Once, in his youth, he had marches beside Bonnie Prince Charlie. He had seen The King Across The Water- The Pretender, the King of the North- lead his Highlanders from the front. He had seem his king throw away his scabbard as he rushed into battle. He had, then, seen his armies crumble and fall.
Now he was always waiting.
"Why ever not?" his friends were tired of him saying. "Why not a King in the North? Why must we be ruled by Southerners, Saxons?"
And he waited, and kept his pistols loaded and his sword sharp.
As he waited, his king grew old and debauched. The Bonnie Prince drowned his sorrows on French wine in exile. He drowned his lust whoring on French beauties.
And his loyal servant was always waiting.
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