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From the heart of Sovena, a trip to and from the Mendez family’s garden required only an hour’s ride by horseback in total. All came to rest here, eventually, a tradition dating back well over a century. As his father told it, the family’s ancestral matriarch, Josefine, fell in ensuring Pilter’s ultimate defeat and expulsion on that hill. Sacrificing herself in a duel that claimed their enemy’s primary general. Her grave then transformed into a lush paradise by mourners, expanding ever outwards as years and her descendants passed.
That hour, however, stretched to maddening lengths with the entire city in tow. Bowed heads trailing behind an empty ornate casket for miles. A strong breeze from the sea brushed along their backs, carrying a cloying, overpowering scent with it. Every single damned flower in the procession hit Alexander at once, including his own.
For once in his life, Alexander shared in Diana’s irritation. Not that he dared to speak his mind or tell her. Not now.
From behind her black veil her eyes watered, red bloomed in blotchy patterns on her cheeks, and her nose required a handkerchief more often than not. Thankfully, all hidden from view of the thousands of onlookers and mourners by distance and fabric. Her reaction to both the plants that made springtime a misery and the grief that left Diana clutching her bouquet in a white knuckle grip, were vulnerabilities she’d likely rather die than make obvious to their subjects.
To anyone other than their family.
Bruise dark hyacinths and stark white lilies spoke to her loss. Standard offerings for the dead, held by his parents and a significant number of those in their wake. The city would have a deficit of funeral flowers for some time until next spring. Unfortunate for any less… consequential funerals. Daffodils scattered throughout Diana’s offering whispered apologies, paired with the amaryllis that swore never again.
For his part, Alexander held hyacinths too, paired with baby blue forget-me-nots. Felix’s preferred shade, their shared color once upon a time. Those paled in comparison to the deep violet and white-streaked orchids in the center of his bouquet. The focal point.
Only he, of anyone in the kingdom, could request such rare and sacred blooms be cut from the Brothers’ garden.
Their conspicuous presence turned his stomach, frankly. But they spoke to the public, lending credence to his mourning and the gravity of the event. Here today the hope of the twin princes bringing about Paphae and Caltho’s reunion died along with the heir. It required some pomp and circumstance.
Unfortunately.
Alexander would refrain from correcting any true believers when exactly the possibility of divine reconciliation truly ceased to be. No one wanted to believe that the princes’ bond died years earlier, least of all Felix. His ignorance Alexander’s personal hell, and eventually his downfall.
Still, the years they never strayed each other’s side never left Alexander. Taunting him with empty promises that he never should have taken at face value. Hard lessons learned, knowledge he would not soon forget. He hid the salvia sprigs among the hyacinth. If Diana or anyone at all noticed their presence, they failed to comment on it.
Just as well.
Time slowed further as the ceremony began. Pallbearers lowering a casket to its resting place and covering it in rich soil. Manuel planted his feelings first, a sapling that one day could bear the fruit his son never did.
Of course, the lost potential of an heir deserved such a rich metaphor, a moving tribute to make clear for generations to come how deeply this loss cut. A familiar question, bitter and foul, lingered on the tip of his tongue. Alexander bit it until he tasted iron instead.
Catalina stepped forward and Alexander’s gaze met the upturned soil at his feet. More iron, warm and fresh, flooded his mouth. Cold pain crept up his arms, the only true pain he experienced.
Perhaps for the best as he moved his hands to plant his dishonest tribute. The numbness in his heart shared by his fingers. Both did as they were required and nothing more. Besides, Arran required far more time to ensure his heart stayed buried here. Unsurprisingly, he’d brought a veritable garden to leave behind.
Alexander sighed.
The land looked lovely now, what was once barren dirt now burst with solemn beauty. Autumn held back its usual storms and allowed for the funeral, even deigning to veil the sun in sympathy.
Warm arms encircled him without warning, his flinch involuntary and unsuppressed. His mother’s embrace shook with her shoulders, her face buried in his coat, muffling her cries.
“My son- gods don’t leave me too- please-”
His hands twitched, fiery agony shooting up his arms as he brought them around to hold Catalina Mendez, one rested on the back of her head, the other ghosted along her spine. Unable to bring her any closer, nor hug her any tighter for fear of discovery.
Glass did not share the same softness as skin, even hidden behind layers of fabric.
Stories of other families, historical and not, who suffered the loss of a child surfaced to Alexander’s mind unbidden. Mothers driven mad by grief never to recover. Wounds that never healed and lead to further tragedy. His mother would not be one of them, she was strong- stronger than just about anyone he’d ever known.
Still, as she wailed for the son she believed to be lost to the briny depths, clinging to Alexander for comfort, reassurance- the resolve that drove him for years wavered. If only for a second.
She didn’t deserve this misery, this pain.
But on the same hand, did he?
It could not be undone either way, for differing reasons of course. Once a florist cut a stem, the flower’s fate to wither was set. To confess the truth after a lie stained a tongue forever. No amount of bargaining or pleading changed the outcome, nor did magic- at least from his experiments. It did leave the question of whether the shining material spiraling up his skin would be as irreparable.
Not that the outcome swayed Alexander either way.
Only one path remained after the dirt had settled. To the castle. To the throne. There was only moving forward from the past. One day, nothing of this day would matter, the balm of time easing the severity of his crime, of Felix’s memory.
If Alexander was not missed in Felix’s presence, Aveilia would find in time that it would not miss Felix either in his.
Zib almost purred in satisfaction, watching the fight leave the smaller prince as the spell took hold. Everything was falling into place perfectly. Zib spun his entranced betrothed to face his twin, who looked up at him in abject horror, tears streaming down his face. Zib leaned in closeto Zim, admiring the beautiful blue of his eyes. He could see how Dib fell for Zim now, he had an innocent air about him when he let his guard down. "Zim my dear, who do you belong to?"
A dull monotone responded, "To you, my King.". "Much better, don't you think?" Dib couldn't respond. There was nothing he could say.
@melodyofthevoid A scene from the Invader Zim Royalty AU, Fading Reflections
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