Paliphrase ("Fight")-Arthurian-"Make It Stop"

Title: Make It Stop
Author: Lady Bedivere
Claim: "Fight"
Fandom: Arthurian Legend
Pairing/Characters: Mordred, Lucan
Words: 913 wds.
Summary: But if Mordred didn't want to kill anyone, what really happened at the Battle of Camlann? Here's a new variation on one of our favorite events to twist.


The fighting had been going on for hours, maybe days. Mordred had lost all track of time, and the air was so thick with smoke and slaughter that day and night were rendered irrelevant. Three armies collided on the fields, everyone had chosen their sides, and nobody really knew why they were fighting, they just knew that they couldn’t stop. It had to stop. Make it stop, somebody had to make it stop…

Mordred made it to the edge of the woods unnoticed and ran quickly for the clearing. He wasn’t running away, he would never do that; he just needed a place to clear his head long enough to determine what to do next. Kill the damn devil who killed your brothers, said his mind, but Mordred pushed that thought aside. He didn’t have time to go after Lancelot, much as he longed to.

He reached the edge of the clearing and froze. A knight was sitting against one of the trees, his back to Mordred. Dammit, sword ready, kill him if he moves, thought Mordred. As he crept closer, he got a glimpse of the knight’s shield on the ground beside him: argent, a dragon rampant gules. “Bedwyr?”

The knight grunted and turned his head, allowing Mordred to see his face. “Sorry to disappoint you, wrong brother. Identify yourself.”

Mordred kept his hand on his sword and came into the clearing. Lucan tilted his head back against the tree. “Ah, Sir Mordred. If you’re really looking for my brother, you should be out on the field. He’s hard to miss; he’s the only one-handed man holding his own.”

“I wasn’t looking for anyone, actually. What are you doing here?”

Lucan moved the hand pressed against his side to reveal the red-brown stain seeped through his chainmail. “I believe the theory was that I’d stay here until I could stand up again, and Bedi would confuse issues further by trading shields with me.” He gave Mordred a weak smile. “If you’re going to kill me, would you mind giving me a little warning so I can put a hand on my sword first. Die with honour, even if I couldn’t give you a fight.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” said Mordred, sheathing his sword. With a sigh, he sat on the grass. “I don’t have any fight with you.”

“Wish you could have taught that logic to your sons.” Mordred glanced up at him. Lucan shrugged. “I think it was one of them that stabbed me. Looked like a variant of your arms, twin eagles.”

“That’s one or the other of them. They use the same device, probably for the same reason you and your brother keep trading.” Mordred looked at the man sitting across from him. He remembered years ago when they had teamed up to play an awful prank on Bedwyr. They’d hidden in the loft, stifling their laughter as they watched whichever girl it had been slap their unsuspecting target, and they’d run off to hide out in the old rabbit warren when he’d realized it was them.

Now Mordred had sons the age they’d been when they’d played that prank. He could see touches of grey around Lucan’s temples, which probably matched his own. They had never been friends, not really, but there was a strange kinship between them now.

Kill him, whispered the voice in the back of his head. He’s the enemy in this fight, and you never show mercy to an enemy, even if his is the brother of the damn cripple you call a friend.

“Look.” Mordred pulled himself out of his mind and saw Lucan staring up at the sky. When he looked up, he saw a large black bird overhead, flying in the direction of the battle. Lucan gave a bitter half-laugh. “The Morrigan. Apparently your aunt’s decided to join us after all. Think she’ll side for or against Arthur?”

“She’ll side with herself, just like always,” replied Mordred. “Maybe if we’re lucky she’ll get fed up with the whole mess and take out everyone at once.”

“Can’t say I’d mind if she did,” murmured Lucan. He closed his eyes and took a long deep breath. Mordred looked away. He’d seen too much death already in this fight. If this was going to be another, he didn’t want to see it. He waited, hearing the distant sounds of the battle drifting to where they sat.

After some time, he looked over to the wounded knight. Lucan stared out across the clearing, his breathing shallow but present. Mordred stood; it was time to return to the fight. As he started to walk away, Lucan closed his eyes.

“Which do you want to know, where to find Arthur, or where to find Lancelot?”

Mordred stopped. He didn’t even know why they were fighting anymore, nobody did. They only knew that it somehow had to stop…

“Arthur.”

Lucan waited a long time, long enough that he was sure that Mordred was well into the fight again. Reaching in behind his mail, he pulled out the now empty pouch of horse’s blood. He threw it onto the grass, picked up his brother’s shield, and headed through the trees. Bedwyr met him halfway out, the grim expression on Lucan’s face telling him all he needed to know. Without a word exchanged, they began to battle their way to where Arthur was, and where they knew Mordred soon would be.

Somebody had to make the fighting stop.