After being revived by his foster father, Diarmuid learns of his treasonous acts and decides to leave Hibernia for sure. Still longing to be a knight, he learns of a certain king that is willing to accept any kind of Knight. Camelot is quite the jou...
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This is in order to be a knight, he told himself as he raked the hay inside of the stables. To be quite frank, it smelled horribly disgusting; the aroma of sweat and waste from the horses hung in the stale air. No breeze could have saved him. He would need a hurricane, perhaps, if he would rid himself of the fragrance.
He did not mind having to clean the stables at all, but it was rather tedious that every few hours he would have to return to clean it because people did not know how to handle horses. Whenever he left the stables to go clean something else up, it would only take a minimum of four hours for some Knight to call on him to clean it up again.
They are Knights! he would scream to himself, They ought to at least be able to keep things tidy for a day. But goodness was he wrong.
"Hello." Diarmuid looked up from the hay—quite a bit irritated and exasperated—in order to see the owner of the voice. "It has not really changed in here; I see absolutely no difference." It was the king, which had startled the young man. "But I know how hard it can be to keep the stables clean; especially with all these knights. You needn't return every few hours to continue cleaning it." Diarmuid was quick to fall to his knees in a deep curtsy. "You may stand." The King smiled; he was not wearing his cloak or his crown. Diarmuid figured that they were probably left at the castle.
"Your Majesty." The Irishman nodded in acknowledgment of the royal before him. "What else would you like me to do?" He tried not to fidget as he awaited an answer.
The King looked around the room and tried to find something that would make the ex-knight productive. "The horses—bathe the horses," he stated. "Heaven only knows how long they have yet been washed for—that is likely one of the reasons as to why it smells horrid in here." The monarch scrunched his nose in disgust whilst he waved a hand in front of him as if to clear the air in his vicinity.
Diarmuid nodded as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Yes, of course."
"And after you are done with that, you might want to take a bath of your own. You've got—" the King paused and made an expression of pure revulsion, "—all over your face and clothes."
The Knight-in-training suddenly became embarrassed as he gulped in regret. "Yes, my liege." He nodded and watched the king leave the stables.
"Oh, I almost forgot;" the royal glanced at Diarmuid over his shoulder upon reaching the door way, "you have been cordially invited on a hunt tomorrow." He smiled, so sweet and soft that it made Diarmuid's heart warm up slightly. Perhaps, he mused, the King was a nice person after all.
After the king had left, he took off his shirt and turned it inside-out in order to clean the (hopefully) dirt off his face. He wondered how unprepared he had looked in front of the King and mentally kicked himself for it. Rolling his neck to soothe his muscles, he also stretched his arms. If the King had invited him on the hunt, it meant that the king had taken a liking to him—which eased his mind a little bit.
