There's something slightly worrying about the fact that your guardian throws you into the dungeons when all you've gone and tried to do was save someone's life.
It's almost kind of terrifying when you consider it more carefully. And when the guards have hustled you in and knocked you into that-hay-that-smells-like-death and you're sitting there all alone, you think, "shit".
Because it wasn't supposed to happen like this. And reality hits like a knife to the heart and you're absolutely stunned because it feels like you're going to die.
And suddenly everything about all you've ever known makes you feel greatly afraid.
So that day you were reading your favourite novel in the garden whilst lying on that great slab of rock you and Arthur used to wrestle on when you were kids and he wasn't so damn busy all the time.
The sun's shining so brightly; so redundantly sparkly. It was almost as if it might vanish entirely into complete blackness because all that energy expended is sure to be exhausted any moment now.
The royal gardener hadn't notice you of course, you think he might be deaf and most certainly severely short-sighted. But there he was in broad daylight making those roses grow right
in front of your eyes. Each ruby segment of a rose spread out gently and uncurled against the blue sky; so freely. The leaves unfurled into the stagnant air, reaching and coming alive
and all this fills you up a bit because it's really just lovely. You don't have time to think that something so pretty could be so illegal. So when all of a sudden the guards are all up in the
old man's personal space you're a little bit shocked. Suddenly his shaking hands are in the air and his eyes are frightened like that's-it-then-isn't-it-I'm-going-to-burn.
And you thought hey, this is your chance. It's horrible because in that moment, you were more concerned about doing something unpredictable and rebellious rather than genuinely
distressing about the old gardener's fate. You tell yourself it's because you believed that there was no way Uther was really going to have this old man killed.
He's just an old man after all; surely Uther could not be so cruel. Right?
You were wrong, but you don't know that yet. You were all psyched up, practically running, huffing and puffing your way up to the guards in order to demand that they release the man.
You're even readying your throat into that low and authoritative, royal (even though you're not) voice you like to use sometimes on Arthur when he's being a prat. You stop abruptly
because that's when you see Arthur himself walking towards you, no doubt intent on barring your way. You give him that sweet smile with a slight hint of malice that he seems to hate
so much and you don't wait for those blue sapphire eyes to narrow into a frown; you take a leap, side stepping right in front of the old gardener who is now on his knees and all those
damned guards.
"Release him" you say, nonchalantly.
And you don't notice that the rose petals at your feet have turned black.