Please, at the End Just Hold Me
For a hundred years, Bedivere wanders.
He walks across what had once been his Britain. He passes by ruined castles he's once slept in. He walks through battlefields filled with bodies he no longer recognizes.
For a hundred years, Bedivere wanders, and for a hundred years, Bedivere thinks.
Please, my King. Come back to me. Please, my King, I didn't mean to. Please, my King, I'm sorry.
For five hundred years, Bedivere wanders.
He walks through the thick forests of western Europe. He passes by kingdoms whose name he does not know. He hears stories of his King and his peers like it's some far-off history.
For five hundred years, Bedivere wanders, and for five hundred years, Bedivere imagines.
I'll get on my knees and beg for forgiveness. I'll hand back the sword and let the King decides what to do with me. Whatever justice I'm served, I'll accept it.
For a thousand years, Bedivere wanders.
He walks across the cold lands of Russia. He sees the rise and fall of empires. He hears stories being spun, spread, and then disappear.
His arms hurts.
His heart hurts. His being hurts. His soul hurts.
One thousand years.
Bedivere knows now. Once he hands Excalibur back, he will die. No time for last words. No time for last requests.
It should make him feel sad. He mostly feels tired.
One thousand years. It's for the better, he thinks. He will right his wrongs, and disappear. That's all he's entitled to, after all this time.
Though, in the dead of the night, he likes to entertain some thoughts, anyway. If he could say one last thing. If the King would humor him one last time.
Please, my King. At the end, just hold me.
One thousand, five hundred years, and finally Bedivere's wander comes to a stop.
Excalibur sinks deep into its former owner. No flesh nor armor could stop Excalibur, not even that of a god's.
Bedivere looks up at his king’s eyes, as he gives her back what he’s taken so selfishly. His body is crumbling. He’s close enough to feel her blood on his gloves. Close enough to feel her breastplate against his own. Something like recognition flashes in these inhuman eyes. If he had the strength to reach out, he could easily touch that familiar face.
He closes his eyes.
Ah. Good enough.