The King ~ Timothée Chalamet

Red-Tailed arrow

King~ Ch. 1

Cheers ring out in the streets; cries of adoration and respect. The voices blend into one another, their wishes of prosperity and good health merging into a vast ocean of chaos.

The royal parade continues down the narrow streets, the cobblestones unseen below the overwhelming mass of bodies that are currently gathered to greet the king.

His horse is surrounded by knights, yet he still feels suffocated by the enormous crowds. He can barely make out the individual faces in the audience. His position atop of his horse puts him high above the flurry, yet he can't help but feel as though his place is amongst them, not isolated by the status that the piece of metal on his head holds.

He is torn from his thoughts by a cry. Not a cry, but a shrill, desperate plea.

"My king please! My son is dying!"

Henry commands his company to a halt, his eyes instantly searching for the origin of the voice. A man rushes forward, a bundle in his arms, more words tumbling from his lips.

"Please my king! He needs medicine!"

He watches as the man flounders, fighting his way forward in the crowds. Henry reaches over to his left hand, slipping a gold banded ring off of his pointer finger.

"Take it. Sell it. Buy your boy medicine." He says, his words commanding but tone soft.
The many knights beside the king move aside at his command, letting the man through. He instantly drops to his knees, thanking his king, his head bowed. Henry looks down upon the man below him, words of gratitude spilling from his lips, a small figure below the greatness of his steed. He feels out of place, he feels as though he should be down there with him. Their lives were worth the same. Making his decision, he flings his leg over the edge of his horse and lands beside the man, grabbing him by the forearms, pulling him up.

But as he does so, the man stands sharply, producing a dagger from the bundle of cloth in his hands and recoils his arm to stab at the king before him. The knife would surely have punctured Henry's rib cage, killing him in an instant. He had on no armour, and his heavy sword would have been too slow a defence. He would be dead, had it not have been for a red- tailed arrow that embedded itself in the wrist of the attacker. Crying out in shock and agony, the man releases the dagger, grasping at his bleeding limb. Knights hurriedly envelope him, brining him to custody before the king.

Henry stands, not watching the scene, but instead, staring at the hooded figure on a distant rooftop as they lower their bow.

"Lord Cropper, bring me that man." He commands, nodding towards the figure on the roof as they turn to flee. Instantly, a group of knights run through the crowds, shoving past them, following the orders of their king.