anOTP: Morgause/Lot

[anna_morcades]

The summer evening is well on toward dark. Morgause is in the bedchamber in her nightgown, her hair already done in its single bedtime braid. She is talking softly to her eight-year-old eldest, standing soberly at her knee.

Comments

[lot_in_life]

"For pity's sake, let him grow apart from you a little."

Lot, standing in the doorway.

[anna_morcades]

The child tenses. Morgause straightens, unhurriedly, her mouth set in an unyielding line. "Good evening, my lord."

[lot_in_life]

"Evening. Evening, Mordred."

[anna_morcades]

Mordred, who is old enough now to feel acutely uncomfortable in these situations, murmurs something in respect and keeps his eyes on the floor.

"Bedtime, Mordred," his mother says, in the same cool tone. "Run away now."