Prince Lothric stared at the blank white ceiling and tried to let his mind go blank as well. Anything was preferable to the din outside, but he couldn't bring himself to move from the crook of the windowsill. They fought and died outside, the knights of the kingdom for which he had been named. Red and blue, always red and blue, it was. Darkwraith and Darkmoon or whatever they felt like calling themselves this cycle. The colors danced in his mind no matter how intently he stared at the white ceiling.
He should have cared about the violence outside, if not as his people's prince, then as a participant. Ostensibly, the knights in blue fought for him. They fought for Gertrude, his maybe-sister who was maybe still alive. They fought for the royal family, for the holy bloodline. What was holy about a king who transformed himself and poisoned his land? What was holy about a prince so overwhelmed by a curse that he could scarcely move on his own?
The prince stretched his too-long, deathly pale fingers and hated them. He hated that they were deformed. He hated that they could grip a weapon. He hated that they could not hold the reins of his kingdom. If he were as he was meant to be, he would at least have the strength to choose, for good or ill. Yet he had hated for far too long, and it was only a dull ember in his chest. He was tired, so tired.
The great door to his royal chamber creaked, and he tilted his head to it. His elder brother had already moved toward it. Dear Lorian would ensure whatever fool had broken through the blockade would meet their fate. Lorian stopped. Lothric struggled and pulled himself upright. A truly unexpected guest.
She was all in a pale, wintry green. The robes hung on her loosely, and the hood hung over her eyes. Yet there was no mistaking that expression. That sad but expectant frown he had seen all his life. It was always as if she wanted to say something but did not.
"Mother," Lothric said slowly. "My, what a surprise. Should you not be preparing for the birth of the new, more perfect heir?"
He couldn't see her eyes, but he felt them. Any other would have broken eye contact. Never his mother. She always looked through him. It was almost as if she was looking for someone else.
"I am," she said softly. "I have come to say farewell, my sons. None will find me once I depart."
Lorian could no longer speak, and his pain was such that he could barely emote. Yet he was one with Lothric, and the younger prince could feel his anguish. The elder prince had been the perfect heir once. Only, he was not everlasting as the younger twin was. Dear Lorian had tried to bear his brother's curse, but all that was left was two crippled princes and the ruins of their parents' ambition. Yet Lorian had been perfect once. Their father had never loved another, but Lorian had known their mother's love instead of only pity and endless apologies.
"You will raise another kingdom?" Lothric said, not caring.
"Not a kingdom. Lesser and greater. This child will be more than your father dreamed."
The queen rubbed her swollen middle through her robes. Lothric felt the slightest twinge of envy. Then pity for what the next child would surely suffer. Then he hated himself again for having that same pity he resented in others.
"He will hardly approve of your spiriting away his perfect heir."
"My handmaids delivered a child to him. A pitiable victim of his experiments. He will not notice."
She smiled faintly. Lothric couldn't remember the last time she had.
"It would not matter. This one will be a girl. I can feel it."
If anyone would know, it would be her. She had been revered as a deity of bounty. Twin heirs to the kingdom, a new order of Fire Keepers, a foreign culture and foreign sciences. If nothing else, he imagined she could feel the writing humanity within her womb.
"What is it you wish, honored Mother?" Lothric said, ignoring her leading.
"Nothing. I should have stopped wishing long ago. Perhaps when I was a girl. Yet hope has not fully withered. This child might fulfill the purpose for which I was made."
"You would place the burden of Flame on her shoulders?"
"No, Lothric. That is your fate. Unless you break those chains."
"Break these chains?" he echoed, irritation seeping into his voice. "With what strength shall I do that, Mother? With Lorian's crippled legs? Perhaps I shall have the winged knights bear me aloft like the deity I was meant to be?"
The queen crossed the room with surprising speed. The power in Lothric's soul and blood had made him tremendous, akin to the old gods. The queen was merely human-sized. Yet that didn't stop her. She pulled her frail son from the window and rested his great head on her shoulder as she embraced him.
"I am sorry," she said. "I had thought to do better. I had thought a great many things. I had thought your father might finally be the one to save us. He was different when he was younger. He reminded me of… of someone. Just as you do."
"Is that what we were to you? Replacements?"
"No. I had hoped if there were more, if more strived to escape their fate, that all our chains might one day break."
"Instead, you are wed to a madman and mother to abominations."
Lothric tried to pull himself away, but he couldn't. He wasn't sure if it was because of his own accursed weakness or if the queen was as unexpectedly strong of arm as she was swift of foot.
"You are not abominations. You are my children. Any fault you have is mine. I was too weak to escape the fate which found my own hated father. Even now, I must rely on what he has wrought in blood. I go to his sanctuary. It is not a place for you, who is needed here."
"What need is there for an accursed prince?"
"The curse is part of you, but it is not who you are, Lothric."
"Of course, Holy King Lothric-"
"No. You are my son, Lothric. Just Lothric. Not a Holy King, but maybe a good one."
She pat Lothric's head. Lorian had dragged himself across the room as the two were speaking. The queen gently pulled the elder prince's enormous head to her side.
"Just Lorian too."
She sighed.
"You've always been a good child, Lothric. You've always been patient and thoughtful. You could have cried out. You were always so sick. But you knew that it wouldn't help. You as a child bore this curse quietly when aged kings did not. I wished so much that I could have helped you. I always hoped that one day, that person would return, with some magical solution. I do not know what happened. I do know that you didn't need it in the end."
She let go of them and stepped back.
"That's why I know that you won't need me. You will be what the world needs. You, who have suffered more than any before you, are the only one who can make the right choice."
"What choice is there? To Link the Fire or to rule the world with a heady Dark?"
"I cannot say. I stood always beside the Throne. To choose, you must see everything from atop the Throne. It is your decision, Lothric, and no other's. Not your father, who would pass the duty to a son. Not your tutor, who would be as high priest to Men. The two powers bicker, but the choice is always ours. Now it is yours."
She clasped her hands together hopefully.
"You, who Link the Fire; you, who bear the Curse. Once the Fire is Linked, souls will flourish anew, and all of this will play out again. It is your choice to embrace or renounce this. Great Sovereign, take your Throne. What lies ahead, only you can see."