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herbert-best · 4 months ago

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What Agravaine and Dinadan have going on in Book 10 Chapter 25 of Malory is unparalleled— (the world's longest post oh my GOD it didn't look so long while I was writing it)

First off, consider that they are both: known for their witty rudeness, their poeticism and cutting jokes and quick tongues ¹, their perceived unknightly values ², their knowledge of the private business of their fellows (to the point of spying on them in secret) ³, and their conscious use of rumor and reputation to influence how others are seen⁴— only, Agravaine is censured for it, and Dinadan is universally beloved at court, except by Agravaine himself ⁵. The heel-turn that happens in Malory with Agravaine & Mordred being suddenly villains happens in one chapter while they’re interacting with Dinadan specifically. It highlights the extent to which your reputation— how the court perceives you— shapes reality for a knight. A knight is only as good as his reputation. The way people speak of a knight is the only reality about that knight… whether or not it’s true. The series of events here is wild imho. Subtler readings of Malory seem few and far between but listen.

The frame of context here needs to start a couple of chapters before, in Chapter 11— Dinadan is traveling with King Mark (reluctantly).

“Right as they stood thus talking together they saw come riding to them over a plain six knights of the court of King Arthur, well armed at all points. And there by their shields Sir Dinadan knew them well. The first was the good knight Sir Uwaine, the son of King Uriens, the second was the noble knight Sir Brandiles, the third was Ozana le Cure Hardy, the fourth was Uwaine les Aventurous, the fifth was Sir Agravaine, the sixth Sir Mordred, brother to Sir Gawaine. When Sir Dinadan had seen these six knights he thought in himself he would bring King Mark by some wile to joust with one of them.”

He pretends they’re enemies and charges toward them, lance out, so Mark will panic and flee, and then—

“So when Sir Dinadan saw King Mark was gone, he set the spear out of the rest, and threw his shield upon his back, and came, riding to the fellowship of the Table Round. And anon Sir Uwaine knew Sir Dinadan, and welcomed him, and so did all his fellowship.”

Absolutely no beef with Agravaine and Mordred here. In fact, as we roll into Chapter 12:

“Will ye do well? said Sir Dinadan: I have told the Cornish knight that here is Sir Launcelot, and the Cornish knight asked me what shield he bare. Truly, I told him that he bare the same shield that Sir Mordred beareth. Will ye do well? said Sir Mordred; I am hurt and may not well bear my shield nor harness, and therefore put my shield and my harness upon Sir Dagonet, and let him set upon the Cornish knight. That shall be done, said Sir Dagonet, by my faith. Then anon was Dagonet armed him in Mordred’s harness and his shield, and he was set on a great horse, and a spear in his hand. Now, said Dagonet, shew me the knight, and I trow I shall bear him down.”

(Mordred is half-dead for like 70% of Arthuriana, poor kid) So they’re friends! More or less, anyway. At the least, they have overlapping friend groups, and, knowing who his options are, Mordred is specifically the one Dinadan chooses to bring into the prank— he didn’t know Dagonet was around, and though he might have known Mordred was too injured to do it himself, the prank still relied on Mordred’s willingness to give up his arms to someone else for the express purpose of scaring King Mark shitless.

But by Chapter 25, though— their next appearance on the page— Dinadan wants nothing to do with them. This is, again, the wrestling heel turn wherein Agravaine and Mordred get the minor-key leitmotif etc, etc. They’re theoretically portrayed negatively here and hereafter, where before they were mostly… doing things like pranking King Mark. There’s a reason in the intervening chapters, but we’ll get to that. Here’s how the chapter opens:

“Now leave we of Sir Lamorak, and speak of Sir Gawaine's brethren, and specially of Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred. As they rode on their adventures they met with a knight fleeing, sore wounded; and they asked him what tidings. Fair knights, said he, here cometh a knight after me that will slay me. With that came Sir Dinadan riding to them by adventure, but he would promise them no help. But Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred promised him to rescue him.”

Now there’s an inauspicious start, if you want to say Agravaine and Mordred suck— a stranger, badly wounded, fleeing from someone who wants him dead, and Dinadan says it’s none of his business. The honorable, knightly task of protecting a wounded man asking for aid from a murderous pursuer is taken up by Agravaine and Mordred. Unfortunately for them, this is one of those Breuse Saunce Pité stories where he rides across the scene for no reason except to beat the ever-loving hell out of whatever knight of midrange skill happens to be center stage at the time, for no reason beyond devoted and passionate rat bastardry (Thomas Malory, a knight during the War of the Roses: “don’t you just hate it when that one guy shows up to just make everything suck in your entire province as much as possible with no higher motivation other than YORKISTS GO TO HELL? I know I do! Except when I am that guy, of course!” Thanks Tom.). So he yells his own name whilst obliterating Agravaine and Mordred with utterly unnecessary cruelty, to make sure they know who did it (gee, thanks).

Now, we don’t yet have any cause to think Dinadan and Agravaine & Mordred have had a major falling out— Dinadan has been previously established to not fight when the moon isn’t in the right lunar mansion to make him feel like it today, etc, and he’s abandoned people to handle things for him before without it stemming from ill will, but it does seem to take quite a bit to get him to concede to help— it seems like more than would usually be the case—

“And yet he rode over Agravaine five or six times. When Dinadan saw this, he must needs joust with him for shame.”

Agravaine is on the ground, being trampled over five or six times by a loudly gloating Breuse Saunce Pité, before Dinadan determines it will, in fact, reflect badly on him if he doesn’t do SOMETHING. He unseats Breuse successfully (“with pure strength” okay go off Dinadan. You could’ve lead with that tho.), who then grabs his horse again and skips town without pursuit. Breuse, as he leaves, is described as “a great destroyer of all good knights.” Paragraph end.

Now we get into the meat of this episode, starting with the immediate following sentence.

“Then rode Sir Dinadan unto Sir Mordred and unto Sir Agravaine. Sir knight, said they all, well have ye done, and well have ye revenged us, wherefore we pray you tell us your name. Fair sirs, ye ought to know my name, the which is called Sir Dinadan. When they understood that it was Dinadan they were more wroth than they were before, for they hated him out of measure because of Sir Lamorak. For Dinadan had such a custom that he loved all good knights that were valiant, and he hated all those that were destroyers of good knights. And there were none that hated Dinadan but those that ever were called murderers.”

At a glance, it scans as good sense. But then— why is it that Dinadan’s feelings about them aren’t mentioned, just theirs about him? It seems surprising that they hate him more than he hates them— and Breuse was JUST identified as meeting the precise description of what Dinadan hates, but Dinadan didn’t seem overenthused to act against him. And what’s up with the specific framing of “none that hated Dinadan but those that ever were called murderers”? Not ‘only murderers’? And, more importantly, didn’t this chapter start with “Now we leave of Sir Lamorak”??

Because, of course, Lamorak isn’t dead. He’s fine. The intervening chapters involved Gaheris’s killing of their mother in bed with Lamorak, Gaheris admitting that he and Gawain (specifically and exclusively— where was Agravaine, while we’re at it?) killed Pellinore to avenge their father, and telling Lamorak that it wouldn’t be right to kill him like this so just watch out but he’s not going to touch him right then but like watch out!! Gaheris has issues but that’s okay. Lamorak also threatened him right back with blood feuding, for his part, saying his own father’s death was as yet unavenged on the Orkney clan. (Never 4get that Malory’s Lamorak is offered a blood price by Arthur to mediate the feud and refuses it, saying he’s not done feuding yet. Play stupid games, my guy—)

But this leaves a big ol’ gap in the logic here. Agravaine and Mordred have never murdered anyone. Agravaine and Mordred have never destroyed any good knights. Why do they hate Dinadan so intensely on Lamorak’s account? They hated Lamorak the whole time, and Dinadan was clearly never on their side about it. Why does—

I would say again, “And there were none that hated Dinadan but those that ever were called murderers.” He’s known to be close only with good knights, and he’s befriended Lamorak. He’s known to hate people that act against good knights. And if you dislike him, it reflects badly on your reputation— maybe inherently (if you came into my house and said “hey I hate your cat” I would not like you ever, which is probably how Tristan at least feels) but this is also the guy who wrote that mean song about King Mark to ruin his reputation and humiliate him and had it taught to a bunch of people who were then sent out to perform it across Mark’s lands. With Arthur’s explicit approval, too— which makes it a political act of lowkey espionage, which is wild and very sexy of him (also one of the foundational elements of my ‘Geralt of Rivia is a purposeful adaptation Tristan’ rant but we don’t have time for that right now). He doesn’t have a reputation for gossip, but he’s very clearly not unaware of how influencing people’s reputations works. Everyone loves him, and anyone who hates him is publicly maligned in image as a murderer. Or do people only hate him if he’s maligned them that way? Is that something he does? It would explain why it doesn’t seem to apply to Agravaine and Mordred on a practical level, in spite of their explicit hatred of him.

But he was friends with them! Recently! And they haven’t killed anyone or been implicated in any deaths (Gaheris, as I mentioned, confessed that he and Gawain killed Pellinore to Lamorak, but Agravaine isn’t part of that, and Mordred was like 12 and per Malory in a fishing village in BFE presumably at the time). However— Gaheris certainly has. Lamorak has been telling everyone about Gaheris killing Morgause. Everyone is explicitly talking about it at court.

If Dinadan is prone to that sort of thing— leveraging his influence and significant skill with public opinion against those he thinks have done serious wrong— he’s likely been smearing Gaheris publicly in solidarity with Lamorak.

And, quite frankly, going after Agravaine and Mordred’s brother is the only thing that would make them madder than going after them.

But we left off mid-paragraph there, in fact:

“Then spake the hurt knight that Breuse Saunce Pité had chased, his name was Dalan, and said: If thou be Dinadan thou slewest my father. It may well be so, said Dinadan, but then it was in my defence and at his request. By my head, said Dalan, thou shalt die therefore, and therewith he dressed his spear and his shield. And to make the shorter tale, Sir Dinadan smote him down off his horse, that his neck was nigh broken. And in the same wise he smote Sir Mordred and Sir Agravaine. And after, in the quest of the Sangreal, cowardly and feloniously they slew Dinadan, the which was great damage, for he was a great bourder and a passing good knight.”

Holy shit. What the hell. For one thing that escalated extremely quickly. For another thing all three of these people are half-dead already Jesus Christ everyone chill. But also— The entire idea of Agravaine and Mordred being murderers ties into their blood feud to avenge their father. Malory doesn’t touch on Dinadan’s adjacency to it, but we know his brother Brunor (that Knight of the Hideously Cut Jacket, who I briefly imagine as David Byrne in a great helm whenever I think of him) for his sartorially-signified revenge quest— Dinadan’s father was murdered, which probably has something to do with his hatred of destroyers of good knights/murderers. So it’s wrongfully-slain fathers all the way down, and then this wounded knight— that Dinadan initially refused to aid in escaping being murdered by Breuse— suddenly interjects to accuse Dinadan himself of wrongfully slaying HIS father! We’ve never seen Dalan before and we never see him again, but I think this specific interjection can be read as doing some absolutely insane heavy-lifting for this scene.

It’s not uncommon in medieval writing for a sort of moral predestination to hang over everyone— saying that Agravaine and Mordred hate Dinadan, only murderers hate Dinadan, and then that they go on to murder Dinadan could all be viewed as a fulfillment of the middle statement— they ARE murderers, even if they hadn’t killed anyone yet, so the statement is true! Except for Dalan’s outburst. This guy was badly injured and fleeing from Breuse, knowing he wasn’t strong enough to face him. Dinadan unseated Breuse in front of Dalan, and the guy isn’t getting any less injured— and yet Dalan hates Dinadan so much and holds him so accountable for the same wrongdoing Dinadan himself hates that he challenges him anyway, in spite of being injured, in spite of Dinadan having defeated in a joust someone who had been strong enough to defeat Dalan in the first place. And avenging a wrongful death, as an act, isn’t inherently censured in Malory— Dinadan’s brother does so offscreen, but it’s acknowledged as a noble thing that he succeeds in his quest to avenge his father’s murder. If you challenge someone honestly, even being incorrect about your accusations towards them doesn’t make it dishonorable of you (that’s how half of these idiots make friends, after all). So whether or not he’s wrong in blaming Dinadan for it, he is HARDLY implied to be a murderer— which means that right in between ‘Only people who get called murderers hate Dinadan’ and ‘Agravaine and Mordred DO murder Dinadan later btw’— there’s a brief exchange that establishes that what the narration has presented as a fact— only people who are called murderers hate Dinadan— is NOT TRUE. Dalan hates Dinadan, and isn’t a murderer— in fact, he may think Dinadan is one. What’s been said about Agravaine and Mordred isn’t true— even if it becomes so, it didn’t have to. What does that mean for the rest of— well, the entire narrative? For one thing, we can to some degree tie this disproving back to the lead-in of Dinadan having this particular ‘custom’— it’s not an actual fact, it’s just something presented as fact, believed to be fact— something that affects the realities of a knight’s life and knighthood as if it were fact, even though it isn’t.

Whether or not you take it as authorial intention doesn’t really matter— Malory is SO interesting if you take your cue from this series of escalating sentence-by-sentence underminings (Dinadan won’t help a stranger but Agravaine & Mordred will— but they’re morally corrupt and he isn’t; Breuse is a renowned destroyer of good knights and was announcing his presence like a Pokémon— that’s the exact thing that Dinadan hates most which is the cause of his beef with Agravaine & Mordred, but he didn’t want to get involved in fighting the guy; everyone who hates Dinadan is a morally bad person— except this other guy who’s right here currently too). The narration is NOT objectively giving you the truth— the narration is giving you what is ACCEPTED AS TRUTH by the court, by society at large, what will be remembered, because a knight is only as good, only as strong, only as virtuous, only as accomplished, as the stories told of him— only guilty of the crimes people gossip on, but guilty of the ones believed, whether or not they’re true. The narrative is influenced by what is and isn’t known, by what’s hidden and revealed to the world. It makes for an incredibly fun and good reading of Malory throughout!

And there’s a lot of room to say, too, that it makes Agravaine and Dinadan insane narrative foils, because any which way you think to develop and expand on Agravaine’s motivations and desires in Malory, Dinadan is doing something similar to great affection, approval, and acclaim— where Agravaine receives disapproval, approbation, and… nothing else. Agravaine is “ever open-mouthed”, waiting “every night and day” to root out Lancelot’s secrets— when he succeeds, Arthur blames him after his death for what comes to pass, even though he was right and what he uncovered was true. It’s Dinadan’s “manner to be privy with all good knights”, so he reads Lancelot’s mail while he’s sleeping, and Lancelot is glad of it, and lets him help. Agravaine is manipulative, Dinadan has influence with his friends. Agravaine, who values his honor greatly, is dishonored for it as vengeful and jealous. Dinadan, who is careless of his own honor, never bruises it with anything he does. Agravaine is considered resentful and ungracious to others, Dinadan is a beloved jokester who harangues his friends with affectionate invective to cheer them up.ᵃ Dinadan is what Agravaine isn’t allowed to be— and yet he’s a version of it that Agravaine has no desire to be, someone who doesn’t fit in the knightly mold, who isn’t respected the way he wants to be respected, someone reliant on the aid and influence of friends, someone who laughs first at himself, at his own lack of honor. To be envied and yet also to be disdained, to Agravaine’s sensibilities, and to Dinadan’s there’s nothing that Agravaine would criticize he cares about.

And yet— they were friends, too. And what ruined that friendship may well have been the same desire that killed Agravaine in the end— the desire to see that a position of privilege at court didn’t protect a knight who’d done wrong from the truth being known, or from facing the repercussions of his guilt and shame— only it was Dinadan who was repeating the gossip, Dinadan exposing the wrong, and Dinadan died for it, too, just as much as Agravaine would later. And in both their cases, their claims were never fully proven, except in the acts of their own deaths.

But can you IMAGINE the incredible amount of dirt they must’ve dug up between the two of them, before they both got killed by their shared streak of weird, stubborn justice, one by the other’s hand? Can you imagine how utterly fatally they’d be capable of roasting you into a charcoal brick by their powers combined? Can you imagine how terminally nasty they’d be if they were fighting, and how annoying they’d be if they weren’t and they got in your business? What an insane combination, what a silhouette of deeper characterization in the negative space that isn’t addressed!!ᵇ It has so many potential implications for the narrative overall and their significance in it as arbiters of social thought and public opinion.

¹ ² ³ ⁴ ⁵

1.“no good qualities except his beauty, his chivalry, and his quick tongue”, as the Vulgate describes Agravaine (quotes that made my wife say out loud, “what else is there?!”), plus that one translator’s note about the idiomatic and metaphorical way he speaks— Dinadan is constantly described that way— “Right so came Dinadan, and mocked and japed with King Bagdemagus that all knights laughed at him, for he was a fine japer, and well loving all good knights.” etc etc. he’s a fucking bard who wrote the hardest diss track of all time (see footnote 4). Also sends his gay friend group™️ (Lancelot, Galehault, Dinadan, and Guinevere) into hysterics with his potshots at Lancelot and Galehault at a tournament dinner. More on that later.

2. Agravaine is known for being extremely jealous, petty, a bad sport and a gossip, dishonorable and vengeable— Dinadan ONLY fights when he feels like it… '

“And at the first recounter, said Sir Kay, he smote me down from my horse and hurt me passing sore; and when my fellow, Sir Dinadan, saw me smitten down and hurt he would not revenge me, but fled from me; and thus he departed.” (He’s literally present while Kay is saying this like 🤷‍♂️ ya)

“So on the morn Sir Dinadan rode unto the court of King Arthur; and by the way as he rode he saw where stood an errant knight, and made him ready for to joust. Not so, said Dinadan, for I have no will to joust. With me shall ye joust, said the knight, or that ye pass this way. Whether ask ye jousts, by love or by hate? The knight answered: Wit ye well I ask it for love, and not for hate. It may well be so, said Sir Dinadan, but ye proffer me hard love when ye will joust with me with a sharp spear. But, fair knight, said Sir Dinadan, sith ye will joust with me, meet with me in the court of King Arthur, and there shall I joust with you. Well, said the knight, sith ye will not joust with me, I pray you tell me your name. Sir knight, said he, my name is Sir Dinadan. Ah, said the knight, full well know I you for a good knight and a gentle, and wit you well I love you heartily. Then shall there be no jousts, said Dinadan, betwixt us.” (I just fucking love this exchange. He really said ‘is your challenge from love or from hate? Oh from LOVE? Wow okay well that’s some kinda love coming at me with a LANCE :(‘ like babygirl why are you a knight.)

Also openly refuses to fight or runs away from combat when traveling with Tristan, when traveling with Mark, when traveling alone (the chapter in question, at first) when traveling with Tristan again, etc, and never denies this

Hates when knights fight for women and thinks it’s stupid. “For such a foolish knight as ye are, said Sir Dinadan, I saw but late this day lying by a well, and he fared as he slept; and there he lay like a fool grinning, and would not speak, and his shield lay by him, and his horse stood by him; and well I wot he was a lover. Ah, fair sir, said Sir Tristram are ye not a lover? Mary, fie on that craft! said Sir Dinadan. That is evil said, said Sir Tristram, for a knight may never be of prowess but if he be a lover. It is well said, said Sir Dinadan; now tell me your name, sith ye be a lover, or else I shall do battle with you.” Tristan promptly tells Isolde about this later and she gives him endless shit for it.

His exchange with Isolde abt it is very funny. He’s a fruitcake. “Now I pray you, said La Beale Isoud, tell me will you fight for my love with three knights that do me great wrong? and insomuch as ye be a knight of King Arthur's I require you to do battle for me. Then Sir Dinadan said: I shall say you ye be as fair a lady as ever I saw any, and much fairer than is my lady Queen Guenever, but wit ye well at one word, I will not fight for you with three knights, Jesu defend me. Then Isoud laughed, and had good game at him.” Y’know that song in the Oliver Twist musical where they’re trying to teach Oliver the concept of chivalry? That never happened for Dinadan and now he’s like this.

Lies all the time for no reason? Presumably it’s for The Bit™️ most times bc he LOVES jokes and pranks. Tristan ropes him into lying to Palamedes uhh hang on let me count in my head. Four? At least four times.

Basically Dinadan took a knightly oath the way other people agree to Terms & Conditions. He knows this abt himself. (See footnote 5)

3. Okay we know about Agravaine but UH “And so privily she sent the letter unto Sir Launcelot. And when he wist the intent of the letter he was so wroth that he laid him down on his bed to sleep, whereof Sir Dinadan was ware, for it was his manner to be privy with all good knights. And as Sir Launcelot slept he stole the letter out of his hand, and read it word by word.” DINADAN WHAT THE HELL? Agravaine and Dinadan were out here bumping into each other surveilling Lancelot’s fuckjgn bedroom I GUESS no wonder Agravaine killed Dinadan later awkwarddd

4. Agravaine is “ever open-mouthed” repeating gossip and spreading rumors to put pressure on Lancelot and Guinevere at court before he resorts to telling his uncle; Dinadan is imho implied by this chapter to be part of the reason Agravaine’s reputation fully tanks (also a gossip) but there’s also the lay he writes to humiliate King Mark and teaches to people to perform throughout Cornwall to ruin him: “And when Dinadan understood all, he said: This is my counsel: set you right nought by these threats, for King Mark is so villainous, that by fair speech shall never man get of him. But ye shall see what I shall do; I will make a lay for him, and when it is made I shall make an harper to sing it afore him. So anon he went and made it, and taught it an harper that hight Eliot. And when he could it, he taught it to many harpers. And so by the will of Sir Launcelot, and of Arthur, the harpers went straight into Wales, and into Cornwall, to sing the lay that Sir Dinadan made by King Mark, the which was the worst lay that ever harper sang with harp or with any other instruments.” (“And when Sir Tristram heard it, he said: O Lord Jesu, that Dinadan can make wonderly well and ill, thereas it shall be.”So true man. What a track.)

Also Dinadan once manipulatively provokes, mocks, belittles, and sneers at Tristan to get him really angry, because he’s letting someone else win a tournament and running support, basically— so Dinadan takes it upon himself to talk incredibly mad shit at him until he gets angry enough to stop being helpful and start fighting properly.

5. This is the chapter where we start to hear about the extent of Agravaine’s censure for his perceived dishonorable traits. As for Dinadan:

“and all the court was glad of Sir Dinadan, for he was gentle, wise, and courteous, and a good knight.”

“Sir, said Dinadan, wherefore be ye angry? discover your heart to me: forsooth ye wot well I owe you good will, howbeit I am a poor knight and a servitor unto you and to all good knights. For though I be not of worship myself I love all those that be of worship. It is truth, said Sir Launcelot, ye are a trusty knight, and for great trust I will shew you my counsel.” <— also this is when Lancelot just woke up from his angry nap and Dinadan is just. There. Having read his private secret letter from the Queen. But it’s fine for some reason I fucking guess!! Idk!! Starfucker extraordinaire Sir “Personal Key to Lancelot’s Bedroom” “Doesn’t Fight His Own Battles But His Friends Will For Him <3” Dinadan like. Agravaine experiencing heretofore unknown levels of gay homophobia. And he’s right.

a. Even adaptations love to make Agravaine Experience Homophobia™️ but rarely Dinadan, who habitually “lies with”, and “makes great joy of” in their beds overnight, his personal ranking of the top three strongest knights of the Round Table at any given time (“at any given time” meaning that he promptly does that to Palamedes as he takes spot #3 when Lamorak kicks it— presumably the secret reason he dies on the Grail Quest is bc he needs to get dick on the reg from the strongest knights in the world to survive and Galahad categorically does not fuck. RIP to a legend), loudly disdains romantic relationships with women, and is pranked on the page by Galehault and Lancelot for being unmanly or effete and afraid of women— by being knocked off his horse on the tourney field by Lancelot in a dress, carried off into the woods, stripped to his underoos, tussled into a dress himself, and paraded through the tourney field and then the hall at dinner in it (Always Sunny title card Lancelot Commits a Hate Crime. Wildass anecdote. Bet a night out on the town with Tom Malory was a HOOT. Guinevere canonically laughs so hard at this she falls over.)

b. Anyway this is why they’re an insane and compelling ship also. I rest my case. This is actually also the introductory post to a piece of fanfiction I’ll put somewhere later in which I used a shortened ballade form taking inspiration and structure from The Flyting of Dunbar and Kennedie to write Agravaine and Dinadan having a flyting competition. Y’know, real normal shit.

#jesus christ sorry world #arthuriana #my agravaine and dinadan narrative foils agenda in detaillll #malory

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herbert-best · 1 year ago

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For @queer-ragnelle’s May Day Parade, and my baby boy Mordred’s birthday— a short bit of a story!

Mordred’s introduction to court— and, more importantly, his brothers. 😌♥️

“Always been a right bright lad,” his father was saying— before the High King and all his court, like they’d think that made him noble— bright for a fisherman’s son— he wanted to sink through the floor, but he straightened his back and held up his chin by force of will. “And I kept his little clothes all these years, for I knew he weren’t meant to stay with me. There’s the arms, you see.” Faded badly, worn threadbare by time and washed pale by the sea. Would they believe it? Would anyone believe the old man, in this faeryland of riches? All these noble, beautiful faces like painted masks, watching his worn and haggard old father with unreadable poise. There was a murmuring, as he spoke— some painted faces lowered and turned aside— but the High King did not look away from his father, and Mordred could not look away from him. King Arthur had no proper heirs— everyone knew this, even a fisherman’s foundling— and yet—

King Arthur looked like a king, perfectly so, regal as a living statue, and yet nothing like Mordred had imagined him. He listened to Mordred’s father just as closely as he’d listened to the Baron who’d spoken first that day in his high hall. His brow was weighty with the force of his attention. The king looked, Mordred thought— for all that he knew it was foolish— looked so much like himself. Older, wiser and more noble, stronger and better-fed, and golden-haired where Mordred’s hair was strange and pale, and yet it was so clear. Mordred wondered— foolish again— if he could look so regal, someday, wrapped up in silks and fine wool, with a sword at his belt.

But they were certainly not the arms of the king, which were being brought forward by the herald for the king’s examination. They were the arms of Orkney and Lothian, which Mordred knew only enough of to know that their rulers were extraordinarily highborn, and their lands far to the North.

“The arms of King Lot,” the High King murmured, barely audible but unmistakably clear. He turned to glance into the spectating rows of nobles, and Mordred followed his eyes, and, like figures resolving from the faceless crowds of a dream, there were three noble knights watching him in turn, pulling apart from the others— first, he saw one, then the next, then the next. They looked amongst themselves, then stood, one first and then the other two together.

Mordred clasped his hands at his back and held himself desperately still and firm.

If he looked like the High King, he looked just as much alike to these three men, and they to him, and to the king, and to each other. Dark-haired, unlike him, and dark-eyed, as he was, and richly-clad, elegantly handsome first to last, just as Mordred would have imagined as a child. They were his kin. He knew it without question. They had yet to speak.

The first to stand— the eldest, and from his seat Mordred thought with a leap of terror that he must have been the highest-born man in the court, but for the king and queen— stepped up onto the High King’s dais as though he was unquestionably permitted there, and examined the worn old cloth, still in King Arthur’s hand. He looked up, looked over Mordred, looked at his father.

He stepped down from the dais without even glancing at his feet to see the stairs.

The other two stood together, watching him as well. He thought of hunting hounds, of wolves, how the pack would creep up on a poor creature with slow step and then leap forward all together and rip it apart throat to heel.

“Does the lad know,” the High King was saying, “His lineage?” There was a strange tenseness in his voice.

“No more than I, I fear, Your Highness, Sire,” his father replied, and Mordred could see that he felt abashed, and knew that everyone present saw it, too. “That he be of the kindred of the North lands of the Orkneys, I know this from the arms, but I know naught else of whom they be. He’s his letters, some— best as we could, from a priest up the coast— but I’ve none, and—“ He seemed to catch his own worried rambling, or maybe heard Mordred’s silent attempts to tell him with his mind to stop speaking. “No, my lord.”

The eldest of the lordly knights was still approaching, slow and thoughtful, eyes on him critically, his brethren watching from behind, but it was growing easier for Mordred to meet his gaze. He was always less afraid when he was angry.

His foster father was an old fool, making it sound as though he could just manage to write his own name. He knew all the priest could have taught him of his letters, read and wrote well, but the old man was ever-fearful his learning was incomplete because he’d learned a part of it on his own, when that condescending clergyman had refused him more lessons for having lost his temper once in the church. He clenched his jaw and tried not to scowl.

The king inclined his head, and the knight approaching him seemed to respond to it, though he hadn’t turned around to see. Mordred recalled the taunting of the other village children in his early youth, calling him a changeling. This strange and beautiful place and its bright colors, its riches, its bewildering inhabitants with their unknowable and elegant manners— it could not have been more like a different world.

“We’ve long known,” the lordly knight was saying, in a light, smooth voice, eyes bright and curious and strangely fixed on Mordred’s face, “That the queen our mother lost a May Day child to the sea. We’ve long thought him dead, and lost to us.”

The queen, our mother. Mordred’s heart beat in his chest like a rabbit’s. Princes. Brothers. Were these his brothers? The excitement that had carried him on the long journey into Camelot surged again, tangled tightly up with terror. He wanted to be a part of this faery court. He wanted to know when to stand, without looking, and to sit, and how to speak to the king. He was not certain they would take him in.

“The last born fifth son,” this prince was saying, “Of King Lot, of Orkney and Lothian, and Queen Morgause, sister to the High King. The brother to Sir Agravaine, Sir Gaheris, to young Gareth— still at home— and to me. Gawain of Orkney.” He touched his own chest, stopped now two scant paces away from Mordred, who was struggling to hear him over the sound of his heart.

His father a king. His mother, sister to the High King! King Arthur his uncle. Even as a dreaming child he had never ventured so boldly to imagine. Gawain. Sir Gawain— he had heard the name, had not known he was of Orkney— Sir Gawain, King Arthur’s nephew, his close companion, the daring knight. Mordred had seen his parody in puppet shows and heard his victories in songs. This was Sir Gawain. Sir Gawain was his own brother.

“And all here know the truth of it when I say, but for the king my uncle, there is no man I love better than my brothers. For fourteen years, we’ve been four brothers, and grieved for our loss.” He rocked back on his heels, cocked his head like a curious hound. “And now…” His voice grew louder, took the tone of a ringing pronouncement, for all to hear. “I say, for my part, no more proof do I need but to look on his face. This is my brother. I know it.” He reached out, took Mordred by the shoulder, and he was strange and poised and a little bit frightening, but his grip was solid and warm, and squeezed Mordred’s shoulder once, quickly, and then again, as though reluctant to let him go. “And you have brought us the greatest gift in the world.” The bright curiosity in his eyes was brighter still, shining, and then suddenly he was smiling, beaming, grinning at him, and Mordred knew in that instant beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was speaking the truth. “We welcome you home, Mordred.”

And Mordred did not know what to do, but Sir Gawain— Sir Gawain! Of the Christmas Game! Of the Loathly-Maid-Turned-Lovely-Wife, and the strength of seven men at midday, and all the rest!— had both his shoulders, and was squeezing them tightly, and then he seemed about to weep, and took Mordred into his arms, and there were the other two of his brothers, his own brothers, two more great knights of the Round Table, two more nephews of King Arthur, two more brothers who jostled Sir Gawain and sought to take his hands, even whilst his arms were pinned to his sides by Sir Gawain’s embrace, and one of them looked bored and haughty around the mouth, but his eyes were bright and his lips kept smiling no matter how he tried to still them, and he was saying, “Mordred, for God’s sake. Who would believe it? Absurd. Fourteen, are you? We’ll have our work out to make a squire of ye in a year—“ and his grip was pressing excitedly at Mordred’s hand, eager and happy, and the other brother had tears in his eyes and a smile even brighter than Sir Gawain’s, and he was saying, “It’s true what Gawain said, you know, Mordred. Mordred! I can’t believe it. We have another brother! Do you have a place to stay here, yet? You can stay with—“

And the rest of the court had gone subtly human, too, the murmur of voices rising up louder, excited, and a very tall young knight Mordred had not seen before had left the seats and was reaching across Gawain, impatient with excitement, grasping at Mordred’s shoulder happily, and he was not a brother, but there was no doubt that he, too, was family.

“Gawain!” called a firm, hoarse voice, cutting through the sudden melee of close affection, “For God’s sake, let the boy go, won’t you? Bring him up to me.”

And Mordred did not recognize the voice at first, because of the rasping note to it which had not been there before, because when last he’d spoken the High King had not been crying. He was weeping now, but smiling, too, and Gawain batted his brothers away to take Mordred’s hands and lead him, obedient out of sheer shock, up the steps, up onto the dais, up to King Arthur’s throne, and King Arthur reached out and took one of Mordred’s hands from his brother’s, and pressed it between both of his own, and said through his tears, “I do believe God has brought you back to us,” with such awed surprise that he almost seemed to be converting in that moment for the first time. And he kissed Mordred’s forehead, and Mordred felt tears on his face and thought they were the king’s, but realized, as they continued, that they were his own. The old man had been good to him, he knew it, but he had never been wanted— had never been a source of such unfettered joy— had never seen faces so like his own and known that he was, for once, for the first time and always to be thereafter, among family. And he was a noble, and one of his brothers had said he’d be a knight, and another had said he’d live there with them in the castle, in riches and luxury, and his eldest brother had said, ‘We welcome you home, Mordred,’ and it still rang in his ears.

King Arthur, High King of all Britain, was holding out a hand towards the poor old weathered fisherman who had raised him and saying, “Thank you, good man. We all thank you. You have done more for us than we might speak,” and his other hand was still holding Mordred’s, and Mordred’s other hand was still held by Sir Gawain, and then Sir Gawain said, “Arthur,” quietly— softly called the king himself by name— “Dismiss the court. Give us time, won’t you? Let us retire a while.”

“Yes,” said King Arthur, “Yes, alright.” And he let go of Mordred’s hand reluctantly— reached out suddenly as it fell and grasped it once more, just for a moment— and then stood to speak, but Mordred did not hear his words, because Sir Gawain was bundling him off the dais again, and was saying quietly but excitedly in his ear, “Come, Mordred, this way— Gaheris and Agravaine are just behind us.”

“We aren’t,” came one brother’s laconic voice from his shoulder, as he was bustled eagerly from the hall, “In fact. Gaheris is fetching Yvain. Yvain is our cousin, little brother,” addressed to him, “Our mother’s sister’s son, by King Uriens. He is our only full cousin— the rest are—“

“Yes, teach him heraldry, Agravaine, when he’s been with us not five minutes,” Sir Gawain interrupted, with an exasperated glance back.

“Oh, God forbid I tell him of our one and only cousin! Whom he’s about to meet, no less.”

“Ignore him, Mordred. We all do. We’ve so much to speak of! I can hardly think where to begin—“

“You’ll learn,” Sir Agravaine told him, over his brother, “That there’s nothing for it but to speak over Gawain when he’s in high spirits. It’s no rudeness to do so.”

“What!” Sir Gawain protested.

“Mordred,” Sir Agravaine pointed out, “Has not said a single word aloud in our presence. Have you, little brother?”

Mordred had seen the close, familiar squabbles, easy as breathing, between tight-knit siblings. In the village, there had been a pair of twin girls who had never once agreed on a single thing, but were never away from each other’s sides. He’d envied them their closeness, their belonging. He was already being brought into brotherly squabbles, here. He looked back at Sir Agravaine, steeling his nerve. He had hardly realized, himself, that he hadn’t spoken, overwhelmed as he was, and these would be his first words as their brother, as Mordred of Orkney. “No,” he said, nervous but determined, trying for a smile, suddenly terribly conscious of his own ill-bred manner of speech, “I’d not, it’s true.”

Sir Agravaine burst into laughter, and Sir Gawain followed. “You see?” said Sir Agravaine. “Finally, a brother who agrees with me!”

They brought him to a wonderful room, draped in rich-colored cloths, with finely-carved and lushly-cushioned couches, and little tables that served no purpose but to be covered with fresh flowers and bowls of fruits Mordred did not even recognize. Faeryland, he thought again.

The room was not empty— three women sat together on a couch, bent in conversation, and looked up at their entry, and Sir Gawain said, “My lady! My lady, you won’t believe it.”

They were beautiful, all three of them, lovely and delicate and graceful, their gowns shimmering in the light, their smiles sweet, just like the flowers around them, but the lady in the center— who stood at their entry, and whose mild, bright eyes were fixed on Mordred— was the queen. Mordred had never seen her before, but he knew. She was supposed to be the most beautiful woman in the realm, and he had never wondered, really, what that would look like, except perhaps like a pretty girl only more so. But it would have been foolish to call the queen pretty. She was the living figure of every depiction Mordred had ever seen of a beautiful woman saint, regal and wise and lovely, the sort of figure one might see in a holy vision— except that there was a hint of an ironic smile, tucked at the corner of her lips, and a spark of sharpness and humor in her soft, heavy-lidded eyes, that gave her a faint aura of mischief and amusement. She took Mordred in, then his two knightly brothers, examining their expressions. The hinted smile curled up a fraction. Mordred was painfully aware that he was dressed as a poor man’s son, in the court of the king.

“God protect me,” she said, in a sweet, low voice, “From any more of your kin, Sir Gawain.” She stepped forward regardless, and held out a hand, palm down, towards Mordred.

Mordred did not know what to do. Was he meant to kiss her hand? He was afraid he might not be permitted such a thing, might be mistaken, and would insult her if he tried. Sir Gawain, thankfully, did not seem offput in the slightest. He snorted, then took the hand still clasped with his own and brought it up, hers turning easily palm-up when she saw the motion, and Mordred’s hand was placed in hers.

“This,” said Sir Gawain, “Is—“

“Our fifth brother,” said Sir Agravaine. “Mordred, who was lost at sea fourteen years ago. He washed ashore, alive, and we never knew. He’s lived all this time with a fisherman who took him in. We’ve just had him returned to us at last.”

For just an instant, Queen Guinevere’s eyes shot up, looked at Sir Agravaine sharply, something passing over her face too quickly for Mordred to make it out. “The May Day child?” she asked. Her voice was soft and kind, but something in the question gave Mordred a subtle chill.

“The same,” Sir Gawain replied.

The queen looked to him again. “Mordred,” she said, thoughtful, testing the name. Then, as though her mind was made up, she left aside the hesitation and went on warmly, “We bid you welcome, then, Mordred. To our home and to our hearts.” She seemed to mean it earnestly, pressed his hand with affection. “Take not to heart what I spoke to Sir Gawain— it was only in jest. I am very glad to meet you.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Mordred managed, his voice barely audible even to himself from his nerves.

“But where is my lord? Surely he’s not still in audience, with his own nephew miraculously returned to him?”

“He is excusing himself now, my lady,” said Sir Gawain, with a sort of fondness in his voice. “He is… well.”

“Weeping,” the queen finished, just as fondly. “I am sure. He will cry himself into a drought, someday. Let me go to him, and smooth things along. Ah! But young Mordred, might I ask—?”

“Yes, my lady?” Mordred managed, thinly.

“You come to us just two weeks too late for your birthday.”

“I did not know my birthday, until now, my lady. Except by guess— of what cause I was put to sea.” Something occurred to him and he blurted out the thought without reason. “Might I have had a boon, for my birthday, if I’d come the sooner?”

“You will have one now,” said the queen, and smiled at him. “Think on’t. But you will have more thereafter, of that I am sure, so think not too long.”

Mordred’s head was spinning. Sir Agravaine was arguing with Sir Gawain again, playfully, on whether or not clothing him as befit a princely son of Orkney would count as a gift. Sir Gawain began to grow frighteningly earnest about a feast. In the doorway, Sir Gaheris had returned, with the the tall young knight who’d grasped his shoulder in the hall— no doubt his cousin, Sir Yvain— and they were contributing to the verbal wardrobe, and the menu of the feast, and asking him what colors he preferred, and what fruits were his favorites, no matter the season in which they grew, and whether or not he would like a horse, of all things, talking over one another and crowding him and laughing, and this wild, strange, and beautiful world was his world, now, and this was his family, and he had never seen such a place and he had never seen such riches, and he had never been looked on with such true and eager heartfelt love.

He was home.

#may day parade #I’m truly feeling things about Mordred at all times like constantly in my life Mordred more like mordhau directly to the skull #anyway! thank you for your time I don’t. post writing to my #blog much but it’s a beautiful May Day to do it anyway

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