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tamingthemuseTitle: Drowning
Fandom: Original (based on the Arthurian Legends)
Prompt: Prompt 333 - Sensual
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 is feel too much.
It was strange, he thought, to be able to feel so much with his body. He was lying down on desolate hill, his body sprawled on the early morning summer grass. He had taken his shirt off wanted to feel the vegetation against his skin. He could feel the fresh moisture against his back, mixing with his sweat. It was refreshing. The wind was brushing his chest, wiping away the sweat and giving him slight goosebumps. Although he wasn't entirely sure they were cause by the wind alone. The tickling of the grass against his side felt incredibly good.
He closed his eyes, wanting to focus on every sensation alone, feel it at its maximum power. He wanted to laugh in pure joy. He wanted to cry in sheer despair
He felt at home resting against the grass, the vegetation embracing him and the wind caressing him. There was no one to judge and criticise him. He was welcome here and he could feel such happiness. In the grey castle of Camelot nothing was ever as bright. His eyes felt blinded by the endless corridor with minimum lights, his skin dirty with the mud of the town's streets, and his ears defeated by the display of so many lives.
It was the reason why he always needed to ride away to those distant hills on a regular basis. He needed to breathe, feel alive and free again.
He missed the Orkney islands so much. He wished he could return to them and live a peaceful life in the north where so many people ever ventured. He had contemplated the idea many times since his first arrival in Camelot but he had never been able to act on this impulse. He had tried. He had even gone as far as getting his horse ready but every time he could sense his mother's nails tickling his neck in a possessive gesture, and her warm breath against his ears whispering - threatening - that he couldn't come back until and unless he was victorious - until Arthur was dead.
He opened his eyes. He couldn't feel the welcoming embrace of the lonely hillside. His mother had crept back inside of him, running in his veins and aiming for his brain. He curled up in a bawl, enlarging his legs in his arms and pressing them tight against his chest. He wished he could press hard enough to get her out, but the pain was never enough. It was almost as if the harder he tried, the stronger he felt her.
Warm, salted tears fell against his cheeks. He shut his eyes as tight as he could, not wanting to drown in his sorrow but needing her to be washed away.
In the distance the waves were breaking against the hard rocks of the cliffs surrounding the coast. He could faintly hear them above the muffled sounds of his tears, and wished he had never survived his terrible first taste of the salted waters.
Fandom: Original (based on the Arthurian Legends)
Prompt: Prompt 333 - Sensual
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 is feel too much.
It was strange, he thought, to be able to feel so much with his body. He was lying down on desolate hill, his body sprawled on the early morning summer grass. He had taken his shirt off wanted to feel the vegetation against his skin. He could feel the fresh moisture against his back, mixing with his sweat. It was refreshing. The wind was brushing his chest, wiping away the sweat and giving him slight goosebumps. Although he wasn't entirely sure they were cause by the wind alone. The tickling of the grass against his side felt incredibly good.
He closed his eyes, wanting to focus on every sensation alone, feel it at its maximum power. He wanted to laugh in pure joy. He wanted to cry in sheer despair
He felt at home resting against the grass, the vegetation embracing him and the wind caressing him. There was no one to judge and criticise him. He was welcome here and he could feel such happiness. In the grey castle of Camelot nothing was ever as bright. His eyes felt blinded by the endless corridor with minimum lights, his skin dirty with the mud of the town's streets, and his ears defeated by the display of so many lives.
It was the reason why he always needed to ride away to those distant hills on a regular basis. He needed to breathe, feel alive and free again.
He missed the Orkney islands so much. He wished he could return to them and live a peaceful life in the north where so many people ever ventured. He had contemplated the idea many times since his first arrival in Camelot but he had never been able to act on this impulse. He had tried. He had even gone as far as getting his horse ready but every time he could sense his mother's nails tickling his neck in a possessive gesture, and her warm breath against his ears whispering - threatening - that he couldn't come back until and unless he was victorious - until Arthur was dead.
He opened his eyes. He couldn't feel the welcoming embrace of the lonely hillside. His mother had crept back inside of him, running in his veins and aiming for his brain. He curled up in a bawl, enlarging his legs in his arms and pressing them tight against his chest. He wished he could press hard enough to get her out, but the pain was never enough. It was almost as if the harder he tried, the stronger he felt her.
Warm, salted tears fell against his cheeks. He shut his eyes as tight as he could, not wanting to drown in his sorrow but needing her to be washed away.
In the distance the waves were breaking against the hard rocks of the cliffs surrounding the coast. He could faintly hear them above the muffled sounds of his tears, and wished he had never survived his terrible first taste of the salted waters.
