The Eyes I Once Hated

A story of adoption

Jun 10, 2025

I long to live in a world in which the sagas are written of warriors who take in the children of their slain instead of the beastly men who dash out the brains of babes.

THE CITY BURNED ALL AROUND ME, and I carried even more destruction forth with each of my hands. My tools were a torch for the thatched roofs and a spear for the fleshy inhabitants. For ten long years, my armies besieged that land and its cities. Ten years of violent pillaging far from my own country finally came to an end that night. I scaled the walls of my enemy's capital and sought the offensive king who needed to die by my hand. My hordes followed behind me, and we laid waste to all that stood before us.

Within the citadel, I found my enemy. He was barricaded in the innermost room of his fortress, but did not cower before his death. I met him with my spear, and he defended his life with a shield and cudgel. We danced our duel out on the stone floor like old partners, but he misstepped and I spilled his blood on the floor. I left my spear in his body, and with my enemy defeated, I had little left to fear in that city.

I was resting from combat in the hall when a cry filled the air. A shriek is not an uncommon thing to hear during a battle, but the fact that this was the cry of a baby within the king's citadel aroused much confusion in me. I followed the infant's wails down the hall and to the right until I came into a nursery fit for royalty. Smoke from the outside filled the room through open shutters, and it was this acrid presence that aroused the child from sleeping. The nursemaids must have fled and abandoned the child to its fate. I shall never know what became of its mother, but I only had to take one look at the baby to know it was the heir to my enemy's kingdom. Even through its tears, I could see the same eyes of the king I had just killed. They were pale and cold like the ice caps on distant mountains.

The child did not stop crying at the sight of me but expelled even more screams in my presence. No matter, I would soon silence the child once and for all eternity. For as long as men have fought with one another, the victor always kills the sons of the defeated. This child, who I could plainly see was a prince, would have to die. If not, then I must be prepared for the boy to grow into a man with only his father's vengeance in his heart. Once the boy was a man, and I a much older man, he would come to destroy me so that his father's soul might find peace. This was a fate I hoped to avoid, so I lifted the child from his crib and raised him over my head in order to dash out his life against the cold and ruthless stones below.

But then my hands were stayed by the most curious of events. The child stopped crying the moment he was in my grasp, the grasp of his executioner, and he cooed as I raised him overhead. I brought the child down to look at him. While I did see my enemy's eyes, the little prince could not have looked at me with more affection on his face. I have since learned that most babies I hold regard me so, it has something to do with my full, black beard, but in that moment, my rage faltered. I could no longer find the desire to destroy such an innocent soul, future consequences be damned.

The child cooed and might have even giggled. I brought his little body to my breast and cradled him as I had once held my own children. He was a tiny thing and looked even smaller in my gauntleted arms, but the boy nuzzled against my armor as though it weren't covered in the grime of battle. Smoke continued to fill the nursery, so I left the room and the citadel with the son of my dead enemy in my possession.

THAT IS HOW I CAME TO HAVE A SON. My generals called me a fool for fostering the boy, but by then, the desire for more blood was far out of my mind. They said the child would grow and become a curse on my lands, but how could one so innocent be responsible for causing anything in the future but laughter? The sack of the city continued for many more days, and while there were still bountiful riches to be had, I could not be further bothered with the task. My deed was done. I left the division of the spoils to my chief men and asked that no more be added to my already full war chest. The boy was enough for me, and I kept him near as often as possible. Of course, I could not tend to all of his needs. A nurse had to be found, or else the child would surely die despite my wishes. Fortunately for my boy, there was no shortage of childless mothers at the end of our siege, and a suitable nurse was found in the ruined city.

Even still, I could not give my child much of my attention in those days. What father can give all that he wants to his children? The boy was always either eating or sleeping, and I had an army to command. But in the evenings, when the generals were all gone, I played with the boy until the nurse came to feed him and put him asleep for the night. He never cried in my presence, and these hours of just the boy and me in my tent were the first tastes of joy I had after a decade-long campaign. I am sure that there is no gold to be had or bed-slave to be won that is sweeter than a child's love.

Soon, it was time to roll up our tents and sheath our swords. After salting the earth and burying our dead, all that was left for us to do was go home. We carried that land's riches away on our backs or with wagons pulled by many beasts, but I held the greatest of the spoils in my arms.

The journey home was long. My child was walking beside me when we reached my country's borders, and we still had many weeks of travel before we arrived at my city and citadel.

One by one, the men of the army dispersed and went to their own villages and homes until there was only a small band of the finest warriors traveling with me. I am a king who refuses to fight from the rear, and I trusted the most perilous of duties in every siege to only my own company. Therefore, our losses were great, but so was our glory. I made each man who fought beside me a hero to be sung about for ages to come. Glory's reward was also handsome, for each man carried a king's ransom in gold with him.

We arrived in my capital city and received a bitter-sweet welcome. Many of my subjects rejoiced to see us return, but many more mourned the loss of the fathers and brothers who were forever missing from our ranks and buried in a foreign land. As we marched through the tumult of our welcome, I watched my men embrace their lovers or greet their sons who had grown into men or daughters who had grown into women during our campaign. Each left the band without asking for leave -who could blame them- and I pardoned each and every man who abandoned the procession for hearth and home.

By the time I reached the doors to my citadel, it was just me, holding my new son, the nursemaid, and the few aids and counselors that a king requires left in the column. A dozen ox-drawn carts followed behind us with my material plunder. The war had made every man who fought with me rich, but despite my generosity, I remained the richest in the land.

The doors to the citadel were open, and my family rushed out to see me. I have a queen and four daughters—all but the youngest were of age to be wed—and they ran to embrace me before I made a handful of steps into my great hall. Two girls were hanging around my neck when one of them noticed the young child held in my arms.

"Who is this," said my youngest. When I left for war, she was no older than the boy I brought home. Now she was twelve, and her question could have been asked about me, her long-absent father, as much as the boy.

"This is Dakoori-Ahooni," I said. I never learned the boy's true name, so I chose a new one to call him by. It means 'Son of the Crusher' in my tongue, "but I call him Dak for short."

"You brought home a bastard, born of a bed slave, no doubt," said my queen from the back of the great hall. She was sitting in my place at the dias, and after ten years of ruling in my stead, I'm sure she was loath to move over one seat to the right. I saw my wife eyeing the nurse as she came in with malice in her eyes, and though the poor thing was a pretty girl, she had never shared my bed.

"The lad's not a bastard, nor is he of my seed," I said. "He's the right-born son of my vanquished enemy, the heir to lands that now lay in ruin, and I have taken him in as my own rather than dash his body upon merciless stones."

"You have taken him in?" the queen asked with shock smeared all over her face, but the malice remained in her eyes. It was a most unkind expression, and I thought then that she might have been more pleased if I returned home with ten little bastards by ten different women, one for each year I was gone. "What fool takes in the son of his foe? You will doom us all with this folly."

"I am no fool, and the boy is no folly. He shall be raised under my roof, and when it's my time to pass on, he will rule as my heir."

My daughters withered away as the queen rose from my throne at the place of honor in the great hall. She had no right to chastise me the way she did, and if I were a brutal man, I could find myself another queen half her age to take her place. But I heard her dispute with me before telling her how things were going to be now that I was back in the kingdom. Her gripes were not any different than those of my generals, and I dismissed them handily.

I cannot say that she was accepting of Dak by the end of the discussion, but at least she was silent about her opinion. After all, we had four daughters, three of whom were to be married off in very short order, and my queen was no longer fit to bear more children. Even if she was, she did not seem willing to take me to her bed anytime soon. I had been gone for a decade, and my victory made her the queen of the richest lands in the world, but she couldn't be bothered to give me a warm welcome.

My bride may have been ungrateful, but my people were not. Feasts were held for weeks after my return. I rewarded the families of the fallen out of my own war chest, which dwindled my riches, but true loyalty is a hard thing to buy and is always costly when it names its price.

Leave a comment

TIME PASSED, and my lands knew peace for many years. My three eldest daughters were wed to princes in neighboring kingdoms; my youngest had grown to be a fine princess who was stubborn with suitors. Dak had grown, too, and was fast approaching early manhood. I raised him as my own son, just as I had told my wife and generals I would. No one regarded him as my wrongfully adopted heir anymore. Most of my subjects who knew had forgotten about that episode or at least never talked about it. Only my queen seemed to remember Dak's origin, but she was too busy rutting with courtiers behind my back to be bothered with such matters.

I doubt a more devoted son could have come from my loins than Dak. There was no lack of affection between us, and he stayed by my side when he was not in one of his various lessons.

My people have always been great warriors, so Dak was, of course, trained in the arts of war, but my country's wealth now attracted learned men from around the world. I hired tutors in language, arithmetic, music, and art for Dak in order to further enhance his education. He excelled in his lessons, which made him all the more clever. When he was not with me or a teacher, Dak was busy pranking someone or getting into other mischief. My youngest daughter's suitors were his primary targets. I had to chastise him for this behavior, but I secretly delighted in his tricks.

On the day of Dak's thirteenth birthday, the day that he would become a man, he and I embarked on a hunting trip. Our game was wild boar, and we did not expect to be out of the city walls for long. While I am a fine hunter, and Dak is a capable boy, it takes many hands to bring in a boar and dogs, too. We trekked into the wilderness with our small party, and it was not long before the hounds picked up the smell of our quarry. I led the way behind the dogs, boar spear in hand, followed by Dak and our other valiant companions. This habit of mine to lead from the front would prove to be my undoing on this day. My back was turned to too many spears, and I had forgotten about how open my wife's bed was to the members of my court.

The hounds had cornered a great boar in a thicket of small trees. I came upon the scene first and threw my spear into the fray. My aim was true, and the beast gave a yelp when the tip entered its thick hide. It is rare that the first spear brings down a boar, but that is what happened on this day. Little did I know then that the same would be true for me.

Though the animal was dead, another spear was thrown. It also hit its mark, but the target was not the boar. The bronze tip buried into the small of my back, and my feet collapsed underneath me. I fell on my face, but there was no pain from my injury. I had seen many such injuries on the battlefield but never expected to have my own back broken by a coward's strike. I could move my arms and tried to turn and face my assailant, but the effort was too great. I heard a cry not unlike the one I heard Dak give in his father's citadel so many years ago and then came the sound of combat. There were five others beside me and Dak on the hunt. From what I could hear, the other hunters also intended to kill my boy, but he was mightier than they had bargained for.

Though he was outnumbered and only thirteen, Dak was a menace with a spear. I heard the men's shouts and curses and I heard their heavy bodies meet the earth. I'll never know the sight of my son's swift feet in combat, but I have little doubt they were not unlike those of a dancer; I did not hear him misstep.

With my assailants vanquished, Dak came to my aid, but there wasn't much he could do for me. I didn't feel him take out the spear that had become my undoing, and he managed to roll me over to look into my dying eyes.

"Dak", I said. My voice faltered, and I coughed blood. In all my battles, I comforted many dying men and was the one to hear their dying words. Rarely are they profound, and now I know why. Dak's ears were all mine, and his tears fell upon my chest. I looked into his pale eyes. The eyes of a man I once hated now belonged to the boy I loved most. There was so much to tell him, but despite my best efforts, I only managed to say "Dak" one more time before my son placed his hand over my eyes, and darkness enveloped me.

Corey’s Story Stack

Discussion about this post