Once upon a time, a long, long time ago now, there was a young king who needed a wife. And the wife chosen for him was called Marissa, and she was the sister of the King of Ith. She had yellow hair and grey eyes and she was sweet natured and gentle, kind and fair and wise and good. The young king, King Illyn, his name was, he sailed over the wine dark sea to her, and he married her in great splendour in her brother’s fortress, and he brought her back with him to his own kingdom, and crowned her queen with a circlet of diamonds and silver on her beautiful head.
King Illyn did not want to marry her. He had never met her. Did not love her. There was a woman at his court whom he loved, and he thought perhaps that had he been free to choose he would have married her. But he was young and his father had died and his father had lost a battle, and he needed strong allies to help him keep his throne. And so he married an Ithish princess, whose brother was his ally, whose family had always been allied with his own. And they were happy enough, as such things go. Marissa bore him a child, a son, strong, healthy, radiant with beauty. She was a good and fine mother. Illyn was delighted. Loved the child. Sent the woman Elayne away, albeit with grief.
Marissa became pregnant again. The child miscarried. Marissa died.
Well, now, the king’s heart was broken, as anyone’s would be to lose a wife in such a way. But after a few months had passed, his advisers said to him that the child needed a mother, and he needed a queen, and the kingdom needed more than one heir. And he thought again of the woman he had loved, Elayne Murade, Elayne of the Golden Hair. He married her. And he was happier, married to her, than he had been married to the Ithish princess, because he loved Elayne and she loved him.
And Elayne loved Marissa’s son. He was beautiful and strong and charming: how could anyone not love such a child? Perhaps she loved her own son more. Perhaps. She was his own mother. Is that so very hard to understand? But she watched the boys grow and she loved them both, and Illyn loved and cherished them.
But they were afraid of Marissa’s son, also. Watched him sometimes with fearful, wary eyes. For he was so bright. So radiant. And there was something in him that terrified them. Shadows gathered around him. His hands seemed red with blood. And one day he stood up before them, mad-eyed, ruined, broken, all they had done, all they had tried, begged him, pleaded with him, wept, screamed, comforted him in his sorrow, hated him for his hate, he was mad and ruined, sunk into himself, filled with self-loathing, there was nothing they had not tried, to help him, and they could not help him, and one day he stood up before them and told them that they had killed his mother and he knew they wanted to kill him and that he hated them and wanted to kill them too.
What do you say, when your child hates you? What can you do?
A beautiful child, and his shadow stinks of bloodshed.
What do you do?