Royal Palace, City of Laurel
Bernician March, Kingdom of Blackledge
Michael Robert Blackledge should have been packing for the trip from Laurel back to the Nagelring, to resume his studies. Commandant Upton Skeates would surely be giving him student command for a training cadre: Michael's first command, after two years as a junior cadet, and a massive boost in prestige within the relatively small community that is an officer training school. The responsibility was a weight on his shoulders, even if the decision had not been formally made.
Yes, the cadre command was a foregone conclusion. As for his executive officer? Michael temporarily considered his roommate, then dismissed the idea. Starting out a command with the appearance of favoritism would be in poor form. Maxwell Ewell was very capable, and a good friend, but cadre politics played into the decision. As the Crown Prince of the Realm, Michael had to carefully cultivate good working relationships with the future leaders of what would be his realm's army someday. The Prince of Afallon and Duke of Carrach, he reminded himself, was no simple job.
Such things were what he should have been thinking about-what he had been thinking about-until only a few days ago. Now he dressed in his grey cadet uniform, with the badge of the Nagelring on the cap and his cadet rank on his epaulets. He would not be returning to the academy, not yet. The dressing servant he had dismissed to wait outside the door politely tapped on the heavy oak frame. A signal, reminding Prince Michael he needed to be ready to head outside, for the funeral of his grandfather.
The heavy door swung open and his cousin, Dominic Blackledge, came into the bedroom carrying his own cap under one arm. He dismissed the servant, who had lingered behind the huge Dominic in the doorway, and turned back to face his cousin. Prince Michael considered the middle-aged Marshal of the Armies, who gave a small comforting smile and shook his head. "I'm not even your brother, and I still feel as though my own grandfather just died."
The Prince nodded. "I think many in the realm feel that way, or near enough," he answered. "He wasn't always tactful-"
"Especially if he needed something done," Dominic Blackledge said.
Nodding, Michael went on, "But he did his duty. He served my family before his daughter, my mother, ever formally joined it. And even after retirement, he came back to serve in the Great Nodic War. It's no wonder we feel lost without him."
"No wonder at all," his cousin said over his shoulder as he paced to one of the grand windows opposite the doorway. "His duty until the last breath. Don't take this as my talking down to you, but it is a lesson you can take to heart as a cadet. This dynasty may guide the state, but we do so as servants to the common good."
Michael finished affixing the rank insignia on his uniform jacket, and turned to Dominic. "Did my father send for me?" he asked.
"It is time. We're waiting on you, cousin." Dominic said with a sympathetic wink. Michael looked around his bedroom, a place he had not seen much at all since he left for his education, and picked up his cap. His cousin made way for him and allowed the Prince to leave first.
When they made it to the grand entrance hall of the castle, Michael saw the rest of his extended family gathered. At the center was his father, His Majesty the King, Kevan Curtis Blackledge the Second, speaking with another man. Tall and proud, adorned in the navy-blue uniform of the Brigade of Blackledge Guards, Kevan Blackledge still exuded a youthful confidence. Age had given his face a few seams, and his auburn hair had grey at the sides and back, but his blue eyes shone as bright as ever.
The king held an arm tenderly around the shoulders of Queen Olivia, who held her own head up high, though her eyes dipped to the floor as if lost in thought. Even her black mourning clothing could not hide her beauty, with slender frame and a hint of dark blonde hair peaking from under her veil.
Prince Michael noticed his father had been speaking to Uncle Rudolf, his father's only living brother. Uncle Rudolf had a tendency to be dour, and served as the military governor of the Nodic territories. His left arm was a subdued black artificial limb; a reminder of the last Nodic War. Michael glanced around but did not notice if his cousins, Uncle Rudolf's children, were present. Until he caught Hermione's glance. His cousin was a striking beauty, sharing her father's piercing eyes. He gave her a brief smile and quickly turned to look for his brothers and sisters.
Of his siblings and cousins, those in training or service to the Armed Forces of the Crown wore their finest dress uniforms, while all others wore dark suits or dresses befitting the situation. Michael spotted his sisters, Melissa and Elsa, both talking with his youngest brother, Arthur. Only eleven years old, Arthur wore a child's sized version of his father's uniform. His sisters, seventeen and fifteen respectively, wore dresses of similar make and cut of their mother's. Michael twisted his head around but could see no sign of his middle brother. Winfred had just started his own higher education.
Had he not returned in time?
With a simple gesture of his hand, Kevan Blackledge ushered the families out of the hall and to the waiting procession before the royal palace. The flag in front of the famous building flew at half staff. Castle Blackledge itself looked much as it had generations. Repairs and expansions had not erased it's basic appearance of medieval fortress atop a lone mountain. The rest of the capital city to the south of the palace was bright and clean for a modern city, though today it was still and silent.
His father met Michael at the head the head of the procession. After shaking hands with his father and kissing his mother on the cheek, he nodded. "I am ready."
"I know, son," King Kevan agreed. "Per your grandfather's request, there will be no filming of this procession. Only still photographs, when tasteful. But it's important they see you beside your mother and I for this. Another era changes." At that last comment the Queen suppressed a sorrowful moan, and the King gently pulled her close.
Tens-hundreds-of thousands of people lined the route from the Royal Palace down the mountain and through the city, all along the road to Caer Aethelbarrow on the outskirts of the city. He recognized members of the High Council and Privy Council, as well as the Dukes of the overseas Dominions in the main stands overseeing the procession.
A moment later, he forgot all about the people in the stands and the crowd, for flourishes of muffled drums announced that the procession was beginning. Behind the drummers-all from the Royal Air Force that had been Air Marshal Raymond Emsley's life-came a riderless black horse led by a colour sergeant of the Brigade of Guards. As the animal slowly walked past, Prince Michael saw that it had reversed boots thrust into the stirrups and a sheathed sword lashed to the saddle.
Six white horses, teamed in twos, drew the black caisson carrying grandfather's body in a flag-draped coffin. All six of the horses were saddled. The saddles of the three on the right were empty; RAF officers rode the three on the left. His father marched bareheaded behind the caisson, his mother alongside. Prince Michael joined them, and so to did the rest of his family, Blackledge and Emsley, follow. He saw Dominic and his wife were close behind. The extended Emsley clan, a noble family from across the Lief Sea to the west, was in attendance in its entirety, it seemed. His mother's marriage to the King had significantly elevated their own standing and prestige.
After the families marched a band playing soft, somber music. Another riderless horse brought up the rear of the procession. Once the procession had passed the reviewing stand, it turned south, down the mountain and through the city. In silence the procession crossed Wolcott Square, strode along the broad lanes of Aethelred Avenue and past the Grand Eahl of the Drywarate priesthood. The crowds there were just as thick as they had been between the Royal Palace and the base of the mountain. The sounds of weeping rose above the music of the band.
The people loved him. Though he had served a long and distinguished career in his prime, Raymond Emsley had come out of retirement during the Great Nodic War to take command of the air and civil defence assets of the capital city. His single-minded devotion to saving lives and coordinating rescue services had endeared him to the population, even if, as Michael admitted to himself, he'd had the personality of a bear that had just been awoken.
It was night by the time the procession reached it's destination. Michael respected his father's decision to allow grandfather Raymond to be interred in Caer Aethelbarrow, on the north side of the Pearl river just outside the city. On the southern bank of the Pearl, the crowds remained as they watched and wept. Only the families and the royal guards were permitted into the grounds of the Barrows. Overseen by a grand castle of ancient make, it was where many connected to the royal family were laid to rest.
In the center grounds a great pyre had been constructed. A criss-cross of birch and magnolia timbers, filled with brushwood, was prepared. The deceased Air Marshal's body was carefully taken to the top of the pyre, dressed by the younger girls with a wreath of flowers and by Arthur with an iron sword marked with the hooked symbol of Thunor over his chest.
A dryw of the Faith stood by, all of his face, save for a long grey beard, obscured by a broad hood and carrying a torch to illuminate the scene. At the dryw's side was a petite girl in a matching dun robe with the hood thrown back. Her chestnut hair reflected the light from the torch, and she aided both the girls and Arthur in reaching the body of the dead Air Marshal. The young acolyte wept openly and truly, and the innocence of it tore at his heart. He wanted to reach her and comfort her, even as he felt the tears at the corners of his own eyes.
Finally, Michael's sister Elsa, the younger of the two Blackledge daughters came forward. In a hauntingly delicate voice, she sang Lohwny's Lament, as Queen Olivia lit her own father's pyre. As the flames licked up higher and higher, engulfing the timbers and reached the top, Olivia was silent. The only sound beside the flames were Elsa's voice, and the light from flame shone on the tears on the red-haired girl's face.
When the lament ended, Elsa stood beside her mother in silence. The families stood silent as the fires burned themselves out, and the ashes of Raymond Emsley were gathered and placed in a great urn.
Along with the charred iron sword, the urn was carried by Guardsmen into one of the great Barrows, and placed with reverence besides the urn of Raymond's wife. Grandmother had passed on two years earlier, another staggering blow to the Queen. The Guardsmen stepped out backwards, as it was disrespectful to turn one's back on the honoured dead, and sealed the entrance.
Prince Michael joined his parents and siblings, and stood vigil over the entrance until the sun rose. Dawn broke, and the ceremony came to an end. With drummers leading the way, and flanked by Guardsmen, the Royal Family and their Emsley in-laws began the multi-kilometer trek back to the Royal Palace.
Though it nearly brought a tear to his blue eyes, Michael held his head on high as he saw that the route was still packed with silent crowds. As the procession passed each street, the crowds began to disperse and return home to rest. The King and Queen held hands the entire way. Even Wolcott Square, busy by this time on an average day, was still.
When they reached Castle Blackledge atop the mountain, the Royal Family broke their fast on a simple meal and talked but little. The Emsleys said their goodbyes to Queen Olivia and prepared to rest before departing that night, and Michael reminded himself to check his own bags before he flew back to the Nagelring in the next few days.
His distant cousin and uncle, Dukes Dominic and Rudolf, sat with his father and conferred on some matter quietly. The Prince was curious, but a gradual weariness had finally hit him as he sat. Grandfather was gone and his burdens finally laid to rest, but Michael knew what his grandfather would have said: the Prince's own were only beginning.
