The King

by ironwolf

Phobos

Waiting for the final resolution is the worst. Strolling through empty chambers that echo the sound of my steps. I know those corridors. I could walk through each and every hall without even opening my eyes. For others, the non-participants of this story, the stony interior of the Castle might seem empty, ascetic, maybe even crude. Stripped of all life.

For me, though, those are treasuries. From the polished marble to arched domes, full of memories as beautiful as the painted stars gazing at me from the white plasters of the ceiling. I can still recall the days when these corridors were vibrating with life, with twitter of conversations and the brilliance of the age of our greatness.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with a sudden shiver. Suddenly and quickly as if the ceiling of my bedroom was gone and the warm, summer rain poured inside. I rush hastily through the lit halls, seeing so many faces close to my heart, the streams of light shining through colorful stained-glass windows, merging into a single flow of boundless joy. I reach the steps of the throne room and bow my head in front of the radiant majesty of our Empress. The ruler of my heart.

Tis’ but a mere illusion. A lie. A deception creeping under my eyelids to jeer at my fate. I turn my gaze away from the throne enveloped in darkness – a throne that has been empty for such long a time. The halls are once again flooded with darkness, filled with a dead vortex of shadows. They are devoid of a single friendly soul.

Nopony is around.

I wear away back to my chamber, overwhelmed by the burden of my fate. When did these walls become my prison, from which I cannot let myself free? Do I linger within them for so long because I cannot cope with the passing of those, who I have loved stronger than anyone has a right to love? Is that a reason why I creep around the castle like a phantom, never to be at rest again?

Maybe it is not like that.

Maybe it is the punishment for all my crimes, to be able to watch till the end of my days the last breaths and slow decay of a country I never wanted to rule? I loved it so, I gave it all of my days. My joy, my pain, my glory and my shame. I have done everything a mortal could to protect it from disasters, so I did not have to behold the sight of what is now illuminated by the moonlight.

I have taken up a burden that others have feared to even touch with their eyes. I did all of this against my will for the good of all those that could not defend themselves from the barbaric anger of our enemies. Could I have refused, gazing into the wide-opened, fearful eyes of children? Could I have defected while listening to the whining of hundreds upon hundreds of widows, orphans, husbands without their wives and the elderly mourning their offspring?

No. I could not.

Nevertheless, it can no longer mold the gaping ravine in my heart. The days when I gazed upon the borders of my dominion, proudly observing the fruit of my unbroken will, are long gone. What good comes from the statues carved in crystal, treasuries full of jewels and armories illuminated by the shining, panzer scales of masterfully crafted breastplates? It all seems to be a mere childish trifle, like building a fortress out of sticks and sand at the shore of an endless ocean.

I have this certainty that my story is over. Soon the string of my life will be cut in half by a brilliant ray of cold light. The Empire will go with me, once radiant with glamour and fortune. An Empire that stood strong for hundreds of years against countless raids. All of that was about to end, to fall into a bottomless abyss of oblivion.

The dawn is coming.

I go out before the daylight for the last time, observing from the height of the castle’s spire all that was left of the Empire. One day the authority of the Empress was so great that the shining of crystal towers of the farthest cities seemed to be merely stars hanging just above the horizon. Now I can see how many figures stand guard by the city gate. If I squinted I probably could have recognized the silhouettes of particular soldiers. There were not many left to garrison the proud capital that has never even been surrounded by a single ring of walls. Never, even in the most terrible nightmares, has anypony expected that the proud Empire would someday shrink to the pitiful patch of land surrounded by dead, frozen wastelands.

The sun is ponderously climbing the firmament.

I can already see the sisterly silhouettes of my fate. Phobos and Deimos, Fear and Averse, are coming from a distant land to take away the last bit of my distant memories. The end of nights spent on the hard flooring at the feet of an empty throne, begone shall be the tears and blasphemies that only the fleeing shadows could hear.

According to all the books gathered by my ancestors the Empire has never fallen. It fought, on its knees if need be, bleeding from dozens of lacerations dealt to it by jaundiced enemies. The steel-clad regiments stood their ground to the last under the fluttering banners to oppose the advance of forces that knew neither fatigue nor mercy. Step by step we fell back deeper and deeper, defending our slender strongholds to the last living knight.

Nopony surrendered.

It shall not be any different this time. Let the Empire go to battle for the last time, holding the shield against devastating impacts of enemy swords! I can already hear the trumpets and the thunder of obediently marching armor-clad regiments. In the pink rays of daybreak the spearheads shine, casting around their bloody halos.

This day the dying Empire shall share the fate of its ruler, who is now- for the last time- looking at his past.