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Heavy is the Crown (Harry Potter) Chapter 96: Bedivere’s Story
🕑 Added 2025-09-08 23:05:33 +0000 UTC[Third Person POV]
A lone man wandered through the depths of the forest, his figure stooped and weary. Each step he took seemed heavier than the last. His eyes, shadowed with fatigue, carried the weight of sleepless nights; deep bags clung beneath them, marking his exhaustion. A rough stubble had begun to grow across his chin and jawline, its dull color matching the faded shade of his once-bright, bleach-tinted hair. Upon his back was strapped a sword, wrapped heavily in old, weathered bandages, its presence as much a burden as a duty.
This man was Bedivere, knight of the once-great Round Table. His breaths were ragged, and his hands clutched tightly to the hilt of his own blade as he hacked his way forward through the undergrowth. Each swing tore through thick branches and tangled bushes, the forest resisting him at every turn. The sword felt heavier with every swing. Still, he pressed forward, step by step, driven by something greater than his exhaustion—by a promise, by loyalty, and by memory.
At last, through the curtain of trees, a clearing revealed itself. The sight that awaited him was like another world. Vibrant green stretched across the grass, the air thick with vitality. Tiny particles of light shimmered and floated, drifting lazily as if the air itself had been enchanted. At the heart of the clearing lay a vast lake, its still waters reflecting the golden touch of the sunlight above. The surface glimmered like a diamond, dazzling, untarnished by time or mortal touch.
Bedivere dragged his worn body to the edge of the water, every step echoing with finality. He stared down into the mirrored surface, his reflection looking back at him—a gaunt, hollow man, marked by sorrow. His knees gave way, and he collapsed at the bank, closing his eyes. For a moment he simply sat in silence, listening to the sound of the water, before cupping his hands and lifting the cool liquid to his lips. The water was crisp, refreshing, but it did little to wash away the heaviness lodged in his chest.
With trembling fingers, Bedivere unfastened the sword from his back and lowered it onto his lap, its weight a solemn reminder of his charge. Tears welled unbidden and streamed down his face, cutting trails through the dirt and fatigue that clung to his features. His body shook as he clutched the wrapped weapon to himself, holding it as though it were his last anchor to the world.
“My lord… forgive me…” he whispered, his voice raw, breaking apart with every word. “Forgive me for delaying your orders. I could not—my heart was too weak. But…” He inhaled sharply, steadying himself, “as a knight, I know my obligation. I will not falter again. I will fulfill the last command entrusted to me.”
With shaking hands, Bedivere began to undo the bandages. One by one, the cloth strips unraveled, fluttering to the ground like withered petals. His tears did not stop, even as the sword’s true form was revealed—or rather, its lack of one. For within the bindings lay only emptiness, the unseen shape of a blade that had been revered by kings and feared by nations.
Reverently, he reached out, cradling the invisible weapon with both hands as though it were the most precious relic in the world. His voice cracked as he whispered, “My lord… rest well. If anyone has earned peace, it is you.” His gaze wavered, blurring with tears. “I wish… I wish I could say I would live to see your return, but I doubt I will survive long enough to greet you again.”
Slowly, painfully, Bedivere rose from the ground. The wrappings slipped from his hands and fell uselessly at his feet as he continued to hold the unseen sword. His knuckles turned white as he wrestled with the command he had been given.
He drew back once, ready to hurl the blade into the lake. But hesitation seized him. ‘What if my lord returns? What if he will need it again?’ His breath caught in his throat as doubt gnawed at him.
Again, he tried to let go. But his heart rebelled. ‘This is all I have left of him. The last memory… could I truly surrender it?’
His jaw clenched, his entire body trembling as the war within him reached its breaking point. At last, Bedivere let out a guttural cry, his anguish exploding into the still air.
“AHHHHHHHH!!”
With every ounce of strength left in him, he hurled the invisible blade toward the center of the lake. The air seemed to shudder as the sacred relic left his grasp, soaring across the water.
And then—something miraculous.
A slender, delicate hand broke through the glass-like surface of the lake, closing around the unseen hilt. Ripples spread outward as a figure emerged, her form rising with effortless grace. She leapt from the depths, landing softly upon the water’s surface as though it were solid ground.
She was beautiful beyond mortal measure. Her long, wavy hair, the color of deep ocean waters, cascaded down her back like a living waterfall. Her pale feet touched the lake without disturbing it, and her silvery-grey eyes gleamed with both sorrow and serenity. The sword gleamed faintly in her grasp, its form outlined only by the divine radiance she carried.
Her expression softened as she gazed upon the relic, her delicate fingers brushing gently along its invisible blade. A flash of melancholy shadowed her face, and then she turned her eyes toward Bedivere.
The Lady of the Lake bowed her head. Her voice was like the calm rush of water against stone.
“You have my gratitude, Sir Bedivere,” she said softly. “And my deepest sorrow for your loss.”
Bedivere stood frozen, his chest rising and falling heavily, not in awe of the beauty that radiated from the Lady of the Lake, but from the raw opportunity her presence represented. His bloodshot eyes widened, and for a fleeting instant, a flame of hope burned through the exhaustion and despair that had nearly broken him.
“Is there a way?” Bedivere’s voice cracked as he shouted, his tears drying into streaks on his face. “Is there a way for me to see him again? To await his return? To serve my King once more?”
The Lady—Vivienne—regarded him in silence. Her grey eyes searched his with quiet intensity, seeing not just the knight before her but the deep scars carved into his spirit. She saw the fatigue, the desperation, the unshakable love and loyalty that refused to die even with his master gone. For a long moment she said nothing, her expression unreadable, until finally her lips curved into the faintest, almost cruel smile.
“There is a way…” she murmured softly. “But what would you give me in return?”
Bedivere’s shoulders sagged, his body shuddering as if the question itself was a weight pressing him down. He exhaled slowly, closing his eyes. For a moment, Vivienne thought he would break. That he would surrender the thought, as so many men had done before when faced with a choice of sacrifice. Her heart sank with quiet disappointment.
But then, to her astonishment, Bedivere moved. He extended his sword arm to the side, fist clenched tightly around the his own hilt. With his other hand, he drew his wand, raising it toward his shoulder in grim resolve.
Vivienne’s eyes widened. “Wait—!”
She didn’t even have time to finish the thought. Bedivere’s face hardened, and within his gaze shone the same steadfast determination and unyielding loyalty that had carried him through countless battles.
A sudden burst of light consumed his form. The forest shook as an explosion tore through the still air, rattling the trees and stirring the waters of the lake.
When the light faded, Bedivere was kneeling, his teeth buried into his lower lip hard enough to scar it. Tears brimmed once more, but they were no longer born of weakness—only pain and defiance. Blood gushed freely from the stump where his arm had been, staining the emerald grass a deep, terrible crimson. The warmth of it seeped into the earth, heavy and unrelenting.
His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving. Yet still he rose, swaying but unbroken. He slid his wand back into his belt and turned his eyes to the severed limb lying motionless upon the grass. Even severed, the hand clung stubbornly to the sword hilt as though the weapon itself refused to be abandoned.
Staggering on unsteady legs, Bedivere bent down, lifted the arm with grim reverence, and stumbled toward the water’s edge. He presented it to the fae like an offering to the divine.
“Is this… enough payment?” he rasped, his voice uneven and hoarse. Though his body trembled, his gaze was unwavering, narrowed with fierce resolve. “It is all I have left to give. I have nothing else.”
Vivienne studied him, her face unreadable. Then she sighed, her words sharp but not unkind.
“What I sought was your loyalty. What use do I have for your sword arm?”
Bedivere’s reply came swift, unshaken. “That is something I cannot give. Only one man is worthy of such devotion. And though he may not stand here with us, my loyalty belongs to him alone. Whether in this life… or the next.”
Silence hung heavy between them, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the gentle ripple of the lake. Vivienne, for the first time in centuries, felt something stir within her—a sense of awe. His sacrifice, his defiance, his unbreakable devotion—it was rare, rarer even than the magic she wielded.
Her lips softened into a smile, tinged with melancholy. “You have shown me something I have not seen in a long, long time. You are a knight of honor, Sir Bedivere. Such loyalty is rare, even among your kind. You deserve to be rewarded… Very well. I accept your sacrifice.”
She lifted her hand, snapping her fingers. The abandoned bandages at his feet slithered into the air as if alive, coiling around his bleeding stump. Bedivere winced, his teeth grinding as the cloth tightened, staunching the endless flow of blood.
Her gaze softened. “Not to mention… I will need someone to stand guard over his body, to keep him safe until the day he returns. Step into the lake, Sir Bedivere… and wash away your mortality.”
Bedivere looked to the waters, his resolve as unyielding as ever. He stepped forward, placing one foot into the shimmering surface. Ripples spread outward, glowing faintly with mystical light. Then the other foot followed, and with each step he took he sank deeper—waist, chest, shoulders—until at last he vanished beneath the lake’s embrace.
Vivienne glided forward after him, her form dissolving into the depths as though claimed by the waters themselves. The lake’s surface rippled once, twice, and then settled into perfect stillness.
Comments
KingSpy25i .
Thank you for the astonishing chapter 🙏
