King of Griffindale

Chapter 4 - Trances & Glimpses

It was time to cremate the body of the late king, as the customs demanded.

His body was set on a platform covered in straw and light splinters of wood. And by contact from a fiery torch, the whole structure was set ablaze with the King's body in the middle of it. 

Cyrus and his mother watched, along with everyone else present, with pain in their hearts as the King's body began eviscerating. The event was held at the main town square within the walls of the capital city. It was the largest open area available, able to host several standing attendees who wanted to witness the king's cremation.

All of them held lanterns and candles, singing a sad dirge in unison as they watched their king's body burn away. 

Cyrus watched everything, and though it sickened him to see it, he forced himself to do so, with his mother standing right behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Somehow, from watching his father's body get reduced to ashes, an unlikely memory came to his mind. But unlike all the times in his head, this time the memory felt so vivid that it was as if he had just fallen into a trance. It felt like something beyond a simple remembrance, as he would feel himself living through the memory for a second time. 

He suddenly found himself someplace else, a long time ago, during a period that he remembered fondly, even though it had been about ten years since it happened.

It was a vision of himself and his father, about ten years ago, having a trivial talk about what it would take to become King of Griffindale. 

-

A young 9-year-old boy named Cyrus stood beside his father, who was perusing through old scrolls in his study room.

The king was so tired that he removed his crown, and his playful son had taken it and put it on, donning his father's large and heavy mantle on his little head as he tried to act like a King. He tried hard to mimic his father's voice, and it was so bad that the King couldn't help laughing.

“See? I told you I could be a king!” he said to his father. Now his father laughed out even more, and Cyrus was getting embarrassed.

“I'm serious, Father!” he said, “I am the King! I have the crown on, don't I?”

“The crown barely fits your head, and yet you think you are fit to be called a King? Haha!” the King laughed profusely, so much so that his son's face reddened almost instantly. 

His father's habit of laughing at the things that felt serious to Cyrus always got under his skin as a child, and this was one of those times.

King Theodore looked much younger than he did in the current period, with his beard a lot shorter, his chest broader, and his tummy flat. His voice sounded a bit different too, still having some youthful angst left in it. 

He noticed that his young son was suddenly about to cry from what he had just said, so he encouraged him.

“Well, you are far from being a king right now. But you might become one someday.”

“Really?” asked little Cyrus, his mood swinging from sad and reddened to hopeful and ecstatic within seconds.

“Yes, my son,” the King said to him. “Certainly not now—you can't even swing an actual sword. But with a bit of hard work and discipline, you can grow yourself into becoming a good king someday.”

“Really?”, the young Cyrus asked with wide, innocent eyes.

“Yes,” the King replied. “But only if you build the virtues of Kingship.”

“Oh,” the boy reacted as if he knew his father was about to say something boring. "What are those things, Father?"

“Hmm...”, the King hummed as he thought about it for several seconds. It took so much that the son almost believed he was about to make stuff up to satisfy his curiosity. 

“Oh, I know just the thing!” the King suddenly said, lighting the spark of hope back up within the child. 

“What is it?” asked the young boy with genuine curiosity. 

“One!” the King said to him. “You have to spend hours in the library reading huge books each day.”

“What?” the young boy asked, obviously not being the biggest fan of reading anything. “Do I have to do that? You know I hate reading, don't you?”

“You heard me right, boy. Knowledge is a virtue, and wisdom is the right application of it,” the King said. “If you want to be a wise king, you must read a lot of books; that way, you will become as wise as your father!” 

Cyrus arched a brow, “Huh?” He reacted sceptically, “Are you wise, Father? Do you even read?” 

“Foolish question!” his father yelled at him, almost flustered by his son's reaction. “You don't think I'm wise?”

He probably thought his son adored him for certain qualities, but he never knew the young boy saw him in such a different light. 

Cyrus smiled as he reluctantly shook his head. 

“Foolish boy!” the father said to him with a frown. 

“What about number two?” asked young Cyrus, getting his father back on topic. 

“Ah yes, Two!” the King said to him. “You must train yourself until you can win every elite knight of the Diamond in a sword fight.”

“Whoa! That would be cool!” Cyrus said with excitement. “I would become the strongest swordsman in the kingdom!”

“Keep dreaming, crybaby,” the King said. “It isn't as interesting as the combat games and tournaments make it look from your perspective. You only see the glorious battles on the field, but you don't see the hardships they go through to become as strong as they are. In short, it takes hard work—a lot of it. "Can you do that, my son?” 

“Yes, Sir,” young Cyrus said, saluting him like he was now an ordained knight who was already in the capital's military. 

The King laughed briefly before clearing his throat.

“Now, Three!” he said to his son. “You must learn magic. You must become good at it!” 

“How good?”, asked little Cyrus.

“Good enough to make Merlin blush, if he were real”, the King said.

“Merlin is real!” the young Cyrus yelled at his father defensively. “It is written in the legends. My tutor says that every history book in the library talks about his deeds.”

“You just said it yourself, my son. It is a legend,” the King said. “Besides, even if he truly existed, then most of his story would have been fictitious.”

The young boy frowned once again, always hating it when his father teases him like that. The King took note of this but kept talking. 

“Four!” the King said to young Cyrus. “You must think indepently, but with wisdom, not ignorance. Think your own thoughts, dont let anyone else do it for you. You have to be assertive in all your decisions. You must be as wise and decisive, so wise that the greatest philosophers would gather in your palace from all over the known world just to hear you speak. This goes back to what I told you earlier: You have to read a lot of books; only then will you become wise.” 

“Okay, Father,” Cyrus replied. “Anything else?”

“Five!” the King said to him. “You have to be strong and not let the things your father says get under your skin too often, or you will remain a crybaby forever.”

“Huh?” asked the young boy. “You just made that up, didn't you, Father?”

His old man winked at him, and the young boy laughed. 

-

“Cyrus?”

“Cyrus!”

His mother's calls brought him out of the trance he was in. After the next blink, there was no trace of the memory left in plain sight. Cyrus had just been taken for a ride by his brain. 

Was he grieving so much that he was now beginning to see things? 

“Cyrus!” his mother called from behind again, and he turned back to see her. 

“I'm fine, Mother,” Cyrus assured her. “I was just caught up in the moment, that's all. Forgive me.”

“It's alright,” she said to him. “I can't even imagine how hard this must be for you. You loved him, didn't you?”

“You loved him more than I ever could, Mother,” he said to her before kissing her forehead. He was now looking around and noticing that a lot of the people present had begun returning home as it was getting late. 

“Come on, Mother,” Cyrus said to her as he slowly led her back towards the Palace. “Let's get you to bed.”

As he walked with his mother back into the castle, glimpses of the vision he just had of the past flashed through his memories. While he had initially dismissed it as his grief playing tricks on his brain, he had begun to take it a bit more seriously. 

Deep down, he felt it. 

He mostly believed in coincidences, but this moment was not one of them.

He took it as his resolve, one that would drive him through the dangerous times he would face soon.