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chapter twenty-three
broken
“If there is no agreement we can
come to, I am finished,” he said sharply, his voice low and dangerous. “If it
is battle, so be it. I will meet you gladly on the field.”
“Very well, brother,” Morgan said
and motioned for her men to leave. “I shall see you in a week’s time. You will
know where when the time comes.”
As she left she smiled at me, and I
glared at her with all the hatred I could muster. She stopped in front of me
and reached out a hand to stroke my face and leaned close, her breath on my
neck, as she whispered in my ear. “Oh Mordred, didn’t I tell you it wouldn’t
end well? That’s what you get for disobeying me.” And she leaned in further and
kissed my cheek and her lips felt like a death knell.
After the door closed behind her and
she was out of sight, Arthur finally regained his power of speech.
“Everyone out,” he commanded. As
everyone came back to life, I tried to force myself toward the door, but his
eyes caught mine and held me still. “Not you,” he whispered, but I still heard
him. I wanted to collapse but couldn’t. I didn’t deserve the pity such an
action would gain. I hoped Arthur would run me through. It seemed the only
thing that would make me feel better. Perhaps a real wound would keep me from
hurting so much on the inside.
Guinevere hesitated, looking between
Arthur and me, her hand on his arm, but he gently removed it and spoke to her
too softly for me to hear what was said. Merlin stayed by Arthur’s side and I
met his eyes, pleading silently with him to do something whatever it might be. He looked to be in great mental
turmoil himself, and stared at me as if not really seeing me, but into my very
soul.
Everyone was gone now but the three
of us, and Arthur finally turned to Merlin. “You too, Merlin.”
“Arthur,” Merlin began but Arthur
cut him off.
“I will speak with Mordred alone,”
he snapped.
Merlin looked as if he would
protest, but he did not. He strode away, past me, and slammed the huge doors of
the hall behind him. I felt suddenly very small and young, though I was now
nearing my eighteenth birthday, and could only stare at the floor at my feet.
The silence was deafening, and finally I could take it no longer and had to
speak first.
“My lord,” I began, my voice empty
and small in the large room. Arthur spun around, startling me, as every line of
him was taught, anger and grief clearly warring inside.
“What do I possibly say to this,
Mordred?” he cried, throwing his arms wide. “I don’t rightly know what to
think. What am I supposed to say? Tell me!” the last was shouted, his fists
clenching as he strode to a few feet of me. I startled at the sudden movement.
“My lord…” but he would not let me
finish.
“I called you son!” he shouted.
“You, Mordred you called me father! I
took you into my house, I made you one of my knights, I was going to give my kingdom to you!” I jerked away as he said
it, anguish flowing through me and making me gasp silently.
“Now you made a fool of me in front
of my men and my enemies, and above all my
queen!” he screamed. He stepped forward and grabbed me by the shoulders,
shaking me until my bones rattled. “What did you mean to accomplish? Did you
really come to kill me as Morgan said? If so then why by all the saints didn’t
you strike when you had the chance!”
“I could never kill you, my lord,” I
whispered, feeling the tears threating in my eyes, and refusing to let them
fall. I could not allow them to, because I could not let him pity me. I didn’t
deserve it.
“No?” Arthur cried, shaking me
again, his hands like iron claws on my arms, bruising me. “And how am I to
believe that if you lied about everything else?”
He shoved me backwards and I fell,
instinctively protecting my face as I expected him to begin to beat me as
Morgan had. But when no blows came, I looked up at him and saw him looking down
at me with a broken expression and realized with shock that he was fighting
back tears himself. I stood slowly, guarded. Arthur watched me and shook his
head slowly.
“I loved you, Mordred,” he
whispered. “I thought…I never thought I would have a son, and then you…” he
stopped, his voice breaking and he seemed to steel himself before he continued,
his voice hardened. “But it can’t go on. Not this lie, Mordred. I can’t have
it.”
“My lord?” I asked, suddenly
frightened. I did not know what he was going to do.
He stepped toward me and grabbed the
belt around my waist, yanking it free and taking up the sword I wore, the one
he had given me. “I took you into my confidence, I trusted you with my life,
and you probably told her everything.” He threw the sword aside angrily; it
skidded along the stone floor and clattered against the wall.
“No, my lord, I told her nothing!” I
cried.
“How do I know every word you speak
is not a lie?” Arthur shouted helplessly. “You lied once, more than once, you
can lie again. Every word you speak is likely poison!”
“I wanted to tell, my lord,” I said,
my chest and throat aching with the need to sob. “But she would have killed
you! I thought that…that if she thought I would do it, then it would hold her
off. I don’t want to hurt you!”
“I can’t have you here anymore,
Mordred,” Arthur said in a low voice, every word forced from between his lips
like poison. “You must…you must go.”
“My lord, please,” I pleaded in a
whisper, my arms wrapping around my chest as the pain worsened and I nearly
doubled over. “Please don’t. I would rather you kill me.”
“You must leave, Mordred,” Arthur
said again, more firmly, but I could see the wetness in his eyes. “I
don’t…ever…want to see you again.”
“No, please,” I whispered, my voice
breaking. I seemed unable to stand and finally crumpled to my knees, my arms
wrapped around myself as if to hold everything together. I felt like I was
falling apart, breaking into a hundred pieces.
“I have no choice, Mordred,” Arthur
said, a single tear sliding down his cheek. “This cannot go unpunished. Do you
see that I cannot just pardon you? That is the kind of thing that has gotten me
into this situation in the first place. Too trusting, to weak.” He spat the
last word even as his voice quavered.
“Please don’t make me leave,” I
whispered.
“You must!” he suddenly shouted, and
loomed over me. “Now get up and leave.”
“Arthur…” I choked out.
“Do not say my name!” he cried, but
it was more pained than angry. “Just get up.”
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t look at
him. I had no strength left. He stepped forward with a sigh and gripped my
arms, hauling me to my feet. “Leave, now, and take nothing but what you came
with. And never return to Camelot.”
“Please don’t!” I pleaded again,
gripping his cloak as he stopped at the door, one hand on the latch, the other
still holding me upright. “Please, I beg you!”
“Stop.” Arthur’s voice was only a
whisper now. I couldn’t force myself to turn around to face him, but I felt the
hesitation in his the hand he still had on my shoulder and clearly heard the
waver in his voice. Finally, he renewed his grip on me and opened the door. “Just
leave. Please.”
With a sudden decided action, I was
thrown out, and landed heavily on my hands and knees, as the door slammed
behind me, followed closely by a scream of anguish. I choked on a sob as I
seemed unable to move, wanting no more than to lie there.
“Mordred.” Merlin was suddenly
beside me, his arms around my shoulders as he pulled me to my feet. I clung to
him like a drowning man, and he drew me closer, offering comfort though it did
me little good, for I was beyond all human comfort at that moment.
“I will speak to him,” the sorcerer
was saying. “Make him see sense.”
“No,” I choked out, pulling back to
look up at him. “No, Merlin, it will do no good. He will only throw you out
too.”
“He can certainly try,” Merlin said
darkly, then hissing, “Damn Morgan la Fay.”
“I have to go,” I told him, trying
to pull myself together, every piece played from my soul, even as I felt myself
sagging even more. “It was all my fault, and I have paid for it now. Farewell,
Merlin, for I doubt I shall see you again.”
“Mordred, you can’t leave,” Merlin
said urgently, still gripping my forearms. “If you leave now then your destiny and
your doom will be sealed along with Arthur’s. Do you not see that this is what
Morgan wanted the whole time?”
“I can’t stay here,” I told him
again. “I’m going far away, and I still hold to my vow that I will not kill
Arthur. I cannot.”
“It’s not that simple, Mordred!”
Merlin cried, but I was already pulling away from him.
“Thank you for all you have done for
me,” I told him quietly. “I only wish it did not have to end like this.”
Merlin watched silently as I turned
around and headed on shaky legs out to the barracks and the stables. I packed
my things and found my old sword again which caused a fresh pain to stab
through my chest as I thought of how I would miss the feel of Arthur’s old,
faithful blade in my hand. The one I had been so proud to receive; that had
made me feel a little like I belonged somewhere. Then I went to find Elith and
saddled him up and just like that, I was off the castle grounds and back
through the city.
As I rode away, I could not help one
look back at Camelot disappearing from my sight, forever now, for I knew I
could never stand to look upon her again. It was then that the tears came and I
hunched over Elith’s neck and sobbed into his mane. I had truly lost everything
now, and I had no one to blame but myself.
©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
ANNOUNCEMENT
Next week, there won't be a chapter of Voices Beneath posted because I'm hosting Modern Bard's first official story challenge! I'll post the itinerary this weekend with a bit more info, but I'll be posting the challenge stories all through next week, so I really hope everyone will make time to come and check it out.
I appreciate when people don't blame others, but in this case I think Mordred has every reason to hold Morgan partially responsible.
ReplyDeleteAbigail
Yes, as do I. Mordred really only kept the truth from Arthur so as not to hurt him. If he had been able to break the curse, he would have told Arthur everything anyway, it's just Morgan got there first.
DeleteAnd it's not like it was his fault he was cursed, either!
Delete