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tamingthemuseTitle: Listen
Fandom: Original (based on the Arthurian Legends)
Prompt: #279 - Rabble-rouser
Warnings: Reincarnation theme. Not as reread as I would have liked.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The Arthurian Legends are in the public domain. I make no reference to any copyrighted work. So all is mine.
Beta: None, so any mistakes you see are mine.
Summary: One ability that Mordred never lost through all his reincarnations was his ability of speech..
One ability that Mordred never lost through all his reincarnations was his ability of speech. He had been trained very carefully by his mother since he had spoken his first words and knew perfectly well how to address a single person and was even better with mobs. He knew how to twist words, and how to bend his voice to his message. His mother had trained him to perfection and had engraved this ability so deep in him that it followed him time and time again. It was maybe one of the teachings of his mother he didn't regret, didn't despise. Among all that she taught him this had been the one lesson that had remained useful at all times. True he didn't like the reasons why she had taught him those skills, but it was useful nonetheless and nobody said he had to use them for bad reasons anymore, like he once did.
Now this ability mainly served him in difficult situations or when he wanted to escape the company of people without appearing rude. But he had to admit, in all his lifetime, no matter what he did, he always missed the exhilirating feeling of adrenaline and joy that flowed in him whenever he had a mob under his control. There had always been something incredibly satisfying in seeing how easily he could manipulate people, how easily he could turn people against their own principles. It was like a challenge: take a person and make him believe the contrary of what he preaches. It was a game, a trick, something Mordred loved. But in this lifetime he hated the fact that he loved doing that and forced himself not to practice it. But it was proving really difficult sometimes, like in that moment. Mordred was sitting in the train back from Wales to London and all he wanted to do was being left alone with his thoughts. He had gone back to Camlann, to the place that had witness his first last breath, to the place that had made him realized he had been wrong all along for the first time. But instead of being left alone he had been stuck with a noisy seat neighbour who wouldn't stop babbling about her grand-children awaiting her in London and how that was going to be the first time in twenty years that she was going to the capital and how much did he think it had changed?
Mordred didn't want to seem impolite and ask the old lady to shut up. He had made the promise to be better in this lifetime but it was proving really difficult in that instant. He could feel old feelings awakening in him, old training from his mother teaching him to despise other people and feel superior because he was a knight of Camelot, because he was the son of Morgause of Orkney who was feared by all, because he was the son of King Arthur, because he was the legitimate heir to the throne no matter what people said. But he forced himself not to feel this way, not to want to prove to himself he was superior to this old lady by starting to twist her thoughts. So instead he forced himself to listen for once and not talk. It was a lesson that had to be learn. And it didn't matter that it was going to be painful. He needed to kill those feelings of mob stirrer, he needed to annihilate all trace of joy in being good at speaking, in being great at mob manipulation. It was a new life and talking wasn't for now. Now was the time to listen.
Fandom: Original (based on the Arthurian Legends)
Prompt: #279 - Rabble-rouser
Warnings: Reincarnation theme. Not as reread as I would have liked.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The Arthurian Legends are in the public domain. I make no reference to any copyrighted work. So all is mine.
Beta: None, so any mistakes you see are mine.
Summary: One ability that Mordred never lost through all his reincarnations was his ability of speech..
One ability that Mordred never lost through all his reincarnations was his ability of speech. He had been trained very carefully by his mother since he had spoken his first words and knew perfectly well how to address a single person and was even better with mobs. He knew how to twist words, and how to bend his voice to his message. His mother had trained him to perfection and had engraved this ability so deep in him that it followed him time and time again. It was maybe one of the teachings of his mother he didn't regret, didn't despise. Among all that she taught him this had been the one lesson that had remained useful at all times. True he didn't like the reasons why she had taught him those skills, but it was useful nonetheless and nobody said he had to use them for bad reasons anymore, like he once did.
Now this ability mainly served him in difficult situations or when he wanted to escape the company of people without appearing rude. But he had to admit, in all his lifetime, no matter what he did, he always missed the exhilirating feeling of adrenaline and joy that flowed in him whenever he had a mob under his control. There had always been something incredibly satisfying in seeing how easily he could manipulate people, how easily he could turn people against their own principles. It was like a challenge: take a person and make him believe the contrary of what he preaches. It was a game, a trick, something Mordred loved. But in this lifetime he hated the fact that he loved doing that and forced himself not to practice it. But it was proving really difficult sometimes, like in that moment. Mordred was sitting in the train back from Wales to London and all he wanted to do was being left alone with his thoughts. He had gone back to Camlann, to the place that had witness his first last breath, to the place that had made him realized he had been wrong all along for the first time. But instead of being left alone he had been stuck with a noisy seat neighbour who wouldn't stop babbling about her grand-children awaiting her in London and how that was going to be the first time in twenty years that she was going to the capital and how much did he think it had changed?
Mordred didn't want to seem impolite and ask the old lady to shut up. He had made the promise to be better in this lifetime but it was proving really difficult in that instant. He could feel old feelings awakening in him, old training from his mother teaching him to despise other people and feel superior because he was a knight of Camelot, because he was the son of Morgause of Orkney who was feared by all, because he was the son of King Arthur, because he was the legitimate heir to the throne no matter what people said. But he forced himself not to feel this way, not to want to prove to himself he was superior to this old lady by starting to twist her thoughts. So instead he forced himself to listen for once and not talk. It was a lesson that had to be learn. And it didn't matter that it was going to be painful. He needed to kill those feelings of mob stirrer, he needed to annihilate all trace of joy in being good at speaking, in being great at mob manipulation. It was a new life and talking wasn't for now. Now was the time to listen.
