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tamingthemuseTitle: Rotten
Fandom: Arthurian legends
Prompt: Prompt 355 - Prompt 355 - Dust you are and to dust you will return
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The Arthurian legends are in the public domain. I make no reference to any copyrighted work. So all is mine.
Beta: None, so any mistakes you see are mine.
Summary: He wasn't supposed to see the rottenness of this place creeping in every small holes between the rocks. He was supposed to see the dream.
Mordred pressed the apple in his hand. The juice dripping between his fingers to the reach the dirt in a lifeless splash on the ground.
He pressed harder against the core. He wanted it to explode against his palm. His jaw hardened, his muscle tensed and for a split second his entire body was completely immobile, focused on the one action his mind wanted to achieve.
"Mordred," called a voice from behind.
He almost jumped at the surprise but didn't. His mother had trained him well. He knew better than to ever appear surprised. He closed his eyes for a split second, his body relaxing as he turned to face the newcomer.
"Galahad," he greeted the young man.
"What are you doing here?"
"Am I banned from the fields behind the north wall now?"
The younger man dropped his eyes to the ground.
"You don't have to be so aggressive all the time you know," Galahad tried to defend himself a minute too late. He leveled his eyes with Mordred's. "It's just people were looking for you. It was sword practice and you were supposed to cover for Gawain."
"I forgot," he replied nonchalantly.
"It's not the truth," challenged Galahad.
"No it's not." Mordred paused and stared hard into the other man's soul. "What's it to you," he asked, his voice suddenly equally challenging, but before the other man could answer. He walked away, the apple dropping from his hand as he stepped into the shadows of the castle.
---*---
The next day, Galahad walked past Mordred in one of the numerous corridors of the castle. He stopped abruptly as he saw the darker man eating an apple.
"I thought you didn't like the fruit."
"Since when do you know what I like and don't like?"
"You pick up things after a while when living around people."
Mordred laughed at that reply. Galahad was actually trying sarcasm, on him. The younger boy blushed.
"I guess you would yes," Mordred finally said when his laughter died down. "So, how did you pick up that I didn't like apples?" His voice was softer this time, almost apologetic for having laughed at Galahad.
"Yesterday," the other man started shyly, "you crushed an apple in your hands." He raised his eyes to look directly at Mordred. "People don't usually act that way towards things they like.
Mordred glared at him. His jaw clenching against his will. "It was rotten," he managed to whisper between his teeth before storming away.
He hadn't been prepared for that question. He had wanted to shout at the other man, to yell at him that it was rotten, that it was just like the reality he could see and that he didn't like it. He wanted to scream that all he could ever hear from those new priests was that only dust awaited him because it was all he was: dust like dirt flying aimlessly in the air. Dirt that accumulated in places, on people. Dirt that everybody hated and that brought rot and disease everywhere it went. But how could he have said that? He was supposed to be nonchalant, to love Camelot and to be a good knight. He wasn't supposed to see the rottenness of this place creeping in every small holes between the rocks. He was supposed to see the dream. Like the other could. Like he could.
Fandom: Arthurian legends
Prompt: Prompt 355 - Prompt 355 - Dust you are and to dust you will return
Warnings: None.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The Arthurian legends are in the public domain. I make no reference to any copyrighted work. So all is mine.
Beta: None, so any mistakes you see are mine.
Summary: He wasn't supposed to see the rottenness of this place creeping in every small holes between the rocks. He was supposed to see the dream.
Mordred pressed the apple in his hand. The juice dripping between his fingers to the reach the dirt in a lifeless splash on the ground.
He pressed harder against the core. He wanted it to explode against his palm. His jaw hardened, his muscle tensed and for a split second his entire body was completely immobile, focused on the one action his mind wanted to achieve.
"Mordred," called a voice from behind.
He almost jumped at the surprise but didn't. His mother had trained him well. He knew better than to ever appear surprised. He closed his eyes for a split second, his body relaxing as he turned to face the newcomer.
"Galahad," he greeted the young man.
"What are you doing here?"
"Am I banned from the fields behind the north wall now?"
The younger man dropped his eyes to the ground.
"You don't have to be so aggressive all the time you know," Galahad tried to defend himself a minute too late. He leveled his eyes with Mordred's. "It's just people were looking for you. It was sword practice and you were supposed to cover for Gawain."
"I forgot," he replied nonchalantly.
"It's not the truth," challenged Galahad.
"No it's not." Mordred paused and stared hard into the other man's soul. "What's it to you," he asked, his voice suddenly equally challenging, but before the other man could answer. He walked away, the apple dropping from his hand as he stepped into the shadows of the castle.
---*---
The next day, Galahad walked past Mordred in one of the numerous corridors of the castle. He stopped abruptly as he saw the darker man eating an apple.
"I thought you didn't like the fruit."
"Since when do you know what I like and don't like?"
"You pick up things after a while when living around people."
Mordred laughed at that reply. Galahad was actually trying sarcasm, on him. The younger boy blushed.
"I guess you would yes," Mordred finally said when his laughter died down. "So, how did you pick up that I didn't like apples?" His voice was softer this time, almost apologetic for having laughed at Galahad.
"Yesterday," the other man started shyly, "you crushed an apple in your hands." He raised his eyes to look directly at Mordred. "People don't usually act that way towards things they like.
Mordred glared at him. His jaw clenching against his will. "It was rotten," he managed to whisper between his teeth before storming away.
He hadn't been prepared for that question. He had wanted to shout at the other man, to yell at him that it was rotten, that it was just like the reality he could see and that he didn't like it. He wanted to scream that all he could ever hear from those new priests was that only dust awaited him because it was all he was: dust like dirt flying aimlessly in the air. Dirt that accumulated in places, on people. Dirt that everybody hated and that brought rot and disease everywhere it went. But how could he have said that? He was supposed to be nonchalant, to love Camelot and to be a good knight. He wasn't supposed to see the rottenness of this place creeping in every small holes between the rocks. He was supposed to see the dream. Like the other could. Like he could.
