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Posted on January 17, 2014 at 00:34:00 AM by arthur
 “Follow me, please” he said as he unlocked the gate with the keys at his belt and gestured Tarquin into the porch. Carvings had been worked into the masonry on either side of the narrow space and two wooden benches ran along each wall, in case visitors to the castle wished to change their footwear before proceeding. The guard seemed to think it unlikely that Tarquin would wish to do so, however, as he promptly began to unlock the pair of giant oak doors which were twice the height of a grown man. He only bothered to pull one ajar, and gestured Tarquin through before following, and locking the door once more behind them. The corridor that greeted them was wide and warmly lit. A red carpet ran down its centre, the pile luxurious, whilst either side of it the dark varnished wood of the floorboards gleamed. The guard lead Tarquin along, past two intricately woven tapestries depicting women in long flowing dresses speaking with deer or dancing with unicorns. Each one told a story, and the gold thread that had been woven into the maidens’ hair caught the flickering glow of the flames that danced in the torches on the opposing wall. Finally they came to a stop next to another set of tall oaken doors. There were two further guards stationed on either side of the entrance to the great hall, and Tarquin’s guide requested that he remained with the two men for a moment or two. He promptly disappeared into the room beyond. --- Arthur descended the winding staircase that connected his personal chambers with the antechamber that lead off the great hall, humming a tune to himself. Tristan had gone out riding early that morning with some of the other teenagers of court which meant that the king had not been forced to listen to any complaints about his son’s behaviour all day. He had enjoyed a peaceful morning in his office, reading his books and completing the few documents that were in need of his signature and his seal. Arthur enjoyed meeting the people who inhabited his kingdom, and it was rare that he had the time in which to do it. When the guard had come to tell him that a young man had come to the castle requesting an audience, the King had been more than happy to oblige. He pushed open the door at the bottom of the stairs into the antechamber, crossing the little room without breaking his stride, and stepped out into the hall where the guard was waiting. The king was clad in a dark red tunic; the hems worked with patterns of oak leaves worked from golden thread, and under it a pair of plain black trousers. These were tucked into black boots of supple leather, the turn-downs an inch or so below his knee a dark brown. Arthur was not an especially tall man, a little under six foot, but he was broad in the chest and shoulder, the build of a man who had been raised from childhood with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. His crown took the shape of a band of gold encircling his head, engraved with celtic knot-work, and, as he settled himself in his high-backed throne Arthur fitted in superbly with the heraldic banners of his ancestors on earth which hung from the beams of the high vaulted ceiling. He nodded to the guard, who went to fetch Tarquin from the other side of the door. “Welcome, friend,” Arthur smiled as the stranger entered his hall, a small under-stated smile playing on his face. The king was not a man prone to over expression, rather more prone to a natural guardedness which meant that only those who knew him best stood any chance of telling what he was thinking by reading his face. The grey eyes that settled on Tarquin however were open and encouraging enough, and he gestured to the jug of wine and goblets beside it, “would you care to join me for a drink?” |
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