(Untitled)

[garcon_dor]

It's exactly as it was - exactly - and that was only months ago but in many ways it's been centuries, and that's what it feels like. Galahad fastens the clasp slowly, not in any state of mind to notice that it's been fixed.

The last time?

The smell of blood and the screams of horses, somewhere, and some poor man come to tell him that his prince

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[maydaybrat]

If Galahad is listening, he might hear soft footsteps approaching the door from the hallway, but maybe not. Mordred can be fairly silent, sometimes. The faint sound of the lock being opened, and the prince walks in without paying attention. He's not, that is he's...

He has an air of caged, edgy anger and hurt, a familer air.

"The world," he declares as he throws himself into an armchair, "has gone to hell." That's when the light catches on the pendent, and Mordred freezes. Stills. Whatever the word is, he's staring at the collar with his mouth slightly open.

Faintly strangled, "Ala?"

[garcon_dor]

Galahad smiles and looks very, very slightly smug.

"Gone to hell, my lord?"

[maydaybrat]

It takes a few attempts for his voice to work.

Faintly, "Some parts of it, anyway, pretty one." Mordred blinks, focusing his eyes on the pendent (though he notices the smile, how could he not?).

"You...you got it back."

[garcon_dor]

"Someone did." Flick, flick, and a flicker of uncertainty. "I...I think it was Adam. He said he would."

The name is said precisely, carefully, though with a vehement overtone of disgust. French accents are good for that kind of thing.