10 Minute Tales

Jun 14 - Mistimed

He groaned weakly as his consciousness returned to him. A quiet roaring sound echoed through the room; he didn't recognise it, and the curious sound made him open one eye. He had no idea where he was! Gone was the stone walls he recalled from his youth, these walls unnaturally smooth, painted a pure white. Gone were the flickering torches, the light coming from a strange, glowing orb above him. He grunted as he sat up. If nothing else, at least the bed he was resting on was soft. He rose to his feet hesitantly but quickly realised he lacked his outfit. He looked around, blushing a little, but found an outfit. He tried it on, the fabric unusual to the touch. It was soft and dyed a colour he had not expected, a brilliant crimson, brighter than blood and bearing a white pattern. He moved to the trousers next; they, too, were made of a material he didn't recognise, though this seemed more durable. He walked over to the door and opened it after a moment, looking around. The room that laid beyond had a staircase down, which he started to descend.

"Oh, you're awake." a voice echoed up from upstairs. He flinched and looked in its direction, a hand instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn't there. "Hey, hey, it's okay! Relax!"

"Who dares address me so?" he asked, more on edge now he knew his sword was missing. If these were enemies...

"I-I don't want to hurt you! I just found you passed out in the ruins, you're in the cabin."

"Cabin? Ruins?" he frowned. "Where exactly am I?"

"You're in Cumbria, mister. You're very close to Penrith Castle."

"Oh, thanks be to God." he sighed. He had been born and raised under its protective shadow, so to know he could return to his post would be a relief. He would have to explain about this unusual outfit... but that could wait. "My thanks, young madam, but I must be on my way." he started walking again, making for the door leading outside.

"Wait, uh, what's your name?" she asked, but he was already halfway out the door. What awaited him on the other side brought him to his knees.

The castle was in ruins. Half the outer wall and a single tower remained standing; the rest of the castle had crumbled beyond dust. A cruel arrangement of stone laid out the plans of the ground floor, but only grass grew where one laid proud stones. He stifled a desperate sob as grief overcame him.

"What... what happened here...?" he asked, trying to summon the strength to stand. "What foul force did this..."

"I, uh... time did this, it's just... it decayed before we could preserve all of it."

"Give me a name!" he demanded, getting to his feet again. There was a fury in his voice, one that brought the guide to silence.

"I... I mean, one of the former lords died in the battle of Barnet..."

"What? Has that battle passed? Ugh, I will be branded a deserter..."

"Sir, that was centuries ago. Are you feeling okay?" he stopped moving on hearing that news. Centuries? How had he missed centuries? When was this? What had happened?!