Summer had come to Feldsparr. For some this meant delightful feasts, and celebration of the summertide. For others this meant a time for work in preparation for the autumn harvest. For the House of Ironspike, the house of the King, it was a time to prepare for Mourning. The 6th month, the month of Roses was the month the previous two kings passed away within. Fledgellan I, and Fledgellan II. The first had passed of old age and the second was slain by his brother in dispute over the throne.
As the warm winds blew through the stone halls of Mountain’s Might, young Fledgellan III wished with all his heart he could join in with the revelry of the other Dwarves. Instead, all he could think of was the five years that had passed since he lost his father in his Uncle’s rebellion. Soon the royal family, and the noble houses the country over, would be making the journey to Nalir Village to observe the Kingsmourning. There would be a tournament of knights, a dance, and a feast in the honor of the fallen King. All he wanted to do was sit by his father’s tomb and talk to the old man. The son missed his father dearly.
Fledgellan III leaned back against the stone tomb that held his kin’s remains. He let loose a long breath. “Father. What am I doing? I hate her.” He closed his eyes. “That’s just a childish thing to say, isn’t it? Oh, but I do. I hate her father. The wife they chose for me. She commands me, she strikes me. It doesn’t matter I’m King. She does it when we are without eyes on us. She’s not who I would have chosen. So much changed when you passed father, so fast.”
The boy stood up and walked to the front of the sarcophagus. An ornate carving of the former Dwarven King was displayed on the front in stonework. He gently ran his hand over his father’s cheek. “There is so much I never got to tell you. I fell in love father. With a wonderful person. But just as with my wife, it does not matter that I’m King, my will means nothing in this world. You were so good at turning your will to action. Why am I so weak?”
He turned away from his father. “It would’ve dishonored the family, however. I thought of taking up the Oath of the Green and joining the rangers. Loving from afar is easy in the stories you read. Loving when the person is in close quarters is torture. I would have joined the rangers. I would have saved us all from my heart.”
Fledgellan tried, but the tears fell. “But then you died.” There was a long pause, parted only by the sound of his sobbing. “You died. You sacrificed so much to save your people. If I didn’t take up the crown, what would that sacrifice have been for? Better to endure torture, than to dishonor your father.”
Kneeling in front of the sarcophagus, “Watch over me father. Don’t judge me too harshly. I still need you. Guide my hand during the Kingsmourne, and aid me in speaking as a King should. I love you father.”
Standing, the King began to leave the tomb.
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