sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

She leaned over and kissed him lightly. “That is a first. I’ll be fine.”

      He cocks a brow at her, tilting his head slightly. “It is a time for firsts,” he tells her, “you better be.”

It felt strange, sleeping apart from him. Truth, it felt strange sleeping alone at all. Before she went to Camelot, Winter had been just married, and Summer hadn’t yet gotten used to sleeping without her, and now she was cold and lonely-feeling without Mordred. She didn’t sleep well, and got up very early to lean on one of the battlements and watch the sun rise.

After a while, she went down to the armory to assemble her gear. No chain, but hardened leather shaped to her body; a sword some hands shorter than most, but more suited to her height and weight; no shield, just steel vambraces the length of her forearm. Edward would have only a shield, and his armor.

Going back up, but to Mordred’s room instead, she tapped on the door and slipped in. “Will you help me brush my hair?”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

Summer laughed. “I thought you didn’t want me to fight? Something about it being dangerous.”

      “I don’t, but I do not believe I have much of a say in anything right now.”

“Make up your mind — either you do not want it, or you are glad to watch. Which is it, cariad?”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

Most of the rest of dinner was accomplished in silence. When the serving folk brought out the sweets course and refilled the cups, Laurence got up and came around to put his hands on Summer’s shoulders. “Come down to the field tomorrow. You will chastise your brother yourself.”

She turned, startled. “Truly?”

“I’m sure Sir Mordred will help you ready yourself.”

      A light laugh passes over his lips, “I will be glad to do so,” he tells him, glancing back towards her, crossing his leg over the other. “I will also be glad to watch.”

Summer laughed. “I thought you didn’t want me to fight? Something about it being dangerous.”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

Giving a relieved sigh, Summer finally attended to her own dinner, shifting just enough to press her leg to Mordred’s.

      A smile flickered across his lips as he felt her leg against his and he moved to retake his goblet, glancing at her for a moment.

Most of the rest of dinner was accomplished in silence. When the serving folk brought out the sweets course and refilled the cups, Laurence got up and came around to put his hands on Summer’s shoulders. “Come down to the field tomorrow. You will chastise your brother yourself.”

She turned, startled. “Truly?”

“I’m sure Sir Mordred will help you ready yourself.”