This crown feels heavy upon my head.
My old crown was silver. It was simple and beautiful, with intricate designs of woven leaves. It fit me well, not only in its size, but for my personality also.
After so many years of simple silver, this gaudy gold crown feels so foreign upon my head.
A crown like this was never meant for a simple man like me. No, this crown belonged to someone far more magnificent than me, someone far more deserving of these cheers.
"All hail High King Edmund!"
That didn't sound right.
But then again, nothing is in its right place.
All it took was one arrow. One measly arrow, that managed to puncture a main artery.
The real High King bled out before anyone even found him.
He died alone, but I'm certain he wasn't scared.
A High King, one that deserves cheers of such booming magnitude, is never afraid.
Kings, on the other hand, often fear and often dwell in the past.
As I am doing right now.
I'm afraid I won't be able to live up to these expectations.
I can picture the High King's face, wrinkles creasing lightly on the skin. Far too many wrinkles for someone so young.
I can imagine the dark, puffy circles around his eyes. Far too many sleepless nights for someone so young.
I can remember the sounds of groans and aches, stress wrecking his body. Far too many health concerns for someone so young.
And yet, the High King took it all in stride.
He did what he had to do in order to keep Narnia peaceful; And perfect.
What if I can't do that?
What if I'm not cut out for this?
I'm not magnificent. I'm not golden perfection.
I'm Just. I'm dark, with a guilty conscious.
The High King always shook his head when I got lost in my thoughts.
He would lay a hand upon my shoulder, and a kiss upon my lips.
He would call my name, and beckon me back to bed.
Doubts and worries cloud my mind, and the real High King is no more.
I know he won't call my name.