A r t u R e l l a – i aA Story by luinelle In the country of Avalaire, there reigns a dictator named Harold. In a little town, there is a girl named Arella. Arella wants Haorld's head...she wants revenge...she wants to save Avalaire. December 14, 1355 Dear Father,
I hate the snow.
I hate winter. It takes everything away from me. I hate the snow.
Love, Arturia
“Shea, pass me my hammer,” Arella
said. “Uh…this?” “Yes.” She grabbed it from him and
pounded the would-be-sword. “Arella?” a voice called from the
door. “Yes, Sir Kynton?” “I’ve come to pick up my sword.” “Yes. Shea go fetch it for him. It’s
on the table there.” “Ah thank you.” He gave the sword a
few swings. “You’ve always made the finest weapons. Thank you and may you have
a good evening.” “I think we’re done for the day,”
she said. “Shea, clean up while I take a bath.” The water felt good on her tired
body. Every day was like this, well that’s a bladesmith for you. She had been
training since she was eleven. Her master recently passed away last winter,
leaving her in charge after ten years of training. She had no apprentices
yet"Shea was only a temporary assistant, a 25-year-old man she found after the
storm. With no place to stay, she offered to take him, in exchange for labor. After her bath, the two of them had
dinner at the Baker’s place, a family she was close to. “Have you heard the news?” Mrs.
Baker asked. “The king raised ar taxes!” Mr.
Baker shouted. “That’s terrible!” Arella joined in.
“We won’t have enough money to pay him. But…if we raise the price, no one will
buy.” “Oh, I sure thou gonna get
costumers, Arella. Thy swords are the finest yet,” Mr. Baker said. “Maybe we could raise our prices
too?” Mrs. Baker suggested. “Everyone likes bread. Maybe just a little?” “Why don’t you just fight back?”
Shea asked. “Fight back?” Mr. Baker mocked him.
“Fight back?! Ye insane, boy? Do ye have a death wish?! I don’t know where ye
from, son, but here we can’t fight back.” “Why not?” “Because,” Arella cut in before Mr.
Baker lost his temper, “you will die. One time, one of the villages resisted.
They revolted and a few of the others followed. You know what King Harold did?” He shook his head. “Tried to
suppress it?” “As if he would do that,” she sighed.
“He wiped them all out. The villages are all gone, erased from the map. There
were no survivors"every single person was killed. That’s why no one resists
anymore.” “I had no idea,” Shea said. Turning
to Mr. Baker, he apologized. “King Harold…” Mr. Baker muttered,
“Damn you! Damn you to hell!” “To add to that,” Mrs. Baker said
sadly, “King Harold threw away one of his villages during the war to use as a
battlefield.” She sighed. “I miss the good old days when Artorius was king.
These past ten years under Harold have been torturous!” They ate their meals in silence and
left after thanking the Bakers. “King Harold should be overthrown,”
Arella angrily thought aloud. “But you can’t do anything,” Shea
reminded her. “When the time comes, you’ll be on
my side won’t you?” She looked firmly into his dark eyes. He let out a small chuckle. “So
you’re going to start it. Of course I’ll follow you.”
Sunday. The day for rest. After
attending church, Arella went to visit a few friends in town. It was quiet.
Sundays were usually quiet. An image caught her eye. In the
distance, coming closer, were Prince Artur, mounted on his horse, and his men. What is he doing here? The village was stirring, stirring
with anxiety. Everyone whispered to each other. It’s
the prince! Shh!
He’ll hear you. Why
is he here? Maybe he’s passing through? Maybe
he came to collect our taxes!!! But
we haven’t got enough! The only ones who were pleased to
see Prince Artur were the lords, their eyes beaming with excitement, their
daughters dressed in extravagant gowns in hopes of attracting his eyes. He waved around to the crowd,
smiling, then coughed, and smiled again. Arella detested that smile"it was the
smile of ignorance. Someone like him wasn’t fit for the throne. “Fear not people of my country. I,
Artur Aram James Lyttetton-Colville of Avalaire, have come with an invitation!”
he proudly declared. The tension evaporated and the crowd
began murmuring excitedly. “As you all know, next month on
April 24 will be my 21st birthday. Therefore, I shall invite
everyone to my ball, whether you are a peasant or noble. How does that sound?
My men will start handing out invitations. Please be patient.” Is
he an idiot? Arella thought. She looked around. Everyone was
clamoring with excitement. Of course. What girl wouldn’t want to have a chance
to dance with the prince and potentially become his wife? She didn’t. The very thought disgusted her.
Fortunately, she could use this chance to sneak into the castle. There were
many problems with that, but she’ll worry about it later. Unable to stand the sight of Prince
Artur any longer, she left and decided to take a nap underneath the trees. The
spring breeze felt nice on her skin and soon lulled her to sleep. Snow. Her Father. Death. These
images flashed amongst her dreams and transformed them into a nightmare. She was running…running…running. It was snowing…I. Hate. Snow. “Ah!” Arella felt something on her
foot and jolted awake. Prince Artur! What’s he doing here?
He seemed to have tripped on her foot and was now face down on the grass. She
stifled her laughter. Served him right. She got up and offered him her hand. “Need a hand?” For an instant, he paused, as if
remembering something. “No…it can’t be…she’s already dead…” Hmm?
Hurry up. Take it or not, you big oaf! He put himself in a sitting
position. Guess you didn’t need me, huh?
You b*****d… Just as she pulled her hand away, he
grabbed it and dragged her down with him. Oof! Too close! Their faces were too
close. She could feel his hot breathe on her face, his eyes staring straight
into hers. Shocked, Arella shut her eyes and shoved him away. “Get away from
me!” “Oof!” Realizing what she had done, she
quickly got to her feet and dragged the prince up. “Forgive me,” she
apologized. “You…surprised me.” She took a few deep breathes to calm
down. The little braids in her hair became tangled so she undid them,
unleashing her long, golden hair. Prince Artur continued to stare at her, at
her beauty"her bright emerald eyes, her long flowing hair"and found himself in
a trance. He’s
staring…at me… Oh no! What if he realized it? That I’m… “Are you
alright, Prince Artur?” she forced herself to say politely. “Oh!” He snapped out of it and said,
“I’m fine. And who might you be?” “Arella,” she replied coldly. “Sorry
for all the trouble I’ve caused you. I’ll be taking my leave now.” She curtsied
and began to walk away. “Hold on!” he called out What
is it now??? “You’re coming to my ball aren’t
you?” He handed her an invitation. She eyed it slyly. What a lucky day it was. “Why of course, your Highness.” Throughout the next month, Arella
had been busy pondering about possible battle strategies. She could gather an
army of people and storm the castle, but there weren’t many who were willing to
rebel against King Harold. Who could blame them? They value their lives.
Another option was to do the whole thing herself. She liked this one better. She
already had accomplices within the castle. Arella didn’t want to involve any
innocent people since she felt that the entire thing was her fault. If only she
had been born a man… For the time being, she needed to
acquire a dress for the ball and gain Prince Artur’s trust. Shouldn’t be too
hard"he was a dunce. She flipped open a chest full of her mother’s old dresses.
Arella didn’t want to wear anything too fancy. How about this blue one? On the night of the ball, Arella had
Shea stay home while she left in a horse drawn carriage sent by her accomplice.
She hadn’t told him what her plan was yet, though they’ve sometimes briefly
discussed it; Arella wanted to see how it played out first. The castle was a golden speck
amongst the night. The interior was bright and cheery, the floor and ceiling
full of fancy designs. Most of the guests attending the ball were of the higher
class while Arella was of the lower class. She took a quick look around the
ballroom. Nothing much had changed since then…since that time… She stopped
herself. This was no place to get nostalgic. This is the place she would
destroy. Arella killed some time doing
frivolous things such as chatting and dancing with strangers. The one thing she
enjoyed was the food. Royalty always got such wonderful food; there’s no way
she could let it go to waste. Tick
tock tick tock. The prince still hasn’t shown up
yet. It was a quarter past midnight. He always took a long time, even when he
was little. Perhaps he became ill? The thought made her smile. “Welcome my people!” a voice
thundered across the room. Finally. He’s here. The prince, dressed in fancy
golden attire, the same color as his hair. He scanned the crowd, smiling once
he spotted Arella. “I hope you’ve all had a splendid
time this evening. Now, one lucky lady will get the pleasure of dancing with
me.” The murmurs of excitement exploded,
with every girl hoping that they would get the chance to dance with the prince.
He descended from the steps of the palace, his father, King Harold, watching
from the throne. The girls were busy fixing their hair and shook from
anticipation. Me? Or
is it me? Look
over here! Please
pick me! The crowd parted as he made his way
through. He stopped in front of Arella, offering her his hand. “May I have this
dance, Milady?” “Of course, your Highness,” she said
with a fake smile, taking his hand as the cries of disappoint erupted.
“Welcome back, Arella,” Shea greeted
her the following morning. “How was it?” “Very tiring…” She collapsed into
his arms. “Take me to my bed…” she mumbled. She had danced with Prince Artur
all night. The trip back took a few hours. She was ready to sleep… Images of the snow flashed in her
dreams again and she found herself crying upon waking. She had to put an end to
this"she would have King Harold’s head mounted on a stick.
A few weeks later, she bumped into
an old friend of hers on the way back from town. “Arella!” he greeted, “My, I haven’t
seen you in eons. How’ve you been?” “William!” she responded, “It has
been a while. I’m doing splendid, thank you. How’s your father?” “Father is as strict as always. I
feel that it’s time for him to retire and have me take over the trade…Or
perhaps you?” he added jokingly. He sighed, then spotted Shea in the back room.
“Oh…that must be the little brown dog you’ve told me about.” “Why yes. I’ve picked him up or else
he would’ve died. What about you William? How’ve you been?” “Things on my end have been getting
worse…family matters…” he sighed. “Well, if you’re in need of a job,
there’s one over in Kingston. I believe a man named Henry is looking for a
butcher or something. His previous one, Arnold, abandoned him and the other
one, Oliver, cut off his own hand by accident.” He chuckled. “This Oliver fellow
reminds me of someone. Lloyd was it?” “You mean David.” Arella corrected
him. “Right! He was so careless that he
nearly chopped of his own foot when cutting firewood!” “He was a very interesting man,
wasn’t he Will? It’s a miracle that he didn’t die yet.” “Agreed!” he exclaimed. “And remember last December when we
visited Old Man Terrance and his fourteen children?” “Ay, that’s a lot of kids…By the way
Arella, when will you be visiting me?” “Once I’ve got time and once you’re
prepared. Remember to make me a big plate of chicken along with potatoes and
steak. I’m tired of bread.” “Haha. Will do. Take care, Arella.
I’ll be taking a look at Kingston. Then maybe I’ll make enough to fulfill your
request!” “You take care too, Will.”
“Let’s see…” he muttered. “There’s
Henry…Arnold…Oliver…December…oh my.” He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to
prepare for your visit soon, Arella,” he said to himself, staring at the words
that were scribbled on a sheet of scrap paper. King
Harold Will Die. December 14. Prepare.
“Arellaaaa!” the
voice of a little boy filled the air. He ran through the doorway, tripped over
the scraps of metal scattered across the floor, and crashed into the cupboards,
causing a flurry of papers to rain down. “Ouch…” “Are you okay, little boy?” Shea
asked. “Yea…” He looked around. “Aww…she’s
not here. I’ve something important to tell her.” “She’s currently out of town.” “Norman!” a voice called from
outside. “Coming mama!” he shouted. “I’m
sorry but I’ve got to go.” He sighed. Children… Shea began picking through the pile
of paper. Wait. These were letters! “March 15, 1359. Dear Father…” He
quickly skimmed through them. “June 28, 1356. Dear Father…today Master Jacob
let me be his apprentice even though I am a girl… Love, Arturia.” “January 6, 1356. Dear Father…I miss
you. I hate King Harold. Love, Arturia.” “September 13, 1358. Dear
Father…Damian died from an illness. Luke left on a journey. I’m the only
apprentice left. Love, Arturia.” “December 14, 1355. Dear Father… I hate the snow. I hate winter. It
takes everything away from me. I hate the snow. Love, Arturia.” What? Who wrote
these letters? Perhaps it was a former apprentice? Why
were they never sent? He looked through the years"the first letter was written
ten years ago and the most recent was…two months ago…
Dear Father, Everything is going as planned. Soon
I will regain back control of our country. Love, Arturia Can it be…Arella? That evening, he really wanted to ask
her about the letters, but it felt wrong somehow. She had never questioned him
about anything"his home country, his past… Nothing. He wanting to question her
seemed like an invasion. Even so, Shea wanted to confirm something. He didn’t
get the chance to because the two of them had their hands full taking care of
the Watson’s children. “I want a bedtime story!” Julie cried. “Me too, me too!” John chimed in. “Alright,” Arella said wearily. Shea herded the children to their beds
and sat on a chair, listening to Arella’s story. “Once upon a time, there was a great
king. His name was King Archibald. His wife was Queen Ardelle. They had a
daughter named Aria. The queen died during childbirth. There was no male heir
to the throne so the king raised Aria as a boy and called her Ardo. He trained
her as a knight even before she was seven. She became very strong and powerful
at the young age of eleven. The king’s brother had a son named
Armon. They trained Armon as a knight as well and even considered handing the
throne to him. But…” she paused, “there was a problem.” “What problem?” Julie asked. “Armon had a weak body and got sick
often.” “Then he shouldn’t be king,” John cried.
“He’d die too easily! A king should be strong. At this point, the girl could
make a better ruler than him!” “Would you want a female as king?”
Arella asked. “I don’t like the idea but if we’ve got
no choice then yes.” “Just continue the story!” Julie whined. “Okay, calm down.” Arella said, then
continued. “The king’s brother, Henry, really wanted Armon to be king. One
night, he poisoned King Archibald’s drink. Before he died, he told his daughter
something.” “What?” the two kids asked. “No one knows. Henry was going to kill
Aria but the castle men faked her death and helped her escape.” Julie and John were sitting straight up
in bed, anticipating the next part. “Then?” “She lived as a peasant and once she
grew older, she broke into the castle, killed Henry, and ruled the kingdom. The
end.” “Henry, I’ll kill you!” Julie shouted,
pretending to slash John with her imaginary sword. “Ahhh!” he screamed, pretending to die. “Shh! Time for bed, children.” Arella
reminded them. “Go to sleep now.” After the kids fell asleep, Shea was
about to confront her. Before he could speak, she asked, “You know about it
right? You should know by now. The question is: What will you do?” She held her breath and stared into his dark
eyes. It was quiet, quiet enough to hear his
heartbeat. He took a deep breath. The girl in front of him wasn’t just a
bladesmith anymore, but a woman of power. “I’ll do whatever you need me to, your
Highness.” She smiled, relieved. “I need all the
help I can get.”
A white dream. Snow danced in the air.
She held out her hand and watched as the snow made contact and melted, forming
small pools of water. She clenched her hand into a fist. It was time. Anxiety
welled up within her. She would not be satisfied until she had Harold’s head,
but who would rule the country then? Would the people be satisfied with a
female? Would they even be able to pull this off and come back alive? “Arella.” Shea’s voice cut through her
cloud of thoughts. “We’re leaving.” “Right…” She took a gulp of fresh air
and got in the carriage. She didn’t know whether she would see this town again.
Farewell for now. Today, December 14, was the king’s
birthday. Because of that, he held his annual birthday ball, making it simple
for Shea and her to enter the castle. She wore a blood red dress while Shea had
on a dark blue suit. They stopped by the church and prayed before entering into
their battle. She had planned long and hard for this day"she can’t fail now. At the ball, Arella danced with Prince
Artur yet again, giving her accomplices the chance to sneak Shea into the
interior of the castle. Halfway through the ball, one of the servants cried,
“Your Majesty! Your Majesty! There’s an intruder!” “What?” King Harold immediately rose
from his throne. “Yes,” the servant panted, “He’s…he’s
got weapons, Sire. And a team of people. A dark man.” King Harold thought for a while.
“Everyone, I’ve got some bad news for you. Unfortunately, we have to end the
ball early tonight. Please clear out!” The crowd murmured anxiously to each
other and dispersed one by one. “What’s wrong, Father?” Prince Artur
asked. “It seems we have a pest and those
guests will get in my way of eliminating it.” Arella slipped into the shadows as the
guests were clearing out and made her way to the secret passage behind the
ballroom. She met up with William, whose real name was Jack, and followed him. “We have been awaiting your arrival,
your Highness,” he said as they ran down the halls. “It’s great to be back,” she replied,
feeling the blood rushing through her veins. She glanced around at the familiar
walls. “Not much has changed, has it?” “Nope. This way.” He motioned with his
hands. They entered a great room"her old bedroom. Sprawled on the bed were bits
and pieces of golden armor and a sword. “Princess Arturia, quickly put on the
armor. Shea has been distracting the king with the help of our men, but he
won’t hold out for long.” She let out a laugh. “It’s been so long
since I’ve been called by my name, Jack!” He chuckled. “My, my. Living ten years
as a peasant must’ve been tough, Arturia.” “It has.” She wore the pieces of armor over her
red dress, protecting the crucial parts, and armed herself with her father’s
sword. “Harold will be killed by the sword of the man he murdered,” she said.
“Let’s go, Jack!” Jack, clad in his silver armor, followed
her lead. “Harold sent some of his men to dispose
of Shea, but he wouldn’t leave himself unprotected. There should still be some
guards around. Let us handle them. I know how eager you are to get your
revenge, Milady.” “Many thanks.” She smiled. She let Jack and his men take care of
all the dirty work while she flew up the flight of stairs to Harold’s room"her
father’s old room. She halted. Blocking her way was Artur, a look of betrayal
spread across his face. “Arella…” he breathed, “I-I don’t
believe it.” “You better believe it,” she told him.
In an annoyed tone, she added, “You haven’t forgotten about me, have you?” She
started intently at him. His shock turned to puzzlement. “W-what
are you talking about? I just met you on my birthday.” She sighed. “In case you’ve forgotten,
I’ll tell you my name.” She took a deep breath, cleared her throat. “I am
Arturia Aram Cerelia Lyttetton-Colville, daughter of Artorius Ignatiaus Abelard
Lyttetton-Colville and Arthelia Arella Ethelinda de la Norwald. Remember that.” The confusion on his face slowly
transformed into shock once again. Staring at her with wide eyes, he gasped. “Arturia…?
But I thought you were dead.” “Everybody thought that. I must’ve done
a good job faking my death.” She pointed her sword at him. “Move out of my way
or else it won’t be pleasant.” He uneasily drew his weapon. “I-I cannot
allow you to kill my father!” “Your father?” she scoffed. “Your father
is already dead. The man you’re referring to is your uncle, dear brother.” “Wha-what lies are you spouting, you
filthy woman! Harold is my father!” She shook her head in dismay. “Shall I
tell you the truth? King Artorius had me first. You were the result of his
affair with Harold’s wife. In other words, you’re the illegitimate child of the
king. We’re siblings, Artur.” “Y-you’ve no evidence!” he stammered. “I’ll show you evidence after I’ve
killed Uncle. Now, will you move out of my way or do I have to deal with you
first?” She readied her stance. He stood there, frozen. All this
information overwhelmed him; he didn’t know what to do. “Five…Four…” she counted down. Should he believe her? “Three…” Is it really Arturia? “Two…” He shut his eyes. What should he do? “One!” There’s no way he can beat her. He
didn’t have any armor on. Instinctively, he stepped out of the way. Was this
the right decision? She relaxed a bit and hurried past him,
muttering “Thanks.” Arturia flung open the door to Harold’s
room, her hair fluttering behind her. Her uncle, somewhat armed, was walking
rapidly in circles around the bed and stopped; a look of surprise appeared his round
face. “Y-you’re that girl who’s always with
Artur! I knew we shouldn’t have trusted you.” He glanced around cautiously.
“Where are the rest of your men?” “Sadly, they’re not coming,” she answered
bitterly, then shut the door. “It’s only you and me, Uncle.” She smirked, her
eyes full of vengeance. The color drained from Harold’s face as
he slowly realized who she was. “Y-you! You’re that brat from ten years ago! I
thought I had killed you!” “You may have killed my father, but you
haven’t killed me,” she spat. “Now let us settle this with our blades!” With that, she charged at him only to
have her sword blocked by his shield. For a rather pudgy man, his movement was
fast. A look of amusement appeared on his face. “I won’t fail to kill you this
time, my dear niece.” They clashed. She dodged all his strikes. He blocked all of hers. She left her side wide open. He saw the chance…charged straight at
her. Feint. She quickly
dodged and slashed at his sides…slowed him down for a bit. She spun around and slashed at his back,
trying to cut through the rusted armor. He shook her off. She lost her footing…her sword flew out
of her hand…All is lost. She shut her eyes. I’m sorry…Father. Why was she not dead? The blow should’ve
made contact by now. Someone had shielded her. She heard him let out a cry.
“Ah!” “Artur…Artur!” she cried. Harold’s
weapon had pierced through Artur’s chest. Blood flowed from it like a never
ending river, filling the floor with the color of her dress. “I’m glad I made it in time, my dear
sister. I-I believe in you,” he muttered softly before he left the world
forever. “Artur! Artur!” Harold collapsed to his
knees. “Don’t die! Don’t leave me! Come back, my son!” he screamed
hysterically. Blinded by grief, he didn’t notice as
Arturia grabbed her sword, hovered over him. “Farewell Uncle…” she muttered.
She let out a battle cry and Harold’s face was forever frozen in misery. His
head rolled in a circle and slowly came to a halt by the bed. The last snow fell. A faint ray of
sunlight passed through the window, softly illuminating her bloodstained armor.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, followed by a stream. She fell to the
floor shaking and held Artur’s body. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” she sobbed. “It’s
all my fault"hic"I’ve never hated
you…Sure I was bitter towards you, but I’ve missed you all those years. I’m
sorry… Rest in peace, dear brother. I love you.”
December 15, 1365 Dear Father,
I’ve regained control of our
country, but lost Artur in the process. I’ve buried him in the garden next to
you, mother, and his mother. The people seem to recognize me as their new
leader because I’ve brought Harold down. Although this is a day of tragedy, it
is also a day of glory. I will continue to rebuild Avalaire with the help of
the castle men and Shea. I hope it can become a country greater than it was
when you ruled. I will not give them a chance to doubt me just because I am a
woman. I will show them how fearless this woman can be.
Love, Arturia
© 2012 luinelleAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on November 3, 2012 Last Updated on November 3, 2012 Tags: revolution, dictator, medieval, A r t u R e l l a – i a |
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