Congratulations to all NaNowrimo Participants and Winners! It was a hectic and crazy month but worth it! My Winner’s badge and a rather lengthy excerpt from my novel:
Morgan sends a damsel with a cursed sword to court to sew discord among Camelot. Balin takes it and winds up slaying Balan. Arthur is dismayed.
Arthur knelt there holding the pommel of his sword and sticking the blade into the green grass. The night was cool and starry with only the sound of crickets and the lonesome howl of a wolf on the wind. Mórghaínne watched her brother pay tribute to their mother’s cairn through a curtain of leafy fronds. His silent and solemn prayers left a bitter taste in her mouth. There he was standing before the grave of their mother and the man who betrayed her. He still wore a jeweled crown upon his brow and his red cloaked billowed in the soft wind over his polished and ornate silver armor. There he stood, the righteous king, the new incarnation of Christ brought upon this earth on midwinter day to herald in a time of peace for Albion, heedless of the suffering that brought the Red Dragon into being.
“At least I had the sensibility to wear black on the anniversary of our mother’s death.” Mórghaínne said emerging from the greenery.
Arthur jumped at the sound of her voice and turned to face her his dark blue eyes widening as he backed away from her. “Mórghaínne”
“Did you come to see our mother’s grave? Or are you here to pay tribute to the monster who took everything from her?”
Arthur sheathed his sword and opened his arms, looking at her pleadingly, like some pathetic child. It was as if he thought the bonds they shared in childhood meant something to her, She sauntered over to her mother’s grave to lay a blooming white rose on the soil before her cairn and looked back to the son that looked so much like her. “Our mother would weep over what you’ve become, Arthur.”
“And what of that sweet girl who taught me how to ride and treat a wound? You once were so compassionate and…”
“I was naive, Arthur Pendragon!” Mórghaínne snapped. “And I’ve grown tired of your empty promises. You once said you could never see Camelot without my counsel. Neither can they. We’re all tired of this promise. You’re no better than Uther was.”
“Mórghaínne, I know what he’s done to you and it was wrong.” he said backing away from her. “You’re a brilliant and powerful woman, but I think it’s you our mother would weep to see. My father has wronged you and now he’s dead. Why are you still so consumed by hatred?”
Mórghaínne turned away from her coward brother unable to face his words. “Don’t bother backing away from me, Arthur. If I wanted you dead I would have killed you already. I won’t do that…not on the anniversary of her death. Tell me, did you even miss her or is this out of some sense of duty? That woman sacrificed everything for you.”
“And ancient Camelot shall rise again as peaceful and hopeful as our mother had hoped, Mórghaínne. Don’t punish the child for the sins of the father.”
“That’s rich coming from you!” Mórghaínne cried. “Or have you already forgotten about Tintagel? You punished hundreds of sons for your sins, and yet here you stand, as righteous as ever. All hail King Arthur, the prodigal son has returned, all upon God’s green earth shall be bestowed unto him! They’ve raised you like Christ’s second coming while they brand me a witch and a whore! But they don’t know that so much more of their blood is on your hands than mine!”
“I don’t judge you for Uther’s sins, sweet brother.” Mórghaínne said turning to leave him. “I blame you for yours.”