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tamingthemuseTitle: Thrones and chairs
Fandom: Arthurian legends
Prompt: Prompt 449 - Siege
Warnings: I didn't where I was going with this one. I started to write and this happened.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The Arthurian legends are in the public domain. I make no reference to any copyrighted work. So all is mine.
Beta: None, so any mistakes you see are mine.
Summary: The man, the King... his father was sitting proudly on his throne. A heavy crown resting on his head.
Arthur looked at the painting on the floor. During the years of the petty wars after his death, his image had gone from his stronghold walls, replaced by those of lesser men who conquered the castle and lost it shortly after. But none of those warriors had dared dispose of the paintings. They had simply been shut away in the dungeon.
The faint light from the high window was just enough for Arthur to make out the details of the paintings. He was observing a particular canvas that had been made during the peak of Uther's reign. The man, the King... his father was sitting proudly on his throne. A heavy crown resting on his head. His features were foreign to Arthur. He knew the man was his father but he couldn't see himself reflected in the portrait. His jaw was square and strong, a heavy beard adorning his chin. He gaze was firm and certain. His body covered with the richest fabric was big with muscles that could not be hidden under his clothes. He was sitting in the throne as if it was a mere chair.
Arthur hadn't. He had felt his lanky body sink in the old siege, his frame disappearing behind gold and jewels. The crown had made his head bent and his neck hurt. He had been everything but the picture of a king. He had been glad no one had been there to make a painting of him. His chin was stubbornly smooth, his muscles easily hidden under the too many clothes he had been made to wear. Only his sword marked him as a king. The sword he had pulled out of the stone was surprisingly fitting. It was as if he had been made for me. He supposed it must have been but still... it surprised him how people could think such an elegant weapon could be use for war. Maybe they didn't expect it too. He hadn't fought with it yet, had only worn it during official ceremonies. He didn't know if the weapon could sustain a fight, but he felt safe with it at his belt. It was reassuringly heavy on his belt and warm as if reminding him of his presence always.
Arthur let go of the painting he had been looking at. He was not Uther, the king he now knew to be his father. He was not strong and heavy and he would never fill the throne. He could not have it replaced or made anew but he could avoid it. He did not want to rule from the pedestal of a throne. He wanted to head his friends, his subjects to be part of the government. He was not a man to direct order without consulting with everyone first. The throne would have to be relegated among relics of the old times and he, Arthur, would create new traditions, new siege that wouldn't be throne but chairs made for all to sit together around a single table.
Fandom: Arthurian legends
Prompt: Prompt 449 - Siege
Warnings: I didn't where I was going with this one. I started to write and this happened.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The Arthurian legends are in the public domain. I make no reference to any copyrighted work. So all is mine.
Beta: None, so any mistakes you see are mine.
Summary: The man, the King... his father was sitting proudly on his throne. A heavy crown resting on his head.
Arthur looked at the painting on the floor. During the years of the petty wars after his death, his image had gone from his stronghold walls, replaced by those of lesser men who conquered the castle and lost it shortly after. But none of those warriors had dared dispose of the paintings. They had simply been shut away in the dungeon.
The faint light from the high window was just enough for Arthur to make out the details of the paintings. He was observing a particular canvas that had been made during the peak of Uther's reign. The man, the King... his father was sitting proudly on his throne. A heavy crown resting on his head. His features were foreign to Arthur. He knew the man was his father but he couldn't see himself reflected in the portrait. His jaw was square and strong, a heavy beard adorning his chin. He gaze was firm and certain. His body covered with the richest fabric was big with muscles that could not be hidden under his clothes. He was sitting in the throne as if it was a mere chair.
Arthur hadn't. He had felt his lanky body sink in the old siege, his frame disappearing behind gold and jewels. The crown had made his head bent and his neck hurt. He had been everything but the picture of a king. He had been glad no one had been there to make a painting of him. His chin was stubbornly smooth, his muscles easily hidden under the too many clothes he had been made to wear. Only his sword marked him as a king. The sword he had pulled out of the stone was surprisingly fitting. It was as if he had been made for me. He supposed it must have been but still... it surprised him how people could think such an elegant weapon could be use for war. Maybe they didn't expect it too. He hadn't fought with it yet, had only worn it during official ceremonies. He didn't know if the weapon could sustain a fight, but he felt safe with it at his belt. It was reassuringly heavy on his belt and warm as if reminding him of his presence always.
Arthur let go of the painting he had been looking at. He was not Uther, the king he now knew to be his father. He was not strong and heavy and he would never fill the throne. He could not have it replaced or made anew but he could avoid it. He did not want to rule from the pedestal of a throne. He wanted to head his friends, his subjects to be part of the government. He was not a man to direct order without consulting with everyone first. The throne would have to be relegated among relics of the old times and he, Arthur, would create new traditions, new siege that wouldn't be throne but chairs made for all to sit together around a single table.
