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>>β The First | The Rose King β<<
The First waits outside the throne room, patiently slouched in a chair with book in hand and an empty drink glass sitting by his feet, the last drops of whiskey clinging to the bottom of the glass stubbornly. He idly reads, taking in the words on the page- a familiar well-loved book, something to simply pass the time while he waits for permission to enter.Β
Finds his thoughts drifting, almost bitterly, to how his court had not been like this. How the thick doors had always been left open for anyone to enter and approach the King- and how the process had been corrupted by the thirst for blood and power. He is lost deep in a spiral of memories when the creak of the hinges announces the arrival of someone to escort him in and he closes the book, easily hiding any trace of the emotions that might have flitted across his face with a grin at the guard.Β
βSo, the great Rose King will see me now?β
His voice conveys only the slightest hint of sarcasm as he closes the book and pushes himself up from the comfort of the plush chair, abandoning his glass for some other person to clean up. He is well-kept, beard scruffy but neat, and his hair in a similar state. His clothing is still the utilitarian dark green that he had worn from his first days, but any wear and tear is absent- small reminders of his otherworldly abilities.
He enters with an air of confidence, eyes roaming around to take in all the changes since the Rose King had taken up residence. The clear windows had been changed to stained glasses, elaborate and an homage to each and every violent battle between the 6 of them, with vibrant rose gardens encroaching on the borders of the depictions. The entrance area and the holding room outside had been littered with roses in all colors, in vases, floating in bowls, in pots with their branches climbing the walls towards the natural light filtering in through the intricate windows.Β
Each step he takes down the rich red carpet under his feet brings him closer to the throne, and farther from the natural light. The change is subtle to those not looking for it, but the First takes it all in, knowing that every detail was an insight to the Rose Kingβs personality, his fears, his desires. It shifts, the color palette dwindling down to reds, blacks and greys. Here, closest to the throne are the most recent battles, the roses and their thorns fully covering the ground as the Rose King lifts his bloody sword in victory and claims his turn to rule their unstable kingdom. And at last- the Rose King himself- a blood red rose above his head, the bloody sword preserved and kept next to his throne as a trophy or perhaps a reminder.
The First does not kneel- he has never kneeled, not to the Mad King, and certainly not to this boy.Β
βHello, Ray.β He says, his gaze finally meeting the Rose Kingβs for the first time inside the hallowed throne room since the Rose King had taken the crown. βNever took you for an interior designer.β