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tamingthemuseTitle: Alike
Fandom: Arthurian legends
Prompt: Prompt 451 - Gemini
Warnings: N/A
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: "So you're the new boy," Mordred sneered as he walked around Galahad. The young man felt like he was being sniffed...
"So you're the new boy," Mordred sneered as he walked around Galahad. The young man felt like he was being sniffed, awaiting the judgement of a pack leader.
"Yes," he replied calmly. If this were the manner in Camelot he would accept them.
"I see." Mordred stood erect in front of him, staring him in the eyes daring him to look away. But Galahad held his gaze. There were limits to his obedience. He had heard stories about this dark hair man. He didn't want to believe them but the similarities were too evident. In spite of his pale skin, his features were the same as his father if sharper. Just like me, the voice came nagging him at the back of his mind. His jaws twitched and his eyes dropped to the ground. He heard Mordred laugh before he turned his back on him and walked away.
"See you around," he said waving the back of his hand. Galahad remained silent.
---*---
"Well done my boy," Bors exclaimed as he grabbed Galahad by the shoulder and ruffled his hair. Galahad laughed. He was proud of himself. His father had greeted him upon his return to Camelot, a smile on his face and his arms open, and the King had declared a banquet on his honour that very evening.
He had freed the kingdom of a plague of bandits that had eluded the other knights of the Round Table so far, even Gawain. The older man was brooding in a corner but Galahad knew it wouldn't last. The man was only pretended to have his honour stained. He had nothing to fear from the younger man. He had proved his worth too many times for anyone to question him.
When Bors released him, he walked to that corner.
"I wanted to thank you," he said bowing his head to Gawain.
"Thank me," the older knight sneered.
"For the inspiration you have always provided me. You are a great knight sir."
Gawain laughed dismissively, got up and patted him on the back. Galahad wasn't sure what this was all about but at least the man was joining the others around the mead. He observed him meet with the crowd and didn't hear the footsteps coming close to him.
"I believe congratulations are in order." The voice chilled Galahad. He didn't need to turn around to know that the acidic tone came from Mordred. He had barely seen him since their first encounter and had been glad of it. There was something terribly wicked with the young knight, something that terrified him because he understood. He didn't like to admit it but he knew the other man better than any other person in Camelot. They were alike he and him.
"Thank you," he replied courtly not turning to look at the new comer.
Mordred laughed and imitating Gawain gesture patted him on the back before going for the mead. The hand on his back hadn't felt like a friendly tap this time but like a deadly chilling blow.
Fandom: Arthurian legends
Prompt: Prompt 451 - Gemini
Warnings: N/A
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: "So you're the new boy," Mordred sneered as he walked around Galahad. The young man felt like he was being sniffed...
"So you're the new boy," Mordred sneered as he walked around Galahad. The young man felt like he was being sniffed, awaiting the judgement of a pack leader.
"Yes," he replied calmly. If this were the manner in Camelot he would accept them.
"I see." Mordred stood erect in front of him, staring him in the eyes daring him to look away. But Galahad held his gaze. There were limits to his obedience. He had heard stories about this dark hair man. He didn't want to believe them but the similarities were too evident. In spite of his pale skin, his features were the same as his father if sharper. Just like me, the voice came nagging him at the back of his mind. His jaws twitched and his eyes dropped to the ground. He heard Mordred laugh before he turned his back on him and walked away.
"See you around," he said waving the back of his hand. Galahad remained silent.
---*---
"Well done my boy," Bors exclaimed as he grabbed Galahad by the shoulder and ruffled his hair. Galahad laughed. He was proud of himself. His father had greeted him upon his return to Camelot, a smile on his face and his arms open, and the King had declared a banquet on his honour that very evening.
He had freed the kingdom of a plague of bandits that had eluded the other knights of the Round Table so far, even Gawain. The older man was brooding in a corner but Galahad knew it wouldn't last. The man was only pretended to have his honour stained. He had nothing to fear from the younger man. He had proved his worth too many times for anyone to question him.
When Bors released him, he walked to that corner.
"I wanted to thank you," he said bowing his head to Gawain.
"Thank me," the older knight sneered.
"For the inspiration you have always provided me. You are a great knight sir."
Gawain laughed dismissively, got up and patted him on the back. Galahad wasn't sure what this was all about but at least the man was joining the others around the mead. He observed him meet with the crowd and didn't hear the footsteps coming close to him.
"I believe congratulations are in order." The voice chilled Galahad. He didn't need to turn around to know that the acidic tone came from Mordred. He had barely seen him since their first encounter and had been glad of it. There was something terribly wicked with the young knight, something that terrified him because he understood. He didn't like to admit it but he knew the other man better than any other person in Camelot. They were alike he and him.
"Thank you," he replied courtly not turning to look at the new comer.
Mordred laughed and imitating Gawain gesture patted him on the back before going for the mead. The hand on his back hadn't felt like a friendly tap this time but like a deadly chilling blow.
