A bit of a silly story I wrote using Write or Die during NaNoWriMo. I completely forgot about it until today, but I rather like it.
A Position Well Earned
As the early dawn of Firstfarthing broke, the townspeople gathered in the court of Hyndryn, capital of the kingdom of Flyntwind. King Flyntwind XVII strode to his throne, capitalizing the great chair with the presence of his impressive imminence. There, he looked out upon his throngs: the people laughed and danced with each other, reveling in the year that had come before. The harvests had been good, the year had been one of plenty and the people were happy. Now, as the longest day of the year began, they looked cheerily upon the times to come. The king smiled to himself. He considered himself the warden of his people, and he was glad they had done well.
In the midst of this revelry, Wyndemeld pranced. His lute in hand, he strummed a tune that drove the feet of the crowds around him. While he meandered about the folk, he sang broadly and loud of the grandness of the kingdom. He winked at the young girls as he strode, and bowed to the gentlemen: the town was blessed with an abundance of both, of course, being the capital and all. Indeed, of the cities of the Kingdom of Flyntwind, this was the grandest. Hyndryn was a jewel in the crown, the beacon that all of the nearby peasant villages strove to emulate. And grand it was, as no one could deny while they danced under the gilded ceilings of the Great Hall in the castle!
The king looked down on Wyndemeld from his throne. Long had he been his favorite performer, having always caught the king's ear when his entourage happened to pass the bard as he cavorted. King Flyntwind longed for his younger days, when as a prince among his people he would join their revelry with gusto. He cupped his chin in his hand, leaning against his knee. Yes, he still wished for that unrestrained joy. He wanted the freedom to laugh, like the townsfolk enjoyed when they passed Wyndemeld on the street. He thought hard, and made up his mind. Turning about in the great red throne, King Flyntwind beckoned his advisor, Samsomell.
"Samsomell, my friend, I have a favor to ask of you," the king said, his voice rumbling out through the hubbub of the crowd.
Samsomell bowed, as he had so many times before. "At your command, my liege, as always."
The king smiled. He liked Samsomell, for all his stuffiness. He had one of those nasally voices that are so easy to despise, but really he had been such a faithful servant that one could find no fault with him. "I need you to seek out that bard down there. The one called Wyndemeld," the king continued, patting Samsomell on the back jovially.
Samsomell arched his eyebrow. That fool, indeed? he thought. "That fool, indeed?" he said to the king.
The king nodded. It was only to be expected of Samsomell to disapprove of merriment, but no matter. He waved his advisor away. Samsomell marched off, pompous and officious as always, his black coattails flapping in an effect that would have been comical were the wearer not so stern.
Down in the crowds, a murmur went up as Samsomell came down. The sea of townsfolk parted as the famous Advisor to the King approached. The citizens watched in a hush as he strode past, his face and posture set, as if on a mission; his buttons polished and gleaming, as if on a soldier; his nose dignified and upturned, as if on a butler. Samsomell passed directly through the crowd, straight as an arrow, until he reach Wyndemeld, who still pranced about merrily, not noticing the tall official.
"I say, bard!" Samsomell began. Wyndemeld danced past him, bowing to a buxom lass who blushed as he winked at her.
"I say, again, bard!" The bard, in his element, continued to prance. How could the king possibly want such a jester? Samsomell thought. "How could the king possibly want such a jester?" Samsomell sighed to no one in particular. The girl, who still held Wyndemeld's attention, pointed at the advisor, grinning at his obliviousness.
Finally, Wyndemeld turned. Seeing Samsomell, he blushed. He had forgotten his duties as an entertainer! As a person of fame, one must always cater to people of fame, and, of course, both Wyndemeld and Samsomell were famous! The bard leaped over, his lute jangling as he landed with an elegant tailing back-flip. He strummed, and up welled a beautiful chord, perfectly capturing the joy in the air. Samsomell only held up his hand.
Wyndemeld halted abruptly, his face like that of a dog caught chasing the family cat. "What, no?" he said. "Perhaps something less bright? Maybe a bit from one of the old masters?" he asked Samsomell hopefully.
"The king wishes to see you," Samsomell replied simply. The bard jerked back, astonished.
"What, me?" he asked, his face red.
"The king wishes to see you," Samsomell repeated, growing wearied by the bard. Sharply, he turned from the bard and walked back through the crowd. Wyndemeld followed, jogging to keep up with the long strides of the advisor.
As he went, he passed from shock to fear and into joy. This, Wyndemeld thought, will be my break! The king shall hire me as his court entertainer, and I shall never know a hungry night, and I shall never have to sleep cold and friendless. Also, the women! One can't forget the women!
All of this was going through his head, you understand, in a sort of rapid fire array of images and sounds, unrestrained by reality. His future, if you were to see what Wyndemeld saw, appeared to be a sea of women lovelier than any in Hyndryn, food more exotic than should be imagined, and feather beds. He did like to sleep and eat and sleep in the colloquial sense.
The pair passed through the crowd and reached King Flyntwind, who sat upon his throne, both hands cupping his jaw. His elbows propped him against the arms of the throne. "Well, well, my good bard, it seems today is your lucky day," the king said, a smile playing on his lips. "I have long admired your performances! You will be hired as my court entertainer, and you shall never know another hungry night! Never again will you sleep cold and friendless. Also, there will be women! One can't forget the women! And I only ask that you keep me entertained!"
The bard bowed, speechless, but only for a moment. Just as quickly, he found his voice, gushing, "Oh, my liege, I've never been so happy. You will never regret this! I promise to serve you faithfully and endlessly, exerting my every dramatic and musical muscle to your diversion! And the women! One can't forget the women!"
The king smiled at the excited bard. "Good!" he bellowed, laughing heartily. "It's time you got started then!" The king stood, stepping to the front of the dais that looked over the crowd. "People of Hyndryn!" the king intoned, his voice carrying effortlessly through the massive hall. Almost to a voice, the talkers stopped talking. Almost to a foot, the dancers stopped dancing. Almost to a strum, the musicians stopped musicing, and all turned to listen to the beloved king that had guided them to such a year of abundance.
The king smiled out on the throngs. Here were his adoring subjects, looking to him longingly. It's good to be the king, he thought! "I want to introduce you all to your new Bard Laureate. All hail Wyndemeld, Performer to the King!"
The crowd let out a mighty cheer! Here was one of their own, a child of the streets who had performed among the poorest townsfolk many a time, elevated to stand next to the king himself! The loudest cheers, the greatest honor, came from his very competitors, his fellow bards! And as the party resumed, there was a new sprightliness in the music and a new spring in the dance, a celebration redoubled for Wyndemeld, who stood dewy-eyed, blissful and dumbstruck next to King Flyntwind XVII.
By my hand,
~Michael Akerman
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