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120 Year of The Staticle.
The blizzard had been the worst the royal pack had graced. Further North, he knew their people wouldn’t be able to suffer. Even then, the frail King knew that this would be his last night on Earth. Nervous One and frail , his people would say. Yet, there he was, standing all graceful and concording on top of a small hill, overlooking the forest he had been encamped for the last two nights where the snow had grown thicker. Even the mountains were howling winds of death. They reeked of it. The frail King sighed and accepted what would become of him by sunrise.
Further down the horizon, he knew he would reach Tenfish Rest. His good friend, The Lurker King, would be waiting for his banner to enter his town, but the distance seemed unlikely even for the dynasty chosen by the Gods themselves. He knew it there and then that he would seek his last hearth further down the trail he had come from. Into the big yellow tent in which he would find his wife fighting off the cold, lying on the bed, her lips frozen.
The vigorous Queen, her people would say. She asked how their kids were upon setting her sight on the King, her dear husband. She was wondering whether they had been sent to Hammerpoint to be fostered for a while by the ally Tetrans before the announcement of their parent’s death. Her and her husband’s deaths. She had been eager to face the pain. For eternity, she had promised her husband company for the rest of their good lives. Indeed, they had had good lives. She had been the most caring wife, her husband would compliment her. Despite their people calling the King frail, they knew the might of his reign. That was all thanks to the power of the loving mother of their children. The love she had showered on the world was the strength for the frail King. She was his missing spine. Yes, 28 good years they had reigned together. Healing the world was what her husband would always dream of, and he had done precisely that.
The King’s nervousness was justified, for no one could answer why he lost a father, a brother, and a sister to sickness. Growing older, his fright became intense, even at the time. Yet, there he was, dying of a cold. A death signifying that he would overcome the curse bewitched upon his family. His next in line was living and fit. He had done his best to heal the world despite counterclaims saying it was not enough. So, he sat down next to his shivering wife and patted her head. “My queen,” his voice croaky. As if the calling was loud and clear, her wife cried, happy to see her husband fending off the cold as well. He resumed, “I’ve sent messengers of my will.”
“Re–remember when we used to play in Garden of Lynx when we were but fifteen?” the Queen asked.
“Yes. We were devoid of our future at the time. Still as innocent as summer,” the frail King was trying his best to, for once, act strong as the world was ending for both of them. That, they knew. Throughout their lives, the wife had been strong, but at that time, it was the other way around. He was happy to return the favor. He realized her wife was rewinding memories inside her head. Strict to her silence following her remark, he realized that he wanted to say something while he could still speak. “I’d like to imagine that both Elmers that came before would be proud of me. Of us. For facing a storm like no others. For I, taking the throne after the third died and succeeding the second. For you, bringing to this world the most loveliest children I’ve ever seen. For you, you are my strength and the people’s,” so he ranted.
The Queen chuckled at that. Her husband had always been so intent on making his family proud. It was a shame her sister had died right before he found the cure to her disease a couple of years before. She remembered that day when he was so grieved by the loss of another kin to another disease. It was true, she confirmed, that his nervousness had come from the deaths of kin, but even more was contributed from the restless night he tried to find a cure so that no family within Perinthia should lose another from the same fate. The gold he had expended in the name of health was hefty. All to ensure that his people would live in a better future.
They heard the storm sounding more prominent than ever, now practically engulfing their yellow tent. Beseeched by the wisps of the wind, came the time when either of them reinvented their self-pity. That would be the frail King saying, “I couldn’t be thankful enough for you. You’re the manifestation of Amantha herself, but I’ve told you that hundreds of times already.” He gulped before continuing, “I know I haven’t been the most gallant-king husband for yo–” He was halted by the sudden rise of his wife. He then felt her hands palming the back of his head as she moved forward, crashing her lips into his.
Then, he heard her say in the parting of their lips, “I have no need for a strong husband. A gallant warrior or a knight with shining armor, no. All I ever wish for is you. You who would save my life while I was too scared to climb down the wise tree at Lynx. You, who would lift me up to the air as if I was Cisera’s eagle when we were children. You, my husband, who came out of River Ganicos, drenched after saving a peasant child from his death even though your body had started to show signs of weary. You, who appeared at that crimson tree, subjugating the realm of our union. You, who would later become the father of our children. You, who has been strong enough to embrace and let go of kin. You, who prevailed among your siblings. You, who’s here by my side, warming my last hours next to our last hearth. It’s always been you, Dear Eran.”
That was enough to bring the frail King to his tears. He heard her ask whether he needed more reassurance. He shook his head to tell her that it was unrequired. It was not kingly to cry like a babe would. Between his heaving chest upon sobbing, it reminded him of Eleora, their firstborn daughter who came to this world blaring her cry, wild compared to his twin boys’ births seven years later. He understood that he was crying not as a sign of weakness but rather as a sign of love. It was a display of gratitude to the Gods for sending him a goddess among potential suitors. He then pursued another kiss on her lips. He knew she was numb to the feeling as her lips had gone frozen, because his too, but still they felt the spark. They felt their love. They ignited their own heat, even if it was absent in the foreground.
They went on to talk further about their personal achievements in life. He told her about just having established a great healing center at Perinthia three moons ago with great healers from Irelung populating it. He had signed a will to name the site Genia’s Touch, taken from her name and her constant care for as long as she was wife to a frail husband. She confessed how romantic that was to his ears. She then began with the story where she first made her first impact on her hometown, the North Star. She had helped the peasants there from food scarcity after the war with the Gales deprived them, even half a century later. She also mentioned when her husband went to war against the raiders at Wyrlean Coast, she began to keep faith in Aethel. She would pray for the safe venture of her husband. The worship had been an anomaly before their marriage as her people were raised under the Gales faith who prayed to moss and stones, so it was a milestone for her to fully embrace her husband’s faith. But they didn’t wish to speak further of The Gods. They knew that Kronan and Kronin were waiting outside their tent, ready to take two lives within a single shift.
She then realized her husband had started to hang his head lower, probably already giving in to his fate. She wanted him to speak again. Gods, please, let there be another talk . She wanted to fuel his power again. However, she couldn’t speak it. The Gods had timed it cruelly when taking her voice, the key to their relationship, second to her caring actions.
Her husband, however, had started to lose his ability to hear. He only saw her wife mouthing faint words out of her pretty mouth draped in ice. So, he prayed to the Gods. Dear Gods, grant me her voice again . Let me take the strength out of her words once more . His earache roared. He couldn’t do anything but pull her wife closer, muttering a word, “Forgive me.” He saw her forming a shocked face, mouth opened but not as wide as it should be.
As if she understood his meaning, she gave him a weak smile. She rested her head on the crook of his neck. She saw a harsh wind blowing from the curtains of their tent’s entrance. They must be here , she thought. The wind caressed her cheek and she swore she heard a voice approving something, but she didn’t hear anything other than the wind howling. Then, she gazed at their last hearth. Beyond the dimming fire, she saw faces of old, smiling at her. Her father, mother, still-living cousin, her husband’s parents, and even faces she didn’t recognize. A baby of three years old with eyes like her husband’s, a woman with striking purple hair holding a fishing net, and an old man with a diamond crown wearing a chest piece bearing the sigil of a three-legged beast. She watched as the fire died, then she turned her attention back to her husband. This is it, my last breath , she thought. She stole a chance to murmur three sacred words they had exchanged endlessly throughout their lives, “I love you.” Alas, she had gone to a land of eternal peace, where she believed they would be reunited again with no time to lease and no pain should interfere.
In turn, it seemed The Gods had answered The King’s prayer when he heard her voice loud and clear, as if they were isolated in a soundproof chamber. As if a tunnel had appeared to deliver whatever she had in her throat directly only to his ears. Though, he smiled when his wife closed her eyes because he knew those words had come from the bottom of her heart. Genuine words they had exchanged past their living years. He noticed the sensation he had felt throughout his life–starting since his adolescence–now rising from his feet. His senses were going numb, and when it crept up to his upper body, he gathered all the strength to voice the same words back at her lifeless body, “I love you.”
Alas, The King lost the feeling of life. He had passed away, embracing her queen of strength. A position they would be discovered three weeks later by The Lurker King’s army after the passing of the blizzard. As in life as they were in their death, they were still a couple worthy of songs for future generations. The Lurker King dropped onto his knees, seeing the death of his good friend. The frail King was the best of his friends. He was held up to his feet by his soldiers when, soon, he shifted his attention to traces of fire. He was right. There was a dent platform across their bodies where probably a fire was kept inside. It was a hearth. Their very last hearth.
Ten Years Later.
Far on an island in Braunfengr Ocean, there was a town which had a tavern. A family of fishers had their business wrapped around it. There, a husband to a violet-haired woman would sing songs with details of mythical heroes and legends. However, once or twice he would sing of a romantic story with sadness behind his voice. He had pearl eyes and a voice so charming. In the light of day, he would gather creatures from the water spot. During the dark of day, he would sing songs. Once or twice, he would sing with a somber tone,
In the castle halls, where the fires burn bright.
Lay The King and Queen, nearing their last night.
Their bodies frail, their breaths shallow and weak,
But their love, steadfast, still had the power to speak.
He gathered all his might to deliver the chorus. Following the pause that had lingered, he resumed,
Oh, The King and Queen, their time drawing nigh,
Their hearts intertwined, as they bid their goodbyes.
The Queen wished for more talk, as The King’s eyes did close,
And The King prayed for hearing, to hear his queen’s voice.
He had a glimpse of the audience, drunk in their ale, but their eyes, glittering with tears.
The Queen spoke softly, with tears in her eyes,
“Please don’t leave me, my love, don’t say your goodbyes.”
But The King’s eye grew dim, and his breathe still,
As his soul soared away, leaving his queen to feel the chill.
The Queen’s heart shattered, as she held her king’s hand,
With memories of their life, and their love, so grand.
She whispered unto him, of the times they had shared,
Of the laughter and tears, of the love they had bared.
The King’s eyes opened, for a moment, so brief,
And he heard his queen’s words, bringing him some relief.
He felt her love, so strong, as it filled the room,
And he knew in his heart, that he’d join her soon.
In the castle halls, where the fires burn bright,
Lay a king and a queen, no longer in sight.
Their love lives on, in the memories they made,
As their spirits ascend, to a new life, unafraid.