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tamingthemuseTitle: Stories and truth
Fandom: Original (based on the Arthurian Legends)
Prompt: #300 - Decay
Warnings: None.
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: Mordred brought his pony to a halt in front of a dead bird.
Mordred brought his pony to a halt in front of a dead bird. He jumped off on the sand and crouched near the animal. It was strange to see it lying like that. It didn't seem real, his body too stiff. It reminded him of dead animals his father always brought back to the castle after a hunt, but this one was much smaller, almost like a toy.
Mordred probed it with his finger. It was cold.
"It's dead."
Mordrer jerked backwards almost falling on his back. He stumbled back to his feet, straightening to face his mother.
"I know. It's just..." His voice trailed off. He hadn't been able to stop himself in time, now he would have to voice his thought and look stupid in the eye of his mother. He looked at his feet. "It's just that it doesn't look like it should. It seems fake."
"How should it look?"
Mordred raised his head. His mother hadn't implied he had been stupid. He spoke, his voice more confident. "It should.." He wanted to say alive but he knew it was a stupid answer, and it wasn't what he really wanted to say. "I'm not sure. I feel like it should be less stiff. It seems stuffed but it's not. It's still flesh and blood."
His mother shifted her focus on the bird, as if judging the words of her son against the dead animal.
"Do we all look... stuffed when we die?"
"We do."
Mordred thought about it for a moment. "Do we all have to?"
Morgause laughed. The young boy bent his head once more, feeling his blood rushed to his cheeks. It had been a stupid question. He heard the shuffle of his mother's dress as she knelt in front of him. She raised his head by the chin and forced him to look at her. "We don't have a choice in this matter Mordred, but it doesn't matter. If you weave enough stories, if you make yourself into a prince, a hero, all that people will see when you die will be the memories of you alive and you will seem to burn with fire and be illuminated by the gods."
"Even if I'm all stiff and cold?"
"Yes, even if you're stiff and cold. People always see what they want to see, what you tell them to see."
"But then why did I saw uncle like that bird when he died? Shouldn't I have seen him according to my memories?"
"Not you Mordred. You're a gifted boy, you see beyond the stories. You see the truth." She stared hard into his eyes. "That's why you'll be a king someday. You see the truth and soon you'll be able to turn it into stories."
Mordred felt uncomfortable at this idea but before he could say anything his mother spoke again. "Now get back on your pony. Your father will be waiting for us at dinner if we don't hurry back."
He did as he was told. He wanted to ask his mother what she had meant about the truth and the stories, but she was already walking away from the beach, back to the castle.
Fandom: Original (based on the Arthurian Legends)
Prompt: #300 - Decay
Warnings: None.
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: Mordred brought his pony to a halt in front of a dead bird.
Mordred brought his pony to a halt in front of a dead bird. He jumped off on the sand and crouched near the animal. It was strange to see it lying like that. It didn't seem real, his body too stiff. It reminded him of dead animals his father always brought back to the castle after a hunt, but this one was much smaller, almost like a toy.
Mordred probed it with his finger. It was cold.
"It's dead."
Mordrer jerked backwards almost falling on his back. He stumbled back to his feet, straightening to face his mother.
"I know. It's just..." His voice trailed off. He hadn't been able to stop himself in time, now he would have to voice his thought and look stupid in the eye of his mother. He looked at his feet. "It's just that it doesn't look like it should. It seems fake."
"How should it look?"
Mordred raised his head. His mother hadn't implied he had been stupid. He spoke, his voice more confident. "It should.." He wanted to say alive but he knew it was a stupid answer, and it wasn't what he really wanted to say. "I'm not sure. I feel like it should be less stiff. It seems stuffed but it's not. It's still flesh and blood."
His mother shifted her focus on the bird, as if judging the words of her son against the dead animal.
"Do we all look... stuffed when we die?"
"We do."
Mordred thought about it for a moment. "Do we all have to?"
Morgause laughed. The young boy bent his head once more, feeling his blood rushed to his cheeks. It had been a stupid question. He heard the shuffle of his mother's dress as she knelt in front of him. She raised his head by the chin and forced him to look at her. "We don't have a choice in this matter Mordred, but it doesn't matter. If you weave enough stories, if you make yourself into a prince, a hero, all that people will see when you die will be the memories of you alive and you will seem to burn with fire and be illuminated by the gods."
"Even if I'm all stiff and cold?"
"Yes, even if you're stiff and cold. People always see what they want to see, what you tell them to see."
"But then why did I saw uncle like that bird when he died? Shouldn't I have seen him according to my memories?"
"Not you Mordred. You're a gifted boy, you see beyond the stories. You see the truth." She stared hard into his eyes. "That's why you'll be a king someday. You see the truth and soon you'll be able to turn it into stories."
Mordred felt uncomfortable at this idea but before he could say anything his mother spoke again. "Now get back on your pony. Your father will be waiting for us at dinner if we don't hurry back."
He did as he was told. He wanted to ask his mother what she had meant about the truth and the stories, but she was already walking away from the beach, back to the castle.
