Kingdom Come

                                  Kingdom Come          

    The man wandered the dark London alleys, not really caring where they took him. Each pub he stopped at only a pit stop between the next. How long he had been on a bender he could not say, but then again he always spent his time thus when he was here.
   
    Too many memories and few of them good ones, waited for him within the environs of this ancient city. The drink seemed to keep most of them at bay, at least for a short time.
   
    The dim lights flickering just outside of his next stop caught his eyes, and drew them to a neon sign, reading,  “King Arthur’s Court”. The name itself was quite appropriate, he thought, as he stumbled through the door and sought out a dark corner with an empty table to continue his drunken quest. Yes, he thought to himself as a waitress dropped off a pint and a shot, this pub would do nicely. On every wall hung the usual copies of medieval swords and in one corner stood the obligatory suit of armor, which as he knew full well was at least five centuries newer than anything used in the Britain of Arthur’s time. Shaking his head in disgust, not only at the armor and fallacious decorations, but also at his failed attempt at suppressing unwanted memories.
   
    As he tossed back the shot of Irish whiskey and sipped on his pint of Guinness, he found the walls of the pub shimmering and disappearing, to be replaced by a swift flowing river on a dark, stormy night. Once again he found himself kneeling over the bloodied body of a man barely holding onto life. His life’s blood flowing from multiple wounds, seeping through chain armor and spilling onto the already damp earth; lips quivering with attempted speech.

“Mor…Mor…”gasping through a throat already closing with the dryness of death. “I…tried…I really…tried…”

The kneeling man leaned closer and whispered into the dying man’s ear. “I know Neb. I know this time you tried to do things differently. But you must know our fates are locked and nothing we do can alter what will be.” Feeling fate’s cold hand around his own heart he went on. “Funny thing is this time our roles seem to be reversed.”

The fallen warrior gave a gurgling laugh. “They…must…never…know….” Struggling with each word. “Some….good can…come of….this.”

“You may be right, Neb, though I think nothing good can ever come from what is between us.” Memories long forgotten flash through the man’s mind. “They call me Mordred, you know. An ill-fated name if ever there was one. While you, they know as Arthur, King of the golden age of Britain. What a farce.”

The dying man tried to reply. “Fel….you must….understand….” Blood bubbling up through his lips, he halted.

“Understand you say? I understand that once again I am the only thing standing between you and the unthinkable. But they….they shall see me as evil incarnate. Not that I care much what the historians say. They have yet to get much of anything right in centuries.” As he spoke the harsh words his heart gave the lie right back to him. He knew that a truly great time in history was passing at this exact moment and yet he felt nothing.

    Looking down into the other man’s eyes, Fel could only hope that this would be the last time. In his heart he knew that this was but a false hope and their dance would go on. With a sudden surge of mercy he said. “It shall be as you wish my friend. The name of Arthur will become legend, the kingdom he created will be a beacon of light to a dying world, and I shall go down as the evil that felled it all.”

The dying man gasped. “Fel…for…forg….forgive…..” the last word dribbled from lips already going still in death.

    Felinus closed his eyes tight against a sight he had seen all too many times over the years. Rising to his feet with the limp body in his arms, he carried it towards the women waiting patiently in the boat to carry their dead King to his final resting place.

    No one would ever know the threat one man, on a small island, posed to the future of a very shaky and unstable world.
   

    Felinus stood and walked towards the door of the quiet pub, all the patrons either gone or leaving, in search of an after hours bar that could assist him in killing memories better off dead.