[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]

"I don't," which is not entirely true. "But I'm tired of being judged by what I'm not."

[lionbright]

"In that you sound exactly like Medraut. Exactly, sir--your voice, the import behind what you say, the way you draw breath--it makes the hair at the back of my neck stand on end."

He is looking down at Mordred as though he's judging him himself, and maybe he is.

"I still don't see why the boy matters to you one way or another. People that age always think they know everything."

(oh puhleeze mr. maturity.)

[illgotten]

"I can't help that. God, don't you begin!" He sits up straight. "Why shouldn't it matter to me? He's a decent kid, and he hangs around my mother because he won't listen to good sense if it comes from me."

[lionbright]

Lleu goes white.

"Oh. Yes, he said, didn't he." And then, admiring: "My God, he must be fearless."

[illgotten]

"So he is." And then, recalling: "Almost. It still doesn't give him sense."

[lionbright]

Lleu shakes his head, and then suddenly sits at Mordred's feet with his legs crossed, looking up at him--it's a gesture of intimacy without actual physical contact (and it's possible this artless charm is oddly like Telemakos).

"What can I do?"

[illgotten]

Mordred sighs, perhaps not even conscious of softening. "I don't know. He might listen to you."

[lionbright]

"Listen how? What needs telling?"

[illgotten]

"To stay away from her, God! Not to -- not to think he knows what he's doing. He calls her grandmother, do you know that? As if it makes perfect sense."

[lionbright]

Lleu sinks even lower, elbows on knees and chin on fists.

"Why do you get all the best icons?"

"Sir, I am baffled by your confidence in me. And flattered by your trust."

A pause.

"He would call her grandmother. He thinks she is the same woman; he said. I swear she is not, no more than you and--you and my brother; though you are both Medraut."

[illgotten]

"Because my typist is the one with Paint Shop and copious free time."

"Should I have none?" dryly. Then, "No, of course not. How could she be? But, God, she's still dangerous."

We note that a reality in which Morgause is not a scary freak does not even occur to him.

[lionbright]

Well that's funny, because it wouldn't occur to Lleu either.

Something else, does, though.

"Does she know? Does she understand, and lead him false?"

[illgotten]

A sharp, considering look. "God knows. She well might."

[lionbright]

"Why is she dangerous?"

(His straightforwardness is one of the things his aunt really enjoys picking on, and he still doesn't know it.)

[illgotten]

Mordred is quiet for a minute, because this is a question he's never considered as such. He's not used to thinking of danger in emotional terms, which are the only terms on which Morgause actually hurts anyone; but the fact that his mother is not to be trusted is so basic that he's never questioned it.

At last he says slowly, "She lies. And she never lets go."