Hey guys!
How are you all? Seems like I haven't posted or been on in ages!
...Man, has a lot changed on here! For one, what's up with the story cover thing? Are they actually expecting us to trawl through pages and pages of Google images (because I cannot draw to save my life) to represent our story?
Hmm...
Anyway, here's a little something I wanted to write because I am in an ArMor withdrawal state. God, I hope season 5 has good scenes in which we (meaning me) can turn it into an ArMor one with our wily ways ;)
Enjoy!
She shivers involuntarily as a particularly strong gust of wind breezes through the woods, ruffling her tangled hair and strands of black thread dangling from her ripped clothing. Slumped, she sits with her back against a tree trunk, willing herself to stay awake as she grasps her small dagger within her right hand.
She needs the small amount of protection it offers; she has no-one left she can fully trust in this world anymore. Not after being betrayed by everyone she once knew by one way or another. Not after abandoning Agravaine and Helios.
She is all alone.
Her hand tightens its hold around the dagger.
The small fire she created has long since burned out, leaving her with nothing but the pale moonlight to help her see in the otherwise dark woods.
It's at times like these she wonders whether this is all worth it.
Whether she made the right choice in following Morgause and turning her back on Camelot. Whether destiny might have had something different in mind for her before. Whether she could have been...happy, right now.
Then, she remembers that it is too late to wonder about 'what could have been' when all her actions have already created deep, unforgivable chasms between her and the people who used to care for her.
A small sigh escapes her frozen lips as she tries to huddle deeper within herself for some sort of warmth. Her eyes drift towards the dagger held tightly in her hand, the sharp metal glinting dangerously in the moonlight, the small jewels gleaming softly at her.
Her eyes flicker with sudden recognition and she quickly drops the cold object onto the hard ground, her gaze never leaving it all the while.
She remembers the moment he gave it to her vividly, her mind recalling every small detail.
She remembers clearly.
And, before long, she suddenly finds herself tearing through past memories, her heart aching for what used to be rather than what is now; for the times when she was happy and loved rather than hated by the entire kingdom.
For the times when she had someone to be loyal to rather than stumbling blindly through life, feeling the biting consequences of everything she has done.
She breathes deeply as her mind settles on the events of earlier today, when she saw him properly for the first time since her last attempted siege of Camelot. She thinks back to the obvious disappointment etched into his face, to the hurt flashing through his bright, blue eyes, to the suddenly painful beating of her heart as she watched his disapproving eyes watch her every movement.
She realises something important as she lies in the darkness of the woods, sheltered underneath the branches of a tall tree, her arms wrapped around her. She realises she misses him and his comforting presence from what seems like a millenia ago. Despite everything, despite having searched several times within her for reasons as to why, she realises she still loves him as much as she did before.
And she hates herself for loving the enemy.
Or rather, she unconsciously corrects herself, the son of her enemy.
For, even with everything, she's never really hated Arthur. Guinevere? Yes. Merlin? Yes. Uther? God, yes.
But Arthur?
Never.
And she can't help wondering whether maybe, just maybe, he still has a glimmer of love for her. After all, they were each other's first love.
And first loves don't have a habit of disappearing from people's hearts.
She wonders again whether all this, all her efforts in ruining Camelot for what its previous King did, is worth it.
Then, like always, she remembers the harsher times.
The times when the man who claimed to love her as a daughter threw her into the dungeons for speaking her mind; who had physically assaulted her once for standing up for what was right; who had thoughtlessly murdered thousands of innocent lives, all for the reason that they might possibly have been sorcerers.
She remembers having to hide her magic for fear of being killed herself, remembers feeling helpless as she watched others die for the same 'crime' she herself committed, remembers all those nights in which she was tormented by nightmares of being burned at the stake as all those who had claimed to love her looked on with deep satisfaction.
And, as she remembers each bitter memory, she can feel her resolve steeling once again deep inside of her.
She has to finish what she started.
If not for her, then for Morgause because her sacrifice would not be in vain.
Not if she can help it.
The next morning, she awakes to the biting cold; small patches of frost covering the ground and the fallen leaves.
She blinks a few times, disorientated by a night of uncomfortable sleep, before remembering where she is. She reluctantly gets up and begins to move before stopping as her feet accidentally step over something rigid.
She looks down and spots the lone dagger.
She contemplates leaving it and walking away, finally ridding herself of everything that reminds her of who she once used to be-of who she once used to love. But, despite everything, she still reaches down and picks it up, the sharp cold of the blade immediately numbing her already frozen fingers.
She turns the dagger over and over in her pale hands, conflicted with what she should do with it. This is the only thing that remains of her past life. Keeping it could also keep her down, preventing her from fulfilling her final role.
A role she must complete.
Because it's her destiny now and destiny can't be changed no matter how much and how hard she wishes it can.
She's condemned to it.
And, so, she makes her decision.
The sharp blade slices a small mark into the bark of the tree, carving a tiny 'A+M' into it, much like she and Arthur did once when they were children but on a different tree and in a different time. Taking one last longing look at it, she tears a small hole into the frozen earth, just underneath the mark. She places the glinting object into it, inhaling the biting air deeply, her heart beating dangerously fast in her chest as she slowly covers the gap with mounds of earth.
She stands up and turns her back on his final reminder.
She knows that another night of doubt at her actions (of yearning for the past and one man) will arrive once again- it will arrive several times throughout her life.
But she can't afford to drag herself down, to doubt her every action with the constant reminder of his present to her.
And, with that, she walks away.
Even I wanted Morgana (because it was Morgana...hoping you guys got that...) to keep the dagger. I actually love ArMor so much! They have so much chemistry; it's tons better than Arthur and Gwen (who, no offence, has better chemistry with Lancelot or even Merlin!).
I NEED SEASON 5 NOW!
BTW, I am currently in the middle of writing chapter 7 for the Nature of Chemistry and, hopefully, a lot of updates should occur for most of my stories because IT'S THE SUMMER HOLIDAYS SOON!
Though, not going to lie, it seems summer has kinda forgotten us in England...the rain certainly hasn't...
Until next time! ;)