The news of the King’s death has reached the city long before we did.

We hear the waling and morning before we reach the gated.

The main road is lined with people who will not believe the news unless they see it with their own eyes.

When they catch sight of the King’s body, their grief overtakes them.

Many lay their faces to the ground wailing and weeping.

The mourning is also great among the army that follows us.

The King’s body is carried up the stone steps to the palace doors

That swing open as the funeral procession approaches.

Before the doors would have opened on to a throne room

of light, warmth, knowledge and peace.

The high arched windows would have allowed light to stream down the walls that were covered in tapestries with ornately carved figures set about the rare-marble throne.

If you were to approach the throne you would have had to walk over an intricately designed creation of various woods and stones that had been crafted by the greatest of woodworkers and stonemasons in the region.

Everything from the design on the floor to the carved wood and sculpted marble and stone would have drawn you to the King’s eyes.

He was the pentacle, the source and the reason for that place’s beauty and glory.

But today those doors open to a somber sight, this day heavy tapestries cover the windows that would have illuminated a glorious room.

If you had not seen the King’s throne room before, you would not now be able to appreciate its beauty that has no equal.

The room is lit by candles and the King’s throne has been replaced by a marble slab

That his body is laid upon so that all can view him.

His body is placed on a white cloth; he is still in his battle armor.

At dusk all the people in the city come and mourn at the palace doors.

The throne room is overflowing with mourners

Spilling down the stairs and into the courtyard.

Tonight all the warriors remain in the throne room,

Their grief will not allow them to return to their homes.

It may seem strange, this loyalty and grief,

But the coming of this King had changed every life in our city.

He had rescued us from disease with knowledge.

He silenced our fears with peace and ruled with perfect justice.

He had been a King of great renown and was known to the far reaches of the earth.

Tales of him where told by all who travel to and from our city and the grief over his death spread also.

I remain here day and night,

On the third evening there are still 40 of us lingering.

Tonight I sleep right next to where my King’s body lay.

As I lay drowsing, I try to recall the sound of his voice.

I find myself in a dream-like state still trying to hear him.

I thought I could hear him say,

“Come to me, come to me.”

It is so real. I feel someone touch my cheek.

I open my eyes to see my King kneeling down beside me.

“Is it really you?”

I whisper as tears filled my eyes.

“It is I. There is no more need for tears and sorrow. Come with me.”

He takes my hand and leads me to a balcony that overlooks the city.

The light of the morning grows brighter.

As we stand in silence a question burns within me,

But I cannot bring myself to ask it.

He turns to me, “Do not fear, ask!”

I respond in obedience, “Why did you save me?”

He looks deep within my eyes as tears well up in his and he speaks softly,

“Because I can’t live without you.”

There was a great celebration of the return of our King.

Shouts rose up from the people

“He is our Victorious, Warrior-King”

But to me he will always be

“My Savior, Warrior-King.” 

From that day forward I lived in the palace.

The King and I took many walks together and he spoke with me often,

But those words he spoke to me so many mornings ago rang in my ears,

for the rest of my life,

 much louder than the day they where spoken.

“Because I can’t live without you.”