[open]

[lionbright]

Lleu is making bows.  Collecting firewood with Florence gave him the idea.  This is work his marksman brother taught him, so these are reasonably strong and balanced; maybe not for anything as big as deer, or wolf, but certainly well-made enough to kill rabbit or fowl.  He is minded of several reasons it might be a good idea to arm himself: Kay's

Comments

[illgotten]

"How are you getting on?"

Here's somebody he's met, at least -- though Mordred in his current mood is nearly as different from the snappish little man on the porch as he is from Lleu's brother. He stands a little way off, hands in his pockets, expression mild.

[illgotten]

Mordred grins faintly at the description; then it fades again.

"What did she say to you?" His tone is suddenly sharp: worried, protective, and also perhaps a little jealous.

[lionbright]

"Swore she was no enemy to me, and washed the blood from my hair with her own hands. Then laughed and called it well done that I had taken a knife across my brother's palm, and well done him for wiping the blood on my face. It was a cruel thing to say, and needless, and I reproached her for it. Then I fainted."

He gives a wordless snort of self-deprecation, then glances up at Mordred, his hands quiet on the unstrung bow.

"She said that Artos has no other child but you. That, too, she meant cruelly."

[illgotten]

Mordred looks away, turns his head as if ducking a blow. "Aye, that's like her." And then, with an effort: "I'm sorry."

[lionbright]

Lleu is silent for a moment. Then:

"Do you know who I am?"

[illgotten]

"I have an impression," he says quietly.

[lionbright]

"Well?"

T: so, how long will the hedging match go on, do you think? MDR

[illgotten]

Mordred looks up at him again, faintly flushed. "What do you want from me? Yes, I know. You've said enough." A breath. "I'm not my mother, I'm not proud of it--"

[lionbright]

Lleu's draw drops slightly. "What do I want of you? God, nothing, I only want to know how closely to guard myself. Your other self hates and despises me for what I am. I don't suppose it matters much here, but I--" His voice drops to a whisper. "I am afraid."

[illgotten]

Which, it can fairly be said, had actually never occurred to him. He stares a moment; and then a ragged laugh escapes him. "Jesu, boy. No."

He holds out a hand, square and small and whole, palm up.

[lionbright]

He gazes at the hand without moving.

"My brother's body is covered with scars," he says, "that were put there by his mother."

[illgotten]

Mordred studies him sharply, and waits.

[lionbright]

Lleu shrugs.

"I cannot see your scars."

[illgotten]

He lets his hand fall with a small exhalation, not quite a sigh. "Mine are all honest," he says, although he knows it's not what Lleu means.

[lionbright]

"Yet I love my brother."

[illgotten]

"So you should," Mordred says shortly.