CHARACTERS: Mordred (
modraed) & Agravaine (
nevermercy)
DATE/TIME: Past; midday
LOCATION: Agravaine's quarters
RATING: Tameish
WARNINGS: Mentions of killing brothers.
SUMMARY: Someone is not happy with Gaheris. But what else is new.
The force and speed at which Agravaine's glove was ripped off and whipped against a wall could've very well damaged a man's face. He flexed his fingers. Ran them through his damp hair, ignoring the pieces that hung at his brow.
Hate was a powerful stimulator. Hate could eat a man from the inside out, strip someone of their senses and proper judgement, and often lead one to an early death of some gruesome sort. That was how he imagined it, in any case, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
When it wasn't Gawain being the golden boy, it was Gareth. Gareth who was sweet and kind and unlike the rest of his brothers, who were more primal in nature, more raw at the core. Many times over the course of his life, Agravaine had wondered who the second youngest Orkney took most after: their father or their mother. He decided neither.
And when it wasn't Gareth, it was Gaheris.
At the very thought of him, Morgause's second born hurled his other glove into that same wall in a fit of pure loathing.
When it came down to children of Morgause who could never be considered 'golden', none stood out more strongly than Mordred. With his darker coloring it was clear he favored their mother, but there was still something about him that set him apart from his brothers.
Much as he tried to aspire to the examples set for him by his brothers to gain their fathers' favor there had always been a strange distance between him and the others. There was a darkness in him that didn't seem as evident in his siblings. Except Agravaine.
That's not to say it wasn't there in the others; he could see traces of it in Gawain and Gaheris even if they rarely showed it; in fact the only one who seemed utterly devoid of such anger was Gareth, but Mordred always felt he was a bit touched in the head as is. He certainly wasn't as ruthless as their mother could be.
Of all his brothers, he felt closest to Agravaine.
It was as if they shared a different bond, so when his elder brother made his way inside Mordred followed, narrowly avoiding getting whacked by a flying glove. "You alright?"
The glare Mordred was faced with wasn't meant for him; it was merely the impulsive reaction of a young man who couldn't control his emotions. Anger most importantly. He used his loathing, his irritation at the hilt of his sword, used it with every sword when sparring with his brothers. Yet even at that, Gaheris could best Agravaine.
Out of the other Orkney boys, he most resembled Lot, if not in demeanor, then in coloring, frame and facial features. The line of his jaw, the dark shade of his eyes. Though he carried the hautiness of any Orkney that was not Gareth, who clearly had been switched with another real brother at birth, his was more carnal. Brutish.
And maybe therein laid the reason he hated his other brothers, save for Mordred. Each one of them had several qualities that he despised. It could've just been one, and he would've held it against them, but no, it was many. But never did he look at Mordred in the way he looked at Gawain or Gaheris.
Gawain he looked up to, yet loathed being overshadowed by. Gaheris he could've respected if the boy didn't have such an ego on him. Gareth was too nice. But Mordred, he was something else entirely.
He was the only one Agravaine could depend on with his life.
There was an aggravated snort. "Do I look it, little brother?" It could've been rhetorical.
Meeting the glare with his usual smirk Mordred wasn't put off by Agravaine's moodiness, finding it preferable to the quiet nobility of Gawain, the arrogance of Gaheris, and the kindness of Gareth. At least he understood fury in even its rawest form. Moving further into the room, he picked up the discarded glove.
"If course you don't, however I expected some sort of explanation as opposed to a reiteration of what we both already know." Leaning against the wall, he placed the glove on a table and crossed his arms. "What has you so vexed?"
He had his assumptions, knowing that his brothers had been outside while he'd been stuck inside working on his Latin. He had been watching from a window, but that wasn't the same as actually being out there. However, their mother insisted he focus on his studies, and the thought of arguing with her was beyond him.
Drawing his lips into a tight line, Agravaine faced away, pacing toward the window in some poor effort to assuage his shoulders, his jawline of their tenseness. Evidently, it failed.
"Gaheris." If this was said too loud, he didn't care. Let the entire kingdom hear it for all that he cared. Surely yelling it to the world would result in some punishment of whatever sort, a disapproving glance from Gareth, a shake of the head from Gawain. He would face anything without fear. But he was a fearless man with so much to lose.
"Sometimes I wonder if he's not got it in his head that he's second born." A litany of curses came to mind, but they were dispelled with his next words. He paused at the sill. "The way he looks up to Gawain. It's disgusting."
Unsurprised by his brothers' answer, Mordred nodded slightly, rubbing his chin with one hand as he considered what to say in response. The situation was tricky, even for him.
"I thought as much." There was something about their brother that had always seemed off-putting to Mordred, as if Gaheris assumed that he was destined for great things despite being in no position to be deserving of such. The line of succession was clear, and while he was the furthest down the chain it didn't dissuade him from being aware he was more deserving than Gaheris could ever be.
"You know what they say about such men among the Greeks; his hubris will be his undoing." Walking over, careful not to speak too loudly as he approached Agravaine, he lightly clasped one hand on the taller man's shoulder. "You can't let him see that he gets to you, especially since you know it only makes him feel more superior."
Had it been anyone else but his youngest brother, Agravaine might've bristled at the touch, or smacked that arm away. But he remained still, glaring out the window as if the view of the grounds below was at fault.
"And if I didn't," he began, angling his head in such a way that he could peer at Mordred through the corner of his eye. "Would it make a damned difference? Gaheris will never change." His gaze trailed back to the grassy grounds.
Perfectly aware that none of their other brothers could get away with what he'd just done, Mordred was careful not to show his pride at being the only one Agravaine felt close to show through. Instead, he stepped back slightly, surveying the view.
"This is true," he agreed, his tone just bland enough to make what he said to Agravaine next all the more unexpected. "Yet why would you want to give him the pleasure of seeing how he affects you?" He would never let their other siblings know his weaknesses.
But unlike Mordred, the older boy wasn't well-versed in hiding his emotions. He wore almost everything out in the open, save for those select few thoughts he'd never share with anyone. Those stayed private, and would stay as such until the day he was dead and buried.
Agravaine gave an impolite snort, a lingering effect of his anger. "Pleasure? His manner of taking pleasure out of anything I do is as silent as a grave. He doesn't gloat, he doesn't preen like a woman. His arrogance lies in his eyes, not on his tongue."
Only vaguely aware that the question hadn't been answered, he turned from the window, as though disapproving of the sight of it.
It was true that he was more subtle than Agravaine, but that was because he had been practicing keeping his emotions to himself from a young age. Even when he nearly died shortly after his birth he knew better than to cry while waiting for someone to save him.
Mordred would have rolled his eyes at the snort if he didn't think it might earn him a smack. "He has no need of gloating, not if he's already watching you looking for any possible weaknesses. His silence is more telling than any insult."
Perhaps Agravaine couldn't see it, but Mordred was outside of the situation enough to know that Gaheris could only take Agravaine's place if he let him.
"So what do you suggest? That I act, that I control my temper?" the elder knight grouched, moving to deftly unfasten his riding clothes. "To hell with that. Why must I conform to him?" But that answer was clear: if he didn't, Gaheris would simply take everything in like he was greater than he. Like he was the second born, not Agravaine. Like be was better.
He fumbled with a buckle, and rather than tending to it again, he slammed the bottom of a boot against the wall in his rising fury. Damn the wall if it crumbled somewhere.
"I'm not suggesting anything of the sort," the younger knight started, a slick smile curving his lips. "Why conform when you can force him to screw up? If he wants what's yours so badly then make him work for it." At least, that's what Mordred would do if he were in this situation. Since it was his favorite brother he had no problem imparting his own special brand of wisdom.
He sighed softly, shaking his head. "Careful, those are good boots." And those walls are already falling apart.
Those words caused Agravaine to stop, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "How? Gaheris may be busy with his head up Gawain's arse--" no shame with this statement here "--but he is still a son of Lot. He'll see it coming." Whatever it was.
The distinction of him being 'Lot's son' made all the difference. Using 'my father' made it a point that Lot was not Mordred's father -- Arthur was. Agravaine's uncle, yet his brother's father. And so it was simply 'Lot' with Mordred.
To say that it irked Mordred to realize his brothers were not nearly as adept at tactics and plotting as he was would be an understatement. "Find something you're better at than he is and rub it in his face." There had to be something, there always was. "Find a weakness."
The usage of the phrase 'son of Lot' did not go unnoticed by Mordred, though he appreciated the fact that Agravaine refrained from calling attention to their lack of a shared father. It wasn't something anyone really acknowledged.
An aggravated sigh. "Better at than him? I'm greater than him at many things, little brother," Agravaine pointed out, entirely aware it was a lie. His arrogance wouldn't have it any other way, however. Even with Mordred, it was hard to admit certain things. That Gawain would always be better than him. That Gaheris could best him in a fight, even if he himself was taller, stronger. Gaheris was the better swordman; he had the technique suited for a knight of the Round.
Sometimes, he despised the expectations that came with being one of his uncle's knights.
It was a lie, and while Mordred knew it he wouldn't dispute it. "So pick one and make sure he's aware of your greatness. Drive him to insanity," he said with a grin. "Or, we could simply poison him." The suggestion was tossed out casually, as if an afterthought. He knew Agravaine would never go for it, but it was always interesting to see how people responded to those suggestions.
Admittedly, he'd never really do something like that. Not where he could get caught, anyway.
It was probably a bad sign that at the idea of poison, Agravaine did pause. But he cast away the thought with a shake of his head. That would never be an option. He was too proud to resort to anything to simple.
"I would rather take him down with my sword than use poison. And if it comes to it, I will cut him down."
It wasn't exactly a good sign, more like a telling one, but Mordred wasn't judging. Hiding his amused smile behind his hand, he nodded at Agravaine's words. He knew that his brother could do it, and he would help.
"It's more personal that way, you'll be able to look him in the eye and let him see your hate. It's settled, and if need be I've got your back."
Sentimentality was not one of Agravaine's strong suits, and yet when he dropped down onto the hard mattress that made up his bed, he spoke a trace of it. "I'd ask of no one else to have my back. You're the only one I can trust with this."
It didn't need to be said that if Mordred said anything to anyone, there would be consequences. But he was trusted enough that it was common sense that he wouldn't.
Softness was not a trait many would associate with a knight, especially not one raised as a son of Lot, however the smile that graced Mordred's face fit that description. "It goes both ways. You're the only one I trust as well."
There was no way he would betray Agravaine's confidence, especially considering what his brother knew of him. They both needed all the allies they could get.