The Ancient King

Act 11

The door was just how Merek remembered it, overly tall to the point where it would make some castle portcullises look small.

Yellow steel, made to look like gold, wrapped itself around the birch door. It took four men to open, along with two from the other side pulling.

"Lord Merek, if you may, your sword please"
Merek unfastened his belt and handed Horald the sword and scabbard.

"And if you would follow me"
The man strutted into the throne room, it was lifeless.
A throne of elegant design sat proudly at the end of a large table. A stained window stood, colours of all different shades and shapes, like Valorous' cloak.

The man took Merek through winding corridors to a large chamber where a fire blazed in the corner, and a bed of magnificent size laid in the centre.

"There is a set of garments in the wardrobe, we will take your armour and polish and oil it along with your sword. As for that beard and scruffy hair, ah no no! That cannot stay, forgive me. I will have a barber sent to your chambers later, I will then have some maids run you a bath I will get the hottest water and finest soups!"

Merek was already smiling, a comfortable bed, nice clothes, a shave, a bath. He missed this.
He pulled some coins out of his pouch and chucked them to Horald.

"Oh my lord, you are a guest no need!"

"Horald take it, it's fine, leave me to change"
The man nodded and promptly exited the room.
The clothes felt ever so soft.
The smell, as well, filled Merek's nostrils.

His beard was soon gone, making him look years younger. His hair was cut slightly shorter, still long, however, and the bath, oh the bath.

The water ran the dirt of his body, the warmth snuck its way into his skin like a welcomed invader that he wished to keep all to himself.
His eyes closed, every breath was bliss.

"Merek?"
The wind rushed through his hair, a Green Hooded Crow perched itself on an extending arm of a fir tree and croaked so loudly that it echoed off way into the mountains.
A smile beamed across his face.
Dune Wvronikopf sat perched on a hill, its towers seemed so high, above it, the blue sky which was accompanied by the odd spot of pure white clouds, and the sun discharging its glow onto the coruscating grass which lay beside a lustrous sunlit stream.
"Merek?"

Merek met her blue eyes, her blue hair waved mesmerisingly in the gentle breeze, her seductive smile charmed Merek. Love.

"Éthéré?"
Their hands met.
"Merek?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let go".
Her head met his chest, her eyes closed, a tear trickled down her cheek. A tear of happiness? Maybe, maybe not, who knew? Did it matter?

"You know I have to, you know I have to go"
A sniffle. A cry.
Merek held tighter, keeping his eyes open, he never wanted this to end.

"I miss you"
They said in unison.

"When will you wake up?"
Her voice was soft and sounded like the most beautiful lyrics in the most beautiful poem.

"Kzakeny!"
The voice bellowed through the world.

"Waiting" Merek mentioned this like the voice was nothing.

"Kzakeny!"
The voice again.

"It is the gods"

"Kzakeny, what does it mean?"

"You are waiting" Merek declared.

"I wait for you!" Her cries were muffled by Merek's chest.

"Between life and death, before you cross into the next world, you are a phantom between the two worlds, a being lost in Kzakeny waiting to pass into the next world".

"I wait for you Merek, I miss you"

"I know"

"Merek?"

"Yes?"
Merek looked at her tear-filled eyes, her mouth opened as her blissful voice announced,
"I love you"

His eyes opened to the banging of his door.
"My lord! You have an hour, your audience with the king awaits!"

Merek didn't say a word. A single tear ran from his eye.
"I love you too"
The words exited his mouth with a stutter and a shaking of the voice.
His heart had collapsed within his chest.