Chapter Text
Ballador was a disappointment.
It was obvious to all: his father, his mother, his people, but nobody was aware of this more than he was, for he had been given abundant reminders.
Father wanted so much of him; he wanted Ballador to be a war-king, a conqueror, a remorseless lord who would destroy the weak and old to make way for the new and strong.
But... But that wasn't what Ballador did, certainly wasn't what his mother wanted.
Mother...
Mother Acropora was Ballador's hope. Father loved her so much that she was the only one who could dissuade him from any of his demands that Ballador follow blindly in his footsteps.
Ballador didn't even want to be a ruler; he had the heart of a poet, a musician, he wanted to play his lute and learn about music and art and nature and beauty, but most of these hobbies, Khann didn't allow him to pursue, filling his days with training and drills.
It was only with Mother's intervention that Ballador was allowed to discover and enjoy these things at all.
I know that, with the description provided, you may be developing the mental image of a spineless wimp with no muscles.
But in reality, Ballador was just as strong as, if not stronger than, his father, and he excelled in the hellish training Karak put him through.
...He simply... didn't want it.
But that didn't matter. His father was the lord, king, commander, and tyrant of Karaka; his word was absolute, he claimed no divinity, unlike some other rulers, but he may as well have been.
Hope remained, even amidst the misery that plagued him, because as long as Mother spoke and lived, Khann's words were not truly unopposed.
He could still have even just his small freedoms.
Of course, you may predict that this will be subverted, and you are right. Acropora didn't live much longer.
She was always a frail, sickly woman. She got the poor draw genetically, and it always seemed like she trembled in the cold, shook in the wind, quivered as she walked. Khann kept a close eye and claws on her.
Still, his care mattered not, for eventually, Khann tried to have another child, a less disappointing one, and the pregnancy that followed, which had already hurt his mother greatly to survive, ended up proving too much for Mother to handle. She died when her heart stopped while delivering.
Khann only became more abusive. Ballador was no longer permitted his hobbies, and Khann likely hoped this would make him a stronger man.
Ballador felt not stronger but sadder and less driven. Life had no meaning now, for he had defined his by what his Mother taught him, and now her teachings were naught but a source of guilt that pushed Father and Son even further apart.
Finally, Khann felt the desire to expand again. The resources they received from their vassals weren't enough to expand the tower of Karak anymore; they needed to find a vulnerable civilization and subjugate it.
For much time, Mother had barred Khann from making any moves that were too brutal, but with her gone, all Ballador's father could fill his heart with was bloodlust.
Ballador tried to bring this up to Khann, but he exploded, shouting that he was not Acropora, punching Ballador in the face.
Ballador fell silent; his cheekbone burned. He had been flogged, spanked, slapped, shoved, and even dragged to his room before, but never had Khann let loose on him this way.
There was no remorse, just a dead silence and stillness that dared suggest a hint of surprise or even fear, but when Ballador teared up and began to walk away, Khann scoffed.
"You belong on a farm, Ballador. Not a castle."
Ballador lay in bed, curled up, wishing someone could come to dry his tears and hold him close, but he had no one, just a beast who called itself his Father.
A beast he called Khann.