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Posted on August 17, 2011 at 09:21:03 PM by morgana & kraar
“Arthur!” Morgana shouted urgently, as her fists made impact with the wood of the King’s front door. She had sprinted all the way from the opposite site of the village, Kraar flying along at her side, and, though her breath was coming in gasps, she still managed to shout. “Arthur! I really need to talk to you!” the girl called, feeling ever more frantic with each passing second. She had allowed herself no time to stop and think, and it wasn’t for her own sake, the revelation about her own origins, whilst it had sent her reeling in confusion and raised a thousand questions, seemed of lesser importance. She did not matter when there were children in danger. Morgana could not bear the thought of those two little boys she had seen in her head coming to any harm, when she could have done something to stop it. When she had the power to send to them what they desperately needed, their own Father. She would not dare delay him on her own account. “Please Arthur!” she continued, “its urgent!” The door flew open all of a sudden and Morgana felt a strange flood of relief as she looked upon Shaman’s King through the eyes of her familiar. He stood there, a hand rested on the handle of his sword, his grey eyes taking in the scene before him with a calmness that she did, could not share. “Oh, thank Aura!” the girl enthused as the man before her gazed at her questioningly. “Arthur, you need to get to the castle, in The Core, and you have to go right now! The woman, the woman from the Labyrinth, she’s sent people to capture your sons! You have to help them!” She saw the King’s face, and his eyes, harden, though, much to her frustration, he made no further movements. He seemed to be appraising her, trying to work her out, and Morgana was filled with a sudden desire to shake him, to see him more animated. “How do you know this?” he said, at last, his voice just as strong and seemingly collected as the rest of him. “Does it matter?” Morgana returned in bewilderment, but even as she said it, she could tell from the man’s expression, that to him, it did matter. “I have these visions,” the girl explained, “I’ve always had them, ever since I was a little girl, and sometimes I see snatches of the future, sometimes it’s months in advance and sometimes it’s minutes! I saw that woman, the one who works with Gwythr, I saw her telling a man to go to your castle, and then I saw the same man trying to take your sons, and you were there, you were trying to stop them. Please Arthur! You have to believe me!” Still his expression did not seem to change and Morgana’s desperation continued to grow, what was he waiting for? “What is your name?” Arthur asked, and the girl took a deep gulp of air in an attempt to steady herself, “Morgana,” she replied, throwing the word out into the air as if it was of no consequence. Indeed, perhaps if she had not been so intent upon studying the King’s face then she might have missed the effect upon it, but that, that was far from insignificant. It seemed to break through whatever armour he usually fixed in place around his face and eyes, and for a moment he seemed more vulnerable, almost taken aback. “Morgana?” he said, almost to himself, and the name sounded strange to the girl in that moment, he said it in a way she had never heard it spoken before, with regret? With sadness? Or even with a frosty kind of anger, she could not quite tell. “I swear to you,” Morgana continued, “I am not a spy, I am telling you the truth, and you really must hurry!” Again, Arthur seemed to consider her, and then he turned away, “I will prepare my horse,” he said. “There is no time!” Morgana told him, hurrying forwards and resting a hand upon his arm, “you have to go right now, right this second, you might even be too late! I hope you are not. Will you not trust me Arthur? Please, find it in your heart to trust me now!” Arthur closed one of his larger hands over her own, his grey eyes looking into her sightless black ones, unaware, she assumed, that she was seeing everything through the eyes of the raven who was perched on a nearby fence. He thought he was looking into her. “I don’t know you,” he said regretfully, as tears began to leak down Morgana’s face, and it was through these desperate tears that a thought came. She released the King’s arm, and pulled at the chain which hung about her neck, pulling the silver crucifix into view and holding it up to him. “I know you know what this is,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady, “and I think now, I understand what it means to you. For the sake of this thing Arthur, will you trust me?” Arthur had frozen, his eyes drawn to the pendant, and he seemed to view it as if it were some kind of ghost which floated in the air between them and Morgana continued to watch him with baited breath. Finally, he spoke, “yes,” Arthur said, nodding his head and pulling his front door closed, “I will.” The heart that truly loves never forgets image by Tea | Seatory at flickr.com |
Replies:
- the memories of soldiers, the children of kings; part four - By tristan & gawain August 18, 2011 at 02:36:06 AM
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