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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.”
This whole time Summer has been with her twin, wholly focussed on her. When Mordred comes in, they are together on a little couch, their heads bent together, dark and light. Summer’s hand lays on Winter’s stomach. Two pairs of green eyes, exactly identical though no other feature is shared between then, dart up to look at the knight.
“Mordred.” Summer beckons him closer. “This is my sister, Winter. Winter, Sir Mordred kindly escorted me from Camelot.” She reaches out to take his hand. “What is it?”
The young knight smiles, bowing slightly. “It’s a pleasure my lady,” he tells her with a smile. “It can wait,” he tells her, although he is not sure if he can. The knight swallows, glancing over at Summer, everything Edward had told him formulating around in his head. What could he offer them that would appease them? All he had was his heart and Camelot. That was it, and to them he knew it was worthless.
Winter smiles, somehow edged. “Let me guess, our darling braud has been at you. Summer,” she laid her dark head on the empath’s shoulder, “has been at pains to tell me of you, Medraut.” Her voice is lighter than her twin’s, somehow less sweet for it, and more strongly accented.
Summer glances away, turning her head to kiss her sister’s hair. “Nothing she would not have guessed in a moment,” she assures Mordred.