Young Writers Society

“Just remember who you are, sire.”

The king threw the contents within his goblet at his adviser’s feet. After a brief moment of fury, he looked down at what he had done with disbelief.

“I’m …sorry, Robert. I haven’t the slightest clue why I’m so hostile. And to what you are presenting me… this, remember who I am. I know who I am!” He sunk into his throne hugging his shoulders as he continued. “I’m a shadow of my former self and a disgrace to my grandfather’s empire.” The king winced at the mention of his grandfather “William the Conqueror, Henry the first, and Stephen the jester.”

Robert seized him by the shoulders, looked him straight in the eye as he spouted, “My Lord, excuse my rash action, but I can no longer bear to see you like this. The people, they need you. To guide them, to lead them, as any good ruler should,” his voice rising with every word. He now scanned Stephen’s face for any sign of the king he had once known. The man who once stood firm under heavy fire now shook like a leaf. “What is it that haunts you so, sire,” he whispered. At this the king sat as still as a stone, without blinking, too petrified to move.

Robert released his grip from the king, and rose. “What is so potent to turn a courageous Lord into a quivering coward. I do not… I can not…. Understand what has happened to you. If you would just…just…,” He stammered on this word as he searched his majesty's eyes, but all in vain. He took an expression of defeat. “A wise man once told me, that the eyes are a window to the soul. Sire, I will no longer be aiding you, for your soul is gone.” He brushed himself off and proceeded toward the door, but upon leaving his foot snagged on something. The young adviser looks down to see his Lord clutching the heel of his shoe.

“Robert, please,” he says breathing heavily. “If my soul is truly missing then help me find it.”

“A king should not grovel at the sole of a mere commoner,” his adviser uttered coldly while trying to shake off the king’s strong grip.

“Help me return to the glory that I’ve once basked in. I’ll be lost without you. Oh, Robert, please. England needs you!” At this Robert stopped, turned, stooped down to his level, and slowly raised the king's head with his fist.

“I will not leave you, sire. Not like this,” Robert smiled warmly as he left the room leaving the king on the floor in a sorrowful heap.