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Post by mordred on Nov 10, 2012 19:59:47 GMT -5
Set: In the Great Hall
Open: to All.
There was nothing left to be said. Nothing left to be done. As Mordred, Knight of Camelot and betrayer of the druids looked upon his sword for the last time, he barely bit back a tremble of fear at the thought of what he was about to do. To die this way was considered a sin by some... and yet... it miht proove to be the saving of someone else.
The King and his Knights were due back any moment from a hunting trip that he, Mordred, had not been invited on. Since being accepted into the Knighthood, the druid had felt like a spare part. Though Arthur spoke to him kindly and treated him well, he seemed not to want Mordred among his knights, he seemed to want to keep him in the castle - locked away and safe. Perhaps, after all, his Knighting had been trickery... a way to keep Mordred from those he might somehow cause harm.
Well, now he would give them their wish. With this last act, he could set a thrust against his destiny - he could rewrite the future and expell the past. He could finally repay Arthur the lifedebt he had owed the man for so long. With this last act, Mordred might finally be free. As he heard the clash of amoury, Mordred swallowed, knowing he had little time left. He took up his sword in his trembling hands, took a deep breath, and plunged the blade into his lowr stomach, feeling the steel thrust through his body, up into his chest as he spluttered for breath, the world finally, slowly, fading out of consciousness and thought.
Note: This popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone... anyone is welcome to join! |
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Post by mordred on Nov 10, 2012 18:40:01 GMT -5
The Knight's frown deepened as the man who seemed somehow responsible for all of this spoke, dishonouring the girl with his language. What Mordred could not understand, was why there was an audience watching with somewhat enraptured faces. He hesitated, swallowing a little, one hand moving hesitantly to his sword.
As the stranger approached him and explained the game to him, Mordred's stance relaxed a little, and hsi features softened. Aha. So no one was in any real danger, and this was some sort of odd... amusement. He nodded his thanks to the man with a smile, his eyes flickering back up to the apparent stage as he considered his position. He could ignore them and move on... but... perhaps...
"What proof have you, sir, that this woman has done you wrong?" he called out, stepping forward, deciding finally to be part of this.. game...
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Post by mordred on Nov 10, 2012 18:31:29 GMT -5
The druid gave a soft smile as Gwaine attempted to encourage him by reassuring him that his stance was correct, feeling mildy reassured. Perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult, even if using a sword instead of magic didn't feel so odd. Mordred shrugged the feeling aside though; he had sworn off magic for as long as he could, to risk using it here, of all places, was a mistake to say the least.
"I've used a knife a few times," he said quietly, though he was fairly certain the other knight wouldn't find that an approrpiate method of fighting. "But truthfully, there was never much need for combat.... I'm afraid I might be rather a poor student." He was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable - and if it wren't for his desire to prove himself to the Knights and to ARthur, he probably would have asked Gwaine to forget the whole thing. But he was a Knight now, and this was, surely, part of his duty. "I know a little hand to hand," he admitted. "But nothing much besides..."
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Post by mordred on Nov 10, 2012 16:29:30 GMT -5
Exactly, Merlin!! Like there was another side to that story that we, the audience, didnt' see... which is just crazy. I don't know, my head is all over the place with that episode!
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Post by mordred on Nov 10, 2012 16:24:39 GMT -5
I hate to be nitpicky...
but I'm surprised Guinevère was that easily won over. I mean.... Arthur did manage to save her and everything; it wasn't his fault that Elyan wanted to prove himself... surely Gwen can't have been won over so quickly by Morgana? And to say that she "Hated all of them..."... isnt' that a bit.....? *trails off with a frown*.
I do like Guinevère's character but I thought she was being a bit melodramatic in that last bit...
Having said that, I LOVE how they dealt wtih Elyan after.... That scene. Beautifully done!
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Post by mordred on Nov 10, 2012 13:58:23 GMT -5
- Merlin is on in just over an hour!
- Fireworks? Again? Really?!
- I'm so hungry!
- My head is exploding with roleplaying and writing ideas...
- I really need to buy more tea....
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Post by mordred on Nov 9, 2012 17:44:55 GMT -5
"Hello, Merlin." In the very far corner in the King's chambers stood Mordred of the druid people, a knife turning over and over in his hands. His blue eyes looked up to Merlin's face coldly before they dropped down to the weapon he was holding. He wasn't sure what had brought him to this room, this cold and abandoned room that once had held Camelot's most treasured life. He wasn't even entirely sure how he had gotten here. But he was here, and now, so was Merlin.
The world swirled around Mordred with the pulse of the dead beating in his ears as he looked upon the warlock who seemed to detest him so much. He had been so foolish to think that destiny could be prevented, could be changed. He had been so childish, so innocent, so... naive to believe he could change his fate, Arthur's fate, Merlin's fate. The druid stepped toward Merlin a little, his eyes upon the other's face. "You are not supposed to be here, Merlin." He stated calmly, in a voice that did not seem to be his own. Blue eyes flickered over to what had been the King's bed once, before flickering back to Merlin. "You are not supposed to be here," he repeated his words, watching Merlin steadily, the knife twirling in his fingers, endlessly.
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Post by mordred on Nov 9, 2012 16:18:26 GMT -5
Across the Castle, arm hanging over the side of the narrow bed as he slept, Mordred awoke with a shout, his hand immediately going to his throat. HIs eyes flickered about for a few seconds before he placed his surroundings, and he breathed a quiet sigh, trying to calm his thoughts as he realised it had all been a dream. Mordred turned to the small table and took the cup of water that sat atop it, taking a long sip, his hands shaking a little. A small sheen of sweat broke out on his skin as the Knight stood, moving over to the small window overlooking the city, his eyes glazed a little as he thought upon the dream.
Dreams were no stranger to the young druid, but one like this... was it a propecy? A warning? Mordred had no desire to hurt Arthur in the way that the dream Merlin had seemed to think he would, and it made the brunette wonder upon the actions of the warlock these last few weeks. There was certainly something about Mordred that Merlin was uncomfortable with, but the druid had assumed it was simply the fact that he was a druid, rather than the thought that he would harm the King of Camelot. With a frown, the druid sighed, resting against the wall a little, his hands still clenching the cup.
Would it be worth talking to Merlin? The dream had shown such a thing might cause reaction, which might eventually cause Mordred's death... or his succombing to Merlin. He had nothing against the warlock, but Mordred wished very much to make his own path, rather than be beholden to another. Swallowing another sip of water, the druid quickly decided. For now, he would do nothing. To react to something which could be merely the result of hsi own fears could lead to either his death, Merlin's, or some unpleasentry between them. Something which Mordred was most keen to avoid. So for now, he would sit, he would wait, he would watch, and hope that one day Merlin would come to trust him.
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Post by mordred on Nov 9, 2012 16:09:40 GMT -5
- still bowled over by the last episode!! Still wondering why I didn't care one bit about Mordred getting hurt...
- Listening to Lea Salonga and laughing my butt off at her "introduction" to a song
- Merlin's on TOMORROW! 
- I hate fireworks with a passion.
- There's about five pieces of writing I want to do and I've no idea where to start!!
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Post by mordred on Nov 9, 2012 14:43:07 GMT -5
Mordred of Camelot was in a hurry. His cape fluttering about him in the slight breeze, the Knight bit back a curse of annoyance as he realised he was late - again - to training with the King. It was the second time he had overslept, and he had no idea how Arthur had not expelled him from his ranks yet. The fluttering cape wasn't helping, either, and part of the young druid wished deeply he could dump it somewhere and leave it be. But to do so would probaby be to insult Camelot, if not Arthur Pendragon himself - something Mordred would never do.
He was halfway to the training grounds when he almost tripped over something that had rolled into his path. Stopping suddenly so as not to break the thing - which seemed to be tied to a string, the young knight knelt, picking up what appeared to be a pendant, his eyes remaining observant as he felt power course through him. Oh... He wanted to drop whatever it was, forget it had come into his path, but clearly, the thing had an owner... looking about for who might have dropped the pendant, the Knight spotted the young maiden with a basket of sheets, looking rather harried. Keepign his expression neutral, Mordred moved over, with a soft smile, holding the pendant by the strings, trying to ignore the power flowing through him. "Excuse me, miss, but have you dropped this?" he asked, indicating the pendant.
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Post by mordred on Nov 9, 2012 14:36:38 GMT -5
A stroll through the town had been some sort of attempt to escape the Castle's trappings, in Mordred's mind, as he made his way through the town. Though he was grateful - more than he could express - to Arthur for believing in him, Knighting him, and giving him, essentially, a home within the castle, the young Knight often felt the lure of the stridesman pull at him. He had few friends at court - the Knights were starting to warm to him, but the young druid could feel that as of yet they didn't completely trust him, and whilst it was understandable, it was... frustrating. Merlin seemed to loathe his very presence, despite attempts to try and befriend the warlock. The King himself seemed to be Mordred's only true friend - a friendship the Knight cherished more than he would say.
So he had decided to escape the Castle for one day, and breathe the air of freemen. Of course, he was regretting it now. Because, of course, these things could never go smoothly. The Knight suddenly found himself the attention of a laughing crowd, and he looked about, startled, his eyes raising to meet those of the girl's on the stage. With a slight frown, Mordred swallowed, suddenly very worried that the young girl who had spoken was in some deep trouble.
"I am a Knight of Camelot," he spoke out, reluctantly - despite his proudness for his title - stepping forward a little. "What game is this?" he asked, noting how enraptured the crowd seemed. Moving forward, the young druid quickly noticed the woman seemed bound. His frown deepened.
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Post by mordred on Nov 8, 2012 15:18:15 GMT -5
It had been foolish of his teacher to even think of getting away with bringing them here, to this repressed City of all places, but for once, Mordred was grateful in some ways that the man had been so foolish. In Morgana he saw what Camelot was lacking - a kind soul that cared not whether a person possessed magic or powers, but saw them as they were rather than as killers of the worst kind, which was what Uther seemed to think of them all.
As Morgana spoke to him, he listenened to the sound of her voice, melodious and light - the voice of someone who had not yet been forced to do evil. The young boy very much hoped it would stay that way. The bed she had placed him upon was soft, warm, and as Mordred sank into it, he gave the Lady a small, tiny smile of thanks. He was half afraid that if he spoke aloud, then they would be heard by someone who might do him ill, but perhaps she would understand how grateful he was, though he wondered how she could possibly say that he would be fine. After all, she was the Kings ward, was she not? IF they were found, what would happen to her? He already knew what his fate would be...
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Post by mordred on Nov 6, 2012 12:54:57 GMT -5
The current area was prime pickings for a good hunt, and as Mordred went about the task, he tried not to think of his rumbling belly nor of the death which would bring about its end. Often he would feel guilty for murdrering an animal so he may eat, but nonetheless, he had to eat to survive. And not surviving was simply not an option. The druid sighed softly as he heard something, freezing, his eyes flickering back and forth, trying to deduce the sound.
Picking his way carefully through the forest, Mordred paused as his eyes chanced upon a Lady, sat against a piller, happily eating away. At the sight of the food, the druid's stomach grumbled loudly. Taking a slow breath, the druid moved slightly, to hide himself further in the trees. As he stepped back, however, his right foot caught upon a branch, causing it to snap. A silent curse left Mordred's lips as he saw armed men suddenly begin to move, realising they must have heard him. He shied back into the darkness, praying they would not find him.
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Post by mordred on Nov 6, 2012 12:50:17 GMT -5
At the mention of their King, the Knight gave a soft smile. "He has done me a great honour and privalage by Knighting me, my Lady." he said softly. "Though I can assure you that there is nothing special about me, as you put it," Mordred gave a smile, his gaze flittering down to Esmae. "Hello, there," he said to her, gently, not wanting to frighten her away, smiling as she skipped away, before turning his gaze back to her mother. "Children are a blessing upon the earth," he stated simply. "They are often, from my knowledge of them, more observant than those around them would give them credit." He chuckled softly. "I try only to talk to them as I would they to I."
The Knight nodded, listening quietly to the lady's words, curiously. He had yet to meet many beyond the boundries of Arthur's kingdom - even at his ceremony there had only been a few of the Lords and Ladys who had actually deigned to speak to him personally. Which Mordred, if he was utterly honest, was perfectly fine with. At Caitrin's question, he hesitated, nodding slowly. "Of a sort," he admitted softly. "I travelled alone for a long time..." he trailed off, not wanting really to elabourate too much.
At the lady's question, Mordred smiled. "I would be honoured to, my Lady," he stated softly. "As long as I am not deterring you or keeping you from anything. And please, call me Mordred."
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Post by mordred on Nov 5, 2012 13:13:27 GMT -5
You are FAR too kind, Merlin!! Thankyou!
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Post by mordred on Nov 5, 2012 12:59:16 GMT -5
After the complete jaw-drop plot of last week's episode revolving around Merlin and Arthur, I found my creative brain overflowing, and came up with these small pieces of fanfiction. I decided to put them up on here to share with everyone! Comments and thoughts are much welcomed!
Tricksome Things.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Arthur Pendragon, Merlin, and Gaius belong to the BBC, their respective actors, and the original Arthurian legends.
{I}{I}{I}
There were times, reflected Arthur Pendragon, when Merlin was, really, quite a dingbat. Quite often the other said something that made no sense, or did something that was controversy to every piece of sensible knowledge known to them. But the King was also - somewhat unwillingly - able to admit that sometimes his best friend and manservant had some rather superb ideas.
Or at least, that was what the King had thought at the time. Which was why he had - willingly, he’d admit - followed a happy Merlin and already slightly drunken Gwaine to the local tavern, after they insisted he needed to take his “mind off Kingly duties”? As the evening had gone by, the idea had begun to seem like a fantastic one. His head slightly buzzing in a comfortable way, the blonde had been able to relax in a way that he hadn't since... well, for quite a long time. All in all, it was rather a splendid idea.
Up until Merlin started drinking, and then things went rather downhill from there on.
The blonde bit back a curse as he shifted his best friend slightly into a more… adequate… spot against his shoulder, climbing the stairs up to Gaius’ rooms, and moving inside, grateful to see the physician wasn’t there. He rolled his eyes as he moved through to Merlin’s room, the manservant still muttering something about “dancing pixies in dresses”, even as Arthur placed him on the bed. The Pendragon shook his head, smirking a little, making a note to remind his manservant of his idiocy in the morning – assuming Merlin didn’t have the world’s biggest hangover, of course – and turned, only to face Gaius, raising an eyebrow at the King curiously.
Shrugging a little, the King opened his mouth, glancing down at his friend, then up at Gaius. “Too much work, Gaius. Needed a little ale to de-stress,” The physician nodded, wisely, as though he knew exactly what Arthur was referring to. The Pendragon hesitated, then shook his head, changing his mind. “He has the morning off to recover. But I want him up and running tomorrow evening.” He added, in a firmer, sterner voice. Gaius nodded, eyes flickering to Merlin, then back to the King.
“Of course, sire.” The older man opened his mouth, hesitating, before glancing at Arthur once more, frowning slightly. “Was it really completely necessary to get him drunk, though?”
“Sometimes, Gaius, it takes extremities to make a man forget his destiny, even if it is only for a few minutes. And a man such as Merlin must be in greater need of the grace of forgetfulness more than most.” The King smiled knowingly at the man he saw as a grandfather, seeing an understanding twinkle come to light in Gaius’ eyes. “I trust you not to breathe a word of this to him, Gaius.”
“You mean not to tell him, sire?”
“...When the time is right.” The King paused, turning to face Gaius, his features serious. When we are both ready, he will tell me himself. It would do no good for me to spring upon him with this at this time.” Arthur smiled, a little sadly. “Meanwhile, I will carry on being oblivious. And Merlin…
“Merlin will carry on feeling he is alone and threatened by the knowledge that if you knew, then you would execute him.” Gaius finished, gentle remonstration in his voice.
“I would never do that.” The King’s voice was final, sure. “How could I condemn him, Gaius, when I have used magic? When he has… guided me more than any other person has or will? When he is the first true friend I made in Camelot?” Arthur laid a hand gently, firmly upon the old physician’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Gaius. Whilst I’m King, I’ll make sure to keep Merlin safe.”
“I will hold you to your word, Arthur.” The blonde nodded, with a smile.
“Do.” He glanced over at Merlin, snoring softly with one hand covering his face as though to chase away the oncoming light of morning. “One day he and I will be able to be honest with each other, Gaius. But for now, we must be patient. For now, we must both have our secrets; for the sake of the other.”
With a last smile, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, nodded to his friend and physician, before quietly exiting the Physician’s Chambers. The next afternoon, when Merlin came to wait upon him, as normal, the King made no mention of his talk with Gaius, and Merlin tried to act as though he had not been drunk the night before.
Over the next few months, the King tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that with his silence, he was keeping his best friend, his manservant; safe from those who might harm him - both inside the Castle and out. He promised himself that one day, one day, he would have ‘the talk’ with Merlin, and everything would finally be out in the open.
Here and now, Arthur Pendragon, last of his line, reflects upon the past with a tired smile and bittersweet thoughts, wishing and wishing he had had the courage which has come too late. Even as Merlin lays, dying in his arms, the King knows with a guilty conscious that threatens to choke him, that if only he had been honest, if only he had admitted to knowing the truth, then Merlin might still be alive.
Fate, it seems, is a tricksome friend indeed.
The Path We Choose
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
---
In the end, the final battle for Arthur’s soul is nothing like what anyone expected. Despite Merlin’s gift from the druid, despite the dragon’s warning, despite everything, he is betrayed. But as he watches the body of his closest friend in the world is carried in procession by the adoring Knights of Camelot, the warlock wonders whether he could truly have prevented all of this. His eyes darken as he thinks of those last days; his hands tremble in their clenched form at his sides and Merlin, or Emrys, as he is known to some, promises damnation upon the one who has brought such suffering to the Kingdom he has given so much to.
He is silent throughout dinner, throughout the next morning and well into the next day. The hustle and bustle of daily life is lost upon Merlin as everything skids to a halt, despite Guinevère’s attempt to make it continue as normal. The warlock’s days fade in and out; for now there is no King to protect, no friend to serve, he is lost; a stone tossed in an ever changing ocean that does not need him nor recognise him. So Merlin waits. He waits, he watches, and he thinks. He sees the bringer of Arthur’s death weave in and out of the lives that settle about Camelot; watching it all with a sense of detachedness, despite Gaius ready to combust at his side with impatience and aggravation.
Slow, slow. Nothing in haste, after all.
Three years to the day, and Merlin’s moment has come. The knights are off on a pilgrimage to Arthur’s resting place, whilst Merlin and… him have offered to stay behind. The other man affects worry for Camelot, though Merlin knows that it is, truly, guilt. Merlin stays, he claims, for Guinevère, and though there are a few raised eyebrows, no one questions too closely. Merlin is glad. It makes things easier, after all. He waits patiently for his moment. The opportunity comes nearly a week after the knight’s departure, when Merlin is about to give up and hope for another opportunity. Guinevère has left the Castle on a rare walk around the gardens, leaving Merlin with just enough time.
He almost skids his way to his room, knowing exactly where the other will be. All sorts of memories flash within his mind as Merlin moves oh-so-quickly across the floors, crossing distance with the urgency of one whose very life hangs in the balance. And maybe, who knows, Merlin’s might. Magic crackles all around him, as Merlin skids to a halt in front of the destined door. He throws it open with a shout of magic, and thrusts his hand forward, forcing a bolt of power between his fingers and at the person standing there, anger and hatred and grief and everything since Arthur’s death finally, finally coming free. Every curse Merlin knows, every word, every thought, every magical doom is unleashed, and the room swirls with power burning brightly.
****
It is not until Guinevère returns from her walk, some hours later, that the screams begin. Servants rush here and forth, trying to find her. Merlin, calm now, composed, waits a while before he begins the walk towards Guinevère’s cries. As he opens the door, and views the body on the floor, the warlocks’ mind grows blank.
Whatever made him Mordred is gone. The druid’s eyes are opened wide, his mouth slack with terror. There is no flicker of life in the blue eyes that so terrified Merlin with their promise of secrets and doom. Guinevère looks up at Merlin with tears in her eyes, but the warlock cannot bring himself to even pretend to care. He glares at Guinevère, and turns away, calmly, finally content.
A/N: Please do not steal my work. Even though it's fanfiction, I work hard on it to get it the way it is.
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Post by mordred on Nov 4, 2012 19:48:38 GMT -5
- omg, how did I not see this thread before?
- Must buy the chai tea Merlin keeps talking about!!!!
- Really peckish but don't know what to snack on...
- I wish my brain was in the mood to write properly!
- How much nail polish can I get away with buying and not looking insane for?
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Post by mordred on Nov 4, 2012 11:12:18 GMT -5
Set: About an hour after Mordred's knighting in "Arthur's Bane"
Between: Mordred and Nora.
Sitting at the banquet table, Mordred still felt a little as though he were dreaming. All of this - from leaving Morgana's bitterness, to saving Arthur, to being Knighted.... it all still felt a little dreamlike. He more than half expected to awaken and find himself back at the druid camp, or worse, in Morgana's hovel. The druid glanced over at where the King sat, before shaking his head and taking a sip of his goblet, savouring the pure water.
At an attempt to make conversation, the newly knighted Mordred turned to the lady sitting on his left, and gave her a charming smile. "Are you enjoying the feast, my Lady?" he asked politely, otherwise unsure of how to gain her attention, and not wanting to stick out as the sore thumb in Arthur's court by not conversing with others - even if they were strangers.
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Post by mordred on Nov 3, 2012 17:49:42 GMT -5
"I am newly Knighted, my Lady," Said Mordred, with an apologetic smile for his arguing with her. "Please forgive me, but I have not yet earned the respect that my fellow Knights so deserve." He wasn't about to argue this wtih her all day though, it seemed somewhat... ridiculous, to say the least. He smiled a little at the mention of the Lady's child, who hid behind her mother's skirts, and bowed his head to her in respect. "You need not fear me, little one," he said, making his voice softer. "I mean you no harm."
At the mention of Camelot, the Knight nodded, glancing around. "It is a magnificent place, made all the more so by he who rules it," He smiled at her a little. "I can well understand your want to bring them out into the open. To be cooped up anywhere is a horrible thing." Mordred smiled at the redhead. "Fresh air," Admitted he, to her question. "I confess I sometimes miss the openness of living outside, as I did before coming to Camelot. Though Camelot is a great City, with a great King, that longing to be in the open never quite fades."
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Post by mordred on Nov 3, 2012 17:36:21 GMT -5
Mordred gave a nervous swallow as the other Knight asked him to drop his title, too. He nodded, his eyes on Gwaine. "My apologies, Gwaine," he stated quietly, his eyes on the other man's sword, a little nervously. Listening quietly to Gwaine's instructions, the druid adjusted his grip, hoping he had it right, finding the feel of metal against his fingers... strange. Cold. Unfeeling. He shook the thought away, and managed a weak smile. "Is this right, S- Gwaine?"
At the question, the druid managed a soft smile, eyes flickering to Gwaine's. "Not often," he admitted. "Where I come from, weaponry was not given in the way of swords." Silently, he cursed himself. What a stupid thing to say out loud! And to someone who probably did not even know Mordred's druid past, as Arthur did. Unless... a frown graced Mordred's features. Unless Arthur was testing him. Getting this Gwaine to question him under the pretences of training. The druid forced away the thought, clearing his throat. Arthur was good, he reminded himself. A good, true, and just King. He had not Knighted the druid just to betray him... of that, Mordred was fairly certain.
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