Child of thunder

Child of thunder, beloved of rain, destined for solemnity and pain, and greatness borne for country’s sake and country’s heart, long may it reign.

There were days, many in a row sometimes, that L wished she could shrug off her birth prophecy as having been done by a charlatan. Her parents had paid for the best outside of the palace though, and she had long been forced to admit that any sort of inaccuracy seemed unlikely.

Her parents had done their best by her, in light of the prophecy. She could say that she’d had a very warm childhood and there had only ever been love in their home. Her brother had joined the clergy, answering his prophecy about a higher call, but he returned often, cheeks still dimpled, grin still unfailing. His faith in their kingdom and its divine blessings had been infectious, and she’d followed his example in her own way, leaving only shortly after he to pursue a knighthood. Her mother had been busting with pride; her father had been somewhat dismayed that neither child had shared his academic proclivities. For better or worse, they two had set their paths.

When she had won her shield and he had earned his robes, it was blood that reunited them but it was success that bonded them. The Greater Limits had long been uncharted, those living asking its boundaries either stubborn or desperate, often both.

L and B hasn’t set out to keep the Limit’s boundary, only wished to travel to the monastery whose herb garden flourished where no others had and deliver from there the ingredients to where they might do the most good. Defending the boundary had been incidental, but it had also been (transcendent/transformative).

The Queen had taken a very keen interest in them following the incident and years later, their parents were still boasting to all and sundry that their children had earned a royal audience. The reality had somehow been even more overwhelming.