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tamingthemuseTitle: Wrong king
Fandom: Arthurian legends
Prompt: Prompt 364 - Dystopia
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: after the pain and when the wounds would have healed, they would all see that he had been right, that violence was the only way to end the reign of the wrong King.
Mordred was sitting on the floor, his back reclining against the foot of a chair. The fire was crackling in front of him. He was sure that if he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was back in the Orkney island. Only there would be no lively whisper from Gareth and Gaheris lost in conversation, no energetic movement from Aggravain's numerous exercises, and no quiet breathing from Gawain deep in a book or in thought.
He missed that time. It was all easier then. He could close his eyes and imagine a new world. He could picture himself in Camelot as a knight defending the weaker. He would bring peace, be part of the Round Table and the ideal world of Arthur.
That had never happened.
It had been the dream, the idea at a time when he hadn't known who he was. When Morgause had told him the truth about his identity his dream had shattered. He had still wanted to be part of Arthur's kingdom deep down inside of him, but this dream was being smothered to death as he grew to hate the King - the man that could never love him.
As a spark jumped out of the chimney, Mordred wondered if it was then that the world had collapsed for him, when he had realised he would never be a perfect knight, never truly be accepted. Or was it when he had set foot in Camelot and when Arthur had avoided his gaze and presence as often as he could? He didn't know. One thing that he did know was that this constant carefulness around him had comforted him in his growing hatred of his father and his dream.
Yes, he thought. It was not my fault. Arthur's dream had a fault. He would not love me.
As this thought reached him, he got up on his feet and smiled.
He stood for a moment longer in silent.
The oncoming end of the kingdom was right. He, Mordred, was right to fight him, Arthur.
It was not a perfect world he had built, not when a father hated his son so much he couldn't bear to look at him.
He had to bring a new world about. It was all done to him. He was the rightful heir after all. The son to correct his father's mistake.
He walked away from the chimney, his back straight and his gaze lost far in the future.
Blood needed to be shed and for a while chaos would ensue. But after that, after the pain and when the wounds would have healed, they would all see that he had been right, that violence was the only way to end the reign of the wrong King. The King that lied and did not practiced what he preached. The King that tried to murder his own flesh and blood.
Fandom: Arthurian legends
Prompt: Prompt 364 - Dystopia
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: after the pain and when the wounds would have healed, they would all see that he had been right, that violence was the only way to end the reign of the wrong King.
Mordred was sitting on the floor, his back reclining against the foot of a chair. The fire was crackling in front of him. He was sure that if he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was back in the Orkney island. Only there would be no lively whisper from Gareth and Gaheris lost in conversation, no energetic movement from Aggravain's numerous exercises, and no quiet breathing from Gawain deep in a book or in thought.
He missed that time. It was all easier then. He could close his eyes and imagine a new world. He could picture himself in Camelot as a knight defending the weaker. He would bring peace, be part of the Round Table and the ideal world of Arthur.
That had never happened.
It had been the dream, the idea at a time when he hadn't known who he was. When Morgause had told him the truth about his identity his dream had shattered. He had still wanted to be part of Arthur's kingdom deep down inside of him, but this dream was being smothered to death as he grew to hate the King - the man that could never love him.
As a spark jumped out of the chimney, Mordred wondered if it was then that the world had collapsed for him, when he had realised he would never be a perfect knight, never truly be accepted. Or was it when he had set foot in Camelot and when Arthur had avoided his gaze and presence as often as he could? He didn't know. One thing that he did know was that this constant carefulness around him had comforted him in his growing hatred of his father and his dream.
Yes, he thought. It was not my fault. Arthur's dream had a fault. He would not love me.
As this thought reached him, he got up on his feet and smiled.
He stood for a moment longer in silent.
The oncoming end of the kingdom was right. He, Mordred, was right to fight him, Arthur.
It was not a perfect world he had built, not when a father hated his son so much he couldn't bear to look at him.
He had to bring a new world about. It was all done to him. He was the rightful heir after all. The son to correct his father's mistake.
He walked away from the chimney, his back straight and his gaze lost far in the future.
Blood needed to be shed and for a while chaos would ensue. But after that, after the pain and when the wounds would have healed, they would all see that he had been right, that violence was the only way to end the reign of the wrong King. The King that lied and did not practiced what he preached. The King that tried to murder his own flesh and blood.
