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all that’s left is the fight inside: epos
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Posted on January 7, 2011 at 03:26:58 AM by arthur & pendragon



He had seen it, and wished that he had not. Arthur wished that Aura had not given him the power to see her thoughts or sift through her memories; he could have lived without the information he had gained. It had been a long time since Arthur had been a very young man, a young man who had seen so little of the world that he was still able to believe in the glory of war. Campaign after campaign, death after death had stripped that innocent belief away, he had always been a warrior, but from the first time he had killed a man, he had failed to see the glory in it. To him it was a necessary evil, blight upon the world which had to be there, if justice was to win and evil was to be conquered. The war which Arthur had seen in Aura’s head however had the potential to shake his world, test his faith to an extent he might not be able to come back from. The only way he could justify it in his mind was by telling himself that the world in which Aura’s war had happened, was not his world, not any more.

There was something about this “modern” warfare which he could not abide, how impersonal it had become, how a man seemed to be able to wipe out thousands at a push of a button, without ever seeing their faces. Arthur remembered the face of every man he had ever killed, they were there, permanently imprinted in his mind’s eye for all of time. He would never forget them, even if all he had ever seen of them were their eyes, that final look would stay with him forever. Arthur saw something respectful in the kind of warfare he had waged in his day, whether that was right or wrong, he was not really willing to argue the point. It was different though, it took far more to face a person man to man, to stand close enough to touch them, to hear them breath, and then hear them stop when you ran them through. It was horrible, ghastly, it could make or break a man, but somehow, the idea that the man who won the sword fight was the one with the greater skill, or the one who happened not to make any mistakes, appealed to him far more than what Aura’s mind had shown him. The world had not progressed since he had left it, it had worsened, become more savage, and he had never expected it to be that way.

It was these thoughts which had driven the young King out of his private rooms and to his chapel which was located in the least visited part of the castle. He had deliberately had the door disguised so that it was almost unnoticeable against the stone wall into which it was built. In his haste to enter his sanctuary on this occasion however, he had left it slightly ajar, meaning that anyone in the corridor beyond would be able to see the flicker of candlelight. Arthur knelt on the stone floor in front of the alter, his head bowed to the metal representation of Christ on his cross and the wooden carving of the Virgin Mary. His grey eyes, which were capable of being both very hard and cold, but also very warm were closed, his generous mouth unmoving. The King was deep in thought, his mind reaching out to ask his God for guidance, a God which neither Aura or Mallos or Gwythr had lead him to turn away from. Arthur prayed for answers, he prayed for strength and understanding. He prayed for the men he had killed, and for his friends who lay rotting in the Earth’s soil. The man requested blessings, he begged to be forgiven, but most of all he pleaded for clarity and for the time being, he was lost from the physical world.





arthur & pendragon
there is no worse death than the end of hope

image by Creativity+ Timothy K Hamilton at flickr.com





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