“You — you can’t possibly — ” Except, of course, he did. She could taste it, unfamiliar and so tempting. The knowledge shocks every other emotion out of her. From pale, she colours, ducking her head. Too many responses tangle on her tongue, leaving her speechless, able only to give him a pleading look.
“B-but I do,” he stutters, falling silent and for a long time he observes her, the way she reacts, the way she pales and lowers her head, the way she remains silent. “But your my feelings aren’t returned,” Mordred mutters, nodding slightly before he turns and heads out of the room.
Summer is still captive to shock when Mordred walks away, and the most she can do is lift a hand, take a fumbling step forward, before he is gone. Blindly, she makes her way back to the lower town, conscious of very little save that she had someone hurt him irredeemably, and did not know how to fix it.
“Does that matter so much? Is that the only reason you wish me to stay, why you cannot bear to lose me?”
Mordred swallowed, realizing his words had yet again failed him and he’d used them in the wrong context. “No because I-” he pauses, “because I love you.”
“You — you can’t possibly — ” Except, of course, he did. She could taste it, unfamiliar and so tempting. The knowledge shocks every other emotion out of her. From pale, she colours, ducking her head. Too many responses tangle on her tongue, leaving her speechless, able only to give him a pleading look.
“Do you forget what I can do?” She doesn’t care if anyone can hear her; she’s gone from trying to protect him from herself to trying to persuade him — either way there’s anger and frustration. “No one else can see you the way I can! I am /sure/.”
He chewed on his cheek. “No, I haven’t,” he tells her, “how can I?”
Summer flinches, and pales. “What do you mean by that?” she whispers.
“It’s not!” She whirls around and stalks away from him, fists clenched, then turns back. “You are brave, and loyal, and kind, wise and generous and forgiving. I won’t have you malign yourself with lies.”
Mordred watches her, standing there without saying another word. She was wrong, he knew it. She had no idea how wrong she truly was. He pursed his lips, everything he had ever done coming to the forefront of his mind. The knights, the bread, the bandits. Everything. “How can you be so sure?”
“Do you forget what I can do?” She doesn’t care if anyone can hear her; she’s gone from trying to protect him from herself to trying to persuade him — either way there’s anger and frustration. “No one else can see you the way I can! I am /sure/.”
“Don’t say that! You’re not an idiot.” She takes a step closer to him. “Don’t ever say that.”
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s not!” She whirls around and stalks away from him, fists clenched, then turns back. “You are brave, and loyal, and kind, wise and generous and forgiving. I won’t have you malign yourself with lies.”
“I do wish to stay! I just — you deserve someone better, someone more suited to life here, You’re so — “
”And what? You believe someone here would be better suited for me?” Mordred asks. “I don’t want someone who floats around the halls all the time, waiting for me, Summer.”
“So is my madness for thinking I’m not good enough for you, or is it for falling in love with you?”
