Long Live the King
by Rydia Highwind
Chapter One
The night in Baron was far from pleasant. There was a biting chill in the air, and a dismal fog spreading over a good portion of the country. In the midst of the blanket of fog, a city dwelt, its borders extending a massive radius. To the strongest country in the world belonged the biggest and most diverse population, it seemed everyone wished for the protection of the world's greatest weapon, the Airship. Especially after the dethroning of a particularly conservative ruler and a much younger, courageous, and fairly liberal Paladin replacement coming to power, the city of Baron had become a haven for those seeking protection and freedom. With the new king had come the end of a set of isolationistic laws, forbidding immigration. Thus the new ruler and his gorgeous blonde wife were popular as not only excellent rulers and heroes throughout the world, but as always a warm welcome to foreigners in their country.
The country was well protected from outside forces. To the North, West, and South lay massive mountain ranges, with but one functional passage out of the Baronian boundaries, there blocked outside the miniscule village Mist. To the South and the East, there was raging sea. Baron surprisingly had only two harbors, one of which had sprung up in the peaceful reign of King Cecil. The country was very self supporting, with fertile land for farming, and miles of coastline for fishing. But the new king had friends in many parts of the known world and openly encouraged travel in his isolationist country. The people were growing to adjust to it now, two years after he ascended the throne. The new harbor had been completed within a year of the new king's wedding and ascension to the throne.
Buried deep within the farthest Northern reaches of the great city lay the magnificent Baronian castle. It was truly a marvelous structure, its spires high enough to pierce the clouds and its great wooden door so massive it took twenty men to move it. The castle was extremely modern, though, thanks to the prior ruler's love for machinery. It had been him, after all, who'd seen the great potential of the airships, and allowed them to be built. Within the castle walls could hundreds men live comfortably. It was decked in scarlet and gold, which served as a welcome distraction from the drab uniform gray of the sturdy stone slabs that made up the structure.
The king's chambers were far within the grand palace, near the top of the North-western turret. Far away from the hustle and bustle of the enormous city below, active even in the pre-dawn hours that morning, was where the Paladin king held his residence. He and his wife's bed was not so big it was extravagant, but not too small at the same time. It was perfect size, just long enough so that King Cecil could stretch his legs out without hitting the base board.
And so he lay that night, stretched out flat on his back, one battle-hardened hand resting gently on his stomach as his chest rose and fell with every breath. He was not asleep, but rather staring disconcertedly at the ceiling in dismay. His emerald green eyes were illuminated softly, even though the moon could not be seen that foggy night. Sweat glistened on his brow, his silver hair plastered against his forehead. His breaths were heavy as he lay there, trying to recover from the disturbing dream he had witnessed.
His breaths slowed down eventually, and he rolled quietly to the side, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced back, looking lovingly at his young wife, still asleep, her silky blonde hair all he could see above the covers. Gently and soundlessly, he leaned over and brushed some of her hair away, and tenderly kissed her neck. Then, sweeping the covers away, he stood up, stretched briefly, slipped on a bathrobe, and made his way towards the bedroom door.
He placed a sweat-soaked palm on the cool door handle and paused there for a long moment, wondering at the strange workings of his dream. He did not know whether it was just a meaningless nightmare, or if someone truly was out to get him. Either way, he really didn't want to think about it just then. He pushed the door open just a crack and slid out, trying his best not to disturb his sleeping wife.
Outside the door was a dimly lit corridor running parallel to the room. Two more corridors led off at the ends of the first, running perfectly perpendicular from the corners of the royal bedroom. Guards were stationed at either corner in the passageway, so they no one could gain access from either entrance. Both corridors led to the same general areas, via different doors, which were also guarded.
Both the guards in the elbows of the corridors looked up as Cecil slid out of his sleeping chambers. They were used to him taking late night walks when there was some sort of issue being debated in the counsel. Although there was none such issue that night, the king was out for an early morning stroll, and the guards simply nodded him by.
Cecil allowed his legs to carry him without really paying attention to where he was going. He found himself leaning against the bar next to the kitchen with a bleary eyed cook handing him a steaming mug. "Here you go, your highness," the man said, nodding. The young king thanked him, and walked off towards his study, where he sank into his cushioned chair, not even bothering to shut the door. He could already feel the normal headache he got from sleep-deprivation beginning to pound between his temples. Tired but unable to sleep, he sipped his drink distractedly while contemplating his odd dream.
Once he'd drained his mug and lit a few lamps in the room, he started looking over some paperwork he'd abandoned far too long. He was only about ten minutes into it however, when he heard a light knock on the door. How whoever it was had found out he was in his study at that ungodly hour, he wasn't sure, but any news coming in the middle of the night had to be important. "Come on in," he called towards the door.
A guard stepped into the room, decked from head to toe in the traditional Baronian scarlet and gold. His stance was weary, and his eyes groggy, but there was a sense of duty and urgency showing in his eyes. He stepped smartly into the room and saluted his king. "Sir, there is a messenger here from Fabul. He says he needs to speak with you immediately," the soldier said.
"All right," Cecil sighed, putting down his pen and standing up slowly. "Show him into the throne room."
"He's already waiting for you there, Sir." The guard glanced at the king again, as he was now walking slowly toward the door. "Um, Sir...? Are you going to meet him like that...?" He gestured at Cecil's fuzzy white bathrobe, his light blue pajama pants, and his chocobo slippers.
Cecil stopped short and examined himself in a mirror on the wall. Then he turned to the young guard who was awaiting nervously. "Young man," the king said in a tired voice, "is the Fabulian messenger aware that it is the middle of the night in Baron?"
"I...I don't know for certain, Sir. Would you like me to find out?" the man stuttered, obviously a little confused at the question.
The young king covered a smile with a yawn. He didn't intend to be mean to the guards, but his headache was making him cynical. "No, I want you to tell me what you think. Do you think he knows it's the middle of the night?"
"I would assume he does, as most everyone is asleep and it's dark outside," the poor man said, not following the king's train of thought.
"I would think so too," Cecil said, turning to look at the man. "That's why I'm wearing my pajamas to go see him. If it's as urgent as you say it is, I'm sure he won't mind my slippers."
The guard reddened slightly, and nodded. "You're right, of course, Sir," he said, visibly chagrined. He walked quickly over to the chamber door and held it open for the king. "My apologies from not catching on sooner, Sir."
Cecil stopped for a moment and looked at the guard. "No, forgive me. I get cynical when I don't sleep well," he replied, frowning just a bit. Before the astonished man could respond, Cecil had slipped away, heading quickly down the hallway to the throne room.
Upon his arrival, he paused at the entrance to the large room and looked around. The chamber was spacious, long but relatively narrow, with elaborate scarlet carpet imbedded with small but intricate patterns and designs leading up to the far end of the room. The walls were bare but for the various torches lighting the room in that dark hour. In the farthest reaches of the chamber, elevated on three steps, stood the king's stately throne. It was relatively simple, but grandiose, decked in the standard gold and crimson, patterns and carvings running skillfully up the sides of the golden platform. The seat and back were covered in fine scarlet velvet and Eblanian silk, a rare delicacy in that part of the world.
The modest Paladin king, however, detested the stately chair, choosing instead to be amongst his people, with them rather than above them. That early morning was no exception. The messenger was off to one side of the crimson carpet, waiting patiently but eagerly to talk to the king. His hair was cut in a traditionally Fabulian style, completely shaved but for one long ponytail from the top of his head. He wore light armor and a set of flame claws on his hands, obviously of the famous order of Fabulian karate fighters. His dark eyes darted nervously about the semi-dark throne room.
Cecil stepped up to him, his figure and stance regal, a contrast to his bathrobe and slippers. He nodded to the man vaguely. "I am King Cecil Harvey. I was informed you had a matter to discuss with me of utmost importance," he said, gazing at the Fabulian.
"Yes, Sir. You were informed correctly," said the man, bowing deeply, as was the Fabulian custom. "I am Ling Ou, messenger of King Yang Leiden of Fabul. I apologize beforehand for being the bearer of bad news.
"It is my sad duty to inform you that King Yang came down with a terrible fever a fortnight ago. He sent for me two nights ago, though terribly ill, and told me to go to you immediately. He was certain he would not last the night, and named his successor to me, then told me to report his death to you. Normally never would I report that he was indeed dead, but the king was gone before I left, Sir." A deep melancholy flashed in his dark eyes, but his face remained emotionless. Again he bowed.
Cecil stood silent for a long moment. Yang Fang Leiden, the newly crowned king of Fabul, the rebuilder of the stumbling nation, awesome fighter and karate master, and close personal friend of the Baronian king's. Gone. "A fever did it...?" Cecil asked, unable to feel any emotion. "A true fighter...it doesn't surprise me that he lasted that long."
"I am sorry, Sir," Ling said again.
The king nodded stiffly. "Fabul lost more than a king. They lost a truly good man." Biting his lip, he let out a soft sigh. "Who did he name as his successor...? I suppose I'll need to be meeting with him some time soon."
"His personal advisor, Shing Khai, has been named the new king of Fabul." Ling shifted uncomfortably, then turned to Cecil. "Permission to speak freely, Sir?"
Cecil nodded briefly, sensing a bit of discomfort in the situation. "Go ahead."
"I'm not sure about King Khai, to be honest with you, Sir. This is my personal opinion, of course. Sir Yang obviously trusted him. He just seems...a little too eager to take over the throne. I don't know, Sir, it's almost as if he was waiting to take over. He does show great respect for the throne, and for Sir Yang, though," Ling added, obviously chagrined at his own berating of his new king.
The king sighed, still feeling numb from the disturbing news. "Thank you for speaking your mind, Sir Ling. Do you wish to spend the night here? I can have a guard prepare you a room, if need be," he said slowly, suddenly feeling again very tired.
"Yes, that's very thoughtful, Sir," the messenger nodded gratefully. The guard who had informed Cecil of his arrival received a nod from his king and led Ling off to a guest room in the castle.
Cecil, meanwhile, paused uncertainly at the door to the throne room. Yang was dead? How could that be? It had only been a month ago when he'd been in Fabul to discuss the terms of a treaty with Eblan. A month ago, and Yang had been fine, healthy, alive. It didn't seem possible, nor plausible, that Yang could just be gone with the arrival of a messenger.
In a dazed sort of trance, Cecil found himself walking back toward his bedroom chambers. Lost in thought, the next thing he remembered later on was lying on his back in bed, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. He wasn't sure what he'd done after leaving the throne room or how he'd gotten to the royal bedroom. A glance out the window told him he'd been gone a while; the sun was beginning to rise.
He sat up slowly, feeling weary and unrested. It wasn't surprising, really. He hadn't been sleeping well to begin with, and then the unsettling news from Fabul. Sighing, he turned to his side, facing Rosa, still slumbering peacefully, and he thought to himself that it was going to be a long day.
It was just then when his young wife murmured something in her sleep and rolled her side, her crystal clear blue eyes slightly hazy, but attentive nonetheless. She smiled gently up at him, seeing he was awake, but he could not find it in him to return the smile.
Rosa, of course, noted this and sat up, slipping her arms around Cecil's chest and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Is there something the matter, Cecil?" she whispered, her tone making it obvious that she already knew the answer to that question.
With another muted sigh, he looked away from her, studying the far wall, his emerald eyes scanning silently over the empty gray stone. He did not have the heart to tell her. "The room is kind of bare over there, isn't it?" he asked without looking up.
"What's wrong? I heard you get up in the middle of the night...."
He closed his eyes and leaned back into her embrace, slipping his arms around her waist. She snuggled into the gesture, pillowing his face in her corn silk blonde hair. He reached up and brushed the soft skin of her cheek lovingly. "Rosa," he whispered, his voice quiet and morose, "I have some bad news."
by Rydia Highwind
Chapter One
The night in Baron was far from pleasant. There was a biting chill in the air, and a dismal fog spreading over a good portion of the country. In the midst of the blanket of fog, a city dwelt, its borders extending a massive radius. To the strongest country in the world belonged the biggest and most diverse population, it seemed everyone wished for the protection of the world's greatest weapon, the Airship. Especially after the dethroning of a particularly conservative ruler and a much younger, courageous, and fairly liberal Paladin replacement coming to power, the city of Baron had become a haven for those seeking protection and freedom. With the new king had come the end of a set of isolationistic laws, forbidding immigration. Thus the new ruler and his gorgeous blonde wife were popular as not only excellent rulers and heroes throughout the world, but as always a warm welcome to foreigners in their country.
The country was well protected from outside forces. To the North, West, and South lay massive mountain ranges, with but one functional passage out of the Baronian boundaries, there blocked outside the miniscule village Mist. To the South and the East, there was raging sea. Baron surprisingly had only two harbors, one of which had sprung up in the peaceful reign of King Cecil. The country was very self supporting, with fertile land for farming, and miles of coastline for fishing. But the new king had friends in many parts of the known world and openly encouraged travel in his isolationist country. The people were growing to adjust to it now, two years after he ascended the throne. The new harbor had been completed within a year of the new king's wedding and ascension to the throne.
Buried deep within the farthest Northern reaches of the great city lay the magnificent Baronian castle. It was truly a marvelous structure, its spires high enough to pierce the clouds and its great wooden door so massive it took twenty men to move it. The castle was extremely modern, though, thanks to the prior ruler's love for machinery. It had been him, after all, who'd seen the great potential of the airships, and allowed them to be built. Within the castle walls could hundreds men live comfortably. It was decked in scarlet and gold, which served as a welcome distraction from the drab uniform gray of the sturdy stone slabs that made up the structure.
The king's chambers were far within the grand palace, near the top of the North-western turret. Far away from the hustle and bustle of the enormous city below, active even in the pre-dawn hours that morning, was where the Paladin king held his residence. He and his wife's bed was not so big it was extravagant, but not too small at the same time. It was perfect size, just long enough so that King Cecil could stretch his legs out without hitting the base board.
And so he lay that night, stretched out flat on his back, one battle-hardened hand resting gently on his stomach as his chest rose and fell with every breath. He was not asleep, but rather staring disconcertedly at the ceiling in dismay. His emerald green eyes were illuminated softly, even though the moon could not be seen that foggy night. Sweat glistened on his brow, his silver hair plastered against his forehead. His breaths were heavy as he lay there, trying to recover from the disturbing dream he had witnessed.
His breaths slowed down eventually, and he rolled quietly to the side, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced back, looking lovingly at his young wife, still asleep, her silky blonde hair all he could see above the covers. Gently and soundlessly, he leaned over and brushed some of her hair away, and tenderly kissed her neck. Then, sweeping the covers away, he stood up, stretched briefly, slipped on a bathrobe, and made his way towards the bedroom door.
He placed a sweat-soaked palm on the cool door handle and paused there for a long moment, wondering at the strange workings of his dream. He did not know whether it was just a meaningless nightmare, or if someone truly was out to get him. Either way, he really didn't want to think about it just then. He pushed the door open just a crack and slid out, trying his best not to disturb his sleeping wife.
Outside the door was a dimly lit corridor running parallel to the room. Two more corridors led off at the ends of the first, running perfectly perpendicular from the corners of the royal bedroom. Guards were stationed at either corner in the passageway, so they no one could gain access from either entrance. Both corridors led to the same general areas, via different doors, which were also guarded.
Both the guards in the elbows of the corridors looked up as Cecil slid out of his sleeping chambers. They were used to him taking late night walks when there was some sort of issue being debated in the counsel. Although there was none such issue that night, the king was out for an early morning stroll, and the guards simply nodded him by.
Cecil allowed his legs to carry him without really paying attention to where he was going. He found himself leaning against the bar next to the kitchen with a bleary eyed cook handing him a steaming mug. "Here you go, your highness," the man said, nodding. The young king thanked him, and walked off towards his study, where he sank into his cushioned chair, not even bothering to shut the door. He could already feel the normal headache he got from sleep-deprivation beginning to pound between his temples. Tired but unable to sleep, he sipped his drink distractedly while contemplating his odd dream.
Once he'd drained his mug and lit a few lamps in the room, he started looking over some paperwork he'd abandoned far too long. He was only about ten minutes into it however, when he heard a light knock on the door. How whoever it was had found out he was in his study at that ungodly hour, he wasn't sure, but any news coming in the middle of the night had to be important. "Come on in," he called towards the door.
A guard stepped into the room, decked from head to toe in the traditional Baronian scarlet and gold. His stance was weary, and his eyes groggy, but there was a sense of duty and urgency showing in his eyes. He stepped smartly into the room and saluted his king. "Sir, there is a messenger here from Fabul. He says he needs to speak with you immediately," the soldier said.
"All right," Cecil sighed, putting down his pen and standing up slowly. "Show him into the throne room."
"He's already waiting for you there, Sir." The guard glanced at the king again, as he was now walking slowly toward the door. "Um, Sir...? Are you going to meet him like that...?" He gestured at Cecil's fuzzy white bathrobe, his light blue pajama pants, and his chocobo slippers.
Cecil stopped short and examined himself in a mirror on the wall. Then he turned to the young guard who was awaiting nervously. "Young man," the king said in a tired voice, "is the Fabulian messenger aware that it is the middle of the night in Baron?"
"I...I don't know for certain, Sir. Would you like me to find out?" the man stuttered, obviously a little confused at the question.
The young king covered a smile with a yawn. He didn't intend to be mean to the guards, but his headache was making him cynical. "No, I want you to tell me what you think. Do you think he knows it's the middle of the night?"
"I would assume he does, as most everyone is asleep and it's dark outside," the poor man said, not following the king's train of thought.
"I would think so too," Cecil said, turning to look at the man. "That's why I'm wearing my pajamas to go see him. If it's as urgent as you say it is, I'm sure he won't mind my slippers."
The guard reddened slightly, and nodded. "You're right, of course, Sir," he said, visibly chagrined. He walked quickly over to the chamber door and held it open for the king. "My apologies from not catching on sooner, Sir."
Cecil stopped for a moment and looked at the guard. "No, forgive me. I get cynical when I don't sleep well," he replied, frowning just a bit. Before the astonished man could respond, Cecil had slipped away, heading quickly down the hallway to the throne room.
Upon his arrival, he paused at the entrance to the large room and looked around. The chamber was spacious, long but relatively narrow, with elaborate scarlet carpet imbedded with small but intricate patterns and designs leading up to the far end of the room. The walls were bare but for the various torches lighting the room in that dark hour. In the farthest reaches of the chamber, elevated on three steps, stood the king's stately throne. It was relatively simple, but grandiose, decked in the standard gold and crimson, patterns and carvings running skillfully up the sides of the golden platform. The seat and back were covered in fine scarlet velvet and Eblanian silk, a rare delicacy in that part of the world.
The modest Paladin king, however, detested the stately chair, choosing instead to be amongst his people, with them rather than above them. That early morning was no exception. The messenger was off to one side of the crimson carpet, waiting patiently but eagerly to talk to the king. His hair was cut in a traditionally Fabulian style, completely shaved but for one long ponytail from the top of his head. He wore light armor and a set of flame claws on his hands, obviously of the famous order of Fabulian karate fighters. His dark eyes darted nervously about the semi-dark throne room.
Cecil stepped up to him, his figure and stance regal, a contrast to his bathrobe and slippers. He nodded to the man vaguely. "I am King Cecil Harvey. I was informed you had a matter to discuss with me of utmost importance," he said, gazing at the Fabulian.
"Yes, Sir. You were informed correctly," said the man, bowing deeply, as was the Fabulian custom. "I am Ling Ou, messenger of King Yang Leiden of Fabul. I apologize beforehand for being the bearer of bad news.
"It is my sad duty to inform you that King Yang came down with a terrible fever a fortnight ago. He sent for me two nights ago, though terribly ill, and told me to go to you immediately. He was certain he would not last the night, and named his successor to me, then told me to report his death to you. Normally never would I report that he was indeed dead, but the king was gone before I left, Sir." A deep melancholy flashed in his dark eyes, but his face remained emotionless. Again he bowed.
Cecil stood silent for a long moment. Yang Fang Leiden, the newly crowned king of Fabul, the rebuilder of the stumbling nation, awesome fighter and karate master, and close personal friend of the Baronian king's. Gone. "A fever did it...?" Cecil asked, unable to feel any emotion. "A true fighter...it doesn't surprise me that he lasted that long."
"I am sorry, Sir," Ling said again.
The king nodded stiffly. "Fabul lost more than a king. They lost a truly good man." Biting his lip, he let out a soft sigh. "Who did he name as his successor...? I suppose I'll need to be meeting with him some time soon."
"His personal advisor, Shing Khai, has been named the new king of Fabul." Ling shifted uncomfortably, then turned to Cecil. "Permission to speak freely, Sir?"
Cecil nodded briefly, sensing a bit of discomfort in the situation. "Go ahead."
"I'm not sure about King Khai, to be honest with you, Sir. This is my personal opinion, of course. Sir Yang obviously trusted him. He just seems...a little too eager to take over the throne. I don't know, Sir, it's almost as if he was waiting to take over. He does show great respect for the throne, and for Sir Yang, though," Ling added, obviously chagrined at his own berating of his new king.
The king sighed, still feeling numb from the disturbing news. "Thank you for speaking your mind, Sir Ling. Do you wish to spend the night here? I can have a guard prepare you a room, if need be," he said slowly, suddenly feeling again very tired.
"Yes, that's very thoughtful, Sir," the messenger nodded gratefully. The guard who had informed Cecil of his arrival received a nod from his king and led Ling off to a guest room in the castle.
Cecil, meanwhile, paused uncertainly at the door to the throne room. Yang was dead? How could that be? It had only been a month ago when he'd been in Fabul to discuss the terms of a treaty with Eblan. A month ago, and Yang had been fine, healthy, alive. It didn't seem possible, nor plausible, that Yang could just be gone with the arrival of a messenger.
In a dazed sort of trance, Cecil found himself walking back toward his bedroom chambers. Lost in thought, the next thing he remembered later on was lying on his back in bed, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. He wasn't sure what he'd done after leaving the throne room or how he'd gotten to the royal bedroom. A glance out the window told him he'd been gone a while; the sun was beginning to rise.
He sat up slowly, feeling weary and unrested. It wasn't surprising, really. He hadn't been sleeping well to begin with, and then the unsettling news from Fabul. Sighing, he turned to his side, facing Rosa, still slumbering peacefully, and he thought to himself that it was going to be a long day.
It was just then when his young wife murmured something in her sleep and rolled her side, her crystal clear blue eyes slightly hazy, but attentive nonetheless. She smiled gently up at him, seeing he was awake, but he could not find it in him to return the smile.
Rosa, of course, noted this and sat up, slipping her arms around Cecil's chest and resting her chin on his shoulder. "Is there something the matter, Cecil?" she whispered, her tone making it obvious that she already knew the answer to that question.
With another muted sigh, he looked away from her, studying the far wall, his emerald eyes scanning silently over the empty gray stone. He did not have the heart to tell her. "The room is kind of bare over there, isn't it?" he asked without looking up.
"What's wrong? I heard you get up in the middle of the night...."
He closed his eyes and leaned back into her embrace, slipping his arms around her waist. She snuggled into the gesture, pillowing his face in her corn silk blonde hair. He reached up and brushed the soft skin of her cheek lovingly. "Rosa," he whispered, his voice quiet and morose, "I have some bad news."