Written for the Midwinter Challenge at the Tamora Pierce Experiment: Writing Challenges forum. Come on over and check it out! Based on the quote "Come, they told me. A newborn king to see."
An Heir
"Come, they told me. A newborn king to see."
The Lord Gershom, head Provost, ran a blunt finger down the rough parchment. A deep scowl distorted his face, and he was muttering to himself. "Arden Tonair, arrested for disorderly conduct in court... Aber Enwell, arrested for stealing twenty silver nobles off a jeweller; Ansoll Ryn, detained for incessant shouting. Period of custody: one day. Bard Everett, taken for multiple thefts; albeit petty ones. What a looby." The man smoothed his sensible tunic and sighed. There had been a slew of crimes in the Lower City recently, and he'd been doing nothing but recording. Midwinter was coming up, and he knew it wouldn't be a relaxed one. The King was starting to settle down, but it would be a long process. Before he'd married Queen Jessamine, his head had been in the bedroom, not in the vast kingdom of Tortall where it should have been. Hopefully, the King wouldn't crumble again during the celebrations - they did make one giddy, after all. Gershom recorded the last name before he pushed his cushioned chair back and looked out the window. His eyes widened in shock and wonder. Just hours ago, the city had been as it always was—men and women selling wares, children ducking under flailing arms and getting underfoot. Carriages moving in a rush to get places, cats and dogs crowding the streets. All that had changed, though. The dusty roads were covered in a thick layer of white snow, rising with the steady fall. No dirt had sullied its pure whiteness; no footprints ruined the beautiful canvas of emptiness. No, it was perfect. With this sight in mind, Lord Gershom opened his thick wooden door, and walked with deliberate steps to the sitting room where his lady, Teodorie, would be waiting.
The regal woman looked her husband up and down with her well-trained eyes. "You're tired," she proclaimed. "Go rest."
Gershom ignored her and sat down. "Did you see the snow?"
"Of course I saw it, my lord. Such trivial things as snow, though, you do not usually pay attention to."
"Since when has snow become trivial?" Lord Gershom inquired, his eyes merry. He knew his wife was puzzled by his change of countenance.
The woman sighed quietly, her perfect etiquette preventing it from being too gusty. "Please, Gershom, just rest. You need it."
The Lord Provost smiled and ascended the stairs to his room. "I shall see you later, then. Please tell one of the servants to wake me up if there is any news."
His lady just nodded.
As Gershom dozed in the chair by the small hearth, his hazy thoughts flew from Rats to records to Rats again. Finally, after much turning in the chair, he moved his head to the side and fell asleep.
"My Lord, wake up, please wake up!"
He knew that plea. The man bolted upright, his blue eyes alert. "Bad news?"
"No, no, my Lord, the opposite!" The maid said earnestly.
He stared at her eager face. "Well, what is it?" The Provost did not like when people beat around the bush.
"Queen Jessamine, the blessed woman, has had a boy, my Lord! Gareth's his name!"
"A boy, eh? Finally, we've got an heir." His face broke into a slow smile. "When was the lad born?"
"Oh, hours ago, my Lord. They say he's got his father's eyes."
"Well, let's hope he doesn't take after him in values," Lord Gershom said wryly.
"He's a cherubic little boy; I doubt he'll be like King Roger, my Lord."
Gershom dismissed the woman casually with a wave of his hand and went to find Teodorie.
Now he knew this Midwinter would be the opposite of relaxing. And that was just the way he liked it.