IP: 82.19.140.112
Posted on January 21, 2014 at 07:49:14 PM by arthur
 “Enter!” he called out as he forced himself into consciousness, throwing back the bed covers to expose himself to the sharp chill of the winter night. Arthur retained the old field commander’s ability to switch from the depths of unconsciousness to the height of alertness in a matter of minutes, but the light from the captain’s torch still dazzled him a little as it fell across his face in the dark. “An intruder, Your Grace,” the guard explained urgently, “the west watch apprehended her not five minutes ago.” “The Prince?” Arthur asked instantly, filled with a parent’s anxiety for the safety of a child. “Asleep, your Grace,” the captain reassured him, “I doubled the guard on his rooms.” Nodding his thanks, the king reached towards the chair beside his bed, snatching up the tunic that lay upon the upholstered cushions. “Where is she now?” he enquired as he began to dress himself, pulling his shirt on over his head. --- The torches, which usually would have rested dormant at that time of night, had been lit the full length of the corridor. Arthur followed the red carpet along the hall as he strapped his belt in place, his lack of armour allowing it to sit low upon his hips. Arthur was a king of the traditional kind, from a time before they spent more time sitting on thrones draped in gold and less time in the field signing documents in campaign tents. Anything of real value to him, he kept upon his person; his sword, dagger, keys, rosary, seal matrix and mementos of his wife and murdered son strapped firmly to the leather of his belt. On his finger he wore his signet ring and about his neck a crucifix, whilst a black arm band stood starkly out against the royal purple of his tunic, emblazoned with the sun of Mallos. He wore it out of habit these days. His shadow prowled the walls, following him down the winding staircase, the sound of his footfalls echoing in the emptiness of evening; most of the castle residents unaware that anything untoward had occurred. When Arthur had pressed the captain for answers, the man had seemed unsure, unable to indentify accurately what the young woman’s intentions were in breaking into the castle in the dead of night. The king descended the next flight of stairs that took him down past the servant’s quarters and the kitchens, down into the bowels of the castle. One of the keys from the bunch at his waist opened the door at the very bottom, admitting him into a long room with a series of five cells running along the far wall. Only one, however, was occupied. The guards were waiting for him, four younger men lining the opposing wall, their eyes front and spears held in their hands as their Captain paced up and down before them. They all turned to their heads towards the door as it swung closed and stood to attention as their king stepped into the torchlight in order to look at the girl in the cell. He turned away from her as the captain captured his attention by showing him to a wooden table that stood in the centre of the room. Piled upon it were the items that had been confiscated from the young intruder. The bag had been emptied out, but contained only the supplies of a traveller, clean clothes, and supplies...nothing dangerous. Arthur picked up the bow, it was finely made, and he thought how his sister would have appreciated the form. He set it back down on the tabletop and turned back to the woman in the cell. Slowly he took a few steps towards her, holding her eyes with his own. His were grey, the iris made striking by an outline of a darker hue; they were unreadable, unless there was something he wanted you to see. His jaw was strong and square, his mouth tight, and his nose followed an aristocratic line; he was not a particularly handsome man, but he looked the king. “You do not look like a pirate, you do not have the tools one would expect from an outlaw,” Arthur mused out-loud as he held her in place with a piercing gaze, “I do not think you are a thief because your bag is full of your own belongings with no space of chalices or candlesticks.” Pausing, he tilted his head a little to the left enquiringly, “the question then becomes, why did you not come through the front door in daylight like any other petitioner?” |
Replies:
- nothing safe is worth the hunt - By norah moreaux January 28, 2014 at 00:01:57 AM
- through mist and shadow - By arthur January 29, 2014 at 04:30:25 AM
- nothing safe is worth the hunt - By norah moreaux January 29, 2014 at 09:11:13 AM
- through cloud and shade - By arthur February 5, 2014 at 05:08:41 AM
- nothing safe is worth the hunt - By norah moreaux January 29, 2014 at 09:11:13 AM
- through mist and shadow - By arthur January 29, 2014 at 04:30:25 AM
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