Prosy: The Test
Sep. 22nd, 2011 10:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyTitle: The Test
Word count: 396
Rating: PG-13
Prompt:whatawaytoburn's: Blood is the only proof. and Count your miles from the lightning. (yup, I used both!)
Notes: I very actively tried to make this not Arthurian, especially since I'm rereading The Mists of Avalon right now.
The storm had muddied the battle, both literally and figuratively. But it was over now. The enemy had fled, they had won the day, but Thomas’ father lay dead.
To his surprise, he found himself mildly sorrowful to find the king had died. He had never liked his father; he was an unregarded, unacknowledged bastard, and had had to fight for everything that should have been his due, from the clothes on his back to the sword in his hand. But the king had been universally regarded as a good, fair man, and the country would miss him.
But now was not the time for sorrow. Now was the time—the only time he would get—for action.
He pushed his way gently (no more force was needed on the heartbroken men) through the small crowd that surrounded the fallen king. Lightning flashed at the very moment he broke through the circle into the space surrounding the body, and as Thomas placed his hand on the princess’ shoulder, the thunder rumbled over them. It was too close.
The princess, the witch, looked up at him, glaring silently, her eyes a surely unnatural green in the dimness. Once the thunder had died, Thomas spoke before she had a chance to. “I am his son. I am the heir.”
“He has no heir,” the princess—his half-sister—spat. “The man I marry will inherit this kingdom.”
Thomas shook his head implacably. “I am his son. It is the law.”
“It is the law,” said one of the knights, lifting his head from his prayerful position. “But our king had no son. Your claim has no foundation.”
“I am his son,” Thomas repeated a third time, knowing they would have to take him seriously now. “It is the truth.” The lightning flashed, the thunder following it almost instantly, seeming to back up his words.
In one swift, jerky motion, the witch rose to her feet. She spat in Thomas’ face, then drew a little silver knife from her belt. “Blood is the only proof. We will test your claim.”
Thomas raised his hand. “I am willing to be tested. But it is dangerous to be here; we should find shelter.”
The princess shook her head. She slashed Thomas’ palm, then her own, and pressed their palms together, raising them to the sky as the lightning reached for them.
Did you enjoy this story? You can see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!
You can also donate to see more of this story at $1 per 100 or so words.
Word count: 396
Rating: PG-13
Prompt:
whatawaytoburn's: Blood is the only proof. and Count your miles from the lightning. (yup, I used both!)Notes: I very actively tried to make this not Arthurian, especially since I'm rereading The Mists of Avalon right now.
The storm had muddied the battle, both literally and figuratively. But it was over now. The enemy had fled, they had won the day, but Thomas’ father lay dead.
To his surprise, he found himself mildly sorrowful to find the king had died. He had never liked his father; he was an unregarded, unacknowledged bastard, and had had to fight for everything that should have been his due, from the clothes on his back to the sword in his hand. But the king had been universally regarded as a good, fair man, and the country would miss him.
But now was not the time for sorrow. Now was the time—the only time he would get—for action.
He pushed his way gently (no more force was needed on the heartbroken men) through the small crowd that surrounded the fallen king. Lightning flashed at the very moment he broke through the circle into the space surrounding the body, and as Thomas placed his hand on the princess’ shoulder, the thunder rumbled over them. It was too close.
The princess, the witch, looked up at him, glaring silently, her eyes a surely unnatural green in the dimness. Once the thunder had died, Thomas spoke before she had a chance to. “I am his son. I am the heir.”
“He has no heir,” the princess—his half-sister—spat. “The man I marry will inherit this kingdom.”
Thomas shook his head implacably. “I am his son. It is the law.”
“It is the law,” said one of the knights, lifting his head from his prayerful position. “But our king had no son. Your claim has no foundation.”
“I am his son,” Thomas repeated a third time, knowing they would have to take him seriously now. “It is the truth.” The lightning flashed, the thunder following it almost instantly, seeming to back up his words.
In one swift, jerky motion, the witch rose to her feet. She spat in Thomas’ face, then drew a little silver knife from her belt. “Blood is the only proof. We will test your claim.”
Thomas raised his hand. “I am willing to be tested. But it is dangerous to be here; we should find shelter.”
The princess shook her head. She slashed Thomas’ palm, then her own, and pressed their palms together, raising them to the sky as the lightning reached for them.
Did you enjoy this story? You can see all my fiction posted at Dreamwidth!
0_o
Date: 2011-09-26 05:35 am (UTC)Re: 0_o
Date: 2011-09-26 04:18 pm (UTC)Re: 0_o
Date: 2011-09-26 06:26 pm (UTC)The thing with unlikeable characters is that they tend to leave the reader wondering, "Why am I spending time with these people?" Usually there's someone in a story that we want to see succeed, someone to root for. Without that, it can be tempting to start watching the sky to see if rocks will fall and mash all the jerks to interesting goo. So if the characters aren't likeable enough to hook readers into the story, something else has to do the job instead, and that's harder to write.