Outing with Mordred

They had arranged to meet one hour before the play started. It was Mordred who had suggested that, which relieved Agravain of having to ask themselves and face possible rejection.

They’d dressed up for the occasion – put on their best black shirt and leather jerkin, slipped on the silver ring inlaid with amethyst they’d found in a street gutter years ago. They traced kohl under their eyes and painted their lips the same dark color, then stared at themselves in the mirror ‘till the swell of satisfaction frayed away to doubt. There were loose threads in the seams of their breeches, and their boots which they’d polished revealed their overuse and old age in every crease. They turned away from the mirror before it was too much.

Mordred was already there when Agravain came out of the boarding house. They looked as radiant as ever, even more so when they offered them that easygoing smile of theirs.

“Been waiting long?”

“Not at all. You look great by the way. You have an air of menacing mystery about yourself.”

The way Agravain’s heart stuttered seemed like a menace only to themselves. At least their voice was steady. “Thanks.” They paused, agonizing over whether to pay the compliment back, and how. “Likewise.” Their eyes scoured frantically over Mordred’s sleekly tailored clothes, their charming smile. “Without the air of menacing mystery.”

Mordred’s smile only widened. “Come on, do you have any idea of where you want to go?”

“I don’t know. You suggested we meet early.”

Not that Agravain minded. Meeting early meant more time with Mordred, more time to talk, to get to know each other, to see that smile turned their way. It also meant the possibility of awkward quiet, and saying the wrong thing.

“We can just wander around the town, maybe we’ll find something interesting,” Mordred said.

Agravain cast their gaze around for that something interesting. They found it quickly, and pointed out the stall to Mordred. “What’s that?”

Mordred’s eyes lit up.

The dragon behind the stall beckoned them forward with the tip of their tail, calling out in a sing-song grave voice. “Come on, come on! Take a look at my wares! We have ancient bugs in amber and the petrified remains of long-dead beasts.”

Agravain picked up one of the amber gemstones to inspect.

“That is a truly ancient one from before human- and dragonkind.”

Agravain narrowed their eyes. “That looks like an ordinary mosquito to me.”

Mordred leaned in to take a look as well, their face close to Agravain’s. They wondered if Mordred could feel the sudden wave of heat radiating off their cheek.

“Similar, yes,” they said, “or it could be one of its ancestors from long before human- and dragonkind.”

Agravain dropped their voice. “So are they swindling us or not?”

Mordred chuckled, their breath hot on Agravain’s cheek. “I don’t know, I’m not an expert on mosquitoes. Those, however,” their gaze slid further down the stall, “seem veritable.”

Agravain followed their line of sight to a row of stone slabs, each embossed with creatures they’d never seen before. They all had a similar shape, a body reminiscent of a ribcage, it’s head vaguely bug-like. They had a spiky air about themselves, all jutting and sharp; at the same time it put Agravain in mind of an insect many-legged, scurrying and crawling. They weren’t sure whether they liked that or not.

“Very… interesting,” Agravain wearily remarked. “How do you know about them?”

“Nimue told me.”

Of course. For a split, agonizing, shameful moment, Agravain wondered why Mordred was out here with them and not Nimue. She was clever and funny, and clearly knew more about these strange creatures of bygone eras.

As they moved away from the stall empty-handed – even though Mordred assured them the stone slabs were genuine – their companion said:

“You know, if you’d like to learn more, I could burrow some books from Nimue and we could go through them together. The cold season’s approaching, might as well find something to do inside by the fire.”

Agravain could just picture it, the two of them huddled on a plush carpet before the hearth, heads bent close together over the open book. Shoulder touching, fingers brushing against each other as they both reached to flip the page…

Agravain crossed their arms and smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Then consider it arranged.”

They walked aimlessly ‘till they arrived to a square where lute music thrummed through the air. Mordred beckoned them to approach the bard, and waited for their song to finish before asking, “How much for a request?”

The bard lazily plucked at the strings. “Depends on how generous you are.”

Mordred dropped a gold coin in their case, then gestured to Agravain. “You choose the song.”

Their mind was wiped clean, whatever tune they’d ever heard or hummed quieted, forgotten. “Nothing comes to mind.”

“No? You said you had that song we danced to at the tavern stuck in your head.”

“Oh, right.” They’d had it stuck in their head for a week now, playing again and again along with the memory of their dance. “It’s Ale for all ailments.”

The bard smiled. “A great choice.”

The song started, cheerful and upbeat, and Agravain tapped their foot in rhythm with it. Mordred had other plans instead. They proffered their hand and Agravain stared at it pointedly.

“Really? Here? There’s people.”

“There were people at the tavern too.”

“Yeah, but it was a tavern. And I had a pint of ale.”

It’s not that Agravain didn’t want to take their hand and spin as carefree as they did a week ago, they just didn’t want to take on the weight of all these curious gazes too.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Mordred said, hand still outstretched. “But if you’re nervous, keep your eyes on me.”

Agravain bit the inside of their cheek and, with a moment’s hesitation, took their hand. They weren’t sure that focusing solely on Mordred would be conductive to not stepping on their toes, but they would try. Their dance companion moved with a confidence that made up for Agravain’s wavering one. They willed themselves to focus on the music, the warmth of Mordred’s fingers, the radiance of their smile. When the song was done, Agravain took off towards a side alley, short of breath, Mordred hot on their heels laughing. Agravain pushed the hair out of their face; the strands fell right back into place.

“People were staring.”

“Doesn’t mean they were judging. Perhaps they were simply admiring what a skilled dancing pair we make.”

Agravain huffed, but they were smiling. “Come on, I think we’d better head to the theater.”