Chapter Text
The sun beat down on the line of mourners in a relentless barrage of too bright brilliance. Not a single cloud dotted the sky, only an expanse of startling blue. The heat was all encompassing. From the head of the procession Alhaitham felt it on his skin. Sweat trickled down his neck; the sun pinked his cheeks. The air was so thick he could chew it— heavy, stagnant on the tongue. Yet he shivered. His black clothing should have been stifling but instead he could not fight the chill long since settled into his bones.
He marched up the hill, its verdant green grass brushing against his boots. The city walls were far behind him. His slow pace was matched by five other men; together, they bore the responsibility of the casket. His arm ached from the weight of it. Though minimally adorned, the wood was solid and heavy. Inside was his grandmother’s body garbed in simple white robes.
The winding length of the funeral procession followed behind. The crowd was a testament to his grandmother’s life. The heat of the day did not make for an easy walk; for so many people, young and old, to suffer the discomfort in her honour… Alhaitham was thankful for it, even if he would have preferred a much smaller gathering.
His grandmother had been a respected member of the royal court. It did not surprise him so many wished to pay their final respects. Her position as Palace Librarian was one of prestige and respect. In life she had done everything to be worthy of the title. The line behind him was proof of her deeds. Her wisdom had been as sought out as the books she cared for. She met every question, regardless of its perceived significance, with patience. A child’s curiosity was as important to her as being the queen’s trusted confidant.
Alhaitham kept his eyes forward. The deep grave that would be his grandmother’s final resting place was in view. He could not look behind. At least not yet. Queen Faranak and her son, the Crown Prince Kaveh, with their radiance that rivaled the shining light above, were next in the procession. He could not bear to see their faces, and the pity he feared he would find. The unconditional kindness they had bestowed upon him in the days following his grandmother’s passing had knotted into a tight lump of guilt. His stomach twisted from it. He did not know if he could ever repay them for all they had done.
The world had become so loud in the wake of his grandmother’s death. A parade of people demanded his action, calling for answers to questions regarding her estate and funeral. Their voices turned into uncomfortable static in Alhaitham’s ears. Even in the quiet of night he could hear them, an incessant ringing that kept him wide awake. Exhaustion was his companion. It was only with the queen’s aid that he had maneuvered his way through the past three days with his sanity intact.
The procession came to a stop. The empty grave was before them, and with a nod to the other men, they lowered the casket down. Alhaitham huffed from the exertion, muscles straining under the weight, his breath still trying to steady itself after the long march from the palace. The queen’s advisors had opposed his choice, and he had even been called selfish for making the court walk so far beyond the protection of the city walls. But his grandmother had been adamant on her final resting place: somewhere quiet, somewhere beautiful. Alhaitham had decided upon a hill overlooking the city, beneath a copse of adhigama trees. He owed her this much.
With the casket settled in the ground Alhaitham turned towards the crowd. His next duty was to wait as each person dropped three handfuls of earth into the grave. They would pay their respects, say their last goodbyes, and he would thank them for it. His throat was dry, his voice already raw; the ringing in his ears returned.
The queen went first. She cared not for her fine clothing. She dirtied her black silk glove with the earth, each handful leaving its mark on the fabric. After she finished she rested her clean hand on Alhaitham’s shoulder. He met her gaze for he could not refuse her. His stomach tightened. Her eyes were wet with tears. He bowed his head out of respect.
Prince Kaveh went next. Black made his features stand out; gold hair was his crown, and the only gems he needed were the ruby depths of his eyes. He removed his dark glove and grabbed from the pile of dirt. He dropped his handfuls into the grave and mouthed his silent goodbye. When he was done he joined Alhaitham by his side. Alhaitham’s heart lurched. Kaveh’s eyes were soft with concern, his tears welling up at the corners. For the first time since his grandmother’s passing Alhaitham felt the uncomfortable tightening of his throat. He swallowed. He would not cry. Not here, not before so many people.
Kaveh stood next to Alhaitham, far too close to be proper, and quietly, as a secret shared between friends, looped his pinky finger around his. The touch was fleeting, the briefest—and greatest—of comforts before pulling away. Alhaitham wanted to scold him for the touch. He wanted to clasp the prince’s hand even tighter. He could do neither.
“I am honoured by your attendance, Your Majesty, Your Highness,” Alhaitham said in solemn whisper instead. “She would be happy to know you’re both here.”
The queen’s smile was a heartbreaking, beautiful thing. Her voice remained steady, even as a tear slid down her cheek. “Of course my dear boy. Your grandmother was a remarkable woman. I was lucky to count her as one of my friends.”
The line continued, and as each person passed—some mumbling their condolences, some clapping his shoulder in support, others offering a curt nod—Alhaitham’s mind drifted. The last funeral he attended had been an entirely different affair.
It was said when the King of Sumeru died, the rain did not end for an entire month. Rukkhadevata mourned with her people. She hid the sun behind never ending rainfall, returning it only after the nation had sufficiently grieved their king. A pretty story, one which made for lovely poetry, but nothing more.
Ten years had been more than enough time to turn the truth into something else. For a nation that prided itself on its scholarly pursuits, the general populace had been more than willing to adopt the fairytale. Alhaitham, with all the wisdom of an eight year old, had thought it silly at the time. The royal records were clear—his grandmother had helped write them after all. It had rained for a week. Which was not even uncommon for that time of year. The rain had also started before the king’s death. It had been part of the reason for it.
A terrible accident. Nothing more.
Alhaitham remembered it well. The cacophony of bells ringing out across the city, so loud they were unbearable to his young ears. Vibrant halls swathed in black cloth. The young prince, crying tears heavier than the rain that fell outside…
In the back of his mind, Alhaitham had understood why the people spun tales of a never ending rainfall and a vanishing sun. Whenever he looked at the prince’s face, with his tear streaked cheeks and bleary eyes, it was impossible not to fear that he would never see the sun again.
“Do you want company?” Kaveh asked, a cautious offer. Alhaitham blinked, and the emptiness around them came into focus. They were alone. The procession had ended, and Kaveh, his prince, had stood by him the entire time. Alhaitham glanced down. Heaping piles of earth, nearly enough to bury the casket, had been dropped into the grave. Had there truly been so many people here to honour his grandmother? All that was left was for Alhaitham to say his final goodbye.
“No, not for this,” Alhaitham answered. In the days following his grandmother’s death there had been no chance for him to be alone. Solitude, the time to sort through his own thoughts, that was what he needed.
“I understand.” Kaveh squeezed his hand and offered his own heartbreaking, beautiful smile. He had inherited every bit of his mother’s grace. “I’m sorry. I know how much she meant to you.”
“She meant a lot to many. And now her legacy rests with me. I hope I will be worthy of it.”
“I have no doubt you will.” Kaveh pulled away. Alhaitham missed the warmth of him already. With a final, careful look, Kaveh parted ways to make his long walk back to the city gates where his retinue would be waiting.
Alhaitham knelt beside the grave. A blessed breeze kissed his cheek. He breathed deeply, the knot in his chest loosening for the first time in days. He tossed his first handful of earth into her grave.
She would have been happy to see the sun presiding over her funeral. She hated the rain. In her later years it made her joints ache. In her younger years it had stolen her family from her. From them. Another terrible accident. No wonderful story about a mourning Goddess—just a tragic landslide.
The second handful of dirt weighed down Alhaitham’s palm. Her death had not come as a surprise. The past year had borne witness to her waning health. Once steady hands trembled under the burden of holding her quill. Her elegant script diminished to unintelligible scratch as her body grew more and more weary by the month. By the end, she could do little more than be wheeled into the library to spend her days surrounded by the collection she had helped cultivate, the books she loved so dearly.
Alhaitham read to her at night. Her mind remained as sharp as the blades the crown’s soldiers bore, but her eyes were weak. It happened after one of those peaceful evenings. She slipped into slumber, never to see the sun rise. Alhaitham thought he would be ready when the time came.
All life ended. A life well lived was no exception to death’s demands.
He had thought wrong.
The last handful was as heavy as stones. The finality washed over him with cold shock. His grandmother was gone. Never again would he feel the warmth of her hugs. Never again would he hear her words and find all of his problems solved in the magnitude of her wisdom. His grandmother was buried beneath this dirt. The devastating realization of how much he was going to miss her gripped his chest. He placed his hand over his heart, and breathed.
Alhaitham was unsure how long he spent kneeling next to his grandmother’s grave. The sun was setting, painting the sky in dazzling reds and pinks. His legs ached as he rose to his feet. It would be a long walk back to the city, one he would make in the dark. His grief would keep him in its unwelcome company.
The knock at the door was a timid sound—unusual—given that Alhaitham knew who lurked outside his bedchamber. The hour was far too late for anyone but his troublesome prince to disturb his reprieve. Often, Kaveh would only give one strong knock in warning before barging into the comfort of his room.
Alhaitham marked the page in his book as the door creaked open. Kaveh hovered beyond the threshold. His movements were hesitant as he stepped inside, a foreign air of nervousness flooding around him. Alhaitham had rarely seen him so reserved.
The prince had not come empty handed. He held a vase to his chest, his body curling around it as if to shield the flowers within. The sunset-hued blooms were a nostalgic sight. Though this nostalgia was not one enveloped in sweet, mirthful memories.
Mourning flowers. Their drooping, crimson petals stood out against the backdrop of Kaveh’s pristine white shirt. Alhaitham had gifted Kaveh the flowers once, years ago when they were children.
That gift had been a disastrous mistake.
Cries of ‘I’m sick of mourning flowers, I never want to see them again’ had stuck in Alhaitham’s head for much longer than he cared to admit. The sting of rejection from Kaveh shoving the flowers back at him, damaged petals falling to the ground like drops of blood, had stuck with him even longer. On that night Kaveh had slammed the door to his apartments in Alhaitham’s face, and Alhaitham did not understand.
His grandmother had been his calming voice of clarity. She had held him tight, fingers smoothing through his hair.
My dear Alhaitham, grief… is a turbulent emotion. Our experiences with it are all deeply personal. Where one may find solace in the embrace of their loved ones, another may lock out the world and punish themself out of a sense of guilt. Melancholy, anger, resentment… even relief, all are feelings that can bubble over with grief. The prince is young. And he is hurt. I have no doubt a miasma of emotions is brewing in his heart. In his own time, he will heal. I don’t believe he intended to hurt you with his actions. Your gift was lovely my dear. I couldn’t be more proud to have such a thoughtful boy as a grandson.
Years later, with grief now his visitor, Alhaitham understood. All he wanted was for Kaveh to take the flowers away.
“Mourning flowers,” Alhaitham said, his throat dry.
“Yes, mourning flowers.” Kaveh had never sounded so meek. He traced the delicate petals with his finger, gaze low, eyes hidden behind the fall of his hair.
“You can leave them on the table,” Alhaitham instructed stiffly. His room had a small seating area; two chairs and a round table were nestled in front of a window that overlooked the palace’s grand courtyard gardens. It was by no means as luxurious as Kaveh’s own private balcony, but it provided him with a pretty view.
Kaveh set the flowers down, careful not to jostle them. They sat undisturbed, not a single petal out of place. Kaveh kept his head bowed, his back to the room. Alhaitham longed to know what expression he wore.
Silence stretched between them. Kaveh, who so often would fill their conversations with the warm timbre of his voice, was quiet. Alhaitham wished he knew what to say, wished he was better at what came so naturally to Kaveh. He set his book down, and was about to rise from his bed when Kaveh cleared his throat.
“There’s something else,” Kaveh said. He crossed the room and stopped at the foot of Alhaitham’s bed. His arms were wrapped around himself, and he looked back at the mourning flowers, his expression pained. “An apology, long overdue.”
Alhaitham’s brow furrowed. An apology? He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and patted the space next to him. Kaveh hesitated, arms tightening around himself. He sighed, and joined Alhaitham on the bed. His body was tense, hands gripping the blanket.
“Do you remember when my father died?” Kaveh asked. His breath trembled. Alhaitham nodded. He would never be able to forget.
“I was inconsolable. I refused to eat, refused to sleep, I cried until all of my tears had dried and all I could do was gasp for air. No one could help me—not that I would have let them. Even my own mother did not know what to do with me.” Kaveh’s knuckles had turned white. The blankets bunched under his fists. Alhaitham wanted to pry them loose, to hold his hands and soothe the tension from them. He watched Kaveh’s profile; the creasing of his brow and the quivering of his lips—the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “And then you brought me mourning flowers. Or at least, you tried to.”
So that was the cause of Kaveh’s trepidation. A mistake made by a grieving child, held close to his heart in guilt until he could muster the courage to make his apology. Not many men would find it in themselves to offer apology for something they had done nearly ten years past. Least of all a prince soon to be made king. Alhaitham would hold his words close. Kaveh’s gift of mourning flowers was a much more beautiful thing now.
“I know you meant well. Looking back, it may be the sweetest thing you have ever done. And even then… I was so terrible to you.” Kaveh’s voice pitched. Alhaitham hated the sound of it. He held so much regret in his voice.
“You were a child—”
“Yes, I was a child,” Kaveh scoffed. “That is no excuse. I was a prince then, as I am now, and to have acted so gracelessly… I hurt you Alhaitham. I must have.”
“Kaveh.”
The prince’s head snapped up. His name was one Alhaitham saved. Propriety dictated the use of titles and Alhaitham was adept at following rules. When they were alone, when Alhaitham needed him to listen, that was when he could allow himself the use of Kaveh’s name. It was a thing to be treasured, the feel of his name on his tongue.
“Your crown does not stop you from having emotions. It never has, and it never will." Alhaitham held Kaveh’s gaze, and was even bold enough to pry his fingers free from their vise on his sheets. He was not so bold as to hold them, and guided them to settle on Kaveh’s lap. “You were hurt. Grief… it makes us irrational. I never held that day against you.”
“You should have. I’m sorry, for so cruelly rejecting your kindness all those years ago. I should have said so sooner.” Kaveh was holding back tears again. He wiped them away before they could fall. If only he would let them. Alhaitham had never thought him to be a lesser man for his tears.
“Look at me, what a sad excuse for a prince. If only I had an ounce of your stoicism.” Kaveh sniffled. He tried to offer a wry smile. It came out twisted as he fought back more tears.
“You have no need for it. Your empathetic heart may be a thorn in my side at times, but I believe it will serve you well when you take the throne.”
“I don’t want to think about that,” Kaveh whispered, his voice going cold. Alhaitham understood. He could not bear to think of Kaveh’s looming fate either. The reminder of their standing, that the distance between them would grow—for now Alhaitham preferred to ignore it.
“My grandmother told me, the night you pushed my gift away—” Kaveh did his best not to wince as Alhaitham spoke, “we all experience grief in our own way. What helps some will not help others, and what you needed was time, and space.”
“Is that what you need? Oh, I shouldn't be here, should I?” Kaveh twisted to look at the door. He tensed, ready to jump up and leave. Alhaitham touched his wrist, bidding him to stay.
Alhaitham shook his head. “I thought I would. Today, all I wished for was to be alone. Now that you’re here though, it's the last thing I want.”
“Anything you need then,” Kaveh rushed out in a tumble of words, “I wouldn't let you help me, but please, let me help you.”
Alhaitham moved closer. He rested his head on Kaveh’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The world went quiet. “Let me stay like this, at least for a moment.” He was so tired. This peaceful quiet… he had not experienced it since the last night he sat and read to his grandmother.
“Is this alright?” Kaveh rested his cheek on Alhaitham's head. His hair brushed against his nose and he was surrounded by the scent of padisarahs.
“It’s adequate,” Alhaitham mumbled, though it was so much more than that. He listened for the slow pass of air from Kaveh’s mouth, followed the steady rhythm of his breath. Kaveh smoothed his hair down, fingers gently stroking through grey locks. Before long the weight of sleep stole over his senses.