When Robert Plant and Jimmy Page entered the chapel, a ripple of recognition and awe swept through the mourners — two titans of rock, arriving not as legends, but as grieving brothers. Jimmy carried his guitar like a relic, his fingers resting on the strings as though it, too, felt the weight of the moment. Robert stepped to the microphone, his golden curls now silvered with time, and said softly, “We came here for Ozzy… because without him, none of us would have had the courage to be who we were.” Then Jimmy began to play — a slow, mournful riff that bled into the room like an open wound — and Robert followed, his voice still carrying that wild, soaring power, but now tempered with heartbreak. Together, they performed a stripped-down tribute, a haunting mix of blues and lament that felt like a conversation between two old friends and the one they had lost. When the final chord rang out, Robert placed a hand on the casket and whispered, “You’ll always be with us, brother.” The room stayed silent, suspended in the echo of rock and grief intertwined.

When **Robert Plant** and **Jimmy Page** entered the chapel, time itself seemed to pause. A quiet ripple of recognition and awe swept through the mourners — two titans of rock, stepping forward not as legends, but as grieving brothers paying tribute to a fallen friend.

Jimmy held his weathered Les Paul close, fingertips brushing the strings as though the guitar itself shared the sorrow of the moment. Robert, once crowned with golden curls now turned silver by years and miles, approached the microphone. His voice, softer than fans had ever heard, carried the weight of history as he spoke: *“We came here for Ozzy… because without him, none of us would have had the courage to be who we were.”*

Then Jimmy began to play. A slow, mournful riff drifted through the chapel, each note soaked in memory and loss, bleeding gently into the hush around them. Robert’s voice joined in — no longer the wild, untamed wail of his youth, but something deeper, bruised by grief yet rich with love. Together, they crafted a raw, stripped-down tribute: part blues lament, part whispered goodbye.

To those who watched, it felt less like a performance and more like an intimate conversation among three old friends — two standing, one departed, and the music bridging what words could not.

As the final chord hung in the air, Robert stepped closer to the flower-draped casket. His hand trembled slightly as he laid it on the polished wood and whispered, *“You’ll always be with us, brother.”*

The room stayed silent, heavy with shared loss and the echo of music that had once set the world on fire — now offered as a final farewell to the **Prince of Darkness** who had inspired them all.