The Calling

“My brother shall kill you” spat Gwenhwyfar.

Mordred laughed at her anger, “I think not my dear”. He turned from the window and gazed across the hall toward her. The beauty of Gwenhwyfar was striking, her perfectly formed face was rounded by long flowing blonde hair which flowed down her back in a cascade of golden locks, tied with flowers and rimmed by delicate pink ribbons. Her eyes were the bluest that Mordred had ever seen he reflected as he watched the fire burn within their depths. Her small and delicate nose flared with hostility and her mouth twisted into a snarl as she watched him cross the hall toward her. “Once he realises I have his precious sister hostage in the castle”. He stood before her and regarded her slim form, then removed his glove and ran his hand across her soft cheek. “He won’t dare move against me” he whispered softly in her ear.

Gwenhwyfar flinched under his touch and spat in his face. The tension between the couple was tangible as he wiped the fluid from his cheek with his hand, then with the other grasped her chin roughly and trust her head in the direction of the window. “See...!” he raged, “see, your precious brother stands in the distance...” he moved his head close to hers and circled around behind her, pressing his body hard against hers as he spoke into her ear. His voice was sharp and full of menace and his words stung her, “he shall not dare move against the king”

“You are not the King” she writhed under his grip as she felt the hot breath against her face.

Mordred moved his body against hers and smiled at her discomfort, “I am King...and you are my servant” he sneered. His free hand snaked around her waist and he slowly caressed her groin through the long material of her flowing gown. She closed her eyes, fighting the tears which were forming in her eyes as the image of the sneering usurper fleeted before her eyes.

“You will never be King” she gasped defiantly.

He grinned at her under his pressure and pushed his hand hard against her groin. He released her face and brushed her long hair from her shoulder and planted a long hot kiss on her slender neck. “Your brother shall die at my hand...I promise you this” he whispered pulling his head away from her, and leaving a sliver of saliva running from his mouth and trailing from her neck. His other hand moved from her groin and slowly ran up the expanse of her body, before he roughly grasped her breast in his hand. He cupped the fleshy mound in his grip and squeezed roughly, smiling at she gasped in pain.

“Mordred!” the shrill sound of his name, forced him to release the young woman from his grip and he turned to face the woman in the doorway. She eyed the swelling bulge in his breeches and flushed with anger at his arousal. “Put aside your lust and focus on the problem at your gates” she stormed.

“Morgan...” he fawned.

“Don’t!” she warned and stalked toward the figure of Gwenhwyfar who had collapsed on the stone floor. She leaned close to the woman’s form and tenderly touched her face. “Arthur won’t stop” she said softly.

“But I have his sister...”

“And he has the hand of God!” she snapped standing to her full height, “he believes his own divinity and his birthright”, she walked to the window and peered out onto the surrounding land around the castle. “Come...” she urged Mordred. “Look” she pointed over the landscape at the waiting army in the distance and waited as he joined her side. “He will be formulating a plan of attack...and he knows every inch of Camelot”

“You promised Morgan...you promised me the kingdom” he whined.

“And you shall have it, once you defeat Arthur in battle”

“You never said that!” he spat and crossed to the throne and collapsed heavily onto the fur lined chair. “You promised me the throne!”

Morgan turned and regarded the opulent child-like Mordred sulking in the throne, his head resting on his hand as he stared into the darkness of the corridor beyond the hall. “I offered you the same as Arthur” she purred as she crossed to the throne and smiled down at the figure slumped in the chair. “All I wish for is power...and I shall have that power through your will” she sank to her knees before the throne and pushed open his legs. He watched her as she ran her hands up the inside of his legs, hovering over his groin. His lustful gaze wandered over the prone figure of Gwenhwyfar as she watched the scene before her, then back to the attention of Morgan. She raised herself onto his lap and purred in his ear as she rubbed fervently at his groin with her long delicate fingers, he closed his eyes and gasped with pleasure and she whispered seductively in his ear, “I promise you this Mordred...kill Arthur and you shall have everything...the throne...the kingdom...me”. She stopped and climbed from his lap and walked slowly toward the corridor, aware that his eyes followed the sway of her hips as she walked. Morgan paused in the doorway and spoke over her shoulder, “prepare your armies Mordred...the fight is coming”

A darkness crossed over Mordred following the words of Morgan and his eyes lingered on the small damp patch which had formed over his breeches and his hand rested on the swollen groin. Lust and disappointment swelled over his body and consumed his heart and his eyes wandered over the Gwenhwyfar who had remained on the floor watching the events between himself and Morgan. “It would appear my dear, that whatever I do I am compelled to fight your brother”. He stood from the throne grasping his crotch and regarded her briefly, “I have an unfulfilled thirst that needs to be quenched”

“Oh please my Lord...no...” Gwenhwyfar begged as she dragged herself back along the cold hard stone floor.

“I am sorry...but my desire must be quelled...for my own satisfaction” he grinned as he stalked her slowly, still running his hand over his groin.

“Please my lord...I am begging you...don’t” Gwenhwyfar hauled herself to her feet and backed toward the window.

Mordred lunged forward quickly and grasped at her hands and pushed his face into hers, pressing his lips roughly against her ruby red mouth. “Don’t worry...” he breathed hotly, “I shall tell your precious brother just how good you really were”.

Gwenhwyfar struggled under his grasp, but his grip held fast as her tears streaked down her face, making stained rivers against her soft skin. “Please...” she sobbed. He sneered and pressed his head against her neck, running his tongue up her skin and over her chin. He stood before her and stared into her deep blue eyes and smiled with cruel intent crossing his features. She pulled back, horrified at the look on his face. “Please my lord...have pity”. Mordred grinned past her and cast his gaze onto the column of troops in the distance, then suddenly tore at the material of her robes around her body. The material tore easily and fell across her torso and waist exposing her small rounded breasts. Mordred gazed upon her naked breasts hungrily and grasped one of her breasts roughly squeezing it in his rough grip. She grimaced and spat in his face, defiant in the face of fear.

He laughed at her futile attempt of defiance and savagely struck her across her face. The force of his gesture threw her to the floor, her cheek swelling under the intensity of his thrust and tears forming in her eyes. Mordred stood over her body and laughed looking down at her broken spirit and pulled at his breeches pulling them to the floor and standing over her, mocking her discomfort. She averted her eyes from his half-naked body and closed her eyes as he lowered his body to hers, his groin swollen with lust and desire burning in his eyes. His hands pulled at the last vestiges of material surrounding her body and as she struggled under his body weight, Mordred thrust her back to the floor and listened to her sobs as he forced himself upon her slim body. Gwenhwyfar writhed under his body as Mordred thrust himself deeper and deeper into her body...

From the window, a woman’s cry echoed out over the landscape. The screams grew in noise and intensity and mingled with incoherent sobs of despair...