Germany, 1109 A.D. They dragged him down the stone, rock halls, the sound of his weak feet and legs and shackles resounding in the loud space, as well as the screams of the prisoners locked in the dungeon, where they were taking him. It was dark, and becoming darker and darker as they dragged him further away from the outside world. The torches would now be his sunlight, the shadows his nighttime. The shackles on his wrists and ankles; they were now his comfort. “Your Majesty,” the guards announced as they approached the King, and then bowed. They sat Matthías on his knees and grabbed his neck, pushing him down with much force as to honor and greet the king. “Your Majesty Heinrich,” he choked out, his breath shaking and his body shuddering. He could feel his life squeezing out of him, from the hand of the guard. The guard knew what he was doing. From the pressure being applied to his neck, water began to leak from Matthías, causing him to groan in pain. “Release him, Bourne,” the King told the guard, his German accent easily protruding, with the least amount of concern or demand in it. “I would be highly disappointed should I be required to convict thee of murder.” It was then that the guard had groaned in disgust of the easygoing of the King, snatching his hand away from his neck. This allowed him to finally look up at the King. The fat bastard was sitting in a throne made of gold and jewels and the finest fabrics in the world, in a dungeon, filled with dirty prisoners. His clothing, however…he was wearing a gown of the dirtiest rags there were; a gown that seemed of leaves and dirt and the under garments of a slave, and that is to say the least. “Your Majesty,” he breathed, his chest heaving as the limited supply of water in his body was being stretched: to keep his knees from drying on the dirty, dusty ground, to get his throat from drying from the dry air. “Your Majesty, I’ve done no harm, sir.” He looked up at King Heinrich with worried, frightened eyes. “Your men have only seen me shift from fish to human, Majesty. I swear it on He who is holy, sir.” The King seemed disgusted by his final statement, having said that he swears to God. “To Him, prisoner? How dare you swear to God when you are nothing more the devil’s servant?!” He exclaimed this, having slammed his fist on the arm of his throne. “You have no right to pray him, you monster!” “And you have no right to question my existence as I don’t yours, Heinrich,” Matthías spat back. The smart remark caused those around him to gasp. The guards, the King, even the prisoners were taken aback as the distant screams quieted. The King then narrowed his eyes, and stood upright, on his feet, which caused Matthías to recoil in fear. He thought the King would have struck him, just from the towering position of which he was standing. Rather than striking him, though, the King spoke in a hushed voice, “Nehmen Sie ihn unter Boden.” At that, the guards lifted Matthías from his knees, dragging him to a place he not know of. “Wait, what?” Matthías asked, confused as he furrowed his brows and looked back toward the King as he was dragged from his presence. “Where are you taking me? What was said?” He tried to fight against the hold of the guards, but was rather unsuccessful, as they were muscular and bulky, and as they tightened their grips around his arms, trying to move faster and keep him still. “I apologize, your Majesty! I meant none of what was said to thee, sir!”
Posted on: Tue, 16 Jul 2013 02:59:13 +0000
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