Arthur was standing on the highest parapet, overlooking Albion. He had brought magic back, and united all the lands of Albion in his time, but he was old now. Not as old as his father had been when he died, but old enough that his reflexes are slowing, slightly, old enough that he feels each injury taking slightly longer to heal than the last.
He is alone now too. Gwen had died years before, but she had been the only woman he ever truly loved, and however many times his Court told him he must produce an heir, he couldn’t bring it upon himself to marry another woman. To betray her memory like that. That one blissful night they had had together was still all that he dreamt, and some days he wishes it had been enough.
Merlin, as Arthur had always predicted, is rarely at Camelot now. He is travelling, all over Albion, learning new ways of magic, bringing in reports from their borders. There are murmurings of an uprising to the west – the druids. Mordred. But Arthur has despatched his Knights, he will not go himself.
His Knights are young and eager, just like he had been at their age, to fight. They can deal with anything that comes up against them. Some of them even posses magic, and can fight their foes that way. But maybe, just maybe, Arthur will ride out once more, with Lancelot, his most trusted Knight. Arthur will ride out and face the druids.
He knows that that is his true destiny, to die at Mordred hand, even though Merlin has tried to hide it from him. He wishes his friend was here now, so they could talk into the night, like they used to. Merlin would try and persuade him not to go, and Arthur would claim it was right for Albion.
Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but it’s right for Arthur. He’s old now, old and alone and tired. And maybe this is enough. He’ll ride out at dawn and meet the druids in a few days,
And die at Mordred’s hand.
The line of the Pendragon’s will end, and Camelot will fall.
But Arthur’s tired, and for once in his life, he wants to do something selfish, something just for himself.
He wants to see Guinevere again.
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The End
Part 1: link
Part 2: link
Part 3: link
Part 4: link
Part 5: link
Part 6: link
Part 7: link
He is alone now too. Gwen had died years before, but she had been the only woman he ever truly loved, and however many times his Court told him he must produce an heir, he couldn’t bring it upon himself to marry another woman. To betray her memory like that. That one blissful night they had had together was still all that he dreamt, and some days he wishes it had been enough.
Merlin, as Arthur had always predicted, is rarely at Camelot now. He is travelling, all over Albion, learning new ways of magic, bringing in reports from their borders. There are murmurings of an uprising to the west – the druids. Mordred. But Arthur has despatched his Knights, he will not go himself.
His Knights are young and eager, just like he had been at their age, to fight. They can deal with anything that comes up against them. Some of them even posses magic, and can fight their foes that way. But maybe, just maybe, Arthur will ride out once more, with Lancelot, his most trusted Knight. Arthur will ride out and face the druids.
He knows that that is his true destiny, to die at Mordred hand, even though Merlin has tried to hide it from him. He wishes his friend was here now, so they could talk into the night, like they used to. Merlin would try and persuade him not to go, and Arthur would claim it was right for Albion.
Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t, but it’s right for Arthur. He’s old now, old and alone and tired. And maybe this is enough. He’ll ride out at dawn and meet the druids in a few days,
And die at Mordred’s hand.
The line of the Pendragon’s will end, and Camelot will fall.
But Arthur’s tired, and for once in his life, he wants to do something selfish, something just for himself.
He wants to see Guinevere again.
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The End
Part 1: link
Part 2: link
Part 3: link
Part 4: link
Part 5: link
Part 6: link
Part 7: link