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“Carry on, my wayward son

There'll be peace when you are done

Lay your weary head to rest

Don't you cry no more”

Carry on Wayward Son: by Kansas

Some young Morgott art, poor boy has seen so much

#sad boy hours #young morgott #angst art #fits in with the recent spinning gold chapter #morgott #elden ring art #my art

Content warning: Child Loss (poor Morg)

Oh Morgott... Just a young adult. He's done no wrong. And yet- the one thing meant to make him, ended up breaking him. The loss of an innocence so sweet, it's bound to resonate in him for the rest of his miserable existence. To have and to hold no more..

He sat, in the dark, in the quiet, mourning the loss of his child. All he had to remember the lost.. Was one of the little nub horns which was present on his child's head. All he did anymore, was sit. No child to hold in his arms, only the feeling of failure and loss consume him anymore.

So he sat, and with a knife, began to carve a Bairn, in memoriam to the child he just lost not to long ago. He carves, and carves, and carves. It had to be perfect, it had to look like the precious little thing he held.. Morgott only had one shot. He had to make it- just right.

Hours, spent exhausted, sleep deprived, hungry, and cold.. But he needed to do this. He needed to carve the likness of his lost child, to truly commemorate the lost in memoriam. Mohg could only watch, offering what food he's gathered, stitched together cloth that vaugely resembled a blanket, leaving what he had infront of Morgott. But it was never touched.

He just sat. And carved... And carved.. And carved. Until one day- the small horn, became a Bairn. An idol that Morgott holds oh so close to his broken heart.. As he lays to sleep, clutching it in his hand close to his heart, he dreams of what he should have had.. An adoring little babe, who smiles up at him, coos at him as he is gazed at.

The phantom of a smile ghosts onto Morgott's face in his sleep, as in his dream he was able to love as he should have.. Nuzzle his little one with his nose, bask in the small warmth and love of the bundle in his arms. Mohg watches his body ease- from the other side of their room.

Morgott slept on the cold, hard ground, just as everyone did in the shunning grounds. But.. He couldn't feel it in his dream. Because he cradled the babe in his arms, smiled at his newborn, and told his little one: I love you.. Oh so much.. Before leaning down and pressing his forehead against the small little head of his darling, who giggles in delight and nuzzles twords him, gently bonking Morgott's head with his.

What a warm bubbly feeling- it's pleasant. It's love. But... A dream is a dream. And a farce is a farce..

Morgott awakens gently, to the cold ground, and empty arms. He curls into himself, and unfurls his hand. The small Bairn rocks gently against his palm. Morgott frowns, and curls tighter. He closes his hand again, and clasps his other hand over the back of the one which held the Bairn.. As if it was a lifeline.

He brings it up to his face, to solemnly nuzzle into his hands- wishing the dream was real. In the deafening silence of the Subterranean shunning grounds, Morgott lay on the cold ground. Mourning what was, but never could be, in the end. Morgott never gets what he wants.