Roots: The Birth of a King

Neither wanted to believe the truth right before them. Both questioned to themselves how they had gone five years without ever mentioning their family names.

"Tarn… I see…" said Aslong with a deep voice and disapproving tone.

"So it would seem you were wrong about Ashled then, my son." Tarn replied. The silence between Ashled and Tor was heartbreaking. The two had grown so close over the past five years and now with the simple realization that Ashled was Ashled Bjornson, and Tor was Tor Jugikssen, the two both knew they would never speak on good terms again. Without another word said between the families they parted and went home. Tor, in utter shock, could not bring himself to feast with the family that night. Ashled as well chose the solitude of the southern beaches over time with his family. Over the course of the following months both Ashled and Tor pleaded with their fathers, in hopes that the two families may come to some sort of agreement. Both were scolded for even asking.

" Have you no loyalty to your ancestors?" asked Tarn. "You know my father, your namesake, was killed in a duel with a Bjornson. He died for what he believed was right and that family is everything we deem wrong! If it were up to them, we would be neck deep in foreign invaders!"

Ashled got no more sympathy from his father who said:

"Sorry boy but I can assure you whatever amount of love you have for that man is drowned ten times over by the hatred you must have for that family. They are the reason our cousins live in poverty and they alone keep the island from prospering to the extent it could. I cannot allow you to let them have their way."

The first few months after Ashled's return were haunted by the loss of his brother and now his dearest friend. The funeral of Aslan was carried out with only Ashled shooting the ceremonial arrows. Aslong saw to it that no Jurgikssens were present at the funeral, while Tor mourned in secret from the North side of the island so as not to disappoint his father, who celebrated the death of a Bjornson as if it were his birthday. Things changed for Ashled, however, when Alcedonia told the family she was pregnant. The two were thrilled to welcome a new Bjornson to the world and this child's birth served as a much needed light in Ashled's life. Only a few months after this it was learned that Tor was expecting a second child soon with his wife Dorne. Though the two could never meet or speak it aloud, they were happy to hear the other was doing so well. Then, finally, on the 28th of Rain's Hand, was born the giant eleven pound son of Ashled and Alcedonia. Exhausted from the birth, Alcedonia was left in her room to rest. Much debate was made over the name of this child. Breela thought it would be wrong not to give him the name of a historic Bjornson such as Aslong II or Asgald IV. Ashled was looking to name him after his late brother Aslan. The argument grew heated as it became apparent this was about more than just a name. Ashled accused Breela of being too coldhearted and Breela argued Ashled was being too soft and sentimental. It also came to light that while Alcedonia was beloved by Ashled's parents, Breela could not approve of her brother marrying an imperial. The conflict caused the newborn baby to wail and squirm. The two sat down, sobered by the cries of the newborn, and held the child. Embarrassed by their yelling, the two tried to no avail to calm the baby. The unnamed child would continue to cry for the next few hours until an irritated Alcedonia, still exhausted, marched into the room; held him to her chest; and hummed, ever so softly in his ear, a tune from her childhood. The humming was personal and sounded like the audible manifestation of a mother's love. It was sweet and nostalgic like the smell of fresh baked sweet rolls first thing in the morning at Grandma's house. He stopped his whimpering and fell back to sleep after only a few minutes. Upon the conclusion of her hummed tune, Alcedonia laid down on her side with the boy nestled between her leg and stomach so that he was warm and could feel her touch. She then kissed his forehead and whispered

"sleep well Alexander," and without another question, his name was decided. He was Alexander Bjornson, son of Ashled The Fleet. Unfortunately for Tor, the birth of his second child would not go so well. Dorne went into labor in the small hours of the morning and after Tor leapt up to get his father, he would discover Tarn had died in his sleep earlier that very night. In Honor of his father and in hopes he may one day reunite with his brother Ashled, this boy, the second son of Tor was named Tarbjorn.

As months and years passed, both men grayed and both saw the negative affects the other family had on their own way of life. Mercenaries unemployed because they couldn't leave the island. Dock workers and guards attacked by Gryphons looking to steal a ship and sell their skills to those traveling through the Alik'r desert or deadly Abecean sea. With the death of both of their fathers, the two became the heads of their families and upheld their duty as such. Now 46 years old, Ashled had become the pillar of Southern Stirk. His son, however, was a rising star who was set to take his place. Alexander was a giant. He towered above his playmates around town and by the young age of sixteen the boy had grown to six foot two and weighed just under 200 pounds. He was as thick as a horker, as strong as an ox, and had a voice that thundered like a dragon's roar, commanding attention from any within earshot. He had already grown a thick black beard in an attempt to match his father's, though he wasn't quite that physically mature; which is what made him so horrifying. At a mere sixteen years old, with many years ahead of him to grow even stronger, this boy was as dangerous as Ashled had been in his prime, if not more so. Additionally, a second child was born. For years Ashled and Alcedonia were satisfied with just Alexander, however the boy had grown so quick that he, in many ways, now took care of them. They had decided not long before the events of our story to have a second child. She was a girl named Breela II. Though she was not yet even a year old by the time of the start of our story, she was also tall and broad, set to be a warrior like Alexander.

Not to be outdone, Tor, now aged 49, raised a hell of a boy as well in Torson. Now 23 years old, Torson stood aslo at six feet and two inches, however, those extra years were spent putting ridiculous amounts of muscle on his large frame. Torson weighed in at 220 pounds and was every bit as strong as his father had been. When the two sparred, it was not a father teaching his son but two men squaring off. While Torson lived an easy life in terms of work, he trained practically every hour he was awake. Tarbjorn, in contrast, was still a bit soft in relation to his brother and father. Now fifteen, soon to be sixteen, Tarbjorn was not an inch above six feet and through regular training had maintained a stout weight between 170 and 180 pounds. He was impressive to be sure, but in the theater of the Bjorson-Jurgikssen feud he was a small fry. Though Tor denied it to himself, in truth, Tarbjorn reminded him of his youthful optimism. He looked at Tarbjorn and saw a young naïve version of himself before he had accepted the mantle of the head of the Jurgikssen home. He was embarrassed to have been so naïve but also a bit ashamed that he gave up trying to reconnect with Ashled. All of this would flood his heart at once whenever he looked at Tarbjorn and, as such, he was never as enthusiastic about Tarbjorn' s training. None of this mattered much though, as the feud between families was still fairly tame. Alexander would often participate in duels with Torson but the two rarely ever hurt each other with the most severe damage dealt being shallow cuts that hardly left scars. However, events would soon unfold that would lead to death for some, growth for others, and the end of an age. A brief reminder though, that the end of every age, is the birth of a new one.

This is the state of affairs at the time of the start of our tale of Alexander. The roots have been planted and the sprout has sprung forth from the soil of Stirk. A flowering child had been born and soon he would develop into the Conquering king he was destined to become.

End of Prologue