FIC: The Only Man In The World
Aug. 17th, 2007 01:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mharificTitle: The Only Man In The World
Author: Mhari
Fandom: Arthurian
Pairing: Mordred/Clarissant
Rating: PG-13
Words: 200
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the characters are everyone's.
Summary: Sometime in the eighteenth century, Mordred goes to see his sister.
Notes/Warnings: Incest. Again. (I can't help it, the boy's related to everyone!) Double drabble for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
get_laid25.
"They thought I was English," Mordred says softly, "until I spoke to them. God knows what they think now."
"Long time," Clarissant says, watching his face.
"Six hundred years. I know, damn it. I thought-- I didn't know it would matter, here--"
He rests his face in his hands. The clothes don't suit him, Clar thinks. Too tight, too fussy. Made for a race of tall men with no sense of humor. All those fiddly bits.
But he leaves them off to sleep. She puts them aside in a starchy heap, and then all is as it was. Inside her house nothing changes, everything is as she wants it. Her fire. Her chair with the high arched back. Her walls, her roof. Her brother.
She takes her hair out of its braid and combs her fingers through it. Black as soot. She doesn't change; Mordred doesn't. She is not sure whether she keeps him alive for her sake, or the other way around. The world outside is another world; its people are strangers. In all the world, one woman and one man.
Quietly she takes off her plain old-fashioned gown and puts it aside. He wakes when she touches him.
Author: Mhari
Fandom: Arthurian
Pairing: Mordred/Clarissant
Rating: PG-13
Words: 200
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the characters are everyone's.
Summary: Sometime in the eighteenth century, Mordred goes to see his sister.
Notes/Warnings: Incest. Again. (I can't help it, the boy's related to everyone!) Double drabble for
get_laid25."They thought I was English," Mordred says softly, "until I spoke to them. God knows what they think now."
"Long time," Clarissant says, watching his face.
"Six hundred years. I know, damn it. I thought-- I didn't know it would matter, here--"
He rests his face in his hands. The clothes don't suit him, Clar thinks. Too tight, too fussy. Made for a race of tall men with no sense of humor. All those fiddly bits.
But he leaves them off to sleep. She puts them aside in a starchy heap, and then all is as it was. Inside her house nothing changes, everything is as she wants it. Her fire. Her chair with the high arched back. Her walls, her roof. Her brother.
She takes her hair out of its braid and combs her fingers through it. Black as soot. She doesn't change; Mordred doesn't. She is not sure whether she keeps him alive for her sake, or the other way around. The world outside is another world; its people are strangers. In all the world, one woman and one man.
Quietly she takes off her plain old-fashioned gown and puts it aside. He wakes when she touches him.