Here’s a 300-word story about a child impressed by the Kingsguard:
The young boy, no older than ten summers, stood wide-eyed, his small hand clutching his father’s roughened one. Before them, a spectacle unfolded. Men of imposing stature, clad in shining silver armor that seemed to gleam even in the dim light of the throne room, moved with an effortless grace that belied their immense strength. These were the Kingsguard, the elite protectors of the realm, their very presence an aura of power and unwavering loyalty.
The boy, whose name was Kaelen, had never witnessed such a sight. In his small village, life revolved around the harvest, the mending of fences, and the occasional visit from a traveling merchant. The Kingsguard, with their swords gleaming like polished mirrors and their faces stern yet noble, seemed to him like beings from a legend, mythical creatures of strength and valor.
He watched as they moved with silent precision, their eyes ever alert, scanning the crowd for any hint of danger. Their every move was a symphony of controlled power, a testament to years of rigorous training. Kaelen, fascinated, mimicked their stances, his small frame a comical parody of their imposing figures.
His father, a simple farmer, chuckled at his son’s antics. “They are the finest warriors in the land, Kaelen,” he explained, his voice a low rumble. “Sworn to protect the king with their lives. They are brave and strong, but they are also men of honor.”
