Cadentibus Astris

And So It Begins

Rodor, king of Nemeth, sat in his chambers and stared into the fire. It was crackling in the hearth, and he lost himself in the flickering reds and oranges. He'd made a sacrifice to the old religion the month before for a son. His wife had given birth to a stillborn boy. Swallowing thickly he tried to remind himself that his wife and lived, his darling princess still lived. But without a son...He bowed his head in shame. His wife had left after the stillbirth to live in the country to heal. Though he knew the truth, her heart was broken. She couldn't take another failed pregnancy; not that she was able to carry another child if the physician was to be believed.

"Sire?" His servant sounded nervous as he spoke. "Are you unwell?"

He looked to the spindly youth assigned to him recently. Roder was fairly sure he was the steward's son. He wasn't sure why, but he began to speak. "I have no heir. I must marry my daughter to a king who can hold the throne instead. How can I demand such a thing of my only living child?"

The boy shifted slightly. "Surely there is still time. You are still young sire."

Rodor's face turned bitter. "Tell me the rumors of my wife's condition have not spread even down to the servants."

"Physicians are not always right your majesty. And the old ways...perhaps they will still answer your plea." The boy suggested carefully; there was hopeful naivety to his words.

He shook his head. "My wife cannot take the loss of another child. We always wished for a dozen children. A boy to be a duke who would care for us in old age. A boy to wear the throne, a daughter to dote on, a dozen children besides to give us too many grandchildren to count. Maybe a knight to win tournaments and start a dozen scandals by wooing the ladies of the court. Perhaps a child to serve the religion. But instead, we have had two stillbirths, three miscarriages, two live births, the plague taking our first born. Only a daughter whose value will only be for her lands because my kingdom cannot afford anything else."

"I..." The servant slowly approached before setting his hand cautiously on his shoulder. "I believe that the old religion will not leave so just a king as you in despair for long."

Rodor didn't say anything else just staring into the flames as the servant finally shuffled backward at the silence. He shouldn't have spoken to the boy. He should get up, go and hug his daughter and reassure her that her mother would return to them in time. But the lesions of the heart took longer to heal sometimes. Instead, the idea of moving from his chair by the fire seemed too much for him.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when there was a knock on his door before it opened and Sir Ector stepped in. The knight bowed. "Your majesty."

"Sir Ector, you've returned from your quest so soon?" Rodor turned his head. He'd sent his knight to investigate the strange falling lights just three days earlier.

"Yes your grace, and sire the lights, they were alive." The man shifted his cloak so that it was visible that he was carrying a girl, perhaps twelve years of age. The girl was clearly sleeping while curled into the large knight. In her arms was a babe.

Rodor sucked in a breath as he realized what exactly the implications were. Two lights: a babe and a child. Standing from his seat, he gestured Ector further into the room. "Here, set them by the fire."

Ector sighed in relief as he walked over and gently laid the girl and babe into the fur-coated chair. The girl had a tight grip on his cloak causing the knight to have to unhook it from himself; which he didn't seem to mind as he carefully wrapped it around them like a blanket.

"Where did you find them?" Rodor had to resist reaching out and checking that they were healthy. The girl was near the age of his own daughter, Mithian.