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Mordred grunts, his eyes fluttering open after a few seconds and he smiles. “Good morning” he mutters, moving into a sitting position “you didn’t have to.”
“My sister does not make friends easily.” Edward keeps his face forward, the picture of a serious knight. “You must be something out of the ordinary to be such a friend to her.” He mounts a set of stairs, pausing at the top to look out over the wall. “Tell me, Sir Mordred, what has a knight of Camelot, which land disdains magic, to do with my sister in such a way that she would turn to you for comfort in her sore need?”
The druid looks up at him, swallowing slightly. “To be there for her, to be a shoulder to lean on, an ear to listen, someone to comfort her,” Mordred tells him. “Now may I ask you a question?” The younger knight asks, not bothering for his response. “Why do you care so much?”
“Should I not care for the well-being of my sister?” Edward leans on the wall, relaxing his posture. “I’ll not see her with any man save the best. One who would hold his honour in battle, yet treat her with all the gentility her birth deserves.” He pauses. “We have few allies here, caught between Camelot and Odin.”