sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

“Hmmm.” Elisabeth flicked a glance at her husband. Laurence leaned forward, meeting Mordred’s eyes. “Do you think we need to worry? Ismere is the far side of Camelot from here — Odin is far closer. If they’ve joined forces, it’s cause for concern.”

Elisabeth’s hand closed slowly on the knife by her dish. Laurence laid a hand on her shoulder. “You are right. This is not talk for now. But I would be glad to hear your advice later, Mordred.”

       He nodded in understanding, “I would be glad to let you know what is going on, we have all the time in the world,” he tells him with another small smile, taking up his knife and fork.

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

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

“Na, na, I am Laurence only to you. I would ask your forgiveness of my son’s rash behaviour, but he offered insult to your lady,” Laurence glanced between Mordred and Summer, and Summer gave a tiny nod, “which I am sure you would have settled other wise.”

Edward opened his mouth to protest, and Laurence stepped swiftly past Mordred, catching his son by the ear. “And if he does not choose to chastise you as you well deserve, be assured that I will,” the older man growled. Edward yelped, a surprisingly feeble sound.

Still holding Edward by the ear, Laurence turned back to Mordred. “What is your will?”

       The young knight moved from the way to stand beside Summer, watching her father and Edward convene, a small amount of pride welling up in him and if he cared to admit, an amount of victory.

      “Uh – I -” he stutters, glancing to Summer then back to Laurence, “um, do with him as you wish, just so long as he never raises a hand to another woman again.”

“See how generous is this knight to whom you have offered insult.” Laurence shook Edward by the ear once more, then let him go entirely. “Do not show your face in the hall tonight. I will deal further with you on the morrow. You are dismissed.” He turned his back on his son, gave each of the other two a meaningful, if indecipherable, glance, and left the room. Rubbing at his ear, Edward followed sullenly.

Summer swallowed hard, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor with huge eyes. “Oh. My. God.” She put a hand over her heart, trying to keep it from beating out of her chest. “Well. I don’t think you have to worry about Edward anymore?”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

Summer paused only to hug Mordred from behind and bury her face briefly between his shoulderblades before she flattened herself to the wall beside the door, one hand groping for her father’s. “Peace, daughter,” he told her, squeezing her fingers. “Trust.”

Edward audibly ground his teeth, but held his tongue under his father’s level gaze. “You know the knight is correct,” Summer’s father said to Edward, who sneered slightly. “More so for that she is of your house, regardless of your opinion of her behaviour.” His grey eyes returned to Mordred.

“Might I have your name, sir knight?”

       His anxiety lessened when Summer pressed her face against his shoulder blades, her arms tight around his middle and he relaxed into the touch, taking her hands for a moment.

      Mordred threw a side glance at Edward but offered the elder man nothing more, turning his undivided attention to Summer’s father. “My name is Mordred, sire.”

“Na, na, I am Laurence only to you. I would ask your forgiveness of my son’s rash behaviour, but he offered insult to your lady,” Laurence glanced between Mordred and Summer, and Summer gave a tiny nod, “which I am sure you would have settled other wise.”

Edward opened his mouth to protest, and Laurence steeped swiftly past Mordred, catching his son by the ear. “And if he does not choose to chastise you as you well deserve, be assured that I will,” the older man growled. Edward yelped, a surprisingly feeble sound.

Still holding Edward by the ear, Laurence turned back to Mordred. “What is your will?”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

Summer held one hand to her cheek, still clutching the blanket with the other where she’d fallen. Edward froze under Mordred’s grip, expression shocked.

“I think you’ve both made your stances more than clear,” a new voice interposed from the doorway. It belonged to an older man with iron-grey hair, still tall and straight and bearing a resemblance to Edward. “I would take it as a kindness if you could release my son, Sir Knight,” he added, nodding to Mordred. “Daughter, please collect yourself; you do your knight no good from there.”

        Mordred took a step back, returning Edward to his feet as requested before he turned to face the man in the doorway. “Forgive me my lord,” he tells him, “to raise his hand to a woman — ” such a thing would have seen Edward hung, drawn and quartered in Camelot.

Summer paused only to hug Mordred from behind and bury her face briefly between his shoulderblades before she flattened herself to the wall beside the door, one hand groping for her father’s. “Peace, daughter,” he told her, squeezing her fingers. “Trust.”

Edward audibly ground his teeth, but held his tongue under his father’s level gaze. “You know the knight is correct,” Summer’s father said to Edward, who sneered slightly. “More so for that she is of your house, regardless of your opinion of her behaviour.” His grey eyes returned to Mordred.

“Might I have your name, sir knight?”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

Edward’s face flushed. “By law I am the heir to Dobria. That is my right to her, to dispose of her as I see fit.”

Summer flinched. “I am not an object,” she said, voice choked. “I deserve some say in my life.”

“Oh, aye, and see what you have done with it!” Edward snapped. “Lain with this boy of no name and no house and no worth and trampled your own name in the dust thereby. Absolutely, you deserve a say, Summer, but not while you are of my house, if not my blood.”

“Mordred is worth a hundred of you, and more,” Summer cried. “No matter what else he is, it wouldn’t matter, because I love him, and he loves me.” She stepped between the two men, one hand hugging the blanket to her chest. “If you intend to fight him, you’ll have to fight me first.”

Edward backhanded her to the floor. “Know. Your. Place.”

       Anger ran over the young knight’s face and he surged forward, gripping Edward by the collar and throwing him back against the wall, his head colliding with the stone. “Don’t you ever raise your hand to her again,” he hisses, his hand finding the elder man’s throat, “or I swear to the gods you will regret the day you were born.”

     ”Perhaps it is time you learned your place,” the knight tells him, glaring up at him.

Summer held one hand to her cheek, still clutching the blanket with the other where she’d fallen. Edward froze under Mordred’s grip, expression shocked.

“I think you’ve both made your stances more than clear,” a new voice interposed from the doorway. It belonged to an older man with iron-grey hair, still tall and straight and bearing a resemblance to Edward. “I would take it as a kindness if you could release my son, Sir Knight,” he added, nodding to Mordred. “Daughter, please collect yourself; you do your knight no good from there.”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

Summer choked on a laugh, getting to her feet and wrapping the blanket about herself. Edward shot her a furious glance, teeth grinding, then looked back to Mordred. “You dishonour this house, the two of you. I /will/ have satisfaction of you, both for what wrong you have done Summer and for the words you speak so boldly.”

     ”You clearly know nothing of honour if you claim that I have dishonored your house,” Mordred tells him, moving from the bed. Mordred has replaced his trousers earlier, the cold irritating his skin. “For the wrong I have done Summer? How about you repent for the wrongs you have done her? You are not her brother by blood, only by marriage, you have no right meddling in her affairs.”

Edward’s face flushed. “By law I am the heir to Dobria. That is my right to her, to dispose of her as I see fit.”

Summer flinched. “I am not an object,” she said, voice choked. “I deserve some say in my life.”

“Oh, aye, and see what you have done with it!” Edward snapped. “Lain with this boy of no name and no house and no worth and trampled your own name in the dust thereby. Absolutely, you deserve a say, Summer, but not while you are of my house, if not my blood.”

“Mordred is worth a hundred of you, and more,” Summer cried. “No matter what else he is, it wouldn’t matter, because I love him, and he loves me.” She stepped between the two men, one hand hugging the blanket to her chest. “If you intend to fight him, you’ll have to fight me first.”

Edward backhanded her to the floor. “Know. Your. Place.”

sirmordred-thedruid:

iamthefirechild:

Summer sprawls, half-on half-off, Mordred’s body, one finger tracing his druid tattoo idly, before pressing her lips to it. They’ll have to get dressed again and go down to dinner soon, but just now she’s feeling much too lazy to move. For now, the blankets are tucked up over their bodies, his hand is in her hair, and all is right with the world.

Her contented little world is abruptly upended when, after a perfunctory knock, the door is pushed open, and Edward looms there. Through clenched teeth, he hisses, “Perhaps I should have given my warning more clearly.” He stalks into the room, snatching Summer’s wrist, and jerks her to the floor. One of the coverlets is dumped atop her.

“Cover yourself, /sister/,” Edward spits. “I had hoped you were not so far gone as to shame our family so. As for you,” his gaze flicks to Mordred, “you are a villain and a liar and a coward and I will see you on the dueling ground.”

      He had been far more than content, running his fingers gently through her hair, caressing her soft skin with lazy kisses but the moment was cut short when the door swung open and his heart leapt into his chest. 

      Mordred, and quite possibly Summer too, had almost tumbled backwards off the bed when Edward had strolled in and by the time he had registered what was going on it was almost too late to do something.

     A brow of his rose, partially in disbelief, “a villain, a coward and a liar? You shouldn’t use all your vocabulary in one sentence.”

Summer choked on a laugh, getting to her feet and wrapping the blanket about herself. Edward shot her a furious glance, teeth grinding, then looked back to Mordred. “You dishonour this house, the two of you. I /will/ have satisfaction of you, both for what wrong you have done Summer and for the words you speak so boldly.”

Summer sprawls, half-on half-off, Mordred’s body, one finger tracing his druid tattoo idly, before pressing her lips to it. They’ll have to get dressed again and go down to dinner soon, but just now she’s feeling much too lazy to move. For now, the blankets are tucked up over their bodies, his hand is in her hair, and all is right with the world.

Her contented little world is abruptly upended when, after a perfunctory knock, the door is pushed open, and Edward looms there. Through clenched teeth, he hisses, “Perhaps I should have given my warning more clearly.” He stalks into the room, snatching Summer’s wrist, and jerks her to the floor. One of the coverlets is dumped atop her.

“Cover yourself, /sister/,” Edward spits. “I had hoped you were not so far gone as to shame our family so. As for you,” his gaze flicks to Mordred, “you are a villain and a liar and a coward and I will see you on the dueling ground.”