Disclaimer: If you think I am Tamora Pierce, you should lay off whatever drugs are messing with your brain.
Author's Note: I apologize for any awkward sentence constructions, but my ability to rearrange sentences and stuff was severely limited by the fact that I was writing this fic for an alphabet challenge, so please keep that in mind when you judge this piece.
Gift and Bane
A scream pierced the air again, and eight-year-old Duke Roger of Conte started, shocked that his quiet Aunt Lianne could howl so loudly and at such length. Blood pounded in his eardrums as he mentally cursed the unborn child who was creating so much anguish in his beautiful, frail aunt. Clenching his fists around the arm of the plush sofa where he was waiting along with Uncle Roald and Duke Gareth for the chief healer to emerge from the queen's bedroom, Roger fervidly wished that the baby battling to be born in the next chamber had died in the womb as the other three children that Aunt Lianne had conceived had done. Death was the only thing that came out of childbirth as far as he could see, for it was either the mother who passed away, as his own had done when she gave him life, or the baby, and he preferred Aunt Lianne to any bawling child.
Eons of screams later, a new wail cut through the oak door separating him from Aunt Lianne. Finally, the baby torturing Aunt Lianne—making her vomit every day for months—had burst into the world. Gods, he knew that he should have broken into a relieved smile at the sounds of new life in the next room, but he couldn't manage to do so when he resented this newborn for being the root of so much pain and trouble.
"He's a son," Duke Baird, the chief healer, announced as he stepped out of Aunt Lianne's bedchamber, a trace of pride seeping into his weary voice as though he were somehow responsible for the gender of the child Roger already hated.
"I have an heir," whispered Uncle Roald, looking as if her were about to fall to his knees and praise the Goddess then and there. "Jonathan, that's what we'll call him."
"Kingly name," Duke Gareth approved, while Roger observed inwardly that he would have named the baby boy something sorrowful after all the agony the newborn had caused, instead of something kingly.
"Lianne chose it—it means 'gift of the gods,'" Uncle Roald murmured, and Roger restrained himself from pointing out that 'bane of the gods' would have been a more accurate name for the newborn.
"May we see her?" added Uncle Roald, glancing inquiringly at Duke Baird. Now, he seemed to forget that he was the king, and so he could do whatever he wished.
"Of course, sire," replied Duke Baird, bowing.
Paralyzed from the hips down, Roger somehow forced himself to trail Uncle Roald and Duke Gareth into the queen's bedchamber, and the instant he entered the room, he regretted doing so. Quilts and sheets soaked in blood surrounded his aunt, and sweat mingled with tears on her cheeks. Raising her eyes to them as they entered, she smiled bravely at them.
Suckling sounds filled the room. The baby, who was as pink as the runt of a litter of pigs, was sucking ravenously on Aunt Lianne's breast, treating her as though she were a sow. Unbelievable; after almost killing her in childbirth, the baby was continuing to yank the life out of her.
Venom flooded Roger's veins. What a beast this child was, and he would slay it the way he would any other monster that attempted to murder his aunt. X'ed out of existence, that was what this ugly wad of flesh deserved to be for threatening Aunt Lianne. Young as he was, Roger would protect his aunt from the beast that had tried to devour her from within. Zenith—the wretched baby didn't know it, but he had reached his zenith now, because from now on, Roger would devote himself to bringing him down.