568 Year of The Ox, at Castle of Perith.

The day had been tainted with sorrow. That day, my father, many called him The Fool, was set on his tomb. The skies were heavy and rain was tormenting the city agape. The storms were particularly loud that day. Not even I could hear anything other than the hiss of thunder and the pissing rain. My mother, The Queen was mourning, she had locked herself in her chamber. No one was to enter including her own children.

I felt a sense of guilt for leaving my sister, Penthyra, at her crib. Little sister was only two years old, a year younger than I was, yet she looked neglected. Aethel knew where to find the little woman. She was either playing at River Rins, near her beloved oak tree, or hugging our newborn brother who was sleeping tight in a green crib. To the maids’ relief, she was sleeping beside my baby brother.

Accompanying me while I was playing at the Garden of Lynx to conceal my loss, the crown proctor Memran Leed. Protector of my father, defender of the crown. Though he had failed to defend my father’s, I could sense his remorse. He looked to me as if I was a pearl, not wanting to leave me out of his sight. Under the command of my mother, of course, so I accepted his company. Many called Proctor Memran as a great warrior. His younger biddings had granted him the nickname Young Might, one of the reasons he was taken to the royal court as my grandfather’s crown proctor. The man had a heap of honor and definitely an astute swordsman. I was glad to have him by his side, despite that it was supposed to be undermining. My father was the first Perinthian King to roll out the law that a king shall have two defenders, two crown proctors. Although Memran had been a proctor to my grandfather’s, my father was more keen to have his squire, Proctor Kyle Gerold and raised the junior as the first proctor instead, setting aside Proctor Memran, when he inherited the crown following the death of my grandfather.

“Come, my prince. We must attend your father’s ceremony,” I heard Memran said. His head was tilted upright for I just climbed a branch to a yellow tree. I shrugged my shoulders, not wanting to leave yet, but then Memran offered his hand and I could not refuse.

“How do you know?” I asked him curiously. How does he know what time it is though no maids or pages have come to remind us, I asked in my head. I jumped off to Memran’s arms, my head landing at the crook of his neck and I swore I saw a glimpse of his smile before I closed my eyes.

“The sun’s above our head, my prince.”

I only nodded even though I couldn’t really understand. The skies were dark and the rain was heavy. Both of us were drenched, yes, as I had insisted on playing in the rain. It was as sunless as the night’s skies, but still bright enough for people to commence their activities. 

Memran took me to the front of my mother’s chamber that had seen better light. He knocked three times over and announced my arrival. Slowly slipping of the door, a supposed beauty with unmatched golden locks who had been weeping for days. It was my mother, the queen. Her eyes were swollen and her body was thin, probably the result of stomach neglect. Her messy golden hair was matted and unkempt, tangled with knots and snarls that betrayed days of neglect. Strands of her hair stuck out at odd angles, defying any attempts to tame them. The once lustrous locks spoken by men in taverns and women in heated chambers, now looking dull and lifeless.

She sobbed uncontrollably and took me into her arms. Her hug felt painful while I struggled to breathe, but I mimed strong and let her sorrow be unleashed. Her body heaved with each osb, as she tried to catch her breath between bouts of crying. Despite the hole in her heart, her embrace was tight, yet it felt protective. She held me close, as if trying to shield me from the same heartache that had consumed her. Deep inside I knew it was useless as I had done sharing my grief days earlier than her. 

When news came bearing the death of my father at that accursed tournament at Leaconvalley, I had cried tirelessly before the maids were kind enough to soothe me into comfort. It was also for the first time I started to recognize their names. Mylida, Old Lady Barthenea, and Sarlone. The three maids who comforted me during my grief.

Mother took me inside while Memran who had this concerned look toward her, remained outside, guarding the door together with Proctor Kyle. She sat me down on my parent’s bed. Through her tears, she told me to be strong, though I felt like it should be the other way around. Her voice was choked with emotion, but there was an underlying strength and determination upon saying that I would be made king shall the sun rise the day after. Though many maids claimed that I possessed great wisdom, I was still a boy of three years old who had no idea of kingship. I struggled to understand the weight of my new responsibilities, bestowed upon as if it was a great honor. I asked her, “How can I be a good king, mother?”

She had a little laugh, still sobbing though, before answering, “It doesn’t take much to be better than your father, Jon.” She said it with conviction. She continued, “Tomorrow you shall be crowned, and the realm will know peace. There will be no useless conflicts, no bereft pride or degenerate vengeance. There will be no bad blood between us and our neighbors. I’ll help you through everything.” Mother spoke it with sadness dwelled in her eyes. It felt like she was speaking about things that could be done better during my father’s reign. I only nodded as a response, not wishing to question every word she had said.

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She then ranted about father’s achievements as king and I was only half-amazed. Many people gave father a nickname The Fool, first ever in the history of my dynasty of kings. There had to be ugly things from my father concealed to me so I was also half-questioning. How could the man described by mother be a fool? How could everything be as it was? How could I be left fatherless at a young age? How could Father leave two sons and one daughter in the hands of mother only? How would we be raised growing up ahead? No matter, I answered in my conscience.

After some time, I arrived at the so called ceremony. It is named a ceremony but it’s about death, I spoke inside that tiny head of mine. Upon entering the main hall, I saw my father's body that had been covered in flowers as tradition would have it. The head, signifying great wisdom, was covered in blue flowers, while the legs and torso were covered in red flowers, signifying endurance of battle. There was a slight and noticeable color difference right at the position of the heart. It was a pink colored flower, signifying love and kindness to the kingdom. His right hand held a white flower, boasting the justice a king had delivered during his reign, while his left hand held a pendant with my name written on it. It was a crossover item, tradition would say it. The dead had the right to bring one earthly item as memorabilia for one knew the hereafter would bring temptations and challenges. One didn’t simply enter the greater heaven without being challenged by the gods themselves. King Gladibus The Second was no more. His face had become unrecognizable, buried in a bed of flowers. A noble burial for a king the people called fool.

After the ceremony was done, mother was busy receiving guests, though it looked like she longed to be alone and undisturbed, yet she remained the dutiful wife and queen, posing a strong front for the kingdom. Likely not having the same mood, I left the hall and went back to play in Garden of Lynx, accompanied once more by Proctor Memran, though that time the rain had stopped, but the skies were still dark.

After playing for hours, I decided not to linger any longer and had the urgency to visit my little siblings, wishing to play with them, at least with my sister who had the conscience to play around. My baby brother remained in the crib who had started crying as soon as I stepped into the room. Remus, my mother had named him upon a promise given to Father, she had said once. I grabbed my sister’s arm and dragged her outside the room to play hide and seek while Mother was seemingly still outside of the castle, on the other side of the town where father was buried on the bed of flowers.

“Jon! Jon! Come seek fishes!” my sister called out to me. She was jumping comfortably close to the large pond at the eastern part of the castle, the one led to River Rins. I warned her while abandoning my eyes to a tree next to me instead, “Come, Penthyra! Mother said not to play around the water!” I could tell her face frowned and with a defeated sigh, she was smart enough to run back and hugged me. She was a little thing and had been neglected since father’s death. She placed her hand inside one of my pockets and I felt something moving. It was ticklish and I knew straight away what she had placed inside. I was barking with laughter as I struggled to cease the tickler. I had to roll on the ground while I saw Penthyra cheering and jumping in amusement. Eventually, it took one of the guards to remove the tickler inside my pocket. It was a large orange creature that had come from the pond. Penthyra probably took it while I was staring at the tree earlier. “Oh, I’ll remember this, little sister!” I shouted at her, wanting to be angry, but the ticklish sensation at the side of my right thigh remained and I could barely contain my laughter.

We were picked up by the maids later on and were taken back to our rooms. Later that evening, Mother didn’t come and whispers spoke of her wish to remain undisturbed inside her chamber. I didn’t want to bother her either, so I snuck outside without anyone knowing. I went to Penthyra’s chamber and she was inside playing with her pillows. I leaped onto her bed, attempting to surprise her. She had the opposite reaction however as she went laughing again. That was all she could do apparently, either laugh or do silly things to annoy her big brother. 

When I entered my chamber later that night, I saw glimpses of the ceremonial fire from afar. The very place my father was buried was still visited by numerous guests. It was unfitting for the late king, I had heard of my father’s renown. The fool, they called him. Gladibus The Second, they knew him as. Died in the hands of another fool ruler whose empire lied right next to our kingdom, no, mine. I had traveled from one crowd to another and all of them were singing the same song. King Gladibus, slain in the hands of Emperor Manis The Fifth. It wasn’t one sided, however, to my own guilty pleasure. The late emperor was also branded a fool by his own people. And somehow, my people and his people were in union when it came to agreeing who was the foolest out the fools. They all would say the same name, Emperor Manis was known by many as the foolest of the fools. It all happened in that accursed tournament in which they both decided to go hand in hand in a duel. Stupid rulers who played stupid games. I couldn’t bring myself to feel a tiny sympathy. My father was neglectful when I was slightly younger, even then I still had no idea what it felt like to grow up with a Father. However cruel I was, I still sympathized with Penthyra and especially my little brother Remus who had recently been born to this world a week prior for he wouldn’t have a father for almost the entirety of his life. As the songs began to be sung, I was swept away into the realm of dreams just to be woken up into the world of cruel. An act of filth, a cowardice attack, and an unnecessary battle had reached the gates of my city.