it's a melody; it's a battle cry | childhood | for cywyllog

[cadcamlan]

Sometimes, it's just easier to play with girls.

Or, at the very least, with the particular girls he's come to know. They're strong, not silly, absolutely persons to contend with in tree-climbing and racing over rocks and arguing about the things children argue about. They smile at him. They touch his hand and his arm and his cheek and they laugh with him. They never throw rocks or words at him. He never wants to hit them. He always leaves them with a bit of a smile on his lips.

He adores them. He spends his life thankful for them. He does his best to steal away when he knows they'll be free, playing away from their nurses, making the world calm and wonderful.

Today is no exception.

The difference, today, is that he's been playing with boys all morning. He's got a cut on his lip and a bruise around his eye, is stepping only slightly more gingerly than usual as he scrambles down the rocks toward the shore. He's entirely unconscious of trying to avoid the girl closest to his own age.

He doesn't know why he dislikes the idea of Cywyllog seeing him sporting bruises. He doesn't want to think about it.

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[cywyllog]

The hunt for seashells has already begun.

Eyslk and Siwan are aways down the shore together, their occasional laughter floating back toward the rocks and their other sister. Cywyllog is crouched down searching the sand intently, her face serious as her hands sift through tiny pebbles.

It's clear they've been here for a while already: the hems of their skirts wet and dirty, shoes tossed to the side and their hair no longer in the tight, neat braids they started out in.

The sounds of steps attracts Cywyllog's attention, though, and she greets the newcomer with a bright smile. "We thought you weren't going to come!"

[cadcamlan]

It would have been easier to go fall in with Eyslk and Siwan. He could have hidden with them until his smile was properly back in place. But his feet have a way of bringing him toward Cywyllog.

Maybe she won't care about the blood on his lip or the bruise around his eye or the fact he can't quite force a smile, even for her.

"Just a little delayed." His fingers reach to tug at her loose braid before he ducks his head toward studying the shore. "Anything good today?"

[cywyllog]

"No. I think we've picked it clean." She stands, eyeing the direction of her sisters as a particularly loud whoop rings out. Eyslk is getting splashed again.

Cywyllog is a tall girl - they all are thanks to their father - so it's difficult to avoid getting a good look at Mordred's face. She frowns as she takes his injuries in, uncertain if she should say anything. Boys seem to be so touchy about things like that.

"Sit," she all but orders him, gesturing to a larger rock, then fishes out a small handkerchief that has managed to stay in it spot in her sleeve.

[cadcamlan]

Being ordered around has never suited him, not in the slightest. That doesn't mean when she doesn't his body doesn't start moving entirely instinctively in the direction she indicates.

"Why?" The scowl on his lips deepens as he stands by the rock without actually sitting. "What's-- I'm fine, you know."

[cywyllog]

She wets the end of the handkerchief with her tongue, as she's done for her younger sisters more times than she can remember, and sets him with a look of concern.

"You're bleeding." Whether or not he's 'fine' she isn't even going to attempt to debate. "You just need to be cleaned up a little is all."

[cadcamlan]

"I don't need to be treated like a child." He doesn't mean to spit at her, to let the snarl of earlier in the afternoon bleed into the now. Part of his contrition for the blurring of lines is sitting down heavily, turning his face to lift his bloodied lip in her direction. "I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."

It's a weak protest, more mulishness than anything serious.

[cywyllog]

Boys.

"Of course you are, you simply haven't made an attempt at it yet. And since I am here I may as well assist you." She dabs lightly at his split lip, trying to be as gentle yet effective as she can.

"There," Cywyllog says, stepping back after a few moments. "Much better. Now come. Eyslk will be needing rescue soon enough. Siwan's in a mood today."

[cadcamlan]

His snort is soft, just a little bit defeated and possibly a tiny bit appreciative, as he stays seated where he is.

"As are you. In the mood to save everyone in the world today?"

[cywyllog]

"I am not saving everyone, just Eyslk." She sighs and attempts to explain. "Siwan is leaving soon and she's upset about it. Eyslk is the youngest of our group, so she's the easiest to take it out on."

[cadcamlan]

"Leaving?"

That's a good distraction from his own day. He pushes to his feet again as his attention flicks away over the shore to the other girls. It would be strange to think about them all vanishing, one by one, sent off into the alliances that would keep the kingdom strong.

"Already?"

[cywyllog]

She nods, a small frown forming.

"She'll be sixteen next month. She doesn't want to go."

[cadcamlan]

"Suppose there isn't much of a choice." Someday, he'd learn how to comfort properly. For now, his best guess is contact.

And 'contact' amounts to shoving lightly at her shoulder.

"We've all got our fates. Just... clearer, with you lot, isn't it."

[cywyllog]

She wrinkles her nose at him and seriously considers shoving him back, but all this talk has reminded her of the lady she's supposed to be.

"A bit, I guess. I still don't know where I'll be going, but that's a few years off for me still."

[cadcamlan]

Proper ladies, Mordred was fairly certain, didn't have skirts stained with sea water and their lips kissed with salt. Proper ladies didn't wipe away blood with practical efficiency and pick seashells off the shore with a perfectly artistic eye.

Mordred absolutely preferred Cadwallon's daughters to 'proper ladies.'

"Aren't any of you staying here?"

[cywyllog]

Proper ladies, Cywyllog thinks, should be able to do all those things. Along with the silly embroidery and singing lessons. And maybe even be taught how to read and write, too, despite that it would be in Latin.

But that's just her.

She gives him a quizzical look, shifting her braid back into place. "Why would we? This is what we do for our family; we make alliances." She's known that since she was born, but moreso when she was seven and Myfanwy was the first to leave.

[cadcamlan]

Maybe it wasn't a matter of proper ladies. Maybe what would be better would be proper women. Surely a proper woman of old could have read, lifted a sword, laughed because the sea wind tasted so wonderful on her lips.

"I-- know." And certainly, although his own wasn't yet clear, wasn't one to speak against laid-out fates. "Does that mean I have to like knowing you'll all be gone in a few years?"

[cywyllog]

She shrugs, giving her sisters another glance to make sure Siwan wasn't still acting out. They seem fine now, sitting on the sand wringing out Eyslk's dress.

"By then you'll be getting married yourself and we will only be memories. Think about that," she suggests, "what your life will be like."

[cadcamlan]

And there comes the proper scowl. He bends for a moment to lift an uninteresting sort of rock from the ground.

"Maybe I won't be. Might be too busy-- adventuring."

Or something like that.

[cywyllog]

"Why not? Certainly there must be girls already following you around." And at this point, she will lightly poke his shoulder. It's definitely not a shove, but still teasing.

"Why would you go off adventuring?"

It occurs to her, then, that they don't really know all that much about him. He's just been Mordred, a boy who comes and teases them, helps them find shells and rocks, a boy who fell in with them easily enough that they never questioned it. But what he does when it's time to go home, or before he shows up to play, is unknown.

Though it apparently involves him getting his lip split and his eye blackened.

[cadcamlan]

The hand shoving hers away isn't quite rough, although it's perhaps a touch more so than it really needs to be. Girls had taken to looking at him, after all--dark and brooding and apparently rather handsome in a rough fashion--but not quite to following. The other boys made sure of that.

"To prove myself." To be something other than the bastard child who had appeared almost out of nowhere. The rock is skipped over the waves carelessly before he stoops for another. "To find the court I'll ally myself to, I suppose."

[cywyllog]

She sighs, taking a step back from him. He's been like this before, though not often, and it isn't any fun. She supposes it has to do with the with the injuries on his face.

"So you're not really doing anything different than we are. We just don't get to choose where we go."

[cadcamlan]

"I suppose that's the difference between men and women." Which they were turning into, really rather rapidly. Maybe she had a few years before she actually left. Maybe he had choices about how he lived his own life.

It was still disconcerting to think about.

"Are you frightened?"

[cywyllog]

"One of many," she agrees, glancing out over the water. "I don't think about it much. But maybe a little when I do."

Her voice softens as she adds, "I've never been alone before."

[cadcamlan]

"...you won't be alone," he frowns, fingers poking distractedly at her shoulder. There should be physical contact, but a hug doesn't occur to him. "You'll be with your... husband."

[cywyllog]

Cywyllog smacks his hand away gently, in a mood now herself. "But I won't know him, will I?"

It's not exactly a question. She knows how this works.