A/N: I'm back and here for the second chapter. Thanks to those who read and enjoyed the first chapter. I would love to see who likes this and all that so please review. I make mistakes and if you see one let me know. Also your going to hate me after you read this chapter(smiles)
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Shivering Isles: Throne of a Hero
Chapter Two: Throne of a Hero
My heart beat fast. A strain in my ear. Thump, thump, thump, thump. I opened my eyes. The beat in my ear stopped, the sound of the room was quiet. I breathed deeply under the covers of my woolen blankets. I rested there for a moment, breathing in the morning. Today was the day, the funeral. Unless I woke up from a nightmare. I pulled up my covers from my tired body. I brung my bare feet over the side of the bed and stepped on to the red rug. A change of clothes laid on a small couch. A smaller version of my father's tunic rested there. It was white with light blue lacing on the edges with some gold in it. Under it were a pair of short light brown pants that also had some blue. It was a custom in Mania that you had to wear colorful garments to a funeral. It was different in Dementia, they wore black. I got dressed and went to the desk. I hadn't finished my speech. I sighed, then remembered what my father said the night before.
I would have to say it from my heart, something I'm not good at. I was nervous to even go up and speak in the first place. I was stuck. It was for my Uncle, however, so I didn't complain. I still had the feeling that this was a nightmare, so I reached up to my face and pinched it. I sighed. This was not a dream. This was the real thing. I looked over the only sentence I had wrote, I will miss you Uncle. Probably forgot to throw it away, I thought as I crumpled the paper. The funeral was going to be held at one o clock. I looked over to the minute tracker. I had two hours to get ready. I had slept in mostly because I was up all night sorting out this mess. I opened the door to the hallway. It was quiet, only the shuffling feet of the Golden Saints in the halls. I looked around and saw that the Saints had an ominous face. That's odd, they never express emotion, they keep a straight face and patrol the Palace. They smile occasionally...if they are carrying a prisoner to the far off dungeons in the valley. Most prisoners don't make it out alive. It's a simpler way to deal with the constant criminals in the Shivering Isles. One of those criminals killed my Uncle.
Most of the servants were weary as well. They cleaned the halls with no talking between them. Just silence. All of Mania was silent. I wasn't sure about Dementia, but I would guess they would mourn too. Even if they were demented. Everyone in the hall paid no attention to my passing, only a slight shift or sniffle. It was never this cheerless in the hallways, the people of Mania are always happy.
I look up at the Minute Tracker that was above the door to Sheogorath's Throne Room. I stood there looking at the brass door knob. All I had to do was reach down, grab it, and face the fact that he's dead. He's gone. Somehow I felt responsible. If I had been there, if I had saved him. I'm not a hero though, not like him. How could he just slip away so suddenly? He had been like a second father to me, telling me about tales of glory and triumph. He told me about the things I would never see in a lifetime. He's dead, and I can't stop that. I turned the brass door knob of the throne room.
I wished I had never turned that handle, for William bumped into me carrying what seemed to be a sword. He dropped it and it clattered to the ground. His hazel eyes stared coldly at me as I went to pick it up.
"Sorry," I said reaching for the sword on the ground. He grabbed the sword from my grasp and ran past, bumping me along the way. William closed the door shut leaving me motionless beside it. I had no clue why William hated me so much. I didn't do anything to him. I guessed it was the way cousins were. I headed down the steps. A long carpet laid on the cold stone that went on for at least twenty meters. On the half blue and red rug was my Uncle's coffin, closed and erected on a table. I hesitated at the sight of it and at the people who surrounded it. Many wore black tunics and dresses others wore colorful clothing from reds to blues. I could easily make out who was a resident of Mania and Dementia.
I made my way to the coffin. The dark color of the casket matched the tapestries, and the smooth surface seemed to reflect my sorrow. I felt as if it was just me and the coffin in the throne room. I touched the surface of it and I was lost in sadness. People surrounding me kept to a low whisper and everyone seemed to shudder in the casket's wake. All it took was a single coffin to change that.
I looked up from the coffin after a long period of staring at it. I saw my father in the corner of the lowered throne room, talking to my Aunt Alexandra, ruler of Dementia. They both had a somber face and continued to look into each other, talking quietly. I made my way into the crowd. I didn't know most of the people in the room, only a handful. Most of them were nobles, a couple I could recognize, but some of them I had never seen before. One person had a full set of armor and a sword on his side. He held himself confidently and looked to have been a warrior. I looked back to my father and then to the man. The warrior looked as sad as my father and his shoulders slumped.
I made my way over to the knight. He looked up from the ground with my approach. He looked to have been about my father's age but a bit younger. He was tall and gallant. His sword was not placed there for decoration, I thought. He was a true warrior, a person I could dream of becoming. He smiled slightly at me as I stood next to him. I was short in comparison. He stared at me for a few moments and I broke the pause. "Did you know him?" I asked. His eyes narrowed at me, then looked back at the coffin.
"Indeed I did," he replied solemnly. I looked at the coffin along with him and looked back at the grim face. They must have been friends, I concluded. He continued talking, but his face never left the direction of the casket. "Did you?" he asked. I looked at him strangely. He either came from very far away or doesn't know my Uncle at all.
"I'm his nephew, Henry," I said. He nodded once and looked back at my Uncle's coffin. He seemed to be in a trance. His behavior was very similar to my father's. "Who are you?" I asked him. He smiled sadly.
"Trevor," he said. I was still curious to who he was and why he was at the funeral. He noticed my confused face and continued, "I knew your Uncle a long time ago."
"Why come to his funeral then, if you hadn't seen him in a long time?" I asked. He frowned deeply and looked away from me. He took a couple of steps ahead of me.
"I would not like to discuss it," Trevor said coldly. He stepped into the crowd without hearing my reply. I stared in his direction for a few more seconds. My thoughts raced with confusion and worry. The whole day was in confusion and worry. I wasn't sure about anything that was happening. I looked back at the smooth coffin. People were removing it from the table and heading out the door. People followed them in haste. It was just a matter of time.
The grave and the coffin. A simple two words that tell you that it's the end. I thought that this day couldn't get any worse. What could be worse I hadn't thought of. Hundreds of people surrounded the grave, more then there was at the service. I stood next to my father, staring blankly at the hole in the ground. A huge statue marked his grave, it was of a throne and him in the chair. A throne of a hero, I thought, it suited him well. Before the coffin was lowered in the ground my father stepped forward, along with my aunt. I considered stepping forward too, after my cousin did so. I came close to the edge of the pit. My family and I stared at the coffin, the grave, and the statue in silence. It was finally when my father spoke up.
"John was a great brother, uncle, and..." he paused suspiciously, "...ruler to our people." He looked at me and then to the rest of the family. "I will miss him dearly." My Aunt nodded sadly.
"So will I," she said. William remained quiet, staring to the ground instead of the grave. I nodded my head in agreement, not saying a word. They then exchanged fond memories, my father telling of his happy childhood and how they grew up in a settlement in the woods. My Aunt told us about his sense of humor and cried in remembrance. I noticed neither of them remarked on how he got into the Shivering Isles. My cousin only exchanged a few words, only saying that he was fond to have him alive, but didn't explain much after. It then was my turn. I shuffled my boots before a began.
"Uh..." I looked around, reddening slightly, "I...well...I remember that...he." I paused and looked around once again and looked to the ground. "My uncle...told me about Cyrodiil," I started. Blank gazes followed. I continued, "He told me about deer, towers, and adventurers in the wild." I wasn't making any sense but I wasn't suppose to make sense...I think. "All that I know of him was that he saved the Isles and he some how became the ruler. That's why," I looked up from the ground, "he's a hero." Everyone stared at me. I took a step back from the grave. My father nodded his head in agreement.
"We all think he was a hero," he said with a sad grin. I glanced at him and nodded in agreement. Then the coffin was lowered into the ground. Many flowers were thrown in afterwards, along with the one I was holding. As I did though, the petals fell apart and they all drifted to the casket. The stem remained in my hand and I didn't let go of it. I could never let go.
Only my family remained at the grave. Everyone had left after it was lowered into the hard soil. Then slowly they dispersed, first William and my Aunt. So my father and I were left alone, facing the statue. I felt as if I wanted to say something to my father, but I couldn't bring myself to speak. Only a sad gaze at the grave. I felt as if I had missed something bigger and that my Uncle didn't have a chance to say it yet. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words formed. My father saw this and sighed.
"I know it's difficult," he said. I turned to face him. His face had no emotion in it and his eyes were half closed as if in thought. I stared at him then shrugged.
"I've understood that for the past week," I said even though I was lying. I hadn't understood any of this at all. My father shook his head silently.
"If only you could." I sensed that he was some how troubled. I knew he was uneasy about the murder, but I felt he had more to say, something he wasn't telling me. I knew my family has been holding a secret from me, but I didn't know what.
"Could...what?" I asked. My father held a steady glance at the dirt not looking up from my confused face. His forehead creased in concentration and his frown grew more tense. My eyes wavered to his position for a second then stared ahead of me, looking at the other graves around us. We were at the edge of New Sheoth on the Dementia side. The fence around the grave yard was crooked and the yard inside it was barren. I had just noticed this, I was to into the grave that in front of me. My father then shifted slightly.
"You need to understand," he said cutting himself off again. I frowned at him.
"Understand? Understand what? That my Uncle is dead and no one can be held responsible?" My voice grew higher as I spoke. My father then stared sadly at me, and then grinned, a sadness still in his eyes.
"Yes," was all he said. I hesitated. I wasn't expecting that type of answer. He then turned around and took a step away from the grave. "You have to understand that no matter what you do you can't bring him back. If you kill the murder, as an example, it wouldn't bring him back." He then made his way to the gate of the graveyard. "Remember that." He opened the gate and closed it shut behind him leaving me alone. And at that moment, I was alone.
I paced in my room in deep thought. It was a week after the funeral and both of the houses were in discussion on who would become the new ruler of the Isles. It was either my father or Aunt, I knew. My father was older, but Dementia would want to have a say in it. The two houses were at each others necks, saying that their Duke or Duchess should rule. I was in my room thinking about the problem. If my father was to take the throne, then I would become Duke of Mania, a job I wasn't expecting for another decade or so. If my aunt took the throne then my cousin would lead Dementia and I had a feeling that he wasn't a good leader. I had opinions on him. Also the killers were still out there, planning there next move on my family. If they expected to kill the whole family, including me, then we were in big trouble. I also had a weird feeling, as if these discussions were taking forever. The only thing my father told me about them was that they were almost done, but everyday he said that. And everyday he eyed me suspiciously, holding a grim face and nodding to whatever I was telling him. He was hiding something from me, and from the rest of us.
I sat on the bed. I had been in my room for hours, waiting for my father to return from the council and say that they finally reached a decision. I already expect the normal answer of misguidance. The door then swung open fiercely, and my father came in along with two Golden Saints. They looked as confused as I was. I looked up at him, shocked from the sudden intrusion.
"What is it?" I blurted out in surprise. He shook his head violently.
"No! This can't be possible," He screamed. He rushed over beside me and sat down, his face grieved.
I stood and looked down at him as he sat on my bed. "What? Is something wrong?" I asked again.
"Something is wrong. A warrior, Trevor, came into the council today," my father explained.
"The warrior at the funeral? That Trevor?" I asked. He shook his head once more. "What does he want?" I asked, my eyes widening. He look at my face again, his face in peril.
"Trevor, saw you at the funeral and..." he broke his gaze from me instantly, "He told us you... I'm sorry I couldn't hide it forever," He said.
I looked at him in confusion. "Hide what?" I managed to say. He looked up at me, finally calming down.
"That you are the Heir to the throne."
