She stood by the doorway, pale as a bone with coal black eyes, celebrating pain as if it was a luxury. Her face looked sculpted with sharp prominences, as if it was chiselled out of a marble piece. She wore a black cloak and robes with golden designs made on them, upon which her orange blond hair fell like a silent waterfall.

Walking towards me with short and regal steps were the Queen, followed by a team of bronze skinned knights in their shining armours, blue badges and orange capes. Their leader, a strong looking man with a French beard and matching orange blond hair looked at me and scribbled something on a notepad. Then with his eyes still locked on to mine, he tore the paper and crumpled it silently.

Beside him stood a woman in a lighter armour attire, mostly chainmail and a drape of orange vestment around her, a black cloak with a hood pulled up over her head. She had a straight brown hair with the look of a warrior, light brown eyes which was soft yet strangely powerful. Instead of the broadsword that everyone else were equipped with, she sported a deadly rapier and a dagger.

"Your Majesty!" Nurse Kathy was the first one to break the silence with a display of curtsy. Spreading her white frock she made a quick gesture of kneeling halfway down with her head bowed down. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong; because last time I checked, the Queen of Canada was Elizabeth the Second and not a walking piece of bone draped in black robes.

The Queen came close to me, guarded by her knights and looked at me with a permanent sad smiley etched on her face. Except that the normal smileys were yellow and this one was white. "I gather that we have captured the greatest hero of the century... but, well, only that you don't look like one."

"Looks are only skin deep," I said, trying to sound cool.

"Your Majesty," corrected the leader of knights, the bronze skinned man with the French beard. I could see the crumpled piece of paper in his fist poking out of his fingers and wondered what he could've written.

"Ah, yes, Sir Gawain, some people don't tend to show me the respect I deserve." The Queen angled her face and looked down at me with contempt. I felt an invisible force locking my jaws together- I couldn't talk! Indeed, this woman was a real effing witch!

"Frankly, I would like to teach this man the proper way to address me," said the Queen, "but alas... I don't think we have any reason to let him live long enough to take that trouble."

Kathy gave a short yelp and some of the knights in their shining armours turned glum for a second. But Sir Gawain, with his shining orange hair and French beard kept his eyes locked onto mine. I had no idea why.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, should we conduct a trial for this man?" It was the woman with the hood and rapier who spoke this time. She talked with a lopsided grin, like a genius trapped amidst a group of intellectually challenged people.

I listened to the conversation with silence, not because I was showing my respect towards the Queen, but because I was as scared as a pathological introvert in a public speaking event. Did they just talk about killing me like I was some turkey for a Thanksgiving event? I sure wasn't imagining it.

"Why must I spare this man for a trial? He doesn't deserve it!" With a click of her fingers, she let my restraints loose. I was free for a wee moment, but then I felt an invisible force lifting me off the bed and making me kneel in front of the Witch Queen. "Sir Gawain, bare thine sword and end this vermin's life!"

What the *beep*?!

As if by instinct, Sir Gawain's hand shot for the sword, and the crumpled paper fell down. With a masterful stroke, he drew his sword out of the scabbard and dutifully placed it upon my neck. Just like how a golf player would bring his club close to the ball before he takes the swing.

The cold stung the skin on my neck where the sword had touched, and I almost peed. Okay, it's not really embarrassing when you are at the verge of your death. No, it's not! Not to mention that this was the third effing time my neck was getting violated today. Whatever these people were, they certainly had an obsession towards the neck.

I was expecting Sir Gawain to swing the sword next moment, but strangely he spoke, his voice calm and rough. "Your Majesty, if we kill him now, his blood would only stain the stone floor of this hospital. But if we take him on a trial and condemn him to execution in front of the entire denizens, we will crumble the heart of the Resistance.

"I think it will burn any chagrin of hope that remains in their hearts. The news of the return of the Flying Lion gets whispered in the alleys and they expect the mighty Sir Jackson Kross to return and restore the throne to King Allyn Lovedragon. Let them see their hero getting butchered in public- and the Resistance will shatter down like a glass piece beaten by a hammer!"

You have the wrong man! I'm not Jackson Kross! It's just a pseudonym, for Heaven's sake! But all that came out of my locked jaw was, "Mmm-Ummm-Grmmm!!!"

The permanent sad smiley on her face straightened, which must mean that she was glad. "Good," said she, with a approving nod. "Sir Gawain Williamson, you speak like the hammer which stands between me and the Resistance; your words amuse me beyond measure."

Sir Gawain gave a quick bow, "I am an Ambassador Knight. It's only my duty to serve the Crown on the Orange Throne, Your Majesty."

He took back the sword from my neck and tried to slide it back into the scabbard. I say 'tried' because it did not go back into its sheath, and when he left the handle, the sword fell down with a clatter- right in front of me.

For a split second I was surprised, but amidst the helplessness it was like the Heavens have answered my prayer. The token to my freedom. The weapon which could end this Witch Queen who wanted to kill me.

With no further thought, I leapt forwards and grabbed the sword.