Fic: Nobody's Side
Jun. 29th, 2009 08:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Nobody's Side
Fandom/original: Arthuriana
Rating: PG-13ish
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rainbowjehan, who inspired it.
It had been a fine afternoon in late summer, the light gold and lingering far into the evening. Her husband was out hawking; he'd bothered to inform her, gruff and off-hand, not to expect him that night. Not that she would have, regardless. She knew he preferred to be outside when he could, and most nights he spent indoors were with other company.
She knew him that well, at least.
Laurel hadn't gone looking for company that day. But knowing he'd be gone, she walked through the castle with no particular destination guiding her steps. When she'd found Sagramore, however, his offer to join her for the afternoon had been welcome enough. They'd spent most of it sitting out on an open terrace, watching the people making their ways through the courtyard. Sometimes they spoke, but mostly they just sat together, for company.
It might have been a scandal, had anyone cared. But both of them knew that no one did, and it made things easy.
No, Laurel thought. Not quite true. There was at least one person who cared.
He was waiting in Agravain's chambers when she returned. A sloppy eye could have mistaken him for his brother, at least from behind, but the posture was entirely wrong, which was almost more telling than the differences in build.
And of course, the fact that he was angry and wasn't already yelling.
"Sister," Mordred said, quietly. He turned away from the window. "Good eve." He was being stiffly formal, which was not a good sign, she knew. But, given her long practice at treading carefully around an Orkney temper, she did not quail before an oncoming storm.
"My husband will not be back tonight," she said, neutrally, moving a bit farther into the room.
"Good. I'm not here to talk to him," Mordred said, dropping the formality and exchanging it for curtness. "And will Sagramore be by?"
She gazed at him evenly. "Best ask Sir Sagramore. But I doubt it."
His expression darkened. "Do not play with me, Laurel."
"I've a poor taste for games, Brother." She moved to sit, though he remained standing.
Crossing his arms, Mordred remarked, "I hadn't thought so. But it seems you play well enough, when you've a mind. Tell me, did you choose Sagramore expressly, or would any knight have done for your plea for attention?"
She had not expected this; not in this form, at least. She knew there'd been rumors, of course, but... She studied Mordred a moment, taking in the masked anger in his posture, the sardonic disapproval in his expression. It was odd that she suddenly marked his resemblance to his father, as she couldn't remember ever seeing the King scowl.
Or perhaps it was simply that she had never and likely would never see Mordred's brother this protective of anything other than his own pride.
Finally, she said, "Would you have me stoned, for such suppositions, Brother?"
His scowl deepened. "I'll settle for you leaving him the hell alone. He doesn't need anyone else using him, much less my own damned family."
She stood, slowly but without hesitation. Her eyes held his, steady in a way she'd never have ventured with Agravain. She and Mordred had never been close, but in some ways, he'd seemed the most accessible of her brothers in law. Gawain was too busy taking care of everyone, Gaheris was still slightly mad, and Gareth was virtuous enough to make her feel old whenever she spent too much time with him. Mordred had been an ally once, and it made her bold now.
"Whatever you think you know, Mordred, know this. I love your brother, and I know that he will never love me. That is done. And my friendship with Sir Sagramore is that. Friendship." Her gaze was almost sharp, even as her words softened to the intimacy of family. "I've not stolen him from thee."
She thought he might strike her, but he didn't move, hands clenching. "You see a great deal, Sister. But you don't see everything. I don't care if he's tumbled you, or if he will again. What I care about is whether he loves you. Take away his hope, and he'll forget you." His voice was almost cruel, though she could hear the love beneath it. The lengths to which Mordred was prepared to go to protect his friend. "No one would blame you, taking a lover. As long as it was someone who didn't - "
She didn't let him finish, another thing she'd not have done to Agravain. But she was tired. "I will not. I made vows, and I intend to honor them. Is that all, Sir Mordred?"
He looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language, or perhaps as if he'd never seen her before. The light from the window had begun to fade, leaving the lamp to illuminate the space between them.
He didn't apologize, but he finally said, "If there's anything you need..."
"Go," she said, not making him finish a sentence that was more an acknowledgment of obligation than a real promise. She could have asked him to speak to Agravain - Mordred had some influence on his brother, after all. But she couldn't see what good it would do, in the end.
"He should be in his chambers, by now," she said, a bit quieter. It was an unspoken promise not to speak of what many suspected, and Mordred had all but confirmed, about himself and Sagramore.
It was almost a peace offering.
Mordred nodded, wary as a dog that'd been often kicked as a pup, the lean look he sometimes got heavy in his eyes. He moved past her, toward the door. "Good night, Sister," he said, still not quite an apology, but calmer than he'd been. She nodded in return.
He left, and she was alone.
Fandom/original: Arthuriana
Rating: PG-13ish
A/N: For
rainbowjehan, who inspired it.It had been a fine afternoon in late summer, the light gold and lingering far into the evening. Her husband was out hawking; he'd bothered to inform her, gruff and off-hand, not to expect him that night. Not that she would have, regardless. She knew he preferred to be outside when he could, and most nights he spent indoors were with other company.
She knew him that well, at least.
Laurel hadn't gone looking for company that day. But knowing he'd be gone, she walked through the castle with no particular destination guiding her steps. When she'd found Sagramore, however, his offer to join her for the afternoon had been welcome enough. They'd spent most of it sitting out on an open terrace, watching the people making their ways through the courtyard. Sometimes they spoke, but mostly they just sat together, for company.
It might have been a scandal, had anyone cared. But both of them knew that no one did, and it made things easy.
No, Laurel thought. Not quite true. There was at least one person who cared.
He was waiting in Agravain's chambers when she returned. A sloppy eye could have mistaken him for his brother, at least from behind, but the posture was entirely wrong, which was almost more telling than the differences in build.
And of course, the fact that he was angry and wasn't already yelling.
"Sister," Mordred said, quietly. He turned away from the window. "Good eve." He was being stiffly formal, which was not a good sign, she knew. But, given her long practice at treading carefully around an Orkney temper, she did not quail before an oncoming storm.
"My husband will not be back tonight," she said, neutrally, moving a bit farther into the room.
"Good. I'm not here to talk to him," Mordred said, dropping the formality and exchanging it for curtness. "And will Sagramore be by?"
She gazed at him evenly. "Best ask Sir Sagramore. But I doubt it."
His expression darkened. "Do not play with me, Laurel."
"I've a poor taste for games, Brother." She moved to sit, though he remained standing.
Crossing his arms, Mordred remarked, "I hadn't thought so. But it seems you play well enough, when you've a mind. Tell me, did you choose Sagramore expressly, or would any knight have done for your plea for attention?"
She had not expected this; not in this form, at least. She knew there'd been rumors, of course, but... She studied Mordred a moment, taking in the masked anger in his posture, the sardonic disapproval in his expression. It was odd that she suddenly marked his resemblance to his father, as she couldn't remember ever seeing the King scowl.
Or perhaps it was simply that she had never and likely would never see Mordred's brother this protective of anything other than his own pride.
Finally, she said, "Would you have me stoned, for such suppositions, Brother?"
His scowl deepened. "I'll settle for you leaving him the hell alone. He doesn't need anyone else using him, much less my own damned family."
She stood, slowly but without hesitation. Her eyes held his, steady in a way she'd never have ventured with Agravain. She and Mordred had never been close, but in some ways, he'd seemed the most accessible of her brothers in law. Gawain was too busy taking care of everyone, Gaheris was still slightly mad, and Gareth was virtuous enough to make her feel old whenever she spent too much time with him. Mordred had been an ally once, and it made her bold now.
"Whatever you think you know, Mordred, know this. I love your brother, and I know that he will never love me. That is done. And my friendship with Sir Sagramore is that. Friendship." Her gaze was almost sharp, even as her words softened to the intimacy of family. "I've not stolen him from thee."
She thought he might strike her, but he didn't move, hands clenching. "You see a great deal, Sister. But you don't see everything. I don't care if he's tumbled you, or if he will again. What I care about is whether he loves you. Take away his hope, and he'll forget you." His voice was almost cruel, though she could hear the love beneath it. The lengths to which Mordred was prepared to go to protect his friend. "No one would blame you, taking a lover. As long as it was someone who didn't - "
She didn't let him finish, another thing she'd not have done to Agravain. But she was tired. "I will not. I made vows, and I intend to honor them. Is that all, Sir Mordred?"
He looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language, or perhaps as if he'd never seen her before. The light from the window had begun to fade, leaving the lamp to illuminate the space between them.
He didn't apologize, but he finally said, "If there's anything you need..."
"Go," she said, not making him finish a sentence that was more an acknowledgment of obligation than a real promise. She could have asked him to speak to Agravain - Mordred had some influence on his brother, after all. But she couldn't see what good it would do, in the end.
"He should be in his chambers, by now," she said, a bit quieter. It was an unspoken promise not to speak of what many suspected, and Mordred had all but confirmed, about himself and Sagramore.
It was almost a peace offering.
Mordred nodded, wary as a dog that'd been often kicked as a pup, the lean look he sometimes got heavy in his eyes. He moved past her, toward the door. "Good night, Sister," he said, still not quite an apology, but calmer than he'd been. She nodded in return.
He left, and she was alone.
