Well, we're back to the norm again! I just want to thank all my writers who took part in the first official challenge of Modern Bard, and if you missed the stories, please go back and read them! It was really fun, and we'll be doing another challenge that I will announce later this month. If you want to get in on it, please let me know!
Anyway, back to Mordred's story!
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chapter twenty-four
where it all began
I rode
for a while until I found my way into one of the outlying towns and decided
that it was as good a place as any to stay for the night. In the state I was
in, I wouldn’t have cared whether I slept in an actual bed, on the floor, or on
the side of the road somewhere, but I decided that with the rain and the cold
weather, it was probably best to find some shelter for the night.
So I stabled Elith in the town
stable and went to the inn next door to get a room and something to eat. It was
a dark, unwelcoming place, with a surly keeper, but I cared little for it. I
was in no mood to do so, and between the sword on my hip and the dark
expression I wore on my face, no one seemed eager to give me trouble. I paid
for my room and took a bowl of stew and an ale over to a corner table where I
could watch the door. I didn’t think anyone would come for me, but I didn’t
know. I hoped—oh how I hoped—that Arthur himself might stride through that
door; or Gawain or even Merlin, perhaps, and fetch me back to Camelot, saying
it was all a misunderstanding.
But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t. I
knew, I always had from my first day in Camelot, that the price would be a high
one to pay, and now I paid it surely enough. But the important part was that I
didn’t blame Arthur. I couldn’t, in fact. It wasn’t his fault. The fault was
all mine for putting him into that position in the first place. For all the
time I had called him father, wishing with all my heart that it was indeed the
truth, how could I profess that I loved him so if I had done that to him in the
end. It seemed that holding back the truth had only made things worse. I wished
through every fiber of my being, that I had told him everything when I had been
cursed. If I had, none of this would have happened, and Lady Morgan probably
would have been brought to justice long since.
But if I had learned anything in my
life, it was that there was no reason to think of things that could never be
changed. Perhaps the things Merlin had said of destiny and fate were indeed
true, though I had never really believed them before. He had said I was
destined to kill Arthur, and Lady Morgan had said the same, but perhaps, after
all, it would not be because of the curse she had laid on me, but because I was
simply not there. I prayed that was not the case, but I was tied expertly, sure
enough. I could not go back to Arthur in fear of killing him under my spell,
but could I leave him as he went off to war and to a fate that might very well
turn out to be the same? There seemed to be nothing but a paradox about the
whole situation, and I found I could think on it no longer else I break myself
beyond repair. If that had not already been ruthlessly accomplished.
I finished my supper though I had
little appetite and went to my small, dirty room to sleep. I did not think I
would sleep, but oddly enough, my body simply seemed finished, and as soon as I
slumped onto the bed, I gave in to something deep inside me and I fell into a
dark stupor that I don’t think I really cared whether I woke up from or not.
The next morning, I woke before dawn
and left with Elith to go farther outside the kingdom.
I traveled for several days feeling
very alone after I had been a knight and a comrade for so long, realizing for
the first time, how much I really enjoyed the company of my fellows. I didn’t
really know where I was headed, I had no real path in mind, but I just knew I
wanted to get far away from Camelot and Arthur, even though, ironically, those
were the only things in this world that I truly wanted.
During that time, my eighteenth
birthday came. I didn’t rightly know when my birthday actually was, nor really
how old I was for that matter, but Morgan had counted my birthday to be the day
she found me on the streets, and I suppose I had kept that tradition over the
years. It had never bothered me not knowing my true age, or where I came from
or who my parents were. It didn’t truly bother me now, because I knew that the
only father I ever wanted to claim was Arthur. But I couldn’t help but wonder
that if I were still in Camelot, would Arthur have had a celebration for my
eighteenth birthday since he had made me his heir? I decided not to dwell on
it. I had only been his heir for a few minutes before Morgan la Fay had ruined
everything. I knew I was in the wrong for not telling Arthur in the first
place, but I would never forgive her that for as long as I lived. It would eat
at my soul until the day I died.
That day of my eighteenth birthday,
I felt strangely compelled in the direction of a small town. I didn’t really
recognize it at first, but as I rode Elith down the streets, I began to realize
it felt familiar and suddenly I caught a sight of a street and on the corner
several children in filthy rags sat begging the passing travelers for money or
food and then I remembered. This had been the place where it all began. Where
Morgan had found me all those years ago. Fate had somehow led me there, I knew
it to be certain, and I didn’t know if I wanted to know why.
I dismounted and left Elith tied to
a post at the side of the street and went over to the children who sat there,
so thin and filthy, and I knew that at one time I had been just like that. They
looked up at me, scared, huddled, and I wondered if I cut that horrible of a
figure that I would scare little children. I forced a smile and reached into my
pack, producing a loaf of bread I had bought the day before, and a few spare
coins I had. They gratefully took the gifts and began eating the bread
hungrily, with a vigor that made my heart ache.
I was about to turn away when I felt
a presence at my back and almost knew who was there before she spoke.
“So, it seems I was not the only one
drawn here this day.”
I turned and there she stood, just
as she had all those years ago, beguilingly beautiful, her dark hair tossed by
the wind, her dress, as always, blood red. But there was no enchantment for me
this time. No, like a man going protected through the Greenwood, she had no
Glamour that could trick my eyes and lead me to my doom. Not anymore.
My hand found my sword hilt. How
hard, I wondered, could it be to end her right there? I wanted to so badly, but
I knew she was more powerful than I.
“Why did you come?” I ground out
though my body trembled with some inner fear I couldn’t place.
She smiled slightly at me, coming
closer. “For the same reason you did. I was drawn here, Mordred, as were you.
We were meant to find each other here as we were all those years ago when you
were only a child.”
“I’m not a child any longer,” I told
her darkly. “You made sure of that. And I now know the devious serpent that
lies under that beguiling skin.”
Morgan’s smile widened into
something that made my skin crawl. She stepped ever closer, reaching out to
touch the hand I still had over my sword hilt, then brought it up to brush her
knuckles over my cheek. I shuddered at the contact, though I tried my best to
stand still.
“One of these days, Mordred, you
will have to realize that we were meant to be together. This bond we share—it
was prophesied. We together, were to take Arthur down and rule Camelot. You
could have that power, Mordred, if you will join me.”
I jerked away from her, fear and
anger clattering in my chest. “I want none of that. I only want everything you
took away from me. My friends, my family. But you,” I stepped toward her now,
and she actually took a step backward. I must have cut a fierce figure. “You
took it all away from me. Cursed me, twisted me, made me into a monster! You
took everything I ever loved away from me!” I was shouting now, backing her
against the wall, when suddenly her hand came up and clenched into a fist. I
felt that familiar pain, and collapsed to my knees, though I hardly cared. It
didn’t hurt now. Not like it once had.
When she released me, I looked up at
her as I climbed to my feet, hardly shaken. “You can’t hurt me anymore, Morgan
la Fay. The pain I feel in my heart is far worse than any paltry torment you
could muster.”
She was angered by this, but she
didn’t try anything else. I wondered if I really had shaken her. I hoped so.
“You make me sick, Mordred,” she
said, her voice shaking in concealed rage. “You somehow made Arthur love you
and even though he drove you away, I think he still loved you more than he ever
did me, his own sister, and you nothing but a street brat with no name! He was
going to give you his throne, just
like that, when it was to be mine
since his worthless queen couldn’t manage to produce his spawn. But instead he
adopts a boy who comes along at random and actually believes him when he says he’s his son!” She laughed harshly. “I
assumed he would have you killed instantly, Mordred. I was betting on it, but
you actually succeeded. I just don’t know how. I guess Arthur is just more
stupid than I ever thought.”
“He’s a better man than any I have
ever known,” I said defensively, my hand returning to the sword hilt. “And you
have no right to speak of him. You were a fool to think I would ever actually
kill him.”
She laughed again, darker this time.
“Oh, I didn’t really think so, Mordred, however, I know well enough that people
can surprise you. But now you’re cursed, and you can’t do anything about it.”
“I can kill you,” I said quietly,
sliding the sword from its sheath.
“Go ahead,” she said, spreading her
arms wide. “If you think you can. It would end everything right here; your
curse, the coming war. But would Arthur really take you back? No, and you know
that. It wouldn’t change anything. You would still be all alone with nowhere to
call home. You might as well join me, Mordred. You’re not going to stop what is
already started. This has been written long since, by seers far wiser than any
in this day. These events are too set in stone to change now.”
“Merlin told me that nothing is set
in stone,” I told her. “Arthur doesn’t have to die.”
She shook her head with a sigh. “Oh
Mordred, you are still as naïve as you always were. I almost pity you. Come
with me, dear. I will look after you and make sure you survive the war.”
“I will never go with you again,” I
snarled firmly. “I would rather die than join you.”
“Then that is how it will be,”
Morgan said matter-of-factly, shrugging in a businesslike manor. “You and
Arthur are destined to destroy each other, and it seems that that is what will
happen. I can say I do regret it a little. What I could teach you, Mordred; you
could almost be as great a warlock as Merlin with the time to practice.”
“I don’t want power,” I told her
firmly. “I only want Arthur to live through this. Even if it means I die in the
attempt.”
“It doesn’t have to be a tragedy,
Mordred.”
“It won’t be,” I said quietly. “Not
for anyone but you.”
She laughed again. “Your hatred of
me, Mordred, is nothing compared to what I feel toward Arthur. Remember that,
and we’ll see who wins in the end.”
“Hatred is not the strongest power
in this world,” I told her, a small smile flickering over my lips for the first
time in a long while. “Love is. And my love for Arthur is far greater than my
hatred of you or yours of him.”
She scoffed. “Love will bring you
nothing but heartache, Mordred. But I suppose you already have realized that.”
She turned, and looked back over her shoulder. “It seems this is goodbye then.
The next time we meet shall likely be on the battlefield.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “And I will kill
you.”
She disappeared around the corner
with a laugh. I headed back to where I had left Elith and mounted up again,
wanting to get as far away from this town as I could and never look back.
Only one thing was I certain of now.
And that was I would do everything in my power, or beyond it, to prove Morgan
wrong, and assure that fate could be changed.
