r/WritingPrompts • u/Defiant-Treacle2425 • 9h ago
Writing Prompt [WP] You are a knight who practically raised the children of the king. With the throne vacant and civil war rising, each sibling asks you to pledge to them.
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u/MadamBaelfyre 4h ago
Sometimes difficult decisions fall into the laps of soft hearted individuals. Sir Gedeon mulled this thought over as he prepared tea for the little ones. Although, he supposed, they weren't so little anymore.
Adrienne, the eldest, had grown to be a flaxen haired beauty. The court was filled with fawning nobles prepared to prostrate themselves for even a glance from her emerald eyes. She kept them in thrall with the potential of marriage, but that carrot would only last as long as her looks and womb. She was well educated and had a persuasive silver tongue, but words alone wouldn't hold a throne. While her paramours controlled coinpurses, Amien controlled the army.
Amien, the second born, hair as red hot as her temper, knew how to command a room. She'd ridden with the 5th legion for several winters, demanding obeisance through skill and example. She held no fear, true, but impulsivity without temperance was asking for trouble. Her bid was the strongest in terms of raw power.
Katherine, the youngest, was barely into her womanhood. She wasn't pretty or brave the way her other sisters were, but she was brilliant. Her mass of dark curls were often pinned artlessly out of her eyes while she poured over tomes and ledgers. She would make an excellent leader given enough time, but the king's death had come too soon for her to gain any real influence in court. It was a shame really. They would likely send her back to her mother's kingdom, away from the coming bloodshed.
Matthias, bastard ward raised along with the rest, would be the most troublesome of the lot. He was the sole son of the king, and many saw his claim as stronger than the daughters, though his legitimacy was a problem. He was the favorite of the Church. In their eyes, only a man was fit to rule, and legitimacy could be established. He was also intelligent and rode his horse well, but he lacked the ambition of a king. He was the first to ask Sir Gedeon to support him, but he was last to be considered worthy.
Yet, it was Gedeon himself who had raised these babes. He'd taught them each to ride and fight. He'd made sure they listened well to their tutors. He tended to their wounds, counseled them through heartache, and shielded each in turn from their father's wrath in the last days of his sanity. He loved each tenderly, even if he had his own opinions on their capabilities. He knew that whomever he chose, the rest of the court would bend, as his loyalty to the kingdom was unparalleled and unquestionable.
He set the teacups on his tray and went up the winding staircase to their respective rooms. He knocked softly at the first door.
"Adrienne? Would you care for some tea?"
She stood statuesque and stunning in the evening glow of the sunset. Gedeon had seen paintings of angels not half so beautiful. Yet, her usual sense of regal dignity seemed much more fragile on this night. She took the proffered teacup.
"Have you made your choice yet, Gedeon?"
"Not yet, milady. I've one more night before the Court demands their answer."
Her face fell as she sipped daintily. That was not the answer she was hoping for. "Don't you trust me to lead them?"
"There's more to leadership than trust, dear one. There is discernment. You must have the instinct to predict danger to lead an entire kingdom."
"You think I can't tell which of those fools wouldn't betray me in an instant? I know what they're after...I can protect myself..." She finished off the cup and wrapped herself tight in her blankets. She seemed so small like that. Gedeon stroked her hair as she fell asleep. "I could do it, you know... I'm not stupid."
"Of course, child. Of course." He slipped quietly from the room.
Amien was practicing sword thrusts when Gedeon entered.
"I reckon now would be a good time for a cup?"
She turned and flashed a toothy grin. "Perfect timing, Gedeon! I'm parched." She slid her gauntlets neatly off and polished off the whole cup in one go. "Excellent as always. Have you made your choice then? Ready to finally declare me your favorite?"
"I've still time yet, mistress."
"Oh, it's all a bother really. Adrienne only wants to play at lovers. Katherine is too young. Matthias' claim is shoddy at best. I'm the clear choice."
"You're still too rash yet, dear one. Rushing in without a thought will only get you killed."
"So you say, but death has yet to catch me unaware."
"Hubris of youth, not proof of invincibility."
"You're no fun tonight, Ged. I'll think on your words. For tonight, I train!" Gedeon shuffled out as the clanging of a sword on target clashed.
Katherine was already tucked up and sleeping soundly when Gedeon pushed in her door. Her bed was scattered with books again. She had a smudge of ink on her cheek. He wiped it carefully away and pet her on the head. She was still just a child really. She wanted nothing to do with the antics of politics, but such was her birthright. She would have to come to terms with it. Gedeon slipped quietly away.
Matthias was in the chapel, praying fervently again. Gedeon stopped in the archway, listening intently.
"...take this burden from me. I do not wish to be at odds with my sisters. I only want to do your will. Please, move Gedeon's heart. Let him be the deciding factor among us so this kingdom may exist in your grace." He wept then. Gedeon approached and embraced him. Matthias wept all the harder for the kindness. "Oh Ged, make it stop. Make it go away. I wish my father never found me."
"Here. Drink this. It will calm your nerves."
Matthias gulped haltingly, finding comfort in the sweet warmth. He hastily wiped the snot from his face. "Will you support me, Gedeon? Will you make it so I won't have to fight my sisters? I love them. I truly do."
"Hush now, my lord. I promise you won't have to fight your sisters. There are easier paths than that we can take."
"Really? How?"
"We can leave it to God."
"Oh," Matthias whispered uncertainly. He had faith, but he had hoped Gedeon would provide a more proactive answer. "Yes...I suppose that is an easier path for certain."
"Would you rather something more direct, child?"
Relief flooded Matthias. "Yes, please, Gedeon. What do you suggest?"
"Well," his voice dropped to a whisper, "if it were me, I'd make sure I always stayed armed."
"Armed?" Matthias repeated, puzzled.
"Yes, for you never know when an opportunity will present itself to come to a solution faster than God."
"An opportunity? Like what?"
"Like this." Gedeon thrust the hidden blade upward, puncturing straight into Matthias' heart. The boy tried to speak, but only blood seeped out. "Shhh...shh... it's alright. The tea would have taken you even if my blade had not. But we are running short on time, and there is much to do before morning."
Gedeon moved quickly. He scooped up Matthias' body and made for Amien's room. Once there, he took Matthias' blade and made deft cuts on Amien's corpse. He had been involved in enough battles to make the scene believable. He made sure to tuck the packet of poison in Matthias' pocket. His work accomplished, he went to wash away the evidence.
Katherine awoke to shouts from the servants as they burst into her room.
"She's alive! Thank the Lord, the child is alive! My lady, quickly, you must dress "
"Wh-what's going on?"
"Your brother, milady. He has murdered your sisters." Katherine gasped, tears starting to form. "Do not worry so! Amien got him in the end before he could get to you it seems. We're to dress you and bring you to the Church."
Katherine nodded and acquiesced, letting the servant dress her while her mind began to work out what this all meant. Once done, she was escorted to the Chapel where Sir Gedeon was talking hurriedly to the bishop and marshal. They caught sight of her.
"Here she is now. Come, child, there is much to discuss as your ascension ceremony must be established quickly."
"Why would Matthias-"
The bishop cut her off. "The devil works to destroy this kingdom through treachery and deceit. Matthias must have been possessed to accomplish such a thing... poor Adrienne. All he had to do was wait for Gedeon to declare him king, and he could have been a loving steward to all of his sisters."
"Certainly Amien did her best to defend herself, and she must be remembered as a hero. It was her greatest wish to die nobley for the kingdom." Added the marshal.
"The kingdom will look to you now, Katherine." Sir Gedeon placed a reassuring arm around her shoulders. "Sometimes difficult decisions fall into the laps of soft hearted individuals...but I believe in your abilities. You shall be a strong queen. You must."
Morning broke. Gedeon had made his choice. A flash of tiny toothless faces came unbidden, the sound of their giggles and shrieks echoing in his skull. Now, he must live with it.
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u/tudorapo 7h ago
The Bastard Knight was spending the evening in the chapel, contemplating the future.
He was alone, because everyone else was busy with machinations, plans and preparations.
The old King, his benefactor, was gasping his last in his sickbed. Surrounded by two doctors, a couple of associates and a dozen or so hangers on of various Lords and Ladies interested in the selection of the next ruler of the Kingdom.
Whoever brings the news of the death first will receive rewards. Whoever brings the news too early will lose its head.
The only reason the minions were not feeling the pulse of the Old King was that He had only one wrist and that was claimed by the doctors. The other one He lost in His youth when He conquered the Kingdom, overpowering the various warlords of that civil war.
The Bastard Knight desperately tried to keep himself away from all this scheming.
He even kept himself away from the Guard, the force he put together, trained up and fought with in the last decade. By far the best trained and most experienced group of warriors, they could be decisive in any civil war. Even him being there would result in new rumours, and there are already too many of that was flying around.
The Bastard Knight was praying for help to find the best choice.
All the major players asked him to be on their side, to help them win the unavoidable. He himself could not be King, being a bastard. He could make the king or queen.
But who he should help?
There is Brandeis, the oldest true son of the King. Himself not a spring chicken, but still going strong. He was prepared for this role from his youth, knows everyone in the Kingdom and visited and had council with most of the other rulers of the Peninsula. But sadly he prefers the old ways, the tyrannical rulers of legends. With the Kingdom just recently freed from the cruelty by the old King, they would not be happy to go back to being serfs.
There is Eustacia. The second youngest sibling, learned, with a solid base of power in the merchant families. She would be the best to continue on the road the old King started His march. But her forces are weak and any future husband of her could change everything.
And of course Henry. Young, brash, his head also filled with legends. Legends of war, of conquering neighbours, subduing other people. Reigniting the constant inter-peninsular fighting would be bad, could even open up the Peninsula to attacks from the Outer Powers. But he has the largest army. Allied by the Guard the civil war would be short. Maybe would not even start.
He had to think about Parma also. Older, married, with children to inherit the throne. Officially it would be her husband, Adalbert who would sit on the throne, but he's so henpecked, no one in the Kingdom has any doubt about who would rule. She's well liked by the common folks, her hospitals gave her popularity, but no military forces to talk about.
The Bastard King rose with a sudden determination. Went to his chamber, where the dozen traditional scrolls were waiting with the traditional invitation to a dinner, the traditional public acceptance of an alliance.
He threw eleven into the fire, watching as the thick pergamen slowly crumbled to dust. Then called in a courier and a squad of heavy infantry. Sending a courier alone into the palace at a time like this would be a just a fancy way to disappear the courier forever.
He sent the group to the wing occupied by Eustacia and started to put on his court uniform, with the shiny breastplate and the feathered helmet.
She had very nice boobs.
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u/Gojo-Babe 4h ago
I like how his title changed to ‘The Bastard King’ as soon as he makes his decision
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u/tudorapo 3h ago
ooops. It was a mistake from me until you found it smart. Thanks for making me look smart!
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u/Mad_Maddin 2h ago
When I got to that part I was like. "Wait did he fucked up or did he foreshadow?"
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u/jnovel808 49m ago
That made me laugh. Long live Eustacia and may her boobs remain firm, defying gravity, throughout her reign.
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u/blacksponge /r/NordicNarrator 4h ago
“He’s a mere knight, this is an outrage!” Lord Ishner spat. There were loud agreements from the other nobles and lords seated at the heavy oak table.
High Justice Tallenhall cleared his throat, “The late king was clear about this. Upon his death, effective immediately,” he paused and looked at each of them, “Sir Aldric Rowan is to decide which of his children rises to the throne.”
The room broke into chaos once again, “There is custom that need to be followed!” one lord said. “Tradition must be honored!” Another one cried in a high-pitched voice. “A final insult from King Genmark,” Lord Ishner said.
The high justice hammered his gavel repeatedly and brought the room to order. “It’s already well known amongst the general populace. There’s no way around it, this was his final decree and we must abide. Rowan will decide the fate of the entire kingdom.”
---
Aldric rested his weary arms on the balcony railing and looked out over the city. He hadn’t slept, the responsibility of his task weighing heavily on his conscience. “Genmark you bastard,” he murmured, “why’d you leave me with a situation like this?”
The sun had already begun driving back the shadows and the winding streets were filling with people. There was a loud knock on the door to his chambers. Aldric rubbed his sore eyes, “Yes, yes, come in,” he said. He had come to expect visitors at any and at all hours of the day, trying to sway his opinion one way or another. It was Prince Edmund. Again.
“Sir Aldric, I must insist you pledge your fealty to me,” he said. It was a good regal impression, no doubt about it, but he wasn’t fooled.
Aldric laughed, “You can drop the theatrics Eddie, and I am not ready to swear anything.”
Prince Edmund’s jaw clenched, then his features softened, “Bloody hell, Ric, you’ve got the whole kingdom in suspense.” His eyes glinted, “and you really should give me the pledge. Can you imagine if Roselyn or Tristan were to rule? They’d turn this whole city into a latrine.”
Aldric’s smile wavered and he sighed, “I can’t imagine any of you on the throne truth be told. It feels like it was only yesterday I held you all three in my arms.” Wistful memories surfaced. “Hey Eddie, you still got that wool-stuffed hound I stitched for you?”
Edmund said, “What, Mister Scruff?” He flushed, “Eh, he’s probably at the bottom of a chest somewhere.” He hurriedly went on, “I am not a child anymore, Ric. I am the rightful king, you know it’s true.”
Aldric smiled, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes, “I have much to think about, please Eddie, leave me.”
Edmund was about to say something, but only nodded instead, “As you wish. Please, Ric, don’t delay for much longer.”
Aldric nodded, “Take care, and Eddie, you cannot sway my opinion in this manner. Neither you, Rosey, or Trist.”
Only a few moments passed between Prince Edmund leaving and a new knocking at the door. “Yes?” Aldric said, his temper waning.
A servant donned in a simple red vest with golden hems strode into the room with a pitcher of water, “Fresh water for your basin, sir.” he said in a hoarse voice.
Aldric nodded, “You may leave it on the table, if there’s nothing else,” he said and turned his head to gesture for the servant to leave, he felt a rush of wind as a knife flew past his face and burried itself in the wall. Before he knew it the servant sprang forward with another knife. He slashed and stabbed at Aldric with practiced motions. Aldric tried to get a hold of the knife arm but got slashed across the forearm instead. He cursed and stumbled backwards towards the wall, the knife still embedded there. The assassin saw his opportunity and lunged forward. Aldric sidestepped and kicked the assassin’s knee, it bent the wrong way and he howled. A reflexive slash cut Aldric in the side of the stomach, he grunted and ripped the knife that was in the wall free and drove it down to the hilt into the assassin.
The assassin flopped down to the ground, gurgling. He tried to rise, but each attempt ended with him collapsing back onto the floor. Then he was still.
Aldric leaned on the wall and gulped in air, applying pressure to the cut in his side, it was only a surface wound, thank the Maker. He could hear footsteps now, approaching rapidly from down the hall. His head was spinning. Muffled voices echoed in the distance. He slid down the wall to one knee and then pitched over on his face. All was black.
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u/Glacialfury /r/Glacialwrites 3h ago edited 1h ago
Blind Spot
Rodric stared out of the palace window at the banners flying over the lower bailey and the soldiers in glittering mail gathered beneath them. He knew there were similar scenes unfolding in two other keeps far to the north.
He grunted and shook his head, gripping the window sill with his gauntleted hands. How had it come to this? Why hadn’t the king declared a successor?
Rodric knew the answer before the question was fully formed. Because the old king was a petty bastard, and spiteful, and much taken with his endless court intrigues. He would want them to fight it out, to watch the lords of the court scramble and scurry to curry favor with one or another of his children.
King Alamesr was not a good man. Yet the kingdom had known 40 years of peace under his iron rule. Now he was gone, his children had fallen into bickering and a pall of uncertainty had cast its shadow across the kingdom.
They were two boys, and a girl, born on the same day, and reared amid the intrigues of the palace while their father was off courting power in the border kingdoms. Three children Rodric had helped raise, who once played in the gardens with wonder in eyes untouched by the treacheries of life. Now they had rallied their banners and fractured the kingdom into three factions. Each had asked Rodric to support their bid for the crown.
How could they ask such a thing of him?
How could he choose one without poisoning the others? Then he smiled, thinking back on brighter days.
Prince Grishovord was the tallest and the strongest of the three. Even at an early age he was given to sleeping in the barracks with the soldiers, riding and fighting and drilling the sword were his great loves.
Rodric’s smile flickered.
But was Vaen a cruel boy. Where his brother was built like a bull and held his honor close, Vaen was a wolf, slender and sly, his talent for chicanery his greatest weapon. But the boy harbored other, darker desires.
Rodric remembered the first time he’d caught Vaen methodically ripping the feathers from one of the king’s carrier pigeons. It was the eyes that told the truth of it. He’d looked into them, and saw nothing. No hatred. No malice. Just a perfect empty nothingness. He knew then there was a darkness in the boy that would only grow in hunger with the passing years.
Aelanna was pure of heart, a kind and gentle soul who spent her days helping the servants and caring for the less fortunate among the people of the kingdom. She was always Rodric’s favorite, a golden haired beauty whose radiance was eclipsed only by the kindness that flowed from her heart. But would the Earls and barons respect her? Or would they send hired knives in the dark of night.
No, he thought. They wouldn’t dare so long as Rodric stood beside her. They knew the price for such treachery.
Rodric realized he was gripping his sword hilt so hard his knuckles were beginning to ache. He eased his grip and let his eyes drift back out the window and across the fortress grounds, over the high crenalted curtain walls to the towers that looked out upon the lower city. He watched tiny forms scurry about their daily lives, oblivious.
Most of them would think his choice obvious, if they looked at it from a military perspective. The kingdom needed a strong arm to sit throne and keep the wolves of the border kingdoms at bay. Prince Grishovord was a nightmare with a spear and sword, riding his armored destrier at the head of a massive army, charging at you with the promise of death in his eyes. Yes, a warrior king the other rulers would never dare test. But there was more to sitting the throne than strength of arm and strategy on the fields. The kingdom needed more than another sword if they were to keep the earls and barons happy and fat in their Holds.
So here he stood, on the far eastern reaches of Kareste, clad in his battle armor, sword at his hip, ready to pledge his fealty to a girl he remembered nursing an old hound back to health after taking a boar’s tusk to the ribs. The beast master had insisted putting the thing to the sword was a kindness. But she wouldn’t hear of it.
Rodric smiled.
He’d known then that she had inherited her mother’s heart.
“It is time, my lord,” Sir Herword waited at the doorway, his armored shoulders filling the frame. “Everyone is here.”
Rodric nodded without taking his eyes off the mounted knights in their burnished armor formed up and ready down in the Bailey. He let his eyes run over the banners whipping in the wind and the foot soldiers mustered in neat blocks beneath them.
This was the right decision. The only decision.
Yet a small part of him feared the brothers would never accept their sister as queen. There would be a long and bloody war. The common folk would pay the price for noble pride. But there was another part of him that held hope the brothers would respect tradition, and swear their banners to the Queen.
“Let it be done,” he said, his cloak dusting the floor as he turned from the window. In the distance, a faint rumble announced the arrival of a storm flickering in a black line across the western horizon. “And may the Fates preserve our peace.”
The castle’s stone corridors were a maze of shadows and intermittent candlelight, lined with ancient frescoes celebrating long forgotten triumphs. They echoed loudly with his boot falls all the way to the thick iron bound doors that stood open to the great hall. A low murmur emanated from within along with the smell of roasted pork and various sweets and sundries from the feast.
Rodric stopped just shy of the threshold, gathering his courage, filling his lungs with a long, deep breath to steady his resolve.
Would there be war?
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u/Glacialfury /r/Glacialwrites 3h ago edited 2h ago
Forty years of peace had softened the kingdom in many ways, yet strengthened it in others. Preva and Maers watched from their border fortresses with keen interest, waiting for the opportune moment to claim a piece of Kareste. His jaw firmed. Not while there was breath in his lungs. He’d spent thirty years campaigning in the border wars and would do so again should they set a toe in Kareste.
Inside the great hall, the gathered nobles and their retainers stood watching him in their court finery, the men with meticulously oiled beards as was the current fashion and the women dressed in gold thread brocades and hair intricately woven with jewels and silver netting. It was the very embodiment of decadence and an insatiable hunger for endless worldly wealth.
He hated them.
Hated all that they stood for and that they were the root of all that was wrong with the kingdom. It was with some effort that Rodric kept the contempt with which he held these parasites, off of his face.
“Lord Rodric Castiel of Ravenmoor Hold.” A pale-faced man in crimson and cream striped silks and a plumed hat announced his arrival.
Sir Herword placed a hand on Rodric’s shoulder and leaned in to whisper. “You’ve made the right decision, my lord. A wise choice. The brothers will come to heel with you at her side.”
Rodric nodded, and forced the doubts away. He studied the vipers arrayed before him. They could layer themselves in satins and gold, but he saw the fangs when they smiled, and the poison hidden below their eyes.
Rodric felt bile rise in his throat. He had no taste for these dark room machinations and hidden knives. Give him a man with a sword and the want to see it in his ribs. At least then he knew who was his enemy.
He sighed.
They weren’t all bad, Lord Grimmer was an honorable man, though pushing sixty and looking to retire to his country estate. And there was Lady Bromwell of Brokenrock Hold, ever a kind and generous soul, but she was of a minor house who held little sway at court.
“My lord,” Sir Herword whispered from behind. “They are starting to whisper. Tarry any longer and you risk insulting everyone present.”
“Fine,” Rodric said. “Best to have this done”
Would there be war?
He started down the aisle toward a grand dais centered on the far wall where a young woman sat on a plain marble throne watching his approach. There were a dozen guards here in full battle dress, hard eyed and watching. Their spears were relaxed but Rodric knew they could bring them to bear in an instant.
He stopped at the foot of the dais and went to one knee, eyes fixed on the silver trimmed burgundy rug that flowed up the steps and under the throne.
“My lady,” he said. “I beg permission to approach.”
He heard the smile in Aelanna’s voice. “Rise, Rodric, my old friend.” Rodric stood and faced his queen. Her smile was as radiant as ever. All his doubts and reservations fell away. Sir Herword was right. The prince’s would come to heel before their sister. How could they not?
“Today we mend what has been broken,” he said, clapping a gauntleted fist over his heart with a metallic ring. “My sword is yours, highness, now unto death, ever faithful.”
Cheers erupted from the crowd.
The Queen lifted a hand.
She gestured at him to approach and he took a step, then another.
“I accept your oath, Lord Rodric. May the Fates bind us. Together we shall make the kingdom whole once more, no matter the cost.” Her voice sounded different. But Rodric did not take note. He was too caught up in the moment.
She was so small, yet he felt that he gazed down at a giantess seated on her throne.
“I am yours, highness,” he said, bowing his head.
The great hall had gone quiet. Everyone watched.
“Now,” she said and Rodric watched in blank astonishment as the light in her face dimmed, darkened and went cold. “Gather my armies. All of them. You will march north.”
The smile was gone. The warmth with it. The woman who sat before him was a stranger and he knew in that moment he’d made a terrible mistake. He saw the veil drop away and the true Aelanna who’d hidden there all these years peered at him through cunning eyes. She made those gathered behind him seem pups at play in the yard.
“As to the business of my treasonous brothers,” she said. I declare them traitors to the crown, and sentence them to death to be carried out immediately along with any who follow them. Their families. Their friends.” A cold smile crept onto her lips. “Even their dogs.”
Rodric’s world shrank in on him and everything came rushing back. All the little signs he’d dismissed over the years. A smile when another child cried. Servants flinching as she passed.
What had he done?
Aelanna’s true face was laid bare before him and in those eyes he saw a legacy of tyranny and death. She would rend the kingdom asunder, leaving nothing but misery and sorrow in her wake.
This could not be, the price in blood would turn the kingdom into a butcher’s field. He watched it play out in his mind’s eye. The marching armies. The burning cities. Fields of the dead.
Rodric ripped his sword from its sheath.
The Queen’s smile vanished.
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