Winter Affliction

Part 38

Glory can be found in mediocrity.

It was a sentiment that Alver Crossman still disagreed with his father fiercely over. Although his own definition of greatness had shifted over the years and his ideals for the kingdom had changed, he felt that there was no need to remain mediocre. It was a cornerstone of Alver's personality that he was ambitious.

The weather in the capital was generally warm all year round, a mild chill in the winter and a mild heat in the summer, a gentle climate to live in and a good place to grow ambitious. Torturous winters of frostbite or seering summers that burnt away flesh were hardly magnificent environments for building aspirations of greatness. Although, Alver was certainly the type of person who would have grown ambitious even in extreme weather conditions.

Although it was certainly the turbulent weather of his life until now that had caused him to become cautious. At nine years old, Alver really might have considered growing the economy through war or other needlessly violent methods of asserting glory. It wasn't that he was a violent person, he simply didn't have a firm grasp on what that meant when he was younger.

At ten years old, Alver learned what death truly meant and what it meant to be alone in the world. His mother didn't have a magnificent funeral worthy of a queen, or even one deserving of a royal concubine; through apathy and politics, Alver's mother hadn't really had a proper funeral at all. She had been buried and Alver was there to witness it and that was about all that could be said about the affair. It was probably out of childishness that he originally came up with the idea of properly memorializing her.

A small child standing at his mothers graveside, unable to even visit her looking like her son. Wearing the heavy necklace that ensured that he looked like his fathers son, to protect him and to give him a future inside of the Rowoon Kingdom. It was an indignity that he was never able to quite describe.

In that lonely feeling, Alver had one meager but ambitious wish to give his mothers memory glory. To make the entire kingdom treasure her the way that he had. For that precious existence to be admired as a mother of their kingdom.

To do that, he would need to become king and so, Alver made up his mind to make it happen. No matter what got in his way and no matter how hard he would need to struggle.

He would never have imagined that one of the hindrances to overcome would become such a dear person. Someone who saved him from feeling alone, in a million small ways and stayed by his side in a rather big way.

Cale Henituse gently brushed a stray hair from Alver's cheek and allowed his hand to linger there, Cale's reddish-brown eyes full of warmth and love. "Today's the day, huh?" Cale asked, his voice heavy with sleepiness and it wasn't a real question but Alver appreciated the invitation to talk about it.

Nuzzling against Cale's hand and inhaling his scent, Alver closed his eyes and felt the warmth of this precious person.

How had he ever thought he could live without this warmth?

"Yeah." Alver said. He meant to say more but his throat felt tight all of a sudden and mortifyingly he realized that he really might cry. Cale's thumb caressed his cheek as though to let him know it would be okay to do so.

It took him seventeen years since that day standing at her graveside. Seventeen years of strife, grief, pain, politics, and determination but today the entire kingdom would memorialize his mother. On the anniversary of her death, when the spring warmth chased away the winter chill, the king's mother would be properly grieved.

Alver was aware that for most of the citizens this would merely become a holiday among many. Just the workings of the royal family making a big deal of random days of the year that happened to have a personal connection to them as individuals. But they would remember her on this holiday, if only a little bit, if only in name alone, and that mattered him.