[ There's no escaping it, sorry. Any worse and there'd be rainbows in the sky during the dream.
But there's not, because this isn't one of those fun dreams. It's not the Battle of Camlann, either — a misery all of its own, but one to come later. An end of a journey, a life, the last thing seared into Mordred's mind. The result is well documented; though, of course, the legends miss the details. They always do. Only memories can preserve those, the minutiae only important to the person on the receiving end.
What a wonderful thing dreams are, then, to drag them into the light. At first, there are only flashes: an unnatural birth, a child created for a single purpose. Hatred at herself, at her origins. Jealousy of those playing around her, so carefree, happy, human. A determination to be better than each and every one. Emotions that seem to pulse, to warp around Diana until she feels them just as strongly as Mordred, if only for a moment.
"My beloved child... you shall become a knight, and defeat your king."
Her mother's twisted words resonate through the fabric of the dream itself. She's still young; her face not yet hidden behind her helmet, not yet a perfect resemblance to the king. It won't be long, though — with her accelerated growth, and the king's eternal youth, they'll soon be a match. But not for a few more weeks. A month, maybe. Then, a scheme years in the making will enter its final phase.
"That is your goal. That is the enemy you must defeat. That is the king you must fell."
But it's clear that something has gone wrong with her mother's plan. Training alone as always, Mordred shifts her stance as she strikes the dummy, breaking it in two with little resistance. It's brutal, like her usual fighting style, but she's smiling, not smirking, when she stops to rest. ]
Yeah... that's better. I'm sure King Arthur will recognize me like this. [ Soon, her mother will start rumours of a glorious new knight-in-training. The king will take notice, but Mordred knows her skill must be good enough to hold his attention. ] I'll cut down anyone in his way. He won't have to stain his hands at all... I'll be his sword instead.
[ Real as it seems to any observer, it's clearly nothing but a memory. But something deviates, and when Mordred stands, turns around, she blinks in surprise. ]
... Who are you? [ She sounds curious, not angry or threatening. For some reason, she doesn't feel alarmed, even when nobody else should be here. ]
[Diana's felt Mordred's dreams before. They've always been loud, bloody and brief. And they've only ever come in fits and spurts. A flash of Mordred fighting, a moment of her watching the other knights eat - that kind of thing. It's been like running her hand near open flame, in a way - she can feel that heat, but only briefly. And she can't touch it directly.
Not tonight. Tonight is - tonight is everything. It's all in her mind in an instant, Mordred's rage and frustration and guilt and earnest desire to just be a child. It seeps into her skin, the exact opposite of her magic - good memories in, pain out.
Bad memories in, pain in.
She's left, dizzied, as she leans against a tree, and then she realizes that she's still in the dream. Isn't realizing you're in a dream supposed to break it?
Apparently not. Mordred's there, sword in her hands, and she looks so young.
Could saying something odd to Mordred break the dream? Is this hers, or Mordred's? Or both? What if doing something wrong hurts Mordred, the real one -]
I'm - I'm just a healer. [Don't lie, Diana. Just play your part, and figure something out. She adjusts her cloak, realizing idly that she's in her traveling cloak and magus robes even though she was, of course, asleep in her nightgown.]
I heard there was a... young knight, training here, and since I was passing by, I thought to make sure that they hadn't hurt themselves. [There. Easy, simple.]
You look fine, though. [And she glances at the broken dummy, realizing quite clearly that Mordred's going to be doing that to hundreds of people - to her own father - before her life is through.]
[ It's not completely unbelievable — and her heart speeds up a little at the idea that someone might have heard of her already. She needs more time; she's not perfect yet, not good enough, but she's impatient, too. More than anything, she wants to serve the king as soon as she can. Mordred knows she'll never truly be worthy of him, but if she can get close enough... ]
It's just a dummy. [ Dismissive, she kicks at a shattered piece with her foot. ] It can't fight back. If I got hurt by something like that, I wouldn't be much of a knight.
[ Not that she is a knight yet, technically. but she thinks of herself as one, presents herself as one. Arrogance, confidence, hope. She doesn't know how to be any other way. So to have Diana compliment her, on her skills instead of just her use as a tool, isn't something she knows how to react to. ]
... Thanks anyway. [ She hesitates, then: ] Um, I'm Mordred. [ Unlike her face, her name doesn't hold any particular weight yet. She's still just "Mordred", not "Mordred, son of the king's great enemy". ] L-listen, that stuff I said about the king... don't tell anyone. It's a little embarrassing.
[ Though her main concern is what her mother would do if she knew. She could play it off as a lie, but the words were from her heart; she knows how genuine they must have sounded. ]
You could pull something. When you're training hard, it's easy to... not take care of yourself. [Diana's just a magus, not a swordsman, and she's still stayed up too late or had sore eyes after a long night of reading. Or sat in an awkward position and had a sore back the next day. She can't imagine what it's like to be actually doing physical activity.]
My name's Diana. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. [Diana - tries to smile. She's not sure how old Mordred is here - of course, even the books say that her life was accelerated, but how much so? And what age is Mordred 'supposed' to be? The brain goes with the body, Diana's a magus but she's also something of a doctor, so she knows that. So - what age is Mordred thinking as, is the question. Thirteen? Fourteen? Twelve?
She tilts her head at Mordred, then smiles.]
Wanting to serve King Arthur is noble, but I don't think you can do everything for him. I don't think anyone could. [She pauses, shakes her head.]
... And I don't think he'd want you to. He seems like a dutiful person, doesn't he? He'd much rather do things with his own hands.
[ In a dream, everything seems a little more ethereal, a little harder to pin down — but she's probably three years into her life, about twelve or so mentally. On the cusp of some greater maturity, but without the life experience to realize it. (Some things never change.) ]
There are things even King Arthur doesn't know. [ She looks at her own hands — shakes her head, lifts her gaze again. ] Things he shouldn't have to do. So, I'll take that on for him. Anything that might sully the king, I'll deal with instead.
[ It's a dark topic, but she looks happy at the idea. Even a twisted child like her can be useful to a flawless being. ]
I know I can help him. I'm going to be the greatest knight in the kingdom. [ Using her sword, she gestures at the broken dummy. ] I can't heal people like you can, but I can protect them. That's what a knight is supposed to be.
[ She grins, kneeling to Diana like she'd practiced when learning etiquette. It's too fast, not as smooth as the gesture should be, but her enthusiasm is still palpable. ]
[Indeed, some things never change - Mordred does some knightly gesture, and Diana's response is to smile.
Well, it's much cuter at this age, at least. She hasn't gotten as grouchy or as self-conscious as the Mordred Diana actually knows, the one she summoned. All that's left is the earnest desire to be a good knight.]
That's a noble goal to strive for. But you should learn to live for yourself. If you want to make other people happy, you have to be happy with yourself, don't you? My mother taught me that.
... Your mother, huh. [ Her mood darkens for a second, but it's short-lived. ] Don't worry. This is my happiness, too. It's something I decided for myself.
[ The only thing she's ever decided for herself. Of course, it's only possible if she pretends to play along with her mother's plans... but as long as she can convince Morgan that things are progressing, she can continue to work for the king instead. Maybe, eventually, she can figure out some way to be free of her influence for good.
Scuffing her foot in the dirt, she frowns. ]
I have a claim to the throne. That's what my mother taught me. [ It's not something she would have admitted normally, but within the dream, something of their connection seems to remain — some inclination towards honesty. ] Ah, of course the king would kill me if he knew... but I don't really care about that. I'd rather serve the king than be one. There's no way I could ever be as good as him.
[ The air around them shimmers, growing unstable, threatening to move on. Mordred doesn't seem to notice. ]
[Diana knew that Mordred didn't fully go along with her mother's plans - she'd gleaned that much from talking to her, from obvious gaps in the story where Mordred had opportunity to enact things but didn't.
But she'd never known Mordred's wish, at its core, was so pure. Diana bites at her cheek, almost wants to pat Mordred on the head.
Slowly, she shakes her head.]
You... mm. You won't be good in the same way the king is, but you'll be good in your own way. I promise. [Diana does notice - so even if this is just a dream, maybe saying a thing like that might make Mordred feel a little more content in her waking hours.
Hopefully Mordred doesn't remember Diana being here when she wakes up, though. Mordred might throttle her. Out of embarrassment.
Adjusting her cloak, she prepares for - wherever the dream is going to take her, she supposes.]
[ For some reason, she believes Diana. Hesitantly at first, then quicker, her grin grows, spreading across her entire face. ] Of course. I promise I won't forget.
[ Definitely don't tell the real Mordred about this. ]
Once I'm a real knight, maybe I will need a healer. If you end up in Camelot, ask about Sir Mordred, okay?
[ She bows, turns back to the ruined dummy, lifts her sword again. Diana's words have put a skip in her step — but then things change again. ]
[ It's three years later, though the passage of time is a difficult thing in a dream. Mordred, now in her armour, stands in a courtyard, gazing up at the king on the ramparts — alone, with her helmet off, the awe and idolization in her eyes are clear. She loves him more than anything. So when her mother appears behind her, chides her for a lack of progress, then drops the bombshell—
"You are not only my child, but that of the king as well."
—her reaction is sheer, unbridled joy. And despite the instruction to keep her birth a secret, that he would never accept a filthy, unwanted child, she tells him everything, the words spilling out. Her origins, her happiness, her wish to be recognized as his heir. As his son. She knows she's being hasty; that to be the successor might take time, further training. But privately, at least, she can be a son for the king to take pride in.
But, of course, both those dreams are shattered in an instant. "I shall not recognize you as my son, nor shall I allow you the throne."
The red haze in her mind infects everything, staining the dream as well. Having passed judgment, the king turns, leaves; Mordred stands shaking by the round table, swearing revenge on everything it represents. If she is to be condemned for being born of Morgan, then she will fulfill the only role given to her. Not for her mother's sake, but for her own. For the sake of forcing the king to see her, to acknowledge her, she will bring his kingdom to ruin.
In her chambers that night, face permanently marked by rage, the dream shifts again. She looks up. ]
... You again. [ It's impossible for anyone to be here. Maybe that's why she doesn't strike Diana down, as she should for seeing her uncovered face. ] So you finally came. Heh, you're a little late, don't you think?
[ She told Diana to find her, but she's not much of a knight anymore. ]
[Diana never knew her father. She knows a few things about him - that he was a magus, that her mother never married him - but she doesn't think of him often. Her mind's always been preoccupied by her mother. Why would she worry about her father when she had such an amazing, loving mother?
And of course, when her mother passed - her father was the last thing on her mind. She can't remember the last time she even thought about him.
So the idea of Mordred's father, standing in opposition to her mother, crushing her dreams just as much - she doesn't quite get it. King Arthur is always more ideal than man, but in Diana's mind he's even moreso. It's just something she's never known.
But she can relate to that desire - to make your parent proud. She can't imagine what she'd have done if her mother had said she couldn't live up to her legacy.]
... I am. [Diana doesn't know what to say - maybe dream Mordred thinks this is a dream, as well. She can't think of a good excuse to be here, but this is a dream. The details are fuzzy, she's beginning to realize. That's why she could linger through those pivotal few moments in Mordred's life and only have her notice her now.]
... Why do you think your father rejected you? [And it's why she feels comfortable being so direct. Even if Mordred runs her through for asking, it's a dream - she'll wake up in a panic, but she'll probably be doing that anyway.]
[ She flinches. Even in a dream, Diana's words cut deep. Of course, any normal person would lose their head on the spot for asking — for daring to say the words father and rejected in the same sentence. But Mordred doesn't go for her sword. Diana isn't really here, so there's no point killing her... or something like that.
She's talking to Diana, but it's like she's talking to herself, too. Like her consciousness is being exposed and laid bare before her Master. ]
Because of my mother. I'm like a curse to him. [ Unwanted, unneeded, disgusting. ] He'll never forgive me for my birth. So— I'll never forgive him, either.
[ She'll make sure he regrets those words when the kingdom crumbles, at the moment of his death. But even if he does, she'll still never forgive him. It's too late for that now. ]
Do you hate me? [ She says, suddenly, and somehow — it sounds like she's speaking to the real Diana, not the one in her dream. ] I must seem nothing but a madman to you. A great fool, dragging an entire country into some plot for revenge.
I don't hate you. [And - Diana catches that, and her reaction is immediate. She doesn't hate Mordred. How could she? She's only known her for a short while, but she feels closer to her than anyone since her mother. Mordred's the only person to treat her like a human being since her mother passed. Maybe it's because they both have these issues, or maybe it's just a result of their personalities. Or it could be both.]
I don't hate you, Mordred, but... I don't know if what you did was right. Of course, I'm hardly any better. I might want to help people, but I'm still willing to push others out of my way to do it. [And - possibly, kill them. She knows what the Grail War entails.]
But I don't think people are just one thing. Even if you did something wrong, that doesn't make you a bad person.
You're too kind. [ Even as Diana says she's prepared to push others aside, she says someone like Mordred isn't a bad person. She's either blind, or willfully ignorant. ] And that's the problem. It's going to get you killed.
[ Mordred can't see the future, but she's seen what happens to those with soft hearts. Suffering, despair; better to learn it than be broken by it. ]
I don't care about other people. I'm doing this for myself. [ She stands. The atmosphere around her changes again. ] Get in my way, and you'll suffer the same fate as anyone else. [ In the past, the day she was summoned, the words would have been true. Are they still? ]
My mother died the kindest person I've ever known. I wouldn't want to do anything less than that. [And her mother's kindness, her death - they're only tangentially related. Diana's mother pushed herself as hard as she could for her daughter, for the people around her, for strangers - but she'd always been sickly. Maybe all that exertion made it worse. All Diana knows is that one day her mother said she was going to lie down, and then she never got the strength to get out of bed again, not for the last month of her life.]
If you're fine dying for revenge, then I'm fine dying to help other people. [Diana's firm on that much.]
And you don't mean that. I know you too well for that, Mordred. [Or maybe Diana just wants to believe she's an exception. That the knight she summoned isn't, ultimately, the villain of her story.]
Do you? [ She scoffs. Diana's words are big, but they feel too good to be true. There's no way she can believe that. ] We'll see. Just don't be surprised to find a sword in your back — Master.
[ When things change again, Mordred's plans are in full swing. And they're her plans, no doubt — exposing Lancelot's affair, spreading word of the king's death, crowning herself in his absence. Proposing to Guinevere, deriding her, removing her helmet just to mock her father's entire existence. "Look at me. You betrayed him, but your marriage was a sham from the start." Mordred laughs at the horrified expression on her face, knowing the anger her father would feel. Feeding off it.
Word spreads of the king's return, but the lords rally behind Mordred, follow her into battle against him. It's a fierce conflict — sky blood red and the hill covered in corpses, the two scenes blending into a single complete tableau. King Arthur's forces push forward, slowly, both sides taking heavy losses, until it's clear neither will emerge victorious from this.
Yesterday, Mordred struck Gawain down, but not without taking injuries herself. It keeps her off the front lines for a day, furious at being unable to fight at the head of her army like her father does. And yet she knows her wounds will take time to heal. She'll give them one night, and no more.
Handing out her orders to her men, she retreats back into her commander's tent, sitting on the floor in full armour. She lifts her head when she hears movement, drops her hand to her sword, before moving it clear. ]
... Ah, it's just you. [ Should she remember someone she saw only twice, years apart? But it feels like Diana's name and face is burned into her mind — like it's natural for her to be here, again, when no one should. ] Go see the other knights. I don't need any healing.
[ Her plan to minimize casualties has already failed. Both armies will fall before this battle is over — but maybe a healer can keep a few dozen alive that would otherwise perish. Not that she cares. They chose to follow her, to rise against her father; death is what they deserve. ]
[War is - more terrible than Diana can imagine. She's grown up in times of peace, whatever wars there were distant and out of her mind.
It's just a dream, but seeing it like this almost makes her throw up. It's the opposite not just of her life, but of her entire being - her magic is revitalization, nostalgia. Peace. Tranquility. Order. And it's what she's dedicated her entire life to, young as she might be.
Seeing it like this drills in just how different a life Mordred's had from her, these brief flashes of the thick of the fighting enough to make her screw her eyes shut. It's only when she hears Mordred's voice again, when the screaming of the war dies down that she realizes it's over.
She's shaky, now, and has to take a breath before speaking to Mordred.
... And realizes she's hurt, when she opens her eyes. She shakes her head immediately, leans in.]
I'll take care of you now, then the others. It's - it wouldn't be right, to leave you hurting. Even if you plan to die tomorrow. [And what an odd thing to say. It makes her acknowledge that Mordred has already passed, just like her mother - what she's talking to, what she's spent her time with, is a glorified ghost.
Maybe her magic really is based on memories. No wonder she was able to summon such a powerful Servant. She leans in and pulls the same salves out of her robes, reaches for Mordred's helmet.]
You're not the only one who gets to decide how much your life is worth, you know.
[ But she'd be wasting it just as much with anyone else. Mordred sighs, waves Diana's hand away — then, after a pause, merges her helmet down into her armour. Her face is bruised and bloody, helmet having only half protected her against a strike from Excalibur Galatine. ]
The king... before he dies, I'll make him curse my name. I couldn't be his shadow, so I'll be his death instead. [ Mordred knows what's coming, that Diana's right. It's not that she plans to die tomorrow, but she knows better than to think she'll survive. ] You've seen it, right? Britain is in ruins. Even the perfect king couldn't save his country.
... I remember. You said my life was worth something. [ She laughs, humourless. ] I guess this is it. Sorry to disappoint you. [ Destruction, and nothing else. Just like Morgan wanted for her. ]
[She puts her hand to her mouth in surprise when she sees Mordred's bruised face - she's seen Mordred banged up, but only as a Servant. Never as a person. The wounds here are more raw, bruising and scabbing over in a way that a Servant's wouldn't.
Still, she reaches to lightly spread the balm across Mordred's face, careful not to get it into her eyes. She rubs it in, the same way she always does, but doesn't bother with the memories shtick - right now, she doubts Mordred would be capable of summoning any pleasant memories.]
... Maybe nobody can do something that large on their own. [And it's an odd thought, for Diana - who's put so much stock in solving everything herself, making the world better herself - but there's a fairly obvious flaw in that line of thinking.
She's using Mordred to do that, isn't she?]
And this isn't what I had in mind. You don't have to do anything special to be worth something. Just being alive is fine. [She spreads the balm across a particularly deep cut in Mordred's cheek, winces at the sensation of blood spreading across her fingers.]
I don't know about your parents, or your kingdom, or anything like that - but I enjoy talking to you. That's enough value.
I'm a healer, after all. I think life has inherent worth.
[ She resists the urge to pull away; stubbornly clenching her teeth together as Diana's hands brush over bruise and wound alike. When's the last time someone touched her face — someone who wasn't her mother, treating it as a perfectly crafted tool? Never. It's a foreign feeling, one she probably doesn't deserve. But she can't bring herself to hate it. ]
I'm the king's son. Of course I had to do something special.
[ And she did, in a way, even if it was the exact opposite of her father's deeds. There's no way just being alive could be enough for someone like her — anyone should be able to tell that much. Maybe human life has inherent worth, but not hers.
With a frustrated noise, she sighs. ]
I don't get you.
[ Within the dream, or outside of it? Or both? Her gauntlet-clad hands ball into fists when Diana reaches the deeper cut, but she forces one to open back up, brushes some hair out of her— her Master's face. Things are starting to blur. ]
... I know you're a good person, though. Maybe that's why it's hard for me to deal with you. [ Compared to what she is, what she's used to. Now Diana's seen the truth for herself, maybe she'll understand. ] Seriously, you should have picked a better Servant. But I guess you needed me to beat my father. "Break the Round Table", right?
[ It's the only reason that makes sense. If the war was somewhere else, if Lancer had been someone else, Diana could have chosen better. Another knight, or anyone at all. Under all the arrogance, the things she'd never admit, she's self-aware enough to know that much. ]
[Things are starting to blur. Mordred's deeds, her wishes, her wants - her love for her father, her hatred for her father. Diana's love for her mother, her love for people, her frustration, her pride.
More and more, Diana's realizing just how deep a realization it was for her - that nobody is just one thing. No, that nothing is just one thing. Everything contradicts itself.
Including what Mordred is asking her.]
... Maybe I would have picked a better servant, or a different one. If the circumstances had been different. But if you asked me right now, I'd never change my choice. [She strokes Mordred's face, gently, smiles at her - it's a weak smile. Tonight has been exhausting, and she's sure she'll wake up even more tired than when she went to sleep.]
You aren't my Servant, Mordred. And you aren't a tool. Of your mother's, or of mine.
You're my knight. You kept saying so yourself, you know. And my knight's a stubborn idiot, but I'm self-aware enough to realize I'm the same way. So I'm too stubborn to give you up, now that you're mine.
... Jeez. [ What does she even say to that? Tomorrow, she goes out to fight the king alone. Tomorrow, she goes out to fight side by side with her Master. Has happened, will happen. But right now is something else. ] I think you're more stubborn than I am. Do you know how ridiculous that is?
[ Okay, maybe Diana isn't quite that bad, but she has Mordred on the back foot. Her face softens a little under the touch — she takes Diana's hand in hers, kisses the knuckles with chapped lips. Then, finally, her helmet clicks back into place, hiding whatever expression her face has shifted into. ]
Go help the others. I'm fine here. [ She's not, but there's no point worrying about that. What happens next can't be changed. ]
[ Because, of course, there's one more scene. The dream can't end without everything coming to completion.
From the start, King Arthur has been her only target. Yet they haven't met until now, with nothing but bodies around them, nobody left to even witness their battle. Nobody to hear their words, Mordred's furious screaming: "Did you hate me that much for being Morgan's son? Answer me, Arthur!" And the king, with the worst response possible: "I have never once hated you. The reason I did not hand the throne over to you is because... you did not have the capacity to be a king."
The lack of hatred, lack of emotion, only makes it worse. In fury, Mordred lifts her sword — and Rhongomyniad pierces her chest before she can block it. The pressure of the lance breaks her helmet open, but even with her body no longer truly functioning, she swings her sword one last time, deals the fatal blow to the king in return.
And then, as she falls, she reaches out towards him.
"Fa... ther..."
He turns, walks away with the last of his strength; ignoring the outstretched hand reaching for his back. Mordred collapses behind him, destined to rot and fade, unburied, into obscurity. Remembered not for her own deeds, but for destroying those of another.
Light from Excalibur illuminates the sky as the king announces his victory — his loss. And then, finally, it's over. ]
She'd read the books, all of them - had thought he was a questionable figure even when that wasn't the point of the stories, and the stories where he was shown to be flawed just made his issues even clearer. But she hadn't hated him. Even when she'd summoned Mordred, seen her rage against him - even when she'd seen Arthur fighting Mordred, on the streets, as a Lancer - she hadn't hated him. He'd had his own reasons for doing what he did. He took on too much and paid the price, and hurt the people around him, but wanting to help others was a noble goal.
But now, seeing Mordred reaching out to her father as she died, seeing her be ignored - she hates him. Completely.
What sort of man would ignore his own child like that? It didn't matter if he hadn't asked for her. It didn't matter if he hadn't wanted her. Mordred - Mordred was...
But there's nothing she can do for Mordred, now, even as she leans down, even as she reaches for her, even as she - dies. The dream's fading already, having reached its conclusion. The ending's tragic, and the curtain closes, and the audience isn't happy-]
[But it's hardly the only show being put on tonight.
Diana's memories start - 'later,' than Mordred's, but her early life isn't as complicated as Mordred's. The first thing Mordred can see as she 'dreams' is a woman reaching down for Diana, taking her up into her arms and cradling her close. The woman's like an older Diana - blonde and elegant. A little softer around the edges, of course, less angular features (and just a much more outwardly kind demeanor), but Diana takes after her mother in most things.
The scene's very malleable, at this point. Diana had a normal childhood, with all the bits and pieces of memory that entails. Her mother reading to her, her mother feeding her (Diana was a good girl, and always ate her vegetables - mostly because her mother always looked happy when she did), her mother brushing her hair and telling her what a pretty young lady she's growing into.
But slowly, things start to come together. The scenes are less scattered, Diana's memories more concrete. The world around Mordred actually exists now, as more than scattered visions.
It's the manor, but it's different. The curtains are brighter, the place is better maintained, more organized, and every now and then a maid passes Mordred by, completely ignoring her.
And there's a curious six-year old Diana peering around the corner. She waits until the last of the maids is out of sight, then hurries over to Mordred, looking up at her.]
You're tall, miss! [She sounds - and looks - so excitable, so eager.] Are you here to see my mama? Are you from the clock-tow-er? [She sounds so proud she was able to say that in one go.]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2017-08-21 07:16 am (UTC)But there's not, because this isn't one of those fun dreams. It's not the Battle of Camlann, either — a misery all of its own, but one to come later. An end of a journey, a life, the last thing seared into Mordred's mind. The result is well documented; though, of course, the legends miss the details. They always do. Only memories can preserve those, the minutiae only important to the person on the receiving end.
What a wonderful thing dreams are, then, to drag them into the light. At first, there are only flashes: an unnatural birth, a child created for a single purpose. Hatred at herself, at her origins. Jealousy of those playing around her, so carefree, happy, human. A determination to be better than each and every one. Emotions that seem to pulse, to warp around Diana until she feels them just as strongly as Mordred, if only for a moment.
"My beloved child... you shall become a knight, and defeat your king."
Her mother's twisted words resonate through the fabric of the dream itself. She's still young; her face not yet hidden behind her helmet, not yet a perfect resemblance to the king. It won't be long, though — with her accelerated growth, and the king's eternal youth, they'll soon be a match. But not for a few more weeks. A month, maybe. Then, a scheme years in the making will enter its final phase.
"That is your goal. That is the enemy you must defeat. That is the king you must fell."
But it's clear that something has gone wrong with her mother's plan. Training alone as always, Mordred shifts her stance as she strikes the dummy, breaking it in two with little resistance. It's brutal, like her usual fighting style, but she's smiling, not smirking, when she stops to rest. ]
Yeah... that's better. I'm sure King Arthur will recognize me like this. [ Soon, her mother will start rumours of a glorious new knight-in-training. The king will take notice, but Mordred knows her skill must be good enough to hold his attention. ] I'll cut down anyone in his way. He won't have to stain his hands at all... I'll be his sword instead.
[ Real as it seems to any observer, it's clearly nothing but a memory. But something deviates, and when Mordred stands, turns around, she blinks in surprise. ]
... Who are you? [ She sounds curious, not angry or threatening. For some reason, she doesn't feel alarmed, even when nobody else should be here. ]
no subject
Date: 2017-08-21 08:15 am (UTC)Not tonight. Tonight is - tonight is everything. It's all in her mind in an instant, Mordred's rage and frustration and guilt and earnest desire to just be a child. It seeps into her skin, the exact opposite of her magic - good memories in, pain out.
Bad memories in, pain in.
She's left, dizzied, as she leans against a tree, and then she realizes that she's still in the dream. Isn't realizing you're in a dream supposed to break it?
Apparently not. Mordred's there, sword in her hands, and she looks so young.
Could saying something odd to Mordred break the dream? Is this hers, or Mordred's? Or both? What if doing something wrong hurts Mordred, the real one -]
I'm - I'm just a healer. [Don't lie, Diana. Just play your part, and figure something out. She adjusts her cloak, realizing idly that she's in her traveling cloak and magus robes even though she was, of course, asleep in her nightgown.]
I heard there was a... young knight, training here, and since I was passing by, I thought to make sure that they hadn't hurt themselves. [There. Easy, simple.]
You look fine, though. [And she glances at the broken dummy, realizing quite clearly that Mordred's going to be doing that to hundreds of people - to her own father - before her life is through.]
... You're quite talented.
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Date: 2017-08-21 09:03 am (UTC)[ It's not completely unbelievable — and her heart speeds up a little at the idea that someone might have heard of her already. She needs more time; she's not perfect yet, not good enough, but she's impatient, too. More than anything, she wants to serve the king as soon as she can. Mordred knows she'll never truly be worthy of him, but if she can get close enough... ]
It's just a dummy. [ Dismissive, she kicks at a shattered piece with her foot. ] It can't fight back. If I got hurt by something like that, I wouldn't be much of a knight.
[ Not that she is a knight yet, technically. but she thinks of herself as one, presents herself as one. Arrogance, confidence, hope. She doesn't know how to be any other way. So to have Diana compliment her, on her skills instead of just her use as a tool, isn't something she knows how to react to. ]
... Thanks anyway. [ She hesitates, then: ] Um, I'm Mordred. [ Unlike her face, her name doesn't hold any particular weight yet. She's still just "Mordred", not "Mordred, son of the king's great enemy". ] L-listen, that stuff I said about the king... don't tell anyone. It's a little embarrassing.
[ Though her main concern is what her mother would do if she knew. She could play it off as a lie, but the words were from her heart; she knows how genuine they must have sounded. ]
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Date: 2017-08-21 09:22 am (UTC)My name's Diana. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. [Diana - tries to smile. She's not sure how old Mordred is here - of course, even the books say that her life was accelerated, but how much so? And what age is Mordred 'supposed' to be? The brain goes with the body, Diana's a magus but she's also something of a doctor, so she knows that. So - what age is Mordred thinking as, is the question. Thirteen? Fourteen? Twelve?
She tilts her head at Mordred, then smiles.]
Wanting to serve King Arthur is noble, but I don't think you can do everything for him. I don't think anyone could. [She pauses, shakes her head.]
... And I don't think he'd want you to. He seems like a dutiful person, doesn't he? He'd much rather do things with his own hands.
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Date: 2017-08-21 10:08 am (UTC)There are things even King Arthur doesn't know. [ She looks at her own hands — shakes her head, lifts her gaze again. ] Things he shouldn't have to do. So, I'll take that on for him. Anything that might sully the king, I'll deal with instead.
[ It's a dark topic, but she looks happy at the idea. Even a twisted child like her can be useful to a flawless being. ]
I know I can help him. I'm going to be the greatest knight in the kingdom. [ Using her sword, she gestures at the broken dummy. ] I can't heal people like you can, but I can protect them. That's what a knight is supposed to be.
[ She grins, kneeling to Diana like she'd practiced when learning etiquette. It's too fast, not as smooth as the gesture should be, but her enthusiasm is still palpable. ]
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Date: 2017-08-21 10:20 am (UTC)Well, it's much cuter at this age, at least. She hasn't gotten as grouchy or as self-conscious as the Mordred Diana actually knows, the one she summoned. All that's left is the earnest desire to be a good knight.]
That's a noble goal to strive for. But you should learn to live for yourself. If you want to make other people happy, you have to be happy with yourself, don't you? My mother taught me that.
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Date: 2017-08-21 10:42 am (UTC)[ The only thing she's ever decided for herself. Of course, it's only possible if she pretends to play along with her mother's plans... but as long as she can convince Morgan that things are progressing, she can continue to work for the king instead. Maybe, eventually, she can figure out some way to be free of her influence for good.
Scuffing her foot in the dirt, she frowns. ]
I have a claim to the throne. That's what my mother taught me. [ It's not something she would have admitted normally, but within the dream, something of their connection seems to remain — some inclination towards honesty. ] Ah, of course the king would kill me if he knew... but I don't really care about that. I'd rather serve the king than be one. There's no way I could ever be as good as him.
[ The air around them shimmers, growing unstable, threatening to move on. Mordred doesn't seem to notice. ]
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Date: 2017-08-21 08:19 pm (UTC)But she'd never known Mordred's wish, at its core, was so pure. Diana bites at her cheek, almost wants to pat Mordred on the head.
Slowly, she shakes her head.]
You... mm. You won't be good in the same way the king is, but you'll be good in your own way. I promise. [Diana does notice - so even if this is just a dream, maybe saying a thing like that might make Mordred feel a little more content in her waking hours.
Hopefully Mordred doesn't remember Diana being here when she wakes up, though. Mordred might throttle her. Out of embarrassment.
Adjusting her cloak, she prepares for - wherever the dream is going to take her, she supposes.]
Try not to forget that you're worth something.
1/2... smh mordred is a dramatic little fucker i'm sorry
Date: 2017-08-21 10:04 pm (UTC)[ Definitely don't tell the real Mordred about this. ]
Once I'm a real knight, maybe I will need a healer. If you end up in Camelot, ask about Sir Mordred, okay?
[ She bows, turns back to the ruined dummy, lifts her sword again. Diana's words have put a skip in her step — but then things change again. ]
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Date: 2017-08-21 10:06 pm (UTC)"You are not only my child, but that of the king as well."
—her reaction is sheer, unbridled joy. And despite the instruction to keep her birth a secret, that he would never accept a filthy, unwanted child, she tells him everything, the words spilling out. Her origins, her happiness, her wish to be recognized as his heir. As his son. She knows she's being hasty; that to be the successor might take time, further training. But privately, at least, she can be a son for the king to take pride in.
But, of course, both those dreams are shattered in an instant. "I shall not recognize you as my son, nor shall I allow you the throne."
The red haze in her mind infects everything, staining the dream as well. Having passed judgment, the king turns, leaves; Mordred stands shaking by the round table, swearing revenge on everything it represents. If she is to be condemned for being born of Morgan, then she will fulfill the only role given to her. Not for her mother's sake, but for her own. For the sake of forcing the king to see her, to acknowledge her, she will bring his kingdom to ruin.
In her chambers that night, face permanently marked by rage, the dream shifts again. She looks up. ]
... You again. [ It's impossible for anyone to be here. Maybe that's why she doesn't strike Diana down, as she should for seeing her uncovered face. ] So you finally came. Heh, you're a little late, don't you think?
[ She told Diana to find her, but she's not much of a knight anymore. ]
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Date: 2017-08-21 11:20 pm (UTC)And of course, when her mother passed - her father was the last thing on her mind. She can't remember the last time she even thought about him.
So the idea of Mordred's father, standing in opposition to her mother, crushing her dreams just as much - she doesn't quite get it. King Arthur is always more ideal than man, but in Diana's mind he's even moreso. It's just something she's never known.
But she can relate to that desire - to make your parent proud. She can't imagine what she'd have done if her mother had said she couldn't live up to her legacy.]
... I am. [Diana doesn't know what to say - maybe dream Mordred thinks this is a dream, as well. She can't think of a good excuse to be here, but this is a dream. The details are fuzzy, she's beginning to realize. That's why she could linger through those pivotal few moments in Mordred's life and only have her notice her now.]
... Why do you think your father rejected you? [And it's why she feels comfortable being so direct. Even if Mordred runs her through for asking, it's a dream - she'll wake up in a panic, but she'll probably be doing that anyway.]
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Date: 2017-08-21 11:55 pm (UTC)She's talking to Diana, but it's like she's talking to herself, too. Like her consciousness is being exposed and laid bare before her Master. ]
Because of my mother. I'm like a curse to him. [ Unwanted, unneeded, disgusting. ] He'll never forgive me for my birth. So— I'll never forgive him, either.
[ She'll make sure he regrets those words when the kingdom crumbles, at the moment of his death. But even if he does, she'll still never forgive him. It's too late for that now. ]
Do you hate me? [ She says, suddenly, and somehow — it sounds like she's speaking to the real Diana, not the one in her dream. ] I must seem nothing but a madman to you. A great fool, dragging an entire country into some plot for revenge.
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Date: 2017-08-22 12:01 am (UTC)I don't hate you, Mordred, but... I don't know if what you did was right. Of course, I'm hardly any better. I might want to help people, but I'm still willing to push others out of my way to do it. [And - possibly, kill them. She knows what the Grail War entails.]
But I don't think people are just one thing. Even if you did something wrong, that doesn't make you a bad person.
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Date: 2017-08-22 12:23 am (UTC)[ Mordred can't see the future, but she's seen what happens to those with soft hearts. Suffering, despair; better to learn it than be broken by it. ]
I don't care about other people. I'm doing this for myself. [ She stands. The atmosphere around her changes again. ] Get in my way, and you'll suffer the same fate as anyone else. [ In the past, the day she was summoned, the words would have been true. Are they still? ]
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Date: 2017-08-22 12:40 am (UTC)If you're fine dying for revenge, then I'm fine dying to help other people. [Diana's firm on that much.]
And you don't mean that. I know you too well for that, Mordred. [Or maybe Diana just wants to believe she's an exception. That the knight she summoned isn't, ultimately, the villain of her story.]
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Date: 2017-08-22 01:20 am (UTC)[ When things change again, Mordred's plans are in full swing. And they're her plans, no doubt — exposing Lancelot's affair, spreading word of the king's death, crowning herself in his absence. Proposing to Guinevere, deriding her, removing her helmet just to mock her father's entire existence. "Look at me. You betrayed him, but your marriage was a sham from the start." Mordred laughs at the horrified expression on her face, knowing the anger her father would feel. Feeding off it.
Word spreads of the king's return, but the lords rally behind Mordred, follow her into battle against him. It's a fierce conflict — sky blood red and the hill covered in corpses, the two scenes blending into a single complete tableau. King Arthur's forces push forward, slowly, both sides taking heavy losses, until it's clear neither will emerge victorious from this.
Yesterday, Mordred struck Gawain down, but not without taking injuries herself. It keeps her off the front lines for a day, furious at being unable to fight at the head of her army like her father does. And yet she knows her wounds will take time to heal. She'll give them one night, and no more.
Handing out her orders to her men, she retreats back into her commander's tent, sitting on the floor in full armour. She lifts her head when she hears movement, drops her hand to her sword, before moving it clear. ]
... Ah, it's just you. [ Should she remember someone she saw only twice, years apart? But it feels like Diana's name and face is burned into her mind — like it's natural for her to be here, again, when no one should. ] Go see the other knights. I don't need any healing.
[ Her plan to minimize casualties has already failed. Both armies will fall before this battle is over — but maybe a healer can keep a few dozen alive that would otherwise perish. Not that she cares. They chose to follow her, to rise against her father; death is what they deserve. ]
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Date: 2017-08-22 01:42 am (UTC)It's just a dream, but seeing it like this almost makes her throw up. It's the opposite not just of her life, but of her entire being - her magic is revitalization, nostalgia. Peace. Tranquility. Order. And it's what she's dedicated her entire life to, young as she might be.
Seeing it like this drills in just how different a life Mordred's had from her, these brief flashes of the thick of the fighting enough to make her screw her eyes shut. It's only when she hears Mordred's voice again, when the screaming of the war dies down that she realizes it's over.
She's shaky, now, and has to take a breath before speaking to Mordred.
... And realizes she's hurt, when she opens her eyes. She shakes her head immediately, leans in.]
I'll take care of you now, then the others. It's - it wouldn't be right, to leave you hurting. Even if you plan to die tomorrow. [And what an odd thing to say. It makes her acknowledge that Mordred has already passed, just like her mother - what she's talking to, what she's spent her time with, is a glorified ghost.
Maybe her magic really is based on memories. No wonder she was able to summon such a powerful Servant. She leans in and pulls the same salves out of her robes, reaches for Mordred's helmet.]
You're not the only one who gets to decide how much your life is worth, you know.
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Date: 2017-08-22 02:28 am (UTC)[ But she'd be wasting it just as much with anyone else. Mordred sighs, waves Diana's hand away — then, after a pause, merges her helmet down into her armour. Her face is bruised and bloody, helmet having only half protected her against a strike from Excalibur Galatine. ]
The king... before he dies, I'll make him curse my name. I couldn't be his shadow, so I'll be his death instead. [ Mordred knows what's coming, that Diana's right. It's not that she plans to die tomorrow, but she knows better than to think she'll survive. ] You've seen it, right? Britain is in ruins. Even the perfect king couldn't save his country.
... I remember. You said my life was worth something. [ She laughs, humourless. ] I guess this is it. Sorry to disappoint you. [ Destruction, and nothing else. Just like Morgan wanted for her. ]
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Date: 2017-08-22 02:42 am (UTC)Still, she reaches to lightly spread the balm across Mordred's face, careful not to get it into her eyes. She rubs it in, the same way she always does, but doesn't bother with the memories shtick - right now, she doubts Mordred would be capable of summoning any pleasant memories.]
... Maybe nobody can do something that large on their own. [And it's an odd thought, for Diana - who's put so much stock in solving everything herself, making the world better herself - but there's a fairly obvious flaw in that line of thinking.
She's using Mordred to do that, isn't she?]
And this isn't what I had in mind. You don't have to do anything special to be worth something. Just being alive is fine. [She spreads the balm across a particularly deep cut in Mordred's cheek, winces at the sensation of blood spreading across her fingers.]
I don't know about your parents, or your kingdom, or anything like that - but I enjoy talking to you. That's enough value.
I'm a healer, after all. I think life has inherent worth.
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Date: 2017-08-22 03:46 am (UTC)I'm the king's son. Of course I had to do something special.
[ And she did, in a way, even if it was the exact opposite of her father's deeds. There's no way just being alive could be enough for someone like her — anyone should be able to tell that much. Maybe human life has inherent worth, but not hers.
With a frustrated noise, she sighs. ]
I don't get you.
[ Within the dream, or outside of it? Or both? Her gauntlet-clad hands ball into fists when Diana reaches the deeper cut, but she forces one to open back up, brushes some hair out of her— her Master's face. Things are starting to blur. ]
... I know you're a good person, though. Maybe that's why it's hard for me to deal with you. [ Compared to what she is, what she's used to. Now Diana's seen the truth for herself, maybe she'll understand. ] Seriously, you should have picked a better Servant. But I guess you needed me to beat my father. "Break the Round Table", right?
[ It's the only reason that makes sense. If the war was somewhere else, if Lancer had been someone else, Diana could have chosen better. Another knight, or anyone at all. Under all the arrogance, the things she'd never admit, she's self-aware enough to know that much. ]
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Date: 2017-08-22 03:57 am (UTC)More and more, Diana's realizing just how deep a realization it was for her - that nobody is just one thing. No, that nothing is just one thing. Everything contradicts itself.
Including what Mordred is asking her.]
... Maybe I would have picked a better servant, or a different one. If the circumstances had been different. But if you asked me right now, I'd never change my choice. [She strokes Mordred's face, gently, smiles at her - it's a weak smile. Tonight has been exhausting, and she's sure she'll wake up even more tired than when she went to sleep.]
You aren't my Servant, Mordred. And you aren't a tool. Of your mother's, or of mine.
You're my knight. You kept saying so yourself, you know. And my knight's a stubborn idiot, but I'm self-aware enough to realize I'm the same way. So I'm too stubborn to give you up, now that you're mine.
1/2... again
Date: 2017-08-22 04:39 am (UTC)[ Okay, maybe Diana isn't quite that bad, but she has Mordred on the back foot. Her face softens a little under the touch — she takes Diana's hand in hers, kisses the knuckles with chapped lips. Then, finally, her helmet clicks back into place, hiding whatever expression her face has shifted into. ]
Go help the others. I'm fine here. [ She's not, but there's no point worrying about that. What happens next can't be changed. ]
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Date: 2017-08-22 04:41 am (UTC)From the start, King Arthur has been her only target. Yet they haven't met until now, with nothing but bodies around them, nobody left to even witness their battle. Nobody to hear their words, Mordred's furious screaming: "Did you hate me that much for being Morgan's son? Answer me, Arthur!" And the king, with the worst response possible: "I have never once hated you. The reason I did not hand the throne over to you is because... you did not have the capacity to be a king."
The lack of hatred, lack of emotion, only makes it worse. In fury, Mordred lifts her sword — and Rhongomyniad pierces her chest before she can block it. The pressure of the lance breaks her helmet open, but even with her body no longer truly functioning, she swings her sword one last time, deals the fatal blow to the king in return.
And then, as she falls, she reaches out towards him.
"Fa... ther..."
He turns, walks away with the last of his strength; ignoring the outstretched hand reaching for his back. Mordred collapses behind him, destined to rot and fade, unburied, into obscurity. Remembered not for her own deeds, but for destroying those of another.
Light from Excalibur illuminates the sky as the king announces his victory — his loss. And then, finally, it's over. ]
1/2 hell yeah also excuse the metaphor at the end
Date: 2017-08-22 05:31 am (UTC)She'd read the books, all of them - had thought he was a questionable figure even when that wasn't the point of the stories, and the stories where he was shown to be flawed just made his issues even clearer. But she hadn't hated him. Even when she'd summoned Mordred, seen her rage against him - even when she'd seen Arthur fighting Mordred, on the streets, as a Lancer - she hadn't hated him. He'd had his own reasons for doing what he did. He took on too much and paid the price, and hurt the people around him, but wanting to help others was a noble goal.
But now, seeing Mordred reaching out to her father as she died, seeing her be ignored - she hates him. Completely.
What sort of man would ignore his own child like that? It didn't matter if he hadn't asked for her. It didn't matter if he hadn't wanted her. Mordred - Mordred was...
But there's nothing she can do for Mordred, now, even as she leans down, even as she reaches for her, even as she - dies. The dream's fading already, having reached its conclusion. The ending's tragic, and the curtain closes, and the audience isn't happy-]
2/2 and the start of this one
Date: 2017-08-22 05:32 am (UTC)Diana's memories start - 'later,' than Mordred's, but her early life isn't as complicated as Mordred's. The first thing Mordred can see as she 'dreams' is a woman reaching down for Diana, taking her up into her arms and cradling her close. The woman's like an older Diana - blonde and elegant. A little softer around the edges, of course, less angular features (and just a much more outwardly kind demeanor), but Diana takes after her mother in most things.
The scene's very malleable, at this point. Diana had a normal childhood, with all the bits and pieces of memory that entails. Her mother reading to her, her mother feeding her (Diana was a good girl, and always ate her vegetables - mostly because her mother always looked happy when she did), her mother brushing her hair and telling her what a pretty young lady she's growing into.
But slowly, things start to come together. The scenes are less scattered, Diana's memories more concrete. The world around Mordred actually exists now, as more than scattered visions.
It's the manor, but it's different. The curtains are brighter, the place is better maintained, more organized, and every now and then a maid passes Mordred by, completely ignoring her.
And there's a curious six-year old Diana peering around the corner. She waits until the last of the maids is out of sight, then hurries over to Mordred, looking up at her.]
You're tall, miss! [She sounds - and looks - so excitable, so eager.] Are you here to see my mama? Are you from the clock-tow-er? [She sounds so proud she was able to say that in one go.]
i can probably forgive you
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