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I'm watching my hand as I write this letter, 
from bastard son to shameful father, 
and I'm gripping the quill so my fingertips whiten 
and my penmanship trembles the tiniest bit. 
Were you as pale and shaky  
when you cast me into the sea? 
A boy-king you were then, hardly a man, wracked perhaps with 
guilt and grief and 
the dawning realization 
of what responsibilities you undertook 
when you drew an ancient sword from a filthy stone. 
Did you know me when you saw me? 
Did you see you in my face? 
Your blood in my veins, your flesh on my bones... 
it makes me want to take steel to my skin, 
to pour steaming crimson over the ground. 
I hate you for letting her take me--need I say her name?-- 
for letting her keep me in the cold and dark 
and twist my mind and bend my heart, 
ruin my soul and make me hers-her creature, Father, never yours,  
to be used against you in your weakest hour. 
I hate you for being the sun where I am the moon, 
for glorying in the light while I can only rot in darkness. 
You are my father. I am your son! 
Must one mistake keep you from me? Can you never 
say my name and smile with pride? 
Will you ever be able to stand up and say, "Here is your prince. Here is my son."?  
Your people adore you, hold you in reverence 
equal to that of the gods'. 
"Artos," they call, "Arthur! High King of us all, 
bless our children, bless our crops.  
Goddess bless you, Very King." 
From your queen to your soldiers  
to the peasants on the road; they all of them 
hold you dear in their hearts... 
And I hold you in mine, nestled beside the cankerous growth 
of bitter resentment that the lack of your light planted in me. 
I love you. I loathe you.  
My sleep is haunted by wistful dreams 
of the day I can cry, "I, Mordred, I, Medraut, I  
am the son of King Arthur of Camlann." 
And in my dreams you look upon me and there is no fear in your eyes. 
The weight of your shame and regret is gone from your shoulders 
as you hold out your arms to me, laughing. 
And then when I wake with wet cheek to wet pillow 
I hate myself and my weakness,  
turn dry eyes to the sun, 
and count down  
the days to 
the end. 

"You need chaos within, to give birth to a dancing star."
-- Friedrich Nietsche

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The following comments are for "From Mordred to Arthur"
by Jei


Very intersting concept. I really liked the different point of view you brought out, of Mordred being cast out and down. I found this refreshing, because it makes the villian of a tale seem more human. Plus on top of it all I really have quit a passion for these sorts of tales. *Props* very well done.


( Posted by: Drastine [Member] On: April 28, 2003 )

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