[i]I was a young man when I first met the Naerzo Vyalviur, both kings of a sort, both young in a way. The difference, however, was that I was terrified, and he, he was serene and placid. Like a statue. He was 77 then, though didn't look a day over 30, which is a funny thing about elves. He grew to be the same age as my father when he died, Got bless his soul, but looks not much older than myself. I remember the way he looked down at me from atop his throne, in his robes and finery. Heh… I felt naked standing there among his court, in my navy officer uniform. I had inaugurated the first ship for the Coast Guard, not a month earlier, so it felt fitting I wore it to greet the emperor.[/i] 

The needle jumped out of its groove and scratched about the surface of the record, much to the annoyance of everyone listening. Villim, sat in the chez-lounge beside his aged mother, gave the machine an irked expression, gesturing to a maid in the corner. 

“Beatrix, if you could please replace the needle on that infernal machine, I would forever be in your gratitude.” The whole family had come together, to be with father for his last days. Everyone knew the time was near, and for some, it was a blessing, the whole nation was in an apprehensive silence. And for once, Villim’s deaf brother Maethias wasn't missing out on anything. In the corner of the windowed study, sat closest to the bay, the oldest prince watched his wife sign to him what was going on. Villim had told him they would be listening to records, but the requirement of hearing didn't seem to dissuade him. From nearby their sister Kara caught Maethias’ attention, signing something that made him grin. 

The queen mother closed her eyes and released a long sigh, listening as the servant’s footfalls approached them and then draw away towards the phonograph. She was five when Vulfram went to meet the Elven King, no one then would have ever guessed she would be queen back then. She opened her eyes, the room tinted with nostalgia, and made a noise between a sob and a laugh. 

“Damein should be here.” She said, looking at the tall doors at the end of the study, as if he was going to step through them at any moment. Damein, the eldest brother, would have turned 35 a few months prior, had he not died at 16 due to complications surrounding his sickliness. Which later would be classified as polio. Maethias, who sat facing his mother, frowned having read her lips. He was old enough to remember what kind of person Damein was like, Kara, of course, remembered him, but did not see much of him. A mistake she would not make with her remaining brothers, whom she spent much of the year bouncing between. Villim took his mother’s hand and kissed it, holding it to his chest as he watched the darkly dressed maid replace the needle. She wore a floral hairpin however, as if she were a testament to the old saying ‘You can't bleach a Falla.’

[i]“You must forgive me for not being present to witness the Cerulean being put to the water.” he said in perfect Fallian, though the fact he knew the name of the ship was far more surprising. They told me to wait for the Emperor to speak first, I did not expect this to be his first words. Hehe.. “You were busy kinging,” I replied idiotically, not sure how it came to me or why I had said it. But, to answer your question.. Yes, I do believe we got along rather well..[/i]

As he grew older, King Vulfram took it upon himself to chronical his life, with the aid of a young sound specialist who over time became the king’s de facto biographer. Sylus Girdbeck would remain a close friend to the king and eventually the family, and wept quietly to himself from his chair by the door as the memoir played. Despite the state of war between the two princes, The Elven King was given a ceremonious funeral, one that (despite the human hostility about Ylleria) Vulfram had to attend. Ecruir, though cold, respected the ageing king’s desire to be close to the head of the procession, to see his friend of many decades off into the next life. Despite the fact that Naerzo believed in no such thing, Vulfram hoped the emperor would be there for him when it was his turn to arrive. 

The day had lapsed into night, the moon was a sliver in the sky, and the ambient light of the stars illuminated the forests and meadows that surrounded the Zaelandt Estate, the private seasonal, residence of King Vulfram. The Queen had excused herself long before, accompanied by Girdbeck, Maethias and his wife, leaving only Kara and Villim, and a pair of guards by the door. 

[i]There is not a day that goes by that I do not think of Damein…[/i]

The pair sat silently, as the needle went around the record, occasionally popping and hissing. They looked down into their drinks, a wine and a gin-tonic respectively, the mood was indeed a sombre one, as news came from their father’s bedchamber regarding his deteriorating health. They’d look up at each other when they heard footsteps on the floorboards above, and Villim checked his watch constantly as if the train was late. 

“10 Lire he won’t last the night.” Kara said finally, breaking the silence, making the tasteless joke to cut the tension in the air. Villim snorted, followed by a mirthless chuckle, rummaging through his trouser pocket sarcastically before sitting up in his seats. He would have taken that bet, had he carried cash on him. 

“I don’t think father would appreciate us gambling under his nose.” Looking over at his sister, a thought flitted through his mind. Maethias was meant to be king, after Damein perished he was set to inherit the throne from their incumbent father, but as he grew older he realised it would not have been in the country’s best interests if a deaf man inherited. His sister, his elder by 2 years, couldn't inherent on account of being a woman, however unfair the law was it had not been changed. That left Villim, and the stress had certainly gotten to him as his father’s health deteriorated. More and more of his time was demanded by preparatory lessons, military academies, observing parliament, and other activities, despite all this he wasn't sure whether he was going to be ready or not. 

But time waited for no man. 

From upstairs, through the floorboards, a wail cried through the house and the pair dropped their eyes somberly. Villim rose, looked up and took a long draught from his drink, raising his glass to the ceiling. 

“Dear Lord-Father, Who art king in the heavens and on the earth, Deliver us your blessings and deliver us from your wrath, And keep us in your good company, For this time and all times.” He proclaimed, before placing his glass down and taking a shaky breath. “Son of a bitch I think I'm going to have a heart attack.” He muttered under his breath as he headed for the doors, the gleaming guards pulling them open as he passed through. 

‘Long live the King.’ Kara thought, biting back her tears as she contemplated her wine. 

The headlines and records the next day echoed across a silent, sobered nation. From Zaelandt, on the Fallian border, all along the great tracks towards the capital, Mantz, in the north, people congregated to bid farewell to the Old King in his procession. The iron locomotive ripped across the landscape, Villim accompanying the body of his late father, cold under the layers of his uniform and regalia. Despite the noise of the steam engine and the grating of wheels against tracks, silence prevailed for the king-to-be. And it seemed for the time being that he understood the oblivion that his brother Maethias lived in. 

In a cabin just ahead of the hearse, windows let the fleeting horizon peek at the pensive Prince. Pen in hand, he scribbled on a sheet of official stationery, fountain nib scrawling out his cursive thoughts. “To whom it may concern..” Villim mumbled, before shaking his head and crossing it out. “To all whom it concerns..” Two things really brought people together, enemies or otherwise, a wedding and a funeral. And his first official act as regent, before his ascension to the throne, was to assemble all those men and women of power and renown to watch his father be sent away. 

He may have struggled with wording the invitation, but he did not struggle to recognize to whom his father’s death concerned. An invitation to a funeral was always signed, sealed and delivered from one state to another, and who the recipient state would send to represent itself was wholly up to itself. Except for that one time. There were two people he wanted to be there, to be within spitting distance of one another. As such, Villim would not pen a letter to Yllendyr, instead he wrote two, inviting the pugilist princes both to the funeral. 

Villim looked over his shoulder, at the door that lead to the hearse, where a flag draped coffin sat silently and in the dark. His father had met Olarth and Ecruir both, multiple times over many decades. They were the same age when they first met, despite them looking like children, but so was the curse of the elf. Villim hoped the death of someone close to their father could bring them close enough to have a dialogue. 

“Someone has to sort out this mess.” He mumbled before binning the piece of paper. 

[hider=To the Princes]
To you, the most Regal Prince in Ylleria,

 On behalf of the Union of Zeeborg and Fallia, a writ is sent. For by now the sad news of King Vulfram of House Wittykr-Marla’s passing must have reached you and your most esteemed court. This writ hereby asks of the Prince a moment of his time, to contemplate the life of another, and to join the mourners in congregation at the Baziliq af Mantz. 

With respects and in the highest regard,

Heir-Apparent Villim of House Wittykr-Marla

___________________________________

To you, the most Serene Prince in Altairis,

On behalf of all the peoples of Zeeborg-Fallia, I do write to inform the passing of his Highness King Vulfram of House Wittykr-Marla. And as nation, it would bring us great peace of mind if you could dedicate a day of your life to remember the legacy of another, at the Basilique du Mantz.

Faithfully,

Prince-Regent Villim of House Wittykr-Marla
[/hider]

[hider=Addressed to the other nations]
To all whom it concerns,

From one nation, to another. It is in this time, of great mourning, over the loss of HRH King Vulfram I, that the Union of Zeeborg-Fallia extends a warm hand of goodwill. And invites, any official who sees it fit and right to celebrate and remember the life of our dear sovereign, commencing the 3rd of this month, in the year 1905 of our lord, in the nave of the Basilica of Mantz.

Yours gratefully,

Prince Villim of House Wittykr-Marla
[/hider]