TM Challenge 197
It's Gawain. Who else would it be? I'll lay a wager it's Gawain for all of us, our eldest but Mordred, and the one who seemed eldest at any rate, because we all looked up to him. We trusted his word, we never doubted his judgement. He squired every one of us, and taught us to fight, did for us as our father should have but never was there to do; he taught us how to behave in court, and how to seem less like the pack of rough-and-tumble, uncivilised boys we were. He all but brought us up, I sometimes think, and every good thing we learned we came by from Gawain, who never let us slack, who never let us stumble but he'd hustle us up again. He was equal parts encouragement and strict orders.
He didn't understand us, I know that. He didn't understand Agravain's frustrated darkness, or my wandering strange sadness, or Gareth's longing to distance himself from us and be known as anything but one of the Orkney brothers. He might have understood Mordred--they were never apart. But Mordred was bitter, so bitter, and Gawain isn't a bitter man, none of that in his heart, even when his wife disappeared and never came back to him.
But not understanding makes him no less wise: the King prized him; Mother had no use for him; Lancelot, God knows, said he was proud to call him friend, though Gawain shied from that for Mordred's sake. He was the best of us. He found rightness where I and my other brothers found confusion and choices we faltered over.
He was merciful.
He raised us up with his hard-working hands in the cold winds of our islands and set us on horseback and gave us whatever he could. He ruled his kingdom justly, kindly, faithfully, and every subject he had loved him. They loved him like he was everyone's son, everyone's brother, everyone's father, someone to look up to or be proud of. When he went to the towns, as he often did when he was home, they ran out to meet him, the most ordinary people with the stupidest gifts, and their faces shining. He did that: he made things bright. He laughed.
And I was afraid of him, I was afraid of this my brother, and could never be long with him; but truly I lived my childhood by his wisdom, and he was my only balance to our mother, the only authority to contest hers. He told me the truth when she lied.
Gawain was wise, and he was merciful to me.
Words: 440
He didn't understand us, I know that. He didn't understand Agravain's frustrated darkness, or my wandering strange sadness, or Gareth's longing to distance himself from us and be known as anything but one of the Orkney brothers. He might have understood Mordred--they were never apart. But Mordred was bitter, so bitter, and Gawain isn't a bitter man, none of that in his heart, even when his wife disappeared and never came back to him.
But not understanding makes him no less wise: the King prized him; Mother had no use for him; Lancelot, God knows, said he was proud to call him friend, though Gawain shied from that for Mordred's sake. He was the best of us. He found rightness where I and my other brothers found confusion and choices we faltered over.
He was merciful.
He raised us up with his hard-working hands in the cold winds of our islands and set us on horseback and gave us whatever he could. He ruled his kingdom justly, kindly, faithfully, and every subject he had loved him. They loved him like he was everyone's son, everyone's brother, everyone's father, someone to look up to or be proud of. When he went to the towns, as he often did when he was home, they ran out to meet him, the most ordinary people with the stupidest gifts, and their faces shining. He did that: he made things bright. He laughed.
And I was afraid of him, I was afraid of this my brother, and could never be long with him; but truly I lived my childhood by his wisdom, and he was my only balance to our mother, the only authority to contest hers. He told me the truth when she lied.
Gawain was wise, and he was merciful to me.
Words: 440