xregicide-deactivated20140812:
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.”
“Ah.” Fathers. Of course. Somehow it is hard to think of the commanding, golden King of Camelot as a son with obedience to his father. Then there was no time left to think, or fret, for they were at Arthur’s chamber door, and she pulls her hand from Mordred’s to press it over her galloping heart.
“Calm down,” he whispers, kissing her cheek, “you shall be fine.” Mordred lifts his hand and gently taps it against the door, waiting for Arthur to call him in. “Uh, excuse me, my lord, I have something to ask of you, if you would be so kind to listen.”
The blond head lifts from the papers scattered across his table, blinking for a moment before he lifts his hand to beckon. “Mordred! Come in. What is it?”
Summer tries to hide behind Mordred, and Arthur raises his brows. “Who’s that?”