[ WP ] You step into the throne room with weapon at the ready . The king eyes you with disdain as you draw near . He knows the end is near . His voice is solemn yet sad as his only words split the cold silence like a knife through the air , `` Why ? ''

The throne room, the hall of kings; I knew it well. The thick oaken doors, defense against even the most powerful siege weapons; open for me. The long red streak of velvet lay out to the king; he was resting on his throne, claymore in hand. It was trembling on the marble. I could not make his eyes out from this distance, but I could already feel their fire burning on me. The sides of the hall were lined with the royal guards red and yellow, some with hands on hilts. 
 
 The sound of steel echoed among the stone walls, stoic soldiers shifted with anticipation. I put my hand on the blade at my back, concealed it was naught but a back scratch; it was still there I reassured myself. 
 
 The march was the longest of my mortal treks. How much did the king know of my transgressions? Enough to warrant the full battalion of guards he had amassed it seemed. I trudged onward, I was no coward to the consequence of my actions. 
 
 A look back, the doors of the hall were closed; a blockade of guards had appeared before it. There was no easy way out of this it seemed. I was now close enough to gauge the king. He was lent forward on his throne, the sword spun under his left hand; his dominant hand. He was wearing his full armor, ceremonial, it had not been cured in the heat of battle. His helmet resting under his right hand, his hands so large they made the ornate steel appear as the size of a drinking stein. His knuckles were white on the handle of his mighty blade. I was now at the foot of the towering throne's steps; I did not take a knee. Our eyes met, I could see the animosity behind those blackened pupils; it was screaming to escape. 
 
 `` Why!'' He spat. Foaming with rage his great beard caught a sizable amount of the fluid, what remained landed on my feet. Down from them my head raised, up into the eyes of the king. He was now towering above me. In his shadow the tip of his blade wavered at arms length, less than a step from my nose. I said nothing. I would not give him the satisfaction of a plea of forgiveness. 
 
 I reached for the blade behind my back, but my arm was trapped. A guard on either side had me in arms. I took a step back. The king; one forward. The tip of his blade came to rest on the cusp of my Adams apple. He took another half step with gusto, now its sharpened edge was resting on my neck side. `` WHY!'' He roared; the windows shook. I looked him in the eye, and just shook my head. Taking the sword from my neck he roared, I was still going to defy him. `` TAKE HIM TO THE DUNGEONS!'' Thrown to the ground and dragged, my pointed steel boots were gently ripping the red carpet; my last act of defiance. `` You listen to me! You'll never see the light of day again, you'll never know the touch of a woman, the taste of anything but your own piss water'till the day you die! So help me God, I WILL SEE IT DONE!'' That ominous last proclamation echoed through the crippled castle ruins, escaping farther from these walls than I ever will again.
