“Before Arthur’s time, before the time of the first king, Freedom’s chosen were of very different temperaments. Instead of concerning themselves with worldly affairs, they flew high out into the open skies. They drifted loftily as the wind blew them to faraway lands. Freedom was the gift to remain unbound - to live a life solely dedicated to pleasure - and to those fickle beings more selfish than all, the world existed to be their paradise.

“But Arthur despised those ideals. He forgo the tradition of wanderlust and chose to confine himself. To his people, to his duty, and to the kingdom which arose from flame and rebellion. They flocked to his side, begged for alms, and thus did he share a part of himself—shared the fragments of Freedom’s Will to his seven-most trusted knights. From that day, his descendants were irrevocably cursed.

“Arthur never did like being alone. He feared isolation more than any other—feared a fate in which he would be forever isolated. He was a man that could not live without praise, without adoration, and that need for love slowly grew into an obsession that consumed his entirety. It was a pathetic sight, watching a hollow husk deceive itself into being human. His was a madness that could never be satisfied.

“It was rather simple to gain access to his heart. I whispered words of comfort. I stroked his feeble, whimpering back. I became a beloved he could not be separated from, and when I slayed him at his most vulnerable, it was not betrayal that shone in his eyes… but relief.”

- The Knight

———

Ascalon

The King needs not even speak before the entire court rushes to Lorelai’s side, feet storming the ground in great, thundering stomps. Robes are tangled. Tunics are frayed. But the once stately noblemen care not for their disorderly appearances. They surround her from all sides and sing cheers of joy. They cup her face and squeeze her cheeks in the manner the elderly always tend to so cherish. The scene is reminiscent of her return but a month before, yet the moment is more vivid—a desperation born of uncertainty, one now dashed away by a single glance of her kindly face.

Lorelai is quite surprised by the sudden shower of affection. She hides it well, but there is a shyness that tugs at the corners of her smile. An awkward “thank you” and a whispered “hello” here and there, all the while she stares at Ascalon with eyes pleading for help. He chuckles, for to see her with a bashful expression is a rare sight indeed, but the King is not one without understanding; the people before her are strangers now. Unfamiliar. And to receive such adoration solely due to one’s identity… he is familiar with that feeling of dissonance.

“Everyone, please, I understand your excitement, but I must remind you of Lorelai’s current condition,” he says. “Let us not overwhelm her.”

The officials turn around and pout at him with a manner befitting that of a candy-starved child, but they are still nobles. Cordiality is their livelihood, and so they trickle onwards to their seats: backs straight, steps light, and handkerchiefs soaked. The only elder in the room still of dry eye is the jolly old Gadreel who now tut-tut’s at the others with a pompous flair.

“Hohoh, to think our venerable court would descend into such chaos,” he teases, taking great pleasure in donning the guise of an astute gentleman. It almost makes Ascalon want to expose his phony facade.

“How odd. I seem to remember the sight of one peculiar Chancellor bawling their eyes out like a little babe,” he says with a mischievous chuckle. “Why, it would not surprise me if their tears would have flooded the room in due time.”

“Ooh, whatever doth thou mean? I hath not an inkling of such occurrence.” he replies with feigned innocence, turning his back and playfully swaying about as if it will distract away from his guilty exposure. It is not a very convincing act, but it does serve to lighten the mood. Thanks to his comedics, the room has calmed down considerably - smiles aflutter all throughout the space - and Lorelai breathes a sigh of relief as a more comfortable energy settles into her being.

“I apologize for the intense reception, Lorelai,” he says, his own smile thankfully hidden out of sight. “Thank you for coming, but are you sure in attending a session so soon? There is no shame in resting a little while longer, especially after all you have undergone.”

“Thank you, Ascalon, but I’m alright now,” she begins, strolling to the center with a confident gait. And indeed, her appearance is much more relaxed than the day before. Whether it be due to the disappearance of the miasma, or simply attributed to the blessing that is a good night’s rest, Lorelai faces him now with pride. Her eyes glimmer bright, no longer cast in a dim shadow, and her body exudes strength and authority from every surface. She has always been of strong will, but the knight of this moment is truly stunning. “Besides, I have a most trustworthy friend by my side if I were to falter.”

Dariel pokes his head out from behind her, seemingly manifesting into thin air as he bows to the King. “Fear not, your majesty. I have already promised to whisk Dame Lorelai away to her bed if she shows even the slightest hint of exhaustion.”

“Hehe, that does put my mind at ease. I shall entrust her to you, Dariel.”

It is fortunate Lorelai has already forged a friendly relationship with another. For her, in this land of strangers and the unknown, having a familiar companion will be of great comfort. Ascalon does feel a bit sad for being unable to fulfill that role, but he has his work. Documents must be perused; meetings must be led; and he is simply too busy to walk around the city with her. Dariel is no stranger to the districts and fun to be had about; he shall be a fine guide.

“Then let us proceed,” Ascalon continues. “Now that you are here, and with the audience of the court, I’d like to make certain of the events that occurred at the Alexandria—as long as you are able, of course! Forgive me for rousing such memories, but we must glean all to be had if we are to plan any further.”

The King does not want her to delve back into that murky ocean, yet… he can feel that it is alright, for her heart beats with a firm determination. It is a powerful beat: stout and unyielding. It is the beat of one yearning to prove themself. And though no words are exchanged, there are times when speech is unnecessary. Where a glance is shared, and in their eyes is a doorway to that which cannot be hidden. Her eyes are clear right now; that is affirmation enough.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Lorelai looks up at him and smiles. It is not forced, nor is it pained. Hers is a smile ready to face the morrow. “Do not worry, Ascalon. If I cannot face my past now, then I never shall. This must be done.”

“And you shall not do so alone,” he says. “Let us start from the beginning. Your expedition did not encounter anything of note whilst in the Aeternum, correct?”

“Yes. To be more exact, there was naught but an endless sprawl of wither and decay. I do not know exactly what I had been searching for, but that feeling of frustration remains vivid in my mind: of loss and resignation. I’m sorry, everyone.”

The court members speak out to her with words of encouragement. “Do not blame yourself, my lady!”. “Perish the thought, my lady!”. But underneath those praising tongues is an understandable disappointment. Much has been devoted to her cause: trust, expectation, and a budding hope. To return empty handed is a result none have even imagined, yet here it is plain to see: failure.

“If the Comet wasn’t in the forest, then so be it. That confirmation is valuable enough, and given the inactivity of the Caelum Empire of late, then we can be assured they are just as destitute,” he says in an attempt to calm the restless crowd. “On the contrary, perhaps we are more fortunate after all.”

And that fortune lies within the very nature of Lorelai’s survival.

“Lorelai, last night you told me of a man adorned in strange, violet armor. He was the cause of the Alexandria’s toppling, and he appeared to be the leader of the rusted legion. That man was Gravitas the Immovable; do you remember him?”

Lorelai appears puzzled, but it is not due to his query. Ascalon’s tone has shifted dramatically, every word bidding forth with a slight, sonorous quality. There is a reason for his blatant speech, but its purpose has less to do with his beloved’s recollection… rather, to draw attention from the surrounding nobles.

“Beside the battle itself, no. Did I have a history with him?”

“I suppose you could say that, but… let us not talk about it here. Perhaps in a more private setting, but for now, I’d like you to verify his identity before the court. Did he exert a strange energy when you clashed with him? Heavy, oppressing, almost as if an invisible force was pressing down on you?”

“Yes. Like a pair of chains, it restricted my movements. Sunk my steps deep into the dirt.”

“I see. And did he wield a great, spiked mace? The design is rather simple: black in color and made of alloyed steel. It should look exactly like weapon now on your back—”

Ascalon is unable to finish before the air becomes submerged in a collective gasp crying out in epiphany. The court is finally starting to realize his intention. They are finally starting to realize what Lorelai has achieved.

“This?” she asks, unsheathing the bludgeon of the former Commander. “I, how did I get this again? After the blades rejected me, I had to find another weapon. So I—I took what was nearest. It was atop a corpse, and that corpse was…”

“Lorelai. Do you remember what happened to that man? Did you slay him?”

“… I remember now. That desperation. That vengeful desire to kill. My vision was blurry, throat plagued by a freezing tightness, whilst I could feel my blood flowing through my veins, burning. Burning. But I could not fall. My heart would not allow me to falter, so when I saw that shadow rushing in - when I saw death’s grasp inching ever so closer to claiming my soul - I lunged forth. I raised the blades, and I… I slashed. I severed him into two, and I collapsed into the puddle of blood wrought from his carcass. Yes, I slayed him.”

The nobles abandon any last remnants at self-control and practically leap out of their seats in celebration as they sing and dance about with merry steps full of cheer. “Hurrah! Hurrah! The Tyrant is dead! Hurrah! Hurrah!” Lorelai stands dumbfounded before the sight, the entire court enacting a miniature festival right before her very eyes at the mere mention of another’s death, but she does not truly know how important this news is to them.

Gravitas has long been terrorizing Polus since before even Ascalon’s time. He has vanquished many a noble warrior, including the former Celestial’s Throne. She must not know this yet, however; to do so now when recovery is within sight will only bring back painful memories. When the time is right, she will learn—she will learn that she has avenged her mother. Even the King finds it difficult to not jump out right now and celebrate with them.

“My word, to think this old man would live long enough to see that monster receive his due comeuppance,” Gadreel croaks. “O’ happy day. O’ truly, what a happy day. With his death, I can finally face my comrades far out in the distant skies. Wait for me, my fellows. Thy feeble friend shall come to you soon.”

“Hehe, I’m sure they can wait a little bit longer, Gadreel,” Ascalon says. “Besides, our duty is not over just yet. Gravitas’s death is a cause for celebration, but we must not forget the toll it has taken.”

“Pardon, my liege?”

The King turns to face Lorelai. His demeanor is soft, a bit regretful, for what he is about to say will no doubt smother the joyous mood. Still, it has to be said. To not do so would undermine the sacrifices of those still buried in that forest. “Lorelai, was there anyone else that survived?”

Though Ascalon words it as a question, he does so more out of formality’s sake. The answer is already known. “… No. I—everyone perished. Neither Polus knight nor Caelum Legionnaire was spared from the miasma once Gravitas’s influence wore off. I was the only one to successfully endure.”

“Ah,” Gadreel mutters. “Everyone. Even dear Celia…”

Death is ever so familiar to the people of Polus, yet its sting never lessens. All that remains are memories of what once was and what shall never be again. Ascalon almost lost to that great, terrible grief, but he is lucky. She has come back, but the others are not so fortunate. Friends, lovers, family… they are gone. But that does not mean they would wish for the living to join them. Rather than despair, they would want the people to smile.

“Everyone, heed my call!” he roars to the room with a booming command. The sound snaps them back to reality, forces their lowering heads to rise, and dominates over the previous somber air. All eyes are upon him. “The summer’s first breath will come soon. The calendar marks it as the next day of the sun, and it is then that we shall hold a funeral. It will be a grand funeral, one with every citizen in our fair city in attendance. We will weep for every lost knight. We will grieve for every passing kin. But make no mistake; this funeral is not one where we wallow in sorrow. No, this shall be a funeral for the living; for us to make peace with the departed and gain their blessing for the days that wait ahead. Are there any objections?”

None. Not so much as even a faint murmur. The court is unanimous in their approval, and they soon descend upon their knees. They gently wave their hands to the side. Then, they arch their backs high and place their foreheads flat upon the marble. Body upon body lowers in succession, and eventually, Lorelai is the last to fall. Only Ascalon remains above, and he brings out the Mattatron from its rest, raising it to be bathed in the light’s rays as it fills the room in glittering dots of amber crystals.

“Then let it be so. An official period of mourning has been set. In accordance to the bylaws of the kingdom’s constitution, I shall now bless this city with the hymns of the great rite of burial. O’ wondrous Cosmos, harken to our plea:

“May the children of Polus descend from the skies far beyond.

“May the souls of warriors and ancestors past mingle amongst the living once more.

“And may we all celebrate in glee: of life, of love, and of thanks to this hearth we call home. Together, united as one.”

The dead are the dead. Someday, Ascalon too will join their ranks. But until that time comes, he will love this nation. It is his home, just as it is the home for many others: a place where all may come to find peace.

“The session is now adjourned. Everyone, you may leave. Ah! Except you, Lorelai. I’d like to take a moment and introduce you to a very special friend.”