Arthurian advent calendar: 25th december
Merry Christmas! Or just happy holidays! And for all the atheists like me: Have a nice day!
This
will probably be disappointing not only for my inability to write n
English but also because I didn’t manage to finish. This is just a sort
of first chapter of a probable steampunk arthurian au.
I hope you will like it anyway!
(Congratulations on surviving the end of the world!)
Arthurian Advent Calendar - THE CALENDAR (list)
warning: English is not my first language
25th DECEMBER: (steampunk au)
The vial was now empty in Morgause’s hands but the only thing she regretted was not being able to see Uther agonizing on the floor, spitting blood and cursing, slowly dying. The fact that her mother’s rapist and her father’s murderer was finally dead was not enough but it would have to do.
“Maybe, it is enough that is is because of me,”
said Morgause, Governor of Orkneys, after her husband’s death. The void in her, filled with anger, wasn’t vanishing but maybe that night she would not have to dream her mother’s desperate eyes or the moment Uther sent her to Lot.
Morgana nodded.
Ambrosius had given Morgause the recipe of the poison, a deadly liquid impossible to detect by smell or colour, and Morgana had administered it in Uther’s last meal.
“It is enough for me, sister,” replied Morgana, the witch who used to live in the woods and had decided to come back to civilization for revenge and sisterly love.
Guinevere was writing an article about potatoes. Not that there was a lot to say about potatoes or vegetables, a part from mentioning the way the soils got impoverished because of the wars. But she couldn’t even do that. She could only write about cooking potatoes.
She stopped, massaging her temples. How the mighty have fallen. Not that she considered herself one of the mighty ones but surely, she deserved better than a little column about cooking in the newspaper. She knew she deserved better.
She had had better.
She had had a newspaper of her own, “The Quest”, she had written what she had preferred, she had not stopped from writing what she felt had been right: the useless war against the kingdom of Saxons, the useless deaths of soldiers, caused only but Uther’s need to control his people with fear and threats of conquests. She had had told the truth, of that she had been sure: Uther was more of a king or a dictator than the President of the Cities of Camelot.
The people had not liked her truths. The people and the police.
She had been endangering her family, her sister Guinevak had had to face difficult times for her restourant, her fiance Arthur had had to change university to get his degree in politics.
Uther was a murderer, Uther was a dictator, Uther was-
“Uther is dead! Our president has been killed!” shouted Guinevak, stumbling in the room, nearly tripping over one of the mechanical cats Bedwyr gave them as a gift the previous Liberation Day.
“Careful, Guinevak- but- what? What did you said?”
“Uther is dead! Uther!” answered Guinevak, letting herself fall in her sister’s bed. “That bastard is dead.”
“I don’t believe it… he is dead,” repeated Guinevere. She felt empty. The man she had considered the enemy, the monster, was dead. She felt regret, for not having been able to disgrace him, to discovers all his dirty secrets, she felt relief, but mostly she felt filled with fear.
What was going to happen now? What was going to happen to the Cities of Camelot which were born with democracy and justice but had been tainted all those years by Uther’s influence?
“Guinevak, was he killed?”
“Yes, I told you. Someone poisoned him. That’s what the people are saying.”
“I didn’t want this. I fear, oh, Guinevak, I fear martyrs.”
Arthur tried to be as quiet as he could. Bedwyr hates the noise while he worked.
The problem was that Arthur was quite bored. He was raining and he had still to find a job and his abilities with mechanicals were quite useless compared to Bedwyr’s and even compared to Kay’s mediocre abilities in fixing broken clocks and mechanical dogs.
“I could-“
“Arthur, please. Just… drink some tea,” smiles Bedwyr, without looking at him.
Arthur sighed and looked at Kay who was smiling in a corner and reading one of Guinevere’s old books.
“He never tells you to just drink some tea,” complained Arthur, whispering to his foster brother. Kay shrugged: “It’s because I am quite.”
“It’s because you sleep with him.”
“Technically it’s because I have sex with him.”
Bedwyr glared at them but before he could offer more tea (he just needed to finish fixing the little wheel of a client’s toy before dinner) someone knocked on the door. Arthur jumped up, glad to have something to do. He was quite surprised when he found his teacher Merlin in front of him. Merlin had taught him a course at the university (Foreign Politics) and had been quite famouse. People had liked to gossip about him having mystical powers or being a wizard. Arthur had never seen any enchantments from him but had been enchanted by his speechs, by his charisma and his ideas. They had never been friends. The coldness of the relationship between the master and the student had always been quite clear, still Arthur had missed him in those months away from the university. He had missed Merlin’s brilliance.
He had never thought he would see him again if not in some pathetic revivalist party of university times. “Mr. Emrys?”
“Oh, call me Merlin, Arthur. You are not one of my students now.”
Embarassed and feeling awkward all of a sudden, Arthur decided to do the one thing
Ector taught him in case of danger: “Would you like some tea?”
“Oh, no, not at all. I am just here to talk to you, Arthur.”
Bedwyr abandoned his work, glaring at the stranger old man dressed in elegant black clothes.
“Why don’t we go upstair? My-“
“Uther is dead and you are his son.”