The Dawning
The capital of the Jötunn Empire, Dämmerung, had an excited buzz that early morning. The sun had not yet risen when the news spread from person to person, door to door, tower to tower, and far beyond the gates of Dämmerung: the queen had given birth to the new prince.
Crowds gathered outside the palace, wrapped in cloaks and blankets, huddling together for warmth in that cold, spring dawn. Their gazes were up at the royal palace’s terrace where they awaited the confirmation of the news. They whispered amongst each other as the time dragged on, all smiles and excitement. Vendors and merchants began setting up shop around the crowd, expecting a grand sale for the celebrations.
The stars that spangled above faded as the black night was overtaken by the light of a cerulean heaven, revealed by the arising sun over the valleys. Finally, as the sun peaked its head across Dämmerung, a blonde Jötunn Knight in golden armor walked out and pumped his fist, beaming at the crowd. The crowd cheered in elation and the bells of pagan churches rang throughout the city.
Inside the palace and the bedroom chamber where the news had been born from, the Jötunn Empire’s knights, warlords, princes and princesses had gathered to witness one of their newest High Princes. They stood around a large bed, some weeping as they looked on at the miracle before their eyes.
Frigga cradled her newborn child closely to her, now sitting upright on the bed. She was sweating and dark circles clung beneath her eyes, but she was smiling with a mother’s warmth.
The baby’s golden eyes looked on curiously from beneath its white blankets at its mother, then at the host of people in the bedroom, and then at its father who was kneeling beside the bed with tears in his eyes. Osmund came off his knees and kissed his son on the forehead and then Frigga on her forehead.
“He did not cry,” said Frigga, her voice shaky.
A titan of a man with burning red hair let out a hearty laugh, slapping Osmund’s back and buckling him back onto his knees for a moment, “But this one did!”
“Forgive me, Logan,” Osmund chuckled, stretching his back and wiping his eyes. “Still, you shouldn’t laugh at me. I know you wept when your son Gibborim was born!”
“Like a maiden!” Logan barked, beaming. “What will be the child’s name?”
“Arthurius,” Frigga declared, brushing her baby’s cheeks with her thumb.
“I’ll tell the crowd. They’re gonna love it!” said the blonde knight with golden armor. He walked back out into the terrace and shouted, “THE HIGH PRINCE IS TO BE NAMED ARTHURIUS!” The crowd responded with a chorus of cheers and he walked back into the room.
“You seem to love doing that, Edward,” Osmund remarked at the blonde knight.
“I was born to please crowds, it’s in my nature! Let them be excited! It’s the first time royalty has been born in the empire in a time of peace.”
Frigga nodded thoughtfully, then looked to her shoulder at the young man standing there. “Ymir, let the kids in. They’ll want to see their new brother.”
The young man with long, white hair braided back nodded and walked towards the door. He opened it and three children immediately swept past his legs in a blur, sprinting towards the bed. Another, taller child with short, sea blue hair walked behind, greeting Ymir politely at the door.
The three children huddled together, looking at their baby brother with a hint of awe in their eyes.
“I thought you said it was a boy, father!” blurted the shortest child. His hair was dark, a faint hint of blue on the edges only visible from the faint morning light.
“Why don’t you check, Wulfric?” Osmund grinned.
Wulfric peeled back Arthur’s blanket and promptly pushed it back over him.
“It’s a boy!”
“It really was a baby brother then,” the second child said disappointingly; a girl with long, sea blue hair. “I was hoping for a baby sister! Papa, kiss Mama and make a baby sister now!”
Osmund choked back a cough, sensing Frigga staring exhausted daggers at his neck as the others around him laughed. He patted the little girl’s head with an awkward smile.
“Now, Lyanna, papa can’t do that. The family’s getting too big! Arthur is going to be the last one.”
“Then you owe me, Papa!” Lyanna whined.
“How about this. I’ll give you Lobera instead of a baby sister, is that okay with you?”
“YOU’RE GIVING HER LOBERA?!” cried the two boys indignantly as Lyanna nodded happily with bright eyes.
“Why are you giving her a sword when she uses spears?!” pressed the third boy, the tallest of the trio. His hair was sky blue like his father and twin sister, Lyanna.
“She can learn to use a sword like you then, Sigurd. I’ll teach you both together. It’ll be easier!”
“Easier on you!”
“Okay then, make another bastard, old man!” Wulfric ordered.
“WHAT? Where the hell did you learn that word?” Osmund fumed.
In the corner by the door, Ymir, who had not participated in any of the laughter up to that point, was looking away and trembling with a grin on his face.
“AHA! So you can’t! Now you owe ME something.” Wulfric ruled, crossing his arms with a huff.
“That’s not how it works!”
“Oh it’s because I’m a bastard now is it?”
“Wulf, you’re not a bastard. I’ve already told you countless ti - you know what, fine! I’ll give you all something”
The three children cheered as loudly as the crowd outside.
“Being extorted by your own children? Fatherhood must be quite unpleasant,” mused a man with long, white hair and venomous green eyes.
The laughter and bright smiles were immediately quenched at his presence. He had been standing by the terrace, unbeknownst to all, holding a staff with a glowing blue crystal at its head. His face was feminine and his voice was soft and honeyed, easily capable of being mistaken for a beautiful woman if it weren’t for his skintight attire on his upper body, which showed all the features of an athletic man.
“The Queen must be tired. Everyone, please bid your farewells.”
They all congratulated Osmund and Frigga, rushing to leave the chamber. Finally, it was just Osmund, Frigga, the baby, and the man.
“You can stop hiding yourself now, Agmund,” the man said, looking toward the darkened corner of the room by the door.
Out stepped a towering man, becoming visible in the light as he had been completely invisible in the shadows. His hair was long and an impenetrable black, pierced by branching black horns on his head. His eyes were a spectral silver, their gaunt glow further making his sickly pale face wraith-like. He walked with long strides over to them, dragging behind a long, black cloak that waved like the surface of water with each movement. Most striking of all was his aura, a constant eminence of pure dread that made even the hairs of valorous Osmund stand on end. The white-haired man looked uncomfortable standing next to Agmund, instinctively taking a step away from the deathly figure.
Agmund turned his head toward the man, speaking in a deep, hushed voice that still managed to resonate, “You’ve learned to sense my presence, Ancelot.”
“Only an idiot would not be able to learn how to considering your...presence.”
“It’s rude to consider others fools despite your advantage in power, Mage....” Agmund cautioned.
“Apologies, my King. But I wish to speak about the current advantage in power our empire has in the Nine Worlds.”
“What you wish to to discuss is war, Ancelot. Say it clearly.” Osmund growled. He was standing at the foot of Frigga’s bed, glowering at Ancelot.
Ancelot looked directly at Osmund’s golden eyes, his face unreadable. “I understand you wish to savor your time with your wife and children in tranquility. Yet peace will not last. Not with barbarians at the gates looking for an opportunity to assemble and attack.”
“Your lobby can be discussed another time. You’re right, I am tired,” Frigga professed.
“What do you think, my King?” Ancelot looked at Agmund. He was not listening, but gazing at the baby in Frigga’s arms. The baby was looking directly at Agmund, eye to eye, with intense interest. No hint of dread nor fear lay in that baby’s golden eyes and Agmund looked back with confusion and curiosity.
“Agmund!” Frigga called. Agmund snapped out of his lull and realized Frigga had been calling his name several times. She held up the baby toward him, “Would you like to hold him?”
Agmund hesitated for a moment, looking down at the baby once more. Osmund carefully lifted the baby from Frigga and cradled him in his arms. “At least not before me.” He stepped toward Agmund cautiously, holding the baby to him as if he were presenting his sword to the king. The baby reached out to him and Agmund slowly took the fearless baby in his sickle-like fingers.
The warmth that spread over Agmund was felt by those around him as if the baby’s radiance melted the cold aura of this phantom. The dawning sun now rose proudly over the valleys and bathed the room in its embracing light, revealing the odd smile on Agmund’s lips. Osmund and Frigga smiled radiantly at the pair.
However, it was not all smiles. Ancelot, unnoticed, took another step away from Agmund as if his current aura was more dreadful than his previous. His face was unreadable as he looked away from the sun, but his serpent-like green eyes reflected a burning anger at the pleasant peace that had befallen the king and his empire; a spark that would fester and soon ignite tragedy.
