USURPER

             leonardo’s smile widens just a little, an affectionate little thing, as he tucks the wine under his arm to wrestle with the cork. he frees it with a loud, rather satisfying pop that echoes against the stone walls. “i suppose i could give you a little clue. you are humoring me, after all.” he stops long enough to pour mordred some wine, and then himself. he jams the cork back into the top and shoots mordred a charming smile. “what was i saying?”

              it only took him a moment to get himself back on track. “oh yes! the clue. well. it is floral, in nature. but that is it. i think a surprise is… good now and again. at least a nice one. and this one, i think, is nice.” and with that, he sets off, taking a nice long sip of his wine as he does, towards the gardens. the night air seems to have put a bit of pep in his step. “i have spent the last several nights exploring the gardens. they really are extensive. have you taken the time to walk the paths?” leonardo leads them down a winding staircase and out towards the gardens, to be swallowed up by the night air. the low, constant sound of crickets is soothing, leonardo thinks, as he turns his gaze towards the moon. the gardens are dark, few torches light their way, but leonardo knows the way, his feet carrying him down the cobblestone paths, only this time slower, because he has company. he likes mordred. the artist just hopes that this is everything he has built it up to be. 

               𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐔𝐌-𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 .        he’s certainly used to the boring ,    monotonous days where everything is provided for you -- he’s had to chase away servants before if only to give him something to do .     in din eidyn the servants were few and far between ,    dedicated to cooking and cleaning .      𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 .     but having leonardo pour him wine is much better than any servant .     in fact ,    he might even consider it better than if the king ever decided to do such a thing .                        a quiet hum of thought escapes him as he follows leonardo down the stair case ,    one hand against the wall for an ounce of balance in the darkness .     ❝     floral ?      ❞           he raises a brow ,    curious  now .    he’s not much of a man for flowers ,   as much as he might appreciate nature .     𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐁𝐁 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 .     the druids had taught him to cherish all things that could breathe ,    even flowers .    but he does have to wonder what exactly leonardo has done to the gardens as the wander into them .    he does have to wonder if the gardeners might want him dead .

𝐇𝐄  𝐈𝐒  𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘  𝐁𝐈𝐓  𝐀  𝐒𝐎𝐍  𝐎𝐅  𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.    ready to don his iron armor and go riding into battle.   morgana’s lips curled into a furtive sneer, for she could not deny that he had waited, that he had suffered, and that she understood his hasty desire for swift and just revenge more than any ever could.   tome is set aside in favor of attending her young nephew,  headstrong mordred,  who she drew up behind with a scoff in her mouth.  

❛    because,  so do they   ❜,    said morgana, who threaded her thin fingers into the curls atop his head.   she soothed the scalp with the tips of her nails and cast her steely gaze into the fire.  it snapped and snarled at the dry logs at the top of the pile, sending vicious plumes of dark smoke barreling up the uneven pipe of gray and gloomy stone.     ❛   and if we are to go charging in headfirst while they are walled up within their precious camelot, we will be crushed like ants fleeing from the mound.                    come now, mordred, you know better than to draw your blade first.  let arthur come to you.   ❜

            𝐇𝐄'𝐒   𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍   𝐒𝐎   𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 ...      biding his time ,    year after year -- that’s not to say he’s always planned for this ,    but he was certainly always patient .    always waiting to be rewarded for his efforts .    always waiting for arthur to offer lothian the help it so desperately needed ,     𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐘 .     he lets out a slow sigh as he feels her fingers raking through his hair ,    it at least settles his fiery temper for a moment enough to think .

❛  𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐔𝐍𝐄  𝐇𝐀𝐒  𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐓  𝐔𝐒  𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘:   but nothing’s to be done:    the long and short of it is this:   Endure.   ❜              |         @lothson​​​  /   sc.

             𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐄 .        is that not what he has been doing his entire life ?    from the moment he could walk ( or perhaps even before ? ) til now .    every second has been a trial of endurance .      𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 .    he shifts his weight in his seat ,    old wood creaking with the slight of his movements .

@lothson​

         leonardo’s long legs swing over the ledge of cool stone balcony next to mordred, presenting two glasses and a wine bottle as an explanation. he wears a warm smile, eyes bright even in the darkness. the night sky stretches above them, near endlessly and for a moment, the artist is staring at the twinkling stars like they hold answers to questions he has not verbalized just yet. “i hope i am not interrupting anything,” he says at last, smile twitching ever wider as he studies mordred’s face intently. the air smells sweet, like flowers, and a chilly breeze rustles the thin tunic the artisan has donned for the evening. a clean one. must be a miracle.             the night is quiet. torch light flickers every few feet along the ramparts of the castle. leonardo likes it like this. it is like taking off an armor he is not even aware that he wears, and shaking himself free. he wonders briefly if mordred feels the same, but neglects to ask. the artist blinks and extends one of the goblest he brought with him. his heels nick the stone wall a few times as his legs swing, “if you do not have prior obligations, i have something i want to show you in the gardens. you are the only one i think would appreciate it.” he pauses. “and obviously we can have the wine under the stars. i think that is rather appealing, no?” he doubts the kitchens will miss this particular bottle. the other few he’s squirreled away in his workshop is another story, of course. but they might as well indulge this evening. he has already made the theft. leonardo tips the wine bottle enticingly and gestures with his head towards the stairs as he peels himself off the balcony.  

                     𝐈𝐓   𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒   𝐓𝐎    𝐁𝐄   𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓   𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍    𝐇𝐄   𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒   𝐎𝐅𝐅   𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄   𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄    𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓   𝐈𝐓'𝐒   𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇 .         that’s   where   his   gaze   lingers   ----   and   his   heart  ,    too  ,     for   that   matter .     regardless   of    what   loyalties   and   faiths   he   has   given   to   this   place   and   its   king   din   eidyn   will   always   call   him   home .      𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒   𝐍𝐎𝐓   𝐓𝐎   𝐒𝐀𝐘   𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐓   𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐄   𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒   𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 .     some   company   is   better   than   others .     he   draws   a   breath   inwards   as   the   artist   disturbs   his   peace .     it’s   not   unwelcome  ;    it’s   just   unexpected .    not   many   people   tend   to   seek   him   out   when   he   wanders   off  --  typically   that   behaviour   belongs   to   his   brothers .     ❝     only   thought .     ❞      he   comments   a   little   absently   between   the   moments   of   silence .      he   looks   the   other   over   with   a   curious   glance .    there’s   something   about   his   invitation   that   inspires   trouble  ,       𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐎𝐁𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘   𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍   𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐄   𝐈𝐒   𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓   𝐀𝐍   𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 .

@arzhur​ asked :      “ you’ve gotten so used to being hurt that happiness scares you. ”

            𝐁𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐄   𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒   𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒   𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒   𝐎𝐍   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐍  ?         perhaps .    much   has   been   taken   from   him  --  land  ,    home  ,     family  ,    friend  ,    and   it   all   boils   down   into   one   big   pit   of   grief .    it’s   hard   to   distinguish   one   from   the   other   anymore .     there’s   a   nervous   twitch   in   the   bouncing   of   his   heel   as   he   looks   upon   the   other  -------   and   then  turns   down   his   gaze   completely .      𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓   𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒   𝐈𝐍   𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 .    fault   lies   in   feuds  ,    in   men   who   are   already   dead   or   strangers   from   foreign   shores .     pain   just   festers   when   there’s   is   nobody   to   turn   anger   upon .           he’s   silent   for   a   moment .     he’s   not   sure   what   to   say .    he’s   not   sure   whether   to   agree   or   disagree .      𝐇𝐄   𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒   𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒  ,    𝐇𝐄   𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 .    he   aches   for   it .     that’s   why   he’s   here .     because   he   thinks  ,     however   naively  ,    that   maybe   arthur   and   the   knights   may   bring   it .      he   has   faith   that   they   will .    and   yet   still   he   struggles   to   find   the   will   to   smile .      𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   𝐈𝐒   𝐀   𝐋𝐎𝐓   𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓   𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐒   𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍   𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃 .     in   fact  ,     he’s   not   certain   he’s   felt   true   happiness   in   a   while .     that   feeling   lingers   in   some   forest   far  ,     far   away   from   here .

@lothson​ said:  “ and the saddest part of all? you’ll cling to the good memories, as if there were any. ” for gawain

          as if there were any. his memories cast back to childhood, to moments when they were all together. before they were filled with duty and chasing honor. no, childhood hadn’t been perfect, but at least it had been better than this. better than burying his brothers, dead at the hand of a man he had considered a friend, a brother born not of blood. ‘ do you think so little of me, brother, that you think i would excuse the man who did this? ‘ of course, gawain didn’t only mean lancelot. yes, it had been lancelot that brought the blade to bear, but it had been gawain’s absent blade that had been unable to stop the slaughter. ‘ whatever fidelity there was between lancelot and i, it is over now. ‘

                𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐄   𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐒   𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 .      he   was   perhaps   being   too   harsh  ,     but   there   has   always   lingered   an   element   of   animosity   amongst   the   knights   as   it   is .     he   trusts   gawain ,    of   course  ,     more   than   anyone   else   here  ,     and   this   is   a   loss   for   both   of   them .    but   some   days   he   holds   his   own   concerns   upon   where   gawain’s   loyalties   lie .       𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑   𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘   𝐀𝐑𝐄   𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   𝐎𝐑   𝐀𝐓   𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 .     with   king   or   family .     tongue   clicks   from   the   roof   of   his   mouth   as   he   struggles   to   find   the   words   to   say   to   his   brother .     he   remembers   a   time   when   he   was   all   too   excited   to   serve   with   the   knights  ,    but   now   with   every   second   that   passes    he   regrets   his   decision   more   and   more .                              they   had   only   each   other  ,    now  ,     and   that   wasn’t   even   the   worst   part .      now  ,     they   were   also   the   only   ones   left   to   stand   as   a   defence   against   the   bernician   invasions   of   their   home .   

  (    I SICKEN YOU, DO I? ME WITH MY RABID DEMEANOR AS I PUT MY SWORD BETWEEN YOUR MEN’S RIBS? WOULD YOU NOT HAVE KILLED THE SANITY INSIDE OF YOU? WOULD YOU LET THAT RAVEN CAW AT YOU UNTIL YOUR THROAT ACHED FROM YELLING? WE WORSHIP TWO DIFFERENT THINGS. I WEEP FOR THE LIVING, YOU WEEP FOR THE DEAD. THIS IS WHY YOU WILL BE AT MY MERCY.  )  * the rain begins, it is cold as it wets his braid. the water turning crimson as it hits at his skin harder. he has already noted the tall shape of his son, followed by his brother. the survivors counted and beaming with the taste of victory. he has remained quiet, however, if not for the teased out comment towards the leader of the opposition.*  he has already decided to keep him alive, a captive for the time being. his idea forms slowly, gestates in his mind while offers up a benign leer.  he crouches, features both antipathetic and childishly gleeful. there is a youthful exuberance of his disposition that seems to clash with the unblinking eyes and tip of tongue that darts out to lick at the blood on his chin. it is natural for him to adapt to the role of pagan, devilish, bloodthirsty. the slaughter of bodies around them is merely evidence of the gods being on his side. he presses his palm to his side, the wound leaks, but he continues on with the duties.  a shrug, he is emotionless in his delivered reply, but there is a twitch of his upper lip that signifies his unsatisfactory feelings regarding the defeated’s response. ‘DEATH I DO NOT TREMBLE AT, NEITHER DO MY MEN. I DO NOT EXPECT YOU TO UNDERSTAND, AS YOUR GOD HAS DIED ALREADY.’

he feels out of the cycle of winter and ravens, this frustrates him and it causes a tension to ripple down neck muscles. the anger blooms, subtly and with a silent approach that is characteristic of the viking king. a wide grin spreads his lips as fingers press into the ground, the puddle of others’ blood still warm to the touch. he slides his fingers down his face, adds more red, the saline smell sticking inside his nostrils. a tilt of his head before grunting to stand once more, arms outstretched at the beginning of their celebrations, the drumming increasing and laughter growing louder. words taunted out with a lilt, glare unbroken as jaw clenches. ‘THAT PLEASES ME. SIT HERE AND BE DISGUSTED AT ME WHILE WE CELEBRATE OUR VICTORY. I AM SURE YOU WILL SEE MORE THINGS THAT UPSET YOUR STOMACH BEFORE THE NIGHT IS DONE.’

             𝐇𝐄   𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐌𝐀𝐍   𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄   𝐇𝐈𝐌   𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓   𝐎𝐅   𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐃   𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓   𝐇𝐄   𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃    𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 .           he   is   not   the   sort   to   hate   easily  ,     but   when   he   does   it   is   with   an   immovable   kind   of   sincerity .    it   his   wholehearted .     he   is   no   stranger   to   losing   battles  ,      𝐍𝐎   𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑   𝐓𝐎   𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓 .     these   mountains   are   stained   with   blood .     but   similarly   he   has   never   been   the   sort   to   give   up .     moments   will   come  ,     he   must   only   bide   his   time  ,     and   he   will   have  plenty   of   it   if   he   wishes   to .    there   is   value   in   his   breath .           he   can   only   manage   a   smile   of   amusement   towards   his   captor   who   has   mistaken   him   for   christian .      the   roman   influence   from   the   south   has   yet   to   touch   lothian’s   borders  ,     and   he   should   rather   like   to   keep   it   that   way   if   he   could .      𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐆𝐎𝐃𝐒   𝐀𝐑𝐄   𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑   𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 .    the   gods   of   land   and   sea   and   sky  ,    of   growth   and   nurture   and   life .     the   elders   that   lie   await   in   the   mounds   in   the   west   and   the   druids   that   care   for   what   was   once   long   forgot .      it   comes   as   a   reminder   that   he   has   all   the   power   he   needs   to   escape   this   place .    binds   do   not   truly   hold   him .     but   he   would   rather   not   show   his   strength   if   he   needn’t .     magic   is   such   a   very   delicate   thing   to   throw   around .

@bndruidh​​ asked :       *kisses* :)

         𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓   𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒   𝐀𝐑𝐄   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓   𝐓𝐎   𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄   𝐁𝐘 .            it’s   not   that   they   are   rare   or   that   they   do   not   exist  ,     but   because   they   always   come   bundled   with   harshness .     most   of   all   existence   is   a   struggle  --   life   is   not   fair .      𝐁𝐔𝐓   𝐇𝐄'𝐒   𝐒𝐎   𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑   𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇   𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 .      so  ,     finding   small   amounts   of   happiness   is   always   pleasant  ,    especially   when   it   comes   as   a   surprise .             he’s   more   used   to   her   mouth   being   harder   than   this .     ready   and   waiting   for   the   opportunity   to   scold   him   for   some   stupid   decision   or   another    ----    and   there’s   nothing   wrong   with   that  ,    because   more   often   than   not   she   is   right .    she’s   quick   with   wit   and   judgement .     sometimes   it’s   like   being   hit   by   a   rock .       𝐁𝐔𝐓   𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒   𝐈𝐒   𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆   𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄   𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓   𝐀𝐓   𝐀𝐋𝐋 .      the   callous   on   his   fingertips   scrapes   a   little   over   the   soft   skin   of   her   cheek   as   he   leans   in   towards   her .    it’s   all   so   very   gentle   and   her   lips   so   very   inviting   that   for   a   moment   he   near   forgets   everything   that   weighs   upon   him .