[[random KKM fic]]
Title: Funeral March
Characters: ShinouxDaikenja, as usual. I used the names notjealous and I came up with 'cause they're corny and I love em.
Word Count: 484
Rating: PG
Summary: "You'll be mine, forever love, watching me from up above..."
It was not a music he hadn’t heard before. After all, it’s what a warrior knows best. The Shin Makoku funeral march rang through their ears every time a battle occurred, and dutifully, mournfully, tears were shed each time. Each and every man knew what it was like to lose a friend on the field, and the country’s Great Sage was no different.
***********
Augustine of Kent threw down his bloodied sword and stared with empty eyes down at his feet. He couldn’t bring himself to lift his gaze to check if he was really - he couldn’t even think those words without - “Derric.” He spoke firmly, as if he was walking a disobedient child up early in the morning. One that simply wouldn’t get out of bed.
He lacked the orientation to notice that the fight was over and that the other soldiers had started to crowd around him and the lifeless figure at his feet. “Sir.” They started, in hopes that he’d even hear them, “We should -“ One by one fell silent as they realized who lay on the ground. One by one they drew in sharp breaths and shed silent tears as the sun sunk into the bloodstained earth.
But Augustine was the only one who didn’t weep. He was angry, was shocked, too disillusioned by his dreams, his feelings to accept the harsh reality that was cloaking his eyes. His only thoughts were those of regret and lament, of how his beloved needed not to take up arms today, that the war was over and his job was to sit at a desk and - and then the tears came all at once.
He kneeled, hunching over Derric von Spitzberg’s lifeless form, sobbing and going silent at intervals, whispering an old nickname occasionally as if to reassure the now deceased rather than himself. “Kou.” He repeated in a soft, hopeful tone. Augustine checked the pulse in everywhere he could every few minutes or so, as if his efforts would bring his King back.
It seemed like hours before he gave up, sat back and let his head slump down. His long black hair was tangled from the battle he stepped through earlier, now matted by the unstoppable barrage of heartbroken tears.
***********
The funeral was short, somber and nothing fancy, just the way the Original King Derric von Spitzberg would have wanted it. The late King’s Great Sage was dressed today in a colour that didn’t suit him at all - a cloaking of white, a symbol of mourning, a harsh, brutal sign of grief. He walked slowly towards the coffin, each step with great difficulty to the point where the guards would throw down their spears and rush to his side to aide him, only to be waved away by the hand of a man in solitary sorrow. He walked on, and the orchestra continued to sing their familiar sad song.
Characters: ShinouxDaikenja, as usual. I used the names notjealous and I came up with 'cause they're corny and I love em.
Word Count: 484
Rating: PG
Summary: "You'll be mine, forever love, watching me from up above..."
It was not a music he hadn’t heard before. After all, it’s what a warrior knows best. The Shin Makoku funeral march rang through their ears every time a battle occurred, and dutifully, mournfully, tears were shed each time. Each and every man knew what it was like to lose a friend on the field, and the country’s Great Sage was no different.
***********
Augustine of Kent threw down his bloodied sword and stared with empty eyes down at his feet. He couldn’t bring himself to lift his gaze to check if he was really - he couldn’t even think those words without - “Derric.” He spoke firmly, as if he was walking a disobedient child up early in the morning. One that simply wouldn’t get out of bed.
He lacked the orientation to notice that the fight was over and that the other soldiers had started to crowd around him and the lifeless figure at his feet. “Sir.” They started, in hopes that he’d even hear them, “We should -“ One by one fell silent as they realized who lay on the ground. One by one they drew in sharp breaths and shed silent tears as the sun sunk into the bloodstained earth.
But Augustine was the only one who didn’t weep. He was angry, was shocked, too disillusioned by his dreams, his feelings to accept the harsh reality that was cloaking his eyes. His only thoughts were those of regret and lament, of how his beloved needed not to take up arms today, that the war was over and his job was to sit at a desk and - and then the tears came all at once.
He kneeled, hunching over Derric von Spitzberg’s lifeless form, sobbing and going silent at intervals, whispering an old nickname occasionally as if to reassure the now deceased rather than himself. “Kou.” He repeated in a soft, hopeful tone. Augustine checked the pulse in everywhere he could every few minutes or so, as if his efforts would bring his King back.
It seemed like hours before he gave up, sat back and let his head slump down. His long black hair was tangled from the battle he stepped through earlier, now matted by the unstoppable barrage of heartbroken tears.
***********
The funeral was short, somber and nothing fancy, just the way the Original King Derric von Spitzberg would have wanted it. The late King’s Great Sage was dressed today in a colour that didn’t suit him at all - a cloaking of white, a symbol of mourning, a harsh, brutal sign of grief. He walked slowly towards the coffin, each step with great difficulty to the point where the guards would throw down their spears and rush to his side to aide him, only to be waved away by the hand of a man in solitary sorrow. He walked on, and the orchestra continued to sing their familiar sad song.