First to arrive was a most surprising individual, a representative of Asadal, with whom the Empire had scarcely any real relationship to speak of with. Now, it was hardly his place to speak on matters of diplomacy—after all, Hisato's primary concern at all times was the wellbeing of the Imperial Family, both in the best of times and, as today proved, the worst—but he couldn't help but find himself intrigued by the mystery that was life in the country. News from the "Great Kingdom", as they called it, was hardly something the average Fusanese read, and even for someone who moved among such lofty circles as his own, he was hardly the most informed about the State Councilor's homeland.
"I appreciate your most kind words," he spoke gently; if the guest from abroad didn't understand, a small host of interpreters were on standby to translate. "and I will be certain to pass them along when I get the chance." He added with a bow as the first guests passed on. Soon enough, the next guest, one more familiar to the East Ardian nation, was to arrive.
Compared to the Asadaleoin, the Rokkenjimans were no stranger to the Fusanese, and especially to Hisato. He hadn't lost anyone in the war which, through no fault of the Imperial Family, had broken out in the year prior, yet he had an unprecedented look into the decision-making that had gone into its waging. After all, one of his duties was to aid in managing the emperor's schedule, and he often would proof-read any speeches he made beforehand, which meant he'd not only had a better idea of what led into the war than most, but also the process by which peace had been achieved. How lucky was he, a boy from a small town, otherwise a nobody were it not for circumstance, to have played such an important role in deciding the fate of so many. "I will be certain to keep that in mind," Hisato stated when Sophia mentioned the possibility of overstepping boundaries. "As the old song goes, the flowers will bloom once more for those yet to be born." He added, paraphrasing the song "Hana wa saku"; that had been a favorite of the late Emperor's for as long as he could remember, so it only seemed fitting.
Almost as soon as he'd finished speaking with Sophia, more guests arrived. He of course recognized them all from the list, but he was most familiar with the Countess of Leonaise; she was a relative of the Empress, not to mention a prominent diplomat in her own right, so given recent events, it was not a surprise that she was present in her stead. What was surprising, at least to most who didn't have the guest-list, were the Toshikawans. It wasn't that they had a poor relationship with Fusan; rather on the contrary, other than due to the events of years passed which hardly bore mentioning, the two nations actually got along rather well. No, it was simply a matter of the nation not being what would be called very diplomatically active. Even so, it was good to see them here. "Thank you for your condolences." He said before glancing around at the other guests, mostly members of the Fusanese nobility and military, who carried swords before giving the Toshikawans a knowing look, as if to say "Yes, of course you can have them."
A few minutes would pass as the rest of the guests arrived at the palace, slowly funneling through the gates of the Imperial Palace. There were few as noteworthy as who had come before, mostly low-level diplomats from who knows where, but there was at least one more who bore mentioning. Arun Kaikaew, the President of the Union State, more often referred to incorrectly as Kalasin after the troubled region, had actually managed to make it. He was joined by General Okuda, representing the APA and, by extension, the people of Kalasin proper in lieu of an elected government, and Minister-President Yi Jun-seok of Paechon.
"On the behalf of the people of Kalasin, Paechon, and the Vax Republic, I would like to extend our most heartfelt condolences to the Imperial Family and to the people of Fusan." President Kaikaew said. "Emperor Eikō was truly a friend of our nation, one whose absence will be sorely missed."
"Thank you, honestly." Hisato said in response, offering a short bow as these final guests arrived. Just a few minutes were left, and so, he too would enter the palace, taking his seat just behind those of the Imperial Family.
How many times had he been in this position, Eijirō thought as he looked down at the coffin, its frame draped in the flag of this most sacred land. Even before coming to the throne, he'd attended funerals, both for family and for friends. He'd accompanied fallen brothers on their final journeys and had held the hands of the wounded in their final hours, and yet, it never got easier, being confronted with death. To think, he'd had time to prepare for this occasion, just over four years in fact, and even that didn't help. And why should it? Within this "box", a man whom he saw as more of a father-figure than his own late parent lay, and though there was the promise that they would see one another again, that was many, many years away, and even that reunion would bring sorrow for others.
"Your Majesty?" Natsuki Uematsu asked. "It's time."
"Right." Eijirō said, placing his hand on the coffin for a moment and muttering "It's been a pleasure, o-jiisan." before straightening his uniform and leaving the hall and rejoining his family, if only for the sake of decorum. He would have one last chance to bid his farewells, a little under six hours from now, and what more could be even be said?
As the minutes counted down, the members of the Imperial Family, led by Eijirō, entered the open-air building that was the Shishinden and took their seats. Here, in the very same place that, in the brisk air of November in the year 1982, Emperor Eikō had first sat upon the throne, would begin his final voyage into the afterlife. Once everyone had been in place, then entered a priest, cloaked in a white jōe and carrying a shaku, at which time those assembled were expected to bow to him.
"We shall now commence the funeral of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Uchitsune." The priest, the head of the Meiwa Grand Shrine—the holiest of shrines in the Teidō faith—said upon stepping up to the podium, its modern design clashing with the traditional architecture of the palace, almost as if a reflection of the life of the deceased. Once he had finished, the other priests, representing the six head shrines, Meiwa included on account of the head priest who was presiding over the funeral, entered the hall, conducting their purification ritual—which included chanting and the waving of harai-gushi over the guests—as everyone once again bowed, repeating this bow once again when prompted by the priest. Then came the presenting of offerings, mostly in the form of food and banners as a band played the beautiful yet haunting sounds of gagaku, and once that had been completed, the head priest spoke once more, reciting his elegy for the late Emperor, unique from all others as was the custom for the funerals of men in his position.
Once that too was done, the head priest moved aside as another priest, the head of the Mihara shrine in Izumi prefecture, took the podium, paper in hand. Gently, he began to read the eulogy prepared by the Imperial Family, saying "We are here to honor the life of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Uchitsune, a man whose life was, if nothing else, devoted in service to a calling greater than himself. Our departed sovereign, whom lived for just short of a century upon this world, having pursued not his own happiness but rather that of his family, his nation, indeed the world, has been called home to sit at the side of his father and his father's fathers under the watchful gaze of the great goddess, now until eternity." He paused, taking a breath as he looked out upon the room, first upon the guests and then upon the Imperial Family. "Yet even though he prioritized the needs of others, be it in the fires of the Great War or behind the closed doors of the Imperial Palace, he often said that the greatest joy a man could know was to grow old among the company of those he loved. Verily, I can say that in that regard, our departed lordship knew much joy.
"When he was young, a mere eighteen years of age, Uchitsune bore witness first-hand to the horrors of war, when in 1945 the Ardian Empire ravaged Shinkyo and brought death and destruction to its people. Like many heroes of his day, he took it upon himself to aid his fellow man, yet his weapons were not of fire and steel, but of the heart, for he volunteered as an ambulance driver in the closing days of the war. Without his aid, like the many hundreds who likewise took up this crucial role, many who were saved would not have drawn breath yet again. Though he did not speak often of that time, he nonetheless was proud of his role in those days, as too he was of those who paid the ultimate price.
"Yet in time, the war would end, and though Fusan was bruised, like the phoenix, it arose from the ashes shining more brightly than ever before. In the years that followed, Uchitsune continued to fight for that which he saw as just, becoming an outspoken critic of the Yokusan system which, going into the 1960s, continued to dominate the nation. In his words, which His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Eijirō has taken to heart, “True freedom cannot remain healthy when it is kept in chains and starved of choice.” Such words hold true for all to see, even as many in the world yet try to obfuscate it. It was no coincidence then that, when the system was abolished, then-Crown Prince Uchitsune and his family celebrated.
"But whenever he was asked what his greatest achievement in life was, our departed sovereign would answer that he would most like to be remembered not as an Emperor, but rather as a father to his children, a man who prioritized their health and happiness, as well as a father to the nation in much the same regard. When his wife, the late-Empress Terumi passed, he was left distraught, yet such a dark time, he found himself drawn to the wisdom of his ancestors, devoting his remaining years to study of his faith with a conviction possessed by few others. And now, we can be certain that he has found a joy unending in the company of all whom he loved and since lost. Thank you for your time, and for joining in commemorating his life."
Thus, the final stage of the funeral commenced with the presentation of tamagushi, followed by the removal of the offerings and the end of the service. Soon to follow would be the long procession to the funerary site, made on foot as it was in tradition of their ancestors, passed down for generations. In the intervening time, forty-five minutes in length, there would be time for the guests to talk among themselves and, if needed, with members of the Fusanese government prior to departure.
