Want to know what one you would prefer to read - this story or yesterdays:) Opinions would be great:)
The city of Stoneway had never stood so silent. Crowds of peasants and their children stood in long, drawn out rows guiding down the main city walkways all awaiting a glimpse of King Morrlands coffin to pay their forced respects. It was what was expected; it was a written law. Morrlands army marched in unison down the dust stone pathways, their swords drawn and held tall in front of them, their armour black in mourning. Music echoed around as violins played softly from the houses above as musicians sat, watching on from the window's edge, their instruments song running down to the orange stone streets below.
Children of the guards followed behind carrying violet petals from The Kings favourite flower that grew wild every summer on the outskirts of his kingdom; usually climbing up along the walls of harbours bay and tangling with the ivy. These children, no older than ten, were all products of his lordship's men which meant they had been born into the role of royal servants from the moment they broke from the womb and would one day serve whatever King or Queen stood proud above the people. It was an old custom, created so no matter what war or battle came to Stoneway's grounds that over time a army would grow and conquer once again. What followed behind the young apprentices was the Black Prayers. Ancient men wrapped in sheer black ropes, darker than the nights sky that draped down from head to toe, covering the whole of the body except a gap for their mouth; lips colourless and cracked with age. The Black Prayers, also known my many as The Men of the Lord lived in the underground bunkers built below the churches. They prayed constantly, given their lives and souls away for God however little was known about the Men or their beliefs; they left well alone so so did the people, allowing them to pray and do whatever custom were expected.
Then, like all royal funerals that had came before this, the coffin followed next, carried by his four sons. The lid of the coffin was missing for his Lordship to feel air on his pale skin for one last time and for the people he had once ruled over to witness his decaying body before making way for their next leader. King James Morrland lay peaceful and content, eyes wide to stare blankly at the sky. Dressed in deaths ropes with a golden chain laced around his neck and a crown of thorns cutting into the top of his head he continued along the streets, slower as his boys struggled to keep their father high above their heads. No tears, not from the men of the house. It was unroyal like. Not male. Not the sons of a king.
"Men fight. Women wait for our return. Men die. Women cry over the loss" was what their father, The King used to tell them every time they asked for one of his rich and detailed stories. "How can a man who is meant to control and dictate, show weakness every time something doesn't go his way"
"He can't father" they used to answer which was always welcomed with a smile, a pat on the back before taken by the maids up to their rooms to sleep.
Peter, the eldest child looked around to see his Mother who followed behind, a big gap between them.
Leytana Morrland, thirty years of age, now a widow, walked on behind her late husbands death bed. Her hair red like blood trailed down long past her shoulders and hung by her hips, emphasised by the black raven dress she wore that trailed behind her as she continued forward, being dragged along the stone path for metres. A wedding ring belonging to James hung by a thin silver chain around her neck, J M carved beautifully into the metal with the words, peace, remembrance, love incrusted into the chain itself. Too sentimental for the two of them but old laws were not to be broken; not today. Leytana's eyes were red raw and her bags were weighted down at her cheeks. Even through her aching eyes the hazel tint mixing with her small piercing pupils were enchanting, something to be respected and admired. Women over the land wished for eyes as beautiful while men blushed whenever she would look their way. A time of mourning and sadness wasn't a place for her beauty and everyone who watched as she walked down the city steps could see she never felt so on show before; so insecure.
Whispers from the people that surrounded all seemed like deliberate acts of harm and offence
"Why isn't she crying?" she heard, a statement with consequences of the death penalty and had it not been the funeral she would have had the speaker hunted, tortured and burned; but this was not her day.
Peter mouthed something but she couldn't make out what he was trying to say but instead instructed him to look forward and concentrate. He was the tallest and it was obvious he was taking most of the weight. With his brothers being young, the twins fifteen while Oliver twelve, it was up to him to stay low and help with the ceremony though his arms had begun to shake.
"Fuck the King!"
A man's voice pushed forward from the middle of the crowd. "Fuck the King!"
Leytana kept her sight looking forward, eyes fixed upon her late husband and ignored the man screaming towards them that she could see at the corner of her eye. Short brown hair, young, clothes looked poor.
"Fuck the King and all his son! Fuck em All!"
Two guards in black stepped away from their march and slipped gently from the parade. Swords already drawn. The peasant man ran towards the princess and spat in their direction, hitting Oliver on his neck and falling down his back. Peter tightened his grip, teeth grating across each other, holding himself together.
"Don't" one of the twins stated "Mothers watching"
"Pieces of shit!"
Then suddenly a loud crunch rung out among the crowd as a blade cut through the strangers back and into his spine, cutting through him and coming out of his chest. Blood fell onto the path, staining the Kings walkway. The body slipped off the sword of the guard slowly, leaving a trail of blood dripping down the cold silver before the two men dragged him to the edge of the crowd and left him there; a few people at the front beginning to dig through his pockets.
"The intruder has been dealt with my Lady" said one of the three men walking beside her, all of them with there arms behind their backs. She nodded but refused to speak; a traditionalist. Ever since she could remember funerals were not a place for a womans words.
The train of mourners halted and the army, children and Black Prayers moved to the side and bowed as the dead king and his wife stepped forward into the man made circle that had surrounded the Speakers Stand. Three steps led up to the podium that had a big tall cover made from the finest silk hanging above them.
Her Lady stopped at the stairs while the three men broke away from her side and followed the coffin up onto the stage, all eyes on them. These were the Kings Men. Every King or Queen must pick three people who they trust more than anyone who does not share their blood to serve and protect with their life. It's an honour. The biggest honour any man can ever know and when such vowel has ended nothing will ever amount more to being a Kings chosen man. As usual these men were tall and muscular, there frames built strong and steady. Well over 6ft with big stretching shoulders, huge biceps and arms normally rippled with purple bulging veins. The Kings children placed their fathers bed on the brick in the middle of the stand, bowed to their mentor and stepped down to stand with Leytana.
All three of the young men stood in row above the open casket and pulled a small blade from their armour and lifted it proudly towards their necks. The cold edge lightly touching their skin awaiting to cut.
"Our King"
"Our King"
"Out King"
They said, one at a time, deep voices growling before once again falling into silence.
The people of Stoneway stood watching, many praying, many covering their eyes. Part of an old ritual written in the first book known is said that a Kingsman's vowel never ends as a man needs as much protecting in the afterlife as when on this world. And a king before being buried must be showered and joined by his three Kingsmen blood for them to guide him through his next chapter. The Kingsmen stood proud and unfazed by their fait however chose to look forward over their spectators heads and not into the many faces that surrounded them. Silence. Just the flapping of birds flew over head as they each waited for the last note of the song to be played from the musicians above. Strings vibrated. Then, like promised when they first were admitted, each one of them swiped their knife along their neck swiftly with a slick, long cut, slicing themselves open as blood spurted out onto the corpse below, specs dripping down the black wooden coffin. Their heads shaking back and forth, limbs trembling, eyes now closed before their bodies collapsed onto the stone and bled out until they were empty.
Kaylabby
abrogated
Anas
C_Shizz96
Carlyjordan14
jkjkjk15