Snippet #1069336

No music would ring from Phaileru's Zuvja today, even now he stood, facing the wall of the hall, too struck with the moment to look at anyone. Amalric hadn't even had a swan song, he died so uneventfully here, how could a man of such greatness be simply taken.

The Prince's mind didn't immediately jump to succession, to the fate of Az Ndal or his own standing, quicker it brought him to his own mortality. Death feared nothing, and believed in no one culture. Every noble, every peasant, every slave would fall under the sweet embrace.

He had the strength to turn towards the deathbed, he hardly cared if an heir became apparent. How could anyone but the Lion properly maintain such a vast empire, stretching across all the Earth? Soon advisers would come like vultures on whatever diplomatic babe would be given such a burden. The Lion was not perfect, perhaps he favored some over others, but always his actions seemed properly tempered with a greater purpose.

In the snuffing out of a single light, the entire world was forced to grow up. To think Phaileru had come to court one Crisiana, and hardly thought of maidens now.

The Seygas style clothing was tight and restricting, not unlike the society, and reeked of formality and feigned politeness, whatever aromas Phaileru thought appropriate were all drowned out by the solemness of the occasion. The very air seemed numb.

The poor Sister, her grief was tangible. What place did she have here now? Who was to say the fate of anyone now? Already it seemed the world's greatest empire was doomed, and it was all too clear that if the Lion's life was not succinctly replaced, blood would run across the entire continent. Most disturbing to Phaileru was that already the effect was wearing off, already he felt his heart lighten, it was simply in his nature. Life must go on, but he felt horrible recovering in a room so thick with angst and sorrow.

And it was not in human nature to let the dead rest, nor power hanging unconsummated in the air.