The King's Collie

Part VI, Chapter Finale: As It Begins Again

Rhys sat at his desk, sketching something important. It had come to him in some sort of dream, though it felt much more real and vivid. He had it engrained into his memory. He looked out his window, at some yellowing leaves on a tree, and hurried even more, with an exasperated yelp.

Indeed, Rhys took a long break from commissions, after the events surrounding his employment in the Valentian royal court. A few works of his own devising still sat drying in the corner of their room of residence. They weren't like his other works, beautiful but realistic. They were, at a passing glance, unrecognizable. Garbled grey and fur-textured splotches were put against red pools and blackened skulls, along with floating shapes and slightly twisted religious imagery in the background. A few were distinct portraits, but belonged to this same style: A slumped blue figure, head in hands. A cloaked red figure, in a contorted pose. A yellow figure, in agony as pools of jet black poured from an apparent wound. The earliest one was of geometric, zig-zagged subjects, either dancing or suffering in what was evidently flame.

Rhys knew, though, that now was the time for something completely different. Happier times were soon to come, even if they might be bittersweet. And what good would it be to dwell on the awful past, instead of embracing a brighter future? This was the thesis, in a way, of what he was about to do.

"I'm usually not one to believe in angels," Rhys' letter to a friend began that day. "But I saw a vision in my dream the night before last. It was an angel, of clear identity. It was a message, one I've deduced to be a commission from the heavens. And I must work tirelessly at it," he finished. "The coronation of Michel is soon, as soon as the leaves turn," the otter wrote nervously. This was true, as the prince had designated this inexact but symbolic time itself.

Rhys was, thus, never more scared to see the leaves on a tree turning, little by little, for fear of his contribution being unready.

—

Michel took the stand, as the band went through a number of time-occupying dance songs, on a fine October day. The leaves were gold, reminding everyone of the previous king, now a memory like the others of old. It was hard getting used to acknowledging this.

The vast majority of the town population was crowded at the square, watching with binoculars... perhaps from their windows, or, if they were lucky, close up. Guards were stationed once again at the edge of the rise, and throughout the crowd, to prevent any mischief or tragedy during the celebration and ceremony. Indeed, people all around were getting their fair share of merriment, though not as much as any usual coronation. Some danced to the music of the shawms and viols, but others stayed put, listening.

In between songs, Marco put down his cello-bow, and sighed. Lætitia, putting down a flute and grabbing a viola, saw this.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asked.

"I just can't believe it. Any of it. I wish none of this would have never happened," he remarked." A lot of people would still have been alive, and a lot of tragedy could have been saved."

The sparrow thought. "I'm not sorry any of it happened. There was such hard moments, surely, but those times we all loved each other. I wouldn't have traded them for anything!"

"'Tis better to have loved and lost," Michel suddenly piped up, having eavesdropped before encountering the two, "than to have never loved at all."

"Your Highness," Marco greeted with a bow.

"I like that," Michel chuckled, "but you could spare the formality, if you'd like."

"We simply can't, today," Lætitia replied.

"Right," Michel sighed, and nodded. "I must take my uncle's place."

"To your rightful throne, Your Highness," Marco assured.