How to become king Arthur

Chapter 2: my first stept

I had brown hair and brown eyes, you average build, I was nothing special.

"Pick up your arms Ara!" Paul cried as I attempted to shoot the bow. "Alright," he said as he pushed up my arms, "Tilt your head up. Look at the target and just let go." I did as I was told and just barley hit the tree we were firing at. "Good," he said happily, "Now do it again but this time with stiffer arms."

Paul was extremely patient and encouraging with me. I would shout that I wanted to stop, he would begin putting his things away and then I would yell at him for letting me stop. He would hand me the bow and then we would begin again.

I did, in the end, master archery. I had the calluses on my fingers to prove it. Paul bought me a bow and some arrows for my eleventh birthday. I couldn't thank him enough.

I was eleven when we, the Saxon engaged in battle with the welsh. They never made an enormous indent on our armies since their king was dead.

Somedays I would wander to the market around the castle with my sword to watch the knights head to battle and to challenge new people to fights. I never wanted to walk into the castle as most young girls did. The only reason why I would ever enter the castle would be to stare at the rooms of weapons that would peak my interest.

I suppose that you could say I made an indent on my town. You didn't find too many children prancing around with a sword on their hips. I found it amusing how wherever I went I would receive strange, long looks. I didn't have very many 'girl' features. I was flat and lacked hips, end of story.

As much as I loved challenging outsiders my favourite person to beat, sorry, challenge was Paul.

"Hi Paul," I greeted one morning. "How are you?" He was looking rather pale.

He wrung his clammy hands as he looked at me, "You know of the war correct?"

"Of course," I snorted.

"Well the welsh are making an indent on or armies. A knight came by to recruits earlier today. They are forcing us peasants to go to war. I'm leaving all I have as are my brothers in a week so we can go to training. I don't want to go," he said in a shaky voice, "Ara, I don't like the look you have on your face." He looked at me pleadingly, he knew I was thinking too hard.

"I'll come with you," I chirped, "This may be the only chance I get to escape this life lain out before me. I can wear some of my brother's old clothes when the knight-"

"Ara," Paul interrupted me, "You can't come. First of all, you can't possibly believe that your father and brothers would allow you to go. And, even though you're the best fighter in this town, do you really think they'll allow a woman to fight in battle?" He was trying to be straight forward and gentle at the same time.

"They'll never find out I'm a girl. I can cut my hair, it's such a nuisance anyways. Besides, I can talk my father into anything," I said as I ran for my house with Paul arguing behind me.

"Ara, would you be reasonable?" Paul asked me as I faced into the house and began to dig through some of my brothers old food.

"Reasonable about what?" my oldest brother Lance asked.

"Ara wants to fight in battle," Paul said.

"Not a chance Ara, no," Lance said.

"Oh please, I fight better than you. I'm even better at wrestling, which I learned yesterday." I pulled a shirt over my head and smiled at the result before running to grab some pants.

"Ara don't even bother considering it," Lance said sharply.

"Consider what?" my father asked as he walked through the door.

"Hello!" I coed from the other room.

"The kingdom's recruiting knights and Ara wants to go," Lance explained.

"Hello Paul," my father greeted tiredly, "Ara may you please get out here?" I stumbled out with my hair tied back and pants. Even father seemed surprised at how guyish I looked.

"Yes?"

"Why? Ara, why do you want to go to battle and kill?" he asked.

I froze, "I don't want to kill. I want to fight for the safety of my friends, family, and land. I want to feel that I've done more with my life than just be a wife. I want to do more than just cook and clean and raise children. I want to make a difference, I want to fight for justice. I want someone to tell my story when I'm dead. I want to prove that I can do more than patch up clothes. I want to fight, not to kill, but to prove something." Everyone exchanged glances at my speech. Father was the first to speak.

"Is this really what you want? To go and risk your life in battle?" he asked wearily in a sad, hollow voice.

I looked at him sincerely, "Yes."

"Very well, we won't stop you," he said as he looked down.

"Thank you," I said as I wrapped my hands around his waist. "This is really what I want."And I suppose in ways I did get what I wanted.