𝓗𝔢𝔫𝔯𝑦 𝔗𝔲𝔡𝔬𝔯 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sixthiterationlogs2017-04-03 11:21 pm
welshdragon) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-04-03 11:21 pm
Like a Tudor
WHO: Henry Tudor
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 4/3
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: Talk of war and death.
STATUS: OPEN
He had felt as though he were on solid ground when the battle had concluded and breath returned to his lungs. All else had been a spinning wheel, determining where fate should land and where his life would fall. On Bosworth soil or in a king's bed? How could he know that neither choice were upon the board. He had felt the weight of the crown in his hands, the feel of the eyes of his men, and the overbearing awe that it had all ended. The war was waged and won, the will of God had been fulfilled and his destiny was no longer an idle dream. He could remember staring down at the mud covered crown and wonder "What now?"
The answer was a swirling mass of water, filling his lungs and churning about him as he kicked towards the surface. The fountain, for it was a fountain, was the source of his arrival. Magic was at work, though he didn't ask many questions when he had been found. He remained silent and listened, following the advice of others and choosing a place to stay. It was well with him. He needed to sleep and rest his mind, already weary from the long battle.
Once he woke and felt able to comprehend it all, he left for the inn that had been shown to him. There were others there, the sounds of life and merriment (as much as there could be). There was a chair by the fire and a woman that handed him tea. With a tired expression, he stared into the flames. It was no dream, this place was unknown to him and now he was stuck here.
The question returned: "What now?"
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: 4/3
OPEN TO: ALL
WARNINGS: Talk of war and death.
STATUS: OPEN
He had felt as though he were on solid ground when the battle had concluded and breath returned to his lungs. All else had been a spinning wheel, determining where fate should land and where his life would fall. On Bosworth soil or in a king's bed? How could he know that neither choice were upon the board. He had felt the weight of the crown in his hands, the feel of the eyes of his men, and the overbearing awe that it had all ended. The war was waged and won, the will of God had been fulfilled and his destiny was no longer an idle dream. He could remember staring down at the mud covered crown and wonder "What now?"
The answer was a swirling mass of water, filling his lungs and churning about him as he kicked towards the surface. The fountain, for it was a fountain, was the source of his arrival. Magic was at work, though he didn't ask many questions when he had been found. He remained silent and listened, following the advice of others and choosing a place to stay. It was well with him. He needed to sleep and rest his mind, already weary from the long battle.
Once he woke and felt able to comprehend it all, he left for the inn that had been shown to him. There were others there, the sounds of life and merriment (as much as there could be). There was a chair by the fire and a woman that handed him tea. With a tired expression, he stared into the flames. It was no dream, this place was unknown to him and now he was stuck here.
The question returned: "What now?"