This sounds like fun
Stolen from likeadeuce
You post a topic, list, category, whatever, in comments. (examples: "Five Dates Roy Mustang Regretted Going On," or "Five Fannish Gatherings that Sally Draper Attended"). I'll answer with a list of five things.
(I would advise asking me about Roy Mustang or Sally Draper though. Just FYI.
You post a topic, list, category, whatever, in comments. (examples: "Five Dates Roy Mustang Regretted Going On," or "Five Fannish Gatherings that Sally Draper Attended"). I'll answer with a list of five things.
(I would advise asking me about Roy Mustang or Sally Draper though. Just FYI.
* Arthur walks the wall late into the night alone with his thoughts. There was a battle earlier in the day, the woads killing two of their up and coming soldiers. Arthur takes each death personally, and they weigh heavily on him. Finally the chill gets to him and he heads down and walks along the muddied streets. He can hear revelry coming from insides one of the taverns he knows is frequented by his knights. For a moment Arthur wants to rush in and rant at them for celebrating the death of the young men simply because they were God-fearing men, but he pauses as he realizes their celebration is for their lives, and not their deaths. Warriors honoring warriors. Arthur puts his hand on the door, thinking of opening it and walking in to join them. Instead he walks away.
* He's been pursued back to his quarters by a very persistent maiden who is intent on not taking any form of no as an answer. To be fair, she was sicced on him by her mother, who is perhaps the biggest meddler Arthur has ever heard of beyond the legends of the Greek gods. He stops abruptly in the hallway, aware that if they go any further, it is quite likely they'll end up in his bed chambers and all levels of hell will be breached. She corners him and smiles coquettishly even though her eyes are cunning and sharp. He doesn't plan for escape routes, much more willing to die than surrender, but now he is questioning his choice as she corners him, her feminine wiles sharper than any sword.
* He is in the stables tending to his horse, needing the quiet to calm the frustration and anger that has been building since they rode away from the battle. Everything had gone wrong, and it is only by a quirk of fate that they all made it out with their lives. He curries his horse and buries his face against the velvety smooth neck. A sound catches his attention and he shifts his stance so that he can't be seen. Lancelot's voice is easily distinguished, though Arthur has no idea who the young lady is with him. Probably not a lady, knowing Lancelot's taste in women, though he seems to suit any woman's taste. They tumble into the hay almost exactly across from Arthur, so he's trapped there, unable to turn off the sounds or block out the sight. His horse whinnies softly and Arthur steps further into the shadows lest the sound attract anyone's attention to his presence.
* He sits in the great room from his throne, staring sightlessly out at nothing. His men are gone. Order and structure have crumbled, and suspicion and superstition rule the land, far more lax than he had ever done. He can hear the ghosts haunt the halls, can hear Lancelot's mocking tone, the friendly bickering that always accompanied them. More than the Roman centurions, they were his men. He no longer is assured of truth, of what lies beyond. He only hopes that, whatever it is, he will find them again in the gloaming.
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