Hawking Kingdom

Chand Hawking had never been a warrior. From a very early age he had been slightly over weight and timid when it  came to his fencing lessons. This, of course, had only caused his father, King Horst, to be even more severe and  critical of Chand. Often his father would lecture him acidicly in public and even take on the responsibility of sparring  with him. Calling those times a "sparring lesson" was a cruel joke in the end. More than a few times these practice sessions would end with a  battered, broken boned, and bloodied Chand lying unconscious on the floor as his father, red faced and raving of the  shame of having such a useless son, would continue to thrash his body with the heavy wooden practice sword. The  old King's personal aides would then rush forward, knees firmly on the ground, screaming and begging the king to  stay his hand before the unconscious boy died of his wounds. Then for Chand it was another 4-6 weeks in bed, healing  whatever internal injury or broken bone his father had inflicted on him this time. Despite all that there was a silver  lining to all these broken bones and stitches. During these recovery times Chand was not required to do anything  except for rest and heal, which in turn left him with time to do the one thing that brought him any real joy in his hellish  childhood. Read.

His mother had died before he could remember her, and his father, so focused on defending the kingdom's borders from constant raids and invasions, had little time for him other than the occasional insulting lecture or  sporadic life threatening beating. So Chand had escaped his lack of self confidence and dismal loneliness in the world  of books. His every spare moment was spent reading, and if anyone ever lost track of him they only had to look one  place to find him. The palace library. The hawking kingdom was poor and focused entirely on its military, but even  so the palace still boasted a moderately sized collection of dusty old books. Large, chilly and dimly lit this echoing and musty room had  been his private sanctuary all throughout his childhood, and he had spent more nights sleeping face down on the  large uncomfortable wooden table and bench at the center of the room than he had in his own chambers.

Thinking back on these things,  Chand couldn't help but have visions of the last time his father had beaten him unconscious. Flashing through his mind, as he lies in bed still awake at whatever ungodly hour it was, he sees scenes from his past. First Garrett, the aide he owes his life to, then his father stumbling drunkenly into his room later that night, and lastly he  hears the THUD! that began his reign as king.

"Mehhhhh..." he sighs into the darkness of his personal chambers. He rarely ever slept more than a couple hours at a  time and tonight, it seems, would be no different.

Lying there gazing at the pale indigo ceiling of his room he clicks his tongue in vexation. According to the idiot  foreign decorator he had hired, the color was supposed to sooth him and make it easier to relax. In truth all it did  was secretly irritate him to no end because of the ridiculous cost of the rare indigo paint. What was worse, he  couldn't bring himself to paint over it because it had been so damn expensive! Obviously he could move his  personal sleeping quarters, but what would he say should anyone ask? Chand was not in the habit of lying, even to  avoid embarrassment. He grimaced at the thought of admitting he had been chased out of his own chambers because  he disliked the color of the ceiling but couldn't bring himself to change it. He could hear the minstrels and street  performers now! The jokes would be boundless!

*There once was a king named Chand*

*Who ruled the brave Hawking land*

*He got out of bed*

*Raised up his head*

*And cried "Eww, the color!" and ran!!*

Chand shivered. "No, no" he thought "much better to just keep the shitty color."

Just as his mind was piecing together another self debasing limerick, his eyes began to register a faint difference in the light coming from outside the bay windows at the far end of the room. Raising his body into a sitting position  his sight slid across the length of his chambers. Noting the bearskin rug and, farther on, the red velvet couch and matching chair, he continued until his gaze landed upon the windows. He was not wrong. There is definitely a faint golden glow clearly visible through the  see through curtains hung opulently across the glass.

"Grr... idiot decorator." the thought flutters across his mind because of the useless curtains.

Dragging his mind from the still half asleep state he had been in, the king tried to think of what this soft light could  be. Like many men of importance, the room in which he slept was far from the ground. Its not an absolute safeguard  but why make it easier for assassins? So what was this light that reminded him so much of the soft glow of a  campfire? ...campfire. Fire.

His eyes snap wide open and his body stiffens like a limp rope suddenly jerked taut. The royal palace was placed on  a wide hill just inside the northern edge of the capitol and the view from that window was a landscape of the sprawling  city, Corus, for as far as the eye could see in any direction. Light. Fire. Was Corus burning!?!

"shit-shit-shit-shit-SHIT!!" he says as his mind spins rapidly into panic and he flings off his goose down comforter.  Crawling at the highest possible speed toward the end of his long bed, doughy arms and legs flailing wildly like  some insane oversized toddler, he gets tangled in his silk calf length sleeping gown and falls clumsily off the foot of his bed and onto the hard wood floor, face first.

"Fruckin groah..." he groans unintelligibly as he props himself up on the floor. Head spinning from the impact he  lifts a hand to pinch off his lightly bleeding nose. It takes only a moment to gain his bearing and he snaps his head  back to the window. And there, just at that moment, his world froze. No more thoughts of his father, no more  needlessly large death trap beds, no more broken bleeding nose, because there, just outside the window a woman  could be seen through the curtains. Floating there as if standing on solid ground the beautiful woman radiated a  soft golden aura that cast the illusion of her standing in the noon day sun while her surroundings were left  untouched by the light. With long blonde hair gathered to the side and flung over her shoulder to trail down her  ample chest, her face had a beauty incomparable to any other woman he had ever known. Her proportions were  balanced, her features perfect, and she was dressed in a full length dark green silk robe with a wide pale green sash  around her stomach rising to just below her breasts. The outfit reminded him of the style the women who hail  from the eastern islands tend to dress in. Her expression was clearly one of mild amusement as she waited, hands clasped in front of her waist, staring at him with a slight gentle smile on her face.

Beginning to come back to himself a bit the king quickly understands the source of her amusement.

"After all look at me" he thinks. Aging, over weight, balding, kneeling at the foot of his own bed, one leg still tangled  in his silk night gown, bleeding from the nose with a look of profound idiotic shock painted all over his face.

 Inwardly groaning at the faaaar from noble first impression he had given this heavenly beauty, he takes a moment  to free himself from his gown and wipe the blood off his clean shaved lip. Rising he attempts to brush the wrinkles  out of his clothes with his hands, as if it were even possible to look dignified in what is essentially a dress for men.  He then lifts his gaze again to see something he will never forget for the rest of his life.

Noticing the king had prepared himself to receive her she came forward. She did not step, but instead seemed to  simply will herself ahead, as she moved toward Chand. But what had stunned the king speechless for the second  time in less than a minute was what had happened when her aura came into contact with the glass of the window. It  melted. No, more precisely it evaporated into nothingness and all that was left behind of the glass and wood of the  window and the disgusting curtains was a perfect, woman shaped, hole.

"Goodbye shitty curtains!" the thought ran madly through his mind "You will not be missed!"

Chand had seen magic. He had seen the paladins of Mawu call down her blessing to consecrate lost and vengeful spirits after a large battle in the south-lands once. He had seen the priests of his own God Anwar call upon his name  to heal terminally ill and permanently disabled citizens during the Yule celebration at the temple every year since he  was a boy. He had even seen the wild elementals, able to wield their inborn power to great and terrible effect. But never before had he seen such a precise, gentle, and profound use of magic. No long drawn out prayers or mumbo  jumbo chanting. No strange and ungainly body movements and certainly no wild explosion of power like that of the  elementals. This magic was subtle and seemed without effort on the part of the caster.

That's when it hit him. This woman was no mortal. Goddess. The word stuck like a splinter in his mind.

"Get a hold of yourself." he thinks mentally slapping himself in the face. As his wits gradually begin to return the lady speaks.

"This messenger greets King Chand Hawking, lord and descended ruler of The Hawking Kingdom." The small grin still on her face the Goddess gives the barest of nods with her head. Her voice is indescribably beautiful with a hint of fierce pride, akin to the waves of the ocean. Soft yet powerful. Enchanting yet terrifying.

A lesser man would be on his knees by now, groveling and kissing the feet of this embodiment of perfection standing before them. But he was Chand Hawking. Other men may hold pride in their strength of arm, Chand's pride hung on his strength of mind. An avid student of behavior and diplomacy, he had stood toe to toe at the negotiating table with some of the most powerful rulers on the continent. In the twenty years of his reign, using words alone, and not swords, he had single handedly transformed his lands into a shining beacon of strength and prosperity. The wide eyed king began to have a feeling. As if watching all the mismatched pieces of his life come drifting together. Like parts of a puzzle or the tumblers of a lock it began to form a picture or perhaps open some door that had forever been closed in his mind. The realization that all the events of his life, from his first memories to falling off that accursed bed, had been leading him, perfectly and inexorably, to this moment gave Chand a deep and meaningful sense of being exactly where he was meant to be. This moment was his destiny. An opportunity designed by fate specifically for him and him alone. It would not be missed.

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"This King greets The Heavenly Goddess." Chand replies while performing a perfect courtly bow over his slightly round stomach.

Her speech pattern and tempo were a bit strange but he easily reproduced them. A subtle strategy designed to quietly create feelings of familiarity between two people.

"Probably useless in this situation." thinks Chand "But every little bit helps."

"Lower not your head, Chosen, there is no need to bow low to a messenger." her soft words have a hint of the grin on her face.

Fixing his face with his most open and honest smile, not too big mind you, just enough to imply the person he's speaking with is welcome and trusted, he slowly lifts his head, but not without noting what she had referred to him as. Chosen. This word sends his mind reeling but there's no time to ponder it. Even now his sight is moving from the oak floorboards, sliding up her shapely figure toward her face, each feature of her body more perfect than the last. From her slim, delicate fingers to the natural way her-

"NO, no... can't be distracted." thinks the king, skillfully hiding any signs of his thoughts.

Lowering the corner of his mouth and his middle brow just slightly, Chand feigns a look of worry and says "This king must express his concern. This king shudders to think of the frightening Master who could send such a powerful and beautiful Goddess as his messenger."

Chand knew his intentionally not-so-veiled question was pointless. If she could reveal her master's name she probably would without his asking, and if she couldn't, his asking certainly wouldn't convince her to do so. But still, a little flattery never hurt, and besides he was quickly growing accustomed to her tempo.

Every person has a tempo. A personal beat they impose on their conversations and actions. A beautiful music that defines them. From his earliest remembrances Chand could hear the silent songs of the people around him. Some quick and sharp. Others slow and melodious. Others still were buzzing and erratic. Thousands of rhythms, with an infinite number of unique combinations, and Chand was born with the gift of being able to hear and understand this flow of sound. The Goddess before him was like a beautiful string symphony, gentle and steady, immediately followed by a resounding crescendo of prideful trumpets. In his mind he pictured a single leaf floating gently on the first cool breeze of an oncoming, earth shaking, thunderstorm.

This was Chand's true talent. The secret skill he kept only to himself, never revealing even a hint to another living soul. In his heart Chand didn't fully understand the skill himself. Only knowing that he had been doing it out of habit since he was a young boy and there had not been a single person, short of his father, that he had not been able to win over and be friendly with. When he was crowned at the young age of 15, he began to learn how to use this strange intuition as a weapon of sorts. Introducing his own beats he could easily disrupt the flow of an opponent, or throw them off balance by perfectly reproducing their rhythm. Right now he is doing his utmost to compliment the strange melody of the woman before him, each gesture and word gently adding forward momentum to her natural flow.

"All that can be revealed, will be revealed in the message." the zephyr like voice of the goddess gains a sharp edge as the amused smile melts into a mask of focus and pride.

"Ahh... the trumpets..." thinks the king, smiling inwardly in satisfaction.

Advancing the flow perfectly, he curtly bows, just his head this time, and speaks in a strong clear voice "Understood."

Lifting his head he greets the Goddess with an expression that is a near mirror copy of her own.

"This King Stands Ready." he speaks with a loud but not overbearing tone.

Seeing the barely perceptible and probably unconscious nod of approval from the Goddess, another invisible smile of satisfaction blossoms inside of Chand.

"King Chand Hawking. Lord of Light and High God Anwar has looked upon your works and they are pleasing to His eye. The people are prosperous. The land is at peace. Truth and fairness govern the court. Three good works. Thus three blessings will the king receive. For a lifetime of work for the prosperity of the people, Anwar bestows upon you the title, King Chand Hawking [Lord of the Morning]!!" Intoning his title grandly the Goddess spreads her hands wide above her head.

"This title is a gift not just to you but also to your people." she continues "Let it be known in all lands, King Chand [Lord of the Morning] has received recognition in the eyes of High God Anwar. Let the people hear and, through reverence, come closer to his Heavenly Light."

Anwar. The name crashed into his ears like the sound of every peal of thunder he had ever heard coupled with the sound 10,000 horses charging at full gallop. Anwar had been the one Lord and God of the Hawking kingdom since its creation. Years of the kings life had been dedicated to His teachings. Quickly the phantom crashing sound was replaced by the repetitious sucking sound of his blood rushing in his ears. Chand could not speak. He couldn't think. In fact it took every ounce of his will to remain silently standing there, too dumbfounded to do much of anything else. Mercifully the message went on.

"For bringing peace and safety to the land, and stemming the endless flow of blood, High God Anwar grants you the gift of being His Chosen. As Chosen of High God Anwar you will have access to Divine Council. Should danger arise, He will guide your steps on the path to victory."

Pausing for a small moment, her next words are said in a softer more solemn tone.

"High God Anwar bid this messenger to pass a warning." she says staring intently into Chand's eyes "King Chand must never allow others to know of this. The enemies of High God Anwar will use secret and evil means to target you."

Still doing everything in his power just to remain standing, Chand weakly nodded his head.

Nodding her head as well the Goddess lifts her voice.

"Lastly, for fostering and encouraging truth and fairness in the court, High God Anwar sends King Chand His champion. A youth, picked amongst all young swordsmen of the Hawking Kingdom, who will be granted with Anwar's Blessing of Strength. Seek out Lucian Deschain of House Deschain in Corus. Foster and encourage him on the path of light as you have for many others."

Ending her speech with a step backward her final words to Chand this evening sound forth.

"The message has been given. King Chand [Lord of the Morning], your faith has been rewarded. Continue to walk in The Light." spinning on her heel she exits in the same manner she had entered. As she disappears from sight through the woman shaped hole in the window a meaty Thud! can be heard from the room behind her.

Chand Hawking is on his hands and knees, shivering and drenched in sweat, while his breath comes in rasping gulps. In his mind his thoughts bounce erratically from one place to the next as long seconds pass. Just as his body begins to come back under his control once again, a gentle "Ahem" can be heard from the window. Forcing his body up into a kneeling position he catches sight of the blue eyed Goddess who is viewing him through the window.

"Back?" he thinks making sure the confusion doesn't show on his face "why?"

Smiling coyly and speaking in a supremely gentle tone she says "Chand, I know this is a lot to take in but don't be fearful. Anwar chose you above all others. In His eyes, only you have been deemed worth of His personal attention. Your mind is special Chand, and in your presence all others are just a bunch of... Blockheads!"

Flinging out the last word the Goddess flies off giggling... actually... giggling, and Chand is left more confused than at any point so far tonight. Her tempo... her natural music was completely different. This new sound was like a single flute, lilting and mischievous. In his mind Chand pictured a sparrow playing gleefully among the trees of a forest. Was it because her role as messenger had ended and this was her true personality? In truth Chand much preferred this version, it seemed less life threatening.

Still trying to over come the shock of this evenings events, Chand plans out his actions for the coming day.

"First the boy" he whispers to the empty room. He will seek out this Lucian Deschain immediately.

"Then my title" his broad satisfied smile no longer bottled up within him but showing clearly on his face. He will announce his title and the same day command a re-dedication of the Hawking Kingdom to High God Anwar, and a 3 day national celebration in praise and thanks to Him. Pondering further he decides to have the highest priest of Anwar confirm his title to the public, so as to avoid any confusion or rumors.

Standing and preparing himself for the work ahead he quietly grumbles "I'll probably have to draw them a picture... blockheads!"

A/N- Lots of exposition... Next chapter picks up the pace a bit.