"To Truth, Justice, Honor, and Loyalty!" said a slightly intoxicated Lion-O, raising his glass to toast.  He'd never really tried such spirits before, but he was finding that he liked them, and the sense of comraderie they seemed to inspire amongst his fellows at the tavern.  His fellows almost rolled off of their chairs laughing after Lion-O proposed his toast.

He felt his face reddening.  "What?  What's so funny?  That is the code of the Thundercats," said Lion-O slowly, suddenly feeling a need to defend his words. He slammed the clay mug onto the oaken table.  "They are great words!"

Falstaff sat up from the floor where he was laying, bleary eyed and unstable. He was so drunk he couldn't even lay on the floor without losing his balance it seemed.  "Ah, now that's worth a toast!" he cried.  "To great words, and nothing more."

Lion-O's voice grew loud and angry.  "They are more than words!  They are a code of ethical behavior.  I may no longer be a king, but I remain true to my code!"  This prompted more howls from the crowd, and Lion-O felt himself growing more and more contemptuous of his former comrades in drinking.

Falstaff let his head slip back down to the boarded floor, and set down the glass he had been trying to press to his lips.  "Oh, a code of ethical behavior.  Well that's different then, my young friend," he drawled.  "Great words I will drink to.  But a code, well, I'll not touch liquor to my lips over such a dangerous and evil thing."

The crowd lauged and applauded, but Lion-O was deaf to them.  "Falstaff, how can you say such a thing?"

"Quite easily.  We'll take them one at a time.  What was first, truth?"

"Truth, yes."

"And so, you would never tell a lie?" queried Falstaff from the ground.  His voice was quiet, and his eyes were closed in concentration.  He really was too drunk to be playing the word game, but he still felt rather confident.  This was Lion-O he was playing against, after all.

"No," said Lion-O proudly, thrusting out his chest and standing up quickly.  A little too quickly.  His legs bobbled slightly and he crashed back down to his seat, slightly dizzy.  Whatever he had been drinking, it was making his face feel numb.  "I have never lied, nor will I start.  It is a matter of honor!"

"One at a time, dear boy, we'll get to honor later.  Gertie!" he called out, summoning the old serving maid.

She stepped over him with a tray of clay mugs in one hand.  She was a homely beast, large in every way, but the patrons were all drunk enough to try to grope her anyhow, and she didn't do much but swat them away.  "Eh, done for the night, Falstaff, looks like you're on the floor."

"Yes, madame, I am quite finished drinking for the moment.  Lion-O, lad, please tell Gertie all about her ass."  He grinned through his closed eyes, visualizing the cross, expectant look she had probably just shot Lion-O, and the confused, hopeless look that was no doubt on the boy's face.  "Come along, now, lad, tell her all about it.  Spare no detail, after all, half truths are just more damning lies."

"Well, er, it seems rather wide."  That was all he had time for.  She smashed a claw mug full of some thick, brown liquid into his face to halt any other truthful comments he might utter.

Falstaff heard a thump nearby and grinned to himself.  He reached out with a chubby hand to feel around the floor, and soon enough found Lion-O's face.  He wheezed softly trying to suppress a giggle.  "I rest my case against the truth," he chortled.

Lion-O's only response was to groan and place a hand to his temples.  He tried to sit up, sluggishly.  Falstaff laid a hand on his shoulder and used to it pull himself up into a sitting position, which had the immediate effect of pulling Lion-O back down to the floor.  "I'm dizzy..."

"You wouldn't be drunk if you weren't, my boy," said Falstaff groggily. "Gentlemen, I think the lad and I need a hand up."  It took four pigs to heft Falstaff to his feet, and four more to do the same for Lion-O.  Once standing, the two could lean on each other, and began the slow stagger home.  It was slow going, as walking forward was a difficult task for each of them, and often mistakes were made.

"One step after another, Lion-O.  I hope you do come around on this whole 'truth' thing.  I know I'll never trust you to cut a deal for me if you insist on sticking to the facts in talking to others."  He paused in his speaking to shuffle back towards his charge.  He had drifted off to the right, and Lion-O was threatening to topple over if the two of them got any farther apart. "Just keep with me boy, I have a great deal to teach you."

*Lion-O remembered.  "I have a great deal to teach you, my son," said Claudis. He looked tall, and stern, and had what everyone at the court referred to as a 'regal' look.  The other nobles had hopes that someday Lion-O would have the same elegance of carriage that his father did, but for now young Lion-O had simply too much energy to be anything approaching regal.*

*"What are you going to teach me about?" said young Lion-O, genuinely curious. He had tutors for every imaginable subject, and Jaga himself seemed to be overseeig the boy's education personally.  His father's face twitched as if he had been insulted, but young Lion-O honestly couldn't think of a thing his father could teach him.*

*"I will teach you what no one else here truly can.  How to be a king, my son."*

*"Oh."*

*"You seem less than excited by this.  Do you not want to be king?"*

*"Oh, sure, I want to be king.  It's just that...well, there doesn't seem to be very much to it.  It looks like Jaga does all the important things.  All the king has to do is wave to people during parades.  Dad...dad?  Don't cry, I didn't mean anything by it," said Lion-O, aghast at the reaction his youthful observation had wrought.*

*Claudis seemed to regain his hold on himself.  "What a telling observation, that even a child can see it.  You must think your father a weak old fool, mustn't you?" said Claudis, his face and voice completely devoid of emotion.*

*"No, father, I love you," said the youth quietly.  "I think you're the greatest," he lied.*

*Claudis sat back in his throne coldly.  "Listen to me, Lion-O, you must know what it is to be king, for you shall replace me when I am gone.  Being king is about sacrifice.  You will be called upon to sacrifice your pride, your strength, your very dignity, and even your own son, when the time comes.  And you will do it gladly, because it is what is best for your people."*

*"I...I don't understand."*

*"Remember, Lion-O, when you were a cub, and you crawled into this room and saw me here alone with Jaga?"*

*Young Lion-O made a bitter face and shook his head.  "No," he denied quietly, "I don't remember any such..."*

*"He was draining my energy.  Jaga has been alive for over five hundred years. By sharing my life force with him, voluntarily, I can extend the time he is with us.  For a small portion of my own strength and life, the most powerful defender our planet has ever known lives still.  And when you are king, you will be called upon to give as well."*

*"And if I don't want to?"*

*"You have no choice, Lion-O.  I can feel the fire in your blood, the fire that cries out to conquer, to rule, to own.  It calls out ot me like a forgotten memory, but your blood too will be tamed, my son."*

*"I don't want to be tamed, I want to be Lord!  Our clan united the planet, that is why we are kings, father!"*

*"Yes, it was the strength of our Lion clan ancestors that united Thundera in conquest, but it was the mystics, the Jaguar clan, who have always ruled. They simply allow the people to think the Lions are the kings, mostly to pacify our egos."*

*Lion-O's eyes flashed.  "These sorcerers, can they not be fought, father?"*

"They can not be resisted, Lion-O.  Their power is beyond anything that we men of simple strength could hope to conquer.  In the end, you will do exactly what they say, for they are the true kings of Thundera, not we.  That is what I meant when I spoke of sacrifice.  Yes, they dominate us.  Yes, that will chafe your Lion ego unbearably, but you must learn to tolerate it.  We could try to fight them, but it would accomplish nothing, and the struggle would destroy our planet."*

*Lion-O stared up to his father, understanding him for the first time.  He had always thought he saw a hint of sadness in his fathers eyes, a hint of something that was lost.  Now, finally, he knew what it was.  "Father, what shall I do?"*

*"My son, you will do what I have done, and what countless ancestors before you have done.  You will offer up your energy to Jaga, and under his supervision you shall pretend to rule, and bear a son to take your place. This is the way it has been, since the dawn of our history.  And this is the way it shall be.  It is your destiny, Lion-O."*

Lion-O hit the ground, hard.  One of them had stumbled, he didn't know which, and now both he and Falstaff were on the dusty village road, trying to figure out which way was up.  Lion-O could feel tears in his eyes.

"Murderer!  Murderer!" yelled a pig by the side of the road.  He wore a simple brown robe and a serious look.  He waved a knotted stick above his head. Lion-O looked around desperately, which only served to make him dizzy again.

Accusing images of the vulture mutant welled up into Lion-O's sight, assualting him with images of his deed until he threw up onto the street.  "I didn't mean to," he cried out.  "I'm sorry!"

The familiar hand tightened on his shoulder.  "He means me, lad," said Falstaff.  "Aw shut up you rump fed git!" he cried to the Tabbot in brown, and threw a rock at him.  He wrapped a stubby arm around Lion-O's waist.  "Come on, lets get home, remind me not to get this drunk next time."

Lion-O clung to the tiny Tabbot, bending over to lean on him as they ambled towards Falstaff's shop home.  "Who was that, Falstaff?"

"My brother."

"Why did he call you a murderer?" asked Lion-O, a bit reluctantly.

Falstaff sighed.  "Because I am a blacksmith.  I create blades.  And so any time someone is killed by a blade, it is my fault for creating such an evil device."

"Do you think blades are evil?" asked Lion-O, a strange hint of fear in his voice.

Falstaff looked at him strangely.  "No, Lion-O.  Blades are beautiful things. They can do evil, but the evil is not in the blade, it is in the hand that weilds it.  Think about it.  A man uses a blade to threaten a man for money. It isn't the blade taking the money, it is the man.  Another man does't like having his money stolen, and he takes the blade away and kills the thief with it.  The blade is the same, only the hand using it is different."

"What would happen if a blade could use itself?  What would it do?"

"You're a strange, strange lad, Lion-O.  What would a blade do?  It would cut something.  That's what it was made for, after all."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.