Interlude: Birth of a King

Interlude: The Birth of a King

Snow falls in a gentle cascade of pristine droplets. The air hums with a discordant song born of the crystalline trees. The sky above in a spectacular display of color and shadow.

No ghost or creature troubles the approaching woman's path, her strides marked with confidence and smooth efficiency. She has aged and yet is just as he remembered, tall of frame, pale of skin like the Sothern skies, with snow white hair in a deceptively simple series of braids. A long fur coat surrounds her, the collar brushing up against sharp features but doing nothing to hide her blooming smile.

"My son!" She cries, racing forward along ancient paths into the welcoming embrace of the prodigal child.

He is taller than her now, and broader as well, two things he somehow never expected; another reminder of how much time has passed.

They stay there in that quiet moment for a time, before she pulls back, beaming; hands clapping against his chest she is giddy. "To think you would make your poor old mother travel all the way out here!"

"And look at you, as tall as your sire now, and with their tusks," She chuckled flicking the tip of the long and only gently curved ivory, so distinct from the traditional, Drakkari's that bend upwards.

He smiles at her, "Well I suppose I had to inherit something from them, seeing as they insisted ever on that I carried your sharp wit and sly-"

"Oh bite your tongue," she chuckles, before a speculative gleam enters her eyes as she casts her gaze around the Crystal Song Forests. "I confess, I thought you would be bringing company, given you chose to invite me here."

He had been expecting this, his mother was a smart woman after all and one did not rise to join the ranks of the Speakers by lacking awareness.

It would be easy, so easy to shrug it off as a flight of fancy, to go home where a comfortable bed and welcoming family await, to a world he's always known but... He cannot.

"I do not bring home a lover as you might expect, mother, but instead I carry with me a mission."

She is growing worried now, staring intently, seeking something familiar and welcome but does not find it. She is beginning to speak and he knows the name she shall say and so breaks the silence first.

"Please mother, do not say that name... It does not fit me anymore," It comes our as more hoarse and desperate than he hoped, like he's still a child wondering why cousin Ek'tal won't wake up.

She swallows, "Have you chosen a new name, or did the Shadow Tribe take it from you?"

"It is what I have chosen," He drops to his knees, hands resting on his legs as he bows his head. "Please mother, wise Soothsayer and honorable Servant of the Speaker, I beseech the... Strike my name from the family registry, so that I may be born anew and do what must be done."

"And what, pray tell, is that, oh child of mine?" She asks, guiding his chin up so he must face her gaze and see the subtle signs of tears blooming in her eyes.

"I am going to be king."

Whatever she had expected it was clearly not that, and her tone is almost chiding when she says, "Behind bars and buried in shallow graves. These are the shared fates of those who sought the crown of Zul'Drak."

"Because they did not wear it," he steeled himself, "Nor did they seek it for a just and honorable cause."

"And your cause, for which you would cast off your family and homeland?" She asked hotly.

"Peace," He meets her gaze resolutely, "Peace in Zul'Drak, safety for all our people's and prosperity for the empire."

"And for this fools dream you must leave me behind?" She asks, maybe pleads, or perhaps her tone is resigned and despairing, he does not know, he does not ask.

Instead he smiles, "One must be above the noise; beyond the petty bickering-"

"and rivalries of those who are not charged with the states future." She chuckles without humor, "To think you would heed me in this manner."

He can only thank her, but words are not enough, yet for now they are all he has, "You bore me, raised me and taught me-"

"I know all I have done, my son. What I do not know is how a few years with your sire would lead my bright boy down the path of fools and martyrs."

He takes in a long, deep breath, the cool air familiar and welcome, soothing his troubled soul as he speaks. "Our cousins do not live with the same splendor and wealth we do it is true, but so too it must be known that they live in peace. Kinslaying, blood feuds, wars... Such horrors are unknown to them. I would wish they be unknown to those who come after me." 

He holds her gaze, his tone unwavering, "To be a king who unites all, I must be of everyone and no one."

She looks away, a low shuddering breath escaping her, "I see now why you were seeking names of rabble rousers and dissidents, not just of our home but others too. Will your court be made up of the unwanted and rejected?"

He shrugs, "Everyone knows there is something wrong with Zul'Drak, mother. For me to feel safer sleeping in a cavern with strangers than in my home; for cousins and kin to kill each other with such ease. Zul'Drak is sick," He insists hotly, "But those who act to cure it openly are rarer finds, and they one's I would seek to hold close."

"Closer than your own family, your own mother?" Her voice is quiet now, lacking in heat or cold, warmth or chill.

He bows low, "I am sorry, honorable Speaker, and truly, eternally grateful for all you have done for me, I will not waste your efforts."

Her hand reaches out to rest upon his head, ruffling his wild lavender mane before drifting away and back into her sleeves. "Then this is where we part ways, stranger..."

And with that, she turns and leaves.

Repressing a shudder, his whole body near spasms in a bid to reach out to her, to take it all back. But even with his heart quaking and everything inside him roiling, Malakk only raises his head and speaks, "It was an honor, for this one, Frost King Malakk, to meet with you."

She calls back, chide and humor dancing with grief and fear in her voice, "Do something worthy of kingship and we shall see and braid your hair! No one will heed such a wild looking man as monarch!"

He smiles at her and murmurs, "Thank you, mother."

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He does not know, cannot remember how long he waits there, long after her form has faded he still kneels, as if in supplication and seeking forgiveness. 

He is only drawn from his revere when a hand clap against his shoulder and jolts, "Moorabi?" The smaller, leaner troll only smiled forlornly at him.

"My order was to leave me alone," Malakk rumbled, rising to his feet.

"Aye, but you were not my king yet," Was the rogues answer.

"You did not believe my promise to break from all that I was to become what I must be," He said, not a question, just a fact.

"I did not, I do know," Moorabi placed a hand over his heart, "I will standby your side, until the very end, my king."

Steeling himself, Malakk rose to his full height; hand resting upon the smaller trolls shoulder, a small smile tugging at his lips, "Then rise, and gather the others, we are heading West."