I've never liked waking up. It's something that runs in the family. My sister has described waking up as a gamble, because you get illnesses like the flu upon rising with a fever and aches, or the common cold when you wake up with your nose recreating the Tiger and Euphrates rivers, or even a stiff neck from an awkward sleeping position. Indeed, a new day can bring surprising new problems with it. I've come to realize the full wisdom of her statement on an unusual day when both my waking up and my family were forever changed.
It took a while for me to see what I've waken up to, let alone understand the predicament I face. To start, I am in a vast regal stone room with a multitude of brass-no, golden candelabras and various renaissance iconography saturated with animal motifs. Wood furniture, stacked full of various antique items line up against the salmon-colored walls, giving the room quite a nice, warm feel. On the topic of warmth, gone are the blinds I used to shield myself from the morning light, in order to squeeze out a few more hours of sleep. Now, the great ornate paneless window leaves me defenseless against the glowing annoyance in the sky. While waking up in a Victorian age five-star hotel would be unusual for a person like me, the real surprise comes from within.
Upon trying to get up to further investigate my case, I am taken aback by the softness of my stubby limbs and the stoutness of my chubby body. I wonder if this is divine punishment for my incessant mocking of people shorter than me? My hair has also returned, albeit blonder and longer than before.
"What in the…", I utter in a voice that wouldn't be out of place in a video game lobby.
I soon realize that I am back to being a child! Hopping out of bed, I approach the large mirror to further analyze myself, only to see that the person staring back isn't me, no matter how many years I might've regressed back in age. What greeted me in the lavishly framed mirror was a boy with green eyes, a slightly pudgy face and golden curls that would make a fifties housewife seethe with envy. I pull apart my pants, now held with a lace, to see if I am, at least, still a man. I'm relieved to find nothing down there that might give me menstrual cramps. I wave in front of my face to confirm if it was really me, and the mirror kid echoed my wave, as well as the disappointment when there truly was no doubt. Whatever this scene might be, it is not a dream, and I doubt any hidden camera shows go into this much detail or know how to switch bodies. This can only mean that I've either dreamt my whole 21st century life, or perhaps transferred to another universe.
"Maybe it's temporary…", I bargain with myself, "Maybe it really is a dream…" The pinch test, as well as the hands test, both deny that last coping mechanism.
"What the hell…", I trail off again, uttering these words as I approach the window to soak in the view
Before I manage to get a glimpse, however, I am interrupted by someone knocking at the door.
"Wake up, young prince.", the unknown feminine voice said, "Your family will break their fast soon. Do you want help with your clothes, or will you be a big prince today?"
The girl behind the door presents me with a little choice, as if my mind isn't already over-encumbered by them without her. The shining jewel of that statement is that I'm now a prince! Maybe this isn't punishment, maybe this is a reward. To partake in royal feasts and have my every whim and want met by eager servants, manage an entire feudal realm and bring them my knowledge and ethics, which I'll no doubt be praised for; live and mingle with fellow royalty to discuss trade agreements and high culture. It's exciting to think about all the fun I might have here. Hell, if that's the case, I actually hope this is real and not a dream.
But first, I need to know whether the woman's intentions are honest. I also need to decide whether to be myself or to play the part of a little spoiled princeling. I don't know whether the woman's intentions are benevolent, but neither do I want to put on something silly on for breakfast, break my cover, and be labeled as the eccentric prince forevermore.
The thirst for independence is a trait of every hopelessly dependent child, so I assume the 'big prince' is just a whim of this kid wanting to be more self-reliant by putting on the big-boy pants himself, despite probably having an army of maids at his beck and call...
Another set of knocks from the mystery maid bring me back to reality, no doubt I've delayed my answer for too long due to my overthinking.
"Prince Tommen, are you alright?" she calls with worry.
"Y-yes. I need help with my garments." I answer quickly. Royalty say garments, right?
"Alright, young prince. I'm coming." Moment of truth, then.
I'm greeted by a tall, comely, chestnut-haired lady, no older than 25, in a set of red maid clothes. Tall by my new standards, at least. Maybe I just need to get used to being a shorty for a while.
"Couldn't go without your Breyna for more than three mornings, huh?" She says, as she begins changing my outfit "You should enjoy it, you know? Even gallant knights have squires put on their armor for them!" she finishes. See, little prince? Even your maid gets it.
"Are you saying you want to be my squire?" My tongue gets the better of me. I hope my sass is not too out of character.
"Oh dear!", she laughs. I'll assume it's a good sign. "Gallant princes like you need a healthy young squire, I'm afraid. Not an old lady like me."
"Unless the life expectancy in this iteration of Camelot is thirty, you are far from an old lady", is what I wish to say, but I refrain from testing those boundaries too hard. I just offer a cooperative giggle to acknowledge her retort and tell her she is still young, which is probably what she was fishing for in the first place.
"There we go…", she says as she finishes her work, "All ready for the day. Come along now, young prince."
It's only as I depart my new bedroom that I realize what my new name is.