The Last Othellan

The sudden battle

The baby was crying, but that would soon be halted, thought the queen with a smirk as she slipped a little bottle from her cloak. The infant had her flame red hair, but he had the king's face. Once he was older, he would be almost the spitting image of his father.

Of course, he wasn't going to get much older, if the queen had anything to do with it.

Efficiently, and none too gently, she forced back the head of Saerwen's bastard, as his crying increased. She had never liked the piteous moans of young children, and was grateful that her own daughter had a wet nurse to tend to that.

His eyes were the same as her daughter's. The infant was her child's half-brother, she supposed, whoever his mother was. The queen could not change that. Still, she found it unsettling, looking into his eyes. They were so similar to her little daughter's, the exact same forest green, the shape of almonds.

Instead, she focused on his hair, the same shade as the woman who the queen hated more than anyone. Her daughter with the king was born lawfully, and was the heir to the throne, whether or not the king may want it. This child was a threat.

The queen uncorked the bottle with a high-pitched pop.

It was still crying as she tightened her grip on the infant boy and dripped the contents of the bottle down its throat. Then it stopped crying. She walked away without a backward glance.

The world went black.

I woke with a start and sat up. Cold sweat trickled down my back, and my heart pounded as it had scarcely done before. My left arm was stinging again, and I glanced down, realising I had forgotten to put the bandage back last night.

The word traitor shone out, and as I sat, staring blankly at it, I couldn't help but believe I deserved it. I was sure the nightmare had been planted by Saerwen, but that didn't make it any less shocking. Watching my mother murder an infant in cold blood, with no remorse and such hatred, I couldn't help thinking that I deserved Saerwen's hatred.

I jumped as someone sat beside me, but it was only Legolas and I relaxed, comforted. However, when I saw him, I felt an unexpected feeling of guilt gnaw away at my heart. What right did I have to happiness, when my half –brother, who shared my eyes and my blood, was dead because of me?

"I was just coming to wake you" Legolas explained "We will be leaving shortly and I thought you might appreciate some food".

"Thank you" I smiled, trying to appear as normal as I could manage. I took the bread he handed to me and tried to eat it, but my mouth was dry. 

"Are you well?" He asked, after a brief silence, peering concernedly into my eyes.

"I'm fine", I smiled, making a better attempt at normal. Gulping down my breakfast, I reached for my discarded bandage. I did not yet feel comfortable putting my arm guards on without it, but I took out a dagger and halved it, so it would be thinner, in recognition of the healing wound.

I wrapped it loosely around my arm, but I couldn't make it stay. I tutted and unravelled it with fumbling fingers for a second attempt, but Legolas took it from me before I had the chance. I smiled slightly, holding my arm out so he could bandage it, making a far neater job than I could have.

"Thanks", I muttered, standing and offering him a hand. He took it and I pulled him to his feet. When I made to let go of his hand, however, he held on tighter, his thumb making circles on my own. He stopped me from walking any further, and put his other hand on my upper arm.

"Are you sure you are alright?" He questioned, dark eyes narrowing. For a second, I thought about telling him everything – Saerwen's son, my half-brother, and how my mother murdered him, why she murdered him. Was it fair to burden him with all my troubles?