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[Well, this will be no doubt one of my last attempts of writing a story, so here goes.]

~~~LOST IN MEMORY~~~

A man cannot free himself from the past more easily than he can from his own body.  -André Maurois

The Great Castle of Iseliath stood triumphantly in the citadel of Port Traven.  It's great white walls gleamed like a diamond in the rich and lavish city.  The castle greatly complemented the lives of many in the city, for each man working lived in a home well suited to him, ate three meals, and was never poor.  The only ones who were poor were monks, *beep*fused to take money, and wanderers from other kingdoms.  Indeed, the city was a great place.  To some it was the greatest part of the kingdom, full of honourable and trustworthy men.  Others say that it was a city of greedy fools.

The Royal Line of Port Traven, the Leiondon family, descended from the kings Arvious I-VIII, had all of the wealth in their pockets.  What seemed like a great meal to the common folk around the castle was a snack to the royals.  The stuffed themselves and dressed in the most lavish and fancy attire.  Everyone except the King.

Indeed, any man who stayed in Port Traven would agree the only noble person in the citadel was King Markus Leiondon III.  He dressed himself in old robes in the color of cyan, matching his hair, and only wore his crown when he had to, giving himself the appearance of a peasant-king.

There came a time, however, when the great King started to age;  his skin wrinkled, his eyes grew more weary as the days passed by, and it came to the day when his son, Travis Oswald Leiondon, heir to the throne, came to speak to him about his inheritance.

"What is it, my son?" Markus asked that day.  "Have you come to give me company, or to ask about your inheritance, by chance?"
"Well well," Travis smirked; his father always knew what went on in his mind.  "I admit, I did come here for that reason.  Seeing as your... uhh-"
"Death," Markus finished.
"Yeah, that," Travis said.  "Well, it comes for all men, and will come for you sooner or later, preferably later.  However, I would like to discuss this mat-"
"Come here, my son," Markus cut off Travis.  "Help me up."

Travis came to his father and helped him stand up.  Markus then grabbed his sword, Angaling, the Silver Beacon in the Sand Elven tongue, and pointed it at Travis.

"Bow, for I shall crown you now."
"What!?" Travis asked;  he had no intention of being king until he was of age, for he was merely sixteen. 
However, he did bow.  Markus, the Great King of the Reveritton, tapped his son's two shoulders and laid a blessing upon him.

"Son, go forth from here as King of Reveritton, and serve the men and elves.  Care not for what age you are, how weak you are, or anything else, for you, a mere boy, has been given the right of King."

A gleam of happiness came over Markus, as he stood next to his son, hopeful that he would be hte greatest king in the land.  Then, a his eyes suddenly went cloudy, as he fell back onto the cold granite floor, dead of old age.

"NO!" Travis lamented.  "Father, FATHER!"

And Travis wept until he fell asleep next to his father.

[[Schoolwork = ghey]]