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The Lord's Assailant

Short story By: JoshTh0mas
Literary fiction



The short story of a fallen lord and the judgement of the king.


Submitted:Jun 10, 2013    Reads: 11    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


"THE ASSAILANT OF THE LORD"

Written by Josh Thomas

When it came to fame in all the kingdoms, Lord Tyrrell Pantheon held the highest. He was the lord of the East under the king, granted his title in a time of respect and heroism earned from his actions in the war that resulted in the king's place on the throne. He was christened many years ago and started as an illustrious lord of his lands, giving homes to poor willing to earn their way, allowing businesses to thrive, maintaining peace and respect within the commoners communities. It is believed that the death of his wife was to blame that resulted in the lord's decline in mental stability. This event happened over five years into his lordship and within an instant, his presence faded from the lands. It took time for the East to fall to poverty, but when it did, the king noticed and met with the lord he had not seen in so many years, their last encounter being within a letter sent in regards to his Tyrrell's of Candice, his wife.

In meeting the negligent lord, the king came upon a sight he had not seen in Tyrrell, not ever. The king could've easily went to the slums of his kingdom and see a man he could compare Tyrrell to. A letter was received that the king would be visiting him, but Tyrrell made no effort to make himself or his home presentable.

"My goodness! This is a travesty of lord's home!" the king shouted, glaring at the lord and his house in disgust as the twelve men he came with him in his travel gasped.

"...And what of it?" the broken down, filthy lord asked sarcastically falsely implying he cared of the king's judgement.

Lord Tyrrell was sitting, stooped over a filthy table with a dirty cup of wine in his hand, clearly drunk. He had not shaved in seasons, nor cut his hair. His hands and revealing skin were stained black from dirt. He was barely covered in a robe of cloth, not washed in seasons either. In contrast, the king were a cape of fine velvet crested with golden leaves, his shirt the same, but with white fur, white as the winter snow. His crown gold with waves of gems and silver. His hair and beard was cleanly cut and trimmed to perfection. The rest of his clothing matched his shirt and cape beautifully with gloves and boots made of the finest leather.

"I will not have a lord of my kingdom treat his land, nor himself this improperly, I could have you replaced for this nonsense!" the king shouted, growing enraged.

Lord Tyrrell returned with a quiet chuckle and spitefully said "You have no idea what it is like...".

"Like what? Living in a slum, not even respectable enough for the common rat!" the king violently answered.

Tyrrell turned in his seat to face the king. Locking eyes, the king noticed Tyrrell's eyes were bloodshot red, not just from the intoxication, but from tears.

"One time I could have called you friend, but now... I say ass," Tyrrell slurred in an effort to offend the king, but the king hushed himself and looked around, then met back to Tyrrell's sorrowful eyes.

"Tyrrell, we fought together, we are friends. Things may have changed, but you have no reason to let your land come to fall in this way," the king said softly.

The lord tried to put his cup down softfully, but roughly slammed it in his intoxication.

"Do you love the queen?" Tyrrell asked.

"Of course I do, I married her for the very reason of love," the king replied.

Tyrrell then gestured the king, "Please have a seat". The king was hesitant, but he managed to find a well enough chair to sit in. Tyrrell remained still in his chair, with an expression of thought and grief.

"What if you were to lose your wife to death?" the lord asked the king who reacted in a horrified expression. Silence filled the room for a moment. The king's men clearly intrigued by the scene.

"I could not bare the thought," the king answered. "Is that what it is old friend, it was Candice, was it not?". Tyrrell gave a shaking nod to the king.

"You cannot blend your duties with your personal life, if the queen was to pass, so let it be natural. I would still have a kingdom to uphold," the king counseled Tyrrell. Tyrrell returned by locking his eyes with the king's once again.

"When your love falls into darkness, you follow. Until you are assured of the light, you fall further until you reach the end," the lord said angrily, then paused.

"And you truly trust you have the capability to lead a kingdom when you are in darkness?". The king stood up at the question.

"I do what I must. You are a lord as I am a king. We both are given duties that we must perform right or they will be taken away. Your land has fallen into darkness, how can you bring them with you?" the king asked sternly.

"I do as I must, if I cannot meet to your standards then replace me. I'll gladly join those I've taken with me. At least I will have someone in common with," Tyrrell replied with a tone that seemed respectable, yet dimeening.

The king's face shown remorse in the fact that Tyrrell was his friend, but anger in the fact that he could let his responsibility fall as he clearly stated he had no intent of fixing his mistakes. The king took in a breathe.

"So be it. Usually this results in death or exile, but you are my friend and you always will be. You will be revoked of your lordship, your home, and your wealth. I have to uphold the law that this kingdom has enforced for many ages. I have to punish you. You will live with the commoners, the poorest, from your doings. If the new lord or any member of my court faces botheration from you in the future, I will exile you. You were a great friend, but now a damn fool," the king said rising in rage. He then stormed out the door with his men to be enclosed by a mass of poor people resembling the filthiness of Lord Tyrrell.

"Out of my way at once!" the king ordered as his company put their hands on the handle of their swords. The people did not move at all, in fact, they moved a step closer.

"I order you to move at once peasants! I am your king!" the king shouted over the mobs growing furious. The king began breathing heavily in rage and glaring at the plurality of faces.

"I will remember everyone of you, if you reject my next order, I shall have everyone of your heads on a pike!" the king shouted infuriatingly enough to make any man of his court runaway in fear, but no one moved. The king then gave a gesture to his men to withdraw their swords.

"Now move a path for me and my men or face death," the king ordered, lowering his rage. He waited for a reply in movement. When no one cleared a path or disbanded, the king nodded.

"So be it," the king said followed by Tyrrell's voice who appeared behind him.

"These people will not be halted by your twelve swords," the lord said, making the king and his company more inferior.

"Tyrrell! Disband these people!" the king ordered.

Tyrrell only leaned against the wall of his former house in reaction to the king's order. He then looked to the ground and looked up, leading the king to hear an answer, but no reply was given.

"Well, at least give me a damn answer!" the king shouted.

"I am no longer their lord your majesty, in fact, I am one of them now, remember?" Tyrrell replied. The king grasped his head in anger then withdrew his own sword and threatened Tyrrell by holding the blade to his neck.

"You will disband these people now, or I will cut your throat right here. I don't know fully what is going on, but I know damn well you are behind it!" the king yelled.

The cold blade against his neck did nothing to Tyrrell.

"I could end your life right here, and you stand a great chance of never seeing Candice in the next life!" the king threatened Tyrrell.

"So be it. I'm the one who did it anyways," Tyrrell said bluntly immediately following the crowd advancing toward the king and taking the company within a moment. The men slashed and wounded a few people, but did not manage to stay alive, as they were overwhelmed, their swords stolen, and slain by their own blade. The king continued to hold the blade to Tyrrell's neck, but stunned in disbelief that the whole evening was a scheme to assassinate him. Tyrrell murdered his wife, managed to convert his entire land into a slum of actors, and bring in a vulnerable king to his death.

"Why Tyrrell, why me?" the king asked Tyrrell, furthering his blade to Tyrrell's neck.

"Why not? I was to be king after the war, you fat bastard. It was great being a lord, but as time passed, I knew I would always be the same as them. Your people fall to poverty and the lord gets blamed and killed. I was shocked you didn't kill me in there, I respect you for that, but you wanted me to die and that's what really matters. You put the old laws that are fading between our past and I must live below you even more. I and the common people must live the same as you. You must take the blame for what is behind you. These people know how the kingdom works now. The king is always to blame, and it is time the king accepts his punishment," Tyrrell said brutally.

The king's hand shook the blade that was to Tyrrell's neck.

"Do it Erik, these people will fulfill my destiny anyways. They will end the reign of kings and monarchies. The people will rise," Tyrrell said, putting fear in the king.

"So be it," the king said coldly as he drew the edge of his blade into Tyrrell's neck. The people behind rushed and attacked the king who willfully gave in to the mob's beatings and stabs. The king killed the lord, and the people killed the king.






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