Part XIV: Scrolling Through History
Chapter 2: Once Happy Times
Timeline: AO 304-309
The Eye of Seraphiel still hovered before me, its ancient, ominous light illuminating the swirling mists of time. Within The Eye’s depths, I searched to see more about the history of Hacktor’s family – wondering if perhaps there were more potential pawns lurked among the ranks of his children. The Eye, as always, whispered its truths to me, but these truths were laced with the bitterness of what could have been and the horror of what was.
First I saw Hecla. It was sometime during the year AO 309. Her once-bright eyes now dulled by a fatigue that came not from physical labor but from the weariness of a soul burdened by loss and betrayal. She had been a beautiful queen, still was in many ways, but her beauty now carried the weight of sorrow. She’d suffered the loss of a child – that much was clear. But she also suffered something more.
I wasn’t ready to know that secret just yet. This was too good of a drama to read the ending so soon. I wanted to draw out the suspense, so I flicked the threads backwards a few more years – looking for something happier for Hecla.
I found a what I was looking for in the middle of the 300’s – here the Eye showed me three joyful moments for the queen – I took them in, enjoyed them a bit with Hecla, yet knowing that, unfortunately for her, because she was married to Hacktor, despair was sure to follow…
It was late in the year AO 304. Within the royal palace, the halls were filled with the sounds of excited whispers, hurried footsteps, and the quiet hum of anticipation. It was a momentous day, one year after the birth of Prince Uria and already the kingdom was about to welcome another child into the royal family!
Inside Hecla’s chambers, the queen was surrounded by her most trusted midwives, while her handmaiden Jakki tended to her with delicate care. The queen’s contractions had come steadily through the night, and though she was exhausted, her face was lit with determination and joy. This was her third child, and she had faced the labor with the same resolute strength that had made her queen. Beside her, clutching her hand this time around, was Hacktor, his stern face softened by the vulnerability of the moment. The mighty king of The Rhokki’s, a dwarf who had fought countless battles and faced down his enemies without fear, was now watching his beloved wife bring forth new life once more. His heart swelled with pride and love.
Nearby, the baby Uria was cradled in the arms of one of the royal nannies. The prince and heir gurgled happily, unaware of the significance of the day, but the sight of his mother brought a bright smile to his cherubic face.
Livy, the twin’s eldest daughter who had the misfortune of being born prior to Hacktor and Hecla’s marriage and was thus doomed to remain a bastard, stood as close to her mother’s bedside as the midwives would allow, the girl’ eyes wide with wonder. At eight years old, Livy was still full of innocence and warmth, her long dark hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She adored her parents, and despite her illegitimacy, she had always lived a life of luxury in the royal court and ever the commoners loved her as a princess. Her smile mirrored Hecla’s, her excitement at the arrival of another sibling evident.
“Is it almost time, Father?” Livy asked, her voice trembling with excitement.
Hacktor knelt beside his daughter and kissed the top of her head. “Soon, Livy. Soon, your brother or sister will arrive.”
And then it happened. Hecla let out a final, exhausted push, and the cry of a newborn filled the chamber. The midwife carefully wrapped the baby in a soft, woven blanket and turned to present the child to the king and queen.
“A boy, Your Majesties,” the midwife announced proudly. “You have another son.”
Hecla’s eyes brimmed with tears as she reached for her newborn. She cradled him close to her chest, the warmth of his tiny body flooding her with relief and joy. Hacktor stood, his eyes shining with pride as he gazed down at his second son.
“Garl,” Hecla whispered softly. “He shall be named Garl.”
“Garl Derkillez,” Hacktor murmured, the name rolling off his tongue with authority. He took the child gently from Hecla’s arms and held him up for the entire room to see. “Another son, a stronger future!”
The room erupted into cheers. Livy clapped her hands with joy, and even little Uria, though too young to understand, clapped along, giggling at the excitement around him.
“Garl,” Livy repeated with a grin. “He’s so small.”
“He will grow strong, just like his brother,” Hecla said softly, smiling at her daughter. “You’ll be a wonderful sister to him, Livy.”
The day was filled with celebration. Throughout Rhokki Pass, the people rejoiced at the birth of another royal child, and within the palace, the family was united in their happiness – at least for a fleeting time. For Hacktor and Hecla, this was a day of hope, a promise of a future filled with joy and prosperity. But as with all things, darkness would soon follow, casting a long shadow over the Derkillez family. For the war would call Hacktor away again soon – as it always did.
I flicked the threads of the eye forward again. It was late fall in the year AO 307. Hacktor was home from the war early that year and apparently the season had gone well – at least well enough that he wasn’t a misunderstood ogre, frustrated a life, as the king was during most off-seasons.
Eager to take advantage of the king’s good mood, Hecla had the children gathered around their father. Livy was practicing on a lyre, her sweet notes and soft voice filling the room. Garl clung to his mother’s skirts, begging to be picked up, while Uria sat on the floor nearby – his chubby hands gripping a wooden sword, its edges dulled.
Uria’s raven-black hair, so much like his father’s, tumbled over his forehead as he swung the toy sword at an imaginary foe. He laughed, the sound pure and unburdened, as he mimicked the stories he had overheard from his father’s friends—of great battles, daring duels, and victories that seemed larger than life.
Hacktor’s battle-weary body was softened by the presence of his family and especial of his firstborn son. He watched with a rare smile as Uria played. For Hacktor, these moments were few and fleeting, but they were still precious. He loved Livy and Garl, but in Uria, he saw his future—a boy who would one day grow into a king worthy of the Derkillez name, a warrior to carry on his legacy.
“Show me your form, boy,” Hacktor called Uria over, his voice deep and full of pride.
Uria beamed, his small chest puffing up with excitement. “Yes, father!”
The prince swung the wooden sword clumsily, his movements lacking precision but brimming with enthusiasm. Hacktor chuckled, rising from his seat to join his son. He knelt down beside Uria, adjusting the boy’s grip on the sword with strong, but gentle hands.
“Hold it like this,” Hacktor instructed, guiding Uria’s small hands into the correct position. “And when you swing, put your weight into it.”
Uria nodded eagerly, his eyes wide with admiration for his father. He tried again, this time with more force, and Hacktor gave an approving grunt. The young boy’s face lit up with pride as Livy stopped playing to cheer him on and Hecla bounced Garl up and down on her knee in delight.
“Good,” Hacktor said, ruffling Uria’s hair. “One day, you’ll be a warrior. Maybe even better than me.”
Uria’s laughter filled the room again, and for a brief moment, the cold stone walls of the castle felt warmer for the family. Yet that moment was already fading – for while most of the group was indeed happy, Hecla felt a pang of…something. In spite of all that Uria’s future promised, and the joy she first felt at giving to the prince, some reasons she didn’t understand, Hecla feared there was something missing in her affection for the heir—a certain disconnection that would only grow more pronounced as the years went on.
But that was in the future – for now, Uria didn’t notice his mother’s ‘distance’. For now, Uria’s world was filled with love, and as he swung his sword again, the boy believed that he could be anything. Strong, fearless, and unstoppable. He was the heir to Rhokki Pass, the future king. And in his father’s eyes at least, Uria could do no wrong.
As I continued watching The Eye, I knew I was reaching that point where Hecla’s heart would grow cold again, but I tried to find one more happy occasion for her. I came across it the following year
In summer of AO308, inside the royal chambers, Hecla had come through labor once again. It had become a familiar routine for her, the pain, the struggle, the waiting for another child to arrive. But this time felt different. Hecla was not filled with anticipation or hope—only weariness. Another son, another child to raise in a world where her husband, Hacktor, was more absent than present.
She had given him sons, the joy of any king, and yet Hacktor had only grown more distant from her. Although he’d loved her enough to conceive these children with ther, Hacktor’s heart it seemed belonged to more to Prince Uria, the heir, than to her. Even Garl, that bright, happy child who brought such light into the halls of the palace, got more attention than Hecla. And Livy, now twelve, whose beauty was becoming the talk of the palace, also had her father’s attention upon command. But what of Hecla? What of the love they once shared, the bond that had been forged through battles fought together? Now, their moments of intimacy were fleeting at best – and the queen knew that another child would only make things worse between them. .
The cries of the newborn filled the air as the midwives moved swiftly to clean and swaddle the child.
“A boy, Your Majesty,” the midwife announced, though there was less excitement in her voice than in past births. Even the staff had become accustomed to Hecla delivering sons. “A small one, but healthy.”
Hecla let out a weary sigh as she rested her head back on the pillow. She felt the weight of the newborn placed gently in her arms, but her heart did not swell with the same joy that had greeted Uria or even Garl. This child was frail, smaller than his brothers, and Hecla, though she tried to feel the same maternal love, found her heart burdened by her own frustrations.
“Alf,” she whispered, giving him a name without much ceremony. “His name shall be Alf.”
The baby stirred, his tiny fists waving feebly, but Hecla’s attention was already drifting. Hacktor had not been present for this birth. He was at the front, fighting yet another campaign. And even if he had been there, she knew where his mind would be—on Uria, the future king, or Garl, the joyful son whose laughter was loved by all.
Hecla’s hand gently stroked Alf’s cheek, but the exhaustion in her eyes was apparent. Alf was another child to be cared for, another son to grow up under the weight of the Derkillez name. But Hecla’s spirit was worn, and her capacity for joy had dimmed with each child. Her love for Alf was there, deep within her, but it was clouded by the weariness of a life spent alone while Hacktor waged his endless wars.
As the following days passed, Alf was quickly handed over to the royal caretakers and nursemaids. Hecla didn’t have the desire to spend time with him, instead trusting the palace staff to care for the boy.
Months later, when Hacktor returned home, but his attention didn’t fall on Alf. After a cursory visit with the new baby, the king immediately sought out Uria. Now five years old and already being groomed to take his father’s place as heir, Uria showed promise—strong, confident, and every bit the future king. Hacktor was proud of Uria, and he spent every spare moment training and guiding him. Garl, too, with his infectious laughter and bright disposition, was a child Hacktor favored. Garl brought joy to everyone around him, and Hacktor often found himself drawn to the boy’s playful nature when he had free time.
But Alf—small, quiet, and fragile—was a different story. Hacktor, though not unkind, found it difficult to connect with his third son when he did spend time with him – which was not often. There was something about Alf’s smallness, his frailty, that made Hacktor uneasy. Perhaps it was because Alf reminded him too much of the fragility of life, perhaps it was something else. Either way, Hacktor kept his distance from Alf. He did not ignore the baby entirely, but there was no bond, no deep affection like there was with Uria or Garl. Alf, to Hacktor, was simply there—another son, another piece of the Derkillez legacy, but not one he felt compelled to invest his time in.
And so it was that another link was breaking in the bonds that held the royal family together. Now it was time for me to pull them apart….
The Apocrypha of Azazel 