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Posted on October 6, 2012 at 10:53:55 PM by arthur & pendragon
The light streamed in through the stained glass of the great arched window behind the alter on its raised platform. Arthur knelt on the low cushioned bench on the floor beneath, his head bowed, and his hands clasped. The gently loving faces of mother and son, Christ and Mary, looked down upon the King’s head, their great silhouette casted large against the back wall, absorbing Arthur’s entirely, almost as if he had never been there at all. For a few weeks, almost a month and half, his grief had kept him from his chapel, his anger had made him question his faith, and he had returned to the quiet little room with a degree of trepidation. He had felt like a stranger as he had knelt down before the high alter, and it had taken days for him to feel comfortable there again. Arthur did not feel like the man he had been, but who weathered change and uncertainty than him? He was not the same man he had been when he had been human, he was not the boy whom had been raised in the Labyrinth, or the teenager who had fallen in love with his now missing-wife. He was not the same man who had held his eldest son in his arms on the day of his birth, or the one who had infiltrated the Labyrinth in order to return a mother to her son. That was time was. You had to let it change you, or it had the nasty habit of leaving you behind. His lips formed prayers for his dead son’s soul, and then they muttered words to invoke protection upon Lilith. Arthur asked for guidance to be given to his remaining child, asked God to help him find his path, even when everything had become so uncertain. Finally, slowly, the King rose to his feet, marking out the sign of the cross upon his chest, before retreating to sit upon the bench that ran against the back wall, enjoying the peace of his little hide away. He did not know how long he sat there, listening to the sound of birdsong in the yard outside, from the fields and tress beyond the castle walls. The sound, and the movement of the door opening was not enough to snap him from his thoughts, and it was not until Epos’ shadow fell across him, that Arthur finally raised his eyes. He let her speak, fixing her with calm grey eyes as her worries tumbled free of her mouth. His expression did not change, or adjust, letting her know only that he was listening. Finally, she began to trail off, and Arthur raised a hand to prevent her from continuing. “Failure,” the king began, in a kindly voice, “and mark me closely, I do not feel that you have failed me, or anyone, but admitting to failure is one of the more important things someone who wishes to lead must do. Everyone makes mistakes, that’s just part of being human, or, forgive me, fairy.” Arthur climbed to his feet and crossed the room towards her, coming to a stop a few paces from where she stood. “Wisdom comes in what you do afterwards. If you can acknowledge a mistake, and then make your plans to either repair the damage, or deal with it, then you have learned a lesson, and you have proven yourself a strong person. Do not run away from this duty, Epos, people like you do not run when things go wrong, or get difficult, do not become someone you are not just because you feel you have let yourself down. I do not want your resignation, I want you to do what you are capable of.” He reached out, and took her hands gently in his own, giving them an encouraging squeeze, “if you ever trusted me, trust me in this, trust me in now, and stay.”  |
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