Does it worry you to be alone? (Mordred)

[Tristian]

He knew that what Mordred was saying made sense, had he not said the same thing to other people? However he had to force himself to swallow ‘yes but it’s different with me’. Yes, he was the older brother, yes he was he heir, and yes, it was his duty to be there and protect the rest of them. However it was more than that, he wanted too, it was a duty and a responsibility but it was one he accepted wholeheartedly. Besides he had been there for people to lean on for so long he didn’t think he actually knew how to lean on anyone else.

“I know,” he said quietly, “it’s just...not sure I can...being ‘on’ all the time is sort of my default state. Besides I’m good at helping sort everyone else out, and I’m happy to do so. I can handle my own problems later.”

Tristian smiled when Mordred told him what Aiden did and said, “good girl, I knew there was a reason I liked her. Just take it easy, you’ll get through it. And when it gets tough, call. I’ll be here for you.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

He nodded, understanding what Tristian meant. Gods knew Mordred had a mask he wore 90 per cent of the time, but his mask was the complete opposite to Tristian's. There were very few people who'd seen Mordred's true self, but he could safely say that Tristian was one of them. Aiden was another. They were two people he felt safe with, in a way that he didn't with other people. He didn't need to pretend with them the way he did with everyone else.

"Leave all your problems till later to handle and they'll overwhelm you." He said quietly, pushing a piece of bacon around his plate. "Trust me." He looked at Tristian with a raised eyebrow, raising his hand slightly to indicate the shaking he was suffering. "You need to find somewhere you feel safe to take off that mask. Somewhere you can handle your own shit. Or someone."

He frowned as Tristian complimented Aiden's actions. "No, no, not 'good girl'. She and Costin poured out a twenty grand bottle of scotch. Just poured it down the drain. Do you know how long I'd been saving that?" He shook his head. "I could've killed them. Luckily I remembered how well that went last time." He muttered. He looked up at Tristian, letting a deep sigh escape his chest. "It's always tough, Tris." He said honestly.

[Tristian]

He was right of course, if he didn’t deal with it then it would overwhelm him, wasn’t that what was happening now? However something that Mordred said made him really think. He needed somewhere he could drop that mask, just be him. He smiled a little at that. There was somewhere he could do that, somewhere that he only went sparingly but strangely, in that basement cabaret room, wearing layers of make up and a glittering dress...yeah...that’s where he felt he could drop the mask.

And someone? He smiled a little more, this time a little sadly. Maybe one day.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, “Well, I’ll think about it.”

Tristian laughed a little as he spoke about her pouring out the scotch, that was a shame, but further down the line when he was better, that was going to be a good story to tell. “Well, I’m sure it’s for the best,” he said.

The smile disappeared when he said it was always tough. He resisted the urge to reach out and take his hand. “Yeah, it will be,” he said quietly, “but, you’ve got people around you that want to help you. Take one day at a time. Exercise should help, we could start running if you want? Or we could go back to our old sparring sessions, don’t want to get out of practice whilst we’re here.”

He went back to his breakfast for a moment and still looking down at the plate, unable to meet his eye he said, “I’d be grateful if you didn’t tell anyone, if you don’t mind.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

Rolling his eyes at his friend, Mordred huffed. "Stop being noble and be outraged on my behalf. That scotch was rare - I'd have been less pissed off if they'd drunk it, but pouring it down the drain?" He shook his head. "Those two have no taste. Heathens, the pair of them."

He almost laughed at Tristian's next suggestion, but settled for a look of disgust mixed with incredulity. "Running? Can you really seem me running?" He was pretty sure he had the same look on his face as Costin had had when Mordred had suggested going to the gym. "No. Sparring, gym sessions, fine, but no way am I running." He gave Tristian an awkward look. "You sure you want to spar with me though? Sight of me with a sword in my hand..." He trailed off, playing with the straw in his drink again.

He looked up sharply at Tristian's next words, frowning slightly. "Tris, of course. But... you know you don't have to hide it? There's no reason for you to... is there?"

[Tristian]

“Alright, alright, they’re awful people and deserve to never taste the fine taste of a decent scotch ever again,” he said as dramatically as he could, which given it was Tristian was fairly dramatic, “there, was that better?”

Tristian shrugged and said, “it’s good to try new things. I never thought I’d like running but I’ve actually got quite into it thanks to a friend. But ok, sparring it is.”

The image of Mordred and Lorelei did flash across his mind but it didn’t last long, Tristian looked up and met his friends eye, “We’ve been sparring for years Mordred, you’re the best sparring partner I’ve got, nothing will change that. Besides I have to work on my footwork, it’s getting even worse.”

Looking down at his breakfast again he thought about how to respond to that. A reason he was hiding it. Oh he had a few, none that he really felt like sharing but, he still owed Mordred at least one more truth.

“...I just don’t need anyone knowing that there’s one more thing that makes me exactly like my father.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

He couldn't help but grin as Tristian dramatically declaimed Aiden and Costin, and he nodded. "Much better. You're finally starting to understand the gravity of the situation."

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, a hint of the old Mordred showing through. "A friend, huh? And which friend might this be that's got you running, the lamest of all the exercises?" He grinned. He felt an odd sense of relief as Tristain said he still wanted to spar with him, and he smiled. "I didn't think your footwork could get any worse." He teased with a raised eyebrow and a grin. "Don't worry, I'll whip you back into shape. Don't I always?"

He frowned slightly at Tristian's answer to his question, eating some bacon thoughtfully. "I get that." He said with a small shrug. "I fight every day not to give people any reason to compare me to my mother. But, you're not all Arthur you know." He looked at Tristian, his eyebrows raised. "There's a hell of a lot of Gwen in there too. And a lot that's just you. You're not quite as much of a prat as your Dad." He grinned.

[Tristian]

He should have kept his damn mouth shut and never said anything about running, but it was out there before he could stop it. It would also appear that there was still some of the old Mordred there, despite the withdrawal symptoms, something which he was both pleased and annoyed to see, pleased because it bode well for him getting better, annoyed because it put himself in the line of fire. “Yes a friend,” he stressed, and then added, “and don’t go implying anything else, especially not to him, because he would not want people knowing that his roommate was gay. He’s got enough on his mind without adding that into the mix and I would rather not have to go shopping for a new roommate after I just found one.”

It wasn’t a lie, it was a vague truth. Richard really wouldn’t want people to know that his roommate preferred his own gender, mostly because it might cause people to become suspicious of his own preferences, however accurate those suspicions might be. Just because Tristian had pulled himself out of the closet to Mordred didn’t mean he was going to drag Richard out too. That was his thing to tell in his own time, and if Tristian had to tell a few vague truths to keep his roommates secret then so be it.

Tristian rolled his eyes and said, “my footwork might be getting worse but you seriously need to work on your speed. Back home you would have dodged that first blow of hers with ease. Speaking of which, your face is looking much better…mum did a good job there.”

When Mordred started comparing him to his mum he smiled and evne managed a small laugh when he said he wasn’t as much of a prat as his dad. “Thanks,” he said quietly, “it’s fine really, I’m…getting used to it. But until then…I’d be grateful if we could keep this between you and I…just for just now…”

[Mordred Le Fey]

Putting his hands up in a motion of surrender, Mordred laughed at his friend. "Alright, alright, I'll let that one go since your so insistent." He grinned. "Just that one though - just cos now I know you like guys don't expect me to stop winding you up. It's so damn easy and I just enjoy it far too much."

He made a mental note to suss out the roommate none the less, since there was no way Mordred was giving up the role of wingman just because the gender had changed. And who knew, maybe this roommate was the one Tristian was in love with. And maybe this roommate was just hiding things, like Tristian had been. Mordred would find out, he was sure of that.

He cringed slightly at Tristian's dig. "My speed had nothing to do with it. Thoroughly underestimating my opponent was the problem. Won't make that mistake again, trust me." He brought a hand up to his face, and touched the cut, which was basically healed but going to leave a lasting and very obvious scar. "Yeah. She was pretty cool that day." He said with a small smile. "Guess I might have got your mum wrong all these years." He looked at Tristian awkwardly. "That's where harbouring childhood jealousy and resentment gets you I guess."

He looked Tristian in the eye, his expression calm and open. "Tris, I'm not going to tell anyone. I know I can be a dick, but this is different. This isn't anything to do with me, it's not my place to go shouting your secret all over, ok? I'm not going to say a word." He took a few more bites of his breakfast, before looking at Tristian again. "Just out of interest, does anyone else know?"

[Tristian]

Tristian shook his head and said, “Yes, I can see that, well I shall have to work to not give you any opportunity to do so.”

Secretly he was pleased. He had always thought that telling Mordred would make everything change between them, that it would feel awkward, wrong somehow, but it didn’t. It was just the same old Mordred and right now, in this moment, that was a good thing. He was glad that Mordred wanted to tease him about this because that meant everything was still as it should be, that nothing had really changed…and right now…that was probably the most helpful thing the other boy could have done…and he didn’t even know it…

“If your speed was better then underestimating your opponent wouldn’t have been an issue,” countered Tristian, “although I’ll grant you, she surprised me too. Clearly Lance has been training her up.”

Tristian smiled and said, “She’s cool every day…at least to me.”

He picked up his tea and said, “She’s always considered you ‘one of hers’, I think the reason she never showed it as much is because she didn’t want your mum to feel like she was stepping on her toes…she used to talk about how you often looked a little sad when you were younger, which is when she’d send me over to cheer you up, or nudge my dad to take you off to do a bit of training with you. She had some Summer Country clothes made up for you once, you know how she likes to dress us all in the same colours, but she realised that white and blue weren’t really your colours, nor did she think your mum would like it, so she had that black cloak made up for you with the silver embroidery which matched the pattern on your mum’s dress she wore sometimes. I can’t remember if she ever sent that on to you or not…”

It was strange, those memories of mum being concerned about Mordred. The way she would switch from saying that Morgana should try harder to ‘oh it’s not her fault though, and she is trying’. However right at the forefront of her concern was Mordred, the child, he remembered her wanting to help back then…

He grinned and said, “Now though…well…I’m sure you can expect your Summer Country Livery any day now…lucky you.”

He met Mordred’s eye and could see that he meant it. He nodded and taking a sip of his tea thought about who else knew.

“You mean, in the family?” he said, because there were quite a few guys and queens in the scene that knew of his preferences, “mum knows…I think…Merlin suspects…other than you…I think that’s it.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

"Yeah, good luck with that." He grinned, taking another drink. Winding Tristian up was one of his oldest and favourite pastimes, and Tristian had always been incredibly easy to tease. He was pretty sure that wasn't going to change any time soon, and he planned on winding him up for the rest of their lives. It was their thing, nothing was going to change that.

He raised an eyebrow as he talked about his mother. He couldn't help but be skeptical of what he was saying - it was hard to switch his feelings towards the woman he'd spent his entire life hating into something more positive. Even if he had apparently seen everything completely differently to how it had actually been. "I always thought she tried to persuade you not to hang out with me." He said with a small shrug. "Figured she thought I was a bad influence or something." He pulled a face at the mention of a Summer livery. "Ugh God, I bloody hope not. No offence, but Summer colours are... well, they're not my colours. I'm more blacks and reds." He sighed, looking down. "And I really don't think my mother would be impressed. She'd take notice long enough to make her feelings very well known, and that just wouldn't end well for anyone."

"That's all? I'm honoured." He teased Tristian again. "But, you know, you'll never find someone if no one knows what your tastes are."

[Tristian]

He could understand the scepticism; in all honesty he didn’t think it would ever go away. However at least he had a chance to see it now, at least mum had tried to show him that to her he had always been one of them, hopefully that would make a difference to him. He also understood how his mother would definitely not be pleased with that. Tristian had always been somewhat terrified of Mordred’s mother, although he tried not to show it, and had never admitted to his friend that she often took on a starring role in some of his worst nightmares.

“On the contrary,” said Tristian sitting back in his chair, “she encouraged me to hang out with you, you know, because I was such a wonderful influence.”

He grinned and lifted up his tea, taking another sip.

“Yes, agreed, you definitely suit reds and blacks better, although you really ought to try adding some Navy blue, it would bring out your eyes,” said Tristian placing the cup back on the table, “and that’s a colour I think even your mother would find acceptable.”

He carefully broached the subject, knowing it might be a little painful but wanting to show that he cared, “How is she by the way? You heard much from her?”

When he said he was honoured he rolled his eyes and said, “I’m perfectly capable of finding someone on my own. And as I have said before, my tastes are very particular, you’ll never find anyone that meets my standards.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

He scoffed at Tristian, grinning. “Yeah, you’re a great influence.” He said rolling his eyes. “When you weren’t following me into whatever scheme to get us into trouble I could come up with.”

As a Tristian started colours, he raised his eyebrows. “Ok, that’s the gayest thing you’ve ever said to me... have you always talked like that? How did I not see it before...” he teased Tristian with a grin - a grin which faded when his mother was brought into the conversation.

He shrugged, staring down at his now empty plate and avoiding Tristian’s eye. Things with his mother were so complicated - he knew she wasn’t popular in Camelot, and that was entirely her own fault, but for some reason, some sense of loyalty that Mordred had nevertheless understood, Arthur allowed her to stay. And he knew that he was more like his mother than he liked to admit, and it had always made him uncomfortable and angry - he didn’t want to be so like someone who cared so little about him.

“I don’t know. She hasn’t written to me in a while. Not that that makes much difference, I think the last letter I got just said something along the lines of ‘I know you’re not keeping up with you magic practice, don’t disappoint me.’ Like she’s not constantly disappointed in me anyway.” He sighed, playing with the straw in his drink. “Whatever. I don’t care.” He took a simp of the orange juice, back to wishing it was something stronger. “I actually saw Dad a few days ago. Before the tea. I went home and met him in a tavern. It was... surprisingly ok.”

[Tristian]

Mordred did seem to get them into a hell of a lot of trouble when they were younger, and he smiled fondly at the memory. It always ended with a lecture and a few boring nights in his room, but it was always worth it. Of course, as the two of them began to grow up and Tristian began to understand certain things about himself, they seemed to split off a little. Both of them walked a fine line when it came to trouble, it just became different types, Mordred continued down a path of self-destruction and Tristian…well…it wasn’t without a little pain and he would definitely be in trouble if anyone found out. At least he could say that his brand of trouble wasn’t damaging to his health…mostly…Mordred’s on the other hand…

‘I’m going to help him, we’ll get him back on the right path,’ he thought as he looked at his friend.

Tristian tried to stop the wince but he couldn’t, he was still getting used to the fact that Mordred knew now and felt like he still had to walk on egg shells. The boy was only teasing, he knew that, but it didn’t stop the minor panic rising in his chest. However he followed the wince up with an eye rolls and said, “You’ve met my mother, we all talk like that.”

Listening to him talk about his mother was difficult, mostly because he knew there was nothing he could to help, but also because he wasn’t overly fond of the woman. He knew better than to bad mouth her in front of Mordred, she might not be the best mother to him but she was still his mother. He brightened a little when he mentioned he had spoken with his dad. Tristian smiled and said, “That’s good, I’m glad you spoke with him…Caz is a good man. There’s a lot of him in you too you know…and your mother…she cares about you…maybe…maybe that’s how she shows it, you know? Focusing on the one thing you both have together, magic.”

[Mordred Le Fey]

He noticed the wince and raised an eyebrow at him. "Tris, chill. It's cool, ok?" He said gently. He didn't want his friend to feel uncomfortable around him now he knew the truth, he didn't want things to change. But, he guessed it was kind of inevitable that somethings might change a little. He just hoped that once Tristian got more used to the situation, he'd wince less when Mordred spoke.

Mordred smiled slightly as Tris talked about his Dad. He was right, his Dad was a good man, and it wasn't that he hadn't seen it before, it was that he had been too focused on the lack of affection from his mother that he hadn't paid enough attention to his father to allow it to affect him. He regretted it a little when he thought about it, but since their meeting he had some hope that perhaps he hadn't completely blown his relationship with his father after all. He couldn't bee too sure though, he struggled to put trust in the longevity of any relationship he had.

He raised an eyebrow as Tristian brought up his mum again though, looking at Tristian with an incredulous expression. "Please, Tris. She doesn't care. She has this warped idea that my magic is going to bring her power or some shit. She read too much Malory when she was in this place. She wants me to work on my abilities so she can use them for her own benefit, it's got nothing to do with me." His voice was heavy with resentment and scorn, not aimed at Tristian but at his mother. He'd known from a young age she didn't care, she didn't know how to care. Her love for his father was too all-consuming, and she didn't have love left for anyone else, she was too young when she had Mordred. And when Leela came along anything that had been left was all focused on the sick baby, and Mordred was left alone more and more, forgotten and ignored. It was why he had spent his childhood playing out more and more, each time getting more daring, more dangerous, angering more and more adults in the court, putting more and more people in harm's way.

But his mother? She hadn't paid attention then, why would she start now?

[Tristian]

Of course. Of course it was ok, he needed to do what Mordred said, he needed to chill. That was the problem with keeping something like this for so long, pretending to be something else, it wasn’t easy to drop that guard completely. Especially not since he was still keeping something from his friend, something which he would never tell him. He smiled a little sheepishly and said quietly, “just going to take a little getting used too.”

However talking about treading on thin ice this conversation about Mordred’s mother was getting dangerous. He half expected her to just appear, like she knew they were talking about he and would just step out of the shadows to chastise the two of them…or curse them…He never could quite shake the feeling that she was watching him…it was ridiculous, he imagined he barely made the woman’s radar never mind ‘watching’ him all the time. Still, it was something that he couldn’t shake and something that often kept him awake at night.

“You know her better than I do,” he conceded, “I just…I just find it hard to believe that she doesn’t care about you, she’s your mother…she just…has a…strange way of showing it? Besides…you should be cultivating your power, magic can do a lot of good after all, and…who knows…maybe all your mums hopes will come true and you will be King of Camelot one day.”

….he hadn’t meant to say that last bit…his guard was down, he was saying things he shouldn’t, he was too relaxed. But the thought had been there…ever since he had found out about Meredith and Mordred, underneath the pain and the hurt…that thought had surfaced…

The thought that despite how much hurt it gave him, maybe Mordred and Meredith being together was his ticket out…