Deception
I wrote this last week in response to modernising a King Arthur tale. I prefer this story than any other I've written whilst taking the course, although it was probably the hardest task!
The historical element in the middle is all fact apart from there being a statue of James 1st, this is made up to suit my own purpose :)
The air is thick with white smoke and disillusioned promises.
A man, no older than twenty, is lying on his back with his eyes closed; a gentle breeze drifts over his face, bringing with it the potent aroma of opium.
I continue to watch the young man whilst he inhales the scent; absorbing it deeply as though it is cleansing his body.
'Arthur,’ I whisper, ‘you must hide, I fear the presence of a foe may endanger your being.’
‘What do you mean, Merlin?’ sighs the boy, ‘no man alive is aware of my stay here. Leave me to my peace, I long for serenity.’
‘Foolish boy! You do not understand! Leave your drug and stand this instance; you must hide, every minute you linger is a minute closer to your death!’
‘How am I to trust you when you rarely reveal your secrets?’ snaps Arthur, whilst shifting his weight, ‘you continuously leave me in the dark with no light to follow.’
‘I implore you to believe me young sir, I would not disturb you unless it was of great importance.’
‘I refuse to hide, Merlin,’ mutters Arthur, ‘if what you speak is true then it is time to fight for my freedom.’
‘Then you must claim the sword for your own. It can only be taken by those who are pure at heart; a true knight of England.’
As Arthur’s eyes reach mine, his determination settles me and for once I have trust in his foolish nature, ‘it shall be done.’
As the boy turns to leave, the worried expression on my face slowly turns into one of joy. I glance at the dirty mirror on my left and snigger as I remove the cloak pulled over my face. The boy didn’t stand a chance; if he was fooled by my simple disguise then he will fall fatally into the trap that awaits him.
I stalk the boy silently, watching as he staggers from alley to alley in the dark and dangerous town that is London. His destination, Downing Street, is the resting place for the statue of James 1st, which was erected in memory of the significant changes he made to Whitehall Palace and his war against witchcraft. As he reaches the statue of the grandfather he never knew, he grasps the metal handle of the sword and swiftly removes it from it’s stone base; this act alone is treacherous enough to prevent his crowning of Kingship. Slowly he lifts the sword above his head, revelling in the unknown power that is rightly his before turning to face who he believes is his natural enemy.
‘Arthur, my friend, why are you here?’ asks Merlin.
‘Merlin sent me. He bade me to face those who resist my living.’
‘What trickery you speak of! Can you not see that it is I? Your mentor, your guardian, your friend!’
‘Do not speak to me as though you know me! I recognise not your face, nor your speech, only your wicked wizardry and lying words.’
‘You have been enchanted to believe I am not a friend, but a foe. I beseech you to listen young Arthur!’
The hatred on Arthur’s face is apparent, as is the fear on Merlin’s elder features; and even I, hidden in the shadows of pollution, can smell the anguish that oozes from the two former friends. In a moment of sudden decision, Arthur brings the blade towards Merlin’s chest in a spell of fury, causing the later to fall in deathly despair. I watch Arthur curiously as he watches the painful death of his final ally. A look of confusion spreads itself across the boy’s youthful face, and from a distance I await the clarity that will emerge from the situation. As anticipated, I hear a strangled sob as Arthur realises the trickery he was placed under. I look just in time to see the young Prince bring to sword to his heart, ceasing his life immediately.
I smile as I realise the lineage is now dead. The last remaining descendant of James 1st, the King who encouraged witch hunts during his reign, is no more. And I, Nimue, former lover of Merlin and student to his magic, have avenged my wrath.
The historical element in the middle is all fact apart from there being a statue of James 1st, this is made up to suit my own purpose :)
The air is thick with white smoke and disillusioned promises.
A man, no older than twenty, is lying on his back with his eyes closed; a gentle breeze drifts over his face, bringing with it the potent aroma of opium.
I continue to watch the young man whilst he inhales the scent; absorbing it deeply as though it is cleansing his body.
'Arthur,’ I whisper, ‘you must hide, I fear the presence of a foe may endanger your being.’
‘What do you mean, Merlin?’ sighs the boy, ‘no man alive is aware of my stay here. Leave me to my peace, I long for serenity.’
‘Foolish boy! You do not understand! Leave your drug and stand this instance; you must hide, every minute you linger is a minute closer to your death!’
‘How am I to trust you when you rarely reveal your secrets?’ snaps Arthur, whilst shifting his weight, ‘you continuously leave me in the dark with no light to follow.’
‘I implore you to believe me young sir, I would not disturb you unless it was of great importance.’
‘I refuse to hide, Merlin,’ mutters Arthur, ‘if what you speak is true then it is time to fight for my freedom.’
‘Then you must claim the sword for your own. It can only be taken by those who are pure at heart; a true knight of England.’
As Arthur’s eyes reach mine, his determination settles me and for once I have trust in his foolish nature, ‘it shall be done.’
As the boy turns to leave, the worried expression on my face slowly turns into one of joy. I glance at the dirty mirror on my left and snigger as I remove the cloak pulled over my face. The boy didn’t stand a chance; if he was fooled by my simple disguise then he will fall fatally into the trap that awaits him.
I stalk the boy silently, watching as he staggers from alley to alley in the dark and dangerous town that is London. His destination, Downing Street, is the resting place for the statue of James 1st, which was erected in memory of the significant changes he made to Whitehall Palace and his war against witchcraft. As he reaches the statue of the grandfather he never knew, he grasps the metal handle of the sword and swiftly removes it from it’s stone base; this act alone is treacherous enough to prevent his crowning of Kingship. Slowly he lifts the sword above his head, revelling in the unknown power that is rightly his before turning to face who he believes is his natural enemy.
‘Arthur, my friend, why are you here?’ asks Merlin.
‘Merlin sent me. He bade me to face those who resist my living.’
‘What trickery you speak of! Can you not see that it is I? Your mentor, your guardian, your friend!’
‘Do not speak to me as though you know me! I recognise not your face, nor your speech, only your wicked wizardry and lying words.’
‘You have been enchanted to believe I am not a friend, but a foe. I beseech you to listen young Arthur!’
The hatred on Arthur’s face is apparent, as is the fear on Merlin’s elder features; and even I, hidden in the shadows of pollution, can smell the anguish that oozes from the two former friends. In a moment of sudden decision, Arthur brings the blade towards Merlin’s chest in a spell of fury, causing the later to fall in deathly despair. I watch Arthur curiously as he watches the painful death of his final ally. A look of confusion spreads itself across the boy’s youthful face, and from a distance I await the clarity that will emerge from the situation. As anticipated, I hear a strangled sob as Arthur realises the trickery he was placed under. I look just in time to see the young Prince bring to sword to his heart, ceasing his life immediately.
I smile as I realise the lineage is now dead. The last remaining descendant of James 1st, the King who encouraged witch hunts during his reign, is no more. And I, Nimue, former lover of Merlin and student to his magic, have avenged my wrath.