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[Dec. 26th, 2010|10:29 pm] |
Having slept on what Gwytha's told him, Mordred is somewhat calmer. It's not as though Sagramore hasn't had dismally ill-advised love affairs before now, though none quite so ill-advised as this. But before he can talk to his friend in this eminently reasonable state of mind, he runs into Agravain, who's feeling more than usually disagreeable; and then he glimpses Cecily in the passage, which reminds him of all his past grievances in that line, and by the time he tracks Sagramore down he's come round to annoyance again.
"What the hell d'you think you're doing this time?" is what he actually says. |
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[Jun. 9th, 2010|10:20 pm] |
Once Gawain is home again, Mordred is in a better humor. The fact that Gaheris is comparatively cheerful doesn't hurt either -- Gaheris is rather more on his elder brother's mind than he would credit -- and he ceases to hover like a stormcloud in the corners of the hall, and spends a great deal of time riding or sparring or making love with Sagramore, and even manages to be civil to Cecily when he passes her on his way to the latter assignation. |
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[Dec. 14th, 2009|10:35 pm] |
In the event it's three days before Mordred keeps the promise he didn't make to Gwytha; it's not exactly that he puts it off, but he doesn't try very hard to avoid the excuses that keep presenting themselves.
Finally, as if by chance, he turns up unannounced in Sagramore's doorway, slouching a little, his face stung to a flush by the cold. |
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[Nov. 15th, 2009|11:37 pm] |
Mordred is asleep, as it happens, when Sagramore comes looking for him. They used to sleep three to a bed, curled up together like so many kittens; but Gawain is married now, and Agravain's pride is touchier than ever, and most nights no one fights him for the space anymore. He hasn't yet lost the habit of sleeping on the edge, however; one hand dangles over the side. |
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[Oct. 1st, 2009|12:26 am] |
They're back within a fortnight, Gawain and Mordred both, turning up as casually as they left in the last golden dregs of summer, both looking quietly pleased with themselves. Shortly Gawain is closeted with his uncle; Mordred absents himself, on the pretext of seeing to the horses, and after a reasonably discreet interval he goes to hunt up Sagramore.
For once he's cheerful; for once, as he passes by in his quick unobtrusive way, he leaves an impression not of shadow but of laughter. |
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[Sep. 13th, 2009|01:58 pm] |
Midsummer, and the light takes a long time to fade; but when night has fallen at last, Mordred slips away, back to his hideaway between the walls, where the firelight and the noise of festivity are muted, and it might almost be any other night.
He's not hiding, not exactly; he knows by now that Sagramore will come to find him eventually. In the meanwhile he leans back against the still-warm stone, and closes his eyes. |
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[Jul. 9th, 2009|11:22 pm] |
It's late in the afternoon. Mordred spent a sleepless night in Sagramore's bed, half drunk and cursing everything, his father for making fool's bargains, his brother for upholding them, the hag in the forest for proposing them and women in general, and from there to most of creation on general principles, while Sagramore tried without much success to distract him.
And in the morning -- a very late morning -- came Gawain to present his bride, utterly transformed; a marvel, a miracle, patience and virtue rewarded; and if Mordred was less enthusiastic with relief than the rest, well, blame it on the headache.
But it's long past noon now, and he's up on the battlements, curled into one of the crenels like a cat, and not looking noticeably happier. |
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[Jun. 29th, 2009|11:59 pm] |
He keeps his temper under tight rein, quiet and polite, until he's safely out of the king's presence. By the time he reaches the stairs his breath is coming short and hard, as if he's been running for hours; he slams a fist against the stone wall as he goes, scraping skin. He says nothing as he crosses the sunlit hall, but there's something in his eyes akin to Gawain's fatal rages, something spoiling for a fight and not entirely sane; the few people he passes on his way outside give him a wide berth. |
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[Jun. 11th, 2009|01:42 am] |
Occasionally Mordred goes missing for a little while, off into the countryside, or else into some neglected corner where only Gawain and Sagramore have a hope of finding him. He's quiet about it, as he is about so many things, and usually he reappears of his own accord, with a few less prickles in his demeanor. Today, though, it's nearly sunset when Sagramore thinks to look in the right place: a little shaded spot where the neighboring walls don't quite line up, a mistake in planning, maybe. There's about room for the young tree that's sprung up, and a space of moss and weeds, and two smallish young men who are friendly.
He's sitting with his back against the tree, not quite as wide as he is, with his knees drawn up, looking at his hands. |
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