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A Kiss of Fate (Using Prompt 3)
Once upon a time of merriment and magic, there was a young squire by the name of Branol who was neither very merry, nor magical. Diligently he worked to learn the trade of the knight he was under the service of, but he knew that even in these fortuitous times a squire would always remain so unless he was of noble birth, and so his efforts to him seemed futile. Still, the winds of fate blow through every blade of grass, and on this morning they were going to be guiding the footsteps of our young squire. Of course, busy hammering out a dent in Sir Fillory’s armor in the knight‘s stables, he was completely unaware of this.
Bang! “Boy!” Bang! Bang!!! “Ho there, boy!” Finally Branol looked up to see sir Fillory there addressing him, sweat stinging his eyes. “Branol, tell me, what is the seventeenth decree in The Knight’s Code of Honor?”
At first Branol just mumbled to himself trying hard to remember, until the stare being addressed at him became more of a glare. “Is it look every man, king or peasant, in the eye, for only beasts and fools look covetously?” Before he had even finished Sir Fillory was sighing and shaking his head. “No, no, no! That’s the sixteenth decree! I figured you’d had a lot more of these laborious works lately rather than studying, but I didn’t know it warped your mind duller than my shield!” Sir Fillory turned towards the other end of the stables where his horse was tethered, indicating with a wave that Branol was to follow. “I have an errand for you to run for me, but it seems as if it’ll do us both some good.”
The knight then proceeded to pull out of a saddlebag what appeared to have once been a roll of parchment but now resembled sodden lint gathered into a ball around two rod-like pieces of wood. “This, if you can recognize the bloody thing, is my old copy of The Knight’s Code of Honor. Now I can’t very well read this thing now can I?” Pulling out another roll of parchment, this one seemingly new, he held it out to the young man and continued. “This here, is my new copy of The Knight’s Code Of Honor.”
There was an awkward silence as Branol slowly glanced back and forth between the knight and the parchment with a ever-growing look of confusion on his face. Having enough Sir Fillory almost shouted, “Well nobody ever accuses you of being the sharpest arrow in the quiver, eh? It’s blank! I need you to go to Old Man Willery’s library for me and replicate his copy of the Knight’s Code of Honor, word for word.. I’ve already spoke with him and he has a quill and ink you can use there.” More awkward silence ensued before Branol could find the words he was looking for.
“Sir, no disrespect intended but you know I hate studying! Why can’t one of the younger squires do it, like Jeffrey or Thomas!? I’m almost sixteen!” Hoping against hope for some form of mercy or sympathy, all he was answered with was sharpness and impatience. “For starters young man they all answered their questions right, and I asked each of them two! Hurry up now, lest you’ll be traveling back here after the sun has begun to rest.”
Aside from the event of traveling to the library actually taking place, it was indeed rather uneventful. Old Man Willery gave Branol the quill and ink just like Sir Fillory said he would, and also handed him The Knight’s Code of Honor. Somberly the squire sat in the only table in the back of the library that wasn’t covered completely in books. He began to copy down the seventy-seven decrees but around eleven or twelve he heavily began to daydream about what it would be like if he were a knight, or a mage, or anybody of importance really. Lost in his thoughts he noticed that for about ten minutes or so he had been staring at a statue at the end of a row of shelves across from his table. It was a delicately carved ivory statue of a smiling maiden, though the look in her eyes was one that was wistful, and almost sad.
Placing the quill flat on the table he rose and approached the statue until he was within arm’s reach. Knowing he was alone enough that nobody would hear him he spoke out loud to the statue asking “With such a big smile, why do your eyes look weary?”
“If you stared at the same spot for three hundred and sixty-three years you might be weary as well.”
In surprise Branol jumped back a pace. Although he was certain he hadn’t seen the lips on the statue move, he was sure that the voice had come from directly in front of him. Checking down each of the aisles he concluded that he was still alone. Now believing the voice to have just been a side effect of his boredom he turned towards his table only to be accosted again inwardly. “You know ‘tis rude to turn your back on somebody with whom you are conversing.”
Spinning wildly and almost falling down he whispered to the still form, his voice shaking with fear. “Conversing.. With.. You? You’re a statue!” Moving in close he double-checked to make sure it was indeed a statue, running his hands along the face and bodice.
“And you’re being rude. It’s not stopping me from treating you with respect now is it Branol?” It seemed to the boy that the smile was reaching the eyes of the statue as well now. “How did you know my name? Are you a witch?” Inside his mind he heard what could be related to a sigh, but was closer to wind passing by an open window. “No, I’m a statue. Are you blind as well as dull? Mr. Willery addressed you when you came in, did he not?” Thinking hard to remember Branol bit down on his lip. “I suppose so, that is the proper thing to do. I honestly wasn’t paying much attention. When your life is as dreary as mine everything just kind of blurs together.”
“You should try being a statue. You’re the fairest face I’ve seen in over a century. Mr. Willery has liver spots on his neck and nobody else ever ventures this far in.” Branol laughed at the jest made at the librarian’s expense, then as if he was talking to a real person he leaned in closer to the statue and placed a hand on it’s shoulder. “Well for a statue you’re, well, beautiful really. If only I could meet a girl like you in real life.” The tone in the mysterious voice remained friendly but it acquired a sense of eager sharpness.
“You are really living, right? Which would make this real life. I am a statue of a girl, right? So didn’t you just meet a girl like me in real life?”
His eyebrow’s almost touching he thought about that. “It makes enough sense I suppose. Except that your made of stone, I can’t even share as something as simple as a kiss with you.” Almost as soon as he had finished he was answered. “Are you saying that after as nice as I’ve been to you, you wouldn’t even grant me one simple request for a kiss?”
Even though it had come from a statue, the statue was as remarkably gorgeous as any woman he had seen, if not more, and so he was blushing a bright scarlet. “I suppose..”, quickly he checked yet again to make sure he was alone, “I suppose in return for your kindness I can oblige you a kiss.” No answer came but he could feel an adoring eagerness course through his body that was alien to his own emotions. Needing no more encouragement he leaned forward and gently kissed the statues lips.
Elation seemed to take physical form as his lips began to tingle in a way that tickled and made him laugh. The sensation spread from his lips to the rest of his face, and started slowly making his way down the rest of his body. It was then he noticed that the face of the girl was no longer a pale ivory. Her braids were golden, and her eyes bright green. Her smile, on her lips and in her eyes, was even more genuine than before. Fairy tales were always just out of his reach, but it seemed as if the gods were gifting him with a beautiful maiden to give his heart to. About to rejoice this to the girl, he realized he couldn’t open his mouth. It was stuck in a gleeful expression! Instead his words echoed in his mind when he meant to speak. His whole body was now stiff as stone, whereas the girl was fully alive. “What’s happening to me!?”
Somehow the girl must have heard him for she answered. “I really am sorry, but you must understand, life is awfully repetitive as a statue!” Despite her words she hadn’t spoken in apologetic tones at all. “It wasn’t my fault, I promise. I was tricked by a statue of a young man that turned out to be a real man, much like your situation! So shall you someday trick someone into your place.”
Desperately Branol shouted out each panicked thought. “I don’t want to trick somebody! I want to be a knight, or a king! Not a bloody statue!” Almost laughing out a sigh the young blonde heaved the newly-formed statue of a squire to where her statue had stood, then leaned against it with one arm over it’s shoulders. “You could have been happy just being a boy. Now look where you’re selfishness got you. I may have once had such fancies, but now I’m just happy to be alive.” After that the girl skipped out of the library, ignoring the confused queries of the librarian.
Branol shouted and shouted with his mind, but in the dark corner of a little used library nobody heard him. The whole time, no matter how panicked his thoughts, his face was frozen in an ivory canvas of pure elation.
Of course Old Man Willery looked for the boy, but his failing sight didn’t think to look for familiar features in a statue that had been there before he was born, so he assumed he had just left when he was unaware. So ends the tale of how one boy let his desire for something greater turn into the foundation of paralyzing selfishness. The statue of Branol, his face permanently in joy, remained there happily ever after.
By, Ravarius Castor aka FilloryFoxDragon
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