The Old King's Crown

by The Crimson Harbinger

Rating: teen
Tags: Adventure, Tragedy, Dark
Length: 1344

4,000 years have passed since my reign, but something has stirred me from my sleep. I must protect my kingdom. I must protect my crown.

Four thousand years before the founding of Equestria, an ancient king ruled over his empire with a loving but strict reign. Loving his citizens but shunning all outsiders, the people of his great empire began to lose trust in their once great ruler. Wanting to restore his relationship with his people, the king seeks an adviser to help him mend the bonds. He found his adviser, and soon all was well within his kingdom by the time of his death, and he could rest in peace. Until now.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-06-25 19:42:20 UTC

Awakening

For four thousand moons I slept peacefully. Four thousand years of undisturbed slumber in my royal tomb. Why then, had I just now returned from paradise? My brown eyes snapped open, forcing the dust that had taken residence upon them for so long to find a new home on the bottom of my coffin. I stiffly uncrossed my arms, my now-visible bones creaking in protest as they once again experienced movement, and slammed my armored fists into the roof of my coffin, shattering the ancient stone lid that had shielded me from the light of day for so long. I squinted as light poured into the now open coffin, the still air rushing to embrace me.

Once my eyes had adjusted, I stepped out of my resting place and glanced around my tomb, which was darker than I had first thought and had fallen into disrepair. The normal eye would have seen it as ruins, shambles of a once-great tomb, but not my eyes. As I stood there, memories of this place flooded over me, and I saw chandeliers of gold hanging from the ceilings, burning bright as the sun. Torches, now extinguished, illuminated the dark halls for their king, and great murals of art depicting my great feats covered the ceilings. I suddenly felt a great wave of sadness wash over me as I was brought back to the present, staring now at the piles of rumble and rusted gold, all once purposeful and glorious turned worthless. I looked up, hoping to be comforted by the great artwork of my ancient artists, but the ceiling had all but faded away to drab grey. The only comfort of the old days that remained was the royal armor that I adorned, and even still time had taken it's toll. It had rusted open in various places, revealing the rotted flesh and bones beneath.

I was brought back to attention by the sound of sudden movement, which I had faintly caught out of the corner of my eye, and froze. I was not scared of combat in the slightest, but I was still adjusting to my undead form and did not want to be cut down and brushed aside just because I had overestimated my body's abilities to fight after all these years. I turned slowly, trying to get a better view of whatever had stirred, when I realized that it was not movement that had caught my eye. Instead, the light had reflected off the handle of an ancient sword trapped beneath a pile of stone, and I had simply perceived the reflecting light as movement.

I made my way over to the trapped weapon and, grabbing hold of it, was instantly aware of the familiarity of the way it felt in my hands. Wanting to confirm my suspicions, I gave a mighty tug and felt the sword pull free. I held the sword in my hand and ran my right hand down the black blade, which had begun to shimmer blue at my touch. I closed my eyes and shivered as the magical bond between Dawnfire and I was repaired, and instantly began to feel my strength returning. Within a few hours, I would once again be the mighty warrior I had been known as in the days of old.

I slid Dawnfire back into it's sheath at my side, feeling fully prepared to begin searching for the answer as to why I had suddenly awoken, when I noticed something was off. While my connection to Dawnfire was being restored, I felt...cut off the magic bestowed onto me when I was crowned. I instantly realized what it was. I raised my hand to my head and slowly placed it down, feeling nothing but skull and rotting hair. I brought my hand down, now a fist, and was enraged at the discovery of my absent crown. I should have been buried wearing it, as was tradition, and for the Priest of the Dead to disregard ancient tradition was punishable by death. Or perhaps my request had not been granted because I had died at such an young age, only reaching three hundred and twenty years of age. For most, it would have been their greatest years, but the great responsibility that was placed on me had taken it's toll on my health, and like all good kings, I passed early into my reign, only ruling my land for two hundred years.

No, I thought quietly. There was no reason that the the Priest was to blame, as I had chosen him for the task myself, a decision that I did not take likely. Perhaps this is the work of tomb thieves. The more I dwelt on the thought, the more it seemed to fit together. Now that I think about it, my coffin was easily opened... My eyes widened, and I let out a ghastly roar, my jaw cracking as it opened wider than it had my entire life and my voice echoing throughout the entirety of the ancient ruins. My crown, my symbol of power, of kingship, had been stolen, taken right off my very head! Now the reason of my stirring had been revealed to me: I had to retrieve my crown, and put whoever had stolen it to death, preferably by my own cold, undead hand.

"No!" I hissed aloud, "I must not let my anger impair my judgement." I took a deep breath, my ribs groaning as I did so, and after I temporarily calming myself, I began to assess what I could be dealing with, their motives behind taking my crown, and ways of retrieving it, but soon gave up after realizing just how many possibilities there were, along with how little I knew about this era. My mind may still be the same, but like my body and the rest of this tomb, everything else had changed. Nothing I knew could possible have outwitted time. Then I remembered a possible exception.

"My castle," I spoke softly, my voice cracking and hoarse. Castle Valikharth, my pride and joy, had to still stand, even to this day and time. And so my mind was made, and I set off on the long, broken road back home. I stumbled over a broken pillar and was reminded again of what pain was, and how frail my body was at this point. I shook off the pain and trudged on, hellbent on returning to my former glory. Nothing, not even all the debris in this tomb or the whole army of Hell could stop me from accomplishing my goal. I step over another pillar and through an old oak door, the doorknob turning to dust at my touch, and arrived in a dim hall, lit only by the faint amount of sunlight that managed to force it's way through the cracks in the ceiling and force it's way down into these ancient depths. I used what little remained of a stone staircase to make my way up to the main entrance hall, and I was surprised to see one of the three remembrance torches still burned dimly for me, as though it had refused to give in like the other two, but still did not have the strength to boast about it's endurance. I continued past the torches and strode up to the iron door separating me from the outside world, and with a mighty kick brought it down. I inhaled deeply, my lungs winded as they were not yet accustomed to such abuse, but they would learn in time. I stepped over the downed door and into the light of day, and was instantly greeted by the sights and smells of life in full bloom, and I knew it had to be late spring, for the trees never blossom this gloriously in season but. But seasons were irrelevant to my quest, and I soon resumed my pace as I headed eastward, each step taking me away from my tomb.

And all the while, a single thought resided in my mind:

Revenge.