Bastards and Birthrights

He travelled up the stairs to his chambers with maidens on either arm, excited for the pleasures to come. He would never leave that room again.

That man was the King.

*-*-*

Alden was a kingdom of war and festivals. Robin watched each one from the broken-down ramparts of the Reaver’s Slums he had grown up in. Each time, the lights from the Gallant Tower lit up the night sky to be seen from its enemy states; in a way, it was a sort of mockery. The King was a proud man, proud of his history, family, and kingdom. Most certainly enough of their battles. They say the halls are decorated with murals of Skye kings all the way down to the first, the Hero who fought against tyrannical gods and won.

Robin was just happy seeing it from afar, thinking about all those stuck-up rich folk born with silver spoons all in one room… it made him gag.

From the palace to the back streets, cobbled roads became dirt with pools of rain, waste, and blood that filled the air with a rotten smell. Any buildings around were broken down or in the process. You could hear starving, abandoned children crying for their mothers and thieves cutting coins from the coats of their terrified victims. A night without a murder or robbery was a cause for celebration in the slums.

Robin had spent his whole 13-year life in these streets. Born into them by his prostitute mother. She kept him fed for all of 6 years until the plague hit their lot, and she passed away. As for his father, who was to say? If he was a client of hers, he wouldn’t give a damn about his own child, and not, he was likely dead. All he had left of her now was the amulet she gave him while she lay dying. It was small, set in amber and had been engraved to the shape of a peacock feather.

He’d gotten used to the loneliness now, gotten used to living for himself and surviving. The best way to do so was to avoid the trouble; his secret base was perfect. Each night, he stared into the distance, to lands hidden across the Great Lake and the stone monoliths that split the world. He already felt so small comparing himself to those in the capital, but the world was more vast than he could ever comprise. He wasn’t sure why, but it made him a little more calm.

Before long, the night sky lowered, giving way to the sun god as it began its rise. He loved watching the night become the dawn. It reminded him of his mother and friends he had watched the sunrise with before. For the most part, it represented another night he had survived, which was quite a feat in those streets.

Behind him, the hatch opened, leading to the outside, though he did not fear as only he and his friends knew of this place. Sure enough, a smile emerged on his face when he saw her.

“Tara!” A peasant much like him, with auburn hair cut without care. She had stolen her brown dress a few years back and had ripped it at the bottom. She was tall for a girl her age, and she held a girl’s beauty with the demeanour of a boy. She had picked it up while living with so many other orphaned kids in a world not so kind.

She seemed surprised to see him. “Oh, awake already?” She asked. “I was just gonna pick up a few things and head to Ria’s. Wanna come?” Ria was one of the few in their group that Robin didn’t enjoy being around. While some girls grew delicate and charming, and Tara had her kindness, Ria was more into fighting than many boys. She had the power to back it up as well. Whenever they were together, Ria pushed Robin around like a rag doll. He did not like the sound of it again.

“Uhh, nah. I think I’ll just stay here…”

But Tara knew just how to get her way. “Alright… but Celeste was looking forward to seeing you.” And like that, the young man’s ears perked, and his eyes opened wide. Tara continued, whispering into his ear. “Her father bought her a new dress yesterday as well…”. Celeste was the beauty of the backstreets, a diamond in a pile of filth. Robin had been sweet on her for years, and the last time he saw her, she was pure as snow. A new dress? He could picture it, actually. He imagined a few, each one so pretty it made him breathless…

“Fine…” he gave in, hiding the redness of his face. Tara grinned, “knew you’d crack.”

*-*-*

The sun had finally risen, and the morning glow was lovely; unfortunately, it didn’t really do much to mask how ugly the streets were. Cracked bottles and pools of blood, vomit, or both cluttered the pathways, painting a picture of the rowdy night.

Ignis’ backstreets were plentiful. Filled with death and debauchery and had been steadily growing for years. Ever winding down into depths of darkness and depravity, the closer you got to the castle, the more civilised it felt. Dust and dirt became cobbled stone, and quick to anger drunks became elite aristocrats. All until the city’s central point, Goldenfall, the name a mockery of the gods disposed of in the Great War many centuries ago. And high up, overlooking the entire city, was the grand Gallant Tower. It always looked gaudy to Robin, like the kings of history needed to prove something. But, alas, they weren’t here for the castle.

Tara had been distracted away by freshly baked bread and the cinnamon smell. As kids, they sat across the path from the bakery for hours, enjoying the scent of the sacred Spire, a pointed loaf shaped like the tower looming over them. They spent years dreaming of one day having enough money to buy one… it was that dream that stopped them from ever stealing them, along with the fear of the former pit champion baker.

“Oi, I thought we were meeting Ria. Or are you just going to stand there all day?” He asked as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

“Gimme a minute.” She snarled.

Almost 5 years smelling the same thing, you’d think she’d get bored of them.

He waited for her to have her fill, playing with the pendant beneath his shirt. The people around started to hear the low sound of wheels against the stones; Robin likewise. Sure enough, it was an imperial chariot on the hill coming down from the castle, racing through the streets.

Wonder what’s got them in such a rush… Robin thought.

It parked in the middle of the square, and the red carpet rolled out. At this point, Tara had come back to see what the fuss was about, and a crowd had started to form.

Outstepped the King’s closest aide and a few of the imperial guards. Steps were placed beside the carriage so the aide could stand above the common folk with royal guards positioned all around. Couldn’t have royal aides standing eye to eye with plebeians now could they? It was just another thing that irked Robin. The crowd were silent for the most part, but Robin could hear an odd whisper here or there. “Wonder who’s getting flayed this time…”

“Think the King got another chambermaid pregnant?”

“Please not another conscription, no more war…”

They waited on bated breath, and the aide unfurled the scroll in his hand. He took a second, holding the words in, then…

“King Vulcan Skye, 5th King of Alden… is dead.”

Not a word was uttered as the onlookers were shocked into speechlessness. Even the wind was silenced.

“He was murdered last night by an unknown assailant.” The aide continued. By now, the crowd’s silence was broken by rumour and speculation.

“the king is dead?”

“unknown? So they haven’t caught the killer?” and the like. But the announcement continued undeterred by the chatter.

“As per the old traditions, Prince Aurelio, the King’s firstborn, will be crowned after His Highness’s funeral.”

“Dead…?” Tara mumbled, completely taken aback by it. Robin was less affected. He had a smile on his face; had one of the guards seen him, he’d be in cuffs or a casket. “Robin?” Tara asked.

About time someone put an end to him. Rest in pain, you fat fuck.

It wasn’t just Robin. King Vulcan wasn’t popular in the slums, nor were any kings that came before him, all Skye. It’s what made the hunt for a killer so arduous, a solid 70% of the kingdom had a motive, and that was just in Alden. Tara was having a hard time of it. She grew up around pain and murder, as common as clouds in the slums. She hated it, someone’s dead and others laugh…

She pulled Robin’s shirt, hoping to drag him out and to where they were going earlier, but he took her hand instead. “Tara?”

“Can we leave? Please?” She asked, looking sickly. Robin knew why, knowing is what made him moody.

“Oh, come on Tara, you’re not really feeling sorry for him are you?”

“No, I just…”

King Vulcan was much like the other kings of his family. They say that the legendary warrior, the Hero of Alden, who fought against the tyrannical gods for the good of man, was a Skye. It was their family’s greatest honour. That Hero was strong as an ox, hardheaded and battle-hardened. He lived for the battlefield. Every King that followed him was the same. Vulcan had a love of his family’s history, of the honour of the sacred battlefield. And he spent his days dreaming of fighting again, which consumed him. Yet he was King, and he abandoned his duties and turned a blind eye instead of being a wise ruler. Many believe the outbreak of Frostheart that killed many, along with Robin’s mother, was avoidable had the King sent rations and told his doctors to find a cure… yet he did none of it.

Robin hated him because of it, and he couldn’t understand how Tara could be so affected by his death. She too lost a brother, Rea lost grandparents, Rikard lost a little sister… all of it because of an inept fool.

As they were arguing, the aide continued. “High Chancellor Oswyn discovered the body late last night, and has since reviewed his majesty’s will. There was a peculiar portion in the will that caught his attention. He references a slum overlooking the forest to the east. That slum would be The Reaver’s.”

Both Tara and Robin turned back as they recognised the name.

That’s our neighbourhood… Robin realised.

“The King recounts a woman he met, fair and beautiful with hair that shone like fire. She was a prostitute.” The aide read on and prepared himself for the words to be said. “The King visited her many times a decade ago, and it seems she bore a child. That child still lives, a bastard in the eyes of the people… but it is to be legitimised as an heir to the throne per the King’s orders.”

The silence had snapped entirely, and the square exploded with noise. Yet, more was to come; Tara and Robin had been rooted to the ground, unable to move.

“That child, is Alden’s 4th Prince.”

“Prince Robin Skye!”

*-*-*

Robin. His mother had picked that name because of a small round robin that kept her company during her childhood; its cheerful chirps brought a smile to her face. It was an innocence that she cherished in her not-so-innocent life. When he was born, Robin didn’t cry; he let out a short breath that resonated with her. She said it reminded her of her feathered friend; it brought her the same happiness. From that day on he was the only light in her life, until she was taken from him.

He knew what his mother was. He wasn’t ashamed of her; it was forced on her from his grandparents to keep their purses filled. And she continued, giving herself away. It was all she knew. But it meant he had no idea who his father was; he had no family name to hold. He was just Robin. Few else were. Few else had the name, and few else fit the description as he did.

He started to envision that filthy royal, his father, his sire… it was enough to turn his stomach. Robin felt weak, and his legs dropped beneath him. The pendant was tipped over his shirt when he fell as Tara tried to help him back to his feet. But others had noticed at this point.

“Oi, Robin, what’s going on? Are you okay? Can you stand?” She asked. His mind was vacant for her questions, a torrent, spinning violently and uncontrollably.

But another came to his side. It wasn’t a friend, or a neighbour, nor a friendly stranger. The guards and the royal aide had seen a young man drop to their knees without reason. Robin moved Tara aside. Many young girls were known to be taken without warning by guards of the palace. He didn’t want her to be their next victim, but she was not what they stood over him for. Their focus was him.

“Your name, boy.” The aide asked.

“Robin.” He answered reluctantly. The nearby crowd burst into chatter and whispers around him. The aide examined the gold around his neck, something a peasant like him would struggle to acquire.

“A curious heirloom. Stolen?” He asked.

“It was my mother’s.”

The aide’s eyes flickered. “Really?”. He pondered for a moment. Without warning, his guards pulled Robin back to his feet but kept ahold of him. “The King recalled one more thing about this woman he saw all those years ago. Curiously enough, it was a pendant very similar to this one.” Robin’s eyes widened. “Now, there are only two meanings for this in my mind. Either this was stolen, or you are who we are looking for. Luckily for you, boy… I know the truth.”

Robin was shaking. Everything lined up; everything he hated had stained the one he loved, and now he stood as the mixture of that twisted night. Half a royal… a bastard…

The aide smirked. “You are the fourth son. You are Prince Robin.”

*-*-*

They dragged him from the square to the Gallant Tower as he struggled fruitlessly. Tara tried to reach out for him with tears in her eyes, but she was in a sea of people, swimming against the waves and before long, she was gone. He feared what happened to her, what would happen to him. So he would reject it, pleading with them to see reason. He was a peasant; he wasn’t a prince. Yet the guards refused to listen.

He’d never seen the castle up close. Now he was going inside, to a place that only a select few would ever see. His heart beat a mile a minute, so loud he could mistake it for the drums of war at the top of the castle. The pale arches began to take the shape of a dragon’s maw, swallowing him whole and slowly crushing him. The streets below disappeared, before he knew it, the doors snapped shut behind him, and he was truly alone.

The aide went off on a different duty and ordered his guards to take Robin to see the others. Who these others were, well, he could only worry. But the closer they got, the more voices he could hear.

Finally, they reached their destination, and the guards practically threw him into the room without care and shut the door, barring his exit. The four already in there didn’t even notice, but Robin realised that each was someone he recognised.

“This is bullshit Oswyn. And I refuse to stand by it idly.” The brutal middle child of the King, Prince Arian. He looked much like his father, black hair slicked back and cold, dark, menacing eyes. There’d been many occasions where he would journey down to the slums just to kick people around. Sometimes, those people wouldn’t be seen after it either.

Oswyn was a name everyone in the kingdom knew. He was high Chancellor, second only to the King. While Vulcan was ignoring his duties, Oswyn was taking care of it. He too, was to blame for the outbreak that killed so many. He too, was someone Robin severely despised.

While Robin was analysing their faces, Arian marched over to the one sitting in the corner. He didn’t even care to look Arian’s way. “He is the eldest son, Arian. What would you have me do?” Oswyn asked.

Eldest son?!

Prince Aurelio, the Golden Child. He took more of his mother’s looks. Every maiden in the kingdom dreamt of him looking their way. He was golden-haired, wearing the blue robes of his mother’s (the former queen) family.

“I’d have you name me king!” Arian roared.

Aurelio took notice of that; he found it amusing. “You think me funny, dear brother?” Arian asked, the vein on his forehead almost bursting.

Aurelio quietened. “I think you unimportant. I will be King; it is my birthright. And when I do, you and Coryn can either take a knee or lose one.”

Coryn was the youngest of Vulcan’s sons, at only 14 years. Vastly more intelligent than Arian, and maybe even more so than Aurelio. But he was carefree, preferring the easy route. He too had his mother’s golden hair, but it was shorter than his elder brother’s, less well-kept as well. While Aurelio wore his mother’s colours, and Arian took to black, Coryn had the red wolves of the Skye house emblazoned on grey fur. He wasn’t keen to involve himself in the bickering; Oswyn had dragged him away from his fun, and because of it, he was sulking in the corner.

“You’ll find threatening me is not a wise decision, Aurelio. I will not tolerate anyone other than me wearing the crown! Not Coryn, not the peasant… and certainly not you, Aurelio.”

Oswyn interjected, “Unfortunately, there isn’t much to be done, Arian. The firstborn takes the throne; it is our history.”

“History be damned!” Arian shouted. “There is plenty to be done”, he spoke ominously.

“If I am not crowned, I will cross the deep waters and within the week, I will have a hundred ships at my back, ready to die for me. If I am not crowned, there will be war.”

They’re all crazy!

Robin wanted out. Surely they didn’t need him there, and it just so happened there was a chance to escape back to the streets and his spot. The window was open and inviting. The others were face-to-face, utterly ignorant to him. If he could just make it…

“And where do you think you are going, Prince Robin?”. He stopped dead in his tracks, looking back to see the Chancellor looking his way. Arian scowled when he saw him, and Aurelio continued to watch the walls.

The last heir, quiet so far, gasped as he saw him and rushed over, grabbing Robin’s hands. “The fourth son!” He exclaimed, looking at Robin with stars in his eyes. “You’re father’s bastard. I always wanted a younger brother!” He smiled.

“He’s not your brother, Coryn.” Aurelio called. “A commoner is a commoner, no matter who beds his harlot mother.”

“Harlot?” Coryn asked with his finger on his lip. For everything she had gone through, living a life for others, only to be mocked by a boy born with a silver spoon. It wasn’t wise to bite back; Robin knew this, but it was too much to watch his tongue. Luckily enough for him, Aurelio interrupted his response. “You can have my father’s blood running through your veins but that does not make you any more than what you are. I am your future King. You’d do well to remember that, bastard.”

Before Robin could respond, Arian had his blade readied, facing Aurelio. “You’d do well to remember what happens to usurpers. I admit, the throne is yours by right. But I will not be silenced, wed off and forgotten. Do yourself a justice brother, step aside and I will give you castles, land, coin, and women beyond imagine. Or fight. And die by my army.”

The threat didn’t scare him. In fact, it seemed to bore him enough that he stopped to yawn. “You are welcome to send them my way, Arian. Send your silver, I will return them a field of red. The crown is mine. Mongrels can bark all they wish.”

“Look.” Robin interjected, catching both battling brother’s ire and finally seeing Aurelio’s face. “I’m clearly not needed here. I don’t want to be a prince. As a matter of fact, I hate being here. So let me go home, and you can have your war.”

“You still have duties here, I’m afraid.” Oswyn replied

Duties I didn’t sign up for!

“This is stupid. I’m not a prince; I’m just a citizen. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“You are here because you belong here. Royal blood is royal blood and it runs in you. Though I will admit you do not fit the bill of Prince I must say.” Oswyn retorted.

“And exactly what makes him belong, Oswyn?” Aurelio casually asked. “We are here because Arian is being difficult, are we not?”

“Difficult?! I’m fighting for what’s mine you pompous little prick”

“But it’s not yours, Arian. You will all do well to realise this. The crown does not belong to a third or second son… certainly not a gutter rat bastard. It is my birthright. Get it through your thick skull Arian, or would you prefer a new residence in the cells?”

Arian was on fire. Fury boiled, so hot steam burst from his ears. “Your birthright is a sword through your gut, and I’m itching to supply it.”

“Enough!” Oswyn called, silencing the bickering brothers. “Until a king sits on the throne I will make the decisions, as Chancellor. You follow my rule until a decision is made, so I suggest you cease this childish bickering, or I’ll have you sent to the frontlines, and you can kill each other there!” His threats quietened the brothers, other than Coryn snickering in the corner. Oswyn quietly contemplated his options. It seemed one took his fancy.

“Prince Robin. Have you heard the tale of the swords of creation?” Oswyn asked. To Robin, it seemed out of the blue; why suddenly start talking about fable? The Chancellor didn’t seem the type to let his words wander; he was to the point, he didn’t have time for nonsense. So Robin went along with it to see where Oswyn would take him. “I think so? There was an old fairy tale in Alden of an ancient warrior. He controlled four blades and had power beyond imagination. A blade of chaos to cleanse, a blade of the waves to fill the world with water, a blade of the earth to repopulate with flora, and a blade of the skies to help life grow. Each made him a master of creation. These blades were Grannus, and…”

“Azura, Stormcaller and Glimmer.” Oswyn jumped in. “Your elder brothers will have been taught their significance from their father, I presume.”

“Naturally, your point being what exactly?” Aurelio responded.

Oswyn smiled, happy Aurelio asked. “Arian, where is the blade of chaos, Grannus?”

“Above the throne, it’s the sword of our country, used by the Hero of Alden to kill the gods in the Gold and Red. Where else would it be?” Arian answered, looking puzzled.

“Good. Now, Coryn. What of Azura, Stormcaller and Glimmer? Where do they sit?”

“Ooh!” Coryn’s face filled with excitement. “They were stolen by the King’s brother during the fourth king’s reign. He entrusted them to spirits in the Ingot Isles before he died!” He gleefully answered.

“By tradition, the next King would be Aurelio. However I, and the kingdom, do not desire another war. We’ve lost much in our conflicts against Rowe and Regalia. Should a civil war begin, they would send their armies to sweep up the survivors, and Alden would abdicate. Arian, I cannot simply ignore war if you are truly threatening it. But I also cannot give you the crown.” The Chancellor explained.

He continued. “Therefore, I would suggest you compete for it, all four of you.” The four were taken aback.

Why include me?! Robin thought.

“Each of you will be brought to the Ingot Isles, the home place of these lost swords. You will take on the trials to retrieve them. And he that reunites the Swords of Alden, and places them upon this alter with Grannus…”

“Shall be King.”