Sir Nigel Gray bore the weight of the newly crowned King and strode across the dark gray cobblestones of the palace. His mind was a jumble of thoughts and choices. The burden of protecting the new King was at conflict with his shame of failing to protect the former King. How long had he served only to have it all taken away - stripped like a slab of cut meat by a sneaky, ass-licking assassin. The life of the King he had protected had defined Nigel since the day he put on a King's Guard cloak, and now that was a steamy pile of donkey shit.
But he had to shove that down and face his new responsibility of this young man’s life. It was hard for Nigel to think of this man as King. The King was now dead. This man was named his successor but he had no idea who this man was. He had never heard of Tyrl Keravin. As far as he knew he had never visited the King nor had the King ever had any dealings with him. This was an utter shock to all and especially to those close to the King. But he had to protect this man whether he was worthy of the title or not. The worth of the man didn’t play into the duty of Nigel’s life. His only job now was to keep the new King alive and hope he was worth the effort.
Nigel chose the servant’s quarters as a temporary safe house for his new charge. He chose this simply as the least likely place anyone looking to do him harm would come looking. He gently laid laid the King into the rickety bed with the threadbare sheets and flat pillow and pulled a chair next to the bed. He gently covered the King with the thread bare blanket.
He stared into his new King’s face, searching for any sign of what kind of King he would be. Nigel liked the face that he saw: handsome, kind and innocent. He realized this man would need more than mere protection to be a good King - he was also going to need loyal counsel. Nigel gently patted the sleeping King’s shoulder - an act he knew was inappropriate for a Guard to do - but he felt an urge to connect with this man. He needed the King Tyrl Keravin to be a living breathing soul that Nigel would be willing to die for. He lowered himself into the chair beside the bed and rested his broadsword across his lap and held a dagger in his hand. Whoever came for the King had better be prepared to die.
A couple of hours passed before the King came awake. He jolted upright in the bed and vomited on the floor opposite of where Nigel kept his vigil. The King’s eyes met Nigel’s. Fear and uncertainty danced in his green eyes. Nigel raised his hand to calm the King when the door to the quarters opened.
A muscular figure in a castle guard’s uniform stepped into the room. Nigel immediately put himself between the stranger and his King. He smiled inside at the HIS King protectiveness that sprung to life. “This is no place for you, guard. Leave now.”
The muscular guard moved his head to the left and the right to see behind Nigel. “We are doing a room to room search for the King. Who do we have here?”
Nigel, dagger in one hand and the broadsword in the other, stared into the guard’s eyes. “How can you look for someone if you do not know what they look like?”
“Huh?” The guard stepped away from the closed door.
“Leave now. I will not ask again,” Nigel said.
“This is our new King?” the guard stated. “Our King is a nobody cowering in servant’s bed, hiding from his new crown. This is rich.”
The dagger left Nigel’s hand without warning or sound. It shot across the room aimed for the guard’s throat. Moments before impact, the guard’s sword arc upward and deflected the dagger. It clattered to the floor. Nigel dropped into a defensive stance while the King rose to his knees on the rickety bed. The attacking guard pointed his sword at Nigel.
“Surely you can see this King is a mistake,” the guard stated, moving sideways.
Nigel tracked the guard but didn’t move. “The only mistake I see is the one you have just made by threatening my King’s life.”
The sword swung in a vicious swipe for Nigel’s neck. He jerked out of its fatal arc and his own blade came up and deflected the strike toward the ground. He used this moment to close the distance with guard. Nigel struck for his opponent’s leg but he evaded. A crushing blow slammed into Nigel’s jaw. His face felt like it exploded and he dropped to one knee.
The guard was of a single intent as he body slammed into Nigel, knocking the King’s guard across the floor, and moving toward the King. The assassin’s blade swiped at the King’s head but the attack was interrupted. Nigel grabbed the guard from behind and crushed his arms and chest with all of his might. The air shot of the assassin’s mouth and he grunted and struggled.
KLONG!
The guard slumped into Nigels’ arms. A huge cook pot covered his head as the King stood upon the bed with his hands still holding the pot’s handle. Nigel released the attacked and man and pot crashed to the floor.
Nigel and the King’s eyes met. Nigel was filled with hope. This King would be very worthy. “Nicely done, majesty.”
The King nodded, breathing heavily. “Assassin? Majesty?”
Nigel smirked. “At least one of them. And you are my King, sire. The crown is yours.”
“Well, it looks like this filth got a crowning before I did, Captain,” the King replied.
“Yes, my King. It certainly appears that way. But I think it best if we get more guards and find a safe place for you to wear your new crown.” Nigel smiled and bowed to the King.
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