Your Arm’s Off!
Title: Your Arm’s Off!
Fandom: Monty Python
Character: The Black Knight
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 753
Summary: “The Black Knight always triumphs!”
Content Notes: this is just... crack? No other standard notes apply
Prompt: Hurt Comfort: Loss of Limb
Dark Fantasy: Devotion
Sir Reginald Tarwin Black had always been prideful of his steadfast nature and his devotion to duty. Perhaps a bit too prideful, and devoted to a fault. Some said he was a tad bit touched, actually. He was a landless knight, due to his father’s misfortune. That misfortune being an inability to turn a card or resist chasing other men’s wives.
After earning his spurs, Reginald had taken himself off to find a Lord to serve in his capacity of Knight. He had made the rounds of the jousting circuit, earning himself coin, armor and a reputation for not giving in, even when the bout seemed lost. It became a point of honor that he never surrender. He became one of the winningest knights in the realm. He even fought at Camelot and unseated Sir Gawain and Sir Not Appearing in this Story, winning himself the admiration of many fair ladies of the royal court that day.
He also caught the attention of Lord Eric Halfbee, who offered Reginald a fat purse, a horse and one of his daughters to come and serve as one of his Knights. He had taken the purse and the job, but politely, but firmly, refused the daughters. (Unfortunately, Lord Eric’s younger son Steven was not one of the choice offerings)
With no wars to fight, things were quite dull on the Halfbee lands. Reginald ended up with the duty of guarding a bridge that divided the Halfbee lands from the Dimwitty properties. He was quite proud of the fact that no one had yet been able to get past him. You see, unfortunately, Lord Eric Halfbee hadn’t told Reginald the conditions under which one might cross the bridge, and thus, Reginald took the initiative and barred all comers. The Halfbees had yet to realize just why they no longer received callers from the south, they thought Lord Eric had insulted someone or another and that people were just staying away. They had no idea, yet, that Sir Reginald was lopping off people’s extremities and stabbing them if they tried to cross the bridge.
It all came to a head (and two arms and two legs as well) when the so-called Arthur King of the Britons decided he wanted to cross Sir Reginald’s bridge. Of course, he could not allow that, and so they had an epic battle.
The King hurled insults at Reginald, going so far as to malign his mental health. Sir Reginald had the upper hand for hours, beating King Arthur back and down, always seeming to be just a stroke from victory.
But alas, Sir Reginald was defeated in the end, he had finally met his match. He roared curses at his opponent as he rode off, leaving Sir Reginald helpless and wounded. At first he had thought it merely a flesh wound, but upon further reflection, he realized it might be more serious.
He fumed and railed in frustration, unable to give chase after the King rode off.
And then the enchantress came, cackling and giggling, trailing a dead cat by the tail after her. She saw Sir Reginald’s predicament and laughed all the harder.
“So, fancy sir. Shall you be wanting help or not?” she had asked, swinging the cat slowly back and forth. Her hat was cockeyed, Sir Reginald noticed. His dear departed mother had once told him never to do business with someone wearing a cockeyed hat, but what else could he do? His arms were to the south and east, his left leg was in the stream and his right leg was somewhere off in the shrubbery to the north.
The enchantress crouched down and peered through the grate of his helm before raising it. “Why, you’re no more than a boy. Poor wee lad. Let old Aggie help you. You’ll make a fine strong poppet, you will, once I've sewn your limbs back in place. I’ve a nice cave you can guard to pay me back for the healing. And you’ll be able to carry on with your fighting and battling and being a knight. Won’t that be a treat, my sweet boy?”
Sir Reginald realized he wasn’t going to get a better offer. He was, after all, bleeding to death. He nodded and agreed, accepting the enchantresses aid and healing. She also baked lovely cookies for him and gave him sweet cuddles and told him bedtime stories. He was quite content being her devoted man at arms, even if she had sewn his left arm on slightly crooked.
And thus the Black Knight, the never Dying, entered into myth. And he was quite happy, ever after.
The End Originally posted at http://rinkafic.dreamwidth.org/
Fandom: Monty Python
Character: The Black Knight
Rating: Gen
Word Count: 753
Summary: “The Black Knight always triumphs!”
Content Notes: this is just... crack? No other standard notes apply
Prompt: Hurt Comfort: Loss of Limb
Dark Fantasy: Devotion
Sir Reginald Tarwin Black had always been prideful of his steadfast nature and his devotion to duty. Perhaps a bit too prideful, and devoted to a fault. Some said he was a tad bit touched, actually. He was a landless knight, due to his father’s misfortune. That misfortune being an inability to turn a card or resist chasing other men’s wives.
After earning his spurs, Reginald had taken himself off to find a Lord to serve in his capacity of Knight. He had made the rounds of the jousting circuit, earning himself coin, armor and a reputation for not giving in, even when the bout seemed lost. It became a point of honor that he never surrender. He became one of the winningest knights in the realm. He even fought at Camelot and unseated Sir Gawain and Sir Not Appearing in this Story, winning himself the admiration of many fair ladies of the royal court that day.
He also caught the attention of Lord Eric Halfbee, who offered Reginald a fat purse, a horse and one of his daughters to come and serve as one of his Knights. He had taken the purse and the job, but politely, but firmly, refused the daughters. (Unfortunately, Lord Eric’s younger son Steven was not one of the choice offerings)
With no wars to fight, things were quite dull on the Halfbee lands. Reginald ended up with the duty of guarding a bridge that divided the Halfbee lands from the Dimwitty properties. He was quite proud of the fact that no one had yet been able to get past him. You see, unfortunately, Lord Eric Halfbee hadn’t told Reginald the conditions under which one might cross the bridge, and thus, Reginald took the initiative and barred all comers. The Halfbees had yet to realize just why they no longer received callers from the south, they thought Lord Eric had insulted someone or another and that people were just staying away. They had no idea, yet, that Sir Reginald was lopping off people’s extremities and stabbing them if they tried to cross the bridge.
It all came to a head (and two arms and two legs as well) when the so-called Arthur King of the Britons decided he wanted to cross Sir Reginald’s bridge. Of course, he could not allow that, and so they had an epic battle.
The King hurled insults at Reginald, going so far as to malign his mental health. Sir Reginald had the upper hand for hours, beating King Arthur back and down, always seeming to be just a stroke from victory.
But alas, Sir Reginald was defeated in the end, he had finally met his match. He roared curses at his opponent as he rode off, leaving Sir Reginald helpless and wounded. At first he had thought it merely a flesh wound, but upon further reflection, he realized it might be more serious.
He fumed and railed in frustration, unable to give chase after the King rode off.
And then the enchantress came, cackling and giggling, trailing a dead cat by the tail after her. She saw Sir Reginald’s predicament and laughed all the harder.
“So, fancy sir. Shall you be wanting help or not?” she had asked, swinging the cat slowly back and forth. Her hat was cockeyed, Sir Reginald noticed. His dear departed mother had once told him never to do business with someone wearing a cockeyed hat, but what else could he do? His arms were to the south and east, his left leg was in the stream and his right leg was somewhere off in the shrubbery to the north.
The enchantress crouched down and peered through the grate of his helm before raising it. “Why, you’re no more than a boy. Poor wee lad. Let old Aggie help you. You’ll make a fine strong poppet, you will, once I've sewn your limbs back in place. I’ve a nice cave you can guard to pay me back for the healing. And you’ll be able to carry on with your fighting and battling and being a knight. Won’t that be a treat, my sweet boy?”
Sir Reginald realized he wasn’t going to get a better offer. He was, after all, bleeding to death. He nodded and agreed, accepting the enchantresses aid and healing. She also baked lovely cookies for him and gave him sweet cuddles and told him bedtime stories. He was quite content being her devoted man at arms, even if she had sewn his left arm on slightly crooked.
And thus the Black Knight, the never Dying, entered into myth. And he was quite happy, ever after.
The End Originally posted at http://rinkafic.dreamwidth.org/