A/N: I kid you not, this prompt appeared the first time I refreshed the generator. How could I resist?
2015 Writer's Challenge Week #9: Randomly Generated Plot
The story is set in a dungeon. The story must involve a pile of hay in it. During the story, a character has someone make a meal for them.
Bearding the Lion
He had done his best to roar the place down around everyone's ears.
To no avail.
When that hadn't worked, and silence at last greeted the ears, then she decided it was time to enter the lion's den.
Dismissing her protesting maids, she gathered the tray into her hands, nodded once at the attending -and apparently deaf- guards, and entered the darkened rooms.
There was something about an angry Uther, especially when he exuded righteous indignation, that always caught her breath. Magnificent to behold, his eyes were lit with an inner fire and he exuded that strong, charismatic, masculinity that drew many a woman like moths to flames. His eyes were blazing, as he watched her approach the dungeon in which he was being held.
It could easily have been a ridiculous scene. Uther stood is a shaft of dust speckled sunlight shining through the cell's single, barred, window. Wearing only the leggings and tunic he had on the night before, he stood in his bare feet, arms akimbo, glaring through the bars of the gate. Bits of clean hay clung on to his clothes and hair from the generously strewn bale that had been spread around the bedless cell.
That ire which emanated from him, suddenly switched to a terrifying coldness as she approached.
"What," he demanded, "is the meaning of this!?"
She ignored him, leaning down to set the tray she carried on the floor for him to reach. The aroma of toasted bread, scrambled eggs and fried sausages -along with a tankard of something hot- greeted his nose. It was then, that a hint of uncertainty appeared on his fierce countenance as she stood back up to regard him.
Folding her hands in front of her, she looked at him, calm, implacable, and incredibly lovely in his sight.
"I had Audrey make you breakfast," she said.
He stood there a moment, assessing the situation. He was about to speak when she cut him off.
"Did I not tell you, Uther, that if you ever came to my bedchamber so inebriated that you couldn't see straight, I'd have you thrown into the dungeon?"
His jaw actually dropped open in a gape as she regarded him with a soft smile on her lips. "You were so besotted on wine last night you don't even remember how you got in here." She continued. "You might be King of Camelot, but I am your Queen and with the state you were in last night, you had no business being a ruler, much less my lover. So to the dungeon you went."
His jaw clicked shut as he folded his arms and regarded her, a slow smirk beginning to touch his lips.
"I had them disinfect the cell first and put down clean hay. I trust you slept comfortably?" She asked.
Tilting his head slowly to the left, Uther watched his wife with a growing amusement. Finally, he cleared his throat, and asked. "When do you intend to let me out?"
"After you eat that," she nodded at the tray, "and when you promise never to approach me in my rooms in the state you were in last night." She smiled, softly, triumphantly, at the look of instant indignation on his face.
He drew a breath to begin protesting.
Gathering the folds of her dress in her hands when he began to splutter, she glanced at him, turning to leave. "Just remember love," she said with mirth in her voice, as she began to walk away. "There's more than one lion living in this castle."