King Allard's demise

Life, Death

Allard never really fully recovered from his injuries sustained in the failed assassination attempt that killed the rest, or at least most of his family.
His son was still missing, most assumed him dead.
He did however wait until the seige of Pont was resolved, or at least, so it seemed.

Master scribe Altherton quietly entered the King’s quarters. The afternoon sun was streaming in through the open window coupled with a gentle spring breeze – he could smell the new blooms of various flowers floating on the wind. Making a show of clearing his throat as he approached the Royal bed, “I have news your majesty from Pont.”   Allard’s eyes opened at the word Pont and, after a few rapid blinks, clear eyed he turned to look to his scribe. King Allard nodded to his scribe to proceed.   “Several reports have come in confirming that Hadovean forces have been turned away from the walls of Pont in a surprise attack and the Hadovean army is in retreat spread through their own territories and the contested lands.” Altherton read to the King, an involuntary smile on his lips. He heard the sigh and looked to his King.   Allard leaned back into his pillows smiling himself. He nodded either agreement or approval, Altherton was unsure which and quietly spoke, “Good, very good, ensure that the defenders are all rewarded for their efforts, send healers for the wounded and please, arrange formal ceremonies to see off the dead….” His voice trailed off as did his gaze out the window.   Altherton acknowledged his orders with a brisk, “At once my King!” He turned on his heel and departed the Royal Chambers, noting first though, the look of contentment upon his King’s face.   Altherton immediately set to work with messages to Pont, riders to the Kingdom forces no doubt already making plans to journey back home after ensuring the ongoing security of Pont.   His work was time consuming; it was early evening before all his messages were assigned and sent forth. Altherton was going to visit the Halls of the Hallowed Light chapter here in Bannockthorpe as he was now well acquainted with Esereel Arndosh, the current chapter principal. He could rely on their friendship and mutual professional respect that she would manage what was required with assigning healers to the Pont mission. Esereel smiled upon his arrival, he felt red faced and was a bit puffed from the walk, mostly up hill, Esereel poured a glass of water from a pitcher and gently slid It across her desk,   “Come in old man, take a seat and drink before you pass out.” She jokingly mocked him, laughter in her voice. Altherton chuckled, “Damned big hill that” Neither of them was what could be described as ‘young’. “I’ve heard the news from Pont and half expected I’d see you soon.” She started whilst Altherton got comfortable, wiping his brow before sipping the cool water. He nodded. “I am not surprised your people were ahead of me, so, you know what I need then?” his turn to jokingly mock, a comfortable smile and another sip of water. “You’re beyond my skills old boy.” She cackled at him. A brief shared laugh and then it was all business.   Altherton explained what had been reported, there were sick and injured who would need healing. Esereel, to her credit, took note of what was required, made some suggestions based upon her extensive knowledge and experience and, between the two, they nutted out a good plan. During that time food was brought in and they shared the food and a small amount of wine. Once the plan was done, Esereel agreed to enact it patting the scholar’s arm reassuring him that he need not worry about Pont. With that, Altherton bid his farewells and made his way into the evening, it was now quite late.   They were waiting for him at his quarters when he arrived home, the walk to his quarters was a much easier one, he was not nearly so out of breath. The first thing that struck Altherton was what an absurdly odd couple these two made – he pondered that maybe it was because he did not see many pageboys, ever. Yet here he was confronted with a King’s own guard and a page boy, the latter looking pale. “You are hereby ordered to accompany me to the Royal apartments!” said the young man, his juvenile voice almost cracking mid-sentence not really conveying quite the same authority as the words would suggest. Altherton looked at the boy feeling somewhat bemused, he glanced to the guard and all mirth left his face. “What is going on?” He asked. “Come along with us sir, there’s a good fellow.” The soldier was clearly not here to discuss, explain or wait a particularly long while. Without another word, Altherton forgot about the slumber he was dearly looking forward to and followed along as he appeared to have been ordered to do. He smiled to himself, “at least this walk is downhill” this time he thought to himself with some joy.   Arriving at the Royal quarters he immediately became aware of a general air of consternation and uncertainty – most unusual he thought. He was quickly ushered inside the three-story building and lead immediately to formal offices on the ground floor to the left of the main entry way. Esereel was waiting for him in the office along with Allard’s healer and Lord Dareel Kornington, the primary of the high council – in effect, also the King’s own secretary. Esereel was red eyed, so Altherton approached her first and foremost, she took his hands in hers and whispered to him, “He’s gone Altherton, the King is dead.”   The world for the briefest of moments stood still.   Altherton was not entirely sure it was only a moment; he became aware of the actual conversation finally coming in over his confused thoughts. He had only left the man’s side a few hours ago, yes, he was frail from his injuries, but he was smiling, content – maybe even happy…   “But he was happy!” he blurted out over the conversation.   Three sets of eyes turned to him an unspoken question in all of them. Altherton explained his final meeting with the King, the outcome of the siege and the immediate planning the King put in place, which Altherton almost automatically reported had been enacted already… He could not grasp yet that the man he had spoken to had simply stopped. The room was quiet.   It was Dareel who broke the silence, “It seems our King remained alive by strength of will alone to see out the saving of Pont” he said, nodding approvingly at his own rendering of the King’s strength. He continued, “So, upon putting the final plans in place, oh he knew he could trust you,” he winked at Altherton who was widely known throughout the court as trustworthy and reliable, not just in his role as a scholar but generally, then continuing, “Good King Allard Strongback, his work in this world completed, breathed his last here to take a seat at the table of the Gods…” the last he finished with all the gusto of the market box yellers preaching their various ideas, beliefs or concoctions of questionable efficacy. It had the desired effect though, even Altherton who saw through the “sales pitch” aspect of the speech could not resist the idea of elevating a King who had been in the overwhelming majority of cases just, fair and an honest leader. This would make a sound basis for his eulogy they all agreed.   Of course, they had no idea at the time just how the flames would take of this idea that Allard Strongback was no ordinary King, but a God who, like the Ten, walked among us. Nor could they have anticipated just how quickly the idea would take.   Of course, had any of the group anticipated just how far reaching the council primary’s words would be, firstly they may have discouraged them ever leaving the room, failing that however, they would most certainly have had a plan around succession. Obviously, Allard’s first born had been killed in a failed assassination attempt, which normally would mean a Monarch Tea ceremony to decide succession. This god thing though, this could be a problem, one of the King’s children had not yet been accounted for even after all this time since the bombing. None of this though was in any way evident to the group initially assembled discussing the King’s passing, they could not predict how things would unfold from here. It would be much later when they would all gather again and acknowledge the King’s eulogy had muddied the waters greatly.