in the naked light I saw | teenhood | for cywyllog

[cadcamlan]

He understands where he's going. It's not reassuring, but it's good to know that there's a purpose to his suffering; that his fate is sealed for a purpose, if not exactly as he had wanted it to be. At least knowing made it easier to bear the visions. Made it easier to take control of his mind in the day like Cywyllog had said he could.

Things can go back to normal. He can enjoy this last bit of childhood with someone who won't leave him for knowing his fate. They can relax away from curses and back into stone-skipping, into fort-building.

So he searches the shores for her. He skirts the woods. He wants to laugh with her today, to squeeze her hand and poke her ribs and tug her hair because everything was under control.

She'd be there, right?

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[cywyllog]

Cywyllog is somewhere between, not quite in the woods but not at the shore, either. She's sitting on an outcrop of rocks, knees hugged against her chest. Not crying (she will not cry; she won't).

It's been a whirlwind of a few days and all she wants is to be left alone. For everyone to stop fussing over her like they couldn't tell which daughter she was a few years ago.

She doesn't want to be grown up today. Somewhere deep inside, she knows that wishing so makes her one even more.

[cadcamlan]

He smiles when he sees her, one of the bright crooked smiles that he saved just for her. Moves a little faster to get close, reach out and tap her shoulder--

Except that the look on her face isn't one that bears touching. Not without knowing what's wrong. His hand stops short, her name catching in his throat as he falls completely still for a moment.

"...Cywyllog?" Hovering is awkward but the best he can do. "All... right, then?"

[cywyllog]

"Mordred." Her head snaps up and she peers at him through messy hair which she quickly brushes out of her face. She may not be crying now, but her pale skin does little to hide the redness in her eyes.

"I didn't think you'd be here."

[cadcamlan]

"I was... looking for you."

She looks exhausted. She looks worse than he's felt in some time now. He can't explain to himself why it twists his gut so much to see her like this, why he feels so compelled to reach carefully up to brush at a few stray strands of her hair.

"Are you unwell?"

[cywyllog]

"Oh." She doesn't sound disappointed so much as embarrassed to be seen like this. But it's too late for all that, so she rests her head back on her knees, breathing deeply.

"No, I-- We had a messenger the other day. I am being sent to Orkney."

[cadcamlan]

He's not good at touch. He's not good at comfort. He was barely good at being comforted. His fingers faltered on her hair, pulled away as he sunk to his knees before her.

"...what, now?"

[cywyllog]

It's nice, the comfort. Or the attempt at it. No one understands at home. No one tries to comfort her, it's all about trying to convince her as to why it will be a good opportunity.

She misses her older sisters more now than she ever thought she would.

"Soon enough. After my birthday."

[cadcamlan]

"There-- Isn't there more time?" It's inexpert, reaching for her knee, fingers clutching tight at her skirt. "Aren't you.... can't you stay a little longer?"

How could he lose her now? How could he lose her ever? Not that he hadn't known she would leave, but it had always been later, soon, in the future.

Not now.

[cywyllog]

She reaches up to cover his hand with hers, desperate for the sympathy.

"I will have to go when I'm told. Father has been through enough times by now that a few tears won't sway him."

[cadcamlan]

His fingers stay tight on the fabric, his other hand coming up to press over hers just a touch possessively.

"But couldn't-- one of you is going to stay here, surely. Why-- Cywyllog, why can't it be you?"

Not that he didn't adore her other sisters. Just... not quite the way he felt close to her.

[cywyllog]

"Why would it be me?" It's not that her parents don't love her - they do, very much so - but if any daughter will be favoured it will be the youngest and that is certainly not her.

"Father needs all the allies he can get and King Lot is very influential."

[cadcamlan]

"Couldn't-- Isn't there someone closer?" He shouldn't get agitated about this. She needed to be soothed, comforted, reminded that her husband would surely be a good man to her, would be bound to love her the minute he saw her.

He shouldn't selfishly make this worse.

"Couldn't you strengthen-- an alliance where you could... be here?"

[cywyllog]

"Do you think I want to go so far away? I'll never see this land or my family ever again."

It's harsher than perhaps she's ever spoken to him before, but the wounds are still so new. Still, part of her wishes he could go plead her case, since no one else will. Not even her mother seems upset about sending her daughter into the wilds of Lothian.

[cadcamlan]

There's always something good in snapping, in being raw. There's something particularly good now, in her flash of fight to stay here, close to the land they were raised in, taught to love.

"Then what are you going to do about it?" His fingers tense on hers, eyes searching quietly. "What are we going to do about it?"

Because there was no question he would be by her side in this.

[cywyllog]

She just shakes her head, almost deflating in defeat.

"There's nothing to be done, Mordred. The arrangements have been made."

[cadcamlan]

"That's not good enough." He can't lose his only proper friend. He can't lose her even to this clear quiet sense of defeat. "Marry one of your father's knights. Let someone else go to Orkney. You've got plenty of sisters, haven't you?"

[cywyllog]

"This alliance is very important to my father. I will not be responsible for it falling apart." She sounds tired as she says this, but there's also a certain conviction in her voice.

"If I refuse or run away, I will dishonour my family and I will not do that."

[cadcamlan]

"Why is it important?" His thumb moves unconsciously on her hand, mind whirling. "What might be-- more important to him?"

There had to be something. There must be. If not, he supposed, there was always following her, but he didn't particularly relish the thought.

[cywyllog]

"Arthur." It's not that he's more important, it's that her father is simply efficient. He collects allies and gives his daughters marriages and children at the same time. So she'll swear to her grave.

"I don't know if he means to start a war, but father has never supported Arthur as High King."

[cadcamlan]

It does throw him a little. His fingers do tighten in her skirt.

"There is going to be a war, you know. And your King in Orkney isn't going to be the one to defeat Arthur."

[cywyllog]

She lifts her head again, brows furrowing as she looks at him. "It's not set in stone. And I expect if my father has his way it will be him who defeats Arthur, or Maelgwn."

[cadcamlan]

"It won't be."

There's no relish to the statement, although there's a tired sort of conviction.

"That isn't Arthur's fate."

[cywyllog]

Her hand tightens around his. "How do you-- How do you know?"

She has a feeling she knows the answer, as much as she doesn't want to.

[cadcamlan]

It almost makes him smile to speak the words aloud. It's a relief, after all, to know how the world ends, although he won't always feel so completely calm and content with the knowledge as he does for having freshly learned it.

"Because Arthur's fate is mine. He's... the man in my dreams."

[cywyllog]

"No." It's barely a whisper and all she can muster initially, save for staring at him in disbelief.

"Not you."