War of the Ocean

Three Red Roses

Three red roses lay on top of the black coffin. The red was bright against the painted darkness of the wooden box, the life amongst all the death. Six guards in black held the silver handles of the coffin, hand in hand with death. Or at least, holding the hand of the carrier of the dead. 

Each rose was a symbol. Red, the colour of blood. Thorns, sharp like the object which had taken the life. Beautiful, just as she had been. Three, the number of those who were responsible of the death. How he hated those three.

He stood by the hole in the ground that they had dug to hold the coffin. The sandy-haired man next to the hole that represented the hell beneath the ground, the one waiting to swallow the coffin and the dead man inside it. Before him lay a sea of black, the colour of the mourning. The entire kingdom was in mourning, crystal tears falling down their faces for the one they had lost. The dead man hadn't just been his loss, it had been everyone's.

Closer and closer the guards with the coffin drew, heads held high while their hearts swelled with pride. They had been the lucky ones chosen to take their fallen prince to his grave. They had also been the ones who had been with him the night, the ones which should have saved him from this fate. 

How he hated those six, twice the number of the three on top of the coffin which he hated twice more than the six. They should have stopped his brother's mad rush to rescued the woman he loved. If anyone could even call her a woman. 

She had been a woman once, or at least disguised as one. But those long, pale legs had secretly been a tail of silver and though those sapphire eyes and golden hair remained the same, she was a fish. Her deceptive ways had lead to this, she was the first one at fault, the one he mostly blamed.

After her, he blamed her brother: the so called King of the Sea. He was dead now too, or at least that was what he had been told. Still, he would blame the dead fish for his problems too, to spread his rage out over three rather than two. 

Finally, there was the third rose, the one who he had always hated anyway. Himself. 

Such self-loathe should have killed him and it nearly had several times. And yet, that intoxicating poison always managed to stop just before it reached his bitter heart and took him. But why did he blame himself? Because he had known what his brother was doing when he went down to the docks that morning, had known and yet had never stopped him. Why hadn't he stopped him?

Regret mixed through his blood, joining the despair and anguish of losing his brother. He was vaguely aware that he was clenching his fists, stubby fingernails digging into the flesh of his palms. He kept his eyes on that third rose on the coffin, silently cursing himself. Yes, that witch and her brother might be at fault here, but so was he. Perhaps he was even more at fault than they. Perhaps he had been the one thing alive that could have prevented this path, the one with all the power but also the one that had chosen wrong. It was all his fault.

He could hate Arelena and the King of the Sea, he could blame them for all the trouble they'd caused. But deep down, he was now realising that he was the one most at fault. Out of the three roses, he truly hated himself more, blamed himself more.

These thoughts raced around inside his head while his eyes watched them position the coffin over the grave and begin to lower it inside. He watched as it touched the bottom, feeling the hatred in his veins. He waited as one by one, the sea of black began to vanish and each individual wave drifted away. He waited until he was the last one left.

Two men who had been invisible to all others stood to one side on the hole, eyeing him nervously before picking up shovels. With each scoop they took from the pile of earth beside the grave, dirt showered down over the coffin. Each time the ghostly men sprinkled the dirt down into the hole, the more the coffin was covered until at last, there was nothing left. The ghosts left but he remained.

He stared down at the fresh earth as though his eyes could burn holes through it down to his brother's coffin. He did not move as he silently bid his brother a final goodbye, silently begging him for forgiveness for everything he'd done, everything he'd said. He shouldn't have had to, he knew his brother would forgive him anyway because that was just who he was. But he did it anyway.

Goodbye Kaiser, my dear brother.

And then he looked up, turning on his heel. Then, Reidan walked away from his brother's grave.

This was very... interesting to write. And sad. Very, very sad. Rest in peace, Kaiser my baby. Maybe we'll see him again someday...