How many generations will it take,
To cut the stream of blood?
His skin was so unwholesomely deficient in the natural tinge, that he looked as though, if he were cut, he would bleed white.
La Haine est le tonneau des pâles Danaïdes;
La Vengeance éperdue aux bras rouges et forts
A beau précipiter dans ses ténèbres vides
De grands seaux pleins du sang et des larmes des morts,
Le Démon fait des trous secrets à ces abîmes,
Par où fuiraient mille ans de sueurs et d'efforts,
Quand même elle saurait ranimer ses victimes,
Et pour les pressurer ressusciter leurs corps.
— Arthur! Stop. Think about what you’re doing. What good will this achieve? How many times have you talked about uniting this land? Will killing this man make that dream any closer?
— He is right. This is no answer.
— Finish it. Finish it and be done.
— And what then? Your people will seek they’re revenge. A war without an end.
— There is no other way.
— There is another way. In return for your life, you must restore Rodor to the throne of Nemeth.
— Even if I agreed, it solves nothing. What about us, Pendragon?
— A truce. Binding our kingdoms to peace.
— Never.
— Is this what you want? To die here, now know you condemn this land to war. Odin, you cannot let it end like this. The blood will never wash off.
— You killed my son!
— You killed my father! We have both lost much at the others hand. Let us loose no more, I am offering you the chance to end this. Take it. Take it!
— So be it. A truce it is.