Writing prompt #1: Someone arriving too late - The World's End
The King's End
Andy slammed open the door to The World's End with his foot, and stumbled into the pub, panting. He hadn't run that fast in 30 years. He looked around the building, at the bar in particular, but couldn't find the man he had just sprinted after. A lone table stood at the entrance to the door, clear of any items.
"Gary?" He panted.
No answer. Maybe he'd fucked off after his last pint and left him behind. Again. Andy sighed and dragged himself to a booth to sit down and accept his fate. He had no way out of this now.
He should've went with Steven.
He plonked down on a seat and put his head in his hands, groaning. His head shot up as he heard another groan, almost as if in repsonse to his own.
"Gary?-"
The noise returned, more pained.
"F-Fuck Gary!" Andy stuttered, taking an extraordinary effort to get up off the chair and run, rather stumble, over to the man.
He fell down next to the heap of black clothing that was Gary, and rolled him onto his back, making sure to move the empty pint glass out of the way beforehand.
Andy gasped, his face turning almost as pale as Gary's. He looked dead, the only proof of him being alive was his laboured breaths and pained mumbling.
With trembling fingers, he cupped the man's face in his hands. Gary sighed, with noticeable effort, and leaned into the touch.
"What happened?" Andy questioned, looking into those familiar eyes. Memories of a warm gaze meant only for him were lost to a cold, glazed-over look. Gary smiled weakly.
"I-" he let in a sharp intake of breath. His smile widened, and he grasped Andy's shoulders. "I did it. I actually-" he coughed. "-did it this time."
Andy looked at Gary with confused helplessness and frustration. Gary shouldn't be happy. He was dying.
"I know you didn't want to see me Andy. I know none of the gang did. I just-"
Andy shook his head in disbelief.
"I just wanted to have a good time you know. Before the end." Andy's eyes widened in surprise as he understood what Gary meant. Gary's shirt sleeves had rolled down and he could see the bandages. He didn't realise he was this bad. He had needed help from the start.
"I can get you help Gary. This doesn't have to be it..."
Gary's grip weakened, and he opened his mouth to reply. No sound came out. His head flopped back as he went completely limp.
Andy stilled.
After a few seconds of shock, with Gary completely slack in his arms, Andy stood, holding him close. The blanks would come in any minute now. He didn't dread it as much as he expected.
Write a piece about a prince who’s father, a tyrant king, has just died. How will he proceed to run his kingdom?
~~~
The Merlin led her through the stables. At the end, hidden behind dusty saddles and a pile of hay, a stiff wooden door led to a sloping corridor. It was so narrow in places that Izzy had to turn sideways, her hands braced against the walls to stop herself slipping. Her thumb squelched through something soft and she shuddered.
The corridor led down for several minutes, before broadening out into an open space with another door set into the rock. The air was cold and stale. Izzy kept close to the Merlin, who took his time unlocking the other door and ushering her through. It opened on a large, round room, with a high table in one corner and several rickety chairs stacked against one wall. A fire blazed in the grate. Izzy went straight over to it to warm her hands, banishing the creeping tendrils of a cave-dwelling grootslang with the heat and light. She watched the Merlin out of the corner of her eye. He set out two chairs near the fire, dithering a bit, as though he wasn’t sure what to say. He indicated for her to sit but didn’t settle himself, striding around the room to gather a couple of mugs and a dusty bottle. He turned to look at her, seemed to come to a decision, and sat down abruptly.
“When he was fourteen years old, Arthur watched his mother die.”
Izzy tucked one leg underneath her skirt. “So? That’s the natural order of things. Parents die before their children.”
There was a long pause. The Merlin ran his finger round and round the neck of the bottle.
“This wasn’t natural,” he said at last, his voice very soft. “Uther had just died. Arthur was to be king. A mob gathered outside the castle walls in Monmouth, brandishing torches and pitchforks and anything else that they could get their hands on. They dragged Arthur’s mother out of the castle and burned her at the stake.” The hand on the bottle stilled. “He watched the whole thing. And then he ordered every member of that mob to be executed. He left behind his childhood when he left Monmouth, and with it everything that reminded him of his mother. It is even forbidden to speak her name.”
The Merlin pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured it at a mug. Half the liquid slopped over the side.
Izzy stared at the floor. Nobody had ever told her about Arthur’s mother. The priestesses had ranted about Uther and railed against Arthur for years. They had made it clear that the son was as bad as the father had been. But they had never mentioned this.
The Merlin passed her one of the mugs and she gulped a mouthful. It tasted of honey, but the first swallow made her eyesight blur in a way that mead never did and she set the mug carefully down on the floor.
“How do you know what happened to his mother?” she asked. “If he never talks about it?”
The Merlin drained his mug, grimaced, and refilled it. “Everyone knows what happened to Ygraine. The knights keep quiet in front of the King, but every tavern in the realm is filled with men and women who remember Uther’s reign, and every one of them will tell you where they were when they heard the news. All that changes is the villain of the story.” He took another gulp from his mug. “Ygraine was married to the Duke of Cornwall. Then Uther met her and the next thing anyone knew, the old Merlin was dead, Ygraine was pregnant, and Cornwall had become part of Camelot. Uther banished the Duke of Cornwall from his own kingdom, and Ygraine’s daughter disappeared. Seven years old. Nobody ever saw her again.”
Izzy leaned forwards. “After just one meeting? What happened? Was Arthur’s mother a witch?”
The Merlin shrugged. “Nobody knows. The farmers’ wives in Camelot will tell you that she killed the Merlin and cast a spell over Uther, then poisoned him when Arthur was old enough to take the throne. The fishwives in Cornwall believe that Uther tricked her into marrying him so that he could take over the duchy. There are separatists down on the moors who name their daughters after her.”
“What do you think?”
The wizard had dark rings under his eyes. He had spent sixteen years pandering to Arthur Pendragon’s mood swings, Izzy realised. Longer than she had been alive.
“I don’t know what to believe. Perhaps Ygraine was a witch, and perhaps Uther did force her into abandoning her daughter and husband. Or perhaps Uther and Ygraine really did fall in love, and the old Merlin just picked a bad time to pop his clogs. I don’t think even Arthur knows for certain.”
A bell tolled. They both jumped, but it was down in the town and after a moment they both relaxed and giggled, though nothing was funny.
“So.” Izzy picked up her mug and took another cautious sip. It burned her throat. “The Cornish don’t like Arthur. But if Ygraine was Cornish then they should support him, shouldn’t they? He’s one of them.”
The Merlin waved his hand dismissively. “Naming their children after Cornwall’s most notorious daughter is exactly the sort of perverse rebellion the Cornish find funny. Superstitious bunch, the lot of them. But whatever they think of Arthur as a man – and he’s never been to Cornwall, by the way, won’t go anywhere that has ties to Ygraine – they can’t forgive him for being a Pendragon. Uther took away their independence. Arthur isn’t as ruthless as his father, but he’s reckless and impulsive and he became king too young to understand how diplomacy works. He thinks you can ride up with an army and threaten your enemies into submission. He doesn’t know how to compromise, and he’ll never win the support of Cornwall until he learns.”
He drained his mug and filled it again, upending the bottle to shake the last drops out. He was swaying in his chair and Izzy risked pushing a little further.
“Some people would call him a tyrant.”
The Merlin snorted. It was unnaturally human for someone so dignified.
“Anyone who calls him that doesn’t understand how modern kingship works. It’s all treaties and trade and ruling by example to keep the realm at peace. Arthur Pendragon may be impetuous, but he is not a cruel man.”
Izzy stared at the chipped handle of her mug. She had known that Arthur and the Merlin were friends, but she couldn’t repress a pang of disappointment. If the most powerful wizard in the country had been brainwashed, her plan had no chance.
~~~~
I unashamedly twisted this prompt (thanks to @dropkickwritersblock )for my own use. This piece comes several years after Arthur Pendragon becomes king of Camelot.
Course outline: This year-long course will introduce students to the sad truths of life, namely that somewhere, someone is doing a thing better than the student could ever do it themselves. Class will cover coping methods, with special emphasis on when, how, and why to delete entire projects off their hard drive.
You will need:
Wine of your preference (teacher prefers boxed)
Running mental list of everyone who does what you would like to do
Internet connection for procrastinating
Music playlist (sad, angry, sad/angry, your choice)
More wine
One standard-sized pillow for screaming into
The creeping knowledge that no matter how hard you try, you'll never quite be good enough
Grading criteria:
Attendance – 15%
Weaseling out of course work – 25%
Believably of tears – 35%
Final paper - 25%
Note: Show up, or don't. Either way I'll just be sitting at my desk muttering to myself.
