fandomhighdorms | The Deck, Saturday Late Afternoon

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The Deck, Saturday Late Afternoon

Last night had been distinctly odd, but how it ended had taken some of the edge off, at least. If Arthur didn't know better, he'd almost even be able to convince himself the day was going to be sort of all right. Or, at least, not completely insane.

Instead, he was going to take a seat on the deck with a bowl of fruit and some bread for a late breakfast. Uther Pendragon taught great lessons about paranoia.

He was just going to be pleased that at least he hadn't wound up sleeping in the preserve last night.

[[ open, especially to any blonde spawn that might want to assault him ]]

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Was not!

Arawn did not look pleased to meet him at all. "I'm his only."

"You're his only where you're from. Maybe. I'm his only where I'm from. Definitely." Gawain's eyes narrowed a bit. "Who's your mum, then?" Because if it was his Mum too, someone was going to get smacked.

"My Da's a court magician," Arawn said, turning away like the boy wasn't even worth his time. Because he'd be in Camelot like him if he was.

Gawain got up and stalked over in front of him, so he'd have to look at him, and gave him a speculative look. "No mum? That's good, then."

Ah, Pendragon tact.

"I don't need a mum. I've got a father and a da." Arawn countered that by crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. "Only babies need a mommy."

"I have a mum. Like lots of people," Gawain said, eyes narrowing. "She's right over there and she's awesome. Are you insulting her?"

"I don't need to insult anyone." He didn't know what that meant, but he'd heard Father say it.

"Good," Gawain growled. "'Cause that's wrong." He looked at the little kid down his nose, very happy to be at least four inches taller. "So. What's this about you being from Camelot, then?"

"There's nothing about it," Arawn replied, not at all frightened. No one would dare hurt him. "I'm the prince. And you're not."

And there was no way he was going to let someone change that.

Gawain snorted. "Don't want to be. Keep it. I'm going to own the world when I grow up, not just some little country across the ocean." He folded his arms and studied Arawn. "Can you do magic? If your da is some great magician."

A good portion of his friends at school had two daddies or two mommies, so that was much less interesting than magician.

Arawn puffed up in outrage. "Camelot is not small! It's all of Albion!"

"Never heard of Albion," Gawain said with rich satisfaction. Though he could guess it was part of Camelot, where Dad was from, or something. "So what." He smirked at the new kid. Being older rocked. "Still, if you like it so much, you can go back there."

"I will!" Arawn shouted. "And with my father. Who is the right one and not some impostor like yours! He is the king of Albion and not in some stupid place like New Gotham! You're a bastard!"

It was the worst insult he knew so far, so he went with that.

Which totally failed to effect Gawain, except for the glee of: "You said a bad word. I'm telling."

"IT'S TRUE."

Gawain rolled his eyes again. "So?" Smiiiiirk.

"You'll never be a knight or a prince and Father will be mad," Arawn informed him. "Because he was both and you're just a bastard."

...and so was he, but he was raised in the royal household!

"And I repeat," Gawain said, imitating his father, "Don't want to be. And don't care. You're kind of stupid, as well as short, aren't you?"

"Gawain Alfred James Lance Pendragon," came the voice from behind Gawain in tones of Doom, "You say you're sorry. Right. Now."

"YOU WILL NEVER RULE AND I WILL AND NO ONE WILL REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE," Arawn shouted, voice going a bit hoarse from the force of it. He was too grown up to cry so, instead, his eyes went gold and anything not nailed down floated on up a few inches. "I HATE YOU!"

Dinah instinctively smacked some of the things down with her TK, thinking Whoa! Kid has telekinesis! Or magic! and said firmly, "That is enough. Gawain. Apologize. Now. He's littler than you and you know better."

... and holy cow, where did that voice come from? All those years of babysitting, or from having Barbara mediate her and Helena?

"He started it!" He so totally didn't. Gawain glared at Mum, but no hope there, so then he turned back to Arawn, grudgingly. "Sorry I teased you. I'm sure you'll be a very good prince." Snort. At Mum's warning look, he said more conciliatingly, "And that's a very good trick, with the furniture."

He pouted. Mum said he wouldn't get his telekinesis 'til he was twelve, or sixteen maybe. And this baby already had it. No fairs.

"It's not a trick," Arawn shouted again, stomping over to kick him in the shin.

Gawain dodged the kick, and Dinah hastily said, "Hey hey hey! Okay, he's not calming down, Gawain. And you're not hitting him back, mister. So we're going to leave." This was kind of starting to freak her out a little. Plus little blond kid might not listen to her at all if she told him to cut it out. The fact that Gawain listened was just... weird. "Please don't try to kick him again," she did ask Arawn.

"He--" Arawn pointed before drawing himself up to his full height. Still wee. "--is not worth the time of a prince."

Especially one that was about to go run and cry to his Father.

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