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Your dad is dead.

It's not a surprise; you've known this day was coming since you understood why they called you prince.

But your dad is dead. You are just 25 and your dad is dead.

You've been to funerals before – state functions when some servant of the crown has died. Sometimes they are old, men and women who have been on Eos three times longer than you are right now, or even older. Their grown children would sit stiff-backed crying as silently as they could while the ceremony swept past their haze of grief.

Sometimes, the funerals were for those who were younger, in their 60s or 50s. Often sudden unexpected deaths, their children, still adults, but younger, much younger, sometimes as old as you are right now. They would try to stay still, stay silent, but in those sudden funerals there would always be sobs. Those sobs would be forgiven, of course. It was so, so sudden, so tragic to lose a parent so young.

When your father died it wasn't sudden. Everyone knew he would die before you were thirty. Everyone knew that would happen.

It still feels sudden to you. It doesn't feel real, either.

After the funerals, the families and friends had time alone to mourn, time that was dictated by traditions. You must mourn in public.

Your grief is necessary, but only to prove that you aren't suspiciously eager to ascent to the throne.

Yes there is some time – to have the coronation too soon would be improper. But you must be present for parts of planning the funeral, and the country does slow when the monarch dies, but it never stops.

Your grief is for all to see – but not too much of it.

You grief is not yours. Your grief is public.

As the Crown Prince you must rule, and when you are king you must rule.

Your grief is only useful until you must be useful, but your grief doesn't know that. If it does, it doesn't care.

You want to curl into a ball in bed, you want to cry for days, but your eyes stay dry and Ignis gently coaxes you through getting dressed while Gladio stands wordlessly by the door.

Luna, who has been with you for five years, who is to be coronated alongside you offers her hep as the Oracle.

You decline. She is grieving herself, and she must see to her own duties.

...

The funeral was, naturally, the largest one you have ever gone to. Is probably the largest funeral you will ever go to.

It feels so empty, sitting on a dais, Luna sitting on your left, hand in yours. Gladio stands at your right shoulder, Ignis at Luna's left. Clarus stands at the head of your father's casket and does not move for hours.

Looking at this scene, you know that Gladio will hold that same vigil too, one day. In a few decades, probably. None of the Lucis Caelum line are exactly hearty, but compared to you, your father was a picture of health. Sometimes you doubt you will make it to fifty.

While you are thinking this, words are said, rites are read. You've heard them before, but today they sound hollow and echoing in your ears. Except for the times they pierce straight to the empty spot in your soul, the place your dad is- was.

Then, despite the thousands of people watching, despite the hundreds of the people in the cathedral with you, you feel as if the words are said for you and you alone

You clutch Luna's hand, to keep what composure you have left. Tears stream down your cheeks, but you do not break down and sob. You know that is not how it is done.

After all, this death wasn't sudden.

It hurts. It hurts, fighting the sobs back. You want to fold over and sob into Luna's shoulder but you don't and it hurts like they are fighting you, sobs stabbing ripping clawing their way out of your throat, out of your chest. It hurts every piece of you until your world is only those words and the sobs you must not let out.

You clutch Luna's hand, tight, so tight, and she grips back just as desperate as you both struggle in this silent battle for the royal image.

Luna rises and speaks, she says your father was her father, that when she tried to thank him for all he had done for her, he had refused, saying it was only what needed to be done.

You say nothing. None in the household are surprised. Ignis speaks for you. He's better at it.

There is precedent for this – recent precedent. When King Mors died your father didn't speak either.

Ignis speaks again, and again you squeeze Luna's hand so hard you know you would feel the bones in her hand grind together were she not gripping you back just as desperately. Gladio puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezes gently. You want to reach your up and grab him. You don't.

You and Luna sit together at the funeral lunch. Gladio sits to your right, and Luna to your left. Beside her is Ignis. Clarus is still standing vigil, watching the casket. You wish Prompto could be here, but he is in the cathedral, standing watch with Clarus and Cor. Sometimes past kings spent the meal swapping stories about the deceased monarch. Sometimes they laughed. That would have been easier if all your friends were here.

Luna and Ignis share quiet stories about your father. You try to eat food that tastes like ash.

As you take your leave, you see that Luna's plate is just as full as yours. She takes your hand without looking at you, and leans into your side.

It's your turn to hold her as she cries.

...

Clarus was your father's Shield, Cor was one of your father's most loyal servants. Prompto is your friend, so eager to help, but so unsure of himself in courtly things. But standing in as your retainer in the Vigil doesn't need talking, so he stands watch with Cor and Clarus over your father's body, protecting it for burial in the morning. They stand motionless until dawn when Clarus will lead the in the last procession your father will ever have.

You don't go with. You can't. You have duties to see to.

The Wall has been down for three days. For three days the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive have been on high alert. Two more people have died. Five have been hospitalized.

You have a duty to your people.

...

The ring burns when you put it on. Gladio and Luna watch silently with pale faces as you grit your teeth and try not to scream. You know Ignis is standing outside the chamber door. His lips are probably thinned out by unmentioned stress and worry to the point of invisibility.

The ring burns, the crystal whispers in the back of your mind, at once a cacophony of dead voices and a susurrus almost too quiet to notice. The wall returns around the city.

You imagine you can hear the people cheer, feel their relief shake the very stones of the palace, but that might be the sudden wave of vertigo and nausea taking. They hit you, throwing you off balance as you suddenly feel exhausted. Your knees buckle, but Gladio grabs you before you fall.

Luna is on your other side. She gently smooths your hair back from your face. She tells you how proud she is, how proud your father would be.

The small smile slips away and now you want nothing more than to just slip away into sleep.

...

The first day you hold court, as dawn breaks over the city walls, the doors open to reveal Clarus, Cor and Prompto. They walk down the Hall, past the advisers and the council members and the scores of nobles who turned up to this momentous day and kneel at the foot of the throne.

Prompto's hands are clenched into fists to hide how they would otherwise shake with nerves. He's been in the Crownsguard for over five years now, but he has always hated being in the eye of court officials like this. But he still did this for you.

Clarus raises his head, tells you that your father has been laid to rest.

You bid him rise, and once all three are standing you commend the on fulfilling their duty.

Luna quietly takes your hand and your voice doesn't shake.

You don't speak much for the rest of the day.

...

The week passes, and you make it through the days. Luna, Prompto and Ignis are always with you, along with Gladio. You know that soon they will be required to go about other duties, and Prompto can't be on assignment all day everyday, but having them and Gladio with you is a comfort.

Iris comes down sometimes to speak with Luna. She tells Luna about the ladies and lords of the court who head the noble households. Since her mother died and your mother died, she has been the highest ranking noblewoman in Lucis until Luna arrived. She has been leading the Queen's Ceremonies since she was 14.

Once Luna arrived, she was the Lady of the Court. Now she is Queen.

She is also still the Oracle. You know that when her Oracle duties take her away from Insomnia it will be Iris who sits in as the Lady of the Court. You hope Luna won't leave for a while.

Maintaining the Wall is tiring in a way that sends aches into your very bones, and wakes every pain and scar you've gained through the years along the way. At night while Ignis lays hot packs across your back and your knee, Luna runs her fingers through your hair and murmurs spells and prayers that ease your pain.

She lays next to you and listens as you murmur small stories about your dad. Lucis will remember him as a King, but you want to remember him as a person. As someone who teased you over dinner, as someone you had stupid arguments with. As someone who tried to hide his own pain from you to keep you from worrying.

Luna shares her own stories. From your visit back in Tenabrae to get your back healed. You slept a lot then, you spent most of the trip asleep. The exhaustion from the pain and the healing pulling at you in those days, pulling you under so much of the time.

You never really thought about what your dad did while you slept.

He sat by your side a lot, it turns out, but Luna also showed him the gardens. It was one of her first times acting as a proper hostess, she remembers. Your dad was a gracious guest, even though she had been so nervous the first day she had interrupted him often, he had never rebuked her.

She says how happy she was to see him again before the wedding. How, when they had spoken privately she had tried to thank him for the treaty, for this – he had interrupted her, saying it was merely repayment for when he had left her in Tenabrae – she had again interrupted him. It had turned into a little in-joke between them.

You both have tears on your pillows as you fall asleep, and your chest still hurts in a way that not even Luna can heal, but something in you calms knowing that there are others who remember your father as a person and not a King.

...

In the morning, you will have to get up once more. In the morning, the ring will pull at your soul as you protect your people. In the morning you will have to pretend that your world hasn't stopped, hasn't shattered into pieces around you.

But for now, Luna lays next to you and laces her fingers through yours. Her cheeks are splotchy and her nose is red from crying, and you can feel how tired your eyes are from your own tears. For now, in this moment, you can just be.