lionbred.
You bet he caught that blade.
And he too suffered for it. He, who was even less worthy of this blade, dared hold it. And it loathed him for the fact. Oh, he knew all that she spoke of was true. It was why he was disappointed when John had put up less of a fight to keep that throne for himself. Richard’s obsessions and wild ideas, his rushing off at a mere whim, had always been encouraged by his mother’s wild stories of the knights of old.
It was a curse that he would ruin his kingdom for a taste of the glory others had wielded with such ease, such grandeur. He loathed himself for every minute he had caused his people to suffer, knew all too well that he had deserved every knife in the back, every ransom unpaid, every betrayal to his name. It is why, when he looks to her, he does so with an earnest smile.
He already knows everything she has told him to be true. And has already tortured himself terrible for the fact. All she does now is repeat that which he has repeated a thousand times.
“Your tantrum brings disgrace to your father’s lineage. Cease at once.”
He’s not so keen to toss such a glorious relic, even if the pain in his hand that lances through his gauntlets, is making it hard to actually continue to hold this weapon. It’s almost hilarious to think that he would have done anything, once upon a time, to own this sword. Even if it hated him in this manner, he would have persisted. But now? Well, it’s not worth it, is it?
He’s merely a Servant now. Owning this sword is pointless. So he crosses the distance between them and holds it out to her, still utterly unperturbed by his hissing hand and her blind rage for his very existence. He could never throw so callously an Arthurian relic.
“If you must dispense with vitriolic withering, at least hit me with something worth the oxygen and effort. Like how I taxed the church so I could run off to the Third Crusade, that’s always a good one… Or, how I was so unworthy of the throne that my own Brother sold me out to the enemy and took it for himself.”
“I must say, though… If you want to swing at a King, be he worthy or not–
“–then do it. Come at me, Mordred, betrayer of the Knights of the Round. Hit me.”
His smirk becomes, for lack of a better word, devilish.
“Or are you too scared to swing your sword at a child of the Devil?”
taunting her did hardly anthing — if anything it riled her up to do as he said, but she stood there. SILENTLY, awaiting anything to come her way. he was a servant too, there was no way he’d sit there & let her do as she pleased ; especially not someone with the same amount of borderline faux ego that she had. thunder crackled between her teeth, lightning struck in her chest, & the brutality in her blood cried for carnage --- yet she still stood there silent. & he dared.
sharp verdant orbs that has yet to lose their glare on the man who dares cry out her name. the knight got as close as she could not caring if he was willing to drive a dagger through her. staring at the fool not only was this man before her, a king of idiots. but, he also lacked some manners, for fuck’s sake who raised this child who believes he hails from demons. better yet, why did he let her get so close --- something’s wrong --- but did she care? not really. porcelain digits tightly wrap around the back of his neck, charming isn’t it ? too bad it was just preparation.
her lips flashes a smile at him before it collapses into a serious expression. she lifts up her leg slowly before jolting her knee towards his abdomen. a smirk rises as he flinches on impact with her knee. ❛ oh, little bastard king... how fucking cute of you. ❜ a hiss rings of her tongue & oh how she’s learned how to do such a voice from the wretchedness that is her mother. spoken in a hushed tone but filled with aggression / with a chuckle bloomed in her chest was almost sweet to hear ; smooth like honey & trouble that dripped from it. she pulls back her leg, her hands move to cup the side of his face, clawing at both sides his jawline. ❛ you see when you’re gripping my BELOVED clarent so tightly i can’t help but to let the child hold his newfound toy. so this was my alternative--- is this close to what you wanted? ❜
❛ i couldn’t grant you the pleasure --- yet --- if you really want me to kill you, just say the words & i’ll give you the most brutal kind, so-called devil child. DON’T use my name so casually, you goddamn moron or i’ll show you a REAL daemon. ❜ --- & with that, a signature chaotic laughter breaks the sky.
