Author's notes: Thanks to Abby82 for reviewing the first few chapters. I hope everyone is enjoying this. Feedback is greatly appreciated :-)

Chapter Five

After reading the same document three times without absorbing a single word, King Randor decided that it was time for a break. His assistant made noises of surprise when the king strode past him and out of the office but had enough sense not to follow.

Randor made his way to one of the smaller of the palace gardens, where he knew his son would be finishing his lessons for the day. A group of children raced past him; Adam was not among them. Randor found the boy in a far corner of the garden, his back to the entrance, on his knees and talking to the base of a tall tree.

"C'mon, Cringer. You can come out now. They're all gone."

"Is he still nervous?"

"Hi, Father," Adam turned and smiled up at his parent, then frowned, "I tried to tell him that the other kids aren't gonna hurt him, but he ran back here anyway."

"Th-there's just so m-m-many of them!" A tiny voice stuttered.

Randor looked around the tree and fought to keep from laughing. A small, green tiger cub peered back at him; but where all other members of his species would have hissed or growled at the man, the tiger aptly named Cringer trembled violently and backed even further into the corner.

"Come on out, Cringer," Randor gently commanded, "Adam's right, everyone else is gone. I saw them leave."

It took a little more coaxing from father and son for Cringer to creep out of the corner, around the tree, and finally into Adam's arms.

"How were your lessons today?" Randor asked once the trio had settled onto a stone bench, Cringer purring contentedly as Adam scratched gently behind the cat's ears.

"Good. We learned about the reign of King Tamask."

"That was a long time ago."

"Yeah. Was he one of our ancestors?"

"I'm not sure. He might be. We can try to find out, if you want."

Adam nodded and chewed his lower lip for a moment before speaking again.

"We have to do a family history."

"Not up to the time of King Tamask, I hope?"

"No, just to our great-grandparents," he looked up at his father and frowned, "On both sides."

"Oh. Well, that should be easy."

"Really?"

"Sure," Randor smiled reassuringly at the child, "Your mother did tell me a few details about her family… enough to get you through this assignment, at least."

"You don't mind?"

"Why should I mind? You know that you can ask me anything about your mother, don't you?"

Adam looked down at his hands, his brow furrowed.

"Don't you?" Randor repeated gently.

"Did I kill her?"

"What?"

"You said she died soon after I was born. Did she die because I was born?"

"Oh, Adam!" Randor dragged a hand across his bearded chin and took several deep breaths. "Adam, look at me."

The boy slowly raised large blue eyes to his father's face.

"Your mother did not die in childbirth. Right after you were born, some bad people tried to hurt you, and your mother died making sure that they did not succeed."

"Oh." Adam thought about that for a moment. "So I did kill her."

"No!" Randor placed both hands on his child's shoulders and looked into his face. "You are not to blame for your mother's death, Adam. It's just instinct for a parent to protect their child from harm, and that's what your mother did."

"Will the bad people come back?"

"I do not know," Randor answered truthfully, "I hope not."

"What if they do? What if you die, like my mother died?"

"Where is all this coming from, son?"

Adam shrugged. "I've been thinking about it for awhile, I guess."

"Well, I don't plan on dying anytime soon, I assure you. So there's no need for you to worry about it anymore. Alright?"

"Okay."

Adam grinned up at his father, his face brightening like the sun peeking out from behind a dark cloud.

"Good," Randor tousled the boy's hair, "Now, don't you need to get ready for training."

Adam wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Do I hafta?" he groaned.

"We talked about this before, remember? All boys start physical training at your age. I did. Don't you want to learn to fight, to defend yourself?"

"I guess." Adam mumbled.

"Well, you had better hurry, then. You don't want to be late, do you?"

"No. Hey, can we work on my family history after dinner?"

"Sure."

"Good. C'mon, Cringer," Adam tapped his pet lightly on the head, "Time for lessons."

"M-M-More?"

Adam placed the cat on the ground, stood, and embraced his father tightly before exiting the garden, Cringer close on his heels. Randor knew he should return to his office- the thirty-odd documents on his desk were not going to read themselves, after all- but was reluctant to do so. Perhaps he would go watch Adam at practice. Randor smiled at the thought. Every moment spent with his son, watching him grow, was precious.

Randor's mother, Queen Ailsa, had died in the winter of his eighth year, taken by an illness that swept through Eternos like a plague. Many died during that long, cold season; Randor himself fell gravely ill, and spent weeks in the infirmary alongside his brothers, Keldor and Stephan. Though more than twenty years had passed since that time, Randor could still remember his mother hovering over him, her hands cool against his flushed face, her voice soft as she read and sang to her sons. She spent several hours a day with the boys, but was also gone for long periods of time.

"Where do you go when you leave us?" Randor finally asked.

"To take care of others who are sick."

"Why?"

"Because I am the queen," she answered gravely, "and the mother of my people. Just as I care for you, so also must I care for them. But I will always come back to you, my son."

One day his mother did not come. That day stretched into a week, then two. Their father also did not make an appearance. By the end of the second week, all three princes were recovered enough to realize that something was wrong. The healers who came to see them refused to answer their questions, and they were forbidden from leaving the infirmary. Finally, Mendol, the chief healer for the Royal Family, sat the boys down and told them that their mother was dead. Stephan, six, began to cry. Keldor, seven, stormed out of the room; no one even tried to stop him. Randor stared out the window, where the wind howled and a storm raged.

The funeral service and burial were a blur, as were the months following Queen Ailsa's death. Randor's father, King Miro, buried himself in his work. The young princes rarely saw their father, and the few times they did were awkward affairs indeed. The boys wanted to talk about their mother, share their happy memories of her; their father did not, and his sons did not wish to displease him. Soon King Miro ended any emotional involvement in his sons' lives, acting more as their king than as their father. The boys' upbringing was left to tutors and palace servants; the only exception to this was Randor who, as the eldest son, would one day take his father's place as King of all Eternia. As Randor grew older, his father took a slightly more active role in his education, allowing his son to attend council meetings and peace agreements, as well as accompany King Miro on visits to other parts of the planet. Though his father never confided in him anything that did not pertain to the business of being king, Randor enjoyed the increasing amount of time the two spent together, and vowed to make King Miro proud.

Randor's brothers reacted in different ways. Stephan, the most easygoing of the three, took the situation in stride. He loved his father and would like to have spent more time with him, but was resigned to the situation at hand. Keldor, however, grew increasingly jealous of his older brother, and made his feelings known on many occasions. He alternated between feigned indifference- "I don't need Father, anyway!"- and unadulterated spite- "He doesn't really love you, either. He just spends time with you because you're the oldest!" That last remark might have actually hurt Randor if it had not been something he already knew.

In the end, Keldor's bitterness and rage drove him to self-isolation, dark magic, and Hordak. He disappeared, followed shortly by King Miro, only to reappear as Skeletor, bringer of devastation and despair. Skeletor had not been seen since the day, ten years ago, when he accompanied Hordak to the Royal Nursery. King Miro had yet to be found.

Randor loved his father, and missed him greatly, but he did not regard the man Miro had become after Ailsa's death as a role model for good parenting. He wished his father had remained involved in the lives of Keldor and Stephan, and he wished for some assurance that Miro had loved him for more than just his status as heir to the throne. He found it hard to understand how Miro could have abandoned his children, and had vowed long ago to never detach himself from any children he might father.

He had kept that promise, too, and intended to remain involved in every aspect of Adam's life. He did this not only because it was what he felt a good father should do, but also because he genuinely enjoyed spending time with his son. The child was witty, intelligent, kind, compassionate… the list went on and on. Adam was his own person, of course, but there were times when he would tilt his head a certain way, or smile, and look so much like Marlena that it would take Randor's breath away. Was this why King Miro could not bear to be around his sons? That, Randor had long ago surmised, was the difference between him and his father. Miro had seen his children as a painful reminder of what he had lost, while Randor saw his son as a joyful reminder of what he'd had once, and what he had now. Marlena had been a remarkable woman with whom Randor had been fortunate enough to wed and create life. Adam was a direct result of Randor and Marlena's deep and abiding love for one another. Randor rejoiced in the knowledge that some part of his beloved wife lived on in their son, and hoped the same could be said for their daughter, wherever she might be.

"Sire?"

Randor turned to find Duncan standing just inside the garden entrance, watching him carefully.

"Yes, Duncan?"

The other man approached the bench as Randor stood.

"Your assistant has expressed some concern as to your whereabouts."

"Oh. Well, I was talking with Adam."

Duncan looked pointedly around the otherwise empty garden.

"Earlier," Randor sighed, "I was talking with Adam earlier about his lessons. By the way, just to forewarn you, everyone in Adam and Teela's class has to do a personal family history."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I'm afraid not."

It was now Duncan's turn to sigh.

"She's not going to be able to do it," he said, "She's just not, and that's all there is to it. I guess I'll have to talk with her tutor tomorrow."

"Might I ask you something, Duncan?"

"Yes." Duncan answered warily. He had already explained once to Randor that he could not reveal Teela's parentage to anyone, and he did not think that his friend would ask again, but one never knew.

"Does Teela know that you know exactly who her parents are?"

"No."

"Why? Surely it's come up in conversation."

"I've told her I do not know."

"You've lied to her, as I've lied to Adam. Tell me, Duncan, do you think our children will ever forgive us the lies we've told?"

"I do not know, my friend." Duncan answered honestly.

Randor thought about his son, about the little girl and cowardly tiger who both routinely took the place of a sister Adam did not even know existed, and sighed.

"Neither do I."