Camelot was beautiful, on the outside at least. The immense castle dominated the landscape, built entirely of white stone and decorated with the Pendragon banners. It was like something pulled from a dream. Certainly many had found it inspiring before I had ever laid eyes on it.
I might have stayed to gaze at the spiralling towers for a long while if I had not been interrupted.
“Quite a sight, isn’t it?”
A knight had ridden up behind me. Some say anyone would have recognized him. I don’t believe that. I had seen him before though. He stayed in Morgan’s castle once.
“Sir Lancelot,” I greeted him.
“Ah! You know who I am. I’m afraid I can’t respond in kind.”
He didn’t recognize me. I can’t say that was a surprise. We hadn’t really been introduced, since he had been having a nervous breakdown at the time, and I was much younger then. Still, it was a novelty.
“I am Mordred, my lord.”
“Well, Mordred, you’re looking a little worse for wear.”
Unfortunately he was correct, although I wasn’t going to thank him for pointing that out. I hadn’t really been properly equipped to make the journey. Now I was exhausted, starving, and above all dirty.
Still, he probably wouldn’t have thought much of me even if I was at my best. I was scrawny by his standards, and I never did grow any less pale despite Morgan’s good care. Also, many people held the opinion that I looked more like my grandmother Igraine than any of my male relatives.
I’m not saying I wasn’t attractive in my own way. I just wasn’t going to meet the standards of someone like Lancelot.
"Are you headed to the court, then?" he asked.
"Yes. I have family there."
"Then I shall accompany you."
He actually got down of his horse to walk with me. I appreciated the gesture, even though it turned out I had a welcoming party. My brothers were waiting for me at the gate.
"Medraught!" called Agravaine.
That was the name everyone knew me by at the time. Mordred was originally my aunt's special name for me. Technically my mother used it as well, but she so rarely addressed me directly that it hardly mattered. Anyways I had always liked Mordred better, and now that I had been living with Morgan so long Medraught didn't seem like my identity anymore.
My brothers had no way of knowing this however. Oblivious to my discomfort, Agravaine pulled me into a hug that threatened to break my ribs. He was huge now. They all were. Otherwise they didn’t seem to have changed much.
“Well met, little brother,” said Gawain.
That almost wasn’t a figure of speech. I hadn’t seen any of these men in years, and Gawain had appeared rarely even then. Gareth was indifferent, but Gaheris used to bully me, and even now he was having a hard time looking pleased that I was here.
“Where have you been?” asked Gareth. “Aunt Morgan sent us a message that you were coming days ago.”
“I walked. It took me awhile.”
“What? Can’t you ride?” snorted Gaheris, earning himself a shove from our eldest sibling.
I’m not sure why they had decided we were suddenly going to be friend. Agravaine seemed genuinely pleased to see me, though, and for his sake I was willing to play along.
“I suppose you’ll want to see the court,” Gawain suggested.
“Actually I’d prefer to take a bath first,” I insisted. I was not being introduced to all of Camelot covered in road dust.
“Of course,” chirped Agravaine. “Come on, Medraught, I’ll show you to your chambers.”
Instead of correcting my brother about the use of my birth name, I looked back for Lancelot. He was already retreating. Mordred was anonymous, but Medraught certainly wasn’t. Not to someone so close to the king. Now that Lancelot knew who I was, he didn’t want anything to do with me.
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