TM #171: What is the biggest mistake you've made in a relationship?
Gawain and I were the next thing to twins, and of course I loved him best. We all did.
But of the others, it was Gaheris whom I would have chosen if put to the choice: the middle child, the awkward one, the one no one else particularly wanted. His father thought him soft; our mother thought him clumsy. Agravain, hard-handed Agravain, always his father's son, plagued him mercilessly. Even Gawain-- honest soul that he was, Gawain could not understand how so many things came hard to Gaheris; things like kindness, and courtesy, and valor.
I, I who worshiped Gawain no less than the others, I understood.
It was Gaheris who could follow my thoughts, no matter how fast they raced; who could keep up with me, trade wit for wit and occasionally leave me speechless; who never needed anything explained in smaller words or at greater length. Gaheris, slow at so many things, was quick of mind.
And because he was quick, because he never had to be told things, it never occurred to me to tell him so.
But a wit as sharp as his, honed to razor's edge in our mother's house, was not likely to win friends at Arthur's court. I had grown up with Gawain, and I knew how to temper wit with tact; Gaheris had no defense but silence. He was quiet, in those years. Quiet as the serpent sleeping, as the dark before the storm.
His Lynet could match him, Lynet who drove poor simple Gareth to distraction with her barbs. Lynet was as quick as Gaheris was, and as ruthless. But she was a woman -- like our mother, who despised him. How should he not be afraid of her, afraid she would turn on him with his only weapon? I married late, and badly, out of much the same fear. Mother was with us always, a step ahead, unreachable.
Do you see now? Do you follow me, as he would do?
Lynet was a woman, Lynet could not be trusted. His brothers thought little of him, loved him but thought little; his brother knights thought still less. And I -- I was his brother, too; I would so seldom admit defeat, on the only ground he felt his own. He would not trust in me.
When he caught her out at last, when he found her lenient and loving with a man no older than he, when for a moment she was in his reach -- what should hold him back? He had been quiet for so long. The storm broke without a sound. It was not with words that he overtook her, going before me.
When I found him, bloody and weak from weeping, he turned away from me. It was too late for anything I could have done. He could not believe that I understood, and did not want my forgiveness. My true brother.
Mordred
Arthurian legend
485 words
But of the others, it was Gaheris whom I would have chosen if put to the choice: the middle child, the awkward one, the one no one else particularly wanted. His father thought him soft; our mother thought him clumsy. Agravain, hard-handed Agravain, always his father's son, plagued him mercilessly. Even Gawain-- honest soul that he was, Gawain could not understand how so many things came hard to Gaheris; things like kindness, and courtesy, and valor.
I, I who worshiped Gawain no less than the others, I understood.
It was Gaheris who could follow my thoughts, no matter how fast they raced; who could keep up with me, trade wit for wit and occasionally leave me speechless; who never needed anything explained in smaller words or at greater length. Gaheris, slow at so many things, was quick of mind.
And because he was quick, because he never had to be told things, it never occurred to me to tell him so.
But a wit as sharp as his, honed to razor's edge in our mother's house, was not likely to win friends at Arthur's court. I had grown up with Gawain, and I knew how to temper wit with tact; Gaheris had no defense but silence. He was quiet, in those years. Quiet as the serpent sleeping, as the dark before the storm.
His Lynet could match him, Lynet who drove poor simple Gareth to distraction with her barbs. Lynet was as quick as Gaheris was, and as ruthless. But she was a woman -- like our mother, who despised him. How should he not be afraid of her, afraid she would turn on him with his only weapon? I married late, and badly, out of much the same fear. Mother was with us always, a step ahead, unreachable.
Do you see now? Do you follow me, as he would do?
Lynet was a woman, Lynet could not be trusted. His brothers thought little of him, loved him but thought little; his brother knights thought still less. And I -- I was his brother, too; I would so seldom admit defeat, on the only ground he felt his own. He would not trust in me.
When he caught her out at last, when he found her lenient and loving with a man no older than he, when for a moment she was in his reach -- what should hold him back? He had been quiet for so long. The storm broke without a sound. It was not with words that he overtook her, going before me.
When I found him, bloody and weak from weeping, he turned away from me. It was too late for anything I could have done. He could not believe that I understood, and did not want my forgiveness. My true brother.
Mordred
Arthurian legend
485 words