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The Final Chapter

The following is an entry into the Tragedy of Doraemon Contest

“The Final Chapter”

Sir Mordred awoke with a cough. Reaching for the blood stained towel next to the bedding he looked at the dwindling fire. Once hot and full of determination it now sputtered and crackled, expending its last attempts to remain in this world.

Sitting up he poured himself some water. The winter was in his lungs now, heavy. Once he caught his breath he threw more wood on the fire. Gingerly he sat in his reading chair next to the hearth. His body cursing him from a long life in the military. He felt every broken bone and every scar these days, it was if they had never healed but merely took a hiatus. The old wounds had returned now and they hurt almost as much as when they were fresh. Staring into the fire he thought of his sister, long since dead. He was alone now in this world, the rest of his family having turned their backs on him. What few friends he had acquired throughout his life were either dead or too old to travel, as was he. If it weren't for the elders in the nearby village, he too would have perished by now. The elders remembered him and his deeds in life, the lives he had saved, and the battles he had fought to keep them safe. Every few weeks someone came out to his modest house bringing food and sometimes wine. Now that the snow has fallen he may not see anyone for a month or more. It was very likely that he would never see anyone ever again, he will die alone.

His sister Ariel had been lost 50 years past. She had left on a Hunting Expedition never to return. The search party had found her bow and signs of a bloody struggle. The Trackers found what little remained of Ariel in a Dire Wolves’ den. Sir Mordred ordered the entire pack destroyed, but yet it did nothing to quell his grief. He wished he had told her how much she had meant to him, how she had been his best friend. He cried sitting there alone by the growing fire wishing he had told her so while she was still alive.

His brother Jonas has take up the mantle of Lord of Langrisser County. Jonas was no warrior, nor young himself, so the protection of their Homeland fell to Jonas's eldest son, Baal. Sir Mordred had trained the lad in combat since he was able to stand. An able warrior and competent strategist, Baal would not allow Langrisser County to fall to their enemies. Unfortunately that list of enemies grew every year that Baal was in command.

He had not spoken to his brother or his brother’s son in over 10 years. They were angry with him as Mordred would not yield his sword to the younger Langrisser. A family heirloom, The Relic Sylphkrieg had been wielded by a Langrisser for untold generations. Sir Mordred had hidden it deep within the family vault right under their noses in Zephyr City. Baal Langrisser had been furious, ransacking the entirety of Mordrid's keep in search of the sword. Screaming about his birthright, Baal had beaten the Elder Langrisser to near death. Mordred had never given up the location of where he had hidden the sword, and never would. Turned out from his home in the Keep, cut off from the family treasury, Mordred now lived in this modest hunting shack on Sylph mountain.

The sword had been handed down to him by his own father on his deathbed. He had sworn an oath to his father that day, not knowing the ramifications it would have. The oath was to keep the sword from falling into the hands of their enemies. Unfortunately this included Baal and by extension, Mordred's own brother Jonas.

Staring into the fire, Sir Mordred remembered back to when he was just a boy. His sister Ariel was but a babe in arms, still suckling at his mother's breast, when the Deranged King of Xeilias visited their Manor. He was there to give his father praise for the expertise of their militia in service to the Kingdom. Mordred could remember the palpable anxiety of the house staff as they prepared for the King’s visit, everything needed to be perfect. As a boy Mordred didn't really understand why, as a man he learned too well the ruthlessness of the Deranged King.

On his deathbed, Sir Mordred’s father had confided in him a terrible secret. During that visit the Deranged King threatened the lives of all the Langrissers. The King desired to lay with Sir Mordred's mother and if his father refused, the King would have them all executed. With a sword to his throat Sir Mordred’s father refused, it was only by the hand of his mother gently moving the blade from his father's throat and placing a kiss upon his mouth that their bloodline lived on. Nine months later Jonas was born.

Early on in the training of his nephew he could see traces of the Deranged King. Quick to anger, Baal showed no remorse when he injured his sparring partners. Often mistaking kindness for weakness, Baal bullied his peers and showed no empathy for his own people. Sir Mordred never told Jonas the truth about their mother and what she endured for her family's survival, as was his father’s wish.

Without an heir of his own when Sir Mordred dies, so do the Langrissers. Sir Mordred felt a terrible despair at the loss of the bloodline. He felt deep sadness for what his mother had endured in VAIN, because of him. Sir Mordred had never been married. Married instead to his duty as Count, never realizing that he had forsaken his truest duty until it was too late.

He had known love, once. The oldest Winterlynn girl, Violet, was just a few years younger than he. The two families were long time allies and as such Mordred enjoyed her company at many a festival or Gala. When they were small they would often disappear from the festivities and go exploring in the wood. She was athletic and a bit boyish, always climbing trees and catching toads. She had deep amber hair that she always kept in a thick braid behind her. One cool autumn day, sitting by the brook on her father’s lands, she undid the braid and the tangle of wild red hair fell about her face. All the breath left Mordrid and at that moment he fell in love with her. He was just fourteen at the time but even now, some 80 years later, he still smiled at the memory.

But, like always, the memory moved on to the next and the smile faded. To show fealty to the Deranged King, Lord Winterlynn had promised her hand to the King’s son. Every noble family in the Empire had turned out for the wedding. The Langrissers had a special invitation as honored guests for their contributions to the war effort. They were granted a room in the castle rather than a hovel within the city proper like many aristocrats. Late on the eve of the wedding Mordred heard a tapping at the window under which he slept. It was Violet on his balcony! They climbed down and hid within the hayloft of a barn. She was distraught and Mordred comforted her best he could. She cried about how unfair it was and how she truly loved HIM. Eventually, they both succumbed to their pent up desire for one another and lay together in the fresh cut hay. Mordred never told her that he loved her. He insisted that she forget him or they both would lose their lives. Thinking back on it now, he wished he had been killed for love then, instead of watching his body fail him in this shack, alone. The one woman he had ever loved and Mordred had not told her so. He wept openly then, no longer the Commander or the Count, but just a man. Unashamed of his feelings, understanding now as a wise old man, that LOVE is the only reason for living. Love for his country and people had kept him as their protector all those years but now he realized that he had been living only half a life. He could not change the past, but he could make amends with himself. He struggled to kneel in front of the fire and prayed for forgiveness. He apologized to the gods for not having allowed himself to love openly. He admitted that he had kept it inside and had not truly shared his love with the people who deserved it the most. He asked forgiveness from his father, his sister, Violet, and especially himself. He truly regretted not telling them all, even Jonas, that he loved them. He missed them all so very much. Not because he was lonely, but because once the moment has passed it can never be relived. He should have taken every moment available to appreciate life and the people he loved. Accepting this and his fate given to him by the gods, Sir Mordred found peace within his heart.

His creaky old knees complained as he stood, the fire was now fully reinvigorated and Mordred lay back in his bed. As the cold night wore on the fire illuminated less and less of the room. Like so many nights, he dreamt of the many battles he had fought and his calling out of his Family’s Mantra before battle. Like the dying light of the fire, Sir Mordred Langrisser passed on.

His soul was lifted up and he could see himself lying in the bed. Rising up on the Wind he could now see the roof of his house and the lights of the village down in the valley at the base of the mountain. He was aware of two spirits that had joined him, the Sylphs of the mountain were indeed real! They summoned a breeze and the three of them blew across Langrisser County. He could see his homeland in its entirety, the mountain range to the north leading down to the plains and finally to Zephyr City. The wind carried his soul far across the land, somehow he knew where he was being lead. Soon the capital of Alesia was upon the horizon. The sylphs swirled about Sir Mordred's soul, the winds carrying it down towards the castle in the center of the huge City. There he saw his one true love for the last time. He knew he was seeing into the past as she looked just as he remembered her. With her long auburn hair, green eyes, and pale skin she was radiant. Mordred was filled with love and was glad she was happy. She was sitting in the green grass laughing at a child playing nearby. The soul of Sir Mordred finally understood why they had brought him here. He recognized the child, she was the mirror image of his sister Ariel at that age! The child was his! Joy filled his soul as he understood that Violet knew the child was not Xeilian. Just as the Deranged King had tainted the Langrisser bloodline long ago, Mordred had tainted his. The gods are just, how poetic! The Sylphs lifted him him up then and delivered him to the Akashic Records. There he would await the time another Langrisser is born and his soul may again rejoin the world.


5/17/2018 10:30:20 PM #1

"Resurrection"

Prologue:

Today was her naming day. Her grandfather the King was throwing an immense festival to celebrate it. All throughout the Capital of Alesia flowers were strung, musicians tuned up their instruments and bakers laid out their treats. In the Grand Arena, the Gladiators were just arriving for the day’s sport. She stood upon her balcony in the morning sun and breathed in deep, she felt like a woman reborn. She had awoken at midnight, without breath. Panic stricken she had rolled out of bed and onto the floor coming down hard on all fours. When she was able to draw in a breath her mouth opened wide filling her lungs to capacity. Her eyes rolled white and her head snapped backwards before she exhaled with a cough. Panting, sweat dripping from her brow, she smiled a sideways smile that was uncharacteristic for the demure 14 year old girl who had laid her head upon the pillow some hours ago.

Standing now upon the balcony she looked at her hands and flexed them into fists several times. She felt stronger after her midnight run through the wood. She had donned her boots and ran and ran and ran as if she had been a prisoner her entire life. Looking above her at the doorway she lept up to grab a hold of the stone arch and pulled herself up to stand upon it. Turning, she laughed aloud and lept up for the next closest window ledge and then the roofline. In a matter of seconds she was running along the crest of the roof like a squirrel, never having parkour’d in her life. A would-be princess has no business doing such things!

She felt amazing and jumped down 10 feet to the balcony below. Entering the dining area her grandfather looked up from his meal.

“Hello dear I hadn’t seen you come in, Happy Naming Day, I hope you slept well?”

“I feel wonderful Grandfather.” She said, leaning in to give him a kiss upon the cheek before sitting next to him. Her Grandfather doted upon her as she was his only family and only living heir.

The servants plated her a meal. Looking at her clothes the King said, “Going riding are you? Please don’t be late for your own ceremony, you know I don’t like to wait.”

“I won’t Grandfather.” The King was a decent Mann, a just-ruler, but he certainly liked to keep to a schedule and today that schedule was full.

On her way to the stables she grabbed a hunting bow and quiver. Her mother had taught her to shoot but never to hunt as that was not proper for a Princess. They had both been very good Archers and the King frequently shamed his own menn by having them compete against the women of his house. He loved to brag about their talents and claimed them as a Xeilian trait. Donning a cloak, she left without an escort. Something the King would be angry over, she made haste and once out of the city gates rode full gallop into the wood.

Standing tall in the stirrups she loosed arrow after arrow at the trees and signposts along the road. Not hitting her mark as often as she liked she went back and collected the arrows for another run; this time hitting many more and three squirrels! Eventually she knew it was time to head to the celebration. As she came out of the woods she donned the hood and trotted in through the city gates. The road was crowded from all the citizenry coming in for the festival. Seeing a poor child and his mother begging alongside the road, she leaned down to give them the squirrels she had kilt. When she did some of her red hair spilled out from under the hood. When the child saw the hair he looked into her eyes, his smile went wide and he whispered “Happy Naming Day!” With a wink and a smile she rode off to the castle.

Once back in her room she looked at herself in the looking glass. She looked just like her Mum with Amber red waves of hair and green eyes. Her body too was becoming like a woman’s and often she turned the heads of the stable boys. She wished her mother was here, especially today with how different she felt. Her mother had been an amazing woman, having raised her alone after the death of her father. Beautiful and fierce she never had backed down from a challenge, or challenger. Her strength and defiance toward the King had only been explained two years ago just before her mother’s death.

On her deathbed her mother had shared her most intimate secret and made the child swear to never speak of it to anyone lest her own daughter when the time comes;

“We are children of the Wind my love. Your grandmother, the Queen, once loved a man before her hand was given to the King. I am the child of that mann, and you are his granddaughter.”

Her mother had passed away that same day, the knowledge she left her daughter tormented her day and night. Everyone attributed despondence to the death of her Mum but it was the secret that kept her awake at night, pouring over old maps. The secret of her true name …Langrisser.

She had met the Langrissers but once when she was very young. All she remembered was an old man named Jonas who, when meeting her mother, had dropped his glass. For a moment he looked as if he had seen a ghost, his eyes darting from mother to daughter before he regained himself and bowed in reverence. Her grandfather had dismissed him as an old fool.

The Naming ceremony was Grand! Jugglers and performers, actors and actresses, and the FOOD! The food was divine. The Gladiators never failed to impress as did the Trison Matadors. She was showered with gifts from all across Alesia. Some were thoughtful, others grandiose in an effort to impress the King. Her favorite gift was a headband adorned with the ears of a Foxcelot, it was adorable and kind of fierce! She wore them the entirety of the day.

Just before the Grand Feast the ceremony was held for her to choose her new name. Although she liked her birth name she now strongly felt that it was her time to become the woman she was meant to be. When, in front of the crowd of people, the King asked her to choose a name, she did. Kayile.

When next he asked “What is it my Granddaughter? What is it that you want most in this world as a gift from me?”

Without hesitation she spoke just two words: “Zephyr County”

“So be it!” The King exclaimed, and the crowd roared in applause. As she hugged the King a sly sideways smile crossed her face .


8/8/2018 11:06:24 PM #2

Wow...just wow! I really love how this story goes O:


𝒞𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒷𝓊𝒾𝓁𝒹