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 Sometimes it hurts instead, Mordred//Nic
Elizawse Wyllt
 Posted: Nov 29 2016, 02:02 AM
Quote
  • Magical Beings (26)
  • The Wise Princess
  • Camelot
  • “I will stand in the dark for you. I will hold you back by force. I will stand here right outside your door.”
Kenna


Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste.
Grainne is a perfect angel and she is the only good thing happening right now.

@Nic

Elizawse Le Fay couldn't fight the soft smile that graced her features as she stared at one of her favorite sights in the world.

Grainne slept peacefully, curled up comfortable in the unknown place they were in in. A light blanket Mordred had brought to Elizawse was now tucked around her, one of her hands holding it up by her face while the other hand curled gently next to her.

It was moments like these that made Elizawse remember that the world wasn't as dark as it seemed. How could it be, when such a bright little light shone so strong. Her own little piece of light. The goodness in her life. A knight had told her once that Grainne was a perfect replica of her mother, full of light and goodness.

In the last five to six years Elizawse had lost sight of the glow within her. The fire barely simmered in her soul. Many people said that she was still a beaming light, that she was still so kind, so good. But for so long Elizawse had just felt broken.

It wasn't until Gaheris, Grainne, Gwen, and Arthur pulled her out of her own mind that she was able to feel alive again.

With a final sigh Elizawse turned from her sleeping daughter to walk back into the other room where the man who had been there at the beginning of her decent now stood.

The walk to Mordred's had been quiet. Grainne's ramblings and laughs were the only things that really broke the silence. About halfway through their walk Grainne began to lag behind, eyes heavily blinking. Elizawse had hoisted her daughter up into her arms, Grainne instantly clinging to her as she dozed off and on, small noises and soft words still coming from her every once in awhile.

Eliza hadn't looked at Mordred for most of the walk, only when she shifted Grainne from one side to the other, attempting to find some ease for her aching back, had she spoken to him. He had looked to her, offered to carry Grainne, and after a slight moment of hesitation, she stopped and shifted her daughter into the arms of the man she once loved. The relief washed through her back. Nights of sleeping on the ground or giving up soft sleeping spots for Grainne to have comfort was paying its toll on the woman. She would have to attempt a pain reduction spell a bit later.

Every few minutes, okay seconds, she would glance over at her sleepign daughter, arms clinging around Mordred's neck, head rested gently on his shoulder.

When they arrived at his home Eliza collected Grainne back from him, gave him a soft thanks as he opened the door, and ventured inside.

She had roused Grainne awake long enough to get some dinner in her before the girl was sleeping back on her mother's lap. Eliza had excused the two of them as she went to go tuck Grainne into bed.

Elizawse stepped back into the living area of his living quarters, eyes scanning around, taking in the new sights around her. Her eyes had finally landed on the one thing she did recognize in the room. Mordred.

Their walk had been so quiet, but Elizawse did not mind. She couldn't find the words in her to speak after what he had seen in her mind. After the small bit of his she had seen. She knew she had no reason to apologize, not really, but still, why did she feel so guilty? She knew why.

"Thank you, again, for letting us stay here this evening." She said, placing a time stamp in the air for her own sake. Do not get comfortable. She said to herself. "I had not set up a resting area yet and we would have likely ended up in a barn. Not that Grainne minds," She said, the smile gracing her features once again as she spoke of her daughter, "but I know for a fact that at times on this journey she has missed the comforts of our home."

Our home. Hers and Grainne's.

Not Mordred's. Not anymore.

©

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Mordred Pendragon
 Posted: Jan 2 2017, 11:57 AM
Quote
  • Nobility (22)
  • Arthurian Legend
  • Camelot
  • “Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?”
Nic


i don't wanna know who's taking you home and loving you so, the way i used to love you, oh
Someday. Like a hopeful fool he used to think. Someday. Someday he would overcome the demons that clung to his mind; someday he would change the future laid out before him; someday he would have a good and pleasant and long life; someday he would be the man Elizawse deserved. When he opened his arms to hold Grainne next to his breast, for a moment Mordred felt like that the future he had hoped for would have been possible. Maybe he could still be the man Elizawse deserved; not that he had any hope to earn her love again but, at least, in his heart he would know that if he had done things differently, she might have loved him still. The child was gold of crown, like her mother. She looked just like her; with her eyes and her smile and her nose. But there was some Le Fay in her as well. Morgana’s blood ran through the child and it sang to Mordred. It was unmistakeable; the sureness of her gait, the absoluteness of her. She, like her father and her grandmother, was a force of nature. As he carried her in his arms, with her blood singing to his and his to hers, Mordred knew that he loved Grainne, even if he had only known her for a few hours; even if he had only known of her for a few hours. He loved Grainne with a love he never knew he had in him. He loved her more than he did Elizawse; loved her more than his own life. As they made their silent trek to his humble home, he knew that he would not bleed for her as he did for himself, as he used to for Arthur, for his mother, for his brothers. No. He would sew his wounds shut for her so that she might never think that to lead such a life was an option. Grainne now slept in his room, huddled underneath his blankets, her golden crown on his pillow. He caught a glimpse of mother and daughter saying their goodnights. Elizawse kissing her daughter’s brow and Grainne murmuring a soft goodnight to her as she turned to her side. He was intruding. He knew the feeling all too well. He’d spent most of his life intruding, peering into lives — pasts and futures — that weren’t his. The wretched yet familiar feeling flooded him. Instead of looking on, as he once did, he turned his gaze away, moving to the other side of the living room — as far away from his own bedroom as he could get — and gave them the space they should be rightfully afforded. As he stood in silence, staring into the crackling fires of the hearth, he realized that he was not angry. He wasn’t even envious. Gaheris married her, married his Elizawse… but she wasn’t his; she never was. A clarity creeps up to him, one that he hadn’t had in six years… In an instant, he puts a name to the ache in his chest. Nostalgia. A thousand speeches form in his mind of what to tell Elizawse. His heart struggles to find the right words to describe the pain, the love, the ache, the longing that lined his soul. And when Elizawse comes to him with polite words of thanks — presenting a timeline that Mordred recognizes before she even utters the words — he finds himself saying, “I miss you.” It was perhaps not what she had wanted to hear; it was not what he had wanted to say. It would have been far easier to just keep to the silence and the heavy weight of ignorance, but when had Mordred ever been strong? He was weak. His heart was weak and soft and it bled rivers from an ache he carried long before he had known how to describe it. I miss you, his lips said. In his eyes, it could be seen that his heart also said, I love you. “…and Gaheris, Gareth, Agravaine, Gawaine.” He continued, swallowing as he tried to save face. “I want to know everything,” he continued, instead trying to explain his situation. “But I can’t. So you mustn’t— you mustn’t tell me anything. It’s easier that way. I mean, it’s not easy but— home… home doesn’t exist for me anymore, and I’ve accepted that.”
tag: @Kenna notes: this is super rambly. i'm so sorry this took forever
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Elizawse Wyllt
 Posted: Jan 15 2017, 10:11 PM
Quote
  • Magical Beings (26)
  • The Wise Princess
  • Camelot
  • “I will stand in the dark for you. I will hold you back by force. I will stand here right outside your door.”
Kenna


Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste.
I don't know what happened. And Eliza just dropped a lot.

@Nic

Far.

Across the room. That is where he stood now. So far away. Across the room. All the way across the room. Far across the room.

But he wasn’t far. No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t far because she could see him.

Close.

Yes, that is it. He is close. Closer than he had been in six years. In the same area. In the same room. Across the room. Across the room that seemed far too big with him all the way across the room.

Here.

He is here. She is here. He is here. He is here and he is alive. He is breathing. He is living. He is here. She is here.

They are here.

Together.

But they aren’t. They aren’t together. No.

But they are.

But they aren’t.

Far.

Elizawse’s mind was far from her space right now. It was miles away, up in the air. It was traveling through time. It was searching through histories. It was scanning the universe for the speck that made this happen. That tipped the first domino. That was the cause to these events. All of them. All six years of them.

But her eyes were on him. As she spoke. As she scolded herself in her mind. As she set up her timeline. As she set guidelines for herself. Her eyes stayed on him. She couldn’t look away. Even when he spoke. Even when those words dropped from his mouth and stabbed her in the chest she couldn’t look away.

Far.

He was so far for so long. And he had missed her.

”I miss you.” That is what he said. ”I miss you.”

Her breath caught in her throat as her hands folded in front of her abdomen. Her fingers clung together, as if she had to hold herself together right there in this moment. In this space. This space so close to him.

Close.

Did he move closer? No. Did she move closer? No. Did the room shrink? No. But it seems smaller now. Closer. The room is smaller, the roof is lower, the walls are tighter, he is closer. But he isn’t.

But he is.

Closer than he had been in years. Years and years and years and years.

Eliza had never expected this. She never expected to see him again. She never expected to be so close again. As close as a room away.

His next words gave her the moment she needed to catch her breath.

Her. Gaheris. Gareth. Agrarian. Gawaine.

That is where his list ends. But she is sure she can feel it. She can feel it in the particles between them. He missed more. He missed it all.

Or maybe that was her. Maybe her own homesickness mixed with the conflicted feelings of the situation. It was hard to keep much straight now. Everything was colliding.

Everything.

He wants to know everything. Everything for six years. Everything. Every moment. Every minute. Every second. Everything. But how does one tell everything? Did she even remember everything?

But he says she mustn’t. Mustn’t say anything.

”Okay.” She finally says softly. She took slow, calm steps over to a chair. She lowered herself as she repeated it again. ”Okay.”

Her hands stayed folded but they now rested in her lap. Her eyes finally left him, looking to her hands. She turned them so her palms faced up and her eyes traced the lines as if she was watching the last six years in them.

”I won’t tell you anything.” Her voice was soft but it seemed to fill the space, taking away the air. ”I won’t tell you how Grainne’s best friends are her cousins, the princes and the princess. I won’t tell you how Camelot has pulled itself from shadow and shines like the golden kingdom it should. I won’t tell you how Arthur and Gwen are the world’s most perfect parents. And I won’t tell you how Arthur hurt himself while trying to show off on the training ground when his sons were watching.” Eliza couldn’t stop, the words flew from her mouth. ”I won’t tell you about how Gwen had taken up stitching when she was put on bed rest for baby number three. I won’t tell you about the crown prince named after his father, or the princess with her godmother’s name as her middle name, or the newest baby prince whom Grainne has decided is her baby.” Her eyes watched as her hands began to shake. ”I won’t tell you about the time Grainne found a hidden library that hadn’t been touched in years full of magical books. I won’t tell you about how she learned about her grandfather. I won’t tell you about how the incidents six years ago are only hushed conversations in the shadows. I won’t tell you how people speak as if we are mourning not one but two deaths from them. I won’t tell you how your brothers wept as if you had died. I won’t tell you how we live as if you are still someone to be mourned. I won’t tell you about the nightmares. I won’t tell you about the pain. I won’t tell you about the years and years of tension and emptiness we all felt. I won’t tell you about the weddings that we couldn’t fully enjoy or the births that were bittersweet. I won’t tell you how what you did turned our whole world upside down.” She sped up as she reached the end, her sentences running together and her heart rate accelerating.

But then she stopped, and her head lifted up slowly, finding his face once again.

”And I won’t tell you how we miss you too.”

©

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Mordred Pendragon
 Posted: Feb 26 2017, 06:42 PM
Quote
  • Nobility (22)
  • Arthurian Legend
  • Camelot
  • “Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?”
Nic


i don't wanna know who's taking you home and loving you so, the way i used to love you, oh
She is there; closer than she has ever been in six years. Close, so very close. Only a few hours ago, he had seen into her mind and she, his. But the divide between them is wider, larger, deeper than it has ever been. One false step and he would fall, never to come back out again. It is terrifying, but the lure of that step — that one step that all at once would be his ruin and salvation — sang to his blood. But having her there, having her so close, having Camelot so close to him, he could almost touch it — it was maddening. The temptation of reaching out, of taking what was his birthright, his destiny — Arthur’s blood in his hands, the ashes of Camelot at his feet, his legacy secured for the years to come, his lifelong pain ended with the ever so mundane death of a sword buried in his heart. So he pleads for her to make this pain end. This one pain, this longing for what was once his; to soothe it with silence and ignorance because knowledge would only fester his wounds. She agrees, but only for a moment. “No, Elizawse, please…” His voice is soft, but there is panic in his eyes as the words spill from her lips, saying the things he longed to hear. Saying the things that the demon prophecies needed to hear. That Camelot was good and well despite everything it had done to hurt him. That Arthur and Guinevere had children, three, two princes and a princess. That the girl had Elizawse’s name, that the heir had Arthur’s. That the Pendragon blood was alive and well and it thrived. That Morgana’s curse had truly been lifted. That his mother’s black spot on Camelot’s history was fading, slowly but surely. That he was fading away along with her. Forgotten and hidden in the shadows. Camelot’s greatest shame, Arthur’s errant son, the harbinger of doom that was only just a wounded fool, only a fool who didn't even deserve all the suspicion and fear piled upon him. When she tells him of mourning, of his brothers weeping as if he had died, and of emptiness, he feels himself become so unsteady, he just might fall on his knees. Miraculously, he stays on his feet, but not without great effort. He wraps his arms around himself, as if to keep some demon inside of him from escaping. He feels it crawling under his skin, like a thousand insects creeping beneath his flesh, burrowing their way out. He screws his eyes shut, forcing the voices to stop, telling himself that it wasn’t real. That that life was gone. That that future was gone because he would not — would never let it happen. He would not let the black hands of death touch them. “Stop, please.” He pleads, voice quiet but broken. “I can’t. Don’t. Elizawse! STOP!” His voice rises, reaches a crescendo along with the quickening rhythm of her own. And then it stops, all of a sudden. Quiet. “And I won’t tell you how we miss you too.” There is blood on his fingertips as he pries his hands away from his skin. The blood spilled releases magic of its own; it projects a force in the room that brings him to his knees. (He was a fool to think that he had gotten better in his isolation. Nothing, nothing would ever fix him. Neither time nor distance would heal his poisoned soul. He hadn’t gotten better. He’d gotten worse. The blackness inside him grew more and more demanding. He was a fool to ever think that he had some semblance of control over it. His only hope had been to keep it dormant.) Desperately he looks up. The softest of whispers escapes his lips. “No.” He pushes the blackness back into the dungeons of himself as he wills the force to stop just inches away from his bedroom, away from Grainne’s haven. (He keeps her safe. He will keep her safe. Even if it’s from himself.) Away from Elizawse. He steadies himself on all fours but lacks all the strength, all the will, all the self-worth to get back up again. “Arthur should have killed me when he had the chance.” A beat. “If I wasn’t such a coward," lips twist in self-hatred, "I’d do it myself.”
tag: @Kenna notes: that took another turn. mordred always makes me so upset. gdi mordred i am not ok

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Elizawse Wyllt
 Posted: Mar 22 2017, 10:48 AM
Quote
  • Magical Beings (26)
  • The Wise Princess
  • Camelot
  • “I will stand in the dark for you. I will hold you back by force. I will stand here right outside your door.”
Kenna


Who would have known how bittersweet this would taste.
Broken. Everything is broken.

@Nic

His voice is soft, but she can see the panic when she finally looks into his eyes.

But her words don’t stop. They can’t stop. They have been building up in her mouth for so many years that she was sure her jaw would snap from the pressure.

She thinks she sees him sway. Where her words powerful enough to knock a grown man off his feet? They were but simple truths. Yet, truths are the heaviest words a person can give. She knows this, for so many truths lie dormant inside of her while soft, light lies usually trickle through her mouth.

It hadn’t always been like that. No, Elizawse was never one to lie before. Always straight forward, always truthful, no matter the affect it would hold. But something changed her. Something changed her in a way that she knew she would never be fully restored from. She knew. Her husband knew. And though they never spoke of it she was sure her best friend also knew.

And the man in front of her. He had to know. He had to. Even before he looked into her mind he had to know. Just by looking at her. Looking at how she carried herself now. Looking at the signs of age in her character. An age that should not have shown yet, no, not for years and years. A tiredness of sorts, like one of a soldier who had been through a life changing battle. Much like the look many of Camelot’s older knights have.

These changes may not be big. They may not be apparent to those who don’t know her or are just glancing at her. But he knew her. Or he used to. They used to know every inch of the other, inside and out. Two parts of a single thing. That is what they were.

And a connection like that can’t just vanish, right?

His arms wrap around himself. Is he trying to shield himself from her words? Or is he holding himself together as the pieces slowly break and crumble? She doesn’t know. Doesn’t ask. Doesn’t allow it to stop her words.

He pleads to her. A broken voice reaching out. One that in the past would have brought instant silence. One that she would have ran to aid and fix. One that she now allows to just roll over her shoulders.

But as his voice grows her words come to an end. A natural end. As if she was empty now. Years of build up suddenly laid out between them. But one thing was left. And it floated into the room in the heaviest whisper she had even spoken.

Eliza watches as Mordred falls to his knees, but in an instant she notices the magic fill the room. With the flip of a switch in her mind she puts up her own barrier around herself, ready for it to lash at her. But she senses it go somewhere else. Senses it as it projects towards his bedroom. Towards the room where her life now slept. Towards Grainne. With the sharp turn of a head her own magic slings to the bedroom, but his stops inches before it touches hers.

She can feel it coil back into himself. A dark mass so much different from her own that lingered in her blood and soul.

She had been so afraid that it would change after the losses she had endured. She had imagined it turning dark, tar-like. Something evil. But instead it grew stronger, and if possible lighter. As if there was one last gift from her father as he passed over, the gift of a small piece of him placed inside her. For now her magic seemed to echo that of the deceased wizard. She no longer needed books and potions. She no longer could only dabble in the magic of the mind. She was stronger now. She could do so much more.

But she had a feeling hers was not the only one that had grown. And she could sense that the magic that stirred in the man in front of her had grown in a different direction than hers.

Small words leave the broken man who holds himself on all fours. All Eliza can do is shake her head. ”He would have never done that. You know that.” She stays in her place, unable to move to him. ”He would never harm his own blood.”

His confession shakes her slightly, but is not much of a surprise. It is a feeling she knew far to well. ”The best of us have tried.” She says simply.

©

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Mordred Pendragon
 Posted: Apr 28 2017, 04:20 PM
Quote
  • Nobility (22)
  • Arthurian Legend
  • Camelot
  • “Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?”
Nic


i don't wanna know who's taking you home and loving you so, the way i used to love you, oh
He is broken, deformed. It had taken every bit of him to keep up the facade of normalcy. To show other people that he was getting better. To convince himself that he was getting better. But the monster beneath was not dead. It was alive, asleep, dormant, but it lived and breathed its darkness into his soul. He could not sever it from himself. It had twined itself into every part of him. It was in his blood, in his veins, in his heart, in his very soul. Every breath he took was a breath given to this demon he had nursed before he even knew what it was. A mistake. A dreadful mistake. That was what he was. “I— I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice broken, his breath ragged, his head bowed. He falls on his haunches, hangs his head. He pulls a handkerchief — white, pristine, unstained (had he ever been so pure?) — and presses it on the small half-moon marks on his skin. An act he was much too acquainted with. “I would never hurt her.” Just a little bit of blood, a little bit of pain, a little bit of longing — that was all the excuse his magic needed to come to arms. “So he banished me instead. An execution would’ve been more merciful.” His insides become full of bitterness. He wants to weep, wants to revenge, wants to run away. He wanted what he could not have — wanted what he could not let himself have. His eyes remain dry; he’d run out of tears a long time ago. Wracked sobs over the loss of everything and everyone he held dear were a thing of the past. He had hardened. His magic, perhaps, or maybe just time. Maybe just bitterness and the instinct to survive filling the spaces where love once was. He relearned the art of smiling, of pretending. He relearned charm and graces — an easy smile, a pleasant laugh, a helping hand, a silver tongue. He made his way through life, survived unknown faces and unknown places, relying on a farce. Because the reality that had been worth living had become a memory. The pain, the longing, had become a dull ever-present ache. He’d lived with his broken heart and, truthfully, never made any attempts of mending it. Afraid that if his heart became whole again, he would lose the only thing he had left of her.
“You need to go, Mordred.” “Where? To Orkney? There’s nothing for me there, not anymore.” “Farther.” “And if I don’t want to?” “You don’t have a choice.” “I do. There’s always a choice. You told me that.” “You have to go, Mordred. And you can’t come back.”
“I should go.” He stands, slowly at first, still unsteady, but it doesn’t stop his indomitable will. “This was a mistake.”
tag: @Kenna notes: rip feelings

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SKIN MADE BY NIC EXCLUSIVELY FOR FIND THE RABBIT HOLE.