A one-shot drabble
Enjoy.
-Changes-
My life is changing, and there's nothing I can do about it.
The boy, now man, now King, shifted in his throne and let the wavering thought settle and sink.
No, nothing. Not really.
All at once, his thoughts were broken by the echoing sound of hurried footsteps and then:
"King Arthur!"
He cringed, and, for a crazy wild moment, decided to stay as he were. Slumped, golden crown disheveled, his legs draped across his uncles throne in very un-regal way. Artie now Arthur was, at the moment, every bit of a teenager. He wasn't, of course. Not by standards of royalty, anyway.
Footsteps fast approaching, the boy-king (That's better!) kicked his legs out in defiance. Why, by royals standards, he had become a man by his fifth tenth summer. A ridiculous prospect! He'd barley had his first shave and yet there he'd been! Standing there all awkward and self-conscious. Standing there while a multitude of servants, of strangers,bustled about touching and measuring. Fitting his royal garments, his royal robes, his royal crown…
His jaw clinched. Oh, how he wished royalty were an actual person. He'd show him a thing or two!
"King Arthur! King Arthur!"
The voice, that persistent, annoying voice, was closer now. And soon thought Artie (Yes! Artie still!), the owner of that voice would burst through those silver double-doors and into his presence. Into his privacy, mind you! Face red with either excitement or worry, mouth armed with either encouragement or doubt, and determined to make those problems – and they were problems! – his.
His. As if HE did not have any problems of his own! As if they all look at him and assume, 'Ah! What a lucky chap that boy is! Look at 'em! Sitting there surrounded by the finest treasures! Body covered with the finest furs…'
Well! How he longed to tell them! How he longed to just stand up upon his throne and scream to the lot of them that they could have it all! They could have the gold, his furs, and everything that came with it! The hungry, the sick, and the homeless! The constant headache brought on by the constant possible famine, and the constant possible rebellion, and the constant possible war! The knowledge that you're seventeen and everything (Everything!) is in your sweaty pubescent hands! They could have it!
Suddenly, there came a great banging.
And the boy-now-King (or was it King-now-boy?) sat and watched in distain as another came. And another. And another…
"Let me in! Oh I must speak with the King! I must!"
The guard by the door fidgeted, nervous. Looking from door, to his King, and back again. Waiting for the order…
'No!' he imagined himself yelling at the startled metal-clad man. 'You may not let him in!...'
But, alas, that was all he could do.
Imagine.
Artie sighed, defeated.
Sitting up, Arthur - King Arthur - smoothed out his hair and properly adjusted his royal garment, his royal robe, and his golden royal crown.
No. My life has changed, and there's nothing I can ever do about it.
There.
He motioned to his guard.
"Let him in."
Ever wonderd what it must have been like?
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