HOME | DD

Description
CHAPTER 1 - Training.

Shaking roused him.
A dim voice entered his mind, calling him to wake. A hand was resting on his shoulder and he groaned, pushing it away.
"Now, now, don't be like that," the voice scolded. It was low and definitely male, but still young.
He sighed and opened his eyes to see his manservant leaning over him, both hands on his shoulders. He wore an exasperated expression, gazing down at him in annoyance. "Arthur, you slept on the floor again."
Looking down, he realized he was still on the floor from the night before, in a pale shirt and loose breeches. "Oh."
The manservant raised his eyebrows. "'Oh'? That's the best you can come up with? I've found you like this for the last four sunrises!"
Arthur glanced over at the wide open doors to his chambers. "Dominik, could you just be a little more discreet?"
His blue eyes flicked to the doors. "You must hurry! You have to be at a - "
"Training exercise, I know..." He trailed off and Dominik backed up, giving him space. Arthur placed his hands on the rough wooden floor and pushed, gradually heaving himself up. Dominik reached out with an arm and hauled him up all the way, supporting him as he swayed. His muscles had all locked together, stuck after the long night spent sleeping in the same position. He spread his arms out, stretching his back and shoulders. "Stiff."
The other man glared at him. "Oh, no. You're so surprised after sleeping there?" He spat the last word, jabbing his finger toward the vacant spot. "You also said the same thing the last four mornings, too. Or have you forgotten?"
Arthur padded over to the closet with stiff legs, throwing open the doors. He picked out a light beige shirt and black pants. "Oh, how I do love you in the mornings, Dominik. So refreshing to have attitude thrown in my face every day."
He grinned, showing off his perfect gleaming white teeth. "My pleasure. You must like it at least one bit; otherwise you could have fired me when I first started."
Arthur avoided the comment, yanking his ruffled shirt off and throwing it into a corner. He pulled on the beige one and walked over to a screen to change his pants. When he emerged, Dominik was holding his belt, sword attached, and a light bow with a quiver full of arrows. He gave the belt to him and went to fetch his boots. Doing the belt up and placing the quiver over his back, he slipped into the boots that reached up to his knees. They were a beautiful tan leather, and his favorite, most comfortable pair.
He nodded to Dominik. "You've gone quiet all of a sudden. I'm not sure if I should be happy or concerned."
The man ignored him, blue eyes clouded. "Why?"
Arthur paused on his way to the door, his chambers suddenly quiet. "'Why' what?"
"Why don't you fire me? I always talk back to you."
His boots clomped on the floor as he moved to the doors, halting in line with the frame. "Like I said: refreshing."

"Are you ready, sire?"
He slowly turned in a circle, eyeing the men trapping him in. They wore serious expressions and gleaming metal armor that shone in the morning sun, helmets throwing light into his eyes as they pulled them on. They held weapons of all types in their hands with swords on their belts and shields strapped to their arms. There were at least nine of them, evenly spaced out. Their faces were hidden by shining steel helms, all staring directly at him.
They were standing in a beautiful flat clearing with trees on all sides. The grass was a magnificent green, the space light and open.
Arthur had chosen to opt out of the body armor. He wore the same shirt and pants he had picked out this morning and no armor whatsoever, the only weapon on his belt a sword and a quiver of arrows on his back filled with the fine wooden shafts. The thick metal of plate armor always restricted his movements and he preferred to feel the air as he moved. He glared at the figures standing before him, and he knew that he couldn't fail this exercise. "I'm ready."
A horn sounded and suddenly they were all running towards him. Their feet thudded on the soft green grass and he reached for his sword. It scraped out of its scabbard, slashing straight into a warrior's shield. He dodged a mace and flipped up and over the man, throwing himself into the air. He hit the ground neatly, taking off into the green forest. The trees would restrict the amount of men that came through, giving him better chances of success. Arthur ducked behind a huge oak tree, listening for the knights. He could hear the clang of metal on metal and suddenly they burst around the oak. He lashed out with the sword, sending an expert thrust into the chest of the armor. The man fell to the ground, pretending to play dead. Arthur knew he hadn't killed him, but he was faking dead. It was part of the exercise: take them all out without killing them. He knew there was no danger in harming THEM, as they had several layers of padding and chain mail underneath. They had been trained specially to deal with the weight. Also they had been told to show him no mercy. Arthur stepped out onto the path, slashing across the shoulder of another and parrying a blow from the knight behind him. A shield came flying towards his face, smashing him on the chin. He stumbled back, clutching at his jaw and cursing his luck. Bringing his sword up and over his head, he swung it in a wide arc and slammed the flat of the blade straight into the man's ribs. He crumpled, falling to the ground with the others. Arthur leapt to the side as an arrow shot through the air towards his chest. He fell onto the tiny rocks, scraping along the forest floor. He stood, swaying as his arm throbbed painfully. The skin had been scratched off all the way down his arm, thick, warm blood running down into his palm. He shook it out, ignoring the pain, stepping out onto the path again. His face was not angry, but calm and calculating. He knew losing his temper in a fight would be dangerous at the least. Something that would get him killed in a real fight.
His eyes bulged as he beheld the sight in front of him.
The other six knights had taken up positions thirty meters away, bows drawn, ready to fire.
They stared at each other for a moment, both sides panting for breath.
Arthur lunged toward the fallen men and grabbed a shield as the arrows whistled toward him. He caught two on the edge of the rectangular mass and dodged the other four agilely.
The six archers reached into their quivers to reload and he saw his chance. He sprinted forward, the shield in front of his body, and closed the gap between them. The archers fired, and he caught the arrows on his shield, still charging. He crashed into the first line of archers, taking out the first two as the third one advanced upon him, sword drawn. He rammed the man with his shield, knocking him over and sending him to the floor.
The others came toward him and Arthur dodged the group, running back in the direction of the clearing. He was almost there when he got an idea. He gazed straight ahead of him to see a solid pine tree. Grinning, he placed his hands on the trunk and hauled himself up, using the branches as handholds. It was significantly easy because of all the training he'd had, his muscles taking the grunt of the work effortlessly. His dark hair flopped down into his face and over his light hazel eyes, soaked in sweat.
Arthur came to a thick branch at the perfect height. He stuck close to the trunk, making sure he could see the clearing before him. It spread out in the exact same way he had left it, and he could hear the knights running out of the forest. They emerged into the clearing shouting harsh war cries to find it empty. He could see the watch tower opposite him searching the woods for his form.
Quickly he strung his bow, reaching into the quiver of arrows to pluck one out. The rough bark scratched his back as he shifted his weight so that he was straddling the huge branch.
Arthur brought the bow to his face, taking aim on one of the men below. He released, and it flew through the air, hitting the target perfectly.
The soldiers in the watch tower traced the angle and found him, pointing straight at him as the two left on the ground followed the direction of the point. One strung his bow, but Arthur was lightning quick, feeding another arrow into the bow and shooting. The man fell along with the other, and that meant that he only had one left.
He looked down at the ground below to see the last knight attempting to climb the tree. With his armor he could barely even wrap his arms around the pine, let alone lift all that weight. The man gave up and looked up at him, taking his helm off and gazing up at Arthur. He would only have to wait.
Arthur placed his bow back into the quiver and put both hands on the branch, hauling himself up. He looked at the rough bark of the huge branch and steadily walked forward, out further onto the branch and away from the trunk. His balance was perfect and every new step he recalculated, making sure he was safe.
He suddenly stopped. If he took the next step the branch would snap and he would fall ten meters below, possibly even to his death. Arthur turned, facing the ground side of the branch, and leapt. He soared towards the ground for a small moment, his stomach dropping down ahead of him and his dark hair flying upwards. And then he was hitting the soft forest floor, rolling with the impact. He sprang up as the last knight came towards him and ran backwards, into the clearing. He emerged into the full sunlight, the glare hurting his eyes, and made it to the middle, where he had started the training exercise. The man advanced upon him, his eyes glinting in victory as he grinned. Arthur waited for him to come closer, then drew his sword with the scrape of metal against the scabbard. He slashed out at the man's chest, making a deep scratch in his chest plate. Then he saw the weakness: his opponent was not wearing a helm; he had left it in the forest.
The knight drew his sword, ready to fight back, to see that he had a shining metal blade on his neck. Blood trickled down his throat, dripping under his layers of body armor.
Arthur did not grin, only stared at him with light, calculating eyes. "Do you surrender?" he asked, his voice ringing out clearly.
The knight nodded, the sword scratching up and down his throat. "I surrender."
Arthur lowered the sword and stepped back. He sheathed it and turned, facing the watch tower. "Time?" he asked.
The guard checked the special training clock. "Three minutes, twenty seconds. Well done, Your Highness."
"Thank you."
He approached the tower to find Dominik sitting on his dark brown bay and holding the reigns of Jathan in his hands. "Not bad, Arthur. Not bad at all," he smiled. That was a compliment, for him.
Arthur hauled himself up onto his chestnut horse. "At least you watched this time," he remarked.
"I figured you deserved my attention for once."
"Thanks."
Dominik's face darkened. "Your father wants to see you."
Arthur looked back at the battlefield as his horse shifted under him. "Do you think he will be pleased?"
His eyebrows lifted. "Three minutes and twenty seconds, Arthur. He's got to be pleased with that. You set a new record today." He urged his horse forward, towards the village below the castle.
Jathan followed behind, and Arthur brought the beautiful chestnut alongside Dominik. "So Dominik, have you cleaned my chambers this morning?"
"No," he said it with complete conviction and bluntness.
Arthur laughed. "Then don't worry about it. They're not even that dirty. I've hardly been in them in the last couple of days."
"Fine by me."
He smiled, sucking in a deep breath of the fresh air of the open countryside and taking in the beautiful view of the castle surrounded by the spring green.
He loved spring the most of all the four seasons. He loved the way the sun tingled on his skin; sometimes making his eyes droop and his body want to curl up in a golden patch of light; and sometimes the way it brought him so alive, seeming to glow from within him.
As they entered the village, their horse's hooves thudding on the rocky path, even the dull grey stones and bricks of the monotonous place seemed to come to life. He saw little patches of green sprouting from the cracks in the stones and splashes of yellow as dandelions peeked out into the open.
Arthur smiled, closing his eyes and breathing in the warm air. It seemed to thrum with energy as he lifted his head towards the sun, the bright light penetrating easily beyond his lids.
Voices crowded around him and he was acutely aware of the villagers swarming around his horse, not to see him, but carrying along their everyday lives.
He let his head drop and he opened his eyes to see a jumble of colours and swirling cloth. Arthur had always loved the marketplace, with so many people of different heights, sizes, shapes, voices and faces - with so many different things being sold: local fruits and green pears, but then suddenly an exotic item from far far away would appear. Everything in the marketplace would always be different.
And that was why he still loved the marketplace. It was full of life and the sound that had once scared him as a tiny little boy now comforted him, the bubble of chatter and happiness rising around him.
His horse had slowed to a halt and he placed a hand on Jathan's neck as the chestnut twitched with uneasiness beneath the saddle. He could feel the raw power of the animal and knew Jathan was spooked by something. "Hush, Jathan," he murmured.
He straightened up and suddenly he saw what was wrong.
A group of soldiers were running through the marketplace, tripping over buckets of water and smashing stray fruit beneath their feet. Their armor clanked heavily together and their spears were held upright, so as to not hurt anybody. The crowd was quickly shuffling to either side of the streets, opening up the walkway to him.
Arthur dismounted, grabbing Jathan by the reigns. The chestnut could sense something that hung in the air, spooking him even more.
A small figure broke free of the crowd, pelting straight toward him.
She was a young girl of about 11, her beautiful blonde hair rippling out behind her as she ran, her dark green dress flapping in the wind. She clutched something to her chest, huddling it tightly, not daring to let go. Her head twisted and she gazed on in horror as the soldiers erupted from the villagers.
She must have expected Arthur to move, but instead he stood his ground and caught the girl as she crashed into him. She struggled, her hands flailing desperately until she realized he had not grabbed her. He was standing tall with a hand on the girl's shoulder, facing the men. "Stop. No more disturbances. What are you chasing this young one for?" His voice rang out clearly, and the men shied away, cringing visibly. "Tell me, now."
The leader stepped forward, taking off his helm and bowing in respect. "We mean no harm, Your Highness. But she stole from a villager here and our orders are to protect this place."
"Are your orders to kill young girls?"
"N, No, Your Highness," he stuttered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Arthur turned, looking at the girl who was so 'dangerous'. He crouched so he could see into her eyes, crystal blue, clear eyes. "Is it true you stole from a fellow villager?"
She looked him seriously in the eye, then her face faltered, and her voice cracked as she tried to say "Please! My grandmother is dying! She needs medicine!"
Arthur brought his other hand up. He was looking the girl straight in the eyes, his hands on her shoulders. His dark brown hair shone in the sun, the locks curling closely and comfortingly around his forehead as he thought. Arthur leaned in to the girl, staring her seriously in the eyes. "You grandmother is very sick, correct?"
Water poured out of her lids and down her cheeks, but he reached forward and brushed the tears away. The drops clung to his fingers and shone beautifully in the sun, sparkling like diamonds. "Don't cry, young one. Just answer my question, please."
Her jaw set and she nodded, speaking in a very wobbly voice. "Yes. She is dying of the influenza."
He was still. The air in the village seemed to go quiet, all of the people waiting for his reaction. This girl's life was in his hands.
Arthur sighed, standing up and facing the soldiers. He looked each of them in the eyes, his hazel ones evaluating and calculating as well as telling them how serious this was. "Where is the villager this young girl stole from?"
The man shoved his way through the crowd and said, "Me, Your Highness."
"Your name?"
"Fluxley."
"Fluxley..." he paused, thinking things over and turning it about in his mind. "This girl is not innocent," he declared, earning triumphant expressions from the guards before continuing, "But she did this for good reason. Whatever she stole, she will keep, and I will make sure to replace it. Personally."
Fluxley nodded in agreement. He didn't want a little girl to die pointlessly, just to try and save her family. "Thank you, Prince Arthur." Then he turned to the girl with sorrow on his face. "I am sorry, young one."
Arthur stood up tall. "Go and do your duty," he dismissed the soldiers.
Reluctantly they headed off, metal clanking on metal, shooing the crowds away. They disappeared into the village, returning to their original posts.
"Now," he bent down yet again and smiled gently. "That was a close one, wasn't it?"
The girl smiled too. "Thank you," her voice quavered sheepishly. "My name's Darci."
"You know mine. Arthur," he said, reaching out to shake hands with her. Darci's little ones were completely dwarfed in his own, but he told her: "If your grandmother takes a turn for the worse - or better - I want you to send a messenger here and say that you have permission by Arthur to see him. It was a pleasure to meet you, young Darci. I hope we meet again."
She nodded, her blue eyes blazing in thanks. "Goodbye."
Darci backed away before disappearing hurriedly into the crowd, her green dress billowing out behind her.
Arthur's dark hair shone in the sun as he rose and hauled himself back onto his chestnut horse: Jathan. He urged his mount forward, cutting through the crowds, watching the way people hurried out of his way and gazed upon him with new eyes.
The sound of chatter returned to him, but this time it did not carry him away; it seemed focused on him. His horse fidgeted nervously under him, and he urged Jathan faster, pushing him into a trot.
The village buildings started to thin out, the greenery becoming more dominant and full, sprouting green patches of life across his vision. He began to calm down gradually as he stared at the vibrant place around him, taking in some of its energy.
Gradually they came to a large bridge; people lazily crossing along its surface, their boots clomping on the heavy wooden planks of the drawbridge. It was the colour of dark brown, covered in steel girders and rings for extra support.
He reached the edge of the bridge and Jathan climbed onto it, his hooves thumping heavily on the ground. Arthur could also hear Dominik's mount behind him, thumping equally as loud. It was comforting to hear that sound, his faithful manservant, always there behind him, covering his back.
The guards at the top of the bridge gave him a nod as he passed, recognizing his authority.
Arthur nodded back at them.
A sudden shadow fell upon him and he looked up to see the place where the top of the bridge came to rest when it was raised. The wall of the castle was at least one meter thick, the huge stone blocks worn with the weather, but not going to crumble soon. The two rode for another hundred meters to come to another, secondary wall. This one was thinner, the blocks only half a meter thick, but definitely stronger than the first one.
The outer wall had originally been built to protect the castle from enemy invasion, but it had proved a very useful shield from the weather. The relentless winds that pounded upon the castle were now taken by the thicker, more capable one. It made the overall structure of the castle a lot more secure and peaceful in a storm.
Truthfully, all the open section was, in a way, was a courtyard. The section opening to the huge door and ending at the castle gates was the only open section of the walls. On all the other sides the walls of the castle had been pushed right up close together, and no one would have guessed that it was two separately built structures.
The huge seventy meter space was also found useful for amassing armies.
It proved very handy for gathering the soldiers and guard of the palace, as well as the village, and was a very handy location if the king needed to address them.
In short, it had found many uses among the years.
The ground underfoot was rough and sandy, crunching underneath the horses hooves. The huge space had never been paved, but that was the problem. It was so huge that it would take a lot of effort to do so, and coupled with the fact that it was hardly used; the effort seemed hardly worth it.
People were in the courtyard, talking in groups and walking towards the castle. They were all headed towards a set of large iron gates, shining blindingly in the spring sun. Only one was open, the other guarding the palace almost threateningly. This was another safety measure. It seemed impossible that anybody could get past the huge wooden gates; the king that built this set would definitely have been paranoid.
Arthur rode through the narrow opening to another sudden shadow. This one was much longer and he had to ride ten meters before coming I to the open again. If he had peered behind him he would have realized that it was actually a wing of the castle he was passing through: the gap built in there for entrance purposes. That particular wing housed nothing too valuable to the king; some lower value stables, some quarters for servant living, and just storage. Most of it was unused, though, with that wing of the castle - the southern wing - the dustiest out of all four. The reason it was so empty was that it would be the first to be hit by the enemy. If, for some miraculously impossible reason, the enemy managed to break through the outer wall, then they would have to hit the southern wing with all their fire. It was also able to be sealed off from all the other wings of the castle so as to prevent the invading troops getting to the rest of the castle.
Arthur knew it all made perfect sense, and that it was the way the castle had originally been built before the addition of the outer wall, but it seemed almost unnecessary. The kingdom of Camelot had been peaceful for the last two hundred years, as far as he knew.
To his left was the western wing. It housed the main stables, the royal armory and most of the important lords and ladies, as well as the Duke of Camelot. It was an ornately decorated part of the castle; the parapets covered in sculptures of dragons and gargoyles. The blue and gold paint was peeling from the patterning, almost completely faded.
The eastern wing was mainly for the court and social gatherings. It had three ballrooms, two court meeting rooms, another two war planning rooms and three kitchens. These kitchens produced food for the whole castle, and they had an additional four storage rooms for daily food: they got restocked every morning.
Then there was the northern wing. The whole castle revolved around the northern wing and it was the single most important part of the castle. It housed the King's chambers, Arthur's chambers, most of the royal family, the main assembly hall, the throne room and the primary court assembly room.
The king spent more time in the throne room than he did any other place in the castle: it was where he ruled from, where he heard new proposals, where he was most likely to be found.
In short, the throne room was the heart of the castle.
The courtyard here was larger, probably about one hundred meters across, and paved neatly with light grey and cream bricks. Jathan's hooves clomped on the surface as Arthur led his mount to the main steps to the northern wing.
Of course, there were steps on all of the wings, but on the northern side, it stretched the whole length along, meant to have many people along its steps. It did now, the people flooding in or out of the building; hurrying to deliver messages or objects, or just wanting to get home for lunch. Most of them were servants, although a good portion were soldiers and some court advisers going in and out.
As Arthur came to the steps and halted his horse, he dismounted, biting the ground with a dull thud. He wasn't at all stiff from any of the riding he had done; that had been almost completely trained out of him. The only time it hurt him now was when he was riding for a full day and a half nonstop. THEN it hurt.
A soldier met him and took the reins of Jathan, and Arthur gave his horse one last pat before the man led him towards the eastern wing, to the main stables.
The prince turned to see the steps ahead of him, but it wasn't that he was staring at.
It was the statues standing at the base of the stairs, looming down upon him.
A pair of beautifully elegant, intricately carved, huge dragons looked straight at each other across opposite sides of the steps. They roared in fury, their marble skin gleaming in the spring sun. Their eyes were large red rubies, and they sparkled just like they were alive, guarding the place they had been made in. Each tiny little scale had been etched into the solid surface of the beautiful white marble, creating an unpredictable pattern all over the dragon's skin. It almost came alive, the texture of the black laces swirling through the white marble making them even more majestic.
Dominik appeared at his side and shoved a hand onto his back. "Hurry up, Arthur! Your father isn't the patient sort; you know that most of all."
Arthur nodded and started up the stairs before halting. He gazed sideways to find himself directly under the dragon's neck, and he didn't feel edgy, he felt safe. To Arthur, the dragon was the symbol of protection and security, and the symbol of Camelot.
When he felt another shove on his back, Arthur jogged agilely up the stairs, reaching the top in only ten seconds. They were huge, broad steps that were very easy to climb, and they had been built that way for only that reason; to be easy to climb.
He entered the northern wing of the castle, leaving the security of the dragons and the warmth of the spring sun behind.

"Arthur, what's this I hear about you in the marketplace today?!" A deep voice hit him, the words striking like blows from a war hammer. "You helped a common thief?" The voice was laced with fury, a tone he had become so used to as a child he would have known it anywhere.
Arthur was standing outside the doors to the throne room, the heart of the castle. They were huge wooden doors, intricately decorated with indented patterns that had been painted on in blue and gold.
He pushed through the huge double doors to the throne room to see the court was in session. Over thirty faces turned to him; the women wearing elegant dresses with corsets of all colours; and the men in gleaming metal armor.
And at the head stood the most powerful figure in the room.
The most powerful figure in the Kingdom, in fact.
Arthur took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd to the King, before coming to a stop defiantly in front of him. "It wasn't right for a little girl to die, father. She was only trying to…"
"I don't care! You should have let me handle the law."
"But father, I knew it was wrong!"
"Arthur!" The court went absolutely silent.
Uther Pendragon was a stout man, but his temper was definitely about twice his size. His skin was tanned and rough after spending years and years in the sun, scars running their way along his arms and an especially prominent one slashed across his collar bone. Uther's face was definitely old; his burning grey eyes framed with barely visible cheekbones and papery skin. He was thickly muscled, his broad chest covered by thick, gold plated chest armor. A red cape swirled out from his broad shoulders, dragging slightly along the floor as he stepped forward.
"Everybody out," he ordered. Uther's face was sharply etched with anger as he stared into his son's eyes coldly.
"Father…" Arthur began.
"No, Arthur. You should know not to object to my orders."
Rage flashed across Arthur's features, and his eyes blazed with fury. "And are your so-called orders to go around killing girls because they have to-?"
"My orders are to be obeyed! That girl was stealing, and stealing-!"
"Because she had to! Her own grandmother was on the deathbed, and she would be in the ground soon without medicine! Who are you to-?"
"I AM THE KING!" Uther roared, his grey eyes boring into Arthur's hazel ones. He turned on the heel, slamming his armored fists against the wooden table with a loud crack. "I expect you to do as I say. I have the power here." He paused, sighing. "And I will let this one pass, Arthur, but only this once. Defy me again, son…"
"You may be the king, but I am the prince. I'll defy you as much as I want, because I'm the only one that can. I have to do everything you once did. But I want to be different! I want to do things my own way!"
Uther straightened and stood stock-still. "Just get out of my sight."
"You know, it hurts to know that you can't even love your own son, Uther Pendragon. I hope one day you'll realize how much of a horrible father you are."
"Go."
Arthur turned on the heel, marching towards the huge, intricately patterned doors. Suddenly he stopped, still facing the doors, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. "Oh, and, by the way, you might want to know that I made three minutes twenty in training today." The straight-backed guards beside him threw the doors open and he stormed out of the room.
A young man was waiting outside for him, his tall frame and pale skin in contrast to his timber brown hair. "Whoa," Dominik held his hands up in front of him as he caught Arthur's expression. "Uther take it that hard, did he?"
Arthur growled menacingly. "He didn't even ask about the training. He was just happy to yell at me for saving a little girl's life."
His companion heaved a heavy sigh. "Well, at least you don't really look like him."
I was true. Arthur hardly even looked like his father; the only common thing their tanned skin and muscular builds. But even that was not inherited. They both had that because of extensive training and so much time under the sun; like most kings before them. Arthur took after his mother. With his dark locks and hazel eyes, he was closer to her even in height, his form a lot taller than Uther's. Even his face was different; his cheekbones angular. Luckily he and his father looked hardly alike. Arthur wouldn't be able to stand it if he was too similar to his father. Most children would be thrilled to look like their powerful, successful or even poor fathers because their father is the pride of their life; a role model to look up to. Uther was so much different than that. Arthur had always tried his hardest to be different. He wanted to lead another path. And if he got his way – if he fought hard enough – then he would.
"Hey, Dominik?" He asked, trailing off hesitantly.
He glanced at Arthur, sensing his anger receding. "What?"
"Did you ever… want to look like your father?"
He laughed, his voice echoing through the stairs they were climbing. "Why would you want to know that?"
Arthur sighed. "Don't worry."
He felt his manservant's deep blue eyes boring into his temples as he saw Arthur was serious. He exhaled loudly, a sound of reluctant annoyance. "Yes, I did. Because my mother died when I was little I never knew her. My father was my life. I always wanted to be him; to have a successful career and a little son. I even wanted to look like him. I guess, in a way, I still do."
"Thanks Dominik," Arthur said gratefully. At least his manservant wasn't ignoring him. "I'd like to meet your father one day."
As the two arrived at the top of the staircase, they came to a wide set of double doors. Stepping forward, the prince produced a ring of keys and slid one into the lock. It clicked open softly and they went inside, boots scuffling on the timber floor.
Arthur collapsed into a chair in relief. His injured arm was throbbing and stiff, still bleeding onto his hand. There was another thing his father didn't notice. He pulled off the lightweight – now ruined – beige shirt and Dominik disappeared into the nest room. The man came back with a roll of white bandages in his hands and brought a chair up alongside Arthur. He then set to using the rag in his left hand to stop the bleeding. "You know, you probably have met him before."
At his look of confusion, he added. "My father. You've probably met him before."
He nodded. "Right. But why don't I remember?"
"I only said 'probably,' not that you actually have."
"Helpful."
He stopped his work and cracked a huge, disbelieving grin. "Is that sarcasm I hear, Arthur?"
"Dominik..."
"Honestly, I didn't think you were much of a sarcasm person, but maybe I was-"
"Dominik!"
The man's face fell immediately into an expressionless mask, contempt showing through slightly. "Oh, I see. You're just annoyed with your father." He returned to Arthur's arm, finishing with clearing the blood and grabbing the large white bandage. "I don't blame you," he said as he unrolled the fabric and started wrapping it around Arthur's arm. "Your father's one of those guys you just wanna beat up, but the one person in the whole place you're not allowed to."
"You know people like that?"
A grimace appeared on his face. "I used to. His name was Wake. Charles Wake." He paused, then looked at Arthur. "I suppose I should tell you that this was back in school. I only went there because my parents had the ear of a rich lord. He paid for me to have tutoring with a group of other boys. I was supposed to have a great place in the court because of my intelligence, but... Anyway, we were talking about untouchable people." He sighed and set back to work. "This boy was called Charles Wake. He was the worst bully I've ever met. Apart from the king, perhaps. So this boy was basically the head of all the students because he was the richest of all of them. He was also the worst bully. He found pleasure in tormenting me with his 'jokes' but he always got away with it because he had special allowance. I couldn't even defend myself without getting in trouble. I wasn't allowed to do anything about it. But it I never got the opportunity to be a part of the court. As soon as I was old enough they recruited me for serving at the castle."
Arthur hesitated. "I really can't understand what that was like. I never really had much interaction with kids my age. I always wanted to, though."
Dominik's face was completely flat. "Huh."
"Descriptive."
His manservant's face hardened. "You. Stop! What's with all this sarcasm? You're stealing my thing! I feel empty."
Arthur sighed, bringing his good hand to rub the back of his neck. He felt the tension in his neck and flinched. "Sorry. I don't know. I mean, I know my father doesn't even deserve to be called a father, but I would've thought he'd have bothered to ask about my training exercise. I mean, it's the most important training moment of my life and he didn't care. I guess I'm just disappointed. Not surprised. Just disappointed."
"At least you let him know that. Maybe he'll learn eventually, if you keep telling him over and over."
"Dominik, have you even MET my father? The king? Uther Pendragon?"
He nodded. "I have." Then he sat back to admire his finished work before half-smiling mischievously. He said the next words in such a way that it had the opposite effect to what he was actually saying. "I was just trying to make you feel better."

Description
CHAPTER 1 - Training.

Shaking roused him.
A dim voice entered his mind, calling him to wake. A hand was resting on his shoulder and he groaned, pushing it away.
"Now, now, don't be like that," the voice scolded. It was low and definitely male, but still young.
He sighed and opened his eyes to see his manservant leaning over him, both hands on his shoulders. He wore an exasperated expression, gazing down at him in annoyance. "Arthur, you slept on the floor again."
Looking down, he realized he was still on the floor from the night before, in a pale shirt and loose breeches. "Oh."
The manservant raised his eyebrows. "'Oh'? That's the best you can come up with? I've found you like this for the last four sunrises!"
Arthur glanced over at the wide open doors to his chambers. "Dominik, could you just be a little more discreet?"
His blue eyes flicked to the doors. "You must hurry! You have to be at a - "
"Training exercise, I know..." He trailed off and Dominik backed up, giving him space. Arthur placed his hands on the rough wooden floor and pushed, gradually heaving himself up. Dominik reached out with an arm and hauled him up all the way, supporting him as he swayed. His muscles had all locked together, stuck after the long night spent sleeping in the same position. He spread his arms out, stretching his back and shoulders. "Stiff."
The other man glared at him. "Oh, no. You're so surprised after sleeping there?" He spat the last word, jabbing his finger toward the vacant spot. "You also said the same thing the last four mornings, too. Or have you forgotten?"
Arthur padded over to the closet with stiff legs, throwing open the doors. He picked out a light beige shirt and black pants. "Oh, how I do love you in the mornings, Dominik. So refreshing to have attitude thrown in my face every day."
He grinned, showing off his perfect gleaming white teeth. "My pleasure. You must like it at least one bit; otherwise you could have fired me when I first started."
Arthur avoided the comment, yanking his ruffled shirt off and throwing it into a corner. He pulled on the beige one and walked over to a screen to change his pants. When he emerged, Dominik was holding his belt, sword attached, and a light bow with a quiver full of arrows. He gave the belt to him and went to fetch his boots. Doing the belt up and placing the quiver over his back, he slipped into the boots that reached up to his knees. They were a beautiful tan leather, and his favorite, most comfortable pair.
He nodded to Dominik. "You've gone quiet all of a sudden. I'm not sure if I should be happy or concerned."
The man ignored him, blue eyes clouded. "Why?"
Arthur paused on his way to the door, his chambers suddenly quiet. "'Why' what?"
"Why don't you fire me? I always talk back to you."
His boots clomped on the floor as he moved to the doors, halting in line with the frame. "Like I said: refreshing."

"Are you ready, sire?"
He slowly turned in a circle, eyeing the men trapping him in. They wore serious expressions and gleaming metal armor that shone in the morning sun, helmets throwing light into his eyes as they pulled them on. They held weapons of all types in their hands with swords on their belts and shields strapped to their arms. There were at least nine of them, evenly spaced out. Their faces were hidden by shining steel helms, all staring directly at him.
They were standing in a beautiful flat clearing with trees on all sides. The grass was a magnificent green, the space light and open.
Arthur had chosen to opt out of the body armor. He wore the same shirt and pants he had picked out this morning and no armor whatsoever, the only weapon on his belt a sword and a quiver of arrows on his back filled with the fine wooden shafts. The thick metal of plate armor always restricted his movements and he preferred to feel the air as he moved. He glared at the figures standing before him, and he knew that he couldn't fail this exercise. "I'm ready."
A horn sounded and suddenly they were all running towards him. Their feet thudded on the soft green grass and he reached for his sword. It scraped out of its scabbard, slashing straight into a warrior's shield. He dodged a mace and flipped up and over the man, throwing himself into the air. He hit the ground neatly, taking off into the green forest. The trees would restrict the amount of men that came through, giving him better chances of success. Arthur ducked behind a huge oak tree, listening for the knights. He could hear the clang of metal on metal and suddenly they burst around the oak. He lashed out with the sword, sending an expert thrust into the chest of the armor. The man fell to the ground, pretending to play dead. Arthur knew he hadn't killed him, but he was faking dead. It was part of the exercise: take them all out without killing them. He knew there was no danger in harming THEM, as they had several layers of padding and chain mail underneath. They had been trained specially to deal with the weight. Also they had been told to show him no mercy. Arthur stepped out onto the path, slashing across the shoulder of another and parrying a blow from the knight behind him. A shield came flying towards his face, smashing him on the chin. He stumbled back, clutching at his jaw and cursing his luck. Bringing his sword up and over his head, he swung it in a wide arc and slammed the flat of the blade straight into the man's ribs. He crumpled, falling to the ground with the others. Arthur leapt to the side as an arrow shot through the air towards his chest. He fell onto the tiny rocks, scraping along the forest floor. He stood, swaying as his arm throbbed painfully. The skin had been scratched off all the way down his arm, thick, warm blood running down into his palm. He shook it out, ignoring the pain, stepping out onto the path again. His face was not angry, but calm and calculating. He knew losing his temper in a fight would be dangerous at the least. Something that would get him killed in a real fight.
His eyes bulged as he beheld the sight in front of him.
The other six knights had taken up positions thirty meters away, bows drawn, ready to fire.
They stared at each other for a moment, both sides panting for breath.
Arthur lunged toward the fallen men and grabbed a shield as the arrows whistled toward him. He caught two on the edge of the rectangular mass and dodged the other four agilely.
The six archers reached into their quivers to reload and he saw his chance. He sprinted forward, the shield in front of his body, and closed the gap between them. The archers fired, and he caught the arrows on his shield, still charging. He crashed into the first line of archers, taking out the first two as the third one advanced upon him, sword drawn. He rammed the man with his shield, knocking him over and sending him to the floor.
The others came toward him and Arthur dodged the group, running back in the direction of the clearing. He was almost there when he got an idea. He gazed straight ahead of him to see a solid pine tree. Grinning, he placed his hands on the trunk and hauled himself up, using the branches as handholds. It was significantly easy because of all the training he'd had, his muscles taking the grunt of the work effortlessly. His dark hair flopped down into his face and over his light hazel eyes, soaked in sweat.
Arthur came to a thick branch at the perfect height. He stuck close to the trunk, making sure he could see the clearing before him. It spread out in the exact same way he had left it, and he could hear the knights running out of the forest. They emerged into the clearing shouting harsh war cries to find it empty. He could see the watch tower opposite him searching the woods for his form.
Quickly he strung his bow, reaching into the quiver of arrows to pluck one out. The rough bark scratched his back as he shifted his weight so that he was straddling the huge branch.
Arthur brought the bow to his face, taking aim on one of the men below. He released, and it flew through the air, hitting the target perfectly.
The soldiers in the watch tower traced the angle and found him, pointing straight at him as the two left on the ground followed the direction of the point. One strung his bow, but Arthur was lightning quick, feeding another arrow into the bow and shooting. The man fell along with the other, and that meant that he only had one left.
He looked down at the ground below to see the last knight attempting to climb the tree. With his armor he could barely even wrap his arms around the pine, let alone lift all that weight. The man gave up and looked up at him, taking his helm off and gazing up at Arthur. He would only have to wait.
Arthur placed his bow back into the quiver and put both hands on the branch, hauling himself up. He looked at the rough bark of the huge branch and steadily walked forward, out further onto the branch and away from the trunk. His balance was perfect and every new step he recalculated, making sure he was safe.
He suddenly stopped. If he took the next step the branch would snap and he would fall ten meters below, possibly even to his death. Arthur turned, facing the ground side of the branch, and leapt. He soared towards the ground for a small moment, his stomach dropping down ahead of him and his dark hair flying upwards. And then he was hitting the soft forest floor, rolling with the impact. He sprang up as the last knight came towards him and ran backwards, into the clearing. He emerged into the full sunlight, the glare hurting his eyes, and made it to the middle, where he had started the training exercise. The man advanced upon him, his eyes glinting in victory as he grinned. Arthur waited for him to come closer, then drew his sword with the scrape of metal against the scabbard. He slashed out at the man's chest, making a deep scratch in his chest plate. Then he saw the weakness: his opponent was not wearing a helm; he had left it in the forest.
The knight drew his sword, ready to fight back, to see that he had a shining metal blade on his neck. Blood trickled down his throat, dripping under his layers of body armor.
Arthur did not grin, only stared at him with light, calculating eyes. "Do you surrender?" he asked, his voice ringing out clearly.
The knight nodded, the sword scratching up and down his throat. "I surrender."
Arthur lowered the sword and stepped back. He sheathed it and turned, facing the watch tower. "Time?" he asked.
The guard checked the special training clock. "Three minutes, twenty seconds. Well done, Your Highness."
"Thank you."
He approached the tower to find Dominik sitting on his dark brown bay and holding the reigns of Jathan in his hands. "Not bad, Arthur. Not bad at all," he smiled. That was a compliment, for him.
Arthur hauled himself up onto his chestnut horse. "At least you watched this time," he remarked.
"I figured you deserved my attention for once."
"Thanks."
Dominik's face darkened. "Your father wants to see you."
Arthur looked back at the battlefield as his horse shifted under him. "Do you think he will be pleased?"
His eyebrows lifted. "Three minutes and twenty seconds, Arthur. He's got to be pleased with that. You set a new record today." He urged his horse forward, towards the village below the castle.
Jathan followed behind, and Arthur brought the beautiful chestnut alongside Dominik. "So Dominik, have you cleaned my chambers this morning?"
"No," he said it with complete conviction and bluntness.
Arthur laughed. "Then don't worry about it. They're not even that dirty. I've hardly been in them in the last couple of days."
"Fine by me."
He smiled, sucking in a deep breath of the fresh air of the open countryside and taking in the beautiful view of the castle surrounded by the spring green.
He loved spring the most of all the four seasons. He loved the way the sun tingled on his skin; sometimes making his eyes droop and his body want to curl up in a golden patch of light; and sometimes the way it brought him so alive, seeming to glow from within him.
As they entered the village, their horse's hooves thudding on the rocky path, even the dull grey stones and bricks of the monotonous place seemed to come to life. He saw little patches of green sprouting from the cracks in the stones and splashes of yellow as dandelions peeked out into the open.
Arthur smiled, closing his eyes and breathing in the warm air. It seemed to thrum with energy as he lifted his head towards the sun, the bright light penetrating easily beyond his lids.
Voices crowded around him and he was acutely aware of the villagers swarming around his horse, not to see him, but carrying along their everyday lives.
He let his head drop and he opened his eyes to see a jumble of colours and swirling cloth. Arthur had always loved the marketplace, with so many people of different heights, sizes, shapes, voices and faces - with so many different things being sold: local fruits and green pears, but then suddenly an exotic item from far far away would appear. Everything in the marketplace would always be different.
And that was why he still loved the marketplace. It was full of life and the sound that had once scared him as a tiny little boy now comforted him, the bubble of chatter and happiness rising around him.
His horse had slowed to a halt and he placed a hand on Jathan's neck as the chestnut twitched with uneasiness beneath the saddle. He could feel the raw power of the animal and knew Jathan was spooked by something. "Hush, Jathan," he murmured.
He straightened up and suddenly he saw what was wrong.
A group of soldiers were running through the marketplace, tripping over buckets of water and smashing stray fruit beneath their feet. Their armor clanked heavily together and their spears were held upright, so as to not hurt anybody. The crowd was quickly shuffling to either side of the streets, opening up the walkway to him.
Arthur dismounted, grabbing Jathan by the reigns. The chestnut could sense something that hung in the air, spooking him even more.
A small figure broke free of the crowd, pelting straight toward him.
She was a young girl of about 11, her beautiful blonde hair rippling out behind her as she ran, her dark green dress flapping in the wind. She clutched something to her chest, huddling it tightly, not daring to let go. Her head twisted and she gazed on in horror as the soldiers erupted from the villagers.
She must have expected Arthur to move, but instead he stood his ground and caught the girl as she crashed into him. She struggled, her hands flailing desperately until she realized he had not grabbed her. He was standing tall with a hand on the girl's shoulder, facing the men. "Stop. No more disturbances. What are you chasing this young one for?" His voice rang out clearly, and the men shied away, cringing visibly. "Tell me, now."
The leader stepped forward, taking off his helm and bowing in respect. "We mean no harm, Your Highness. But she stole from a villager here and our orders are to protect this place."
"Are your orders to kill young girls?"
"N, No, Your Highness," he stuttered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
Arthur turned, looking at the girl who was so 'dangerous'. He crouched so he could see into her eyes, crystal blue, clear eyes. "Is it true you stole from a fellow villager?"
She looked him seriously in the eye, then her face faltered, and her voice cracked as she tried to say "Please! My grandmother is dying! She needs medicine!"
Arthur brought his other hand up. He was looking the girl straight in the eyes, his hands on her shoulders. His dark brown hair shone in the sun, the locks curling closely and comfortingly around his forehead as he thought. Arthur leaned in to the girl, staring her seriously in the eyes. "You grandmother is very sick, correct?"
Water poured out of her lids and down her cheeks, but he reached forward and brushed the tears away. The drops clung to his fingers and shone beautifully in the sun, sparkling like diamonds. "Don't cry, young one. Just answer my question, please."
Her jaw set and she nodded, speaking in a very wobbly voice. "Yes. She is dying of the influenza."
He was still. The air in the village seemed to go quiet, all of the people waiting for his reaction. This girl's life was in his hands.
Arthur sighed, standing up and facing the soldiers. He looked each of them in the eyes, his hazel ones evaluating and calculating as well as telling them how serious this was. "Where is the villager this young girl stole from?"
The man shoved his way through the crowd and said, "Me, Your Highness."
"Your name?"
"Fluxley."
"Fluxley..." he paused, thinking things over and turning it about in his mind. "This girl is not innocent," he declared, earning triumphant expressions from the guards before continuing, "But she did this for good reason. Whatever she stole, she will keep, and I will make sure to replace it. Personally."
Fluxley nodded in agreement. He didn't want a little girl to die pointlessly, just to try and save her family. "Thank you, Prince Arthur." Then he turned to the girl with sorrow on his face. "I am sorry, young one."
Arthur stood up tall. "Go and do your duty," he dismissed the soldiers.
Reluctantly they headed off, metal clanking on metal, shooing the crowds away. They disappeared into the village, returning to their original posts.
"Now," he bent down yet again and smiled gently. "That was a close one, wasn't it?"
The girl smiled too. "Thank you," her voice quavered sheepishly. "My name's Darci."
"You know mine. Arthur," he said, reaching out to shake hands with her. Darci's little ones were completely dwarfed in his own, but he told her: "If your grandmother takes a turn for the worse - or better - I want you to send a messenger here and say that you have permission by Arthur to see him. It was a pleasure to meet you, young Darci. I hope we meet again."
She nodded, her blue eyes blazing in thanks. "Goodbye."
Darci backed away before disappearing hurriedly into the crowd, her green dress billowing out behind her.
Arthur's dark hair shone in the sun as he rose and hauled himself back onto his chestnut horse: Jathan. He urged his mount forward, cutting through the crowds, watching the way people hurried out of his way and gazed upon him with new eyes.
The sound of chatter returned to him, but this time it did not carry him away; it seemed focused on him. His horse fidgeted nervously under him, and he urged Jathan faster, pushing him into a trot.
The village buildings started to thin out, the greenery becoming more dominant and full, sprouting green patches of life across his vision. He began to calm down gradually as he stared at the vibrant place around him, taking in some of its energy.
Gradually they came to a large bridge; people lazily crossing along its surface, their boots clomping on the heavy wooden planks of the drawbridge. It was the colour of dark brown, covered in steel girders and rings for extra support.
He reached the edge of the bridge and Jathan climbed onto it, his hooves thumping heavily on the ground. Arthur could also hear Dominik's mount behind him, thumping equally as loud. It was comforting to hear that sound, his faithful manservant, always there behind him, covering his back.
The guards at the top of the bridge gave him a nod as he passed, recognizing his authority.
Arthur nodded back at them.
A sudden shadow fell upon him and he looked up to see the place where the top of the bridge came to rest when it was raised. The wall of the castle was at least one meter thick, the huge stone blocks worn with the weather, but not going to crumble soon. The two rode for another hundred meters to come to another, secondary wall. This one was thinner, the blocks only half a meter thick, but definitely stronger than the first one.
The outer wall had originally been built to protect the castle from enemy invasion, but it had proved a very useful shield from the weather. The relentless winds that pounded upon the castle were now taken by the thicker, more capable one. It made the overall structure of the castle a lot more secure and peaceful in a storm.
Truthfully, all the open section was, in a way, was a courtyard. The section opening to the huge door and ending at the castle gates was the only open section of the walls. On all the other sides the walls of the castle had been pushed right up close together, and no one would have guessed that it was two separately built structures.
The huge seventy meter space was also found useful for amassing armies.
It proved very handy for gathering the soldiers and guard of the palace, as well as the village, and was a very handy location if the king needed to address them.
In short, it had found many uses among the years.
The ground underfoot was rough and sandy, crunching underneath the horses hooves. The huge space had never been paved, but that was the problem. It was so huge that it would take a lot of effort to do so, and coupled with the fact that it was hardly used; the effort seemed hardly worth it.
People were in the courtyard, talking in groups and walking towards the castle. They were all headed towards a set of large iron gates, shining blindingly in the spring sun. Only one was open, the other guarding the palace almost threateningly. This was another safety measure. It seemed impossible that anybody could get past the huge wooden gates; the king that built this set would definitely have been paranoid.
Arthur rode through the narrow opening to another sudden shadow. This one was much longer and he had to ride ten meters before coming I to the open again. If he had peered behind him he would have realized that it was actually a wing of the castle he was passing through: the gap built in there for entrance purposes. That particular wing housed nothing too valuable to the king; some lower value stables, some quarters for servant living, and just storage. Most of it was unused, though, with that wing of the castle - the southern wing - the dustiest out of all four. The reason it was so empty was that it would be the first to be hit by the enemy. If, for some miraculously impossible reason, the enemy managed to break through the outer wall, then they would have to hit the southern wing with all their fire. It was also able to be sealed off from all the other wings of the castle so as to prevent the invading troops getting to the rest of the castle.
Arthur knew it all made perfect sense, and that it was the way the castle had originally been built before the addition of the outer wall, but it seemed almost unnecessary. The kingdom of Camelot had been peaceful for the last two hundred years, as far as he knew.
To his left was the western wing. It housed the main stables, the royal armory and most of the important lords and ladies, as well as the Duke of Camelot. It was an ornately decorated part of the castle; the parapets covered in sculptures of dragons and gargoyles. The blue and gold paint was peeling from the patterning, almost completely faded.
The eastern wing was mainly for the court and social gatherings. It had three ballrooms, two court meeting rooms, another two war planning rooms and three kitchens. These kitchens produced food for the whole castle, and they had an additional four storage rooms for daily food: they got restocked every morning.
Then there was the northern wing. The whole castle revolved around the northern wing and it was the single most important part of the castle. It housed the King's chambers, Arthur's chambers, most of the royal family, the main assembly hall, the throne room and the primary court assembly room.
The king spent more time in the throne room than he did any other place in the castle: it was where he ruled from, where he heard new proposals, where he was most likely to be found.
In short, the throne room was the heart of the castle.
The courtyard here was larger, probably about one hundred meters across, and paved neatly with light grey and cream bricks. Jathan's hooves clomped on the surface as Arthur led his mount to the main steps to the northern wing.
Of course, there were steps on all of the wings, but on the northern side, it stretched the whole length along, meant to have many people along its steps. It did now, the people flooding in or out of the building; hurrying to deliver messages or objects, or just wanting to get home for lunch. Most of them were servants, although a good portion were soldiers and some court advisers going in and out.
As Arthur came to the steps and halted his horse, he dismounted, biting the ground with a dull thud. He wasn't at all stiff from any of the riding he had done; that had been almost completely trained out of him. The only time it hurt him now was when he was riding for a full day and a half nonstop. THEN it hurt.
A soldier met him and took the reins of Jathan, and Arthur gave his horse one last pat before the man led him towards the eastern wing, to the main stables.
The prince turned to see the steps ahead of him, but it wasn't that he was staring at.
It was the statues standing at the base of the stairs, looming down upon him.
A pair of beautifully elegant, intricately carved, huge dragons looked straight at each other across opposite sides of the steps. They roared in fury, their marble skin gleaming in the spring sun. Their eyes were large red rubies, and they sparkled just like they were alive, guarding the place they had been made in. Each tiny little scale had been etched into the solid surface of the beautiful white marble, creating an unpredictable pattern all over the dragon's skin. It almost came alive, the texture of the black laces swirling through the white marble making them even more majestic.
Dominik appeared at his side and shoved a hand onto his back. "Hurry up, Arthur! Your father isn't the patient sort; you know that most of all."
Arthur nodded and started up the stairs before halting. He gazed sideways to find himself directly under the dragon's neck, and he didn't feel edgy, he felt safe. To Arthur, the dragon was the symbol of protection and security, and the symbol of Camelot.
When he felt another shove on his back, Arthur jogged agilely up the stairs, reaching the top in only ten seconds. They were huge, broad steps that were very easy to climb, and they had been built that way for only that reason; to be easy to climb.
He entered the northern wing of the castle, leaving the security of the dragons and the warmth of the spring sun behind.

"Arthur, what's this I hear about you in the marketplace today?!" A deep voice hit him, the words striking like blows from a war hammer. "You helped a common thief?" The voice was laced with fury, a tone he had become so used to as a child he would have known it anywhere.
Arthur was standing outside the doors to the throne room, the heart of the castle. They were huge wooden doors, intricately decorated with indented patterns that had been painted on in blue and gold.
He pushed through the huge double doors to the throne room to see the court was in session. Over thirty faces turned to him; the women wearing elegant dresses with corsets of all colours; and the men in gleaming metal armor.
And at the head stood the most powerful figure in the room.
The most powerful figure in the Kingdom, in fact.
Arthur took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd to the King, before coming to a stop defiantly in front of him. "It wasn't right for a little girl to die, father. She was only trying to…"
"I don't care! You should have let me handle the law."
"But father, I knew it was wrong!"
"Arthur!" The court went absolutely silent.
Uther Pendragon was a stout man, but his temper was definitely about twice his size. His skin was tanned and rough after spending years and years in the sun, scars running their way along his arms and an especially prominent one slashed across his collar bone. Uther's face was definitely old; his burning grey eyes framed with barely visible cheekbones and papery skin. He was thickly muscled, his broad chest covered by thick, gold plated chest armor. A red cape swirled out from his broad shoulders, dragging slightly along the floor as he stepped forward.
"Everybody out," he ordered. Uther's face was sharply etched with anger as he stared into his son's eyes coldly.
"Father…" Arthur began.
"No, Arthur. You should know not to object to my orders."
Rage flashed across Arthur's features, and his eyes blazed with fury. "And are your so-called orders to go around killing girls because they have to-?"
"My orders are to be obeyed! That girl was stealing, and stealing-!"
"Because she had to! Her own grandmother was on the deathbed, and she would be in the ground soon without medicine! Who are you to-?"
"I AM THE KING!" Uther roared, his grey eyes boring into Arthur's hazel ones. He turned on the heel, slamming his armored fists against the wooden table with a loud crack. "I expect you to do as I say. I have the power here." He paused, sighing. "And I will let this one pass, Arthur, but only this once. Defy me again, son…"
"You may be the king, but I am the prince. I'll defy you as much as I want, because I'm the only one that can. I have to do everything you once did. But I want to be different! I want to do things my own way!"
Uther straightened and stood stock-still. "Just get out of my sight."
"You know, it hurts to know that you can't even love your own son, Uther Pendragon. I hope one day you'll realize how much of a horrible father you are."
"Go."
Arthur turned on the heel, marching towards the huge, intricately patterned doors. Suddenly he stopped, still facing the doors, his voice flat and matter-of-fact. "Oh, and, by the way, you might want to know that I made three minutes twenty in training today." The straight-backed guards beside him threw the doors open and he stormed out of the room.
A young man was waiting outside for him, his tall frame and pale skin in contrast to his timber brown hair. "Whoa," Dominik held his hands up in front of him as he caught Arthur's expression. "Uther take it that hard, did he?"
Arthur growled menacingly. "He didn't even ask about the training. He was just happy to yell at me for saving a little girl's life."
His companion heaved a heavy sigh. "Well, at least you don't really look like him."
I was true. Arthur hardly even looked like his father; the only common thing their tanned skin and muscular builds. But even that was not inherited. They both had that because of extensive training and so much time under the sun; like most kings before them. Arthur took after his mother. With his dark locks and hazel eyes, he was closer to her even in height, his form a lot taller than Uther's. Even his face was different; his cheekbones angular. Luckily he and his father looked hardly alike. Arthur wouldn't be able to stand it if he was too similar to his father. Most children would be thrilled to look like their powerful, successful or even poor fathers because their father is the pride of their life; a role model to look up to. Uther was so much different than that. Arthur had always tried his hardest to be different. He wanted to lead another path. And if he got his way – if he fought hard enough – then he would.
"Hey, Dominik?" He asked, trailing off hesitantly.
He glanced at Arthur, sensing his anger receding. "What?"
"Did you ever… want to look like your father?"
He laughed, his voice echoing through the stairs they were climbing. "Why would you want to know that?"
Arthur sighed. "Don't worry."
He felt his manservant's deep blue eyes boring into his temples as he saw Arthur was serious. He exhaled loudly, a sound of reluctant annoyance. "Yes, I did. Because my mother died when I was little I never knew her. My father was my life. I always wanted to be him; to have a successful career and a little son. I even wanted to look like him. I guess, in a way, I still do."
"Thanks Dominik," Arthur said gratefully. At least his manservant wasn't ignoring him. "I'd like to meet your father one day."
As the two arrived at the top of the staircase, they came to a wide set of double doors. Stepping forward, the prince produced a ring of keys and slid one into the lock. It clicked open softly and they went inside, boots scuffling on the timber floor.
Arthur collapsed into a chair in relief. His injured arm was throbbing and stiff, still bleeding onto his hand. There was another thing his father didn't notice. He pulled off the lightweight – now ruined – beige shirt and Dominik disappeared into the nest room. The man came back with a roll of white bandages in his hands and brought a chair up alongside Arthur. He then set to using the rag in his left hand to stop the bleeding. "You know, you probably have met him before."
At his look of confusion, he added. "My father. You've probably met him before."
He nodded. "Right. But why don't I remember?"
"I only said 'probably,' not that you actually have."
"Helpful."
He stopped his work and cracked a huge, disbelieving grin. "Is that sarcasm I hear, Arthur?"
"Dominik..."
"Honestly, I didn't think you were much of a sarcasm person, but maybe I was-"
"Dominik!"
The man's face fell immediately into an expressionless mask, contempt showing through slightly. "Oh, I see. You're just annoyed with your father." He returned to Arthur's arm, finishing with clearing the blood and grabbing the large white bandage. "I don't blame you," he said as he unrolled the fabric and started wrapping it around Arthur's arm. "Your father's one of those guys you just wanna beat up, but the one person in the whole place you're not allowed to."
"You know people like that?"
A grimace appeared on his face. "I used to. His name was Wake. Charles Wake." He paused, then looked at Arthur. "I suppose I should tell you that this was back in school. I only went there because my parents had the ear of a rich lord. He paid for me to have tutoring with a group of other boys. I was supposed to have a great place in the court because of my intelligence, but... Anyway, we were talking about untouchable people." He sighed and set back to work. "This boy was called Charles Wake. He was the worst bully I've ever met. Apart from the king, perhaps. So this boy was basically the head of all the students because he was the richest of all of them. He was also the worst bully. He found pleasure in tormenting me with his 'jokes' but he always got away with it because he had special allowance. I couldn't even defend myself without getting in trouble. I wasn't allowed to do anything about it. But it I never got the opportunity to be a part of the court. As soon as I was old enough they recruited me for serving at the castle."
Arthur hesitated. "I really can't understand what that was like. I never really had much interaction with kids my age. I always wanted to, though."
Dominik's face was completely flat. "Huh."
"Descriptive."
His manservant's face hardened. "You. Stop! What's with all this sarcasm? You're stealing my thing! I feel empty."
Arthur sighed, bringing his good hand to rub the back of his neck. He felt the tension in his neck and flinched. "Sorry. I don't know. I mean, I know my father doesn't even deserve to be called a father, but I would've thought he'd have bothered to ask about my training exercise. I mean, it's the most important training moment of my life and he didn't care. I guess I'm just disappointed. Not surprised. Just disappointed."
"At least you let him know that. Maybe he'll learn eventually, if you keep telling him over and over."
"Dominik, have you even MET my father? The king? Uther Pendragon?"
He nodded. "I have." Then he sat back to admire his finished work before half-smiling mischievously. He said the next words in such a way that it had the opposite effect to what he was actually saying. "I was just trying to make you feel better."