[closed/complete] Characters: Mordred [traitorously] & Famine [appetentia] & Galahad [psykhe] Date/Time: Beginning of April during even #018 Location: The maze Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Some swearing, violence, Famine & Mordred Summary: Galahad stumbles into a knight and his horseman.
There was something strange about a Horseman cuddling. They didn't cuddle. But having needed warmth in his sleep, he'd shifted closer to Mordred to steal heat and an arm, deciding that being stubborn wasn't in his best interests. After several hours had ticked by, complete with strange dreams, he dislodged himself in favor of starting up a fire for no other reason but to warm himself up.
Eventually, he'd stick something to eat in there. But for the time being, Famine was content to watch the flames flicker across his vision.
Much as he was sleeping, the knight was still conscious of his surroundings. Therefore, he was aware when Famine had shifted closer, though he hadn't said anything he also hadn't pulled away when the Horseman took advantage of his warmth. His own dreams were just odd enough that the nearness of another was comforting on some level. It made the visions of his death he kept experiencing seem less realistic.
Unwilling to abandon the idea of sleeping entirely, Mordred stayed lying down for a few moments as Famine got the fire going. He'd sit up soon enough, but for now he was content to pretend to rest.
Galahad had a steady walk, it was cautious but not hiding - he was not about to spring on someone without warning, nor was he going to let anyone sneak up on him uninvited. He caught sight of smoke, curling upwards and followed that path along the maze. It didn't take him long to find Mordred and Famine's small camp site. He blinked a little, watching his mortal cousin across the fire.
God, Famine was frightening - the way the flickering light highlighted the cheekbones, the lips, those skinny arms. There was something unnatural, unearthly and dangerous about him (even if Galahad thought he could take him just fine in a hand to hand, he didn't want to test it).
The Horseman wasn't so caught up in his surveillance of the fire that he wouldn't notice movement. His gaze flickered over to where his cousin was standing, but not a word was spoken; he was content to watch him like a curious bird who hadn't been threatened enough to fly over and beat him with his wings just yet.
A glance over at Mordred was spared before he uttered words.
"Is someone lost?"
The knight cracked open his eyes when he felt the change in the air. Someone was nearby, but he didn't want to give the impression he was fully awake until he knew if they were friend or foe. As it was, his hand closed around the knife in his pocket, just in case. It was only when Famine spoke that he chose to take a look at who was there.
His eyes widened imperceptibly at the sight of Galahad, and he quickly sat up.
"Galahad. Good to see you relatively safe."
"We're in a maze." Galahad replied flatly, trying not to let his eternal distrust of his cousin be an issue (it was one), "Everyone is sort of lost." He shifted from one foot to the other, but didn't recognize Mordred until he sat up. The presence of him caused the tense line along Galahad's shoulders to fade a little, "Mordred." he dipped his head and met his eyes trying to convey questions. Mostly a little doubtful of how safe he was with someone like Famine.
He pressed his lips together. "Likewise. I did not mean to intrude."
"What's to intrude on? The more the merrier," the Horseman shot back without little feeling, pushing up from the log he was perched on. His gaze traveled from the face of one knight to another. The last time he'd been in the presence of more than one knight was during his rescue from Mordred's basement. Not wanting to relive that experience, Famine leaned over to adjust a branch sticking out of the fire.
"If you two are going to hug, I suggest you get on with it, because I'm not joining in."
A single eyebrow shot into the air as Mordred stood, lightly ruffling the hair at the back of his neck. "You weren't intruding, I wasn't sleeping," the knight answered honestly, vaguely aware that he couldn't remember the last time he slept through the night. Moving closer to Famine, he offered Galahad a cheeky smirk, rubbing his chin as he spoke.
"Did you want a hug, Galahad? I'd be happy to oblige."
For a moment Galahad looked puzzled, did he want a hug? Whatever would a hug accomplish here? Seriously. Then again, maybe it was a joke. Probably, maybe, perhaps? He gave a quick shake of his head. "No offence, I'm not the hugging type." Not in front of Famine anyway who would never let him live it down. "You should get some rest." A swift conversation topic change, "I'll keep an eye out while you do that."
Sometimes, Galahad knew Famine far too well. Maybe it made him predictable, but the reactions he got out of the knight were priceless. He'd been trying all of his life to press all the wrong buttons, hoping to draw out some over the top reaction. To date he hadn't succeeded, but one day he would. Inevitably. Galahad couldn't keep that stick up his ass forever.
"And who better to keep watch over us than a fellow knight?" There was sarcasm in there, if either could find it. "I'm not tired. You can go back to not sleeping, Mordred."
Sighing, Mordred glanced from Galahad to Famine and back to his fellow knight again. Dropping the air of smugness that seemed to surround him when he had his walls up properly, he found a rock to sit on as he gestured for the perfect one to join them. "I don't think you understand, Galahad. I haven't been able to get a bloody proper nights' sleep in the longest time. I think better when I'm on edge anyway."
Admitting that first part had been far less difficult than he thought it would be, but he assumed that was because these were not his family members. Oh, Galahad would probably be concerned, but that could be brushed aside easily.
Galahad hated being depicted as perfect by Mordred because he believed that made the other knight hold him at arms length. Predictably he looked appropriately concerned at Mordred's words and moved to sit by the other. He tossed Famine a wary look before feeling comfortable enough with placing a hand on Mordred's shoulder. It wasn't that he worried about Famine thinking anything of him, but he was not keen on showing any chinks in his armor for the Horseman to exploit. He cared about Mordred, he didn't want it used against him.
Yes, he certainly had some issues with being related to an apocalyptic horseman. "No, you're exhausted, makes decision making a lot trickier." He lowered his voice, fond, "I'm concerned, why is it that you don't sleep?"
Mordred would never stop thinking of Galahad as what he had once been, no matter how much the younger knight proved otherwise. The move to sit next to him was not unexpected, though if Galahad was expecting answers he would end up disappointed. He was lucky that Mordred had revealed anything at all. The presence of Famine didn't bother the knight as much as it did his pantheon-mate, but then again their relationships with said horseman were vastly different. That being said, he had reason to feel Famine wouldn't do anything to cause a rift between them.
Dragging one hand through his hair in an effort to achieve some semblance of neatness, he smirked. "Are you calling me a liar, Galahad?" The dance of deflection begins. "How can one sleep when we're constantly being poked at?"
Galahad tilted his face slightly to shield the small smile he was offering Mordred from Famine's intrusion or commentary. "Of course not." There was his hand coming to rest on his knee, fingers tapping against the bone in order to keep them occupied - it helped to keep his hands busy. "And your hair has seen better days." Ever since his brief sort-of-not-quite reconciliation with Percival, Galahad had felt a lot happier. As if some of the tight rings of duty that bound him had come slightly undone. In these moments now it was clear, the less tight smile, the almost joke.
"True, but still." He straightened and put in a small space between them to try and encourage Mordred to elaborate, but unsure whether it would happen or not.
Mordred noticed the smile and the almost conspiratorial way Galahad attempted to hide it, and felt his own lips relax into a grin. "I would think by now you'd know I rarely joke," he drawled out, accent thicker than usual. "My hair is glorious, you jealous wanker!" He was indignant over the slight against his appearance, for a moment wondering what his wife would say in his defence - no, he wasn't married, not anymore. A darkness came over his face at that recollection.
"But nothing, I'm sick of this, of all of this!" He practically exploded, an aura of barely suppressed rage coming from him in waves. "Our lives are not just some joke or game, and even if it were I'm no longer interested in playing."
Galahad was silent, except he had gone very tense when Mordred exploded, it wasn't that he was afraid or even judging (...okay, that was a lie, Galahad judged everyone- himself included- at every twist and turn). There were no words that he could say that would fix things, and it seemed that Mordred, of all people, deserved more than Hallmark card replies of encouragement. The white knight rose to his feet, moving to place a firm, placating hand on the other's shoulder.
He wasn't about to quote from the Bible, about trials and tribulations. Such things would not comfort the Black knight but probably enrage him further, instead Galahad let out a breath of air he had been unconsciously holding. "I'm sorry."
"Is anyone interested in playing?" Famine's voice interrupted from where he stood picking at his nails with the knife he kept on him at all times. "You can scream and stomp your feet, but it won't change anything. You play or you die." Nobody ever said that he was an expert at comforting.
But it didn't mean the subject didn't bother him. Being forced to play these games against their will, and if you didn't play along, Khaos and her minions would find some way to make you pay. It was a neverending cycle. He tucked the knife back into his jeans.
"If you're going to loom over us while we sleep, you might as well start now." The Horseman made his way over to where he and Mordred had made up their makeshift beds, ignoring the very touching scene he passed by.
Staring at Galahad even as Famine spoke, Mordred couldn't bring himself to say what was on the tip of his tongue. Swallowing his pride long enough to simply nod at the other knight and murmur a quiet 'thank you', he chose not to remove Galahad's hand at this time.
"I suppose we should be thankful death isn't permanent in this life then, shall we? Khaos and her minions certainly seem to think that's a lark." He didn't want to talk about death, however, and instead gestured to where they'd been.sleeping.
"I'm awake now, I'll take watch," he said, glancing at the younger men. "You're both welcome to sleep while you can, or not. It's none of my concern." These days, his only concern was making it through the days.
Galahad's eyes flicked to Famine for a brief moment, well sleep or no sleep, he was not going to lay near Famine. He didn't trust his cousin, even without the fact he was a Horseman. For all he knew, he'd molest him in his sleep. Instead he turned back to Mordred. "I'll sit with you a while." Galahad replied softly and moved to sit down once more.
"As long as we keep being reborn, death isn't permanent at all." And that was all Galahad really pondered on the subject, he wasn't interested in Khaos. He was interested in the Grail.
Old habits die hard.
The only person in the vicinity that Famine trusted even a little bit was Mordred. They'd been friends -- however loosely he used the term -- for over a year, at times more than that, and over that time their relationship, or whatever one would call it, had accumulated a mutual trust. After all, hadn't Mordred trusted him to end his life once?
"You ladies keep on talking." He deposited himself back on the ground, curling one arm underneath his head. "But if you're too loud and you wake me up, I'm sticking my knife in you."