind dem of dat, and de nobles' voices will be nothing but empty noise."
A faint smile crossed Sundiata's face, though it was laced with grim determination. "Den let us give de people a reminder."
With that, he turned, his gaze once again steeling as he looked toward the palace gates, where the city beyond awaited him. His decision was made. The council, Malakia's allies, the restless nobles—they would all see that his strength was not simply a weapon of war, but the foundation upon which Sundiata and his people stood.
The Iron Lion would remind them all that true power lay not in whispers, but in the loyalty and will of the people themselves.
The city square was packed, yet a heavy silence filled the air, broken only by the occasional murmur. People from all across the kingdom—farmers, soldiers, merchants, mothers with children at their hips—stood together in anxious anticipation. They looked up at the palace balcony, waiting for the Iron Lion to speak. Rumors of unrest, whispers about the nobles' council, had created a quiet unease that clung to the crowd like a mist.
On the balcony above, Sundiata surveyed his people. The weight of the moment bore down on him, but he stood unflinching, his gaze steady. This was not the blood-soaked battlefield, but it was a fight nonetheless—a war for the loyalty of his people, for the strength of his rule.
Beside him stood Nia, her eyes sharp and watchful, and Bakari, his face a mask of calm resolve. The nobles huddled off to the side, their richly adorned robes billowing slightly in the morning breeze. Toma, tall and composed, held himself with an air of calculated confidence. Sundiata could sense the carefully concealed tension beneath that polished exterior, like a blade hidden under silk.
Taking a step forward, Sundiata raised his voice, letting it resonate through the square, steady and unyielding. "People of Sundiata," he began, his words rumbling across the crowd like distant thunder. "I stand before you as your king, as de one who has bled for dis land, who has fought for your safety, for your freedom. I am de Iron Lion. But more dan dat, I am a part of you."
He let his words settle, watching as they washed over the crowd. Faces softened, nods rippled through them, but some expressions still held shadows of doubt, uncertainty. A few voices murmured quietly, exchanging wary glances.
"When I took de crown, I swore an oath to protect dis kingdom—to shield each of you from harm," he continued. "And I have kept dat promise. But now, dere are whispers in de court—nobles who question my rule, who speak of councils and balance, who think dere is weakness where dere is none."
The murmuring in the crowd grew louder, a current of confusion and concern sweeping over them. Sundiata could feel the tension rising, the divide between loyalty and doubt, the tug-of-war between fear and trust.
"De nobles," he said, gesturing toward Toma and his followers, "claim dis council will ensure balance. Dey say it is for de good of Sundiata. But I ask you—who has protected dis kingdom? Who has held de borders, led de charge, stood between you and your enemies?"
At this, the murmuring faded, replaced by silence, as if the very air around them held its breath. Sundiata's voice softened, but the fire in it did not dim. "Strength has kept us safe, united. Dat strength is not up for debate."
He saw the crowd's expressions shift—faces hardening with resolve, heads nodding in understanding. The doubt he had sensed was fading, replaced by something more powerful: trust.
But Toma's voice cut through the silence, steady and edged with the slightest hint of disdain. "My king, we do not question your strength or the sacrifices you have made. But strength, unchecked, can lead to ruin. The council seeks only to help bear the weight of this kingdom, to guide it with wisdom as well as strength."
The words were couched in respect, but Sundiata heard the underlying challenge. Toma's smile was polite, but his eyes held a glint of something darker. Sundiata felt his grip on the railing tighten, his fingers flexing around it as he resisted the urge to lash out. Instead, he looked at Toma, meeting his gaze with a calm intensity that spoke of barely-contained fury.
"Balance," Sundiata said slowly, the word heavy with meaning. "Balance does not come from splitting strength. Balance is not achieved by weakening de very throne dat protects us all."
The crowd shifted, a current of agreement murmuring through them, but some in the crowd still looked to Toma with furrowed brows, their expressions conflicted. Sundiata could feel their unease, the lingering questions that hovered like ghosts over the square.
Toma's voice rose again, smooth and composed. "We all seek peace, my king. But peace, true peace, requires compromise. A council could—"
"Peace is not surrender," Sundiata interrupted, his voice a low growl that cut through the air like a knife. "And I do not share de throne. Dis kingdom has thrived under strength, not division."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the crowd. His eyes flicked over their faces, the familiar lines of his people, the ones who had fought and bled beside him. He lifted his fist to his chest, a single, silent gesture that spoke of his loyalty to them. His people, not the nobles, were his true strength.
Slowly, a cheer began, growing louder as more voices joined. The crowd rallied around him, their trust a palpable force that seemed to push back against the tension. They were his, bound to him by blood, by loyalty, by the battles they had fought together.
Beside him, Nia stepped forward, her gaze steady. "Strength must be wielded with wisdom, my king," she said quietly, her voice soft but edged with something more—something that made Sundiata pause. "A throne dat bends does not break. Even de heart of de kingdom can bleed if it is wounded enough."
Sundiata looked at her, her words settling over him like a weight, challenging him to consider her meaning. Her loyalty was unshakable, but her gaze held a flicker of something deeper, something that made him question his own resolve for just a moment.
He turned back to the crowd, letting the doubt pass as he drew himself to his full height, his voice rising above the noise. "De council will exist—but only as I allow it," he declared, his voice fierce. "No decisions will be made without de throne's command. If you seek balance, let dere be no mistake—de throne will not be divided. Dis kingdom stands united—behind me."
The cheers surged, loud and unwavering. Sundiata felt a fierce pride swell within him, his connection to his people cemented, his authority unquestioned.
Toma's expression was tight, his calm composure slipping as he clenched his jaw. But Sundiata didn't look at him. Instead, he kept his gaze on his people, on the faces of those who had placed their trust in him, who believed in his strength and his right to rule.
The nobles had challenged him, but he had proven where the true power lay.
As the crowd chanted his name, Sundiata felt the weight of the moment settle deep within him. This was not just a victory—it was a warning, a reminder to all who would question him that the Iron Lion's strength was absolute. And so long as he stood, the throne would remain unbroken.
The crowd's chants gradually faded to a murmur as Sundiata turned from the balcony, his face set in a hard, unreadable expression. Behind him, the nobles exchanged quick, uncertain glances before trailing after him through the palace doors. Nia and Bakari flanked him closely, Toma hanging back, his steps measured as he watched the Iron Lion retreat into the palace.
Inside, Sundiata's heavy footsteps echoed down the stone corridors. Each beat reminded him of the silent war looming—one that could unravel his power if he misstepped. This council might demand more of him than any battlefield ever had. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, the cold metal a stark reminder of the strength he'd built his reign upon. Yet here, the stakes weren't won by force alone.
They reached the council chamber, and Sundiata signaled for Nia and Bakari to join him at the head of the large, rectangular table. The nobles gathered at the far end, with Toma directly across from Sundiata, his expression carefully neutral. Sundiata felt the weight of their eyes, the hidden intentions stirring just beneath the polite restraint.
"You have your council," Sundiata began, his tone edged with a warning, "but make no mistake. Dis is not a division of power. Every decision here is guided by de kingdom's needs—and by my final command."
Toma inclined his head, his gaze steady but guarded. "Of course, my king. We seek only to serve Sundiata."
"Good," Sundiata replied, his voice a low growl that settled over the room like a shadow. "Dis council's purpose is to advise, not to rule. Dere is only one throne."
Nia's sharp gaze swept over the nobles. "Unity depends on loyalty from everyone who serves de kingdom," she said, her voice carrying a quiet power. "Let dis council represent de people, not your own ambitions."
A flicker of tension crossed Toma's face, though he hid it quickly. "Our loyalty is to de kingdom," he replied smoothly, though his words carried a slight edge. "And to you, my king."
The words sounded loyal enough, but Sundiata could feel the tension beneath Toma's politeness. The nobles had won their foothold, but he could sense Toma's mind already turning, testing the boundaries Sundiata had set.
"Den prove it," Sundiata said, his voice low but commanding. "Any decision here will carry consequences should it stray from de needs of de kingdom."
The nobles exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared voice dissent. Sundiata's presence held them in check, each one acutely aware that any defiance now would be met with swift and decisive action.
After a pause, Toma spoke up, his voice calm, yet with a note of diplomacy. "The people have endured much, my king. They crave stability as much as they respect your resolve. Perhaps… alliances with neighboring realms could ease the burdens on our borders and bring de peace we need."
Sundiata's eyes narrowed. "You speak of treaties? Of shared power?"
Toma inclined his head. "Yes, my king. If we secure alliances, it could stabilize our borders without bloodshed and show de people that peace is not weakness."
Sundiata felt an instinctive resistance to Toma's words, his pride rebelling against any suggestion of softening. But war could not sustain the kingdom forever, and he knew that the people's spirit had been strained to its limits. Bakari leaned in, his voice low but purposeful.
"An alliance, my king, would strengthen Sundiata. It would show de people you are their protector and provider of peace."
Sundiata's gaze flickered to Bakari, reading the loyalty in his face. This was more than politics; it was an appeal to the people's trust—a strategic concession that would ensure their faith in his rule, both in peace and war.
"Very well," Sundiata said, his tone edged with reluctance but firm. "But let it be clear—any alliance we make will be one of power, not dependency. I will not weaken dis kingdom for the sake of appeasement."
Toma's nod seemed almost pleased, though Sundiata sensed a glint of ambition in the noble's eyes. "Of course, my king. We will ensure any treaty is forged on our terms."
A ripple of satisfaction crossed the faces of the nobles, though Sundiata knew their respect was as conditional as the power they sought. They had gained their council, but it was still Sundiata's strength that shaped its purpose.
"Den your task is set," Sundiata continued, his gaze steely as it swept the gathered faces. "You will prepare reports on potential allies—lands dat would strengthen us without compromising our sovereignty. De council will convene again only once each report is complete."
He rose from his seat, signaling the end of the meeting. The nobles stood, bowing one by one as they filed out. Toma lingered, his face a mask of polite respect as he offered a slight bow.
"Thank you, my king," he said smoothly, though Sundiata caught a flicker of something in Toma's expression—ambition, restrained but simmering, as if this was only the first step in a greater scheme.
Sundiata held Toma's gaze, allowing a brief silence to settle, the weight of unspoken threats thick between them. He watched as Toma finally turned, disappearing into the hallway with the other nobles, leaving Sundiata alone with Bakari and Nia.
Nia spoke first, her voice measured but respectful. "You gave dem what dey wanted, yet kept your rule intact. But remember, my king," she added softly, a note of caution in her tone, "even an unbroken rule can fracture if those within grow discontent."
Sundiata nodded, though he felt the heavy weight of her words. "Dis council is only as strong as my authority allows. I won't forget dat."
Bakari placed a hand on Sundiata's shoulder, his loyalty clear in the firmness of his grip. "We will fight dis war together, my king. As we always have."
Sundiata allowed himself a moment of gratitude, his gaze shifting from Nia to Bakari. In this new battle, loyalty was his sharpest weapon—and with his advisors beside him, he would wield it to its fullest.
As they left the council chamber, the palace seemed quieter, the air tense, waiting. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with shadows and hidden dangers, yet Sundiata's resolve remained unbroken.
But even iron bends when the pressure grows.