Chapter Text
The King was bored.
Really, really, horribly bored.
While He was certainly busy with His duties as a god, there hadn’t been anything that piqued His interest in the last decade or so. The mundane routines of everyday worship, contracts making, meetings with other similar entities, and rituals of each and every day had melded together as one, as if time had flowed continuously without stopping at all.
The mortals that served Him were all so boring. Sure, they were good servants. They bowed down to the king without hesitation, each echo and demand reciprocated and acted out on the will of their king as if they were puppets of the god — even though they weren’t in the first place, and never have or will be. They fought wars, made peace, congregated worshippers and so many other small tasks that allowed for the King to avoid as many of the mundane tasks as possible. But they were too obedient, too fragile and easy to break. Too uninteresting for the King to toy with or even observe and study each and every move they do.
The King sighed, leaving these thoughts behind, gathering His attention to the present scene as He snapped out of his temporary trance. While He sat down on His throne deep in thought, there had been mortals knelt down before Him, whispering and murmuring as they prayed to the eldritch god in hopes of some miracle or whatever hopeless dream they had that they wanted to achieve. With a hand, He waved away these mortals that had knelt down to pray. Unfortunately for the King, they only bowed deeper and began desperately pleading, their voices turning into shrill notes that spoke of desperation and greed. The King paid no attention to their pleas and with a flick of His hand, threw the mortals out of the entrance of His castle, slamming the bright yellow doors shut to prevent anyone else from coming back in to bother Him.
The King sighed once more, shoulders slumping, laying on the backrest of His throne. Never had He thought boredom would ever be a problem in His entire life.
If only a certain knight would show up in His life by now.
Within all the knowledge He knew, He knew that one day, there would be a knight; that one day, a knight in golden armor would serve under Him, for all of eternity. He and the knight would be well acquainted, and with the knight, He would never be bored.
But He had waited forever, and the knight had yet to show up.
How long would He have to wait? He doesn’t know exactly when, only that it would take a long time for the knight to appear.
So all the King In Yellow could do was wait.
And wait
And wait some more.
…
Time had passed by much quicker than the King had expected. The days melding together as the concept of time slowly seemed to degrade and melt within Carcosa (as it usually did in the constantly shifting and never-ending, changing city of Carcosa, but this time for some unbeknownst reason, that the King observed, for a longer period of time.)
He must have backed and protected thousands of generations of mortals by now, and slaughtered billions of others. Billions and billions of followers had served under Him by now, loyally and obedient, as all of His followers have.
Yet, despite all this time, His knight had yet to show up.
But He didn’t care, at this point, how long He would have to wait.
He was willing to wait for His knight for as long as He had to.
…
Then one day, after thousands upon thousands of years had passed, the King finally found him.
The knight had finally appeared in a world made out of entirely cubic blocks: a little world the King Himself had personally created and left undisturbed, so that one day He would be able to find His knight. (The King knew that this person was His knight; He knew that it was him, and was rather overjoyed at His knight’s appearance in this small world.)
He was a knight in gold plated armor, which was slightly dented and dirty from all the exploration the knight did, but nevertheless shining and bright. Dark red linen draped his shoulders, cascading down his back in gentle folds, the cape only held into place by a star-shaped, golden crest that pinned the corners of the cloth together on the right side of his chest. He wore a matching gold spartan helmet, adorned with a red plume that curled down from the top of his head to his back. A black leather belt along with a small satchel was tied to his waist (which seemed to somehow hold a huge quantity of items in it despite its initial appearance), holding his pickaxe, torches and sword along his waist for convenience of use.
The King watched him build a base; a small, wooden house made out of oak logs and cobblestone. His knight would hum happy little tunes as he placed the stairs and carve out a dirt path leading to the house, silently muttering to himself little snippets of his own thoughts as he organized items in a chest, and even skip and dance while creating his little farm that would sustain him while living in this world.
Oh, he was perfect.
It was a joy for the King to watch His knight do his little activities and daily routines; whether that was mining, farming, building, exploring and even sleeping, the King would silently watch his beloved mortal from afar, not daring to interact with him just yet. (No, the King would have to wait for the right time — the knight would come to Him eventually, and He knew he would come.)
Each increasing day of observation made the King love His knight even more than He had the day previously before. And how could He not? He had waited for so long, and finally, the Knight that He knew would appear did appear — and it surpassed His expectations and knowledge of what the knight’s personality was like. His little mortal was adorable, and he loved him so much that it even affected his own demeanor around His followers (a bit shameful, really, but He couldn’t care less now that His mortal was here.)
The King needed the knight to be with Him, so desperately, so fervently, that it was the only thing he could think about.
That Knight will be His.
And He’d guide the knight to Himself.