Upon hearing of the Empress’ illness many an important Empire’s knights have travelled towards the capital. It was a blow so unexpected and shattering that the war at the borders has lost all of its significance. The thinned and weakened banners of the nobles have rushed towards the city, having taken only ponies of their closest retinue, in order to arrive at the crystal halls of the Imperial Castle as soon as they could.
According to the medics skilled in their arts the Empress has suffered from an illness caused by a message concerning her lost, beloved kin, whom – after a sudden death of her sister- she has raised as her own daughter. When confronted with despair and the heavy burden of imperial crown the doctors were helpless, unable to find the remedy. With each day the ruler was weaker than the day before and the unbreakable flame of her will was going out before the medics’ eyes. The balms and potions were for naught, same as filling the rooms with vapour of burnt healing herbs and even an amply set table that would satisfy the imperial court even in the times of welfare did not help.
Alas, the Empress ceased to eat and she drank little, as if she was abandoned by all hope in one instant. Some suspected an evil spell cast by the vile magi leading the barbaric hordes. Whatever the cause might have been, the prospect of an empty throne with no successors was being drawn before the eyes of the counselors, as well as one of the demise of the most noble dynasty that has ever graced the Empire with their rule.
The eyes of many drifted towards a single knight, who stood guard at the ruler’s bedside every night. Nopony knew what they talked about, or if they talked at all, locked behind the locked, thick doors of the imperial bedroom. The medics keeping watch just outside the room did not say a word, only their faces became grimmer with every sunrise, as if they shared the worries of the love-struck pair that, up until then, spread the light of hope among their subjects. Her – by sitting on the throne, ruling wisely and sagely, while he did so by standing firm in the defense of the Empire.
So passed these mournful days when the first among the equals, the Marshall of all the Empire’s banners, sobbed defenselessly, stroking the ever so colder cheek of his beloved. His entire military prowess now seemed for naught, leaving him in a dark void of despair. Despite that he abode unbroken by her bedside, unsuspecting of the jeering fate, which was soon going to place him upon the throne. In those moments he was no longer the Captain of his troops, leading them to victory through a ghostly forest of swords. He was a lonely soul lost among the ruins of a crumbling order of the world as he knew it.
The world itself mattered very little to him, though. He would prefer it a hundredfold to take the place of the Empress on the deathbed awaiting his passing then watching his beloved slowly drift away, watching her life slip away from between her lips with every breath. Did he not suffer enough for the fate to take his last hope away from him?
Whatever he did, he did for her. He transferred his every beautiful thought on paper and sent it through his messengers before her eyes. There was neither victory nor enemy banner that he would not offer before the feet of her throne without awaiting anything in return. How close were they both to living their dream, to having their lifelines sewn into one?
No mischievous courtier wished him ill. His fame went far and wide and the sages saw in him the greatness of the Emperors from the old. The knights chanted his name without hesitation, acclaiming him as their lord, their Captain they loved as a father.
For naught though was that hope, crumbled to dust.
The feeling born between the two hearts was passing away, shaken with shivers of the merciless fate. Despite that it still lingered in their gazes, full of devotion, in the tears slowly flowing down the knightly cheeks and in the softly whispered vows of faithfulness. The imperial medics also sobbed quietly, concealed in the chamber’s niches, unable to withhold the despair, looking at the two lovers whose life turned bitter before it could have tasted its sweetness.
The Fate, following the palace’s halls without haste, has finally caught the bedstruck Empress. It waited, like a shade, next to the moribund, in order to force the last breath out of her breast and to blow out the stubborn ember of her life. Her helpless body fell deeper into the soft bedding. And so went the last Empress, killed by a burden that could not have been withstood by many a king.
The knight by her side did not shed any more tears. He had none left after all those long days. He looked upon the Imperial Insignia with unseeing eyes. They were resting inside an encrusted casket next to one another. He could have put them upon his temples, effortlessly taking the rule among the storm of cheers of his subjects who would have seen him as an avatar of hope, the one capable of saving the dying country. He just shook his head, banishing the vile thought and turned his face back to the posthumous mask of his beloved.