*flounders about, looking for words*
I wonder about the things I know, sometimes. Because I don’t think I know much. I don’t remember ever knowing much at all. And there are things other people know that I don’t know. So many, many things.
And I’m just… I don’t know things. And I wonder how reliable the things I know are, and what happened, and why I -
I don’t know. I’m confused. I’m always confused. I’ve been confused since as long as I can remember. And I do things I don’t know how to do, and I’m always trying to keep up with what I don’t understand and what no one’s ever tried to explain to me and I just -
I’d like to stop being the responsible one now, please and thank you.
…God knows I love my brothers. Love all of them, even the middles, obnoxious twits that they are. And I wouldn’t trade them for the world, and Mordred needs someone to love him even when he’s wrong who will tell him he’s wrong and Gareth needs someone to make sure he has extra socks and he doesn’t forget to come in for dinner and -
Well. I suppose Gareth doesn’t need that anymore, but he used to. And I remember it. I did a lot of the raising of my brothers, you know. Which is partly why Agravain kept trying to abandon me down wells or bury me in the flower garden. Responsible big brothers are annoying. But it’s not as if Father was ever any good with children, and Mother, well. Mother is Mother. And Nurse was a good woman, but I was their brother and -
People you love, you tell them when they’re wrong, you know. But you love them anyway, and it doesn’t mean they’re bad or awful or terrible, just wrong. Sometimes terribly, awfully, horribly wrong. And -
But I don’t even remember what I’m talking about.
I mean. I know. I remember. I don’t. I remember what I was saying, but I don’t remember what I mean. Not really. It’s rather fuzzy. And I don’t think I want to know.
But I love my brothers.
I really do.
And I’m just… I don’t know things. And I wonder how reliable the things I know are, and what happened, and why I -
I don’t know. I’m confused. I’m always confused. I’ve been confused since as long as I can remember. And I do things I don’t know how to do, and I’m always trying to keep up with what I don’t understand and what no one’s ever tried to explain to me and I just -
I’d like to stop being the responsible one now, please and thank you.
…God knows I love my brothers. Love all of them, even the middles, obnoxious twits that they are. And I wouldn’t trade them for the world, and Mordred needs someone to love him even when he’s wrong who will tell him he’s wrong and Gareth needs someone to make sure he has extra socks and he doesn’t forget to come in for dinner and -
Well. I suppose Gareth doesn’t need that anymore, but he used to. And I remember it. I did a lot of the raising of my brothers, you know. Which is partly why Agravain kept trying to abandon me down wells or bury me in the flower garden. Responsible big brothers are annoying. But it’s not as if Father was ever any good with children, and Mother, well. Mother is Mother. And Nurse was a good woman, but I was their brother and -
People you love, you tell them when they’re wrong, you know. But you love them anyway, and it doesn’t mean they’re bad or awful or terrible, just wrong. Sometimes terribly, awfully, horribly wrong. And -
But I don’t even remember what I’m talking about.
I mean. I know. I remember. I don’t. I remember what I was saying, but I don’t remember what I mean. Not really. It’s rather fuzzy. And I don’t think I want to know.
But I love my brothers.
I really do.