OWED TO THE PEOPLE [PK]

[Hom 791]

The sound of flame crackles in Atticus' ears as he stands stiff at the back of the church, hands wrapped around the hilt of his blade, end pressed against the wood. His gaze is vacant, unseeing even as he faces the exit, the tracks of old tears drying upon his cheeks. There are none left to give, now. Just a dull shock that aches at every muscle, every bone. 

He had carried her there, in the procession. A sheet-covered body, a clinical layer of separation between the corpse and her. Every step is a memory, jabbing at his chest. The flame-haired girl who had sat upon a throne so young, arms still wrapped around a stuffed doll. The little Queen who had placed her blade to his shoulder, her armor reddened from battle, as he swore her an oath. Honest with every word, as he was those days. He remembers the girl who became a woman through war, and flame, and cannonfire. And how every step, every battle lost and won, she earned his loyalty. At every step, he never second-guessed to whom he had sworn.

Atticus was never much of a soldier, let alone a good one. From a young age, he had always been seized with the urge to run at the first sign of trouble. A bone-deep cowardice he always thought stemmed from somewhere in his Lucien blood. When the utterances of war came to his ears, he had twitched to flee. Fear seized at his heart, and bled through his home. And yet, when it came, he remained- And most strangely of all, he fought. It was her, of course. That young girl dressed in armor and gold, hair aflame and determination set in her face. Her childhood stricken from her, and yet she held her blade high, and never once buckled under the face of those who would subjugate them. Even he could not run from that, no matter what kind of coward he was. In the same breath he would fight for his home, and for what was taken from her.

Another step. He remembers how she'd handed him one of her first children, bundled tight with a shock of red through her brown hair. Gave a grin, some comment that made him laugh, he can't even remember now. Up the stairs, and he recalls where she sat at his union. In through the doors, and he remembers how she used to whisper through each meeting he guarded, always with a smile or a pointed look. Down the carpet, and he remembers how she burst through the door of his home and handed him a little piece of paper that changed everything. 

Always brave. Always kind. Always unmoved.

They had set her in the casket, and left one-by-one. The Cardinal, then the sellsword- Then poor Amelie, with her face stained in tears. Dame Monika retreated after the silence became painstaking, and Theodore had slipped out last, with an apology over his shoulder. Atticus' shoulders grew sore, and his hands heavy. Still he stands, rigid at her side, staring down the aisle. The flames of the altar will burn into the morning, and even longer after. And he will stay, until the dawn breaks, and it is time to lay her to rest.

He couldn't guard her in life. At least, he could guard her in rest. 

Edited May 30 by Hom

[mothsthetic 696]

There is so much more that could have been done. Could have been said. More than simply Long live the Queen. She was supposed to be. Long lived. Wilford remembers when she was announced as heir. Five years old, sat upon the throne at her grandmother's side. He remembers it distinctly- she'd had a doll of the Riverguard in her lap. When the news reaches the aging Knight of Catherine's passing, he drops his cup of coffee. Glass and scalding liquid cover the floor of the kitchen where he stands- and then kneels. Before he can stop himself, he's sobbing. God, he hasn't cried like this in years. He's never been able to stand crying. His father taught him it was weak. But he sobs, clutching his chest as he remembers her. She'd been family, at least to him. A troublemaking niece, a light full of life. And the light had gone out. And despite his Oath, he had not been there. His heart breaks. She was the reason he realized he wanted to be a father. That he could be kind, in a way his own had not. She had died, and he could not have stopped it.

"I'm sorry- I'm s- I'm so, so, sorry."

 

There is nothing more that can be said, for Adalia the First. For she is to be the next child Queen. And she, too, will be a gift to the people, as he mother was before her. Of this, she knows she does not have a choice.

 

[Tremerus 297]

Sir Theoderic von Theonus let out a heavy sigh when word of the little queen's death reached him. His gauntleted hand banged against a nearby wall. Like many others he wished he could have been there, and like many others he thought things would have been different if he were. "Her life was quite the tale, I just wish it didn't end so soon. She deserved peace after a chaotic life, I hope she finds it in the Skies."

 

Aurel von Theonus, on the other hand, was there in the palace, he fought his way to her alongside other legionaries, knights and allies while sneaking glances at the duel. He watched in despair as his friend, fellow housemagic student, and leader fell to the ground. He decided to leave her final moments for her family and went to where their first magic lessons were and reflected on the past. 

[Toffee 1273]

Princess Adalfriede recalled playing a game of Waldenian Ur against the late Queen, racing down the board with their final pieces. In a moment of maddening mercy, Queen Catherine had tried to allow her to roll again when her dice showed that fatal zero. Adalfriede had not allowed it. What need did she have of this Queen's charity? 

 

She lost that game of Ur.

 

Staring out over the Ferdenwald from her high tower in the palace of Kretzen, the Princess wondered if those traits of mercy and compassion had lost the Queen her life.

[H 793]

Human lifetimes have always seemed short - but now, after so many centuries, it's begun to feel as though they pass in the blink of an eye. Children grow into adults, live fulfilling lives, grow sick, and die almost before Ayche can react. 

When the news reaches him, Ayche is quiet. He'd never known the queen well, but he'd known the impact she'd made, and he'd been proud to fight alongside her. He'd had misgivings initially - privately, of course - about sending the magi of Hohkmat to follow a child with a crown into battle. Over the course of the war, those misgivings faded. He'd seen the strength of her leadership, and the effect it had.

Perhaps, he decides, it's a uniquely human strength. How brightly they burn, despite - or maybe because of - their limited time in the world. His moment of silence for the fallen queen stretches into a minute of silence. Then ten.

Maybe more. It's easier for him to lose track of time nowadays.

[frenchfrogss 66]

Elaine had locked herself in the Princess’ shared room for days after her mother’s death, grieving in silence. She hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye, or tell her how much she looked up to the former Queen. Elaine wished to cry a river of tears that would express her deep sorrow, but the tears would not come. She sat for hours, staring at a spot on the wall, only moving when she had to.

 

Her voice rasped with days of disuse, “Long live the Queen. We’ll watch over Lia, Mama..”

[ibraheemc2000 2608]

Shamil A Qalashen Badawi did not know anything much of the lady who had died but made a through dua for her to enter Seven Skies.

[Rhettthecoldone 88]

Faeran, upon hearing the tragedy, procured an assortment of necessary materials. These materials being, simply enough; an open window, a match, and a candle.

 

The Moonlit hadn’t ever known Catherine all that well, for he was far too of an anxious creature to truly walk up to such an individual of high authority for no reason other than to converse as friends. He wish he had, however. But of course, it was too late.

 

So, that magus retrieved his candle and placed it atop a windowsill, before the misty moon above. It was pillar of wax that was clearly used before, that Faeran procured. And again, he was to use it. He struck a match to the insignificant wick. A white heat licked the tool then, casting waxen tears to hit the wooden surface the candle sat upon.

 

Faeran’s eyes drifted to the moon above, an object so lonely in the inky sky, and spoke. . .

 

”Hold them close, Moon. Just for now. . .”

[LobsterLarry 347]

Klog takes an extra long hit of his Krugmarian Kush before saying "Rezt in Pizz lat wont be mizzed im zmokin on dat Petran Pack right now"

[Morigung-oog 2732]

“Interesting..” Remarked a Lord in her own right, standing vigil over her people’s’ stronghold. A missive sat within their gauntleted grasp, intertwined with fel mists that aged the paper to little more than a pile of dust once it’s contents were properly digested. Barrowlord Fornotos seemed neither happy, nor truly sorrowful. A short life did the Queen of Petra experience yet one with more substance than elves could truly appreciate. The soul of the human had departed in a blaze of glory and ferocity in a manner most pure, and to the Herald of Strife, there was no end quite so beautiful as one with true purpose.

 

 

[Lirinya 2917]

Cosima took to her fathers crypt once more.

He had brought life back to the family whilst within Petra and, she supposed, they were branches of the same house.

There was some respect there, for the reigning family. She had even purchased a doll of the dubbed War-Queen, in her youth. Catherine had, arguably, been a woman that Cosima had respected.

 

"I'll have a statue added besides the former... former queen of Petra," she explained to her eternally sleeping father, "I am sure you would have wished for her to be remembered."

[Olox_ 3680]

Charles Alstion lit a candle in the Temple of the Exalted Prophets of the Canon to commemorate the late Queen in the Heartlands "You were a kind soul, your Majesty. Without you there would be no union that we, Aaunites and Petrans, enjoy now. Rest in peace." The Crown Prince muttered in a whisper before putting the candle on the shelf and walking further in to pray for her and the health of his royal father...

[ibiou 1872]

During her pilgrimage did news fall upon the Crown Princess-consort of Aaun's ears. Upon the trail towards the next stop did she take the time, with a servant that kept her company, to pick out flowers on the moorelands and rest them by a makeshift memorial. "May GOD guide her spirit, for Queen Catherine of the Petra can now be laid to rest." HEDWIG OF WARSOVIA uttered, raising herself from lighting a candle. The flame flickered violently in the wind as she traced the Lorraine. Then, another whisper; one more personal. "I shall be home soon, Charlie. You shall not bear the burden alone for much longer."

[MissToni 3499]

Although the cardinal had not known the Queen at all, she welcomed her openly into the seven skies. For she had always looked fondly over all matriarchs both in life and in death. 

 

"Rest now, your Majesty. You deserve it and have made your ancestors proud with your rule."

[Lord_of_losers 1307]

Yet another sad little candle is lit, and joined with where the rest all once stood.

With time, as its wick burned, it'd fade into a waxy circle just as the others did.

 

It fills the heart with a weight like lead, to watch these bright fires burn out.

As Catherine's candle starts its journey, Sarah watches it with a pensive sadness.

It is a miserable end to the day. Not just for herself, but for Catherine's people, and for Renilde.

She'd attempt to suffocate that sadness tonight with the presence of another.

 

"Goodbye, Catherine... Thank you for letting me hold your crown."

She regrets not being able to find more to say. The fire dims.