winter solstice piece from three years ago...
the sky was grey and seemed to blur into the horizon where iron waves lapped at lowering clouds. the only sound was the whisper of waves on the shore, followed by the quarreling of pebbles as they were dragged back into the surf but to his ears there still remained the crash of sword on helmet, the high pitched screams of wounded battle horses, moans of dying men and the cursing of those who still lived and fought a useless battle. all those men, his men, for they had died fighting for him and now he lay there, useless, alone and in despair.
he had sent bedivere, his last remaining knight, away, after he had finally flung excalibur back to the lady, flung it far into the mere and away from human hands. it had shed enough blood, he had caused oh so much blood to be shed and now he watched his own life seep away into the encroaching tide, the red swirling in patterns into the clear cold brine, and wondered why. it had all seemed so right, the triumph over the avarice and rage of power maddened warlords; the gathering together of the flower of knighthood... and then modred and vivien, lancelet and guinevere, oh god, he thought of guinevere, her blond hair shining like a beacon as he rode up to her father's castle that first spring morning, and now, he had taken his leave of her, knowing...
he was dying, merlin had said he would return one day and yet he had no wish to. his men were gone, their blood puddled and shining on rocks, crabs already feasting on their flesh, what point returning? and yet...
a distant sound, a horn's golden thrilling note, the slap and splash of oars, louder and closer, and he raised his head up and saw the boat approaching, faerie folk standing tall thereon, arms open and welcoming. he closed his eyes and slept.
he had sent bedivere, his last remaining knight, away, after he had finally flung excalibur back to the lady, flung it far into the mere and away from human hands. it had shed enough blood, he had caused oh so much blood to be shed and now he watched his own life seep away into the encroaching tide, the red swirling in patterns into the clear cold brine, and wondered why. it had all seemed so right, the triumph over the avarice and rage of power maddened warlords; the gathering together of the flower of knighthood... and then modred and vivien, lancelet and guinevere, oh god, he thought of guinevere, her blond hair shining like a beacon as he rode up to her father's castle that first spring morning, and now, he had taken his leave of her, knowing...
he was dying, merlin had said he would return one day and yet he had no wish to. his men were gone, their blood puddled and shining on rocks, crabs already feasting on their flesh, what point returning? and yet...
a distant sound, a horn's golden thrilling note, the slap and splash of oars, louder and closer, and he raised his head up and saw the boat approaching, faerie folk standing tall thereon, arms open and welcoming. he closed his eyes and slept.