the mighty on his deathbed
The wheels were set into motion the weeks before.
As the braziers burnt, the fires flickering in a weary dance behind the gold-screened windows and dividers, as the iron hangers diffused the scent of oils and herbs, of curatives that serve little to healing, but does soften the pains brought about by the impending demise of the lord of this land, the said god resting silently in his bed, breath low and slower than those attending to him have noted these last years.
Everyone around him was worried.
The most loyal of those in particular have been sleepless, staying by their Master's side in teary vigils as they knew time was short, and they couldn't do much now except ensure His Strength was comfortable in his dying days.
Yet despite this, Gaul of Lodestone was more concerned for his people.
“I fear…of the state by which I might leave our Nation," he uttered during those times.