[closed/complete] Characters: Iseult the Fair (iseultthefair) & Mordred (traitorously) Date/Time: Backdated to the dawn of Zurvan Location: Their home Rating: PG Warnings: None Summary: Iseult and Mordred get to know each other a little more
Iseult, sometimes called the Fair, was one of Ilium's beauties. She knew this as certainly as she knew that the seas of Ilium were blue and that her brother was the most constant man she knew. To be married to Mordred was not a hardship, though it was expected of her. She was able to do her duty, she was sure of it, and though she was no virgin on their wedding night, it was a known fact that horse-riding often took care of certain anatomical constraints. In other words, she thought she may have gotten away with it.
A few mornings after their wedding, and no closer to knowing her husband beyond a ceremony and a wedding night, she made her way to his chambers where she was informed that he was taking breakfast. She knocked on the door and waited to be announced before she glided in, dressed in a beautiful blue gown but barefoot.
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Mordred, while nowhere near as attractive or noteworthy as his bride, was nothing to sneer at himself. He was aware of his looks mostly due to comments received from other soldiers who felt the need to rub in just how pretty he looked. It seemed fitting on some level then, that he'd end up married to a woman known as the Fair, although he'd hoped that he'd be lucky enough to discover there was more to her than just her looks. If he'd somehow ended up saddled with a gorgeous idiot then his plans for an eventual move to politics would be greatly compromised, however he would find some way to work with it much like he did everything else.
Their wedding had been brief but sufficient, their wedding night satisfactory by his standards. Her lacking virginity hadn't been of concern to him, though her blushing bride routine was pitch-perfect and most likely would have fooled any other man. He was pondering ways to get to know her better when he heard her knock, and standing as she was announced awaited her arrival with a welcoming - albeit mildly quizzical - smile on his face.
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Iseult hoped her smile was warm. She meant it to be. Her eyes flickered to the ground briefly before she looked up and looked him directly in the face. This stranger, her husband. There was something very calm and collected about her, almost reserved, but the smile balanced out any possible slide into solemnity.
She inclined her head, gracefully. "My lord husband," she said (and those words sounded so strange to her ears). "I was hoping - if it is not an inconvenience - that I might join you for breakfast."
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Mordred drank in the sight of her, keeping his features mostly impassive. He very nearly smirked at the almost deferential way she looked down before meeting his eyes, but instead waited for her to speak. Her poise was impressive, as was the calmness she exuded, however he suspected that she was here out of obligation and not a desire to actually act the parts they'd been cast in.
When she spoke, calling him her lord (of all the silly things; was that truly who he was now?), he felt one eyebrow wing upwards expressively. "As my wife, please do know that while I appreciate the formality you have no need to be so formal in our house," he started, wanting to set her more at ease. "It's no inconvenience at all, the meal hasn't been served yet and I'd welcome your company."
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Iseult let out a breath she had been unaware of holding and walked over to him. She was so uncertain about this man but his manners were impeccable and he had been as gentle as one might have hoped. Not blind to his other attributes, Iseult's smile grew. She stepped over to him, carefully treading on the wooden floorboards.
Standing on tiptoes and gently clasping his upper arm, she reached up to kiss his cheek. "I will do my best to be less formal." And now, honesty. "This is so strange for me. I've never slept anywhere but under my brother's roof before."
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Mordred noticed her sudden rush of breath and wondered if perhaps she was nervous in his presence. If that was the case he'd have to find a way to fix that, since he wouldn't want to give any of his higher-ups the impression that his own wife found him fearsome. As she walked over, Mordred's lips curved up into a smile, the sight of her bare feet amusing him.
Keeping himself still as she kissed his cheek, he nodded slightly. "I'd like to think in time we'll be more familiar with each other, so long as we both wish it." He gestured for her to sit, taking in her words. "I do hope the thought of sharing living quarters with me isn't such a bad thing that you long to be back at your brother's already."
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She sat down, crossing her legs daintily at the ankles, and her skirts rode up just enough to expose a little of the skin of her calf. Coiling her long hair around her fingers, she bit her lip. "No, no. It's not that. It's just that - it has been me and Uriel for as long as I can remember. It is strange not to be with him."
Resting her chin on her hand, Iseult looked at Mordred with a rather open expression. "Mordred." It was a pleasing name.
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He waited for her to be seated before resuming his own chair, watching her to see what else he could figure out about his wife. It was such a peculiar thing to him, to be married, but he resolved to do his best with the hand he'd been dealt. "I feel similar towards my siblings. There's no one in the world I trust more than Daphne or Troilus, but we find ways to keep in touch."
Making himself as comfortable as he could under the circumstances, Mordred met Iseult's gaze. "Yes, Iseult?" He very nearly said 'yes, darling?' but caught himself.
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That was good. That was so good to hear. Oh, she hadn't heard that her husband was unkind or a monster or anything of the sort but a young bride like Iseult must always be a little uncertain. That he had siblings for whom he cared was a relief. Now her smile reached her eyes.
She blushed and then laughed softly. "I am sorry. I was just trying it out. Your name, I mean. I like it." She lifted her chin and there was something teasing in her tone (the real Iseult come out to play). "I think I shall like being married to Mordred."
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Seeing her smile finally reach her eyes, the only real sign that it was genuine and not simply on her face out of a need to be polite, set Mordred more at ease. He was at a distinct disadvantage, only knowing that his wife was the sister of the diplomat but never hearing anything of her character, so he was learning as they blundered along.
Her blush made her face seem all the more lovely, but it would take more than a pleasing countenance for Mordred to be swayed. "There's nothing to apologize for, it wouldn't do if you felt uncomfortable saying my name," he drawled, his tone borderline seductive. "If it pleases you to be married to me then it would do my heart glad."
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Iseult ducked her head, her hair falling forward, hiding the genuine amusement on her face. That she hadn't yet touched her breakfast didn't concern her. She tapped her fingers on the fine tablecloth. That his voice was so smoothly attractive did concern her, somewhat. Iseult wasn't sure she was quite ready to fall in love with the man but she couldn't deny that he was agreeable.
She lifted her hand to touch his cheek, very gently. "I am learning," she said. It was as close to a plea to be patient that she could manage. "I'm going to need you to help me."
It crossed her mind that, sometime, this might be enough. Perhaps when they had children, she might stop thinking of her first lover (who she currently missed dreadfully). She had promised her brother that she would make him proud, though, and if being a good wife to a good man was what it took, she could hardly complain.
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Mordred allowed himself a moment to be as enchanted by her beauty as he knew a normal new groom would be, fingers itching to reach out and gently swoop the hair obscuring her face behind her ear. Perhaps he'd even let his hand linger on her face, brush those lips with his thumb before claiming what was by rights now his. Mordred considered all that, but did nothing of the sort.
He turned his face into her touch, eyes going soft as he did so. "We're both learning," he corrected, his voice low but kind. "I'll need your help just as much." He was, and considered himself to always have been, a soldier, and was doing his best to not be rough.
It was never something that'd he'd imagined for himself, attempting to be a husband. The idea of children bearing his likeness had crossed his mind at some point, but to think those idle daydreams of being a family man of sorts could come true. He wondered what Iseult would be like as a mother, or what he'd be like as a father, but knew first they'd need to be more comfortable around one another.
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Iseult nodded at that and she felt as though more of a weight had been lifted from her shoulders; to know that she was not the only novice at this as quite the relief. She knew that this marriage was not one of high political value, though it had been a shrewd match.
She thought, just for a moment, and then she stood up, lifting her skirts just enough that when she sat on her husband's knee, they didn't get too tangled up. Wrapping both arms around his neck, she scrutinised his face. She would soon know it as well as her own, she decided, and there was no harm in starting the study now.
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Mordred was surprised by her sudden desire to sit on his knee, but once he realized that was her intention he did his best to acquiesce to her whim. Chuckling at the serious look on her face as she appeared to be attempting to memorize his face, he looped his arms loosely around her waist and let her explore to her hearts content.
He wanted to ask her what she was doing, but felt that would be improper, and instead gave voice to another question that he felt more might yield a more worthwhile answer. "If you and I were meeting for the first time, and not under these circumstances, what would you feel I should know about you, Iseult the woman?"
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She tilted her head back, exposing the long line of her throat as she looked up at the ceiling. "Iseult the woman - hm." He fingers played idly in the hair at the back of his head as she thought.
"You know of my attachment to my brother - what else?" She looked down again so she could look him in the eyes and not think of anything untoward. "As you see, I like to walk around barefoot. If I always could, I'd be very happy. I once walked barefoot out in the snow. It was foolish of me but I was only nine. I. Well, I like to read. Books are fine companions when one's human companions work so much."
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He let a slight smirk grace his lips at her awareness of how to best present herself became evident, his eyes drawn to the paleness of her skin, his eyes closing a little from the pleasure he derived as her fingers ran through his hair.
"Iseult, you sound like a whimsical and fascinating woman. Tell me more of the types of books you enjoy reading, if you don't mind," he asked, doing his best to make it seem more like a suggestion than a command. Her love of reading was something they had in common, giving him hope that she was far more shrewd that she appeared. If that be the case, once he was assured that she would be as §
"Whimsical." Iseult pursed her lips in a futile attempt to keep from smiling. "I think I like that," she said, relenting a little. One of her hands slid down to his shoulder; well-muscled and strong. She had always been told, growing up, that she should marry a strong man. One who could look after her. Iseult didn't like to think that she was as weak as all that but it was no bad thing.
"I read anything," she said. "Histories, politics and the most dreadful romances ever put to paper." Her eyes sparkled and she impulsively leaned in and brushed her lips to his.
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Having a varied vocabulary was something that Mordred sometimes got mocked about among his fellow soldiers, but seeing Iseult's reaction made it all worth it. "It was meant as a compliment, which I shall warn you I'm not prone to handing out often." He followed the path of her delicate hand with his eyes as it traveled along his arm, wishing he could see what she was thinking.
"I do the same," he confessed. "Minus the romances you spoke of." The kiss was unexpected, although his reaction was immediate. Bringing one hand up to cup the back of her head, he captured her lips before she could back away to give her a more thorough taste.
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"Then I shall treasure it," she murmured, still toying with his hair with one hand as her other hand continued its slide down his arm to catch a gentle hold of his hand.
"Are you sure you don't read romances? They're really quite fun." She was cut off by his kiss and she was a little surprised but in no way upset. When she needed to draw breath, she pulled back and touched his lips lightly. "Mysteries, too," she said, faintly. "They're fun-"
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"It pleases me to know my words hold such weight with you," he returned smoothly, enjoying her ministrations and the calming effect they were having on his turbulent mind.
"I'm sure they are, I'll have to see if they catch my fancy," he murmured. He allowed her to determine just how long their kiss went on for, not offering resistance when she chose to pull away. "Mysteries sound like something I'd enjoy, if you have any you could let me borrow I would appreciate it."
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Iseult wriggled her toes. This was an unforeseen development; she had not expected to marry a man who might share her interests or who, at the very least, expressed interest in them.
"I shall select some of my favourites, then," she declared, "and you may give me your opinion of my taste when you've read them." Iseult was rather comforted now. Her husband did not seem to dislike her, as she had heard husbands sometimes did. He seemed inclined to speak with her; to hold actual conversation. Yes, she was very hopeful indeed.
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Mordred glanced down at those toes, amusement tinging his expression. He waited for some sign that his wife didn't believe his interest in her preferred book type, or of any discomfort on her part, and when he found none he relaxed imperceptibly.
"I'll be sure to give them a try, for you," he agreed, "if only because I wouldn't want you to think my word carries no weight." Mordred rarely gave his word on anything, if only because he felt it was the truest bond he could afford to offer up, however they were married and he wanted their marriage to be more than just some farce.
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"Your word is very weighty indeed," she replied, solemnly. "I could not have married a frivolous man, I don't think." Her fingers tightened in his hair and she drew him close for another soft kiss.
"I hope we'll be happy," Iseult said, and what she really meant was that she hoped she would make Mordred happy and now was not the time to think about Menelaus (but he was married, too, and that was the way of the world).
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"I hope it's not so weighty as to cause you worry," he responded softly, his voice coming out more gruffly than he intended. "I've never been one for frivolity, but that's not to say I can't enjoy myself." Like now, as he allowed her to kiss him once again. This was enjoyable.
"So long as we both do what we can to achieve that goal, then there's no reason why we shouldn't," Mordred said, unaware of what was going through her head. He had made a commitment, and wasn't one to go back on such things. He may need to re-prioritize a few loose threads, but those could be dealt with later.
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Iseult nodded again before finally sliding off her husband's lap, landing gracefully on her feet. She was quite determined. This marriage was not the sort on which kingdoms depended but it was still an important match. Iseult was hopeful that she would be one of the fortunate ones; she already held her husband in some regard so there was a basis for contentment here.
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I'll ensure you find the time to enjoy yourself, Mordred," she said.
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Mordred allowed himself to indulge in a brief pout when she left his lap, only letting it leave his face when he was certain she saw it. He could see many benefits to their match now that he had a better idea of who she was and what he was dealing with, but she didn't need to know that. Mordred felt it best to keep his initial judgments to himself so as not to taint their fragile relationship.
He lightly caught her hand in his, smiling. "And I'll see to it you're given time to do the same, Iseult."