A Child for the King
I remember when I was born. Distant, and yet, barely a day ago. Sometimes when I lay in the desert sun, breathing in heat and coughing out sand, running my long fingers over my aching wounds, and chanting the prayers of healing, I long for the womb from which I came. It was all warm and wet darkness in the womb and I dwelt within it, existing without purpose yet satisfied with my life. But then it broke. Rocking and confused, dizzying tumbling around in the darkness groping at the bumpy walls, then brilliant light streaming through cracks.
What?
Yes, no, that isn’t how birth works?
Hush now, child, we shall reach the city soon and I have already spoken too much.
Yes, I am taking you to the king. What’s he like? Oh, let me think.
I only met him once …It was last winter, around the solstice, when the world was in full bloom and those little yellow flowers sprang from the cracks in the roads. I had come to Morque to buy a bow as my one had broken a few weeks prior. Well in the market, I happened upon a public board, where—
Huh? What is a public board? Oh, it’s a large wooden board in the marketplace where advertisements are pinned.
Yeah, no problem. On the public board the king had hung a notice. He was looking for …well, let’s just say, people like me.
Oops. I’m getting distracted, you wanted to know what he was like, not my whole history.
My bad.
I was in the throne room, where I had been for quite a while, awaiting the king’s arrival. Just when I was beginning to despair and look for a window I could escape through, the gold-engraved double doors swung open and in strode a rather large man. He was about average in height, although he wore heeled boots, so perchance he was factually a tad short. His face was wrinkled with age—if I had to guess I would say he was in his fifties—and he wore his beard long and tangly. His strangely large head was almost bald, decorated only by a ring of graying hair and a crooked crown. He wore simple clothing: a red robe worn over a black something and brown trousers, all loosely tied at his flappy waist by a big gold belt. Aside from those and his boots, he wore two rings, one the king’s seal and the other a marriage band.
I will admit, given the rumors I had heard while in other kingdoms, I was a little discomforted by his simplicity. But setting that aside I greeted him as I would any tyrant—err, monarch—with a formal bow and a quiet introduction, this time to my name instead of my sword. His voice was booming and overwhelming well also somehow being almost too quiet to catch what he was saying, as if he was whispering at a shout.
Oh.
We’ve reached the citywalls. Well, hang back a minute and let me explain us to the guards. Yes, put your head down and look tired and docile. Mmhmm, just like that.
Okay.
Ahem, excuse me gents …cming frm fr awi wth shld fr thi kng, cming toh clehkt rehwrd.
Alright, let us continue, right this way. No, don’t wave to the guard. Shh, child.