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The ground was cold. Freezing. The wind blew over his open wounds as he bled. He felt the life pouring out of his body. Mordred couldn’t move his limbs, and all his eyes could see was the body of his king, his fellow knight, whom he betrayed for what he thought was good.
Arthur lay next to him in the same situation as him — dying, by his hand. Mordred felt guilt. Regret. Sorrow. Even though he was losing his own life, he was mourning another.
He never wanted to kill Arthur. The boy just wanted the world to be flourishing with love, unlike what he had experienced his entire life. No more hatred, no more prejudice. But now, all that he could do was carry his dying wish into the afterlife.
Mordred prayed for Morgana and all other sorcerers in the world. He prayed, wished, and hoped that this war could be resolved peacefully. But even a young boy like him knew that was only wishful thinking. Blood would spill in every corner of Camelot — what a horrible thought to have moments before death.
A tear fell from his eye as he felt his last seconds running out. He failed, he thought to himself. He failed everyone he cared about. He failed himself.
Mordred closed his eyes. No one was around to hear his last words.
“I’m sorry.”
𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔
A soft, gentle breeze tickled his cheeks, causing him to open his eyes. Mordred lay there for a moment, just. . . breathing. He stared at the sky, feeling so small in the world. Then he realised he felt no pain in the place he was stabbed. His hand slowly went over his abdomen and he braced himself for the sting of the wound, but there was nothing — as if nothing happened at all.
Mordred sat up. He noticed he was no longer in the same place he was before. No longer on the battlefield, surrounded by lifeless bodies and pools of blood. There were only grass fields and flowers blooming in it, ducks happily sipping from a nearby pond, birds flying across the sun as if the world wasn’t plunged into war just moments ago.
And suddenly, his heart dropped. What had he done? All of what happened, he blamed himself. It was him who told Morgana about Emrys’ true identity, it was him who stood by Morgana’s side, it was him who betrayed Arthur. It was him who messed everything up.
The boy covered his face, trying to keep the tears from streaming down his face, but failing to do so. He cried, and he cried, and he cried. He let everybody down. He failed Arthur, and Emrys, who would create a peaceful land for sorcerers and non-sorcerers alike. And he even failed Morgana, the closest he could get to a family. Mordred felt like every decision he had made only caused nothing but pain, agony, and eventually, death.
“You don’t have to cry, you know?”
It was a familiar voice, but not one that Mordred wanted to hear now. It was his fault that he was here, after all. He couldn’t be confronted by this right now. . . but he knew he had no choice.
Arthur walked towards Mordred and sat down beside him. He seemed fine — there was no blood nor wounds that could tell him that he had just been fighting in a war. Arthur looked like he always had — like a proper king.
“I left in Merlin’s arms,” Arthur began, staring at the sky. Mordred looked at him, still with tears in his eyes, listening closely to the man he killed. “It was emotional. But I’m happy I was with him until the very end.”
In this place, Arthur looked more. . . magnificent than in life. The way the sunlight fell just perfectly on his face made him look like he was glowing. Perhaps he wasn’t literally, but Arthur was glowing. He seemed. . . fulfilled. Comfortable. Satisfied. Since Mordred saw him, Arthur’s smile never left his face. And though Mordred usually had a hard time with facial expressions, he could tell that this was a real smile. A genuine smile from Arthur to Mordred.
“I think Merlin has protected me, from beginning to end,” Arthur said. He paused to take a deep breath. “With magic.”
Mordred just stared. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything.
“I feel like everyone knew but me. Well, I had my suspicions, but. . . I could never bring myself to believe it. My father hated sorcerers his entire life and when you grow up with that, it’s hard to see them in another way. But Merlin. . . he. . . from the very first time we met, I knew there was something different about him. I didn’t know it was magic, but he was just so different. And I’ve grown to care for him in such a way that. . . Ah, nevermind. If he had told me he had magic, I think things would’ve been easier. For both him and me.”
Arthur then turned to Mordred. “Did you know about this?”
There was a huge lump in Mordred’s throat, preventing him from uttering a word. He closed his eyes, because he didn’t dare to look Arthur in the eyes. At that moment, he truly felt like he was the worst person that had ever lived in this world. He couldn’t stop his tears, but this time, he didn’t want to — he just wanted to show Arthur that there was nothing in his heart but regret and sorrow.
After a while of silent sobbing, Mordred wiped the tears off his face. “There was a prophecy known to all sorcerers,” he told Arthur, “about a great warlock that would help the Once and Future King bring peace to this world.” Mordred gave Arthur a weak smile. “The Once and Future King is you, and the great warlock. . .”
“Merlin,” Arthur filled in.
“Yes,” Mordred said. “He is known as Emrys to my people. To many sorcerers. And we looked up to him and had faith in him. I did too. I still do. I just. . . but I just betrayed him.”
Again, he began to cry. This time, Arthur put an arm around him and held him close. Mordred was shaking and his breathing was irregular — he felt so guilty. Oh, it consumed him, and he didn’t know what to do. It was all too late now.
“Mordred,” Arthur said. “Mordred, it’s okay.”
“I killed you,” Mordred cried through his tears and grabbed onto Arthur’s cape tightly. “I killed you, but I regret it so much. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Mordred,” Arthur repeated. “It’s alright. We’re here now.”
The dead king caressed his former knight over his head. “I forgive you.”
He held him like this for a few minutes, in silence. The sobs of the young boy broke his heart and he knew that Mordred could not be blamed for all of this. Many things played their role in this war and in their deaths, and Arthur could not blame this one, whose heart was so fragile.
Arthur looked towards the pond, seeing the ducks, frogs and fish live together freely. He wondered if things would be different if he had just opened his heart to magic and not follow in the footsteps of his father. Morgana was right about that he hadn’t made any changes to Camelot’s view on sorcery and how it caused the suffering of many people who didn’t deserve it. He, too, had many regrets that he could only think of now that he had no power to do anything anymore.
Eventually, Mordred stopped crying, and only clung to Arthur’s cape like a scared child. Suddenly, he remembered him from many, many years ago.
“You’re the Druid boy,” Arthur said, with a little surprise in his voice. Mordred looked at him, equally as surprised.
“You didn’t know yet?” Mordred asked, having to hide a little chuckle. His tears had dried on his face, and it gave him the power to feel a little amused, a little joy in this vulnerable state.
“Yeah, Morgana protected you. It really felt like she had a bond with you.” Arthur sighed, finally putting two and two together. “Now I know why you went to her. I don’t blame you at all. It must’ve been hard.”
He stood up and reached out to Mordred, gesturing to take his hand. “Come on,” Arthur said. “Morgana must be here, somewhere.”
“You think she’s here?” Mordred asked, grabbing his hand and being pulled up on his feet.
“Well, yeah. Do you not think she’s here?”
“I do, without a doubt. But you and she have your differences. . . You don’t understand each other well, so perhaps you think she doesn’t belong here.”
“Oh, you mean I think she belongs in hell? Do you think of me as that cruel of a person?”
“No! I didn’t mean it like that! My apologies, sire.”
Arthur laughed at his response. “I’m not your king anymore,” he said. “We’re equals. Well, we’ve always been equals.”
They walked around together to find Morgana. The places they saw were beautiful — colourful flowers, beautiful animals like birds, deer, and more. . . This truly felt like a paradise.
Eventually, they came across a little house. The garden was properly tended to — there were flowers in pots surrounding the door, the bushes were trimmed nicely into shape, and there was a statue of a dragon in the middle of it.
The door opened. It was Morgana, who held a flower pot in her hands. When she noticed her two visitors, she immediately shifted her attention to Arthur, raising the pot as if to hit him with it.
“What are you doing with that child?” Morgana pulled Mordred away from him, standing in between them, still holding the pot as a means of attacking. “Leave me alone. Haven’t you pestered me enough?”
Arthur was about to open his mouth, but Mordred placed his hand on Morgana’s shoulder. He stood in between the Pendragon siblings now. He looked at her with. . . sadness, pity, concern. “Morgana, it’s alright now. There’s no need to fight anymore.”
“I don’t want to see his face. Not even in death can I elude his face.”
“Morgana,” Arthur said, but he was at a loss for words. In truth, he’d always seen Morgana as a sister, but the sad thing was that he never got the chance to live with her as such. The moment they both knew they were blood-related, hell broke loose.
“I know you’re angry at me,” Arthur said. “I know very well. I know you’re angry at Father—”
“Don’t call that man my father.”
“…I know you’re angry. I want you to know that I don’t agree with what Fath— with that my Father has done. And I know you’re angry I didn’t change his ways. I regret it, truly.”
“It’s a little too late for regrets,” Morgana replied. “There’s nothing you can do about it now.”
“That’s the thing, Morgana, there is nothing I can do about it now. There’s nothing to do anymore. It’s over now. That’s why I wish to make things right with you. Or at least, make you not want to kill me. Haha, well, if we weren’t already dead.”
There was a brief silence between them.
“Don’t you want to get rid of your anger and hatred, Morgana?”
This was the first time Morgana didn’t look Arthur directly in the eyes. She looked away — to the ground, to the trees, and finally, to Mordred. The boy just smiled at her. Morgana ran her hand through his hair, ruffling his curls and pinching his cheek, causing Mordred to laugh in embarrassment (but a little in relief, too).
She looked at Mordred. “I want you to know I’ve always seen you as family,” Morgana said. “Come, I’ll pour you some tea. This place has some delicious berries.”
Mordred walked ahead into the house, followed by Morgana. When Arthur didn’t move from his spot, Morgana stopped and turned around.
“Didn’t you hear me? I said I’ll pour you some tea.”
She walked inside, and Arthur couldn’t hold his smile.
They would all be okay.