Betrothal

Rodwen turned his head to see his daughter Nike leaping through the deep drifts of snow; disappearing and reappearing with every hop through the white powdery substance that seemed to swallow her tiny form. He couldn’t help but smile, holding back a laugh as he drew over to her, “determined little thing, aren’t you?” Reaching down, he gripped the back of her neck and gently held her in his maw, carrying the pup over towards the valley where the snow was less deep.

As she dangled there he mulled things over in his mind; eyes tracing the series of snow-covered humps and mounds, beneath which underbrush and rock lay hidden. If only Fia were still here. She would know what to say. Parenting was hard enough with just the two of them, but now he was alone. He almost felt guilty. He could never give his pup what she could. That fierce, gentle love upon which Fia had given their other children. No. He was an Alpha before he was a father. Every decision he made was for the good of the pack and its future. He couldn’t be selfish.

Rodwen continued drifting through the thick snow as Nike’s tiny paws dangled freely in the open, cool air. As the High King of Highvalley he had a job to do, and that was to ensure not only the pack’s safety, but to secure its future with noble blood.

It was what guided his each and every step.

NIKE

“I like the snow,” Nike replied stubbornly, unwilling to submit that the snow was too tall for her.

When her father picked her up in his jaws, her little legs pawed at the air as she was pulled from the snow, but after a few moments, the pup went limp in her father’s grasp. She had a mind of her own, but always seemed to defer to her father in the end. He meant the world to her.

Nike looked up at Rodwen, unable to see much from the angle, but enough to sense that something was on the wolvenking’s mind. She quietly swung from side to side as he walked, she did her best to leave him to his big, grown-up thoughts.

But it was too long. She couldn’t do quiet.

“What is it, Papa? Where are we going?”

“Patients dove,” said Rodwen with the pup’s nape tucked delicately between his jaws. When he descended into the valley he paused, eyes surveying the open meadow like a wheeling eagle. Winter had greatly altered the landscape.  Rolling hills of green open meadows were now blanketed in a sea of white. But it didn’t take him long to spot what he was looking for, and Rodwen continued forward.

Protruding from the snow was a dark grey bolder roughly the same size as a full-grown wolf. He placed his daughter on the head of its flat, rough surface and took a step back. He feigned a nonchalant façade as he peered into her large, soft-pink eyes. “Nike,” he began, “do you remember that he-pup you met the other day? The golden one?”

NIKE

Little claws scraped on the stone as Nike was set down; she turned with her typical, puppish floppiness to face her father. Her tail wagged. It was strange and exciting to look at her father from his height, she should stand on tall stones more often.

Her head cocked to one side as her father’s voice gathered her scattered attention. Nike’s small ears twitched as she thought back to a few days before- a veritable eternity to a pup.

“Oh yes, Mohawk,” she chirped. Her tail wagged furiously as she reveled in her meticulous memory, but she soon stopped and her brows wrinkled as she thought further, “He was kind of funny. He didn’t talk a lot, and didn’t seem to know how to play games.”

“Hmm, no he did not, did he?” he smirked, raising a brow, entertaining the assessment his daughter had made of the Havirian pup. Mohawk was a wolf of few words. Some of the Highvallians had begun to wonder if there was something wrong with him, yet his mother, Tilika, assured him that outside of her son’s broken speech, the pup was normal and no less capable than any other wolf his age. Despite a lack of social dexterity, it was apparent to Rodwen that the Havirian would one day grow to become a powerful warrior. Perhaps a mute soldier would turn out to actually be beneficial for the pack?

“Well,” he began, collecting his thoughts as he treaded alongside the length of the boulder. “Mohawk is a special wolf, you see. And you? Why, you are special too.” His mind scrambled to phrase the right words together. Typically Fia was the one that did all the talking when it came to discussing such matters with their children. She had a gift for delicate speech where Rodwen preferred to be much more direct with his wording. Still, he tried nonetheless.

“As the daughter of the High King you have special obligations to the pack that no one else has,” he spoke in a whisper as if sharing an awesome secret. The pup seemed delighted by the fact. “Nike,” he paused, turning to her again, his voice much less playful than before, “you are to be betrothed.”

NIKE

“Special,” Nike parroted.

How was Mohawk special? How was she special? She couldn’t help but imagine unique talents or magical powers, but the longer Rodwen spoke, the more she understood that wasn’t the case. She still didn’t understand why he was talking so much about that peculiar, grumpy foreign pup.

Obligations. It was a scary word to someone so little, but it was one she understood. She was the daughter of the king, after all. She knew there would always be expectations laid upon her, it came with the circumstance.

Her brow furrowed once again with tiny wrinkles, “Betroved? What is that?”

“Betrothed,” he corrected her, pausing for a moment to think before he looked to her again, prepared for protest. “It means you are promised to become Mohawk’s mate when you come of age. His wife. Like how your mother and I were.” It didn’t matter what her personal feelings were on the matter, not when it came to the good of the pack. Mohawk was the last male heir of the Havirian bloodline. Although the pack was now extinct, if he acted quickly enough, their ancient bloodline would be able to live on through Nike and Mohawk’s descendants; a feat Highvalley has tried to accomplish since its conception. Over the course of several more generations, that bloodline would bleed into the rest of the pack.

Nike, understandably, didn’t seem all that enthralled with the golden pup, but wedding wasn’t about love, not in Highvalley. Here it was about obligations and responsibility to the pack to produce highblooded heirs, especially the High King’s offspring. Because of its blinding nature, to fall for someone solely out of love was selfish and had the potential to harm the pack. Even a High King wasn’t excused from such a responsibility. After all, he himself had wedded Fia with no prior attachment or affection for the she-wolf in order to make the pack stronger. It was hard at first, yet slowly in time they learned to love one-another. That kind of love was stronger and more resilient to the turmoils of life.

Nike would understand. Some day.

NIKE

“What- mates? Ewwww,” Nike wrinkled her nose, her ears swivelled backwards. “But papa, he’s foreign, and strange, and doesn’t even like me.”

At Nike’s age, marriage and the world of adult love was gross and distant, and he-pups still had cooties. Her heart thumped. She was experiencing for the first time that her life was not entirely her own, and that decisions would be made ABOUT her, FOR the pack, not necessarily for her own happiness.

The longer she looked at her father, her jaw set tensely, the more she realized there was nothing she could do. It would please papa... and in the end, that’s what she really wanted.

“Nonsense. He would be a fool not to like you,” he scoffed with a tick of his tongue. Nike was his daughter; a maiden of the most noble stature. Her betrothal was no light decision. Mohawk was a fine specimen of Highblooded heritage; foreign, yes, but no less desirable. Their union would be unlike any that had come before. This was not about alliances or pack relations, this was about honor; honoring the memory and will of their ancestors.

Rodwen could see the displeasure in his daughter’s pale face. She may have thought it unfair, that this decision was made in spite of her own will and happiness, but the Wolvenking had done it out of love for his daughter. There could be no one less worthy to take her paw.

He looked to her, eyes narrowing in consideration. “You are my daughter. I only want what is best for you,” he said softly, gently tapping the tip of his cool, wet nose to hers. It was a fleeting moment; a glimpse into his hidden heart rarely seen by even his own kin. Rodwen reveled in the closeness of her presence; a moment he knew he would need to cherish as they both grew older. She wasn’t going to be a pup forever. “Fear not. In time I am sure your feelings will change.”