sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

xregicide-deactivated20140812:

      Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.   

     The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.

“If it’s nothing to do with me,” she sobs, unable to help herself, “then /why/ can’t you tell me? Why do you insist on sending me away? Why, why did you leave your home, the place you belonged, to come here, to live in, in, in anger and shadows and — ” As usual, she cannot find the words. “I don’t understand! Were we not happy?”

       ”We were,” he tells her, knotting his hand in his curls. “I just- things happened, people happened and I-” he begins but he shakes his head. “You would understand, fate, it’s complicated.”

She bursts out, “Fates can be changed!” She wants to say more, so much more, wise things about broken stones and the wearing away by water, about change and hope and love. About how facing one’s fate is the only way to keep from being destroyed by it.

But she looks at him, and knows he won’t hear her. So instead, she says another thing, another true thing, knowing it will hurt him.

“I would rather die here, now, than be without you. I will not go anywhere without you stay with me.”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

xregicide-deactivated20140812:

      Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.   

     The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.

It’s exhaustion, it’s shock, it’s frustration … whatever it is, she starts to cry, hating herself for it. He will believe she’s trying to manipulate him with it, and that hurts, and makes her cry harder. She buries her face in her hands — those terrible hands with fresh blood on them — to try to muffle it, to try to hide from those blue eyes that see too much.

      Mordred huffs, not knowing what to do with the entire situation. “Summer, please, don’t cry- it has got nothing to do with you, please.”

“If it’s nothing to do with me,” she sobs, unable to help herself, “then /why/ can’t you tell me? Why do you insist on sending me away? Why, why did you leave your home, the place you belonged, to come here, to live in, in, in anger and shadows and — ” As usual, she cannot find the words. “I don’t understand! Were we not happy?”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

xregicide-deactivated20140812:

      Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.   

     The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.

Sulkily, childishly, she turns her head away from his hand. “I won’t go unless you stay with me.”

       ”I‘ll stay with you, but I can’t come back with you.”

It’s exhaustion, it’s shock, it’s frustration … whatever it is, she starts to cry, hating herself for it. He will believe she’s trying to manipulate him with it, and that hurts, and makes her cry harder. She buries her face in her hands — those terrible hands with fresh blood on them — to try to muffle it, to try to hide from those blue eyes that see too much.

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

xregicide-deactivated20140812:

      Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.   

     The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.

“They don’t know I exist!” she flares. “The King, the queen, they are going to care about the unwanted daughter of a nobleman in Devon? Don’t be stupid. It’s /you/ Camelot needs, the finest knight in the kingdom.” Much more quietly, she adds, “I can’t be there if you aren’t.”

        “Then make yourself know, Summer, believe me they do know of you and they do care!” He tells her, his voice raising an octave higher. “They don’t need me, believe me, I’ve learned as such.”

“I got lost,” she cries back, “just runni—”

— just running from fighting with you.

“I can’t go back to Camelot, because I don’t know how to get there from here,” Summer forces herself to say calmly. “And I won’t go until you tell me why you left.” She slumps on the ground, lack of sleep, lack of food, and use of magic all combining to exhaust her. “I don’t think I could make it more than a few steps right now, anyway.”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

xregicide-deactivated20140812:

      Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.   

     The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.

Summer laughs a little crazily. “I don’t have a home. My family sent me away, Mordred. You’re my home now, and even you don’t want me. How can you help me get to a place that doesn’t exist?”

       He swallowed, guilt rising up in him. He did want her but he couldn’t. “Go back to Camelot, Merlin will look after you, so will Guinevere and Arthur,” he pleads.

“They don’t know I exist!” she flares. “The King, the queen, they are going to care about the unwanted daughter of a nobleman in Devon? Don’t be stupid. It’s /you/ Camelot needs, the finest knight in the kingdom.” Much more quietly, she adds, “I can’t be there if you aren’t.”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

xregicide-deactivated20140812:

      Mordred stopped, placing his vambrace down on the bench, his heart sinking. For a moment he concentrates completely on his armour, how could he answer such a question? Telling her would mean her life and the lives of those whom called Camelot home. An impossible predicament.   

     The young knight turns to face her, his fingers brushing lightly against the metal of his armour. “I’m not hiding anything” he tells her simply.

“I’m a murderer.”

Summer should care that he fled Camelot; should be grateful he found her — or she found him; should reach to ease his self-loathing. It’s what she is.

Except what she is is lost under pain and self-hatred of her own. “This,” she gestures limply around the bandit camp, “is what I deserve. Leave me here. Go back.”

        Mordred got to his feet. “No one, no matter how bad a person they believe they are, deserves to be left here, to be left like this,” he tells her, gesturing around to the camp. “I’m a murderer too,” he says, allowing his hand to fall to his side, “you did it out of protection, that does not make you a murderer.”

Looking up at him, still somehow so strong and beautiful, Summer says, “If no one deserves this place, why are you here?”