Still

A King

A person with no name walked into a royal chamber. He didn't know who or where he was. This could have happened at any time of the day, the man reminded himself, yet the strange world's king decided now.

At least he was finally able to see him the week the he first woke up in the kingdom. Sure, it wasn't very quick, but at least he was able to explore before it all ended. The person with no name had always just assumed that when he'd meet the king, the monarch would hand him a bag of food, lend him a horse, and let him be on his way. That was what a fair king should do, right?

"The king awaits you in the next room," the royal servant said with yet another sniff.

"Will you not come with me?" The person with no name asked.

"I am no permitted to."

The servant walked out of the room with a hop and a skip, leaving the nameless person alone. Now he just had to open the door in front of him, with its golden handles that were just waiting to be pushed upon. Perhaps he was in yet another waiting room, and only going into a newer, much smaller room at most. Whoever this king was sure had a thing for mysterious and strange entrances.

Not truly knowing what he would be walking into, the person with no name gripped the golden door handle tightly, and pushed the door open. The next room, as he guessed, was much smaller, only needing a few candles to light it up. It had no other doors nor any windows, and only held a small writing desk draped in fancy, red velvets, and scrolls.

What the person with no name had not expected, however, was for there to be a king sitting behind the desk. Golden spectacles were perched on the tip of his long nose, as the older man's gray eyes peered at the nameless man in front of him. The king looked noble as all kings should, but he had a strange slowness to his movement, as if he had to think about the action before doing it.

"I apologize for the inconvenience of it all," the king said in a raspy voice. "I would have come to you faster, but I am afraid my legs wouldn't be able to keep up with the rest of my footmen."

The king began to wheeze, although it also could have been a breathy chuckle. At first glance, the person with no name has assumed he had been working in the small office area, but as he watched the king laugh, he realized that the older man was stuck in the room, more helpless than he was, for there was nothing the king could truly do with such crippled legs, even in the diamond-encrusted seat he was in.

"You are allowed to laugh at this flaw, my dear boy," said the king slowly. "It was a very funny joke, don't you agree?"

"Very," the person with no name answered. "Pardon me for asking, but do you know who I am?"

The king moved his thin, skeleton arms over the scrolls in front of him. Each one was covered in black ink, most of them seemingly recent, based on how new the parchment looked. From what faint memories had come back to him, the person with no name remembered his hand pulsing and hurting from writing letter after letter in his old life. His fingers still stung from this thought, and the he clenched his fist.

"A soldier, I would presume, based on the attire my guards found you wearing," the king said, pushing up his glasses higher onto his nose.

A soldier? It wasn't a name, but it would have to do, he thought. For it was the start to a name I just needed to earn back. And the king, if he was kind enough, would help me.

"I have notes and stories from a variety of strange characters throughout the past week on tragedy concerning magic and the supernatural. Yet none of them speak of warriors with frightful cases of memory loss," said the king. "From what my servants have been telling me, you currently know nothing about your past. Is that correct?"