And so there he stood

[garentoft 8354]

Spoiler

 

 

AND SO THERE HE STOOD

 

 

---

 

Georg’s limping steps echoed through the crypts.

 

First, it was Valdemar. The two of them had practically been inseparable as children, always engaged in one activity or another, and that had been a theme of their early lives. As Georg walked along the flagstone corridor lit by the flickering torches on the walls, he remembered that he had no closer confidante as a young Grand Prince than Valdemar. It had been their wish - no, it had been more; it had been their plan - to rule the Kingdom together, side by side as King and Palatine. 

 

Just him and Valdemar, leading together. A brother he could lean on; a sword always at his side, and a hand that would always lift him to his feet when he stumbled. Together. 

 

But it didn’t last.

 

Valdemar left, full of talk about taking to the seas, charting undiscovered lands, and going on endless adventures. Valdemar was lucky, Georg thought bitterly as he stomped down the old, dust-swept flagstones, deeper and deeper into the crypt. He took the chance to escape when it came. I was too dumb to see it. 

 

And so there Georg stood, abandoned. 

 

Then, it was Esfir. He had seen a lot of Valdemar in her, with that same adventurous, free spirit, and so they had grown closer with age. They travelled together, crossing Almaris while his father reigned as King and took care of all the things Georg thought were just a distant prospect. They had experienced so many cultures, seen so many places, met so many people. Esfir had given up her birthright as a Kortrevich for him, and - though he would never have admitted it while his father lived - he would have done the same for her.

 

He had never seen a happier couple than he and Esfir. If this was what being King felt like, he had told himself, then Georg would relish every moment with Esfir as his queen. He could always count on her hand to draw strength from, on her shoulder to cry on when he did not need to be a King. 

 

But it didn’t last.

 

Esfir grew sick, and she travelled to doctors across the land soon after Georg took the throne with no queen’s hand to hold. Whenever Esfir was in Karosgrad, she isolated herself away, whether in her bed or some secluded part of the Palace, as if she couldn’t stand to be around people -- as if she couldn’t stand to be around him. As Georg stepped into the innermost chamber of the crips, he narrowed his eyes into a glare as he felt warm tears trickle down his cheek. Her hand had never felt the same, right up until the day she died.

 

And so there Georg stood, abandoned. 

 

Then, it was Mariya. Earlier that very day, Georg had stood beneath a gentle summer rain outside the Morrivi Prikaz. He gripped his cane as he waited, and he tried his hardest to prop himself up, to stand tall and proper for his daughter. He had held her letters in his other hand, the ink dripping and running in the rain as the paper slowly sagged in his fist. As he waited, and waited, and waited, he welcomed the churning pain in his stomach like an old friend - it was the same pain that had haunted him when Valdemar left, and when Esfir had withered. 

 

He knew the feeling better than anything - better than anyone else. It was the feeling that came when he knew he had seen a loved one for the last time. 

 

His daughter never came.

 

Georg found himself inhaling sharply through his nose as he stopped in the final lamplit chamber. The stony, stern visages carved into the tombs met his tear-blurred glare - King Karl the Lion, his father, and King Sigismund the Golden, his grandfather. “She never came,” he told their motionless faces. His voice quivered; his hand shook. With a resounding clatter, he let the cane fall to the floor, and he fell to his knees soon after. 

 

The memory of Ser Vanhart, returned from his confrontation with his daughter, and the simple shake of his head. That shake of his head had hurt Georg more than a thousand swords ever could. It hurt more than anything.

 

He slammed his fist into flagstones, and that pain was nothing to the turmoil he felt inside. His daughter - his firstborn - had been the last memory he had of Esfir before she had grown sick, before she had become lost to him, and in turn that meant Mariya was the last vestige of Valdemar. His daughter, her smile, the gleam in her eyes, and her spirit … Seeing all that, Georg could have made peace with everything he had lost before, and everything he would lose since. 

 

But now she herself was lost. She had left him, left her home and her people, to give her blood to those who wished to see Georg dead and his Kingdom set aflame. His vision swam, and Georg raised his head to stare at the stoney faces of his father and grandfather once more. She had left - gone to the same people who had clashed in a mortal coil against his forefathers. 

 

“Is this what being King is?” he whispered to the stone. “To be abandoned and fight until we’re broken and spent? Is … is that all it is?” 

 

He loved his daughter - he loved Mariya. 

But it didn’t last.

 

And so there Georg stood, abandoned.

[Xarkly 12776]

 

Spoiler

 

 

As Georg wept, his grandfather's stone statue watched.

 

Wherever the soul of King Sigismund III now dwelled did not matter. As Georg's tears dripped against the stone, as his sobs echoed through the lonely crypt, Sigismund knew that was the moment that Georg realised the truth -- the weight of the Crown was not meeting your people's expectations, nor slaying one's enemies, nor shouldering the weight of justice.

 

The true weight of the Crown was the loss that one had to endure. The role of King was the loneliest in the world.

 

Sigismund looked down on his weeping grandson. He knelt, and his arms phased through King Georg as he embraced him.

 

 

[sarahbarah 5030]

Spoiler

 

 

A fledgling Lady Colborn stood aside, dreary and saddened as the rain drenched her blood-soaked clothes, once more dirtied from another day of work in the clinic. Thoughtfully, she pondered on her childhood, on the interactions she had with the Princess in her youth - how troubled they both were, how they were one and the same. Motherless, troubled youth.

 

"Could I have made her stay? Could I have convinced her otherwise?"

 

And so there she stood, laden with regret, for what could have been.

[MissToni 3487]

A woman gazed at her distant relative. She watched her nephew embrace King Georg, sharing a knowing feeling of the burden of the crown. Though Katerina herself had never carried, she had seen many Kings succumb to its weight. The loneliness that often came with it. Sometimes even turning men mad. It did her brother after all, and it drove her father into an early grave. 

 

All she could do was plant a kiss upon Georg's forehead, hoping it might give him some peace.

 

"Soon, my dear Georgie, vy shall niet be alone. But niet yet, the living still needs vy."

[crazedpudding 2139]

Klara Elizaveta watched. Tormented had been her father, tormented had been her brother, and now, she witnessed a third King tormented. Often had she prayed for their peace, for their happiness, but alas. Heartbreak wore the Crown as well as the Kings themselves did. Standing behind her father as he embraced the grandson he never got to meet, Klara hummed softly beneath her breath in the absence of a harp to play.

 

Josefina Barclay had sat to write a letter. A letter that would never be sent. Do you know, Esfir? Do you know how much sorrow you left behind? How much your presence could have consoled them? Do you know?

[Seuss 491]

The defeated Colborn stared over the balcony of the palace. A few hours have passed since he and Ser Vanhart ended their brief talk. He stared out over the square where he could see the bustling people of Haense calling out for the traitor and urging to hunt her down. His monotone expression lacked any emotion as his chin raised, slowly looking up towards the bright blue sky.
 

His hands laid flat on the half wall in front of him, and the gentle breeze of the north pushed the blonde curls to the side of his face, opening up his eyes to the chilling air. He did not blink, because his eyes began welling up and he knew if he blinked he would not be able to stop himself. He wished his childhood friend would just listen to him. Had she listened, he would not be standing outside in the open air fighting to hold back his costly emotions. 

 

But she did not listen - and so he blamed himself for not convincing her harder. The cold wind should have dried out his eyes, but as they watered up it only caused discomfort. His hands that were once laid out flat began to ball up into tight fists. His lower lip quivered for a moment - so he bit down to stop it. He tried to hold back, and he tried to save face.

 

And then he blinked. And then he cried.
 

[Phoebe202 639]

"Non, Oncle... I could never leave Haense. Not even to be Governess." Laetitia remarked upon a visit to Balian; whereupon her uncle, upon other things, suggested she should transfer her work to the Monterosa Court. Her mind raced as she spoke, as she desperately thought up an explanation that did not make herself sound like a lovesick fool -- She had given up on that, after all! -- "Haense is where I went after everything fell down around me in Petra; it's where I rebuilt my life. I know it must sound silly to you... but it holds a special place in my heart because of that." She answered earnestly, her gaze shifting to the tree that had been named after her mere moments prior. What she did not say, though she thought it, was "Georg is the only friend of mine from that period of my life who did not leave or betray me... how could I ever hurt him like that? Especially when he probably needs me most?"

She bid her uncle adieu after that, thanking him a.. third? fourth? time for his help regarding a personal matter. "I have to return home, I haven't done my taxes yet." Was offered as the excuse for her abrupt departure -- the fact of the matter being that such was true was irrelevant, as Laetitia suspected that if there was any time she was needed most in Karosgrad, it was then; and by the side of her oldest friend.

 

Spoiler

paraphrasing from the actual conversation but yeah

 

[ibiou 1593]

A king and a baroness stood overlooking the skyline of Karosgrad, the roaring city below them. Alyona Godunov was no stranger to Georg's company these past few years, yet no matter how hard she tried in the moment, she could not bring herself to speak on what happened. Instead, she stayed by his side where her company (she hoped) could be needed the most; a smile, genuine despite its sheepishness. 

A man who raised her, a liege she swore fealty to, a mentor she aspired to be - oh, it ached her heart to see him this way. It ached her heart to see everyone affected by the mess of the Adrian plague, the way it plighted the brains of those who sought it out in mere curiousity. There was no loyalty to be seen nowadays, and it angered- no, it enraged Alyona to the core. There was no understanding to her, the treason one to could commit. It was one thing to go against the Crown... yet her own father? Her brothers? They had given Mariya everything, yet it would of never be enough. There was a whole encore who had supported the Barrow; even Alyona herself had declared it so the last time they had spoken. There was no reason to Alyona why or what brought her to this now.

A king and a baroness stood overlooking the skyline of Karosgrad, the roaring city below them. Too many memories, they both had said about the square, and many more were to come in the following moments. So many thoughts running through her mind, and one thing was for certain: the Godunov would stay by King Georg's side, now until the end. Only then would she see loyalty.