Six of One: 4
Part Three
Part Four
The air whipped around Mordred’s face, whipping his cloak around him in a flurry as he landed on the shores of the sacred lake. His whirling winds whipped water up into the air but Mordred paid it no attention. He did not look up to marvel in the beauty of the surrounding trees, nor the tranquil beauty of the still waters.
Carefully, so carefully, he knelt to the rock shore, placing his cargo gently upon the ground, his head resting in Mordred’s own lap.
He paid it no mind when the waters before him rippled, paid no attention as the creatures of the forest peered their heads around their hideaways towards the figures by the lake, didn’t even feel the presence of the fey as they hovered sentinel around the sacred lake. All his focus, all his tears, all his anguish was focused down to the body laid in his lap. His hand nestled securely in Emrys’ black curls his other upon the absent heartbeat.
He had no words though; there were no possible words he could say.
“Mordred,” a shivering voice spoke on the wind. Startling his gaze up Mordred saw her, the ancient Lady of the Lake, the keeper to Avalon.
“My Lady,” he managed to croak eventually through the film of tears on his face.
“Mordred,” the lady sighed, kneeling down in the shores of her lake. Her eyes cast sadly over the still figure and rested her dainty hand upon Emrys’ still one that had fallen casting his fingers into the clear waters. “Emrys sleeps now.”
“No,” Mordred choked tightening his hold. “No, you cannot have him, I can save him!”
“His magic has already returned to the earth,” the lady spoke gently. “Now his body must too. Let him be at rest now Mordred.”
Mordred looked up then and noticed the denizens and creatures stood solemnly amongst the waters and foliage, he saw the tides of Avalon rising form the tears of the sprits, his quickly joining them all as they still dripped easily fro, his chin.
“Give him to us Mordred,” she spoke once more. “He has earned a rightful place in Avalon. He will not suffer any more, young knight.”
“Why,” Mordred asked, the only question running through his head these past moments. “Why did this happen?”
“Arthur is his own bane,” the lady shook her head sadly. “It has always been foretold that his decisions would bring about his own downfall.” She looked down upon Emrys sadly. “It was never foretold they would lead to this though.”
“I will show Arthur what downfall truly is,” Mordred growled. “Once I am done with him and his precious kingdom it will be nothing more than myth and dust.”
“Be wary young knight,” the lady spoke quickly, capturing Mordred’s hand before he could retreat. “Revenge never brings anything but more pain and bloodshed-“
“It isn’t revenge,” Mordred whispered glancing once more down upon Emrys’ still form. “It is justice.”
Leaning down Mordred pressed his lips to Emrys’ forehead, to his cold skin, remembering the texture and the smoothness beneath his lips. “You rest now,” he whispered only for Emrys’ hearing. “I will do my part. I will avenge you Emrys and we may see each other again in Avalon. “
Mordred stood then, the tears now dried upon his face as it hardened with each retreating step. The lake of Avalon just watched on helplessly as Camelot’s seed of destruction were tightly sown.
But the Lady of the Lake had eyes for only one. She placed her hand gently against the crown of her past love and let out a sorrowful breath. “Oh Merlin, what did they do to you?”
She beckoned forward to the spirits and fey lurking in the folds of reality behind her. At her signal they came forward as one, timid and afraid, the air around them all trembling with grief. Each took a part, a finger, a leg and shoulder and lifted Emrys on high, hovering him over the waters to the lights of Avalon.
The light shone bright when Emrys’ soul touched the sacred space, emitting light so pure it blinded the trees around, and then the lake was still, the trees and flowers and birds silent and Emrys was gone.
--
The battle ground raged red and bloody around him as Arthur trudged slowly across the scorched land. Neither the sun nor moon was visible behind the smoke and ashes hanging in the air, a sense of timelessness surrounded the place, like a cloak of inevitability.
His men, his comrades, his brothers, his knights, littered the floor on which he walked, their blood soaking into the soil, feeding the earth. Moans and screams and pleas and shouts permeated the thick air to Arthur’s ears but he did not pause in his journey, his eyes fixed ahead.
And then out of the shadows and the smoke he appeared. His young face pulled harshly into a mask of hate and spite, his once trusting, smiling eyes now haunted and hollow, his hair, once soft and curled now matted with the blood of the men he had slaughtered… all in the name of one man.
Mordred saw him too, his shoulders straightening and his grip on the sword by his side tightening. No greetings were required, Arthur knew what Mordred intended to do, it was there in his eyes as clear as day. Arthur thought back to the smiling knight he had been, before death and grief and loss clouded his judgement and his heart.
“This isn't what he wanted,” Arthur spoke wretchedly across the bloodied ground between them. They both knew of whom he spoke, the life that weighed on both their shoulders every day.
“How could you possibly know?” Mordred spat at Arthur, his eyes flaring dangerously. “You knew nothing about him. I was the only one that knew even a fraction of his true self!”
“I knew the man he was,” Arthur shook his head sadly. “I may not have known all the things he did but I knew him. And he wouldn’t want this war, this bloodshed.”
--
Mordred’s jaw tightened and his chin lifted but he didn’t respond, the need for revenge and retribution burning clear inside him. There was nothing this lowly king could say that would sway him.
“Even,” the King continued, “even in his last breaths he wanted to protect us…. He made us these.”
Arthur pulled a thin chain from the neck of his armour, the odd sphere not of the earth’s making glinted strangely in the fires roaring lights. And just for a moment Mordred felt it again, a feeling he thought he would never experience again. The true sizzling warmth of Emrys’ power soothing and warring through his being, surrounding his heart and enclosing his fingers and whispering through his brain.
“He made one for you too,” Arthur spoke. “They are to protect us, he wanted to us all to be safe. Please Mordred... he would not want me to kill you.”
“And there’s the Arthur Pendragon I know,” Mordred scoffed swallowing down his renewing grief and the ancient magic that prickled uncomfortably against his new darker being. “So sure of himself… But you have yet to realise that you are nothing without him, nothing but a man with a shiny hat.”
“I know,” Arthur whispered wretchedly, tears staining his eyes. “I have realised more than you can possibly know, but what you are doing is not avenging his death, it is assuaging your own guilt!”
“My guilt?” Mordred hissed, taking a threatening step forward. “It was you who sought magic’s aid, you who didn’t heed his warnings-“
“And it was you that cast the spell! So who is to blame? The man that asked for the sword and sharpened it or the one that made the final parry?”
“Enough,” Mordred choked willing the tears from his eyes. He squared his jaw, and straightened his shoulders and held his sword aloft before him. “You’ve said quite enough.”
Mordred watched King Arthur take a deep shuddering breath and copy his stance, the trickles of their armies still battle around them. Their stances were set, their weapons held high and before the blows came King Arthur glanced up to the heavens once more and whispered: “Merlin forgive me.” And they engaged.
The sounds of metal on metal reverberated around the earth as the two titans of the age fought. But in the end it was a futile struggle. In the end it mattered not who won the battle, which drew the most blood, which was quicker, faster, whose grief out shone whose. In the end the tides of the war had already been decided one night in the years before at the crying of a new born babe.
There could be no victor.
Albion had lost its way, its Queen and heir fleeing from the crumbling walls of a once great city, its laws and hierarchy over run with bandits, slavers, hysterical heretics. The knights that once shone as a beacon of hope for all to see had been slain, one by one their bodies returning to the earth from whence they came.
Magic had been tarnished, polluted by mans greed and fear and anger and it retreated, fleeing from the darkness that had consumed the world of man and returning again to the land, the trees, the air, the birds and creatures that inhabited it.
So the last pillars of an age long already decimated and sent to the history books battled hard and fast among the sea of death. Their small metal weapons seeking flesh and destruction. The world looked on in a stony silence of resignation. In the end it mattered not who won.
For they had both already lost.
THE END
Part Four
The air whipped around Mordred’s face, whipping his cloak around him in a flurry as he landed on the shores of the sacred lake. His whirling winds whipped water up into the air but Mordred paid it no attention. He did not look up to marvel in the beauty of the surrounding trees, nor the tranquil beauty of the still waters.
Carefully, so carefully, he knelt to the rock shore, placing his cargo gently upon the ground, his head resting in Mordred’s own lap.
He paid it no mind when the waters before him rippled, paid no attention as the creatures of the forest peered their heads around their hideaways towards the figures by the lake, didn’t even feel the presence of the fey as they hovered sentinel around the sacred lake. All his focus, all his tears, all his anguish was focused down to the body laid in his lap. His hand nestled securely in Emrys’ black curls his other upon the absent heartbeat.
He had no words though; there were no possible words he could say.
“Mordred,” a shivering voice spoke on the wind. Startling his gaze up Mordred saw her, the ancient Lady of the Lake, the keeper to Avalon.
“My Lady,” he managed to croak eventually through the film of tears on his face.
“Mordred,” the lady sighed, kneeling down in the shores of her lake. Her eyes cast sadly over the still figure and rested her dainty hand upon Emrys’ still one that had fallen casting his fingers into the clear waters. “Emrys sleeps now.”
“No,” Mordred choked tightening his hold. “No, you cannot have him, I can save him!”
“His magic has already returned to the earth,” the lady spoke gently. “Now his body must too. Let him be at rest now Mordred.”
Mordred looked up then and noticed the denizens and creatures stood solemnly amongst the waters and foliage, he saw the tides of Avalon rising form the tears of the sprits, his quickly joining them all as they still dripped easily fro, his chin.
“Give him to us Mordred,” she spoke once more. “He has earned a rightful place in Avalon. He will not suffer any more, young knight.”
“Why,” Mordred asked, the only question running through his head these past moments. “Why did this happen?”
“Arthur is his own bane,” the lady shook her head sadly. “It has always been foretold that his decisions would bring about his own downfall.” She looked down upon Emrys sadly. “It was never foretold they would lead to this though.”
“I will show Arthur what downfall truly is,” Mordred growled. “Once I am done with him and his precious kingdom it will be nothing more than myth and dust.”
“Be wary young knight,” the lady spoke quickly, capturing Mordred’s hand before he could retreat. “Revenge never brings anything but more pain and bloodshed-“
“It isn’t revenge,” Mordred whispered glancing once more down upon Emrys’ still form. “It is justice.”
Leaning down Mordred pressed his lips to Emrys’ forehead, to his cold skin, remembering the texture and the smoothness beneath his lips. “You rest now,” he whispered only for Emrys’ hearing. “I will do my part. I will avenge you Emrys and we may see each other again in Avalon. “
Mordred stood then, the tears now dried upon his face as it hardened with each retreating step. The lake of Avalon just watched on helplessly as Camelot’s seed of destruction were tightly sown.
But the Lady of the Lake had eyes for only one. She placed her hand gently against the crown of her past love and let out a sorrowful breath. “Oh Merlin, what did they do to you?”
She beckoned forward to the spirits and fey lurking in the folds of reality behind her. At her signal they came forward as one, timid and afraid, the air around them all trembling with grief. Each took a part, a finger, a leg and shoulder and lifted Emrys on high, hovering him over the waters to the lights of Avalon.
The light shone bright when Emrys’ soul touched the sacred space, emitting light so pure it blinded the trees around, and then the lake was still, the trees and flowers and birds silent and Emrys was gone.
--
The battle ground raged red and bloody around him as Arthur trudged slowly across the scorched land. Neither the sun nor moon was visible behind the smoke and ashes hanging in the air, a sense of timelessness surrounded the place, like a cloak of inevitability.
His men, his comrades, his brothers, his knights, littered the floor on which he walked, their blood soaking into the soil, feeding the earth. Moans and screams and pleas and shouts permeated the thick air to Arthur’s ears but he did not pause in his journey, his eyes fixed ahead.
And then out of the shadows and the smoke he appeared. His young face pulled harshly into a mask of hate and spite, his once trusting, smiling eyes now haunted and hollow, his hair, once soft and curled now matted with the blood of the men he had slaughtered… all in the name of one man.
Mordred saw him too, his shoulders straightening and his grip on the sword by his side tightening. No greetings were required, Arthur knew what Mordred intended to do, it was there in his eyes as clear as day. Arthur thought back to the smiling knight he had been, before death and grief and loss clouded his judgement and his heart.
“This isn't what he wanted,” Arthur spoke wretchedly across the bloodied ground between them. They both knew of whom he spoke, the life that weighed on both their shoulders every day.
“How could you possibly know?” Mordred spat at Arthur, his eyes flaring dangerously. “You knew nothing about him. I was the only one that knew even a fraction of his true self!”
“I knew the man he was,” Arthur shook his head sadly. “I may not have known all the things he did but I knew him. And he wouldn’t want this war, this bloodshed.”
--
Mordred’s jaw tightened and his chin lifted but he didn’t respond, the need for revenge and retribution burning clear inside him. There was nothing this lowly king could say that would sway him.
“Even,” the King continued, “even in his last breaths he wanted to protect us…. He made us these.”
Arthur pulled a thin chain from the neck of his armour, the odd sphere not of the earth’s making glinted strangely in the fires roaring lights. And just for a moment Mordred felt it again, a feeling he thought he would never experience again. The true sizzling warmth of Emrys’ power soothing and warring through his being, surrounding his heart and enclosing his fingers and whispering through his brain.
“He made one for you too,” Arthur spoke. “They are to protect us, he wanted to us all to be safe. Please Mordred... he would not want me to kill you.”
“And there’s the Arthur Pendragon I know,” Mordred scoffed swallowing down his renewing grief and the ancient magic that prickled uncomfortably against his new darker being. “So sure of himself… But you have yet to realise that you are nothing without him, nothing but a man with a shiny hat.”
“I know,” Arthur whispered wretchedly, tears staining his eyes. “I have realised more than you can possibly know, but what you are doing is not avenging his death, it is assuaging your own guilt!”
“My guilt?” Mordred hissed, taking a threatening step forward. “It was you who sought magic’s aid, you who didn’t heed his warnings-“
“And it was you that cast the spell! So who is to blame? The man that asked for the sword and sharpened it or the one that made the final parry?”
“Enough,” Mordred choked willing the tears from his eyes. He squared his jaw, and straightened his shoulders and held his sword aloft before him. “You’ve said quite enough.”
Mordred watched King Arthur take a deep shuddering breath and copy his stance, the trickles of their armies still battle around them. Their stances were set, their weapons held high and before the blows came King Arthur glanced up to the heavens once more and whispered: “Merlin forgive me.” And they engaged.
The sounds of metal on metal reverberated around the earth as the two titans of the age fought. But in the end it was a futile struggle. In the end it mattered not who won the battle, which drew the most blood, which was quicker, faster, whose grief out shone whose. In the end the tides of the war had already been decided one night in the years before at the crying of a new born babe.
There could be no victor.
Albion had lost its way, its Queen and heir fleeing from the crumbling walls of a once great city, its laws and hierarchy over run with bandits, slavers, hysterical heretics. The knights that once shone as a beacon of hope for all to see had been slain, one by one their bodies returning to the earth from whence they came.
Magic had been tarnished, polluted by mans greed and fear and anger and it retreated, fleeing from the darkness that had consumed the world of man and returning again to the land, the trees, the air, the birds and creatures that inhabited it.
So the last pillars of an age long already decimated and sent to the history books battled hard and fast among the sea of death. Their small metal weapons seeking flesh and destruction. The world looked on in a stony silence of resignation. In the end it mattered not who won.
For they had both already lost.
THE END