Le Vie de Mordred

by jessewrites

Arthurian Legend: The story Mordred ap Arthur, and the comedy of errors that led to him being marked traitor and coward. Because history depends entirely on the view of who writes it down.

2. Of the Happy Years

Title: Le Vie de Mordred

Author: Jesse

Rating: PG-13

Warning: violence

Disclaimer: not mine, no money made

Summary: The story Mordred ap Arthur, and the comedy of errors that led to him being marked traitor and coward. Because history depends entirely on the view of who writes it down.

Of the Happy Years and Mordred's Place in Camelot

When he and Gawain and their retainers rode into Camelot, there was a small group awaiting them, which probably should not have surprised Mordred. The two of them dismounted, passing their reigns off to the hostlers standing by, and turned to the knight at the welcoming party's head.

"Welcome to Camelot," he greeted politely. "You're Morgause and Lot's sons?"

Mordred and Gawain exchanged glances, deciding whether to correct him.

Before they could, he spoke again. "Gawain and Agravaine, yes? I'm Lancelot."

This, Mordred had to correct. "I'm Mordred," he said quietly. "Morgause's oldest. It's an honour, Sir Lancelot."

Lancelot tilted his head slightly. "I was told Lot's oldest son's name is Gawain."

"I'm Gawain," Gawain said, taking pity on the older knight's confusion. "I am Lot's eldest. Mordred's my half brother."

Lancelot blinked. "Of course, forgive me. Welcome, both of you. The King wishes me to bring you to his presence, if you're willing. Of course, if you'd like to freshen up, I'll take you to the quarters you've been assigned."

Gawain looked at Mordred questioningly.

Honestly, Mordred wanted to put off meeting the King for as long as he could, but he inclined his head. "We're at the King's pleasure, Sir Lancelot. We stayed at an inn last night, so we've no need to go to our rooms."

Lancelot smiled. "Well then, the servants will take your things, and you can follow me."

Mordred and Gawain fell in with Lancelot and followed him. Lancelot pointed things out, and told short anecdotes, helping the two of them get accustomed to the castle. "It's a bit hard to keep track of at first," he explained with a wink.

Mordred and Gawain exchanged private grins. They liked the friendly knight.

Facing the door of what was obviously the throne room, Lancelot looked at the pair of them. "Don't be offended, please," he asked Mordred. "But, given my confusion earlier, I don't want to introduce you wrongly."

Mordred smiled kindly, understanding the knight's dilemma. "Mordred, son of Morgause," he said.

Lancelot nodded firmly, no trace of disgust or pity in his face, only acceptance of fact.

Mordred found he like Lancelot even better for it.

Lancelot pushed the door open and walked in, discreetly gesturing the boys to follow him.

Mordred took in the room at a glance. There were fewer courtiers than he expected. The King and Queen sat enthroned at the head of the room, but the thrones were neither ornate nor gaudy, seemingly designed for comfort and utility. There were chairs scattered about the room and as many hunting dogs as people. It was as far from Lot's court as anything Mordred had imagined.

Arthur was sitting on his throne, Guinevere beside him, keen eyes watching them cross the floor. Mordred was not certain, as those grey eyes pierced through him, that he was not going to be sick.

"May I present Mordred, son of Morgause and Gawain son of Lot," Lancelot was saying, giving both his King and Queen the formal introductions before his stance shifted into a much more informal stance.

Mordred thought he could see confusion in Arthur's eyes. And then shock.

Both Guinevere and Lancelot were shifting uneasily at the King's silence, the Queen nudged him gently. When it became apparent he was still frozen, she rose quickly and crossed to them.

"Welcome," she cried, "Welcome to Camelot!" She kissed Mordred cheek.

Mordred managed to murmur his thanks, wondering bemusedly if she would be so welcoming if she knew the truth.

Then the king stepped in front of him and their eyes caught and held. Mordred could see the baffled shock in Arthur's face and froze. Could he know?

"Son," Arthur whispered.

Mordred jolted. He knew. How could he know?

Distantly, Guinevere and Lancelot were voicing confusion,

"I-" Mordred stammered. He had not expected Arthur to know, to recognise. How could he stay with that knowledge, seeing the disgust in his king's eyes every time he looked at him?

Arthur hugged him tightly. "Son," he whispered.

Mordred went tense, not expecting the embrace. The warmth, the fierceness, the joy in the hug momentarily left him breathless, then he found the words he needed. "Father," Mordred murmured, muffled into Arthur's chest, and relaxed into it. Arthur wanted him as his son.

"Arthur," Lancelot said softly. "Seriously. What?"

Arthur, one arm still wrapped around Mordred's shoulders, turned to look at his wife and closest friend. "You remember when Morgause came to court?" he asked evenly.

"Of course," Lancelot said, something tense in his voice Mordred did not understand. And then Lancelot looked back at Mordred and the pieces fell together. "Eighteen years," he whispered.

Guinevere shook her head. "I don't understand."

Lancelot said softly, "I told you about Morgause." His look was pointed and Guinevere's eyes widened in understanding, mouth in an 'oh'.

Mordred watched, concerned. Was Guinevere going to hate him?

Guinevere, after a moment of surprised shock, came forward and kissed Mordred's cheek again. "It's good to meet my husband's son," she said, squeezing his shoulder warmly.

Mordred almost fainted with relief.

Arthur turned to Gawain, then. "I don't mean to ignore you, Gawain," he said gently. "I'm very glad you're here as well."

"I understand, Sire. It's not every day you meet your son." His gaze on Mordred said pretty clearly, 'Why didn't I know this?'

Mordred ducked his head, apology in his eyes. That was not going to be a fun conversation.

"Dine with us tonight," Arthur invited. "As a family. Let me get to know the young men I'm proud to be related to."

A family. The very idea that he could have a family he belonged in—the Orkneys notwithstanding; he loved his brothers dearly, but Lot would not countenance affection—brought such a lump to his throat so think he could not find the words.

"We'd be honoured, Sire," Gawain answered when it became apparent Mordred's voice still was not working.

"I'm sure you want to rest up. You've had a long journey," Guinevere said.

Gawain nodded because Mordred was busily examining everyone's boots.

"Gawain, Mordred, this is Sir Kay, my steward. Kay, my nephew Gawain and my son Mordred," Arthur said, beckoning another man forward.

Mordred's head jerked up, but he very quickly wiped all expression from his face. That Arthur would introduce him that way, claim him so completely so soon sent a little thrill through him.

"A pleasure, lords," Kay said.

"Do you mind showing them to their rooms? There was a misunderstanding in the letter from my sister. Agravaine hasn't joined us yet; we got Mordred instead."

"A fair trade, My Lord," Kay said easily. "I'll just put Master Mordred in the room prepared for Agravaine, then."

"More than fair trade," Gawain answered with a smirk, instinctively knowing this was something he could get away with here. "Mordred's far more even-tempered than Agravaine."

"Even better." Kay smiled. "If you'll follow me."

"Sir Kay," Gawain asked as they left, Mordred still silent beside him. "You're the King's foster brother."

Kay grinned. "Indeed. You know your family history well."

Gawain grinned in return, quicksilver and lightning, keeping the attention on himself rather than his brother's uncomfortable silence. "Mother never talked about the King, so we compensated by finding out as much about him as we could."

Mordred was more grateful than he could express for Gawain's interference.

Kay laughed. "As boys will, I know. When I was a boy, my father took to ordering me not to do things because it was the only way to get me to do my chores. Took me perhaps a little too long to figure it out. Here you are, side by side. There's a door between your quarters. We thought you'd be more comfortable that way. If you don't like it, it does lock from either side."

"Our thanks," Mordred said quietly; shock was well and good, but he should not be rude.

"A pleasure," Kay said. "I'll leave you to it."

Mordred, rather than go into his own room, followed Gawain into his. "I'm sorry," he said as soon as the door was closed.

"I'm not mad," Gawain said. "Just curious. Why didn't you tell me?"

Mordred sank onto the bed. "I just found out a fortnight before we left. After the feast, when Lot blacked my eye?"

Gawain nodded; he remembered.

"Mother told me that night. I couldn't- I couldn't tell anyone until I had it straight. Well, except Gaheris."

Gawain smiled slightly. Of anyone in the world, Mordred would tell Gaheris, just as their youngest brother told Mordred everything. "And she dumped this on you now?"

Mordred nodded. "I can't figure why. I don't think he knew."

"What tipped you off," Gawain said sardonically. "Him turning speechless at the sight of you?"

Mordred smiled. "Yeah, I guess."

Gawain shook his head. "I'm not mad," he reassured Mordred. "Now go get dressed for dinner. We want to make good impression, don't we?"

Mordred smiled, squeezed his shoulder, and ducked through the adjoining door.

Time passed quickly at Camelot, far more so than at Orkney, and though Mordred felt he had scarcely blinked since his knighting three days after his arrival, in truth it had been nearly a month. A month he had spent mostly in the company of Arthur, Lancelot, and Gawain, though he had gotten to know many of the knights of his father's Round Table. He was particularly fond of Sir Tristan, a knight from Cornwall who was one of the few close to his age. Like Galahad, most of the knights of Mordred's generation were away from court—questing, like Galahad, or in their own kingdoms, like Percival and Lamorak.

His time training with Gawain, Tristan, Bedivere, Kay, and the others was by far the most fun. His time with Arthur was the most instructive and the most meaningful.

His father—and it had not taken long for 'father' to replace 'Arthur' and 'the King' in his mind—surprised him. Mordred had never expected the way the King's eyes darkened with fury when Mordred mentioned, in telling a story of one of his mishaps with Gawain, that Lot had struck him. Arthur had immediately demanded to know how often Lot had beaten him, and why. The second, even more furious, "And your mother allowed this?" stymied him further.

Arthur had immediately seen Mordred's skill with weapons, as he had taken and passed the test put to all young men seeking knighthood in Camelot. At their second meal together, this time just Arthur, Guinevere, and Mordred, Arthur had asked him questions dealing with strategy—he had deemed Mordred above average at this—and leadership. Finding Mordred somewhat lacking in understanding what made a country, a castle, and a people tick, Arthur decided that two days a week, Mordred would accompany him on his duties, and they would discuss what Arthur had done.

"Why?" Mordred had asked.

"Because if anything happens to Galahad on his quest, you will be my heir, and I must know that Camelot is in good hands."

Mordred had been speechless.

Now, three weeks in, Mordred felt he had gained something of a clearer understanding what it meant to be a king, and was more impressed than ever with his father's skill. But one thing confused him.

"I know you can't be blind to it," he said quietly. It was a quiet day, and they were in Arthur's study, Arthur had been working on supplies for the coming winter, Mordred periodically doing sums for his father on a scrap of parchment, but they had both fallen out of work. Arthur had told some stories of his tutelage under Merlin and Mordred was staring out the window.

"Blind to what?" Arthur asked, leaning against the sill next to Mordred.

Mordred nodded down to the gardens below, where Lancelot was sitting on the ground next to the bench Guinevere occupied. "Why turn a blind eye?"

Arthur shifted until he was leaning one shoulder on the wall beside the window, facing Mordred's profile as the younger stared out the window. "We've been learning about the duties of a king," Arthur said.

Mordred nodded, fully prepared to let his father turn his answer into a lesson. He loved learning from Arthur, everything he could teach. "Honour, fairness, care, and respect."

Arthur nodded. "But there's one very important duty we haven't discussed. A duty I've struggled with all my reign."

Mordred frowned, looking out at Lance and Gwen. He glanced at his father out of the corner of his eyes, catching the pointed look in his own direction and it clicked all at once. "An heir!"

Arthur smiled warmly. "Very good, son." He sighed. "At this level, we don't always have the luxury of marrying for love. Some manage it, and more power to them. Most don't. A marriage of convenience is all one can ask. Gwen is one of my dearest friends, a confidant. But there's never been any passion between us, not that way. She wanted away from her father and didn't want a husband who would mistreat her. I needed a Queen everyone could like and I needed an heir. Gwen and I made friends immediately, and though we both knew there'd never be that spark, it was better than the alternative. Fifteen years ago, now," Arthur said reflectively. "And it's apparent to all that we're childless.

"And Lance, Lance has been my brother in arms since we were young. Since I was a boy king on a throne I knew not what to do with. He's carried me when I couldn't carry myself, and had my back when I couldn't watch it. And they love each other. Who am I to deny them that?"

Mordred nodded slowly, looking down at the pair. Gwen was laughing, lit by joy. Lance had a serene smile on his face, eyes, even at the distance, bright with love. "Naming Galahad heir… eased things, didn't it? Since there was no more pressure about her getting pregnant?" Mordred had heard the stories of Lancelot's madness told along with the mutterings about Galahad's begetting. It had not taken long at court for Mordred to realise that the guilt that had driven the other knight mad was from his affair with the queen.

Arthur nodded, a proud smile curling the corners of his mouth. "It did," he agreed. "Though I wish I'd known then what I know now."

Mordred tilted his head in question.

"Galahad's a good knight, but he'll be a poor king," Arthur explained. "My other choice was Gawain, but I'd never met him. I knew Galahad's flaws and hoped that with time I could mute them, but," he trailed off.

"But now you see Gawain would be better?" Mordred asked, confused by the whole issue.

Arthur barked a startled laugh. "No! Gracious, you've no self-esteem at all, have you?" he asked, looking as though he could not decide whether to be worried or amused. "I meant you."

"Me?" Mordred spluttered.

"Yes." Arthur sighed. "Look, Galahad's a good knight. He's chivalrous, skilled, and loyal. But he's no leader, because he's always been alone. He's pious to a fault, and many people find it irritating and self-righteous. And he's a little too in love with his own chastity. He'd never marry. Even for the good of the country. He'd never be able to settle a quarrel, because all he'd do was preach until both sides managed to agree on one thing: to kill him. And the first time an enemy invaded, he'd lose the respect of his knights because he wouldn't be able to lead them into battle."

Mordred nodded. He understood that bit.

"Gawain's equally skilled as a fighter, and equally chivalrous, but he lets his temper get away with him. He'd start a war unnecessarily. He can be too coarse, and would alienate the lord who live on ceremony, which is most of them. He's selfish too, bless him. As a knight it matters little as long as he doesn't let that selfishness interfere with chivalry, and he doesn't. But it makes a poor king. And you know as well as I that he doesn't really have the attention span."

This was true enough. Gawain hated to be trapped indoors all day.

"And Mordred, you're even tempered. You smooth over quarrels without seeming to think on it, with a mix of empathy, understanding, and steel backbone—I suspect it comes from having four younger brothers. The other knights respect you as a warrior, a tactician, and a man. I know from stories Gawain has told that you're more than willing to sacrifice yourself—comfort, time, or what have you—for those under you. And I've seen you come into yourself as a leader these last few lessons. I can think of no one I'd rather succeed me than you, and I'm proud to call myself your father."

Mordred could feel the heat in his face and ducked his head. "I- I don't know what to say," he whispered.

"Say you believe me," Arthur answered, equally soft. "Say you'll accept my praise as your due and forget the false inferiority Lot's drilled into you."

Mordred turned to look into Arthur's eyes, taking in the earnestness, the honesty, the pride and the love, and nodded slowly. If Arthur believed it, maybe it was true.

Between minor crises—famine, threats of war, evil knights kidnapping women, and things of that nature—and feast days, the years seemed to pass in fits and starts. Arthur started sending Mordred as an emissary when things needed settling, knowing his son could handle just about anyone and anything. Outside Camelot, Mordred's reputation as a skilled knight and a good man grew. Inside Camelot, Mordred found his place more and more often to be at Arthur's left hand. Lancelot, of course, was the right.

"Lance is my sword arm," Arthur remarked once some years before, smiling fondly at Mordred, who was then just shy of his twentieth winter. "Which means you, my son, as my other hand, have to do everything else." And Mordred was more than happy to do it. He was happier in Camelot and out on missions for Arthur than he had ever been. Which meant of course something was about to happen to ruin it.

Gawain was back from his latest quest, across the channel this time. And hard on his heels rode three young men Mordred had not seen in years but would never fail to recognise.

"Mordred!" Gaheris shouted, catching him in a fierce hug.

Laughing, Mordred caught his youngest brother to his chest, then held him out at arm's length. He found he had to look up to meet Gaheris eyes. "Gaheris! Dear Lord, look at you!" The youngest of the Orkney clan was eighteen now, broad shouldered and tall like his brothers and father, but his hair was darker than his red-headed brethren, a shining auburn it had not been in his youth. He looked happy and well.

"Look at you," Gaheris countered. "News comes home periodically, and every time you're mentioned, father turns purple and throws the messenger out. We've lost a lot of messengers in the last year."

Gareth shouldered Gaheris. "Come on, let me greet him too!"

Mordred hugged him happily. "Gareth! Welcome! And Agravaine," he called, grinning at the third brother, too pleased to see them to remember just how poorly he and the middle Orkney got along. "Father's going to want to meet you at once! Why didn't you send?"

Gareth laughed. "We did. But we overtook the messenger on the way. He should be in tomorrow or the next day."

"Oh, dear," Mordred said, snickering. "But, Heavens, you'll be here for your knighting?"

"Gareth and I are," Gaheris said, slinging an arm around Mordred's shoulders as they turned into the castle. "But Father knighted Agravaine himself last year. He's just here to swear to the king."

"He'll be glad to meet you. He's wondered a few times in the last few months if you lot would ever come to court. I'll take you there now, give Kay and the servants some time to get your rooms."

"Excellent," Agravaine said. It was the first word he had spoken since arriving, and given the set of his mouth, probably the last for a while.

"Gawain's around here somewhere," Mordred added after a moment of waiting to see if Agravaine had anything else to add. "Probably his rooms. He just got back from the continent yester'eve. Here we are. Just come in. He's not big on ceremony."

"Mordred," Arthur called as they walked in. "Kay says you went to greet the visitors? Oh, hello."

"Father, may I present to you Sir Agravaine of Orkney, and Gareth and Gaheris, sons of Lot of Orkney?"

Arthur rose and stepped down, grinning broadly. "At last, the rest of my nephews! Wonderful to meet you, welcome to Camelot." He clasped each of their arms, above the wrist. "Gwen will be so excited you've finally come."

"An honour, Sire," Gareth said diplomatically when it became clear Agravaine had nothing to say.

"Gareth?" Arthur asked. "And you're Agravaine, which would make you Gaheris?"

They nodded in sync.

Mordred grinned behind his hand, remembering his own first meeting with the king.

Just then, the doors swung open again to admit Kay and Gawain. Gawain lit up to see his brothers and hurried over. "Afternoon, Sire," he greeted Arthur, then turned at Arthur's nod to greet his brothers, hugging them all fiercely and all but jumping in his excitement.

Kay touched Mordred's elbow. "Their rooms are prepared, in the south wing, the floor below you. Gareth and Gaheris are the suite directly below you and Sir Gawain. Sir Agravaine has been put three doors down, between Meliant and Dagonet."

Mordred nodded, answering in the same low tone, 'Thanks, Kay."

Kay nodded and slipped out again, leaving the happy reunion as it was. Mordred, watching how Agravaine held himself aloof, could not help the churn of worry in his gut that something was about to happen.