Devoted and dependable now, Kru emerged as a pillar of support to her husband in these tempestuous times. The masses began to fervently adore their Queen and her popularity only soared when nine months later she gifted the kingdom with the most beautiful baby ever. Boundless was the King’s joy, and despite their differences even the Old King and Queen were delighted beyond themselves on becoming grandparents. For another nine months after the baby’s birth, flamboyant festivals laced every nook and corner of the kingdom. The Waterman’s Son too participated wholeheartedly in these celebrations; maliciously enthusiastic he was, for he knew of the horrors that awaited everyone who had wronged him. Little did he know that trickled into Kru’s cruel heart the smallest drop of affection for her family had, slowly creating a puddle of warmth and then a pond of fondness for her child.
The culmination of all celebrations was the Naming Ceremony of the royal baby. Trumpets blared and colours flared all over the streets. Opulently embellished men and women danced to the melodious songs of revelry, while chanting praises for their queen and her baby. Unusually perfumed winds breezed through out the kingdom and the atmosphere echoed with the sounds of laughter, peals of anklets, ringing of dulcet instruments and recitals of cherished tunes. However, in the shadows of the carnivalesque carousing lurked a conniving killer who impatiently waited to satisfy his ever expanding bloodlust.
In an expansive balcony of the towering Royal temple, the King and Queen sat cross-legged before the sacred fire, their baby comfortably nestled in the King’s luxuriant lap. The High Priest smiled as he was about to finish chanting the auspicious mantras, only to have his smile droop half way and his sentence brought to a rough stop with the smooth stab of a longsword through his left lung. Over the booming noises of song and celebration the blooded cries of fright passed unheard. Within minutes Timir slashed and cut and slaughtered the august gathering and its guards.
As soon as his shock wore off, the King quickly handed the baby to Kru and jumped into action but Timir was far too agile for the blows of the magnificent royal sword. With the grace of a well choreographed dance he slew his King into two parts vertically. Snatching the babe from Kru’s breast by his leg, Timir flung him over his head and threw him at the stone wall ahead. The baby giggled faintly, naively he presumed this to be a new sport his father was playing, before smashing into the wall, lifeless once and for all. Timir turned his attention then to the Queen, who by now had armed herself with her late husband’s sword; so long had they been separated that they had no recollection or recognition of one another. Gruesomely they duelled to death or worse.