ack

[littlebetter]

The conversation with Lamorak did not go well. Gaheris is sitting at the table in the kitchen, his head in his arms, muttering to himself in erratic Latin.

Comments

[anna_morcades]

Eventually, having spent her fury in tears, Morgause has gotten dressed again, casually for Morgause, and come downstairs for refreshment, possibly of the alcoholic variety.

Instead she pauses in the doorway, surprised, and studies him for a moment before she says softly, "Gaheris?"

[littlebetter]

Gaheris, despite having drunk straight bourbon, is not particularly drunk; or at least he doesn't seem that way. He shrugs fiercely, without looking up, and says, "Dixit. Te occidebam, sed nam quod? Ego damno. Iace me, te semper fuis."

[anna_morcades]

"Nay," mild and dry. "What ails thee?"

[littlebetter]

"Lamorak."

[anna_morcades]

It startles a laugh from her, and she lets go of the doorframe. "Oh, he hath done well today."

[littlebetter]

"I know. He told me," still in Latin.

[anna_morcades]

"Did he so?"

[littlebetter]

"Aye, he did. He minds how he died, now." He also still hasn't looked up.

[anna_morcades]

Morgause stops. "And how came that?"

[littlebetter]

"Because I told him."

[anna_morcades]

For a moment she stands still, looking at his back, his tousled hair. "You did."

[littlebetter]

"I did," he affirms, softly.

[anna_morcades]

Morgause laughs then, a sudden chuckle, as she used to do sometimes when she spoke apart with Clarissant, or when Mordred had said something particularly outrageous; tinged with bitterness, but warm all the same. "So, indeed!"

[littlebetter]

Gaheris flinches under the laugh, and in spite of it seems to lift up to her a little, like straining for the light. For the first time he raises his head to look at her--clear-eyed, for the most part, with his pale and smoothly awkward face, put together of the right features in the wrong way. He looks at her with great caution and reserve and adoration. "My lady?" warily.

[anna_morcades]

"Ay." She comes up beside him, fragrance of clean wool and lavender and faintly of something more; runs her fingers casually through his hair, and picks up Lamorak's abandoned glass. "Well enough he should know."

[littlebetter]

He trembles, but otherwise holds firm. "I thought he should. Mordred's been threatening him."