TM #189. Talk about a conversation when what you said was not what you were thinking.
Oh, God, this again. Why don't you spare yourself and me? I'm nobody. I don't exist. I prefer it that way, and so do you. Why do you have to seek me out, every few months, and keep the wound open? If that's your famous sense of duty, I'm glad mine is more discerning.
Nineteen. My lord. As you damned well know, my lord. I'll wager you know to the day; isn't that why you can't look me in the eye? A year older than my brother; less than that, actually. I was a little over six weeks old when she threw me at the nurses and set out to give her husband a son of his own, one who wouldn't embarrass everyone he met. Christ in glory, why are we standing here? Are you going to ask after her next?
No? My own health. How thoughtful. I was fine; I was content, I was busy, minding my own business and yours. I'd gotten you back where you belonged in my head, an idea, an icon, the King. Distant and unapproachable, like God: something to serve, something to swear by, nothing to do with me personally. And then you had to go and be avuncular at me.
Oh, go away. Go away. Yes, I know what Gawain says; he comes back afterward and tells me, to stop me being jealous, I suppose. Not that I usually am. I don't deserve him, and neither do you. So he says I'm wonderful. Why can't you take his word for it, and let me alone?
Poor Gawain, he thinks he can fix things. That if only we got to know each other, you and I, we'd get along beautifully. If he could only see us now, conversing so politely it makes my teeth hurt.
Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Anything that'll get you out of here, my lord, back to your sphere, and leave me to mine. I'm perfectly happy being nobody, if you'd only leave me to it. All right? Are we through?
--God, don't smile!
Damn you, damn you anyway. Why don't you ever leave while I can still believe you hate me?
Mordred
Arthurian legend
356 words
Nineteen. My lord. As you damned well know, my lord. I'll wager you know to the day; isn't that why you can't look me in the eye? A year older than my brother; less than that, actually. I was a little over six weeks old when she threw me at the nurses and set out to give her husband a son of his own, one who wouldn't embarrass everyone he met. Christ in glory, why are we standing here? Are you going to ask after her next?
No? My own health. How thoughtful. I was fine; I was content, I was busy, minding my own business and yours. I'd gotten you back where you belonged in my head, an idea, an icon, the King. Distant and unapproachable, like God: something to serve, something to swear by, nothing to do with me personally. And then you had to go and be avuncular at me.
Oh, go away. Go away. Yes, I know what Gawain says; he comes back afterward and tells me, to stop me being jealous, I suppose. Not that I usually am. I don't deserve him, and neither do you. So he says I'm wonderful. Why can't you take his word for it, and let me alone?
Poor Gawain, he thinks he can fix things. That if only we got to know each other, you and I, we'd get along beautifully. If he could only see us now, conversing so politely it makes my teeth hurt.
Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Anything that'll get you out of here, my lord, back to your sphere, and leave me to mine. I'm perfectly happy being nobody, if you'd only leave me to it. All right? Are we through?
--God, don't smile!
Damn you, damn you anyway. Why don't you ever leave while I can still believe you hate me?
Mordred
Arthurian legend
356 words