A/N: This idea has been rattling around my brain for awhile now.
Part I.
God save the king...
Four little words. One short and silly phrase that is supposed to bring comfort to whomever speaks it. Yes, for surely God will save the king. Not only the king, but his kingdom. The land. His people. God will make everything alright in the end. He will banish the oppressors, right the wrongs, subdue the threats. God will restore what has always been. Four words...
She sits in a chair that rocks, in the prince's chambers by the window. The sky is at an overcast. Silent gray, like sorrows and mother's milk. Beams of light quietly trickle their way through the casement, long and thin and wavering and far much too reminiscent of dying breathes. Back and forth she rocks. The wood doesn't creak-it never does-and the child remains undisturbed. Asleep and innocent, she is grateful of the ignorance infancy bestows upon him. She wonders if he dreams of colors...
Tears stream down her dusky cheeks but she doesn't feel them. Not anymore at least. Lamenting has recently become a hobby of hers and her cries are many and with frequent abundance. The child wakes when water drops on his forehead. He is startled but not frightened. This exchange has become a daily occurrence between mother and son, and he never really was one to wail. He is such a good boy; a tranquil child in a time of peace.
She looks at the courtyard below and waits. She waits for God. She wants for him. For arrogance and a crown of golden hair. Her eyes plead for him to come riding, chain mail and laughter and trotting and leading a pack of men with red cloaks and one without. But he doesn't come. The land was spared and the people protected, but God did not save the king...
The blue-eyed infant gazes up and curiously watches his mother weep.