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?

Comments

[cadcamlan]

"Even if-- it isn't what the gods want from me--" And he absolutely believed it was. He absolutely craved, in his first youthful fit of knowledge, to be part of this glorious end to the story. "--how can I not throw my lot on this side? With your father and those who will stand against the High King? I'm only-- here at all for the fact he destroyed the home into which I was born, took a father and mother from me before I had been a single day alive."

[cywyllog]

Her hands twitch, aching to reach out and hug him again. "I wish you wouldn't. Can we not simply live our lives without all this complication?"

[cadcamlan]

The bitterness bled into his smile a moment before he simply let his shoulders slump in something like exhaustion.

"Not while you're a princess and I'm-- me." Whatever he was. Whoever he was. "I should think that simple would be... deciding never to see each other again."

And he hated that idea.

[cywyllog]

It wouldn't be simple at all and yet she thinks she understands what he means. That doesn't make it any easier to hear. "Do you-- Would that be best?"

[cadcamlan]

"It wouldn't." He knows that. He knows that as deeply as he knows that the explanation of his fate is absolutely the only one that could be possible. "It wouldn't-- be living, to never see you again."

[cywyllog]

She's so relieved to hear him say that she can't help but smile ever so briefly. Then she does reach for his hands again.

"Then what do we do?"

[cadcamlan]

Taking her hands solidifies the thought, makes it even more real and important. She's important. She sees him where others see only a stain. How can they not be part of each other's fates? "I could-- follow you to Orkney."

But that's not quite right. That wouldn't allow them the freedom to sit like this together.

[cywyllog]

"If you are so resigned to your fate, how are you going to achieve it from the middle of nowhere?" There aren't even trees to climb, or so she's heard.

[cadcamlan]

"Then you have to stay here." One hand releases hers, reaches instead to cup her cheek. "We'll have to-- convince your father it's a better way to ensure his victory against Arthur."

[cywyllog]

It might not be his imagination if she leans into his touch, just a little. "He would take you as a knight if you pledge allegiance to him, but that wouldn't stop him from sending me to Orkney."

[cadcamlan]

"Could I pledge my allegiance to you instead?" It's an ill-fitting concept for what he really means, really wants to say. "Bring the glory of taking Arthur's life to another kingdom than his?"

[cywyllog]

She sits quietly for a moment, trying to decide what he means and also trying to imagine how her father would react.

"I'm not certain what you mean. I am not in a position to take pledges of allegiance from anyone."

[cadcamlan]

It's a weak idea, perhaps, but it's something he needs to work through. Something desperate to cling to. "If he could be convinced I am going to kill Arthur, and would do it under his banner if he-- allowed you to stay. And that-- I'll otherwise leave and swear myself to your King Lot."

[cywyllog]

Blackmail is always a useful political tool and it seems Mordred is more than willing and able to use it now. But...

"Your concern for me will make him suspicious."

[cadcamlan]

"Suspicious of what?" His strange, bright eyes are flooded with confusion, although much of it is his own. There's such a grip, after all, of the need not to lose her. No one's particularly taught him how to call the emotional imperative.

[cywyllog]

"Why you don't want me to leave." Childhood friendships are one thing. Clinging to them when they should be able to outgrow them is entirely another.

"Why don't you want me to leave?"

[cadcamlan]

"I need you."

There's a word for it. There's a word young men are supposed to apply to young women, no matter how grudgingly he's come to accept Cywyllog is actually a young woman and no longer a girl. His mind doesn't seem to want to settle on it.

[cywyllog]

She smiles slightly, reaching over to brush her fingers across his cheek. "You will make other friends. Or you'll be too busy to notice I'm gone."

[cadcamlan]

"No. Not you." His hand closes over her wrist again, pulling her just a hair closer. "I couldn't replace you."

[cywyllog]

"I wouldn't want you to." She could handle him remembering her only now and then, but not replacing her. Not forgetting her.

[cadcamlan]

"So if I need you and I can't replace, it's..." It wasn't a question. It wasn't an option. He didn't know how else to explain it beyond pulling her hand from his cheek, pressing a fumbling sort of kiss to her palm.

[cywyllog]

"Mordred..." She leans forward, resting her forehead against his. "You can't. We can't."

[cadcamlan]

Of course his mind slips to what hurts the most. "Why? You-- don't feel the same?"

[cywyllog]

"I--" She's never thought about it; not this way. But she knows that the idea of never seeing him again, of having to leave home - him - is something she doesn't want to think about.

And she knows she'll never be able to feel the same way about any man who might become her husband in Orkney.

"No, I do. I don't want to leave you."

[cadcamlan]

It releases a breath he hadn't known he was holding to hear, sets his lips flicking briefly toward a smile before nodding. His forehead presses more firmly to hers. It's far easier to speak with his eyes closed, with the filter of something else over his words.

"So we'll... tell him I love you."