#lothson

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

          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. ‘

      /   *  ✧  @lothson​

Ferrus holds him tight and presses a kiss to the top of his head. They’re in private so he can afford to be soft. He can afford to treat Mordred as more than just a prince. He can treat Mordred like a friend. “You deserve to be held; you deserve to be valued not as a prince or a noble, but as a person.” He murmurs, quiet and soft. “I—” He hesitates once more. “I love you, Mordred. You’re a wonderful friend.” Oh, but he wants to say so much more. If only he had the courage; if only he had the audacity. “I’m so glad to know you—I’m so grateful to have you in my life.”

 WHAT   PEOPLE   OFTEN   NEGLECT      to   mention   is   that   the   most   visceral   of   moments   isn’t   before   death   swipes   her   scythe   through   the   air,   but   immediately   after.   the   moment   leading   to   having   a   dead   body   in   front   of   you   is   crucial   too,   but   adrenaline   takes   over,   fight   or   flight   blinds   the   senses,   a   thousand   thoughts   silenced   until   there   is   only   the   one.   animal   instinct,   almost.   survival   is   paramount,   there   is   no   other   objective.   but   after   ??   the   world   falls   silence.   glassy   eyes   shift   heavenward   to   avoid   looking   at   the   person   laying   in   a   heap   of   blood   and   viscera   before   her   and   for   a   few   slow,   agonising   seconds,   she   doesn’t   know   what   to   do.   just   because   she’s   killed   before   never   prepares   her   for   the   act,   never   quite   dampens   the   acute,   debilitating   feeling   of   despair   which   takes   a   hold   of   her   body.         (   OH,   DAUGHTER   OF   THE   STARS,   YOUR   HEART   IS   TOO   SOFT   TO   SOAK   IN   OTHERS’   BLOOD.   )         her   hand   is   vibrating   strangely,   but   she   uses   it   to   wipe   the   grime   from   her   face,   smudging   crimson   across   pallid   skin.   but   lady   fate   is   rarely   kind   enough   to   offer   respite,   and   at   the   sound   to   her   left   she   spins,   the   sword’s   sharp   edge   reflecting   moonlight,   dampened   by   cruor.         “   show   yourself.   ”

     " 𝕬 𝖐𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙, 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚? "  The voice comes from Mordred's right, sudden and jarring. He arrived as silent as death and just as swiftly (but no patron of death would be as colorful as he). Jaskier leans against the tavern bar and rests his chin in his hand, taking him in— yes, he’s sure he’s a knight. He knows the type well. They all look the same, all carry themselves the same— And he wants to know his story. Wants to know what made that scuff there, that scar here. A knight is only as good as his feats, after all. "What's a knight like you have to do in a town like this? Certainly doesn't seem like a place that would have any noble errands or.. whatever." He waves a halfhearted little flourish. No one should expect top-quality bardic turn of phrase this close to close.