Wednesday, March 26, 2014

The Voices Beneath: Chapter Fifteen-- Existence

Here's the next chapter! Getting into more exciting things in the next chapter.

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chapter fifteen
existence

After that, my life seemed simply to consist of existing. I felt very little, for the only way I had to cope with the pain of my curse was to push everything aside. Arthur and I had estranged ourselves from each other by unspoken consent and except for on occasions where I had to speak with him for my knightly duties—in which we were always both very formal with or without company—I did not have any private discussions with him like I had in the past that we had both taken such joy out of nor did he ask me to spar with him any more. I was grateful for this, as I knew what would happen if I fought him again, but the sparring practice we had had together had always been the thing I most looked forward to in the past, and I missed it greatly.
            It was approaching the summer when the yearly tournament was held, and I gladly threw myself into rigorous training with the others knights so I would be able to compete. I knew Gawain knew something was wrong with me, but thankfully he didn’t ask, though I had a feeling he wanted to on more than one occasion. I tried to keep a light overtone with the other knights but it was hard. And once more I cursed Morgan la Fay for destroying everything I loved most. If she was truly out for revenge, she was doing a very good job of it.
            As the date of the tournament neared I was on my way back from practicing; hot and ready to wash off before supper. I watched the workers setting up the tournament stands, far more seats than the last local tournament I had witnessed when Lancelot had tried to take Guinevere…the day I had been cursed. I shook my head to stop thinking about that. Gawain had told me that knights from all the neighboring kingdoms were known to come to the tournament and only the best competed. I was proud to be part of that group for I had excelled in my martial arts from dedicating so much time to them. I would have been happier about the achievement if I had more reason to celebrate.
            It was then I met Merlin coming back from the village with a parcel tucked into the crook of his arm. I hailed him and he nodded, motioning for me to wait. He hurried up to me and I stopped to speak with him, petting Elith’s neck.
            “Mordred, I was hoping to catch you,” Merlin said. “I’m afraid I’ll be leaving for a while.”
            “Leaving?” I asked, suddenly paying much more attention to Merlin than I was to my other problems. “Why? Where are you going?”
            Merlin cast a look around as if afraid someone might overhear, then he leaned close and said, “I’m going to pay Morgan a visit. I may be able to…persuade her to lift your curse, and if that doesn’t work, well. The only other way to rid you of it is either to kill you or kill her. And, honestly, Mordred, the more I think about it, the more I assume you may not even be able to be killed. I think the curse also puts you under a protective spell of some sort. When I had to stop you with magic that one time, it took great effort to pass through the tangle that was covering you.”
            I gave him a smile full of dark wit. “I’m glad to know you would still consider killing me if I harmed Arthur. I like to have friends like you, Merlin.”
            “Mordred,” he said and his voice was pained. “I can’t see you suffer anymore. Nor can Arthur. He’s beating himself up because he thinks it’s all his fault and he wonders what he could have possibly done to make you angry at him for so long.” My stomach twisted. “I know why you did what you did, but I fear it will affect his reign as well as his attitude if this goes on for too much longer.”
            “I wish nothing more than to let him know the truth,” I told him and he sighed impatiently.
            “Yes, Mordred, I know, that is why I am going to do everything I can to help you. I’m leaving in the morning.” He began to turn away, but I called him back.
            “Merlin,” I said. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you helping me get through this.”
            A small smile appeared on his lips. “It is my pleasure, young knight. Now, if I don’t see you before then, which seems very likely indeed, I wish you good luck in the tournament.”
            “Thank you,” I said again and watched him stride away before I continued on my way to the stables.
            I sincerely hoped that Merlin would be able to help me, and I would lie if I said I cared a whit whether Morgan lived or died as horrible as that sounded. But I had the tourney to prepare for, and did so more readily now that I knew there might still be hope for the breaking of the curse.
            Finally it came to be the night before the event. Knights from the surrounding kingdoms had been arriving all day and the castle and village was full of the competitors and their followers. The training field where the tourney would be held was filled with brightly colored tents where all the knights had taken up residence. That night there was a great feast in the hall that all the knights were invited to and Arthur looked regal and kingly sitting at the head table with Guinevere in a beautiful sapphire blue dress, looking like an angel. I was still honored with a place at the high table with the others of Arthur’s favorite knights, though I did not sit beside him, and was in fact at the end of the table next to Percival. Percival at least was always amusing, especially at parties and he actually managed to draw several laughs out of me which was something that didn’t happen often in those days. Gawain heard and cast an appreciative look at the big knight.
            As the feast waned late that night, the men deciding they should get some rest before the next day, I took my leave, wishing to do the same. I bid goodnight to Percival and Gawain and nodded my departure to Arthur with a respectable “Goodnight, sire.”
            He nodded back and I left the hall, finding solace in the quiet corridors where I could sometimes think too much. Tonight, though, my mind was filled with other things. How well would I do on the tournament the next day? Where was Merlin right now, and had he found Morgan yet? Had he been able to persuade her? I began to fear I would not sleep at all that night.
            Something caught my eye and I looked to a side corridor to see a cloaked man in squire’s garb disappearing quickly into the shadows. I instinctively put a hand on the hilt of my sword, but then shook my head at my own foolishness. The lad was probably on his way to or from some tryst with a kitchen maid and simply didn’t want to be caught at it. I wished right then that I had such simple problems.
            Then I heard another footstep sound behind me and this time I did spin around with my hand clamped firmly on the sword hilt, ready for whoever it might be. I relaxed my position however, when I saw who it was.


            Arthur halted when I spun around, seeming almost to hesitate. I quickly released my sword and gave him a half bow. “My lord, I apologize, I am just feeling a little anxious tonight. Nerves for the tourney tomorrow.” I tried to smile, but it was lost just as everything else between us had been.
            Arthur smiled back and came toward me. “You have every reason to be. I was a mess before my first tourney,” he stopped, seeming to realize he was again talking to me like I was his son—something that had seemed off limits after our disagreement. He renewed his smile, though it was sadder this time around. “I just wanted to wish you luck. I wish I was competing, but I decided I needed to be a proper king this time. Besides, Guinevere would murder me if I competed without Merlin around.” He chuckled, but I saw a far off, somewhat confused look in his eyes. I suddenly wondered what Merlin had told him when he left. Perhaps nothing at all. It made me feel strange to think that I knew more about Merlin than Arthur who was like his surrogate brother. I had one of the many sudden urges I felt, to pour out my story to him and let the truth be known, but I kept it inside as usual. I smiled my best at him.
            “It is likely best, sire,” I said, hoping I said it jokingly. “You are very dear to the queen, and she would hate to lose you. And she’s not the only one.”
            For a moment we held each other’s gaze and I saw a flicker of warmth and fatherly affection in Arthur’s eyes before he cleared throat and I looked away, making to part.
            “I thank you for the well wishes, my lord,” I told him. “I hope I will be able to prove myself to you as a true knight of Camelot tomorrow.”
            “I have no doubt that you will, Mordred,” he said gently, raising a hand as if to touch my shoulder, but putting it back down awkwardly as a second thought, making my heart twist. “Now you had best get some rest so you will be at your finest tomorrow. I am off to do the same.”
            “Goodnight, sire.”
            “Goodnight, Mordred.”
            I parted with him and made for my bed in the barracks, but on the way back, I got the feeling someone was watching me and I turned quickly, a snarl on my lips to scare whoever it was, half thinking it might be Gawain or Percival playing a trick on me, but I caught sight of a hooded figure slipping away out of sight. At first I thought it might be the same squire I had seen in the castle, but this silhouette was bigger, broader in the shoulders. There was something about it that seemed familiar, however. I didn’t know why I felt so cautious that night. I was not taken to jumping at shadows. I just had a feeling that something wasn’t right. Again I berated myself as I hurried off to my room before I came up with any other crazy theories. After all, it was likely just one of the knights and I was becoming paranoid with my frayed nerves.
            But the next day, I was to find out that I had not been entirely wrong.

©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West

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Wednesday, March 19, 2014

The Voices Beneath: Chapter Fourteen-- Deep Wounds

Okay, this is the last really angsty chapter for a while, the story starts to pick up again after this, promise =)

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chapter fourteen
deep wounds

I woke to find Merlin sitting by my bedside. He was not dozing, nor was he occupying himself with something else to pass the time, but he was staring straight at me, giving me a start in my poor condition.
            “What, by all the saints, were you thinking, boy?” Merlin said as soon as he saw my eyes open, and I shrunk back onto the pillows, away from his menacing glance. “I told you not to run. Do you have any idea what might have happened if we had not found you when we did?” I didn’t answer, as I took the question to be rhetorical. “Morgan could have caught you and done something worse to you—oh yes, there is worse than the curse you have. Or you could have been found by someone equally ambitious. You were bloody lucky, boy. If your trail hadn’t been so easy to follow, with your over powerful emotions, I would never have been able to track you down. You almost sent Arthur into a guilty rage.”
            “Guilty?” I asked, my voice only a whisper.
            Merlin rolled his eyes as if dealing with an idiot. “Of course, Mordred! Do you not recall the row you two had in front of no less than all the knights? I swear, I can’t leave that man to his own devices for two hours without him doing something completely idiotic. He thought you ran away from him!”


            “I did,” I said. “I ran away because I didn’t want to hurt him.”
            “I know that,” Merlin said in a sarcastically slow voice. “But Arthur doesn’t know you’ve had a curse put on you to kill him. That man really cares about you—he thinks you’re his son, for heaven’s sake! What do you think he would have done if something worse had happened to you?”
            I immediately felt my heart ache afresh along with the rest of my body. I had not thought of that, not considered it. His words had hurt, yes, especially when I thought back to them, but I had been so blinded by my own fear of almost having killed him again that I had hardly registered their meaning, or the implications behind them at the time. I had run away to protect Arthur, not because he had yelled at me. I knew he hadn’t meant that. And he had found me and brought me back when I was beyond caring about any curse. The realization finally dawned at the pain Arthur had likely been feeling at my disappearance and I immediately felt horrible. Merlin seemed to realize that I finally understood and let out a long sigh, putting his hand on my forehead.
            “You’ve been fevered for two days. That arrow took some doing to get out, and if you dare move more than an inch, I will tie you down for all the trouble it took me to close the bloody thing.”
            “Where’s Arthur?” I asked.
            “He’s asleep. Finally. He wouldn’t leave your side, and he was so distressed that Guinevere finally had me slip something into his drink. I’ll let him know you’re back with us when he wakes.” He reached to a table on one side of the room. I finally realized that I was in his chambers, in some small alcove with a bed, and curtains blocking out most of the rest of the room that I assumed was either his library or the one he worked his spells in. He picked up a cup and reached down to raise my head. “Drink,” he said.
            I drank, knowing I couldn’t refuse, nor did I have the strength to. I was thirsty in any case. The concoction tasted pleasant and it didn’t make me feel drowsy so I assumed it was not the same thing Merlin had given Arthur, for which I was glad. I was not ready to sleep again yet.
            “Will you get Arthur?” I asked once I had drained the cup.
            Merlin hesitated. “I really should let him sleep, but he would have my head if he knew I had waited to wake him. Providing I can, mind. I did give him quite a bit of the stuff.”
            I took stock of myself when Merlin left. My left arm was in a sling, I was bandaged from nearly throat to hip for some wound or another and never minding Merlin’s warning about moving, I didn’t think I had the strength in any case. But it was still all petty compared to the wound in my heart, made worse by the thought of the one I had also made in Arthur’s. What was worse still was that I knew there was no real way to repair it. Because I wasn’t going to try. I could not run away—I knew that now. But I could push him away, and though it would hurt me worse than anything, kill me, in fact, there was no other way for me to deal with it. I loved so much that I was willing to sacrifice the love itself for the very sake of that strong emotion. Merlin had said that love and hate are the two greatest powers in the world, but I knew that any hate I felt toward Lady Morgan, who I had too loved when she had been like a mother to me when I was only a small boy, was no where compared to the love I felt now for my surrogate father; a man who truly did return that love wholeheartedly.
            I was still mulling these tormenting thoughts over in my head when I heard the door being flung open and then Arthur’s striding footsteps coming closer before the curtain was flung aside and he hurried over to my bedside, sitting on the edge and bending over, his hand instantly going to smooth my hair from my face.
            “Mordred, are you well?” he asked. “I was so afraid for you. I could not let you leave me after the words I unjustly spoke to you.”
            “I’m sorry,” I said meekly. I wanted nothing more than to just tell him the truth, to end this, but I had no idea how he would take it. Another part of me, that part that was still a boy, wished he would hold me like he had before, his strong arms hiding me from the world and the cruelty there. But I could not let him. If he did I would break and I would never be able to enact the horrible, yet necessary plan I had embarked upon.
            “No, Mordred,” he said in a pained voice. “No. You need not be sorry for anything. What you did might have been foolish, and likely Merlin has already admonished you on that subject, but you cannot take the blame for what is my fault. I should never have said those things to you. I was so afraid of what could have happened if my lance had been turned just a few points up—I could have killed you, Mordred! And that would have killed me. I realize my reaction was unguided, and unfair, but do know that I only did so out of my love for you. My only son.” He stroked my face and rested his hand gently over my heart as if to reassure himself it was still beating.
            “I forgive you,” I said, fighting with everything I had to keep the tears from welling in my eyes. I could not weep now. It would betray my pain. He seemed to notice something was wrong. He took his hand away and folded them in his lap. “You’re still angry with me,” he said.
            “My lord…”
            “You called me father in the woods,” Arthur said, half pained, half elated. “The only time you ever did so. I thought…” he took a deep breath and turned away. “No, you have every right to still be angry. I know it will take more than that to heal. More than an apology.”
            “I am sore wounded, my lord,” I told him softly. “I am simply not sure how to feel right now.”
            “It was because of me you ran away, though?” Arthur asked. “Nothing else?”
            “Yes,” I replied. “But perhaps not for all the reasons you think.” I couldn’t help but say that. The look of anguish on his face was tearing me apart, and if I didn’t say something, anything, I knew I would never be able to bear this. I wasn’t even sure if I would be able to anyway.
            He put a hand on my shoulder, looking at me earnestly. “Then why did you leave? You can tell me, Mordred! Please, if something is troubling you, you need not be alone.”
            “I cannot,” I replied, my throat tightening. I reached up and grabbed his sleeve. “Please, my lord, if you do indeed love me, do not ask it of me. I know it is not right for a son to keep things from his father, and if I could tell you I would, but there are things that cannot be told at the danger of those I love most, so please do not ask it of me!”
            He looked at me appraisingly for a few moments, likely trying to decide whether he should force me to tell him, or if he should respect my wishes. Finally he took his hand from my shoulder and stood up.
            “Very well, I will respect your wishes,” he said, sounding much more formal than he had before. “But do know that if you do wish to talk, I will always be there for you.” He then turned, but not before I saw the look of pain on his face that agonized my heart. A few moments later, I heard the door close. That was when I turned on my pillow and released my tears.
            Merlin came back a few minutes later, and I glared at him viciously. “Please just leave me alone!” I pleaded.
            “No,” he said simply, sinking into the chair languidly and lounging back in it. “I fear to leave you alone at the moment after what happened last time I left you so distraught.”
            “I have to push him away,” I sobbed. “It’s the only way I can do this, but it hurts. It hurts so much!”
            “It is the only way, sadly,” Merlin said in a surprisingly gentle voice, far more gentle than I knew he was capable of. “The hardest thing in this world is to hurt a friend to save them. I have not given up looking for a cure for you, but I have found nothing more than I have already told you. I am thinking of going to Morgan la Fay myself, and forcing her to cure you, but that might not work either. For now, though, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened.”
            Forcing my grief aside, I told him about Lancelot’s attack. He seemed interested, mildly, but not overly concerned. Relieved was a better word. I was beyond caring about any of it.
            Finally, Merlin stood up and offered me another cup of something, this one smelled headier and I turned my face away but he glowered sternly.
            “No more childishness,” he snapped, taking my head firmly and shoving the cup against my teeth. “Drink it now, and it will offer you a dreamless sleep. And trust me, that is exactly what you want.”
            I fought a few more seconds, feeling stubborn, but Merlin finally plugged my nose and forced the stuff down my throat, nearly choking me. But I had barely finished coughing before I was drifting off, and I had to admit it was not an unpleasant feeling of nothingness after all the grief I had suffered, and the thought of more to come.

©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West

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Wednesday, March 12, 2014

The Voices Beneath: Chapter Thirteen-- Desperation

Well, here we go with the next chapter. Hope everyone still reading this is enjoying it =)


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chapter thirteen
desperation

I knew it was childish to run away, but I was still only a boy of seventeen at the time, a man in rights, but still not in heart entirely, and I sought to fix my problems in the way of children: by running away from them. But I had no mother to know where my favorite hiding place was and come and take me back home when I was tired and thinking I didn’t want to run away any more once the supper hour hit. I was alone, and a knight at that, so I would take care of myself. I had made my decision, and I would have to make the most of it.
            So many thoughts ran through my head that night. I thought of going on a quest, selling myself as a mercenary, maybe even going North or to Ireland if I was really desperate. I just knew I needed to get as far away from Arthur as possible. It hurt so much to think of never seeing him or my other friends again, but I knew it was for the best, and my sacrifice was out of love.
            I did decide that my first course of action would be to find Morgan la Fay. Perhaps I could force her to uncurse me. I knew it was a lost cause, but perhaps I could slay her instead and surely then my curse would be lifted.
            As the first light of dawn came to the world, I stopped Elith in the woods, exhausted from grief and the fact I had slept so poorly of late. My shoulder throbbed so much I could hardly hold the reins anymore, and I fell from Elith’s back, unable to catch myself. I didn’t want to eat, though I had had the forethought to bring food, and so I simply lay my bedroll down and curled up on it, laying my cloak over myself. Elith grazed a bit beside me and I drifted off to his soft crunching.
            Sleep came, but only lightly and I was startled into full wakefulness sometime later, about midmorning by my reckoning. Elith whickered softly, looking off into the distance, his ears straight up. I sat up slowly, my hand already on the hilt of my sword. My shoulder was a dull throb, feeling swollen, and I grit my teeth as I forced myself to my feet. I half expected it to be Lady Morgan, come to see why I still hadn’t killed Arthur. I was ready for her. I would not let her defeat me this time.
            Before I even saw my stalker I barely had a chance. I just caught the hiss of sound before an arrow flew out of the foliage and buried itself in my side right above the hip. I fell to my knees in shock. Elith whinnied in fear but did not bolt, for he was trained as a warhorse and would not desert me in the prospect of a fight. I broke the shaft off close to my body, groaning as I hauled myself to my feet, readying myself for a fight.
            Several men showed themselves, coming out of the trees. Bandits by the look of them; hooded, rough men. The one who had shot me, held his bow level, another arrow nocked and ready. I held my sword in front of me, knowing I hardly had a chance against them, but prepared to go down fighting if I must.
            Another man stepped forward, black and arrogant and even before he tossed his hood back from his face in a theatrical fashion, I knew who he was.
            “Lancelot,” I snarled.
            He smiled slightly. “Ah, young Mordred. I hoped we would meet again, though I’ll admit I didn’t expect to find you out here all alone. Not after you were knighted. Already think you can replace me. Tell me, how is the dear Queen? Still as deliciously enticing as always?”
            “You have no right to ask after her, especially not in such a vulgar manor!” I told him, anger boiling in my blood as I remembered the last time I had seen him, carting Guinevere off after he had wounded Arthur in foul play. I could not let him get away this time.
            “That’s a nasty wound,” Lancelot said, motioning to the bit of shaft still sticking from me. “If I had known it was you, I wouldn’t have told Arnulf to shoot. I was hoping this would be a better challenge. But maybe I have no real intention of killing you at all. I don’t really feel like it today. Why should I sully my hands on a whelp? I’ll leave the wilderness to do the job for me.”
            “You coward,” I breathed and lunged forward as he began to turn. I might be striking him in the back, but I hardly cared at that moment. I would do what I needed to, no matter how dishonorable.
            I never made it that far. One man struck me across the shoulders with a quarterstaff and I was thrown to my knees, my arrow wound and shoulder protesting in pain from the jarring. I struggled back to my feet, my sword raising for a blow, but the men converged on me and began to beat me with whatever weapons they had at hand, and though I got in several good cuts with my sword, I gave no mortal wounds, and they were content to leave me battered and bleeding on the forest floor, too exhausted to move and in too much pain to do so. Lancelot strode over to me, a mock worried expression on his face. My sword had been kicked out of my reach, but I strained for it. Lancelot only stepped on my wrist and ground his heel into it painfully enough for me to grit my teeth to keep from screaming.
            “How pitiful,” he said. “Not so heroic now, are you, you little maggot. Not while you have no fair lady to protect. I doubt I will see you again, and I hope you provide the wolves with a good feast this night.” He kicked me in the jaw and my head snapped back, half dazed.
            I heard them leave, rummaging through my things, and stealing everything of value, even my sword—the one Arthur had given me—but I was too weak to protest and if I had tried, they would have taken it anyway. They didn’t take Elith though, for when one man tried to grab him, he received a hoof in the gut for his trouble. Then they departed, leaving me alone and hurt, barely able to even help myself. I did fear I would die there. No one would come to save me.
            I finally managed enough strength to pull myself to my knees and whistled to Elith. He was not far away and he came readily now, nudging my shoulder with his head. I grabbed the stirrup and pulled myself onto my feet. I leaned against him for a few minutes, catching my breath, then I tried to heave myself onto his back, but I couldn’t use my left arm and when I tried my right, the arrow dug into me and as soon as I brushed the broken off shaft against the saddle I was done. I simply put my arm around the horse’s neck and leaned against him, making my way slowly in a direction. I didn’t even know where I was going. I didn’t care.
            I fell too many times to count, and each time, it was harder to get back up. I finally fell and stayed down, hardly conscious. I curled up on my unwounded side breathing raggedly, and felt tears of frustration and pain leak from my eyes. I would die here, I was sure of it. Then Elith knelt down beside me, nuzzling my hair and mustering the last of my strength, I grabbed hold of his mane and pulled myself onto his back, laying down carefully so as not to thrust the arrow deeper into my side. He stood back up and took a faster walk down the path. I didn’t know where Elith thought he was going, but he obviously had some destination in mind. If I had been in my right mind, I would have known, and I do not know whether I would have been glad or not, whether I would have stopped him, but I can make no protest now to the result.
            I did not know how long we traveled, but I was eventually aware of vague noises around us. I fought to lift my head and see what they were, afraid we would be under attack again, but Elith did not seem worried, and soon enough I heard Gawain’s loud voice over the others and I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I could hardly hold onto Elith’s mane anymore. I felt myself falling but was too past caring. Impact jarred me awake for a moment before I felt myself fading again into a peaceful blackness. Feet pounded against the ground and suddenly I was aware of someone kneeling over me. A warm hand was on my face and I opened my eyes to see Arthur’s worried expression.
        
    “Mordred,” he said as if from afar, and I cared not that he had been the one I was trying to run away from. I couldn’t hurt him now in this state, surely. I lost all my resolve and reached out to him like a babe, tears chocking me. He bundled me up into his arms and cradled me close to his chest while I didn’t even try to control my emotions. I heard another voice and running footsteps from behind Arthur.
            “Did you find him?” It was Merlin. I buried my face against Arthur’s tunic. I could not face the sorcerer now. Not after I had done exactly what he had told me not to do.
            “I found him,” Arthur said, his voice rumbling in his chest. I heard Merlin curse and offer thanks at the same time. “We need to get him back, he’s hurt badly.” I heard the worry in Arthur’s voice and wanted to contradict it, but couldn’t, for I knew I was. I was hurt worse than I had realized and was sure I had lost a lot of blood. Arthur slipped an arm under my knees.
            “We’ll get a stretcher,” Merlin said.
            “No,” Arthur replied quietly and lifted me up into his strong arms as if I weighed nothing. I tried to protest but I was too weak. He began to stride off, and I could hear the exclamations of the other knights as we passed. Merlin had apparently run ahead to prepare for my care. I was still sobbing gently, my face not having left Arthur’s tunic.
            “It’s all right, Mordred,” he said kindly. “You will be all right.”
            “I-I’m s-sorry,” I forced out. “S-so sorry…father.” I could not help but add the last word. Not now while he was carrying me like a child as tenderly as if I were only a sleeping babe. And I knew now, even if I hadn’t before, that all I had wanted when I had been hurt was to see him. For him to come for me. He had come, not out of the duty he must have to protect his subjects, not even for the sake of brotherhood he shared with his knights, but because he believed I was his son and he genuinely loved me. And for once, perhaps because of my weakened condition, I didn’t think of the curse. I just knew I loved this man as my father, and I wanted him to know that.
            He stopped at my words, and I realized that had been all he had ever wanted to hear from me. He touched my forehead with his and I felt a tear fall onto my cheek that wasn’t mine.
            “You have no need to apologize, my son,” he whispered. “Everything is okay now.”
            And I took that to be true, for I finally allowed my body to give in to itself and slipped into the blackness that I had fought for too long already.

©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West

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I was also extremely excited to get a piece of fanart of Morgan la Fay by Abigail Leskey =) Check it out!