Turning it in gauntleted hands, he felt the weight of all creation carried by its bloodstained hilt.
Excalibur.
Outside, the crows sang Arthur’s Lament.
Gently cleaning the blood away, he remembered his scabbard hung empty, his own blade shattered. No gems adorned its pommel, no gold flaked its crossguard, yet with it he could wield the wealth and power of God himself.
All the desires buried within his heart… unleashed. Even Eve, purest of creation, bit into temptation.
The blade now cleansed, Lancelot met his own reflection gleaming within the steel. A tremor ran through his heart, his breath catching in his throat. When had his gaze grown so heavy?
He placed the sword upon the Round Table, and departed.
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A/N:
A little drabble to end the year. I've been working through some themes for my main WIP, and you get to enjoy the spoils of my practice.
If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. Want to read more? Below are the best of the very best of my works:
About the Creator
Matthew J. Fromm
Full-time nerd, history enthusiast, and proprietor of arcane knowledge.
Here there be dragons, knights, castles, and quests (plus the occasional dose of absurdity).
I can be reached at [email protected]
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