Third Arc (Fallen Heart) – 272. Royal Show V
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Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 272. Royal Show V
"In the past, I buried my brother. Now I have to bury my own son," King Gervis uttered the words softly, a mere whisper in the somber air. His voice, laden with grief, barely rose above a hushed breath. Tears flowed unchecked down his weathered face, each droplet a testament to the profound sorrow that enveloped him.
His heart, heavy with the weight of unimaginable loss, ached with a pain that seemed to tighten his chest. The cruelty of witnessing the coffin, carrying the remains of his beloved child, slowly descend into the waiting grave was a torment beyond words.
Here, in the sacred stillness, he allowed the armor of kingship to crack, revealing the raw vulnerability he had concealed for days. The King's stoic façade, the practiced mask he wore in the court and amidst the political tumult, shattered in this secluded space. His chest, burdened with the pain he had carried for what felt like an eternity, now bore the weight of grief that defied royal composure.
The surroundings were a canvas of serenity, with only a handful of royal soldiers dotting the landscape. These loyal men, who had participated in the solemn lowering of the coffin, understood the silent torment etched on their monarch's face. There, amid the graves of kings, King Gervis felt liberated from the expectation to conceal his anguish.
This place, where he bade farewell to his son, served as the only canvas where the king could paint his emotions in raw strokes. The soldiers, their allegiance unwavering, silently observed their sovereign's grief. They understood the complex dynamic between Prince Ilex and King Angelus—throat to throat, yet rooted in a respect that transcended the battlefield.
Prince Ilex, in his proud demeanor, had never treated the soldiers with disdain. The loyalty they felt for him was not merely born out of duty but rooted in mutual respect. Even in the heat of their disputes, Ilex had never forgotten the importance of camaraderie among warriors. His legacy lingered in the unspoken bond between the soldiers and their fallen prince.
Due to her father’s sobs, a wave of profound sadness engulfed Ophelia. The tears, stubborn and unyielding, blurred her vision as she turned towards King Gervis. The depth of her grief mirrored in the shimmering pools that welled up in her eyes.
Unable to contain her despair, Ophelia reached out to the one constant in her tumultuous world—her father. In the quietude of the burial site, she wrapped her arms around King Gervis, seeking solace in the embrace of familial connection. The weight of sorrow bore heavily on her shoulders, her sobs breaking the sacred stillness of the air.
"Father, you still have me. You still have me," Ophelia whispered through a hoarse voice, the words punctuating the rhythmic cadence of her tears. Her embrace tightened, as if to anchor her father amidst the tempest of loss. But even in the act of comforting, Ophelia sensed a fragility in King Gervis, a vulnerability that transcended the boundaries of his regal stature.
The once-robust frame of her father seemed to lose some of its manliness, mirroring the heaviness that gripped them both. Their chests constricted with shared anguish, a poignant reminder of the void left by Ilex's tragic end. In the silence punctuated only by grief, Ophelia's whispered reassurance echoed, a feeble attempt to bridge the chasm of despair that yawned before them.
In the wake of Ilex's actions, grief wrapped them in a suffocating embrace. Yet, amidst the pain, a profound sense of hopelessness seeped through. Who could they blame in this tangled web of tragedy? Ilex, the perpetrator of the crime, had met a fate dictated by his own shame and recklessness. King Gervis, despite his personal investigations, grappled with the lack of evidence to support the notion that Angel was responsible for Ilex's demise.
The funeral procession unfolded beneath the melancholy canvas of the sky, casting a somber pallor over the grieving royals. The gentle wind, a soft caress that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken sorrows, brushed against their tear-streaked faces. Above, a blanket of clouds veiled the sun's rays, as if nature itself sought to shield them from the harshness of its light.
4
I'm still trying to figure out how he got a royal burial when he literally admitted to treason in front of the nobility