Orphic || Prince Caspian

one

The funeral for Caspian the ninth was a city wide affair. The telmarine citizens flooded the streets in their black clothing, shrouding the cobbles with shadows as the overcast sky hung heavy with rain. A early winter sickness was catching and the somber chatter was routinely interrupted by a bout of harsh hacking coughs that made the worried murmurs redouble for a few seconds.

Ahren was glad that he was stood with his father inside the hall and therefore shielded from the cold winds outside. The general citizens were not so lucky for it was only lords and royals allowed in with the castle hall with the dead as the funeral rites were preformed. Still, a chill hung in the air and emanated from the stone. It was only the heavy velvet of his mourning clothes that kept him warm but still he shivered as he gazed around the hall. One hand clutched in his father's securely as he watched the king's brother begin to lay a sword across his brother's chest. It was a somber moment but he had just turned seven and did not quite understand why Lord Miraz was preforming such a gesture. He wanted to ask his father but the man was watching with a carefully blank expression.

Instead, he cast his gaze around curiously. Ahren had only been in the royal castle a few times before to accompany his father to meetings, during which he was carefully ushered off to play with the village children in the main square under the watchful gaze of his guard. This was the longest he had ever spent inside the room, or ever seen it so full. The lords and their families were all gathered in two rows down either end. Some were crying for their king, while others watched with the same blank expressions of his father.

He wondered why his father wasn't crying. His father and the king had been friends after all. Ahren glanced towards the six other lords on either side of them and saw the same carefully black expressions. Lord Rhoop, who had always spared him warm smiles when they met, was looking positively grim. Lord Argoz seemed more angry than sad. It made a shudder go down Ahren's back and he turned his head back to the front.

The widowed queen was clothed in a gown of black velvet which was cast in a pale gold sheen by the chandelier. Ahren watched as she smothered a cough as best she could into her handkerchief, tears gleaming in her eyes. Even from this distance it was easy to see the paleness of her skin and the beginning of sallowness to her face. The winter sickness flooding the city had festered and already stolen the warmth from households. The amount of deaths it caused was only due to increase. Now their king was dead. Ahren had heard his father shout about it in his study the night before. The city had never been more vulnerable.

The ceremony was drawing to a close. Lord Miraz, though he was now Regent Miraz, was speaking. His voice echoing in the hall as he gave a speech about loss and the future of the kingdom. Ahren was seven, so he wasn't listening. Instead his attention had shifted from the widowed queen to the small figure half hidden next to her. The long skirts of the queen, her handmaidens and the nursemaids had tucked the young prince away so that he was almost out of sight. Ahren stared at the only child his age in the hall curiously. He had heard of the prince many times but this was the first time he had actually seen him. Prince Caspian the tenth always having been occupied by tutors and nursemaids whenever Ahren was visiting.

He was a small child and he wondered if Caspian was bigger or smaller than him. It was hard to tell from a distance but Ahren hoped that he was taller than the prince. If he was the bigger one then it would make it easier to give the prince a hug. Caspian looked small and cold despite his heavy looking cloak. Dark hair hung around his jaw and tears were trickling silently down his cheeks. His hands hung by his sides and Ahren was reminded of his own hand warmed by his father's. It made him feel secure and he wondered why no one was holding the prince's hand. Caspian looked like he needed it.

Something was announced and the crowd began moving. A hundred feet shuffling on stone as the doors were swung open and everyone began to trudge out into the cold. It had begun snowing gently. Fluffy white flakes drifting from the sky and dotting black fabric with white. Ahren let go of is father's hand to fumble for his gloves in his cloak pocket and stumbled on the stone steps outside of the hall. He righted himself and stuffed his cold hands into his gloves with a shiver. When he looked up, his father had been swallowed by the crowds.