Eyes still closed, basking in the warmth through his wet under britches, Gwaine responds with a shrug. "Neither did I. Until today."
He lets only a moment pass in silence. Gwaine never was one for keeping still. Especially not when there is fun to be had. "We wouldn't let you drown." Here Gwaine opens an eye and turns tho his friend. "Probably."
Unsure what exactly he wants to say in response to that, Mordred just looks at Gwaine - surprise, incredulity, and ultimate yes, actually, I probably should have known mixing in his expression. Finally he laughs and shakes his head.
"Probably?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows and keeping himself smiling. Drowning is not something he wants to think about. Humour keeps him on the surface of it, where it's safe. "I suppose I'm not the first new knight you've made such a promise."
"You could ask the last one," Gwaine keeps his tone casual, as if every bit of nonsense is absolute truth. "He's been at the bottom for a few years." Any way to stir a reaction out of anyone is good in his book. Mordred is twice as desirable. He looks too serious all the time. Gwaine opens an eye to see what that might have caused, smirk sprouting just as quickly.
That does, finally, draw laughter from the younger knight. A quiet sort of laugh for a quiet sort of person, but present and almost alarmingly genuine. Just like Mordred - he seems almost not to know the meaning of duplicity. Every reaction comes directly from the heart.
How strange that such a person could hold such secrets as he. Perhaps it's true, then, that the most innocuous vessel is best to hide something in. Certainly nobody seems interested in peering too far inside, in doubting his genuity - nobody but Emrys, at least.
"Did you have him participate in the ancient tradition of melding the saddle first, too?"
"Of course." As plain as he might be speaking, it's difficult to take him seriously with such a handsome smirk across his lips. "Every knight has to." Hands now on his bare stomach, he's now got both eyes on Mordred. Gwaine never doubts unless he's given good reason to. Doubts only lead to more cages, more safety. He's never been known for either. But something, call it intuition, tells him there's something else to Mordred than being a good knight. It's the same sort of feeling he gets around Merlin. Simple, but so much at the same time. What that means? He'll think about when he's bored on patrol.
Mordred laughs again at the persistence. His own gullibility seems laughable now - how he'd listened with rapt attention to the other knights' explanation of the ancient tradition, how he'd considered the difficulty involved and climbed laboriously into the saddle... backwards. How he'd been so proud of himself managing to stay upright, and so confused when Arthur caught on and added his own stipulation about inside-out britches. The absurdity of that and the knights' laughter had made it obvious enough that he'd been had. Getting down to climb up the right way had been admitting that he understood, and they'd laughed at him then, too.
The embarrassment had prickled with a bitter aftertaste of humiliation at the time. He'd wondered if perhaps they did not consider him one of them after all.
All it takes is Gwaine to remind him of the folly in that thought. Funny, boisterous Gwaine, who can hardly have a spiteful bone in his body.
"Ah. Of course." Mordred concedes to the joke with a playfully regal wave of his hand, and looks out again at the water. Percival easily lofts two small children atop his shoulders, while Elyan barely manages the squirming of one. Leon, of course, is not present - it takes more than a little sunshine to drag the king's right hand from his duties. "Did I last long? Compared to the others, I mean."
Gwaine feigns some thought (no, not like always, thank you your highness) as he goes back to pretending like he could nap at any moment. The sun is a little too bright to stay awake forever. He can't be blamed. "You were the second worst. Don't think Percival could even climb up in the saddle." More ribbing, but it's all in good fun. Mordred's got half the knights telling him every day how quickly he's learning.
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He lets only a moment pass in silence. Gwaine never was one for keeping still. Especially not when there is fun to be had. "We wouldn't let you drown." Here Gwaine opens an eye and turns tho his friend. "Probably."
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"Probably?" he asks, lifting his eyebrows and keeping himself smiling. Drowning is not something he wants to think about. Humour keeps him on the surface of it, where it's safe. "I suppose I'm not the first new knight you've made such a promise."
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How strange that such a person could hold such secrets as he. Perhaps it's true, then, that the most innocuous vessel is best to hide something in. Certainly nobody seems interested in peering too far inside, in doubting his genuity - nobody but Emrys, at least.
"Did you have him participate in the ancient tradition of melding the saddle first, too?"
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The embarrassment had prickled with a bitter aftertaste of humiliation at the time. He'd wondered if perhaps they did not consider him one of them after all.
All it takes is Gwaine to remind him of the folly in that thought. Funny, boisterous Gwaine, who can hardly have a spiteful bone in his body.
"Ah. Of course." Mordred concedes to the joke with a playfully regal wave of his hand, and looks out again at the water. Percival easily lofts two small children atop his shoulders, while Elyan barely manages the squirming of one. Leon, of course, is not present - it takes more than a little sunshine to drag the king's right hand from his duties. "Did I last long? Compared to the others, I mean."
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