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Posted on May 23, 2010 at 05:08:37 PM by Arthur & Pendragon
A R T H U R & P E N D R A G O N All great men do wicked things, but people are more willing to forgive them It was like being a cage, his home, which had been such a source of familiarity, was slowly driving him to distraction. Arthur had always hated the feeling of being trapped, he yearned for wide open spaces, the chance to exercise, train, hunt, he had never been a paper King. In his old life, the paperwork had been the worst part about being King, the need to sit around at large wooden tables with quill in hand, ready to add his signature to documents which required them. Always he had yearned to leave that room, gather a few of his friends and go out on horse back throughout the country. He had been raised in a warrior culture, to be a warrior, and as with many soldiers, the idea of being constricted was a hard one to bare. He had needed a distraction, something to keep his mind off the crowded corridors of the castle, the whispering voices which went on well into the early hours, and sometimes, sometimes he felt as if he would run mad with it. His only sanctuary now was a small room in the west wing of the castle, hidden away in the lower levels of the tower, beneath the room where he slept. There he had built himself something which seemed so out of place in Shaman, something he was unwilling to share, even with those he loved. It was his place of escape, where he could think and seek for guidance and forgiveness for all he had done, not only in this life but in the next. A place where the weary older man within his soul could rest a while, untroubled for a while by the enthusiasms of youth. That morning however, when Arthur had awoken to the sound of birdsong, grey eyes opening to see the sight of his familiar perched in his place on the writing desk by the window, he had felt an overwhelming need to be out-of-doors. He dressed in his usual manner, with his shirt of chain mail, but that day he left his metal breast plate and shoulder and arm guard in his room. The cold winter weather lead him to pull from his wardrobe one of his fur-lined coats. It was red in colour, and long lined in stitching of golden thread, the sleeves cut so that instead of reaching towards his wrists, they hung downwards towards the ground, revealing the metal linked sleeves and engraved wrist guards he wore beneath. Leather booted feet lead him down the Eastern staircase which spiralled its way down straight towards the courtyard nearest to the stables, enjoying the feel of the icy winds against his cheeks as the young King shut the door behind him. There were four horses remaining, and he sighed, watching them with a heavy heart, for he knew, or guessed what would eventually become of them if the waters did not retreat soon. None of them were his own mounts, Santu and Duke were gone, perhaps they had drowned, or perhaps they had found their way to dry land and were now living in contentment, waiting for him to find them when nature would allow. He wondered if Santu would have foaled yet, and whether the foal would me a filly or a colt, a warhorse, hunter, or simply on of the quieter creatures for use by anyone, like the ones who milled around the yard now. He detected movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned his head in the direction indicated, just as Pendragon swooped down from the sky to land upon his master’s shoulder. The familiarly soft feeling of the merlin’s feather’s against the side of his face, caused the young-man’s mouth to curve upwards in a small smile, glad that his friend had returned to him. As Arthur moved closer towards the place where the movement had come from, he began to detect the small noise of a muttered conversation, and soon he had rounded the corner of the stable block, eyes falling upon the younger boy and his stag. ”Freya” he said with a smile, remembering meeting the boy amongst the ruins some time previously, “Its nice to see you again, I think that congratulations on your vice-chancellorship might be in order.”  |
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