Post by Chevalier D'eon on Jan 10, 2013 3:05:37 GMT -5
Mordreds Dream Sequence
As with any dream, this one began with no change. Blood was the aroma that held dominion over all senses. Maybe her eyes could have beheld the genocidal levels of this stench, but truthfully Mordred could only see her enemy. At the same time, this man was her only salvation and reason for living. If she used Clarent to take Arthurs life here, then her own existence would also be erased from purpose. But she wasn’t naïve enough to believe the King held the same perspective, no; his dream may have been broken but it trumped his people, the knights and even family. This man was corrupted by a blind greed for the crown; his “son” had little choice but to strip this defiling force. So that was what she fought for on the hill of swords.
The frustration that surfaced during the battle was endless, each swing the only thought on her mind was why this confrontation even needed to happen? Those holy blades sang out as they were pitied and grinded against one another, a bitter sibling rivalry in the hands of 2 women both blind to the others thoughts, intentions and even gender. Still that overwhelming question kept on nagging until Mordred was forced to address it and receive some semblance of an answer.
“ It’s over King Arthur, no matter which one of us emerges victorious; your kingdom is no more…Why couldn’t you just give the crown to me?! Was your hatred for Morganna so great that you carried that same spite down upon me?!”
While the twin pair were locked together, the King responded to a question that had consumed and become the very core of Mordred’s hate for so long. The answer held both relief and horror behind it. The entire reason she was fighting was stripped from her…
“I never once despised you, the reason I did not turn over the crown is simple; you lacked the capacity of a king.”
There was no reaction to be made, her weapon remained temporarily suspended in mid air as the daughter tried to take in the meaning of the words. She wasn’t hated, not rejected… then why was she treated with such indifference?
Before any answers could be reached, the moment disappeared and was replaced with a severing pain that cut deep into her body, disrupting thought. Her mind couldn’t even acknowledge the source as another rupture of suffering took the originals place. She knew it was mortal, that life and body had just been reduced to mere seconds. Blood was leaking into her vision and as her helmet fell away; she finally saw Arthur clearly for the first time. Arthur kept her face down as if she held some kind of shame in the action she’d just taken.
Despite lacking the will or function to perform the next action, Mordred’s right hand raised plunging Clarent into Arthur’s stomach, returning a mortal strike of her own. But this wasn’t what she wanted, her own pain was ignored seeing the agony that was now coming to bare on her father. She’d reach out to touch his body one time murmuring this mans parental tidal… but it fell short as her life expired.
“ Father…”
She’d already remembered this moment in time in endless cycles; it’s the memory that defined her by history and her very soul. But lately there had been blood thirsty content that seemed out of place, Mordred delighting in Arturia’s suffering and speaking with complete arrogance to her king. That didn’t play out this time; it seemed more fueled by memory and desire than anything else. So that was a lie, part of the reason she’d left… was false? But that hardly means she should have remained. Everything was lined up against them, all the ingredients necessary to create the conflict the second time were very present.
Then thick clouds of faded recollection split away, opening to reveal a wounded father clutching the body that he himself had just laid to waste. There was unbearable grief in his expression as the child’s body was rocked as if the attempt were to comfort a sleeping babe. Tears slipped down the side of the king’s face as his regard for his own mortal wound was dismissed; only the child in his grasp mattered.
“I’m sorry my son, I failed you… I failed you.” Arthur’s lips pressed against the fallen soul’s forehead, giving his final fair well and hoping to send the belated affection a crossed the boundaries of life and death where his child now slept.
__
This conclusion alone would have been enough to set her soul, mind and heart at peace. Did it really happen? Was this a glimpse of the past? It was a simple dream wasn’t it?... What she remembers next was returning home, the first day it happened. To say she feared opening the door into the dojo would have been an understatement. Without the resolve a warrior, it never could have happened. The ability to hide her gender was gone, the same hateful circumstances yet existed… and the only words spoken to her by anyone of merit will be scorn and maybe she might be kicked right back out. But that would confirm it right? That she no longer belonged here? If she can face nations in battle, she could open this door and take whatever assault awaited.
With one long breath before performing the act, she’d push the door open to an empty room. She’d take a few steps inside until distancing herself from the threshold and arriving at the areas center. Another breath was required in order to find a new level of strength which permitted her voice to announce her presence. “Father, I have returned!...” and if summoned there she stood, right before her at the end of the stairwell. No matter of breathing gave her the kind confidence she’d need to begin speaking. Her eyes couldn’t even lay on Arturia very long until retreating back to the floor. She’d taken her eyes away from her, which made it difficult to predict what occurred next.
“ Ah…!”
There was a slight gasp from the girl as the equally sized woman binded her arms tightly about her daughter, holding her close as if she’d been a lost irreplaceable treasure that had all but been given up on. But here it was now, she grasped it with all the parental might she had in her; afraid that it might slip away again. There were no words said, they didn’t need them… there arms and tears would reflect the absolute longing one had for the other. Mordred’s own arms found there way around her fathers, she had no intention of ever releasing this woman until her very life expired. “Welcome home my son, forget everything that happened. Let’s just be a family… never do this to me again, I beg of you.”
“… I’m sorry father… I will never leave your side.”
The girl shot awake on the floor mat of the Aslem residence. There was a storm outside and the same rain that fell from the skies face could match the water streaming from Mordreds.
“Father needs me… Oh god what have I done!?”
As with any dream, this one began with no change. Blood was the aroma that held dominion over all senses. Maybe her eyes could have beheld the genocidal levels of this stench, but truthfully Mordred could only see her enemy. At the same time, this man was her only salvation and reason for living. If she used Clarent to take Arthurs life here, then her own existence would also be erased from purpose. But she wasn’t naïve enough to believe the King held the same perspective, no; his dream may have been broken but it trumped his people, the knights and even family. This man was corrupted by a blind greed for the crown; his “son” had little choice but to strip this defiling force. So that was what she fought for on the hill of swords.
The frustration that surfaced during the battle was endless, each swing the only thought on her mind was why this confrontation even needed to happen? Those holy blades sang out as they were pitied and grinded against one another, a bitter sibling rivalry in the hands of 2 women both blind to the others thoughts, intentions and even gender. Still that overwhelming question kept on nagging until Mordred was forced to address it and receive some semblance of an answer.
“ It’s over King Arthur, no matter which one of us emerges victorious; your kingdom is no more…Why couldn’t you just give the crown to me?! Was your hatred for Morganna so great that you carried that same spite down upon me?!”
While the twin pair were locked together, the King responded to a question that had consumed and become the very core of Mordred’s hate for so long. The answer held both relief and horror behind it. The entire reason she was fighting was stripped from her…
“I never once despised you, the reason I did not turn over the crown is simple; you lacked the capacity of a king.”
There was no reaction to be made, her weapon remained temporarily suspended in mid air as the daughter tried to take in the meaning of the words. She wasn’t hated, not rejected… then why was she treated with such indifference?
Before any answers could be reached, the moment disappeared and was replaced with a severing pain that cut deep into her body, disrupting thought. Her mind couldn’t even acknowledge the source as another rupture of suffering took the originals place. She knew it was mortal, that life and body had just been reduced to mere seconds. Blood was leaking into her vision and as her helmet fell away; she finally saw Arthur clearly for the first time. Arthur kept her face down as if she held some kind of shame in the action she’d just taken.
Despite lacking the will or function to perform the next action, Mordred’s right hand raised plunging Clarent into Arthur’s stomach, returning a mortal strike of her own. But this wasn’t what she wanted, her own pain was ignored seeing the agony that was now coming to bare on her father. She’d reach out to touch his body one time murmuring this mans parental tidal… but it fell short as her life expired.
“ Father…”
She’d already remembered this moment in time in endless cycles; it’s the memory that defined her by history and her very soul. But lately there had been blood thirsty content that seemed out of place, Mordred delighting in Arturia’s suffering and speaking with complete arrogance to her king. That didn’t play out this time; it seemed more fueled by memory and desire than anything else. So that was a lie, part of the reason she’d left… was false? But that hardly means she should have remained. Everything was lined up against them, all the ingredients necessary to create the conflict the second time were very present.
Then thick clouds of faded recollection split away, opening to reveal a wounded father clutching the body that he himself had just laid to waste. There was unbearable grief in his expression as the child’s body was rocked as if the attempt were to comfort a sleeping babe. Tears slipped down the side of the king’s face as his regard for his own mortal wound was dismissed; only the child in his grasp mattered.
“I’m sorry my son, I failed you… I failed you.” Arthur’s lips pressed against the fallen soul’s forehead, giving his final fair well and hoping to send the belated affection a crossed the boundaries of life and death where his child now slept.
__
This conclusion alone would have been enough to set her soul, mind and heart at peace. Did it really happen? Was this a glimpse of the past? It was a simple dream wasn’t it?... What she remembers next was returning home, the first day it happened. To say she feared opening the door into the dojo would have been an understatement. Without the resolve a warrior, it never could have happened. The ability to hide her gender was gone, the same hateful circumstances yet existed… and the only words spoken to her by anyone of merit will be scorn and maybe she might be kicked right back out. But that would confirm it right? That she no longer belonged here? If she can face nations in battle, she could open this door and take whatever assault awaited.
With one long breath before performing the act, she’d push the door open to an empty room. She’d take a few steps inside until distancing herself from the threshold and arriving at the areas center. Another breath was required in order to find a new level of strength which permitted her voice to announce her presence. “Father, I have returned!...” and if summoned there she stood, right before her at the end of the stairwell. No matter of breathing gave her the kind confidence she’d need to begin speaking. Her eyes couldn’t even lay on Arturia very long until retreating back to the floor. She’d taken her eyes away from her, which made it difficult to predict what occurred next.
“ Ah…!”
There was a slight gasp from the girl as the equally sized woman binded her arms tightly about her daughter, holding her close as if she’d been a lost irreplaceable treasure that had all but been given up on. But here it was now, she grasped it with all the parental might she had in her; afraid that it might slip away again. There were no words said, they didn’t need them… there arms and tears would reflect the absolute longing one had for the other. Mordred’s own arms found there way around her fathers, she had no intention of ever releasing this woman until her very life expired. “Welcome home my son, forget everything that happened. Let’s just be a family… never do this to me again, I beg of you.”
“… I’m sorry father… I will never leave your side.”
The girl shot awake on the floor mat of the Aslem residence. There was a storm outside and the same rain that fell from the skies face could match the water streaming from Mordreds.
“Father needs me… Oh god what have I done!?”
