Heavy is the Head

Link to article: Heavy is the Head.

:root {
    --header-title: "HEAVY IS THE HEAD";
    --header-subtitle: "May Faith Guide Ye";
}

```
#page-title {display: none;}
```

```
font-family:Baskerville; font-size:140%
```
```
text-indent: 25px;
```

(none)

[[include :scp-wiki:theme:ad-abyssum-penumbra]]

[[module CSS]]
:root {
    --header-title: "HEAVY IS THE HEAD";
    --header-subtitle: "May Faith Guide Ye";
}
[[/module]]

[[module css]]
#page-title {display: none;}
[[/module]]

[[include :scp-wiki:info:start]]
**Content warning:** Violence, gore, emetophobia.
[[include :scp-wiki:info:end]]

[[include :scp-wiki:component:info-cw]]

 _

-----

[[div style="font-family:Baskerville; font-size:140%"]]
[[div style="text-indent: 25px;"]]

Arthur had slept dreamlessly. Whether this was a mercy, he could not be certain.

His lord-in-waiting woke him before the Sun had crested over the hill. Then came the servants, dressing him in his finery, draping a mantle of green velvet over his shoulders. His cheeks were dusted with powder, the loose remnants of which furled into delicate clouds in the beams of the early light. These were all he could watch as he was preened and adjusted, as rings were slipped onto his fingers, as he was called the prince for what would be the last time.

Then the door swept open, and in strode his father and mother, sweeping him up into their arms and kissing his forehead with quiet tears.

Gripping his shoulders, Father repeated the steps he had heard many a time before:

"Remain in the back of the hall. Wait for the priest to summon you to the altar. The Offering will be presented, the Crown freed, and you will be led to claim your Title."

"What of the Offering? May I know it yet?"

As he had done each time before, he only shook his head.

"It is only for the king to know. You soon will."

He sighed, but nodded dutifully. "Then I shall wait. But I... I must admit my trepidation towards assuming the title."

"You have prepared for this since you first opened your eyes, Arthur."

"This I know. I only wonder how I could ever serve as well as you."

The king smiled, taking his face in his hands. "No king rules forever, my son."

-----

A small procession -- his parents, his lord-in-waiting, and two of the decorated cavalrymen -- led him to the throne room. Mother kissed his cheeks -- one, then the other. He was then left to himself, the weight of the mantle heavy on his shoulders.

His eyes settled on the altar in front of him, adorned with an equine crest -- that of his family. Candles dotted its surface, casting strange shadows across the stone wall behind it. A large, white cloth had been laid across its surface, its ends swaying gently in the breeze of a draft. On its center lay a small, green cushion embroidered with fine, golden thread.

The emptiness of the scene gave it an air of anticipation. Before him stretched out the carpet, devoid of footprints or creases; around and in front of him were rows and rows of pews, absent of a single soul. Soon this peace would be disturbed, the kingdom's affairs continuing as they had for centuries before -- through storm, through plague, through famine. But for now, Arthur stood alone, the archways towering over him stretching into darkness above.

He sighed, straightened his shoulders, and waited as a king should.

------

The walls echoed with murmurs of the hundreds who now occupied the hall. Many eyes were trained upon Arthur, drifting over his finery, lingering on his face. He did his best to remain focused on the path in front of him, swallowing back the stale taste of his dry mouth.

Soon enough, the crowd was silenced with the ringing of bells. Footsteps echoed through the space as the priest took his place at the front of the room.

[[size larger]] "O Lord on High." [[/size]]

He raised his arms.

[[size larger]] "We beseech Thee, on this most honored Day, to grant to thy Servant Thy Blessings. This man, this Mortal, on this Day, stands humbly in your Court among his peoples." [[/size]]

The priest motioned a beckoning hand to Arthur, who bowed his head in acknowledgement. He waited for his lord-in-waiting to raise the bottom of the mantle before beginning to stride down the center path. Not a soul spoke as he passed them.

After what felt like an eternity in itself, he stopped in front of the holy man, who smiled warmly and rested his hand on the prince's forehead.

[[size larger]] "We present a Servant of noble blood, of Honor -- Prince Arthur of Montgallen. He bears wisdom of Thy Teachings, compassion of Thy Heart, power of Thy Fury. We offer him to you as a Contender, as one who may oversee this portion of your mortal Kingdom."[[/size]]

An altar boy approached the priest, handing him a short scabbard. Arthur swallowed hard as he eyed the blade drawn from it, watching it be raised above his head with a sense of rising dread.

[[size larger]]"For your Judgement..."[[/size]]

The prince closed his eyes, willing himself to keep calm as he felt the metal rest against his forehead. Mother had told him of the ruling of the blade, but he had not expected to feel its cold touch against his skin.

Nor did he expect the sharp pain that followed as the priest dragged it -- lightly -- down his forehead. He could feel himself split, could feel the beads of blood begin to form on his skin. He remained still as death as a hand traced the wound, daring to open his eyes only when he felt nothing else.

His eyes followed the priest as he approached the altar and traced his dampened finger in a line down its center. He stepped back and gazed in silence as the white cloth bloomed with Arthur's blood.

Moments passed in silence. Then, the ringing of a bell echoed through the space. A series of exhales could be heard from the crowd, as if one held breath had been collectively released.

The prince allowed his shoulders to relax slightly. Some trial had evidently been passed.

-----

The priest's call to the heavens continued for some time after that. His gestures were amplified in the shadows that danced across the wall. As the last of his entreatments drew to a close, Arthur straightened his posture and silently walked through the steps of the crowning. He touched his thumb to each of his fingertips, twisted slightly to the side he would turn to to face his subjects. He made a mental note not to trip over the fabric of the mantle. Above all else, he reminded himself of the words of acceptance:

//"Thank you, Father, and thank you, O Lord. I promise to rule with a just and noble Heart, and to keep my People held within it, and to serve the Kingdom bestowed upon me until and beyond my dying breaths."//

Having rehearsed his part, Arthur returned his attention to the ceremony. The priest was lowering his arms. He stepped back to the altar, gestured to the crown resting upon it, and joined his hands over it as if in prayer.

The prince readied himself to move forward, glancing to his side and raising a hand to call over his lord-in-waiting. The priest, however, shook his head. He gestured to the doors beside the altar. Arthur eyed them with a furrowed brow and said nothing.

Then the bells rang, and the doors slammed open, and in stumbled a figure gripped tightly by two guards. He was dressed in garbs black as night. Arthur strained to recognize him, but could not; the clothes he donned were loose, and covering his head was a large, carved skull. It took a moment for the prince to recognize it as being that of a horse.

//"What--"// he began, but he soon fell into silence as the man was led in front of the altar.

[[size larger]]"O Lord, with this Offering, we ask Thee to bequeath upon our new King the Health and Blessings bestowed upon his forefathers."[[/size]]

He watched in stunned silence as the man was dragged forward and made to gaze skyward. The priest took position behind him, climbing up onto a step and unsheathing the blade once more.

[[size larger]]"We ask for Thy Protection, from the Plagues..."[[/size]]

A scream rang through the hall as the blade was shoved through the man's torso, showering the altar in a spray of blood. The edges of Arthur's vision began to blur as the man doubled over.

[[size larger]]"...from our Enemies..."[[/size]]

The prince watched as the knife was removed and plunged through again, this time through the man's right shoulder. A ringing sound in his ears began to drown out the screams.

[[size larger]]"...from the Famines..."[[/size]]

Now his stomach, spreading across the altar a rain of red.

[[size larger]]"...and from Death itself."[[/size]]

There was a loud thunk as the man's head fell upon the altar.

[[size larger]]"So is set before Thee."[[/size]]

Arthur said a silent prayer, doubled over, and was sick upon the floor.

The bells began to ring.

-----

The rest of the ceremony proceeded without incident. Despite his numbness, despite the screaming in his mind, the prince was able to carry out the motions he had rehearsed so many times before.

At last, he was led to the stand before the altar. The body had been cleared, but the head remained, the skull's shadowed eyes nonetheless seeming to stare into Arthur's. He found himself breathing heavily as he faced the priest and readied for the final processions.

[[size larger]]"Though most unworthy, my hands now bestow this crown upon Thy Servant."[[/size]]

Arthur's eyes widened as the skull was lifted from the head upon the table and raised aloft.

[[size larger]]"Arthur."[[/size]]

The priest gazed upon him, smiling.

[[size larger]]"May this bestow upon you Wisdom and Virtue, and may you serve this Kingdom well."[[/size]]

As the crown -- the gory, miserable skull-crown -- was lowered upon his head, Arthur could not remove his eyes from the face of his father on the altar.

-----

Slowly turning to face the crowd, Arthur took a shaky breath.

"Thank you, Father, and thank you, O Lord."

He loathed the object covering his face, save for its ability to veil the tears that began streaming down it.

"I promise to rule with a just and noble Heart, and to keep my People held within it, and to..."

He closed his eyes, letting out a choked gasp.

"...To serve the Kingdom bestowed upon me, until and beyond my dying breaths."

[[size larger]]**"Long live the king!"**[[/size]]

The crowd echoed its own cry, erupting in applause as Arthur willed himself not to faint.

//No king rules forever.//

[[/div]]
[[/div]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box |author=cdithink]]
[[include :scp-wiki:component:license-box-end]]

Heavy is the Head

Module Styles

Inline Styles

Includes

CSS Classes

Page Source