[snapshot]

[illgotten]

It's like a cloud lifting. His face still shows signs of the strain that's present in his stance, his movements; but in a different, less grim light.

And he walks a different way this afternoon, up the path that leads past Melehan's cabin and eventually, by a roundabout way, to the Mansion; the way Cywyllog so often walks.

typist: yes, this

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[girdleforakiss]

"Morning!" Gawain calls, crunching over the snow.

[illgotten]

He looks around. "Morning yourself."

[girdleforakiss]

"Mmm. Doing better?"

[illgotten]

"I'm fine," shoving his hands in his pockets.

[girdleforakiss]

"Good, good," Gawain says, and bounds over a log to catch up and match Mordred's pace.

[illgotten]

"Cywyllog's leaving," abruptly.

[girdleforakiss]

Gawain pauses. "Aaaaah."

A moment. "Has she said why?"

[illgotten]

"Oh, come on, you can guess, can't you?"

[girdleforakiss]

Gawain makes a face. "If I were living in Clar's loft I might want to get away too."

[illgotten]

"That's not it and you know it. --What the hell am I supposed to do? Turn him out? Nice to see you, go away?"

[girdleforakiss]

"Mmmm," Gawain says, "I don't think she wants that, exactly. Of course you couldn't."

[illgotten]

"What she wants. Whatever the hell she wants. She won't admit to wanting anything, except for God-have-mercy my well-being! What do I do with a woman like that? What am I supposed to say?"

[girdleforakiss]

"I don't know," Gawain says mildly, hands tucked behind his back, "Maybe just let her have your well being?"

[illgotten]

"Right. I'm supposed to be fine while my wife makes a martyr of herself." Mordred kicks at a sodden pine cone.

[girdleforakiss]

Gently, "Does it hurt so badly to let her have the excuse? Clearly she needs it right now."

[illgotten]

"Yes," savagely. "I hate being deferred to, I hate it, I hate asking a question and getting back yes, my lord, no, whatever you think best, as if I know, as if I had the right, my God!"