I am the one star that keeps burning so brightly [ Narrative ]
Characters:A king and an angel
Time: A long time ago
Location: A shore
Content: Some other beginning's end.
Warnings: None
The Council had fallen.
How far they had been scattered, Arthur didn’t know and he doubted it would ever return to how it had been. Morgana - his beautiful, clever, lying, villainous sister - was sealed somewhere beyond their understanding, and it hardly even mattered since she was already beyond saving. He had tasted the black magic she wielded, had felt its unnatural chill bleed into his bones in their battle - even with Excalibur burning in his hands, the magic had nearly been powerful enough to send him to his knees. Around him, those without angelic protection fell, one by one, eyes gazing blankly up at a starry sky. His world had become a chaotic surge of blood and darkness and ice and gore.
The knights were gone. Galahad and Bors and Percival had long since disappeared. Lancelot and Guinevere were dead, and Merlin was as good as. The battles had been won, but the cost...
He stared up at the sky from where he sat slumped against a wide oak tree - it was almost morning. How long had he been fighting? He couldn’t remember - everything was such a blur now. He wanted to close his eyes, to feel the sweet apple air brush against him, Guinevere in his arms, Lancelot’s laughter nearby. But it was all gone. He let out a sigh, listening to the lapping sound of water nearby - he could feel something sticky and warm on his abdomen and knew it wouldn’t be that much longer for him either.
There was a rustle nearby. He turned his head slightly to the right, seeing an unfamiliar figure standing uncommonly still only a few feet away. He felt as if he should have recognized the dark-haired young man. He blinked at him blearily and the first words that tumbled wearily out of his mouth were, "Are you an angel?"
"Yes," came the answer. "My name is Uriel."
"Oh." Arthur turned his eyes back to the violet-gray dawn and the stars that were slowly vanishing except for one bright one that blazed in the east. He thought it was unnecessarily stubborn - wouldn’t it disappear just like the rest? "It’s over then."
The angel was silent for a moment and then he nodded imperceptibly. "The battle is over, yes."
"But not the war." Arthur sounded resigned.
"No, not the war."
The king - his name already passing into legend - looked briefly next to him, to see the glimmer of Excalibur’s blade. It wasn’t quite buried in the mud and grass - he hadn’t had enough strength for that - but it still remained fiercely upright. In the dull glow of the morning, it looked unaffected by the battles, still as brightly silver as it had been the day Morgana had given it to him, so many years ago.
"They’ll tell stories, fables," Arthur murmured, eyes never leaving the sword. "It’s inevitable, isn’t it?"
"Stories," the angel replied evenly, "are always told." Still, his face softened at the king’s downcast look. "Yours was the first battle. It will be remembered."
Ah, but who would ever believe these stories? By the time the war would be concluded (and of that Arthur had no doubt), who knew what the truth may have been warped into? Arthur closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the bark of the trees as exhaustion slowly sapped the rest of his strength. The old warmth of the grand tree was comforting - it reminded him of days of summer past. There hadn’t always been battles - there used to be peace and laughter and joy.
Once upon a time, they had soared.
He smiled as the sun broke through the gray fog of morning. He had failed, yes, but in the darkness that wrapped around him like an old friend, he knew his trust had never been misplaced.
And maybe one day...
One day...
Time: A long time ago
Location: A shore
Content: Some other beginning's end.
Warnings: None
The Council had fallen.
How far they had been scattered, Arthur didn’t know and he doubted it would ever return to how it had been. Morgana - his beautiful, clever, lying, villainous sister - was sealed somewhere beyond their understanding, and it hardly even mattered since she was already beyond saving. He had tasted the black magic she wielded, had felt its unnatural chill bleed into his bones in their battle - even with Excalibur burning in his hands, the magic had nearly been powerful enough to send him to his knees. Around him, those without angelic protection fell, one by one, eyes gazing blankly up at a starry sky. His world had become a chaotic surge of blood and darkness and ice and gore.
The knights were gone. Galahad and Bors and Percival had long since disappeared. Lancelot and Guinevere were dead, and Merlin was as good as. The battles had been won, but the cost...
He stared up at the sky from where he sat slumped against a wide oak tree - it was almost morning. How long had he been fighting? He couldn’t remember - everything was such a blur now. He wanted to close his eyes, to feel the sweet apple air brush against him, Guinevere in his arms, Lancelot’s laughter nearby. But it was all gone. He let out a sigh, listening to the lapping sound of water nearby - he could feel something sticky and warm on his abdomen and knew it wouldn’t be that much longer for him either.
There was a rustle nearby. He turned his head slightly to the right, seeing an unfamiliar figure standing uncommonly still only a few feet away. He felt as if he should have recognized the dark-haired young man. He blinked at him blearily and the first words that tumbled wearily out of his mouth were, "Are you an angel?"
"Yes," came the answer. "My name is Uriel."
"Oh." Arthur turned his eyes back to the violet-gray dawn and the stars that were slowly vanishing except for one bright one that blazed in the east. He thought it was unnecessarily stubborn - wouldn’t it disappear just like the rest? "It’s over then."
The angel was silent for a moment and then he nodded imperceptibly. "The battle is over, yes."
"But not the war." Arthur sounded resigned.
"No, not the war."
The king - his name already passing into legend - looked briefly next to him, to see the glimmer of Excalibur’s blade. It wasn’t quite buried in the mud and grass - he hadn’t had enough strength for that - but it still remained fiercely upright. In the dull glow of the morning, it looked unaffected by the battles, still as brightly silver as it had been the day Morgana had given it to him, so many years ago.
"They’ll tell stories, fables," Arthur murmured, eyes never leaving the sword. "It’s inevitable, isn’t it?"
"Stories," the angel replied evenly, "are always told." Still, his face softened at the king’s downcast look. "Yours was the first battle. It will be remembered."
Ah, but who would ever believe these stories? By the time the war would be concluded (and of that Arthur had no doubt), who knew what the truth may have been warped into? Arthur closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the bark of the trees as exhaustion slowly sapped the rest of his strength. The old warmth of the grand tree was comforting - it reminded him of days of summer past. There hadn’t always been battles - there used to be peace and laughter and joy.
Once upon a time, they had soared.
He smiled as the sun broke through the gray fog of morning. He had failed, yes, but in the darkness that wrapped around him like an old friend, he knew his trust had never been misplaced.
And maybe one day...
One day...