Sins of the Father

[Arthur Pendragon]

"Your thinking with your head, Arthur. Think with your heart." That had been part of the problem. Usually he followed what his heart told him was right, and went with that over what may be more rational. She had told him before that he ruled with his heart, where as his father ruled with his head. There was a difference, and that was why he and his father often clashed in their judgment. But Arthur's heart had been weakened. A mark of a truly weak and incapable future leader. He remembered Anhora telling him that he had proven himself to be pure of heart, or at least that was what he had needed to prove in order to break the curse. But Arthur knew now more than ever that that was not true. For someone who was pure of heart, would not let their heart get so easily corrupted. And he had.

Did she truly believe he would have stopped? For at the moment, Arthur had no intention of holding back. Surely, she would think differently if she had actually seen him in all his rage and anger. She would have seen it in his eyes and . . . would she have been afraid of such a man? A man who would hold a blade to his father's neck just because he believed in what his eyes had shown him, and what his ears had heard? Arthur could not allow himself to believe her words and exempt the guilt he knew he should be feeling, and was feeling. He could not believe that he would have stopped, for he knew himself in the moment. He had fought him, even when his father refused to hold a weapon up. He still fought him, forcing him to defend himself. And then defeating him . . . which had come so close to bloodshed.

He slightly shook his head, unaccepting of this justification. He did not want her to see him as weak, for he wanted to be strong for her . . . but was not. And would not pretend to be something he was not. "If you had been there . . . " His voice trailed off a bit. He knew that if she had been there a lot of things would have been different. Maybe. Who's to say he would not have attacked his father, for he had not cared who was in the room at the time as he yelled at him and insulted him. "Then you would think differently." For she would have seen him in all his anger. She had seen him return, as he just passed her in the hallway, completely unacknowledging her presence . . . something he had not done for some time and this time, for entirely different reasons. "You should not give me so much credit." He was not searching for compliments or sympathetic words meant to put his mind to ease.

He said this because he believed she should not; even though he loved that she did. That she loved him enough to find the good, even in such a dark situation. That she gave him words to focus on the positive rather than the negative. When he hand took his, he placed his other hand on top of hers, slowly bringing his eyes to her face. "I have already let it." He'd already let it use him, for as much as he wised he could -- and as much as he knew it could be worse, for he could have actually killed his father -- he could not take back his actions. "But you are right. If anything, this has taught me how magic can corrupt. How, truly evil it can be." He was brought up having a strong bias against magic, and in his life experience, has witnessed it used for darker purposes rather than good. One of the few times having been Will using it in Ealdor. But the bad outweighed the good, and this experience solidified it: magic could corrupt the very soul of a person.

[Guinevère]

She knew she just said it but somethings were worth repeating. "I do not believe you are a killer Arthur." He's killed but was not a killer. "I've seen you angry, I've seen you in fights where everyone feared what might happen. When your brothers fell, I've seen you fight back. I've seen you give mercy to people who deserved none."

"Had you wished to kill your father, no one would have stopped you. It would not have mattered if I or Merlin or the world had been in that room. I've seen killing blows and no one stops to think before giving it. If you gave pause to let Merlin talk you out of it then I know in my heart that you would have not done it."

"I would bet my life on it, I am so sure." She wasn't completely, but she knew he needed to know she was. Some lies were done for the good of a person, and she wasn't completely lieing. She believed in him, but she could not imagine what he could or would have done in his pain.

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[Arthur Pendragon]

How could she be so sure? How could she have so much faith in him, when he lacked it in himself. He did not deserve that, yet he knew that she would not agree with it. Just as she continued to attempt to convince him that he would not have actually killed his father. When his mind had been made up. When he'd been so determined in the moment of it all. In the heat of the moment, he would have killed him. And his father did not even show any anger about it. He only told him that he understood, for magic was to blame. How could everyone exempt him from blame? When he knew what he was going to do . . . what he would have done. "I would bet my life on it, I am so sure." The same questioned repeated in his mind, over and over: how could she be so certain.

He abruptly stood up from his seated position, not in a way to push her away . . . but because he could not let himself be at peace with this reassurance, with these comforting words claiming him to be a better man than he was. When he was not. He walked to his bed post, just talking hold of it with his hand, his head looking down. Using the post as support to keep him standing, where as other wise it would have been her . . . or being seated on the bed. "You should not," he said once again, his voice practically a deep whisper. "Please, do not." It was strange to make a plea, a beg about such a thing. But he could not help it. "I have never been so angry. So irrational. So, uncontrolled." He had been angry before, but never that angry. Never that upset.

While he wondered about how it would have been different had she been in the room, he also was thankful she'd not been in there. For he never wanted her to see him so infuriated. "What kind of son . . . " Arthur did not finish his sentence, his breath cutting him off. What kind of son held a sword to his father. What kind of son trusted a sorceress over their own blood? "I trusted Morgause over my own father." Something that was unacceptable. "There is no excuse for that," he added in a strong voice, knowing that that much was true. For allowing his judgment to be so poor, was inexcusable.

[Guinevère]

He was hurting, and she wasn't sure how to help. With Arthur, she was learning more and more that he wore everything he did. He would take longer to forgive himself, punish himself harder, and think more of it then any of the others involved. He had pulled away from her, and that alone told her he wanted to punish himself, and would seek no comfort from her.

She moved down the bed, a bit closer to him before rising to stand and resting her hands on his back. Slowly they encircled his waist, and her forehead rested between his shoulder blades. "It was your mother's Arthur. It matters not that it was her true words or not. For a few moments she was your mother. In your heart you felt it."

"Morgause used that. She gave you want you wanted most, and used it to make you do what she needed . . . . But your love for your father has proved stronger then her hate." Guinevère might find many faults with Uther, but Arthur needed to hear none of them now. "When you think on it, remember that. No words of Merlin could have stayed your hand, had you truly believed it in your heart."

"The Arthur I know is not a murder. No matter what he thinks he could have done in these moments. I have come to know his heart, and it's stronger then that. I think that no one walked into that room, the outcome would have been the same."

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