Uprising In Gonjolard (Part 9) | Freewrite: 3/22/24 | Prompt: A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

Part 8

Prince Gawdawfel Tallonz's deceased mother wept for her son. Her attempts to solicit the good in him had failed. Now, she could only watch his destructive path from shadows in The Mirror of Secrets with the assistance of the enchantress, Izorah.

Izorah's image faded from the Mirror of Secrets. Her services for the Crown on behalf of Prince Gawdawfel's mother were no longer required.

The prince set out toward the Great Hall, followed by his trusted manservant, on his way to deliver punishment to criminals.

Unbeknownst to the prince, Lauryn of the Long Sword met in the dungeon near the castle with Alphonse, the supposed leader of the Sons of Bodar (SOBs). She imparted the group's rebellion plans, and the part he will play. She also confided events which she wished to remain secret, but knew they would aid Alphonse in his mission.

Alphonse listened. A lot to absorb, but he did so, evaluating all he'd learned.

Lauryn's time spent at the castle was crucial knowledge she gained about the inner workings and strategy of the king's battle tactics.

Will Gawdawfel heed Izorah's warnings before he confronts the rebellious prisoners?

Now, Part 9

Inside the dungeon cell, Lauryn leaned in closer and whispered, "you won't face Gawdawfel alone. Not while I'm alive." She spoke softly as she pressed her head into Alphonse's chest. He returned her gaze with tenderness.

The next instant, she was gone as swiftly as she came, affording Simon time to ready the prisoner.

Alphonse made use of the prison washbowl Simon secured and a fresh robe and boots. As an added effect, at the last moment, he created an angle for his hair, forcing it to flow backward from his forehead. A different look perhaps, but for some reason, it felt natural.

They stepped out into the twilight. The plans for the rebellion was now securely in the Simon's possession, as evidence to present before the royal family of Tallonz, King Hartfelt and his son, Prince Gawdawfel, against Alphonse.

That night, he would answer for his crimes against the Crown.

The short ride to the castle gave Alphonse time to dwell on his mission. The anger he'd harbored these past few months toward Vicar Tibost finally subsided.

They reached the castle gates. Alphonse stood stately, his back razor stiff, imbued with a new, singular purpose. His importance to the SOB's rebellion on behalf of all the villagers, farmers and townspeople in the kingdom swirled in his thoughts.

That he was the key to the success of the rebellion, Alphonse still didn't fully believe. But Lauryn he did trust. And if her words were true, which he believed, then how will he alone convince the Crown and lead its leader and his army to their downfall?

Those thoughts weighed heavily as he knew he was only a humble Bodar in possession of twenty acres and a farm. No master of battlefield tactics. He'd never been selected as a solider or guard for the castle.

For his parents' death and other parents of his close friends, his obligations burst through.

If victory was to be won, how convincing a story put forth to King Hartfelt and Prince Gawdawfel he could weave was crucial. In order to maintain a show of dignity, he must first face them in an honorable manner. They'd expect no less from the leader of the rebellion.

The castle guards allowed Simon entry with his prisoner after declaring, "this traitor I present to the Crown to answer for his crimes."

Simon led Alphonse through the castle gates and into the Great Hall.

Unimpressed with the elegance surrounding him, the only compliment Alphonse could muster was for the white stoned, immaculate floor as he stepped from the fragrant outdoors into the dark and musty hallway onto the intricately woven rug that had no ending.

But he was not alone.

The sickening aroma filled his nostrils, while the deadly chill from thousands of horrific acts carried out in secret permeated his skin in that palace of evil where all who roamed seemingly offered a smile of acceptance.

Wiping his forehead from sweat that poured profusely, King Hartfelt, ultimate King and singular ruler of of the Kingdom of Gonjolard, shuffled his feet and adjusted his crown as he waited for his son's entrance.

His eyes darted from one side of the castle's grand room to the other. The castle, with all its majestic rooms, consisted of the Great Hall, which he was most proud. Built by his grandfather, the exterior spoke of twelve round towers that formed a barrier for it elegant, verdant decorative gardens. King Hartfelt vowed to uphold its traditions.

His heritage was the least of his worries. Trying to assess any imminent dangers, a pounding headache and upset massive girth around his mid region prevented him from focusing on each lord who had petitioned the Crown for relief.

Of course, the lords were rightly grieved. Upholding the Crown's work meant placing themselves in harm's way from mercenaries and revenge seekers.

In all truthfulness, King Hartfelt wouldn't admit and kept secret even from his son that he couldn't afford to release soldiers to be stationed on their lands. His army was ill-equipped and dwindling from the long battle he'd recently returned, albeit victory was his.

The king wasn't naive to the fact that this proceeding would present the perfect opportunity for those anxious to cause trouble for the kingdom. Of special concern was the heightened hatred that had been brewing for years against his son. Added to that worry was the safety of the lords' feifdoms. Retaliation in the villages, especially from increased taxes resulted in ill will; thus heightened tensions.

The most important occasion in the crown's history was due to take place; that of delivering justice to any person perceived as a threat to the Crown. So consumed with squashing the rebels that he forgot the annual Gonjolard Festival was upon them.

Interrupting his thoughts was the sight of two large ornate, gray doors opening slowly. Immediately, Arnaldo announced the presence of Prince Gawdawfel of House Tallonz; Heir to the Kingdom of Gonjolard.

The palace crowd cheered, parting a path for the prince as he made his way through, while nodding to both sides of the crowd seeking approval. Patrons gathered at the front returned his craving for adoration. He failed to see those in the rear who withheld their praise.

Frowning, King Hartfelt placed his hands on his stomach, now tender to the touch. The problem had grown worse since his return from battle six months ago. The condition tired him easily. His bed offered the only relief. He'd sleep half the day in the morning. Tonight, he must attend to the boring, yet necessary Kingdom of Gonjolard's business.

He watched and half smiled as Arnaldo accompanied his son, Prince Gawdawfel, to this throne seat, next to him.

A faithful manservant, Arnaldo was decent and trustworthy, remembering his late Queen grew fond of him. He'd served her well, he knew as confidant. More so, than himself. Yes, a trusted servant indeed, and one who proved worthy to entrust the family's most private matters.

The king acknowledged his son, then turned to Arnaldo. Immediately, Arnaldo announced the Crown's business was ready to proceed as all in attendance couldn't help but hear his thunderous voice.

"Present the first group of prisoners," Arnaldo directed the palace guards.

Alphonse's pulse quickened as he heaved a heavy breath.

But Simon, loyal brother of Lauryn and member of the SOB trusted to keep Alphonse safe, held back and moved aside, allowing the minor offenders to go forth and ready the king and prince. His main prize he'd delay. That way, the king and prince could thrust themselves into a frenzy handing out punishments to fill the gallows line.

Prison guards read charges assigned to each prisoner, regardless of whether any truth lay within. Within minutes, Prince Gawdawfel issued his ruling.

"They hang at first light on the morrow, the glorious day of our beloved Gonjolard Festival. The display should remind others the reason they are allowed attendance to grace our presence. To celebrate the Crown and not the rebellion." Prince Gawdawfel stated in a supreme voice for the whole of the Grand Hall to hear.

Gawdawfel turned to his father with blood in his eyes. King Hartfelt didn't immediately respond, but after several long seconds, he nodded regretfully in agreement, then looked away, avoiding the pained expressions of men and women he suspected to be innocent.

Flaming hot, King Hartfelt's stomach now churned something fierce as a rush of vomit threatened to overtake him.

The prince shot a puzzled look in his direction. He hadn't notice his father's distress. If ill, he'd kept it a well-guarded secret and wondered for what purpose. An odd feeling swept over him as his plans to succeed him rushed to this thoughts. He shook off the feeling and rose swiftly from his throne chair changing direction.

"Does anyone in attendance wish to declare their fealty to the Crown? If so, come quickly so that we can get on with the Crown's business. Besides, we have entertainment between punishments, then a night's feast to celebrate. Our jesters await." He extended his hand outward in a friendly gesture of invitation and warmth for his subjects.

Several lords rushed to the front of the crowd and gathered in line to show favor to the Crown. Their loyalty was accepted as others in the crowd cheered.

The king and price didn't notice Lords Toleranz and Foucant stepped back quickly and lean against the wall of the palace partially hidden, their arms crossed, deep in discussion. Each nodded occasionally, then glanced at the prince as though an exchange of idea flowed between them.

The jesters hurriedly moved into position to celebrate the Crown's show of power.

Prince Gawdawfel waived them off. With haste, they retreated to the back of the palace.

"Now for the main event, present our most distinguished guest, the leader of the rebellious Bodars."

The smile of Gawdawfel's face prompted the crowd to turn and anxiously await the entrance of Alphonse, the leader of the SOB.

[to be continued.]

Welcome back to my freewrite prompt story for this week. The photo that is the subject of the story spoke to me about a person who is of a royal lineage.

Describe what you see.
A male in a prominent position of power or part of a royal family sits gazing in a mirror. A hand with long fingernails holds a dagger. His reflection reveals that he's excited or just admiring himself. Elegant drapery rests behind a vanity filled with several items that could be used in summoning spirits.

Describe what you feel.
With a lighted candle in his hand, the man could possibly be examining closely his features or altered appearance. I feel he is proud of himself for various reasons. Perhaps he is summoning a sorcerer before he leaves for battle.

Write a story or poem about what you think is going on. I leave with you my story for:

Original PIC1000 Challenge
A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words - 3/22/24

and

PIC1000 Challenge for thumbnail image
A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words - 4/5/24

^{Image used with permission of contest owner}