Young Writers Society

Author's Notes: I found this image randomly on the internet and for some reason it inspired me so much that I ended up writing a prologue about it. xD I'm so weird, I know. Anyway, all critiques are greatly appreciated. I hope you like it.

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The empty world surrounded the king.

Atop his horse, he could see for miles in every direction, the flat plain barren and cold. The sky overhead was grey with the promise of rain and thin tendrils of mist played amongst the grass. The air was wet, the occasional breeze numbing his face. He heard only one sound, and that was the sound of utter silence, beneath it the wail of thousands of men long dead. Whether they were brought about by spirits or the king's own ravaged mind, he cared not. Either way, the war was over and the lives spent here still hung on his conscience.

He turned eastward as small raindrops began to fall, toward his city. While this was the first time he'd left the gates in months, it was not the first time he'd sought out a place to be alone in silence. Days had seemed to grow longer lately, nights darker, flames duller. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed. The only joy he had left in his life was his dear, dear wife, and it became more clear with each passing day that her time left on this earth was running thin. After she was gone he would see no point in continuing his own life.

In the distance, the king made out a tiny black shape moving towards him at a steady pace over the dark plain. A faint smile crept onto his lips at the brilliant blue cape flying behind the rider and he knew immediately who it was. Turning his own horse eastward, he kicked the brown stallion into motion and rode out to meet his son.

The two met just as the rain began to fall more heavily, soaking their hair and turning the hard ground to mush. For a moment, neither said nothing, the younger regarding the older with a look of amused curiosity, though within those almond eyes was also worry.

“What are you doing out here, father?” the prince finally asked, tilting his head slightly so as avoid getting rain in his eyes. “If you hadn't noticed, we are in the middle of a downpour.”

“I would ask you the same,” he said simply. “Did the guards tell you I'd left?” His lips pursed. “Or was it that excuse for a steward Malin?”

The prince smiled. “He might have had something to do with it.”

“Thought as much.” The old king lowered his eyes to take notice of his son's attire. He was fully clad from head-to-toe in the regal blue and black garb, each piece tailored to perfection. Even his boots were polished and his hair done, though the rain had already pretty much ruined that, the brown locks framing his face. And what a face it was. The king had always been proud that he'd managed to produce such a handsome boy, but now, sitting before him all alone on an empty plain, he realized what he'd truly made. If only the boy would have worn his crown.

“Can we return home now, father?” the prince asked, his shoulders now hunched against the rain, as if he were afraid it would harm him.

The king studied his son, gazing into humble eyes. He is more a king than I am now. The realization hit him suddenly, all brought about just in the way the prince dressed now a days. Looking down at himself, there was nothing more than a dirtied coat and simple trousers. The difference between the two was drastic, but not just in the way they looked. One had been broken one too many times in his long life, and the other had just started living, his ideas new, his eyes fresh, and his accomplishments promising. It seemed obvious to him which was more suited to serve the City of Sithril.

Making his decision, the king forced a smile and nudged his horse forward so that he came nearly shoulder to shoulder with his son. Then he said lightly, “Have you put much thought into marriage yet, son?”

“Marriage?” The boy frowned, straightening slightly on his horse. “I do think this is an odd place to be discussing this.”

Then, the king laughed, for quite possibly the first time in years, and continued to laugh until he finally told his son to go back to the castle and wait for him. Stilling chortling freely, he turned his horse northward and hurried on at a steady trot.

Minutes passed like this, his bellowing laughter booming through the open plains as he rode, until at last it was smothered by an entirely new sound, one that seemed to come from the heavens themselves.

The croon of a flute swirled about the plain, carried on by the winds and echoing off the very earth. Gentle notes played about the king's ears as the trot turned into a gallop and the ground began to shake, though not because of the pounding of hooves. The tune intensified, becoming not just beautiful but hauntingly so. The rumbling on the ground only added to it, sounding almost as if it were the subtle beats from a drum. Together, the two formed a melody that would make even the coldest of hearts melt and even the evilest of men falter. Together, they were harmony.

Out of no where, perhaps out of the mists or maybe even the clouds, a form appeared on the plain. Translucent as it was, it was difficult to make out, but the long muzzle and shaggy tail were indicators enough as to what it was. If you were to compare its size to a mountain it would still be considered large, but its most noticeable feature were its eyes. Ancient and fathomless, they were not translucent like the body, but terrible and very real. Their color was that of the sun, and were it not for the lack of sunlight, they could indeed be mistaken as such.

The wolf turned towards the king and started after him, its massive paws leaving behind no indent or sign that something so big had just touched there. Within moments the spirit reached the rider and joined him on his long journey northward.

The flutes would continue to play and the rain continue to fall, but there was only was thing that was certain as the two traveled the empty plain: This was a reunion long over due.