Not A King by Blood But A King in Spirit

10 cycles ago.

The First Equinox

Tharul 1001

"Are you gutting a boar or peeling a potato?"

I frowned at her. Mother stopped what she was doing, so she could correct my hand placement with the knife so I could peel better. I didn't see cooking as a woman's work but a skill necessary for life. So I paid attention and heeded her correction. Soon I heard the trudge and tumble of father and Elrin, soon emerging in the entranceway not too far from the kitchen from where I stood. It seemed this time they'll be going out on a hunt without me.

"Oui," father beckoned with a quiver strapped to his back.

My eyes lifted to see Elrin first, and he held the hunting spear aloft.

"You coming?"

My head whipped to the side to stare pleadingly at mother, who surrendered a small smile.

She jerked her chin in approval. "She'll be more help to you out there than she is here with me."

She nearly fell over when I rushed at her to lock my arms around her waist. She stumbled but laughed, a sound like the trill of bells. I hurried away so I could sidle Elrin's flank, taking the bow from his grasp. Father bid his wife farewell with a last, lingering look before he led the way onwards.

The thatched roof, sagged slightly from years of weathering, was surrounded by a patchwork of fields. Rows of vegetables and a few grazing animals speak of a simple yet hard-earned life. Father was a man of wiry strength, his skin tanned and roughened by years of labor under the sun. His clothes were plain, patched in places, and his boots were worn but sturdy. Slung across his back was his well-used quiver.

In the soft light of dawn, Elrin, about ten summers. His eyes, a reflection of his father's, were brimming with a mix of excitement and determination. Whereas I, on the cusp of adolescence, was too close to womanhood. My movements were measured and precise, but belying my youth.

We set off from our holding, leaving behind the familiar comfort of our farmstead. We moved through the tall grass of the meadow, which swayed gently in the morning breeze, our destination the dense woodlands that border our homeland. Father, his steps confident and silent.

"Watch the ground," he instructed in a low voice, his eyes scanning the earth. "Look for broken twigs, disturbed leaves, and tracks. The forest tells a story if you know how to read it."

Our eyes snap to the ground. My brother and I follow his lead, our eyes darting around the ground, trying to discern the subtle signs father pointed out. An unspoken competition, a silent war waged between my brother and I as our eyes scoured the terrain. And I wanted to be the one to draw first blood.

"Speaking of reading," father said in a hushed tone. "I procured more books, not a lot, but enough to keep your minds occupied for a good while."

I freed a tortured groan.

Father knelt down suddenly and showed us a set of small paw prints, barely visible in the soft earth. "Hare," he said, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "Fresh. We'll follow these."

We moved deeper into the woods, the air cool and filled with the sounds of rustling leaves and distant bird calls. Father's lessons continued, his voice a steady guide as he shared the secrets of the hunt. He showed us how to move silently, how to blend with the shadows, and how to stay downwind to avoid alerting our prey.

As we reached a clearing, father signaled for silence. He pointed to a small, brown shape nibbling on a clover. Elrin stepped forward, his grip tightening on the spear. Father's hand found his shoulder, steadying him. "Aim just ahead of it, like before," he whispered. "Throw with your whole arm."

Elrin nodded, his face a mask of concentration. He drew back and hurled the spear with all his might. The spear arced through the air and found its mark; the rabbit fell instantly. Father's eyes lit up with pride and he ruffled his hair, a bright smile on his face. The prick of jealousy couldn't undermine my shared pride.

Father helped him bound his quarry before we moved onwards. Elrin's first feat made him arrogant. He tried for kills that required years of mastery and missed several times. Meanwhile, I was a bit farther back and had my eyes on a different prize. I spotted a cluster of fowls pecking at the ground, unaware of the danger. With fluid grace I nocked an arrow with enviable experience infused in my fingers, drawing the bowstring back, and I let it fly. The arrow struck true, and almost before it had landed, I had another nocked and ready. In rapid succession, two arrows flew, each hitting their target. Three fowls lay still on the ground.

"Perhaps if you used such skill in the kitchen, we could get a decent meal out of ya," Elrin jeered.

I nocked another arrow threateningly, aiming it at his heart. "Keep wagging your tongue and you'll get a matching set."

"Aurora," father rebuked.

I lowered the bow. And I went away to retrieve my game. When it was time to make our way back through the meadow, the fading sunlight cast long shadows across the tall grass. Father walked with a thoughtful expression, with us close by his side, our faces still flushed with the thrill of the hunt. The rhythmic crunch of our footsteps on the soft earth provided a soothing backdrop to the quiet countryside. But this quiet was different. The silence felt forced even though Elrin, and I traded banter, our voices filling the void, but it wasn't enough.

Father carried two of my fowls, but I noticed his hand had found his stomach. The last time he did that, he collapsed on the field when Elrin and I were planting.

"Father," I said to fix attention on him.

His gaze skittered to mine, and his eyelids fluttered erratically.

"Father?" Elrin repeated with concern resonating through the single word.

"I'm well," he said dismissively. He was sweating even though the air was cool, almost cold. Elrin insisted we take a recess by the large oak tree at the edge of the woodland, its ancient branches spreading wide like a protective canopy. Father leaned against the trunk and slid down to the ground, depositing nonessentials at his sides. His eyes and bronzed form in harmony with nature. "Sit with me," he said, his voice gentle yet commanding.

My brother and I mirrored the same expression before we settled down beside our father, the day's spoils laid carefully at our feet. Father inhaled a strenuous breath, taking a moment, gazing out over the fields, the horizon tinged with the warm hues of dusk.

"My children, my greatest treasures," he began, his tone reverential but also contemplative, "we live in a world that often judges us by our birth and by the land we till. Our humble origins, unfortunately, place limitations upon our perceived worth in the estimation of many. But remember this: our value is not dictated by our blood but by our actions, our knowledge, and our character."

He looks at me, then at Elrin, his gaze firm and earnest. "We cannot afford the luxury of formal education, it is true. But learning is not confined to grand halls and gilded books. The earth beneath our feet, the animals we hunt, the stars above our heads—these are our teachers. Today, among many days, you hone the art of the hunt, but more importantly, you hone the principles of patience, precision, and respect for the life you take. These lessons are as valuable as any taught in a noble's school."

His voice took on a philosophical tone, and his words were imbued with a deep sense of purpose. "If knowledge is power, and wisdom is its most noble form. We must strive to speak with the eloquence and confidence of nobility, even if we lack their titles and riches. Let our words be our heralds. Let our deeds reflect our honor. There is a dignity in this, an unspoken nobility that no title can bestow."

I listened intently, the bow still resting on my lap, my mind absorbing his teaching as it always did. "But father," I asked softly. "How do we make others see this nobility within us without anything to prove it?"

Father smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "By living it. By affording individuals the appropriate level of consideration, irrespective of their status. By showing kindness and compassion even to those deserving. By being honest and just even when you've been wronged. And by never ceasing to learn and grow. Let your eloquence and your actions speak of the nobility in your heart."

Elrin, his spear resting against his shoulder, nodded slowly, his developing mind processing our father's words. "So, even if we're not of noble blood, we can still be noble in spirit?"

"Exactly," he said, his voice ringing with pride. "Nobility of spirit is not bound by birthright. It is earned through our deeds. It is a choice we make every day. And it is a legacy far more enduring than any title."

Father took a readying breath before he tried to rise on his own. Elrin and I flanked his figure and aided him until he was fully upright. His lips were parched, like he was deprived of water for days, and his skin was blanched. Despite the serenity he showed, I could see he was suffering within, and the pain was eating him alive and still he smiled.

As the last light of the day faded, we continued our journey home. My brother and I walked with a sense of fulfillment, our young minds alight with the possibilities of what we could become regardless of how we came to be.