currently recovering
from a hiatus.
“Sire please..”
“Your royal Highness please listen to us.”
“King Valemon we must—”
Charged with incredible power he slammed his fist into the thick and large oak table, interrupting his advisors. “We must not such a thing!” He growled out over the assemble of people around the long table. Quickly he rose to his feet, placing both hands on the table. “Are we mere cowards whom will give in to any threat that is posed to us?”, he began and watched as his advisors began to avoid his look. “Are we not the royal kingdom of Ultima Thule, the country home to the six month nights?”
His questions were direct, demanding to be answered. King Valemon was not a man to be taken lightly. He had fend of attackers before and come out victorious each time, a King worthy of his crown. “..However sire—” one of them began with a meek voice. “Even Aslan has ordered every fable out of the Homelands, we must heed to his advice it is no—” Though by the harsh look of his King the advisor stopped mid-sentence and dropped his gaze again. “I am not abandoning my people.” Saying his final words he left the room, his step echoing against the marble walls of his castle.
But a King in such dire situations are seldom left alone for long, and after a few minutes one of his trusted subjects came running towards him. “Your Highness.”, he called from across the hall and bowed. “Your Highness we have prepared the carriage for the Queen and the Princesses.” Askeladden spoke with the outmost care, and watched as his King’s eyes grew sad at the thought. But for King Valemon, it was necessary to ensure him they would still be alive at the end of the war. “..Good work Askeladden, I’ll go right away.”
He left the blonde man behind and as the dark sky outside came to view in the windows he exited out to where the carriage stood. As on que his Queen came out followed shortly by his three little girls. “Far! Far!” Upon spotting him they ran to him all three and he squatted down to embrace them all three. Nothing was said as long as the hug lasted. “Father, are you not coming along?” the oldest of the three questioned. Solemnly he shook his head. “I fear not my precious. I need to stay here.” The three girls soundly voiced their objections, King Valemon allowing them to do so freely. However as their mother, the Queen, shushed them they stayed silent. He rose to his feet and watched as she spoke to them in that warm voice that she had always possessed. “Your father is not yours only my dearest girls. He’s the entire Kingdom’s father, and he must protect it just as he protects us by doing this.” Her voice was like velvet, soft and smooth and he couldn’t help the smile that stretched out on his face. The three girls silently agreed to their mothers words and turned towards the carriage with a sad look on their face.
It broke his heart, it really did. But were they to have a chance at surviving this they needed to be far away from this madness. “My dear.”, her voice made him turn towards her, again smiling as he moved closer. Without hesitating he wrapped his arms around her frail form, holding her close. With a whisper she posed the question she had refrained from asking in front of the girls. “Must it be like this? Can’t you follow us instead.” Silently he shook his head and pulled back to look at her face. And as tears welled up in her beautiful eyes he lifted hand to cup her cheek. “I’m sorry.” He muttered and pulled her closer to leave a soft kiss tinged with sadness on her lips. “Stay alive and I will find you, if I don’t live past this start over. I love you.” Nodding she held onto his hand as long as she could before letting go and walking into the carriage.
And that was the last thing he said to his wife, his Queen and mother of his children, and the last he would see of her and their children for decades to come.
A tradition of memory and hopes to help the fables make it through another year. A tradition fuelled by perhaps the things Won Bin had the least of. Memories of the past were his curse, and with such tremendous power they held, always prevailed against any type of hope he might have for the next year and all those to come.
Sitting sideways in his window sill he glanced up at the dark night sky, the only light being the cigarette between his lips. There was barely any wind, only the faint rustle in his disheveled hair exposed it’s presence. He reached for the bottle of whisky, taking a long swig of it, before even daring to look over at the lanterns. With a distinct sound he placed the bottle against the wooden floor and stood up.
Red, wishes and hopes for the next year to come. What wishes had the exiled King even, or did he have none at all? The latter was the only thing that made sense to his mind. No wishes for anything that would never happen regardless how much he wished. Because as much as the white-bear ignores his own heart, he wishes to find back to the great man he once was. He longs for his country, his people, his children and his long lost love. But those are not wishes that will come true, and to the broken soul of the King of Ultima Thule, he dares not even utter them let alone think it. Thus, the red has no inscription on its sides. He lights it, the red light illuminating the area around him, he lifts a hand out the window and let’s it fly away.
White, regrets about the year that has been. And not just one flimsy year covers his memories in regret. It’s the decades of living in a mundane world that has etched more, and more regret into his flesh. Regret that has taken up his very being into the core of himself. White would have to be the toughest to send, to spend time on, for the fable. He stood before the window with the lantern in his hands, staring at it. The light reflected onto his face, and oh how grim he looked. It was due to these things his memories flooded his mind. His Queen and his children, whom had not been seen since the homelands.
"Hvorhen De måtte være mine nydeligste små, og deg min aller kjæreste dronning.."
His voice is barely above a whisper as the words of his mother tongue escaped and it catches himself by surprise. How many years had he gone by without even uttering a word of it and now here suddenly, while even calling for the ones he loved in the past, they come without him being able to control it. Unconsciously his grip on the lantern tightens. Without any further sound or remembrance he sends it blank up into the sky, harshly closing the window he grabs the whisky bottle off the floor. The dark haired man collapses against the couch, frightened by his own words and action. Lifting the bottle up his lips, he drinks, drinks and drinks again.
Won Bin had one thing he needed to survive, and that was the knowledge that what once was must never be and never will.
