{"id":20989,"date":"2013-11-12T07:57:32","date_gmt":"2013-11-12T07:57:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/2013\/11\/12\/it-takes-a-while-to-track-him-down-camelot-is-not-2\/"},"modified":"2013-11-12T07:57:32","modified_gmt":"2013-11-12T07:57:32","slug":"it-takes-a-while-to-track-him-down-camelot-is-not-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/2013\/11\/12\/it-takes-a-while-to-track-him-down-camelot-is-not-2\/","title":{"rendered":"It takes a while to track him down; Camelot is not a small place, even just the castle. Finally Summer finds him in the armory, putting away his weapons after practise. “Mordred.” There’s only one door, so she stands in it, trying to look a little intimidating. It’s hard to be angry at him, though; her voice comes out more worried. “Mordred. What are you hiding from me?”"},"content":{"rendered":"

sirmordred-thedruid<\/a>:<\/p>\n

\n

iamthefirechild<\/a>:<\/p>\n

\n

xregicide-deactivated20140812<\/a>:<\/p>\n

\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0<\/span>M<\/strong>ordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An\u00a0<\/span>impossible<\/em> predicament. \u00a0\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0T<\/strong>he young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. \u201cI\u2019m not hiding anything\u201d he tells her simply.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

Summer can\u2019t say what Morgana did to her \u2014 her magic has always been so very limited, despite its seeming power. Whatever it is, she can\u2019t shut out anyone\u2019s emotions now, can\u2019t call that one magic that\u2019s always been hers, and the sorceress has brought her to share the vantage point above the battle.<\/span><\/p>\n

True to Morgana\u2019s word, she is forced to watch, chained and powerless and broken open, as the soldiers and knights of Camelot die all across the field, and the Saxons die with them. Long minutes now she\u2019s been in a daze, helpless in the face of so much death.\u00a0<\/p>\n

Morgana guards Mordred, and Summer is unwillingly grateful, both for the guardianship and for that it means the mad sorceress is not standing over her.\u00a0He seems to move as a dark angel across the killing field, untouched and untouchable, his sword stabbing bright and rising bloody.\u00a0She sees him confront Arthur, whose hair still somehow shines golden amongst the blood and dirt.<\/span><\/p>\n

She sees them pause, and the swords flash, and both bodies fall. The pain of both wounds does something to her; magic pours into her veins like some kind of burning cordial.\u00a0From a great distance, it seems, Summer looks at the men guarding her, and they fall, flaming, burning, dead. She rises to her feet, and the chains crumble from her limbs. A hot wind stirs around her body, swirling her hair in mad waves about her.<\/span><\/p>\n

Somehow, she is at Mordred\u2019s side. Merlin is there, too, with Arthur, though his form is strangely altered, and as he takes the fallen King\u2019s body he whispers, \u201cWhat are you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c<\/span>Yr wyf t\u00e2n<\/a>,\u201d Summer says, in a voice unlike her own. She takes Mordred from that terrible place, by main force of will keeping the life in him. She doesn\u2019t know where Morgana is; she doesn\u2019t care. All the threats, all the prophecy, none of it matters.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0H<\/strong>is footing goes before anything else and he stumbles backwards, collapsing to the ground as he feels the magic from Arthur\u2019s sword wash over his body, stealing the life from him as his blade was doing to the king. For a moment he struggles for breath before the final one left him and his eyes shut.<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 A<\/strong> warmth washed over him before everything went cold and his blood froze in his veins.\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

“Don’t leave me, anwyl, cariad,” Summer whispers shakily. She lays Mordred out in the little thicket, setting the fingers of one hand to the wound and cauterizing it. Her hands tremble as she lifts away his breastplate, pushes the chainmail aside. “If you leave me, I will go myself barefoot and unarmed to the very gates of Annwn and bring you back, do you hear, so do you stay now, with me.”<\/p>\n

HIs skin is terribly cold now, breathing shallow and heartbeat so faint. Recklessly she warms the air, and sets fingers to the wound again. There’s something inimical there, something that sucks away his spirit from between her clinging fingers, and she sets herself against it. The magic that has burnt in her blood since she saw him fall surges, sliding in golden strands and bright threads through and around.<\/p>\n

Fire cleanses.<\/p>\n

“Stay with me,” she chants, raggedly, “do not go where I cannot follow. Rwy’n dy garu di, peidiwch \u00e2 gadael i mi<\/a>.”<\/p>\n

Fire purifies.<\/p>\n

Crying, Summer bends over him, her hair falling to shield their faces, and kisses him.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

sirmordred-thedruid: iamthefirechild: xregicide-deactivated20140812: \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0\u00a0Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An\u00a0impossible predicament. \u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0The young … Continue reading It takes a while to track him down; Camelot is not a small place, even just the castle. Finally Summer finds him in the armory, putting away his weapons after practise. “Mordred.” There’s only one door, so she stands in it, trying to look a little intimidating. It’s hard to be angry at him, though; her voice comes out more worried. “Mordred. What are you hiding from me?”<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[10,2390,2399,2402,2025],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20989"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20989"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20989\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20989"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20989"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.firechildren.net\/lightfire\/iamthefirechild\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20989"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}