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psalm_onethirtyoneAgravain is horrible, and there is trauma and snarkiness.
"What are you doing here?"
"What kind of a welcome is that?" Agravain turns to Mordred. "What kind of a welcome is that? I don't think he likes me."
"Who does like you?" Mordred's eyes glint, and his mouth twists cynically as he looks back.
"I do," Gareth says. He's sitting on the countertop eating a cookie and watching his brothers at the table, he's still dressed in his McDonald's uniform and his hair is curly in the early summer humidity.
"Great. The runt likes me. Well, there's my honour saved."
"I didn't know you had any."
"The feeling's mutual, sweet." Agravain drinks his tea.
"Four," Clar says, coming to the door and motioning for Gareth. "Four brothers. Only one with a brain in his head isn't here." As Gareth's face falls she shakes her head at him, rolls her eyes, and slips her hand into his. "You're all right even if you haven't got brains. Come on."
"Once again, upstaged by Gawain, and he isn't even here."
"I've been under the impression," says Mordred, glancing at Clar, "that you can't be upstaged if you never had the audience's attention to begin with."
"You know, I never did understand why everyone liked Gawain so much. From what I've read, he's the one who started the war, and it wasn't even over me. According to the books--"
"--you had it coming to you--"
"--he didn't give a damn about me getting killed, but when it came to you," he jerks his chin at Gaheris, "and the runt, then he was up in arms."
"Come on," Clar says again, pushing Gareth towards the living room. "He's off again."
"Possibly that was because Gaheris and the runt were unarmed," icily. The closedness Gaheris has been watching in Mordred all year long is giving way to anger.
"Possibly they were watching a woman get burned at the stake without lifting a finger, which, it seems to me, is no better than what I did."
"What you did," Mordred says, dangerously quiet, "what you did was to break us all, and I helped you to do it. Now you're sitting in my house at my table and running down the only one of us who ever did a damned bit of good."
Agravain finishes his tea and leans back in the chair. "Since when have you lost your temper at the drop of a hat? I won't say I don't like it, because I'm hoping to get a chance to pound you, but really, it's not like you."
"You're right; usually I know enough not to take you seriously when you're being a pointless asshole."
"What's changed?"
"You're not talking about me. You're talking about Gawain."
"Is that all it takes?" He leans over to look at Gaheris. "Is that really the secret? My God, I wish I'd known sooner."
"Stop it," Gaheris says.
He rolls his eyes. "When do I ever quit while I'm ahead?"
"And we all saw how well that worked out for you in the end," Mordred says sarcastically.
"Same as for you, brother."
"Stop it." Gaheris' voice comes out shrilly, stilling him. He sounds like Gareth in the old days, like Gareth when he was first told that his brother was dead. Agravain seems surprised.
"Does this bother you?"
"Leave him alone," Mordred cuts in.
"Why should I? He's as much a sinner as the rest of us. No Gawain, are you, eh?" He smiles crookedly at Gaheris. "Can't you hear about death?"
"Don't--"
"I never saw you shy away from it, is all."
"This instant, Agravain."
"In fact, as I remember, you were the one who sent us after Lamorack to avenge Mother, when he wasn't guilty of anything except enjoying her--"
Gaheris is halfway up the stairs before Agravain finishes. Behind him he can hear Mordred shouting, voice sharp and harsh, and Agravain raising his back.
"...fucking idiot, can't you..."
"...sorry I'm not as perfect as your other brothers..."
He slams the door to his room and slips into bed, covering himself completely with the blankets and shaking inside. He did. He told them--can't remember, can't remember. His throat tightens. His mother's young lover. Now he remembers the lover. In his ten-year-old's memory, she lay naked in the bed when he cut off her head, and it was because there had been a man hardly older than himself beside her, and they lay together, they--and then Gaheris killed her, and the boy, naked himself, staggered to his feet and ran, leaving footprints of Morgause's blood.
And then Gaheris went to live in the woods, because--he doesn't remember why. The memory doesn't tell him why, because it doesn't tell him why he killed her. A lover was no reason to kill her. He only knows now that he went to the woods, and when his brothers came, he told them that her lover had slain her, and Gawain avenged her. She had never loved him, never loved Gawain, but Gawain took up his sword and killed Sir Lamorack for her sake, and for Gaheris' lie.
He doesn't know how Agravain knows, whether he told them the truth later or whether they read it in the books in this new life. He doesn't know, he doesn't know why, and he can see Lamorack's footprints down the castle stairs, and his own thin, ragged body after the months when he was hidden in the forest, and Gareth's face when he said Morgause was dead.
He lies in bed and tries to hide in his green blankets like in the wild forest, and, like then, it's no refuge.
After a few hours, someone sits on the bed.
"Gaheris?"
Gareth.
"Nn?" he says, too afraid to answer anything else.
Gareth lies down next to him, a long warm body against his own. "I heard Agravain and Mordred yelling."
He doesn't answer.
"I don't care," Gareth says. "I didn't know, but--I love you anyway."
Slipping his hand from under the covers, he seeks out Gareth's and holds it tightly. Gareth laughs a little, half-unhappy and half-bitter, that laugh that isn't quite his own and always stirs Gaheris with strange sadness.
"Thanks."
"Clar says we can all have supper in her room, if you want."
"What are they doing?"
"Well--they made up, I think. You know, as much as--"
"Yeah."
"I think they're eating together in the kitchen right now. They're talking about things."
"I'll eat with you, I guess."
"Okay." A little pause, and then Gareth squeezes his shoulder. "You got married to-day."
"What?"
"You know how I remember things? On days. How they happened. You got married to Lynet to-day."
"Took us awhile."
"Well, you waited, because we decided to wait, too, me and Lyonors. We were going to marry as soon as we got back to Camelot, but Lyonors wanted a dress for getting married in, and she wanted this cloth made of the hairs of the white deer of the Forest--"
Gaheris pokes him through the blankets. "Oh, God, spare me."
"Anyway it took a while," Gareth says primly. "And you wanted to have yours at the same time so people wouldn't notice it as much or make a fuss next to ours, so you waited to. So we're all married to-day, me and Lyonors and you and Lynet."
"Thanks for telling me."
"Sure. Come down when you're ready?"
"I will."
"Okay."
When he does go down, though, he looks into the kitchen first, and watches Agravain and Mordred together. They're talking, as Gareth said, Mordred sitting with his elbows on the table and Agravain leaning back in his chair--he always did, even in the old days, so far back you thought he'd tip--their faces equally wry, though Mordred's is more delicately shaped and Agravain's skin is darker.
"...so we're helping them with their stock portfolios for this quarter," Agravain finishes, something Gaheris comes in during.
"Jesus, that's boring."
"We can't all be--what did you say you were? A lecturer for medical schools."
"Shove it," Mordred says, almost cheerful.
"Anyway, Viv told me you might want a visit, so I came down."
"Did she really?"
"We happen to be close friends."
Mordred snorts. "You know, we met her ourselves, about a year and a half ago."
"All right, stop--"
"Why should I? You never do." Now his voice is laughing. "She told us that she'd just dropped you a hint for coming to see us."
"I've been busy this year."
"She also mentioned a fact that I've long been aware of."
"I don't even want to--"
"You know, that you probably could use the brains God gave you, if he'd actually given you any brains."
"Ever mature."
"We can't all be--what did you say it was? Forty-three."
"You're just jealous because I'm finally older."
"Would you like me to crush an aspirin in your spaghetti? It's supposed to do wonders for arthritis in dogs."
Agravain laughs in his hard, rough way. It always seems to mean that he won't quite forgive being mocked, that he'll somehow hold even the stupidest of insults inside him until he finds some way of paying them back. Even the tailored suit hasn't changed it. Gaheris slips down the last few stairs and into the living room.
"What are you doing here?"
"What kind of a welcome is that?" Agravain turns to Mordred. "What kind of a welcome is that? I don't think he likes me."
"Who does like you?" Mordred's eyes glint, and his mouth twists cynically as he looks back.
"I do," Gareth says. He's sitting on the countertop eating a cookie and watching his brothers at the table, he's still dressed in his McDonald's uniform and his hair is curly in the early summer humidity.
"Great. The runt likes me. Well, there's my honour saved."
"I didn't know you had any."
"The feeling's mutual, sweet." Agravain drinks his tea.
"Four," Clar says, coming to the door and motioning for Gareth. "Four brothers. Only one with a brain in his head isn't here." As Gareth's face falls she shakes her head at him, rolls her eyes, and slips her hand into his. "You're all right even if you haven't got brains. Come on."
"Once again, upstaged by Gawain, and he isn't even here."
"I've been under the impression," says Mordred, glancing at Clar, "that you can't be upstaged if you never had the audience's attention to begin with."
"You know, I never did understand why everyone liked Gawain so much. From what I've read, he's the one who started the war, and it wasn't even over me. According to the books--"
"--you had it coming to you--"
"--he didn't give a damn about me getting killed, but when it came to you," he jerks his chin at Gaheris, "and the runt, then he was up in arms."
"Come on," Clar says again, pushing Gareth towards the living room. "He's off again."
"Possibly that was because Gaheris and the runt were unarmed," icily. The closedness Gaheris has been watching in Mordred all year long is giving way to anger.
"Possibly they were watching a woman get burned at the stake without lifting a finger, which, it seems to me, is no better than what I did."
"What you did," Mordred says, dangerously quiet, "what you did was to break us all, and I helped you to do it. Now you're sitting in my house at my table and running down the only one of us who ever did a damned bit of good."
Agravain finishes his tea and leans back in the chair. "Since when have you lost your temper at the drop of a hat? I won't say I don't like it, because I'm hoping to get a chance to pound you, but really, it's not like you."
"You're right; usually I know enough not to take you seriously when you're being a pointless asshole."
"What's changed?"
"You're not talking about me. You're talking about Gawain."
"Is that all it takes?" He leans over to look at Gaheris. "Is that really the secret? My God, I wish I'd known sooner."
"Stop it," Gaheris says.
He rolls his eyes. "When do I ever quit while I'm ahead?"
"And we all saw how well that worked out for you in the end," Mordred says sarcastically.
"Same as for you, brother."
"Stop it." Gaheris' voice comes out shrilly, stilling him. He sounds like Gareth in the old days, like Gareth when he was first told that his brother was dead. Agravain seems surprised.
"Does this bother you?"
"Leave him alone," Mordred cuts in.
"Why should I? He's as much a sinner as the rest of us. No Gawain, are you, eh?" He smiles crookedly at Gaheris. "Can't you hear about death?"
"Don't--"
"I never saw you shy away from it, is all."
"This instant, Agravain."
"In fact, as I remember, you were the one who sent us after Lamorack to avenge Mother, when he wasn't guilty of anything except enjoying her--"
Gaheris is halfway up the stairs before Agravain finishes. Behind him he can hear Mordred shouting, voice sharp and harsh, and Agravain raising his back.
"...fucking idiot, can't you..."
"...sorry I'm not as perfect as your other brothers..."
He slams the door to his room and slips into bed, covering himself completely with the blankets and shaking inside. He did. He told them--can't remember, can't remember. His throat tightens. His mother's young lover. Now he remembers the lover. In his ten-year-old's memory, she lay naked in the bed when he cut off her head, and it was because there had been a man hardly older than himself beside her, and they lay together, they--and then Gaheris killed her, and the boy, naked himself, staggered to his feet and ran, leaving footprints of Morgause's blood.
And then Gaheris went to live in the woods, because--he doesn't remember why. The memory doesn't tell him why, because it doesn't tell him why he killed her. A lover was no reason to kill her. He only knows now that he went to the woods, and when his brothers came, he told them that her lover had slain her, and Gawain avenged her. She had never loved him, never loved Gawain, but Gawain took up his sword and killed Sir Lamorack for her sake, and for Gaheris' lie.
He doesn't know how Agravain knows, whether he told them the truth later or whether they read it in the books in this new life. He doesn't know, he doesn't know why, and he can see Lamorack's footprints down the castle stairs, and his own thin, ragged body after the months when he was hidden in the forest, and Gareth's face when he said Morgause was dead.
He lies in bed and tries to hide in his green blankets like in the wild forest, and, like then, it's no refuge.
After a few hours, someone sits on the bed.
"Gaheris?"
Gareth.
"Nn?" he says, too afraid to answer anything else.
Gareth lies down next to him, a long warm body against his own. "I heard Agravain and Mordred yelling."
He doesn't answer.
"I don't care," Gareth says. "I didn't know, but--I love you anyway."
Slipping his hand from under the covers, he seeks out Gareth's and holds it tightly. Gareth laughs a little, half-unhappy and half-bitter, that laugh that isn't quite his own and always stirs Gaheris with strange sadness.
"Thanks."
"Clar says we can all have supper in her room, if you want."
"What are they doing?"
"Well--they made up, I think. You know, as much as--"
"Yeah."
"I think they're eating together in the kitchen right now. They're talking about things."
"I'll eat with you, I guess."
"Okay." A little pause, and then Gareth squeezes his shoulder. "You got married to-day."
"What?"
"You know how I remember things? On days. How they happened. You got married to Lynet to-day."
"Took us awhile."
"Well, you waited, because we decided to wait, too, me and Lyonors. We were going to marry as soon as we got back to Camelot, but Lyonors wanted a dress for getting married in, and she wanted this cloth made of the hairs of the white deer of the Forest--"
Gaheris pokes him through the blankets. "Oh, God, spare me."
"Anyway it took a while," Gareth says primly. "And you wanted to have yours at the same time so people wouldn't notice it as much or make a fuss next to ours, so you waited to. So we're all married to-day, me and Lyonors and you and Lynet."
"Thanks for telling me."
"Sure. Come down when you're ready?"
"I will."
"Okay."
When he does go down, though, he looks into the kitchen first, and watches Agravain and Mordred together. They're talking, as Gareth said, Mordred sitting with his elbows on the table and Agravain leaning back in his chair--he always did, even in the old days, so far back you thought he'd tip--their faces equally wry, though Mordred's is more delicately shaped and Agravain's skin is darker.
"...so we're helping them with their stock portfolios for this quarter," Agravain finishes, something Gaheris comes in during.
"Jesus, that's boring."
"We can't all be--what did you say you were? A lecturer for medical schools."
"Shove it," Mordred says, almost cheerful.
"Anyway, Viv told me you might want a visit, so I came down."
"Did she really?"
"We happen to be close friends."
Mordred snorts. "You know, we met her ourselves, about a year and a half ago."
"All right, stop--"
"Why should I? You never do." Now his voice is laughing. "She told us that she'd just dropped you a hint for coming to see us."
"I've been busy this year."
"She also mentioned a fact that I've long been aware of."
"I don't even want to--"
"You know, that you probably could use the brains God gave you, if he'd actually given you any brains."
"Ever mature."
"We can't all be--what did you say it was? Forty-three."
"You're just jealous because I'm finally older."
"Would you like me to crush an aspirin in your spaghetti? It's supposed to do wonders for arthritis in dogs."
Agravain laughs in his hard, rough way. It always seems to mean that he won't quite forgive being mocked, that he'll somehow hold even the stupidest of insults inside him until he finds some way of paying them back. Even the tailored suit hasn't changed it. Gaheris slips down the last few stairs and into the living room.
