The sun shone through the high, slanted windows of the temple, casting a bright light on the body of King Branden as it lay on the repose slab.
Prince Jayden sat stoically, appreciating the dignified pose his father had been placed in. The illness that had sapped his strength over the past few months was evident in his weak, thin frame, the tall, broad physique that had stood against Jayden in countless sparring sessions greatly reduced. But even when he had been close to death, he had shown strength of a different sort than the physical. That strength was reflected in how the temple acolytes had prepared his body, in the hands clasped seriously over his chest, in the healthy pink they had colored his face with, in the solemn yet peaceful expression he wore.
The attendees of the funerary rite were still filing in, shuffling in a line towards the repose slab to pay their respects before circling back to take a seat. Kneeling now before his father were Lord and Lady Brathwaite, the former bowing his head, the latter sniffling slightly.
Jayden bit back a frown.
Seated to his immediate left, at the start of their row, was his mother.
Queen Larissa, unlike the countless women in the temple he could hear sniffling and sobbing softly, was a picture of graceful sorrow, her face drawn in mourning but no tears falling. He snuck a prideful glance over to her as she watched the Lord and Lady Brathwaite pay their respects.
Another sniffle came from his immediate right.
He glanced over, less pridefully, to Prince Tristan, his younger brother.
Even at sixteen years of age, Tristan was immature and overly emotional. Instead of combat, strategy and politics, the study of which all princes and other men of noble birth were expected to follow, he was enamored with song, art, and romance, spending his days dawdling with his lute instead of a sword or even a book containing something other than poetry.
Jayden patted his younger brother's knee and gave him a nod of understanding.
Tristan nodded back, wiping away his tears and sniffling again.
Further down the line were their two younger siblings, fourteen-year-old Alanna, stoically sorrowful like their mother, and eleven-year-old Declan, whose sniffles were much more restrained than Tristan even with the obvious sadness written across his face.
Another sniffle from Lady Brathwaite drew his attention back to the repose slab.
The line had an end now, a dozen or so people past her as she followed her husband around the royal pew to find a seat further back. She nodded respectfully at the queen, who answered with a polite nod of her own, and then she smiled sadly at Jayden and kept the smile up for each of his siblings.
Jayden matched his mother's nod, and then looked back to his father as the next attendees knelt before the repose slab. Further behind it, against the far wall, the temple acolytes waited, ready to start the funerary service once the line ended.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The gathered people bustled from the royal courtyard, headed back inside the hall to partake of the spread of food waiting there. The queen and her four children waited at the exit of the courtyard, receiving consolatory nods and platitudes.
Prince Tristan politely thanked the well-wishers, but his attention was at the far end of the courtyard.
Wynn the Wanderer was strumming his lute and humming to himself, sitting on the bench he had performed from. The bard, a favorite of his parents, had just finished a concert in honor of King Branden.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
"Come, Tris," his mother said gently, "it's time to eat."
"I'll join you in a moment, Mother, but first I wish to speak with Wynn."
She looked over to the bard and then back to him.
"Just don't take too long. I know you're sad, but don't forget to eat. Remember when Hoppy died?"
He winced at the memory of his pet rabbit, seven years dead.
"Mother, I was a child then. I'm sixteen now."
She smiled warmly and reached out to stroke at his curly hair.
"Of course. But I'll always be your mother, no matter how old you are."
Tristan returned the smile.
With another glance over to the bard, his mother turned away to follow his siblings into the hall.
Tristan headed over to the bard.
The concert, as usual, had been spectacular. The first song had been 'May He Find Rest', composed in honor of Wynn's own long-deceased father, but containing sentiments perfectly applicable to Tristan's own relationship with his father. There had also been the bard's own arrangement of 'Ring the Solemn Bells', a traditional dirge sung for deceased kings. That had been followed by 'Two Hearts as One', a romantic ballad Wynn had composed for the marriage of Tristan's parents. The bard had also played 'Oh Graceful Lady', another ballad, this one commissioned by the king some years before for his queen. Then had come 'Our Worlds Are Far Apart', an emotionally stirring lament about distant lovers. The last song of the concert had been Tristan's favorite, 'I See Love in Your Eyes', which had been another commission of King Branden's for his wife.
Tristan had felt tears threatening to fall from the opening notes of the concert, had found himself awash in emotion throughout the rest of it, and now felt tears threatening as he thought of the songs.
The bard looked over and set the lute down as he approached.
"Hello there, young prince."
Tristan nodded gratefully.
"Thank you for your songs and the honor you give my father with your performance."
The bard nodded back.
"Of course. I remember when my father died. I was inconsolable. How are you feeling?"
Tristan frowned pensively.
"Such a question seems unnecessary. I feel sad."
Wynn smiled kindly.
"The question is very necessary. 'Are you sad?' or 'Do you mourn?' would have been unnecessary, but 'How are you feeling?' is necessary. It has a multitude of answers. Feelings can be complicated, young prince. It serves us well to take time and do our best to uncomplicate them, so we know best what we are feeling."
"You of course would have such wisdom to be a great bard as you are."
Wynn smiled again.
"So then, how are you feeling?"
Tristan hesitated.
"Truly sad. Sorrowful. But...also grateful. My father was a great man, and a wonderful father. He taught me a lot. And I feel...a different sadness, but for Alanna and Declan. They did not know Father as long as I have. And still a different sadness for Jayden because he knew Father longer than I have."
Wynn nodded.
"See? Less complicated."
Tristan managed a smile.
"Now, young prince, I don't imagine you came over here to discuss your grief."
"No, I did not. I wish to discuss music."
"And what is it about music you wish to discuss?"
Tristan hesitated, but the bard's genial smile eased his nerves.
"Well, as you may know, I took up the lute a few years ago."
That smile brightened.
"Yes, I know. Your mother tells me I was the inspiration."
Tristan nodded.
"I have always felt a great love for music, but your music in particular has made me want to make some of my own."
"You flatter me."
"Well, I recently composed a few songs of my own, and I was wondering...it doesn't have to be right now or right away, but...perhaps you might sit with me and listen to them and give your honest thoughts?"
That smile did not waver.
"I would be honored."
"But...please do not think because I am a prince that you must agree. I understand if you are busy. You are frequently in high demand all over our great land."
The bard shook his head.
"I agree because I want to. I will always help an aspiring musician if I can, prince or not. How about tomorrow?"
Tristan smiled in relief.
"Thank you. That would be most wonderful."
"Indeed it will be. Now, shall we go eat?"
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Queen Larissa stood on the balcony of her bedchamber, looking out over the castle walls and the city beyond.
The warmth of the day had given way to the cool of the night. The royal flag atop the nearby rampart, lowered for the death of the king, fluttered from a breeze. That same breeze brushed over her seconds later, rustling the hem of her satin robe, the light material a pitiful shield against it. She shivered, and then slipped back into her bedchamber, making sure to close the balcony door and cinch the curtains shut behind her.
A bottle of wine waited on a nearby table, so she plucked up two glasses, and filled them.
She padded to the bed and handed a glass over as she climbed on.
"Thank you, Queen Mother," Wynn said, smirking slightly.
