The Dragon and the Dove: second excerpt.
Title: The Dragon and the Dove: a novel in three parts
Author: pax_morgana
Chapter: One
Words: 1,078 (section); 5,120 (total)
Notes/Warnings: Another random excerpt from part one, "Eidolon". No warnings to speak of.
Summary: Mordred's first meeting with Arthur. Unbeta'd, of course.
It was only Arthur and me now. The High King looked at me in silence for a long time, studying me, lips pursed. He tried to speak twice before seemingly thinking the better of it before he finally said, "Your eyes. I cannot help but notice that they are quite like mine. Strange, for my sister has blue eyes, not grey. In fact, I have never seen grey eyes outside of my own, save those of my mother Ygraine."
I drew a slow, silent breath and schooled my face into blankness. "My lady mother has always told me that I received my eyes from the late Queen. If this is so, I am honored, for I have heard that she was a strong and beautiful woman, my lord." Arthur took this in, seemed to consider the weight of it, and then nodded as if in approval. Visibly, he appeared to relax. He had suspected my identity; so much was clear.
"I see. She was indeed, God rest her soul," he whispered. My insides flinched again, as before; I had known my father was a Christian, but to hear it disgusted me. His next question took me by enough surprise to distract me from this: "Why have you come here, Mordred? Or, rather, why did Lot send you? He is too full of pride to gain anything from the distinction of his wife's bastard. Perhaps - it was my sister that sent you to me? Is this true? Did she perhaps send you to spy upon me? I know Morgause holds no love for me, and indeed, you must hate me as well." Again, his cleverness won him a margin of respect. I bowed my head, as if contrite.
"My lord King, she did no such thing. I was sent to watch over my half-brother Gawaine, for he is only eleven and I seventeen. Perhaps I was sent because Lot had tired of my presence. I was nothing to him, after all," I replied. This, at least, was true. While it had been my mother's idea to send me, she had won Lot's approval easily, for he hated me as if I were a serpent in his bed. "Though it is true that my lady mother does not have much of a good opinion of my lord, I do not wish to pass judgment upon a man I have not yet come to know. Sire." Again, approval flashed briefly in his face, and this time, he smiled at me.
"Wise words indeed, Mordred, from such a young man. I welcome you to Camelot, and I hope that you will find it a more inviting home than Lot's castle." The King's words struck me at the heart - not because of what he'd said, but the clear sincerity that was evident behind them. The welcome he'd extended me was a welcome in truth; he bore me no grudge for being Morgause's son, nor for being a bastard. I bowed to him again, meaning it this time, for he had earned it. My hatred, for the time being, had been tempered by his tolerance of me - tolerance I had received from no one else since my birth. Everyone always took every opportunity to remind me that I was illegitimate, that I had no prospects; such words had not yet passed Arthur's lips, nor had he insinuated that I was any less for being a bastard. All he had said of me that I was wise, and that I was welcome.
Hastily, to keep myself from betraying my thoughts on my face or with my words, I thanked him and begged his pardon. He granted me my leave, but when I was halfway to the door, he called to me, "Mordred, wait."
I froze and turned to face my father, suddenly dreading what it was he had to say. "Sire?"
Again, he smiled at me and said in a soft, knowing voice, "Here in Camelot, we do not judge by the men our fathers were. I too was an illegitimate child, and here I sit, High King of all Britain. Do not think that you will amount to nothing because you are a bastard." I found that I could not speak, had I desired to reply. My throat was closed and I felt on the edge of tears. I had never been predisposed to emotional displays; how strange it was that a man I was supposed to hate could pull one from me simply by speaking to me. He seemed to sense this, and added in a more casual tone, "If you would, go down to the barracks and find Sir Bedwyr. You have seen him; he is the knight who is short his left hand. Ask him to come to me at once. After, you are free to go wherever it is you please. This is your home now, Mordred."
"Yes, my lord King. I shall do as you ask. Thank you," I responded at last, and I found, to my surprise, that I meant each word. I quit the table hall to find the barracks and Sir Bedwyr. It was odd to note that I received no odd stares from those I passed, no disapproving murmurs. It was if I were one of them; like I was invisible among the busy movement. It felt wonderful.
Author: pax_morgana
Chapter: One
Words: 1,078 (section); 5,120 (total)
Notes/Warnings: Another random excerpt from part one, "Eidolon". No warnings to speak of.
Summary: Mordred's first meeting with Arthur. Unbeta'd, of course.
It was only Arthur and me now. The High King looked at me in silence for a long time, studying me, lips pursed. He tried to speak twice before seemingly thinking the better of it before he finally said, "Your eyes. I cannot help but notice that they are quite like mine. Strange, for my sister has blue eyes, not grey. In fact, I have never seen grey eyes outside of my own, save those of my mother Ygraine."
I drew a slow, silent breath and schooled my face into blankness. "My lady mother has always told me that I received my eyes from the late Queen. If this is so, I am honored, for I have heard that she was a strong and beautiful woman, my lord." Arthur took this in, seemed to consider the weight of it, and then nodded as if in approval. Visibly, he appeared to relax. He had suspected my identity; so much was clear.
"I see. She was indeed, God rest her soul," he whispered. My insides flinched again, as before; I had known my father was a Christian, but to hear it disgusted me. His next question took me by enough surprise to distract me from this: "Why have you come here, Mordred? Or, rather, why did Lot send you? He is too full of pride to gain anything from the distinction of his wife's bastard. Perhaps - it was my sister that sent you to me? Is this true? Did she perhaps send you to spy upon me? I know Morgause holds no love for me, and indeed, you must hate me as well." Again, his cleverness won him a margin of respect. I bowed my head, as if contrite.
"My lord King, she did no such thing. I was sent to watch over my half-brother Gawaine, for he is only eleven and I seventeen. Perhaps I was sent because Lot had tired of my presence. I was nothing to him, after all," I replied. This, at least, was true. While it had been my mother's idea to send me, she had won Lot's approval easily, for he hated me as if I were a serpent in his bed. "Though it is true that my lady mother does not have much of a good opinion of my lord, I do not wish to pass judgment upon a man I have not yet come to know. Sire." Again, approval flashed briefly in his face, and this time, he smiled at me.
"Wise words indeed, Mordred, from such a young man. I welcome you to Camelot, and I hope that you will find it a more inviting home than Lot's castle." The King's words struck me at the heart - not because of what he'd said, but the clear sincerity that was evident behind them. The welcome he'd extended me was a welcome in truth; he bore me no grudge for being Morgause's son, nor for being a bastard. I bowed to him again, meaning it this time, for he had earned it. My hatred, for the time being, had been tempered by his tolerance of me - tolerance I had received from no one else since my birth. Everyone always took every opportunity to remind me that I was illegitimate, that I had no prospects; such words had not yet passed Arthur's lips, nor had he insinuated that I was any less for being a bastard. All he had said of me that I was wise, and that I was welcome.
Hastily, to keep myself from betraying my thoughts on my face or with my words, I thanked him and begged his pardon. He granted me my leave, but when I was halfway to the door, he called to me, "Mordred, wait."
I froze and turned to face my father, suddenly dreading what it was he had to say. "Sire?"
Again, he smiled at me and said in a soft, knowing voice, "Here in Camelot, we do not judge by the men our fathers were. I too was an illegitimate child, and here I sit, High King of all Britain. Do not think that you will amount to nothing because you are a bastard." I found that I could not speak, had I desired to reply. My throat was closed and I felt on the edge of tears. I had never been predisposed to emotional displays; how strange it was that a man I was supposed to hate could pull one from me simply by speaking to me. He seemed to sense this, and added in a more casual tone, "If you would, go down to the barracks and find Sir Bedwyr. You have seen him; he is the knight who is short his left hand. Ask him to come to me at once. After, you are free to go wherever it is you please. This is your home now, Mordred."
"Yes, my lord King. I shall do as you ask. Thank you," I responded at last, and I found, to my surprise, that I meant each word. I quit the table hall to find the barracks and Sir Bedwyr. It was odd to note that I received no odd stares from those I passed, no disapproving murmurs. It was if I were one of them; like I was invisible among the busy movement. It felt wonderful.