My Writings
| Fall of the Prince | Every day |
Story |
Song |
In the distance the sound of hoof beats's could be heard. The smell of fresh bakery and farm animals swamped the town. A rhythmic clanging and occasional hiss could be heard echoing through the air, coming from the town's smithy. A shadow crept over the town, cast from a large castle set high on a large hill. The fall's warm breeze carried the laughter of the children playing games in the dusty, straw filled roads. Men wiped their brows of sweat as the noonday sun beat down on them as if trying to make them faint. The crack of whips urged the workhorses to move forward, dragging the large plows behind them. Women haggled in the streets for that nights supper, the wooden stands full of fresh fruits and meats. Peddlers call out their merchandise for sale in hopes that someone would buy.
At the edge of town, a man lies in the shade of a large tree at the edge of an even larger forest. The breeze picked up slightly and began playing with his dirty blonde hair. This, however did not stir him, for the man was asleep.
"Marik! Arise, 'tis time for this evenings lesson." This time Marik did stir. He awoke and immediately put his hand to his forehead to block the sun from his eyes. He stood and brushed the leaves and grass from himself.
"And your going to teach me?" The words came out not like that of a question, but more of a snare and in disbelief. But before the man could answer a loud growl came from behind him. Marik whirled around to see a large monstrosity, sword drawn and ready. He glanced over his shoulder to see if the man was still there, he was not. The sun glinted off the edge of the fine sword. It's detail elaborate, his name engraved on the blade in fancy letters. Marik stood alone, face to face with the oversized orc. It's greasy body showed every muscle as they flexed under the weight of the giant axe. Mud caked arms held the handle of the double edged weapon as it was raised above the head of the greenskin. Marik laughed in defiance as his armor glinted in the sun. The breeze picked up again, playing with his hair, but Marik did not flinch. His ornate armor seemed to move as if a piece of well oiled machinery. As he twisted, his waist moved as a wheel on an axel. His mighty sword slashed across the orc's rusted chain mail. The links parted easily as the sharp edge slid across them. Black thick blood oozed from the gash left in the stomach. Marik did not stop there, however, continuing the ever so graceful movement he expertly flipped the sword around and rammed it between the ribs. The orc let out a gargling howl and slumped to the ground, it's lung punctured.
Clapping came from the red and yellow leaved trees. There stood a knight in similar ornate armor. Next to him lay a long, rune engraved sword and shield with a two headed dragon.
"Well done, soon you will be ready for knighthood." Marik stood there a moment in his red and golden armor, leaning intently on his sword, which was as tall as him.
"Do all knights run from battle?" The sneer in the comment made the knight angry.
"That, was your test. Let us return to the castle." Marik nodded and in one fluid motion pulled the sword out of the ground and placed it in it's scabbard. He then arrogantly walked over to his white stallion and leapt on. Turning his head slightly to the left, Marik replied,
"Next time try something a little more difficult."
"Don't worry, it will be." The knight muttered this under his breath as not to upset the young prince. They galloped off down a hill towards the castle. Soon they reached the town and were greeted at the gate by a soldier.
"Good day m'lord, your presence is requested immediately."
"By whom?"
"By the king, m'lord." The two began to head for the castle when Marik suddenly stopped.
"Hold."
"What is it m'lord." Answered the knight. Marik nodded towards a beggar on the side of the road. His clothes worn thin and seemed held together only by dirt. His eyes drifted upwards somewhere. The dirt on his face made it impossible to guess his age, and his hair impossible to tell the color.
"This, thing, should be run out of town!"
"But 'e's just a simple beggar, m'lord. Let 'im be. 'e'll have nowhere to go come winter and would surely die. 'ere 'e has the monastery to go to."
"We don't need this in our town, but if the religious want to take care of 'im, let 'em." The sound of voices drew the beggar attention. But he only seemed to look through the pair.
"Got any money, a gold or two would be most welcome sir. Please I 'avent 'ad enythin' to eat in two days." Marik's face got red. He drew his sword and screamed at the man.
"Do you not know who I am? I shall kill you for speaking to me in that manner. Then you won't 'ave to worry about food." His sword was stopped short by that of the knight's.
"Leave 'im be m'lord, can you not see 'e is blind. 'E could not 'ave known."
"Doesn't matter, 'e should be punished."
"Besides m'lord, we 'ave other, urgent, matters to attend to." Marik gave a look of disgust, sat for a moment, then nodded and began to ride off. Soon they reached the castle. As they entered, the smell of mold and mildew stung their noses. Their footsteps echoed throughout the castle amongst the damp, stone floors. They were greeted almost immediately.
"This way sires." The two obeyed, and followed the man into the great throne room of King Marckaan. The room had been taken care of a lot better than the halls that Marik just traveled. It smelled of flowers of many kinds, not of mildew and mold like the long winding corridors. Giant paintings of long dead ancestors and expensive tapestries covered the walls. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling with a few dozen half burnt candles from the night before melted in it. The king stood in front of a window, overlooking his kingdom. The king sighed, turned, and returned to his finely carved, stone throne.
"Leave us, Darman." The knight nodded and left the two alone, exiting through two huge wooden doors. The two just looked at each other for a moment, They looked for what seemed like eternity. The silence spread throughout the halls, the echoing of the hundred of footsteps seemed to just disappear, the chattering also disappeared. Finally the king spoke.
"Your wife... she's fallen ill."
"'Asn't the 'ealers been able to do anythin'?"
"I'm afraid not. She's fallen to some new disease and the 'ealers could do nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
"I will go see 'er now." With that Marik turned and left the king to himself. He began walking, at first, towards her room then before he knew it he was running. He ran for an eternity, or so it seemed. Finally when it seemed like he could run no more, he was at her door. Just as he was about to enter the door swung open and hit him in the head. A nursemaid ran out carrying some damp rags. Marik grabbed her arm.
"How is she? Is she feeling better? Do you know 'ow long?" The nursemaid was snapped out of her trance.
"Huh-Oh, sorry m'lord. She is awake, and wants to see you." But before she could finnish, he was already on his way in. She lay there sweat pouring off her face. The curtains on the giant bed had been pulled back, some even taken off. She was dressed in an evening gown soaked in water and sweat. Marik reached for her hands but stopped. The tips of her fingers had turned purple in color. Her long golden hair was now an ugly grey. Her face wrinkled as if she had aged thirty years in only a few hours. Marik just stood and looked on, his eyes filling with tears.
"It'll be alright, 'ave faith in the 'ealers." His brother's voice held no encouragement for Marik, though.
"Marik!" Someone was shouting but his voice was distant to him. The voice shouted again but Marik did not move. His fists were clenched tight until the knuckles turned white. It was then that Marik stormed out of the room. Through the castle he stormed, tossing and destroying anything and everything he could on his way to his room. Statues shattered against walls, tapestries torn, suits of armor knocked over. Soon, guards showed up. Marik found himself held by the arms.
"What is the meaning of this?" His voice firm and very demanding.
"Sorry sir, but you are causing to much trouble. We are instructed to take you to the dungeon until you calm down."
"The dungeon! How dare you! Let me go, immediately."
"Sir, we cannot. As I said before we are instructed by the king 'imself." Moments later Marik found himself in a dark room that smelled of decay and straw. As he tried to move he also noticed his head hurt, obviously from when the guards knocked him out. When his vision got used to the darkness he realized he was in the dungeon, lying on a pile of straw in one corner. He rose to his feet holding the back of his head and stumbled to the door. Peering through the small window he saw a guard.
"Let me out of this, this rat 'ole at once."
"Sir, are you calm now?"
"Yes! I mean, yes, of course I'm calm."
"Very well sire." The guard fumbled around looking for the right key to unlock the door. Finally he found it, and with a loud clanging and grinding he unlocked and opened the door. The heavy iron door made a loud screech as it opened, penetrating both the guard's and Marik's ears. Marik stepped from the cell and punched the guard in the nose, knocking him out cold.
"'At'll teach ya ta lock me up." Marik proceeded to leave the dungeon, then the castle. Marik stopped just outside the city and sat beneath the shade of a large tree, a familiar tree, a tree he sat beneath many times before, the same tree where he first met her, his now dying wife. The sun was starting to sink low in the sky as Marik began to think, to look back, to remember.
It was last year, about this same time, that he met her, Marrideth. He was sitting, sleeping, beneath a tree, when he was rudely awakened by someone screaming. Just as he awoke, he felt something collide with his outstretched legs. He was fully awake now and reaching for his sword when he stopped. There, in front of him was a girl, sprawling on the ground, desperately trying to get up.
"Wait. What is the matter?"
"A large ogre, tis after me. Trying to kill me." The sound of her sweet voice had Marik in a trance. Her tangled hair was not appalling to him like it normally would be, and neither was her ragged and dirty peasant clothes.
"Sir, are you not going to run, are you but going to sit there and let the beast kill you?" These words had snapped Marik out of his trance. He picked up his sword but left his shield lie there on the ground. Before speaking, he stood and held the sword to his chest.
"Fear not, m'lady, this beast shall not 'arm either of us." It was uncommon to address a commoner with such formality, but formalities and rules had left him now. He was not a prince and she was not a commoner. He could hear the ogre coming now, crashing through the trees as a pack of wild boar being hunted. He turned and readied himself for the upcoming battle. He had never faced anything this large before but he was filled with a confidence he had not known. He could see it now, swinging madly through the forest, arms flailing every which way. A large branch was his club. It looked as if it were a small tree, but this did not intimidate him.
Marik charged forward screaming at the top of his lungs, straight for the beast. He stopped just short of it and spun to his right. Spinning around, he lashed out his large weapon and caught the ogre across the stomach. The ogre stopped, confused at what had just happened then realizing the gash in his gut, fled off through the woods from whence he came.
Marik then turned to where the girl once was, but she was nowhere to be found. He looked around for a moment then slowly walked back to the city. When he reached the castle, he sat down with his father for lunch.
"I 'ave found 'er."
"Huh, found who?"
"The woman, the one I want to marry."
"What? You can't do that, you're promised to the princess of our neighboring city."
"No father, I will not marry 'er."
"Who is this girl you met?"
"A commoner." The king spat his drink across the table at the sound of this.
"A commoner! My son will not marry a commoner."
"But why? Who says I can't? The laws? And do you not write the laws?"
"I suppose so. And 'ow did you meet this, commoner?" Marik told of his run in with the girl and the ogre. His father listened intently to every word as Marik told his story.
"Souds to me like you've found a pretty lass."
"Eye."
"But what of Talandria? She is expecting a 'usband in two weeks time."
"Father, I 'aven't even met 'er. I do not love 'er."
"You shall grow to love 'er." Marckaan's tone told Marik that his father did not approve of bringing peasant blood into the family.
Later that evening, he decided to wander around town. He didn't dress in his wealthier clothes as to not put himself in much danger. He walked the streets for hours, watching the children play and the adults go about their business. It wasn't until the sun had gone down that Marik had realized he was hungry. He stopped at the nearest inn keeping in mind that the food wouldn't be as good as that at the castle. He did not, however, remember of the local atmosphere, but soon remembered this, after he walked in. The place was loud, full of arguing drunks. Song from a lyre attempted to over power this noise. However, the table in the corner, with three farmers, had burst into a loud off key drinking song. He sat down at an empty table awaiting service. He didn't notice the waitress arrive as he sat there examining a painting on the wall. It was of a man on a ship, sailing through a raging storm. He didn't notice her, that was, until she tapped him on the shoulder.
"Excuse me, m'lord, would you like something, to drink, perhaps?"
"Oh, yeah. And some food would be nice."
"It'll be ready in a few moments, m'lord." It wasn't until she was halfway across the room when he recognized her. He immediately got out of his seat and rushed after her. Pushing his way through the crowd he finally caught up with her, and was about to say something when he felt a large hand on his shoulder.
"No one allowed behind the bar." The bar keeps breath was almost unbearable and as for his teeth, well, what teeth.
"Do you not know who I am? I am Prince Marik Agison, and I suggest you let me past."
"Yeah? Well I'm the king 'imself." He let out a horrid laugh. However, halfway through his laugh, he realized that he was in fact the prince.
"Oh, pardon m'lord, I didn't recognize you at first."
"Just let me pass."
"Of course m'lord." Marik rushed passed not aware of the bar keeps last words. He put one hand on her shoulder, and when she turned around she dropped the tray of food and drinks she was carrying. She stood there a moment in confusion, then realizing what had happened, began to hurriedly pick up the spilt food.
"Excuse me, m'lord. I did not see you there."
"Do not trouble yourself with the dishes, any more."
"Sir?"
"I want you to come with me to the castle, and be my wife." Again she just stood there, a dumbfound look on her face.
"Is the castle anywhere near the castle?" Her question had thrown Marik off and his well thought out speach had faded from his mind.
"I... uh... wish for you to come with me, will you?"
"Are you seious? This is some kinda joke, right?"
"No joke. I know it's not proper like, but I wish for you to be my wife." Marik was left with nothing more to say and stood there, waiting for a reply.
"Alright, I shall come with you to the castle, but if this is some joke..."
"No joke." Marik's tone told her he was very serious and she now remembered seeing him before, at the edge of town.
"You're the one who saved me. I will go with you, but for now, I must get back to work." Marik waited for the rest of the night. Falling asleep eventually.
"Hey, it is time to leave, tavern's closed." A firm hand was shaking him awake. "Marrideth is waiting for you."
Every day, I think about her.
I see her face, her warm smile.
my heart rages, like it's on fire.
Out of control, and broken hearted.
Every day, I think about her.
The past we shared, only memories now.
The present we live, our seperate lives.
The future a hope, we will be together,
ag-ain,
some-day.
God, what have I done to deserve this?
To lose a love, a love of a lifetime.
One in a million, not another chance.
Never again, will I feel this way.
Never again, will I be-so-happ-y.
Every day, I paint her portrait.
A picture of beauty, no one else sees.
Priceless, but won't make me rich.
A painting, hanging on my wall of mem-or-ies.
Every day, I die a little more.
Without her, I am empty.
Moving on, but never forward.
Struggling just-to-hold-on.
May-be,
some-day.
God, I pray she will forgive me.
I pray, she'll walk through the door.
If I could hold her in my arms,
it would be for-ever-more.
I don't want to close-that-door...
Every-day
Every-day
I say every-day,
is a challenge to hold on...