I was browsing around the wonderful interwebs, and saw that someone said their favorite fantasy trope was when some scoundrel or ruffian comes to a guarded place, and the guard asks them to remove all weapons, and they pull an armory out of their boots and sleeves, and always try to keep something back. I decided to try to reverse that trope, just as an exercise, and here is the result!
-- -- -- --
"He's my father."
"I'm sorry, my Lord. I know that, I do. But the orders are no soldiers of any sort, if they're armed. No weapons at all." The guard nodded to his own sword. "I have to stay out here, even though guarding is exactly my job."
Jesrin sighed. It shouldn't matter that he had a weapon when he went to visit his sick father, but thinking about it, it made sense. Only a week ago, a message had arrived from Sevorden that some heiress had killed her father just to get to the treasury a few years sooner. "Here," he said.
The door warden stared at the two knives suddenly in Jesrin's hand and raised an eyebrow. Jesrin extended his arm further. "Here," he said again.
The guard didn't take them. "My Lord," he said, "I know you're the prince, but I'm no fool. Where's the rest?"
"The rest? What do you think, man? That I carry a siege tower to my own father's sick room? These are all I have."
The guard finally took the knives and set them on a small table, but he didn't move. "You can joke, my Lord, but this is my duty. I know you carry everywhere."
Jesrin spread his arms and rolled his eyes. "Search away. There's nothing else."
The guard frowned, and Jesrin could see him considering; was it worth looking a fool for his job, when it was the prince? Should he really search the king's son? Jesrin smiled. He hoped it was disarming. He really had only the two knives that day, and he didn't actually want to be searched.
"I can't do it, my Lord," the ward finally said. "Can you please turn out your boots and sleeves? I have to be sure there's nothing hidden, Steward's orders."
The Steward? Jesrin didn't ask, though he wanted to. When did that man start giving orders? Distracted, he didn't follow the guard's request until the man asked again. "Your boots, my Lord?"
Jesrin shrugged, but shook his head. "If you insist."
A minute later he stood bare-footed, his coat on the ground and shirt sleeves rolled to his shoulders. He patted down his own chest and back while turning in a circle. "See? I don't lie, man."
"I'm sorry, my Lord, but well, what people say...you're a..." He coughed and scuffed one foot. "Well nevermind. Go on in. I was just doing my job, my Lord."
The man had trailed off, but Jesrin still knew what he had been going to say. He had a reputation as the leader of the assassins, and in men's heads, someone so dangerous always went around heavily armed. Jesrin had always liked surprising people.
-- -- --- -- --
Thanks for reading my experiment! Would it work as part of a larger scene? Was it a bit amusing? Curious to know what you all think, and don't forget to vote! Thanks!
YOU ARE READING
Tales from the Tavern
FantasyAn anthology of the fantastic; tales of magic, of freedom, of peace, of war, of love and loss, of vengeance, of adventure. It's like opening a chest in Skyrim; you never know what'll be inside. Basically, it's where any ideas or musings I have can f...