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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.”
There’s a flicker in Edward’s dark gaze when Mordred replies in the old language of Dover. Summer swallows hard, glancing from one to the other, and her voice is still high as she says, “Oh don’t, please don’t. Please, just take me home, don’t.”
Her brother glances down at her shining hair and sighs. “Very well, sister. It would be ill-done to not at least resupply him before he must return to Camelot.” He jerks his horse’s head away from trying to nibble the bridle of Mordred’s, and sets off down the road.
He shot her a look of apology but in those few moments something had taken over him. Perhaps it was because he was in the presence of someone who seemed to believe that he was higher than the gods. Mordred petted his horse gently, attempting to calm her and he followed on.
It’s only an hour or so before they reach Dobria Castle, and Edward swings down easily in the courtyard, stripping off his gloves before he turns to lift Summer down from the saddle. A handful of pages turn up quickly to take the horses, and Summer casts an appealing glance back to Mordred before Edward hurries her up the steps.
A freckle-faced urchin page stops at Mordred’s elbow and says, “Take your horse, milord? Drew’ll lead ye within, see to yer needs.”