[ WP ] You are a consort to the king of a kingdom at war . The king goes off to battle , but does n't return . After the battle , two priests from a nearby shrine ask you to help them identify the king 's body on the battlefield .

For all their pretty words, all their valor and hubris, for all their strength and beauty, Knights still smelled like shit in death. Esmeralda stood above the corpse of a boy she once knew. The young Art of Dunnsworth, he was not yet two-and-twenty. She remembered him from the King's hall, always proud, the way young men were. He was clad in shimmering steel emblazoned with fiery red wicks of flame and golden engraved runes of the gods the day he rode through the gates. Now his armor was bloody, muddled, and sheared at the waist where a great axe had torn through him like butter. He was hardly recognizable with all the mud on his face. *pity* she thought, *he had always been funny. * 
 
 But an arrogant boy sinking in a stinking marsh was not why she left the comforts of the castle. 
 
 `` My dear consort Esmerelda, we must not dawdle. Reports have the enemy just miles from this area.'' Spoke one of her hooded companions. 
 
 `` Indeed, and might I add these are *hungry* men. You might appear too appetizing.'' The other added with a yellowy smile. 
 
 *They were right, * she conceded silently and continued on. Esmerelda had no intention of falling victim to these dogs called soldiers. After all she may not be the queen but she was the King's consort. After a good pace through the bloody marsh, none of these bodies matched. `` The King is not here.'' She said exasperated in the summer heat. The day was unbearable. The bugs buzzing around did her no favors either. 
 
 But the hooded priests would have none of it, `` Just a little bit further Consort. We need to be certain'' Spoke the taller one of the two. Both were covered top to bottom in brown, stained sackcloth. Hoods drawn up revealed only their lower jaws. The shorter had yellow teeth and horrid breath, the taller had straight white teeth and vaguely smelled of fresh roses. Strange, but not uncommon. She concluded the taller was from the Pinnacle Monastery. The shorter was obviously a local. *stupid faith* she thought angrily, *stupid mud, stupid bugs, stupid wars, stupid boys, stupid Art* 
 
 So much death, Esmerelda began to cry. She hoped and prayed they would not find her King, but she knew. Oh she knew, the long nights with the man who abhorred his chaste wife, his long stories of love and loss, his regret for the kingdom, for kingship. *he did not deserve this. He never wanted kingship* 
 
 That's when they came upon the body. Face down in the muck in purple shining armor, Kings armor, he lay. The arrow had pierced the boiled leather neck guard directly in the center. A shot like that to his spine was near impossible and would have killed a man easily, any man. But the King was more than that. Esmerelda knelt over his body as fresh pools of salty tears coalesced in her eyes. She blinked and a drop fell splattering on the back his armor. The finest steel, dyed royal purple, trimmed in actual gold. The trim rolled like waves and in the center of each wave a ruby was fixed, all gleaming and accounted for. Besides some mud the armor was pristine. 
 
 `` The arrow took him in the back of the neck it would seem.'' Said the taller. 
 
 `` A quick death, good that he did not suffer. He died a brave man.'' Added the smaller. He continued after a moments silence, `` Can you confirm this to be your truthful King?'' 
 
 `` You were the King's favored consort, his only consort. Your word will put our distressed land to rest. The King's son, wise Emery, shall take the throne then.'' The taller spoke solemnly. His voice was comforting, unlike the shorter cretin. Esmerelda sighed. So many nights she'd spent with the King. *He would've made me queen had I not been such low of birth, * she mourned silently, *I would have loved you, and followed you, and never let you die. I know you never wanted this. * 
 
 Almost knowingly a soft hand, gently set upon her shoulder. *Comforting. * She shuddered, then composed herself. She stood wiping the tears from her eyes, looked at the taller man, and spoke plainly for all to hear, `` Yes, this is my truthful King. I have found him. Let his soul and our nation be at rest.'' 
 
 `` Well spoken.'' The taller said. 
 
 `` Aye, now we best go.'' The smaller added. Then from his great brown sleeve a powder. With his gnarled little hands he sprinkled it above the nameless body and recited a chant. Upon the last word the body became engulfed in brilliant blue flame. A moment after it was gone. `` The nation will accept your word, we need no body. Let the good King rest. After all, you knew him best.'' The smaller said turning and walking away. 
 
 As Esmerelda walked with the taller and smaller priests, relief flowed through her. *Aye, you are right little man. I did know him best. * 
 

