and now you're here | teenhood | for cywyllog

[cadcamlan]

He isn't invincible, but he does seem to live rather close to the edge of it.

Taking Cywyllog as his wife hadn't been without a price, of course, although it's a price Mordred is more than willing to pay. It's more than just being allowed to have her stay close, after all, more than being given freedom to sit alone with her and to clasp her close against himself. The 'price' of swearing his allegiance to the King is, in its own right, a blessing--something to do, something to be, some way to use himself and the violent energy the boiled out of him so often. To fight for the King's standard is to not just earn his keep as a son-in-law; it's to make real use of himself in the world.

He isn't invincible, but that hasn't stopped Cadwallon from using him as such. His fate, after all, lies in the future with Arthur. Setting the young knight at the head of the charge doesn't always end with victory, but it tends to bring home the young man himself, if not also a conquered or defended territory.

It's a relief to be out of the court, to be in the fresh air. To taste blood in his mouth even when he rides home again to his wife on the heels of triumph. Perhaps his eyes glow unnaturally with the fight. Perhaps he never notices his own injuries--a rather ugly gash to his arm, this time--until he's being forced to resume being a husband instead of a soldier.

He isn't invincible, but he flashes his teeth with the smile of a man who can't die when he brings home news of victory on the battlefront, kneels to his King and seeks out Cywyllog.

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[cywyllog]

Cywyllog doesn't give a damn about her husband's destiny; it infuriates her that her father uses it as an excuse to constantly put him into danger. What if destiny decides to change its mind?

Those are the kind of thoughts that go through her head as she paces in their quarters, waiting for Mordred to return.

[cadcamlan]

He's still flush with excitement when he makes his way from reporting to his sovereign. He barely thinks to clean the dried blood from his body, to bind the obvious injury on his arm, as he pushes his way through the halls to let himself into his own quarters.

"Cariad? Are you here?"

[cywyllog]

Finally.

She rushes to him, throwing her arms around his neck and barely giving him a chance to enter the room proper. "I missed you. You were gone so long. Are you all right?"

[cadcamlan]

The laugh is half-grunted as he shifts her slightly, pulls his own arms comfortably around her waist as he buries his face against her shoulder.

"Some bruises and scratches." And a few gashes which make ugly scars, but she shouldn't worry about that. "Was I really gone so long?"

[cywyllog]

Her arms wrap more tightly around him, a hand snaking up into his hair.

"Days. Weeks." Maybe. She might be exaggerating, but it feels like years when he's gone. "Have you eaten? Are you hurt?"

[cadcamlan]

It felt like the blink of an eye. He all but lost time while in the battle; barely remembers anything beyond the blur of euphoria.

But there's something patient in his smile as he nuzzles closer. No one else is allowed to hold onto him like this. No one else deserves his softer smiles.

"I haven't, and barely. You always make such a fuss over the smallest cut."

[cywyllog]

No one else had better, else she'll have some strong words for them.

"Cuts deserve to be fussed over. 'Tis my duty as your wife." Which is still fun to say. "You need to eat. Shall I send for something to be brought up? Some stew and bread?"

[cadcamlan]

"I suppose that makes it my duty as your husband to submit?"

The words prompt, still a bit clunky and hesitant, a lifting of his head so he can press a fumbled sort of kiss to her cheek.

"So long as we can stay here. I'd rather not deal with being presentable until tomorrow, if it can be avoided."

[cywyllog]

"Of course. You only just returned. You need food and rest, not games of court. Come," she leads him to a chair and presses one of his shoulders gently to get him to sit. Then she crosses back to the door and sends out an order to have supper brought for him.

"Are you awfully tired?"

[cadcamlan]

The wince as she presses his shoulder is slight. It's not pain, not really. Just sore. Just mild injuries his body didn't register at the time coming to light as he settles where she's directed him to.

"Not yet. I expect it will come before long." The exhilaration would wear off eventually, after all, and then only the exhaustion would remain.

[cywyllog]

"You'll eat and then you'll rest," she decides, studying him worryingly. If she has her way, she'll hover until he makes her leave him alone.

"Do you need anything else?"

[cadcamlan]

"I need you to relax, cariad."

He'll need to change out of his bloodied armour, need to clean the smoke and gore from his hair. But first, he clearly needs to catch her hands, pull them to his lips.

"I'm home. Look happy, won't you?"

[cywyllog]

He's earned himself a smile. "I am happy. I am always happy to see you home. I merely wish you didn't have to leave so often and on such dangerous orders."

[cadcamlan]

She's got a lovely smile. He thinks, now and then, that if he didn't have his own destiny to fight for, he might fight for the love of that lift of her lips and spark in her eyes.

"Then you can resume wishing it tomorrow." One hand reaches for hers to squeeze. "I'm not leaving again on any sort of orders tonight."

[cywyllog]

"Good." He can have her hand anytime he wants. The other will rest gently against his cheek. And then, it's as if she hasn't really seen him until now. "Mordred! Look at the state of you."

[cadcamlan]

His own smile is crooked as he laughs, squeezes her hand lightly again. "Did you expect me to come home in the state I left? Half of this is from travel."

[cywyllog]

"And your arm!" She's crestfallen again. "You are hurt."

[cadcamlan]

"Barely hurt." He has to push to his feet now, use his good arm to pull her in close for a moment. "Nothing that will require anything more than some bandaging. I promise."

[cywyllog]

She clings to him. She's supposed to be getting used to this, but every time he leaves it gets harder and harder for her to relax until he's back, safe and sound.

"I wish he would stop doing this to you."

[cadcamlan]

There's the slightest furrow of his brow as he rests his forehead comfortably against hers. "Stop doing what? Using me as his knight?"

Such a small price to pay for being able to keep her here.

[cywyllog]

"He's not using you as a knight should be. He's using your destiny for his own ends." She clasps her hands together at his back. "What if that changes things?"

[cadcamlan]

"Changes things?" He knows what she means, but echoes the words unconsciously. "Wouldn't the change be the will of the gods as well?"

[cywyllog]

"I don't care." It may be horrible to say, but she can't help herself. "It isn't fair."

[cadcamlan]

It may be horrible, but it's not something either of them don't think. Saying it out loud barely gives it more power than the thought already has. "I will always come back to you, fair or no, cariad. Don't you trust that?"

[cywyllog]

"One day you won't."

And there it is. Her worst fear spoken, even if she knew this was part of their agreement. She'll never like it.

[cadcamlan]

"And on that day, Cywyllog, you will be free." He means, of course, of Arthur. Of the destiny now holding them both into the life she's willingly joined into with him.

It hurts a little even as it escapes his throat.

"That day is surely a long time coming."

[cywyllog]

"It had better be. Destiny can give us some years, at least." It would be beyond not fair if they didn't get time to actually be with each other, enjoy a few years as husband and wife.

[cadcamlan]

"To you, at least, I can't imagine fate would not be kind." To himself, well. He's working to accept that his destiny isn't something to be relished so much as accepted. One hand lifts to her cheek, holds her where he can press a kiss to her forehead. "You are far too precious for ill use."

[cywyllog]

"If fate chooses not to be kind to you, then it chooses not to be kind to me, for ours are entwined now." She leans her head on his shoulder. "I may not be used for ill, but I will bear the consequences of it."

[cadcamlan]

It takes a moment for the thought to settle properly. It makes his arms pull just a hair tighter around her, cheek resting against the top of her head.

"...I know my father is-- quite fond of my fate, but-- are you certain it isn't too much to ask of you?"

[cywyllog]

She's wondered the same thing many times. Her answer is given to her every time he comes back to her and she feels that rush of warmth and excitement just seeing him again.

"If I am allowed to be with you for even but a few years, it will have been worth it."

[cadcamlan]

"If you're certain."

And she does sound certain. He does believe it with her curled in warm against his side.

"I'll do what I can to make them happy years, at least."