Chapter Text
THE KING OF MEZALEA could not tell how long he had spent wandering the bleak, ruined wasteland of his world before he was whisked away into another. Time had become nothing but an incoherent mess once he had stumbled upon the decomposing corpse of his wife, its rhythm dissolving into nothingness as he had screamed out into the stifling silence, beating his fist raw and bloody against the unforgiving ground. Days had then blurred into weeks, months, years , until each passing of the sun blended into what felt like eons of endless suffering. Eons of suffocating loneliness, doomed to roam the cracked earth completely and utterly alone; the last true survivor in this ruinous world, with not even a mere bird to give company.
Was this his punishment? He had wondered, once, as he had tossed the pitiful remains of Rivendell’s leader into a shallow grave he hardly had the energy to dig. Was this the price of his careless action, of his lack of one? To slowly, painfully, uncover the aftermath of a threat he had foolishly scoffed at, only to be the sole one left to bury the innumerable dead as the thought of what if plagued his mind. If he had not been so arrogant, would he not be burying the half rotted body of a tentative friend? Would he not have to look back at what had been the great Rivendall, at the countless carcasses strewn across her land like broken dolls? Perhaps he would have been rejoicing at the sight of a child of his own, rather than weeping over the dozens of tiny bodies he wearily trekked by, if had offered even a single morsel of aid. If he had only…
“I’m sorry.” He had then croaked out, as he placed the pitiful blue lump of a candle over the freshly buried.
Only the empty howl of the wind answered, a mockery of the king wasting under his feet. His apology was useless with no one there to receive it, no man to accept it. And so with nothing more to say, the last king of the world turned back towards the dimming horizon, aimlessly setting forth. (Had the pain not made him hurry on, he might have bared witness to the spark bursting to life on the delicate candle’s wick.)
After that instance, he uttered barely a word, letting his voice grow hoarse, then silent. To what avail was making a noise when there was none to listen? His words were a futile and desperate attempt to introduce life into a world that solely contained himself, he knew that now.
( Later on, when he would stagger out of that meager cave, he would curse the judgment, an action far from unfamiliar. He always had decisions he bitterly rued, since the day his world fell apart. )
Like his time spent meandering the broken plains of his realm, the king of Mezalea could not tell how exactly he came to be, bursting out of that fated pool. Coughing and gagging on water fresher than what he had tasted in years, the instances before then were foggy, a distant memory. Was he lying underneath a dying tree’s shade, or half hidden in a crevice in a mountain? Was it day, night? He could not conjure up the thought. It danced and swayed beyond his reach, teasing him like an ill meaning lover. Frustration bit at him as he hauled himself out of the shallow body of water, fingers rubbed raw scraping painfully against the stone encasing the meager basin. The ache was a sensation he welcomed, relishing in the odd sense of comfort it provided. It grounded him in the present, even, gave him the strength to haul himself to his feet. The world wavered as he staggered into a stand, sucking in a shaky breath as he all but collapsed against the rocky walls of his confines.
It was a feeling not unlike dehydration, though admittedly, the throbbing wrongness coating his very being was far from a familiar sensation. It made him feel jittery in a way he hadn’t felt in a long while, in the odd period of time where he felt much like a rude guest peering into a place no longer meant for him, walking in the ruins of his once beautiful world. It left him nearly breathless to experience it, the feeling curling deep in his chest with an discomfort like nothing before. Never had he felt so– misplaced , as if he was an ill timed character stumbling in the wrong act of a play. Even in the beginnings of his lonesome, he had felt at least some sort of distant, numb connection to the devastation, a cruel familiarity present as he had fumbled his way through crumbling empires and over rotting bodies. He felt utterly lost in the foreignness of his present situation, and in one great, terrible moment, he wished he had drowned in the blasted pool. Though as quickly as the horrid thought came, it disappeared, shooed away with a shake of his head. How disappointed would his queen be, to meet her husband in Death in such a manner, self drowned in her own element?
The thought was sobering. Yet, determination filled him from head to toe, urging him to continue on into this unfamiliar territory, as terrifying as the thought might be. He would venture forth into this strange adventure, if not for him, then for his wife. He drew another wobbly inhale, gaze wandering towards the blindingly bright light innocuously sitting at the mouth of the cave. Yes , he thought, the old dregs of stubbornness stirring deep within him, he would not only survive this whole blumey ordeal, but he would thrive in this strange new scenario. He owed that much to his wife, to Jimmy, and to the rest of the emperors who welcomed him all those years ago, brusque nature and all.
And so feeling strangely rejuvenated, he took one wobbly step after another, and into the awaiting light.