I really, really lost my feeling for this fic :/ I got so emotional while writing it and after editing it a few times, I can't say anymore if it still has an emotional impact or not. I've read it too often now. I'd appreciate some input, if you want to.

The song I used is "Melancholie" by In Extremo. It's not their text; it's an old song written in Old French. I've tried to find the original, but I actually didn't find out what the original is called :P Anyway, try to find it on youtube. It's beautiful. (I would give you a link, but I can't look at any video because of the lovely EU restriction [)

Anyway! Just enjoy :D

The day was truly beautiful; there was no strong wind, barely any clouds obstructed the view and it was warm.

It was painful.

Geoffrey´s hands clasped the reins tightly. His uniform was stiff and uncomfortable. He was in pain. Not only because he was old and his bones ached every day, no. It was the stark contrast between the weather and the occasion.

He stared straight ahead. He would not move. Every tiny movement could break him.

The street before him was a black and blue mass; the houses were bedecked with cloths, flower decorations hang from every window and the people were standing close to the houses so that they didn't block the path of the procession.

Elincia´s death procession.

And Geoffrey was the head of that procession. Only one horse length behind him were his children, all in black and blue mourning dresses. They were not allowed to ride beside him. He wished that he could see them. They could remind him of old times when they still had been whole.

Behind them was Elincia, trapped in that wooden box. The children had decorated it with her favourite flowers. It was beautiful in a horrible way. Geoffrey had avoided to look at it; he had only seen it once when his grandchild had asked him to place a paper flower on it for her.

He heard the wood creaking. He heard the light shifting on the hand barrow. It grated on his ears and reminded him every second that she was dead.

He knew that the rest of the procession was there - nobles, knights, squires. He felt their presences, and the sound of their feet slapping against the ground and the low mumbling was pushing against his back like an invisible hand. They made him move. He felt helpless, like a puppet. He didn't want to see the end and the coffin disappearing in the tomb. He wasn't ready to let Elincia go.

The instruments of the musicians rattled slightly and shook him out his thoughts; Geoffrey had to sing the funeral song during the ride to the royal tombs. He had spent days trying to learn it. He had had to stop so often because a lump had pressed his throat close every time he reached the chorus.

He had never cried so much in his whole life as in those short days.

As soon as his horse´s hooves met the hard cobble, the first musicians started to play: a guitar and a barrel-organ were first. A violin soon joined them and together they filled the air with a crying melody. The drums were quiet and dull.

Geoffrey had to start. The procession would answer. He didn't want to; he didn't trust his voice. But he had no choice.

"Temps de doleur et de temptacion

Aages de plour, d´ envie et de tourment

Temps de langour et de dampnacion

Aages meneur près du definement"

His voice was coarse.

As one, the people following him repeated his words; the air vibrated with their combined voices and the sudden pressure on his ears was deafening. He wanted to shut himself out and mourn alone.

Why had Elincia had to die first? Geoffrey had never expected to outlive her. He was a soldier; he had been a soldier his whole life. He had expected to die in the rebellion of Thumbria. He had expected to die from the fever caused by the nasty leg wound he received in the skirmish of Donlan. He had every reason to die first.

But she left before him.

Before every battle he had prayed that should he die Elincia should go on and be happy. He had never asked the Goddess to save his life but to keep his family safe.

"Toute lèesse deffaut

Tous cueurs ont prins par aussaut

Tristesse et merencolie"

He was the last one.

Uncle Renning had died a long time ago. Back then Elincia had led the procession. Geoffrey had been following her; she had had difficulties to sing the song. He had wanted to help her, but he couldn't even reach out to her. She had been crying the whole time. Geoffrey had noticed that her citizens had lowered their heads respectfully at their queen´s display of emotion. He knew that her people loved her.

He wasn't sure if they want to seem him cry. Would they think badly of him if he did?

The combined voices tried to drown Geoffrey´s thoughts and memories.

Uncle Renning had died of old age, lying in bed. Would that be Geoffrey´s fate as well? He was old now. His hair was white and his bones ached when the air was cold or humid. He hadn't touched a lance in years. That was not a knight´s death. The only honourable death is the death in battle. The most shameful thing that could happen to a knight was to be restrained to a bed and wait for death. Geoffrey had never wanted that; he had wanted to die in battle like his father. But he wouldn't. He was locked up in the castle; he would never see the battlefield again. How had Uncle Renning felt while lying in his bed, unable to do anything but counting the days, minutes, seconds until the end?

"Temps plains d´orreur qui tout fait faussement

Aages menteur, plain d´orgueil et d´envie

Temps sanz honeur et sanz vray jugement

Aage en tristour qui abrege la vie"

Something pressed against his throat; he tried to swallow the lump but it only grew bigger. He tried to breathe deeper; sobs mingled with the air when he exhaled again. Something pressed against his eyes from the inside. He wanted to throw up.

Geoffrey had wished to grow old with Elincia, of course. He was happy with her and even though they had been married for so many years, it felt like they had met just yesterday.

The voices raised again when they passed the last street corner and the path opened up to plane fields.

He truly was the last; Bastian and Lucia had died years ago. They had died in battle while defending Delbray from the invading lord of Cheltos. Geoffrey almost envied them. Everyone would remember them as heroes who died while protecting their home and their people. But he? The reign would be directly passed on to his son and he would be forgotten.

Their son, who had not become the warrior Lucia had hoped he would be, had taken over Fayre. He would be remembered for being their son and for being a good leader. Geoffrey´s children would be remembered as the children of the great Queen Elincia, who had deliberated Crimea and fought the Goddess. But Geoffrey? He had never played a big role and now he wouldn't even have a memorable death.

He felt lonely.

"Toute lèesse deffaut

Tous cueurs ont prins par aussaut

Tristesse et merencolie"

His voice almost broke. They were almost there. He felt tears running down his cheeks. Where did they come from?

All those years together with his wife, his love, his confidant. Why did they have to be over? How could he already be so old? How could their life together be over already? He wanted those days back. He didn't want to be alone and wait for his death like a coward, holed up in a cold room, growing smaller every waking hour. When had life become a burden?

He was alone. What was left for him to do other than just existing?

"Father?"

The voice, set apart from the choir, startled him. A young voice, not as hoarse and broken as his own. Unused to many days of yelling, commanding and crying. So much Geoffrey´s opposite.

It felt like someone had slapped him and he opened his eyes for the first time in months. In the corner of his eyes he saw his worried son catching up with him despite knowing that it violated tradition.

He was not alone.

"I will watch them, Elincia," he whispered to himself, pressing his eyes close tightly. "And then I will tell you everything they did when we meet again. I promise."