Hello lovelies! I took such delight in writing this prompt. I love medieval stuff and feel like there is too little good of it in the world. I still have an entire manuscript of a book set in that time period that I hope one day to revamp. It was the first thing that I wrote so much of, so I definitely have a love of the medieval fantasy genre. Like. . . I LOVE LOVE LOVE IT! *takes a deep breath* I hope you enjoy this prompt! While scrolling through pinterest, I instantly saw the picture and had the fist few lines in my head.

He hated his job.
It had never felt so lonely. As he stared down at the crown that had graced many a head before his, he struggled to contain the urge that rose in him to throw it as far from him as he could. Its gilt edges mocked him, the shiny crosses that adorned the top a constant mockery of how he had failed. Failed to walk in his father’s footsteps, failed to live a life like that of Christ.
Most boys had to fill their father’s shoes, few knew the pain of trying to fill their father’s crown.
It was a burden, so intensely heavy. Exhaustion weighted him down, tugging at him, begging him to give into despair. Not only was he tired, but his heart demanded a break as well. Leading his men, men who had given all of themselves willingly to serve their king, into a battle that few would walk away from alive was more than he could bear. Seeing them fall, one by one, then in droves to the onslaught of the enemy made the bile rise in his throat and his heart ache so painfully that he felt that he wanted to die himself.
Watching his closest friend take the hit that should have killed himself. . . No man should have to bear that, king or otherwise. As far as he knew, he was the only man who had escaped the battle alive. He hoped, nay, he prayed with all of his being that there were more. To have lost every man but himself would and could be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Even the man who had driven him away from the battle had died of an arrow wound shortly after reaching safety. The devastation was too much.
“God, why?” His voice was harsh from lack of water and broken with the pain that constricted his throat muscles. His spirit groaned silently as he fought and wrestled with trying to rationalize what had happened. He had thought he was doing the right thing, but now. . .
I am with you. The whisper was so firm in his soul that he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t said out loud. Wind whistled, then roared through the leaves above his head and goosebumps prickled the flesh on his arms beneath his armor.
I will never leave you nor forsake you. Again, that calming voice. The storm that raged in his mind calmed under its soothing presence.
“God, please.” He begged. If he had to endure this burden alone, he would die.
Come to me, you who are weary and I will give you rest.
“Lord, I give you my burden. Take it from me. Please.” He bent lower, the weight pressing on him, but suddenly, it was lifted. Gone. He collapsed back on the ground, the dead leaves crinkling noisily beneath the weight of his body. Tears, that he had been in too much pain to shed rose to his eyes and his shoulder heaved in sobs. The sobs of a man who has been relieved.
The grief of what had happened was still upon him, but a hope kindled in his heart. It filled his mind and his soul with its soothing waters.
I will be with you, even unto the end of the age.

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What did you think of this prompt? Let me know in the comments! I love hearing from my readers!

By God’s Grace,

Victoria