(2022-04-15) The Four Rules of Mordred Harbrooke

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	Gavin delivers the pawn money and shares his 'good news' with Mordred. The set up for the Poker Game.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: The Fall of the House of Harbrooke

The Harbrooke house is beautiful – there is simply no denying that fact. Its exterior is, of course, the new Stormwind style, with its steep, gabled roof showcasing the three stories of the house to its best advantage without getting beyond the height of the main protective walls. Several small turrets seem more decorative than functional, but give space for the fanciful and stately decorative woodwork, clearly hand carved by a master. There are large glass windows that would catch the best of the morning and evening sun, without getting the harsh afternoon light, and manicured trees and shrubberies to accent the grandeur wooden trim that adorns the brick and stone of the building. It is the kind of building that when one passes by, one cannot help but feel it contains a lovely interior, well kept, and filled with light and peace – the temptation to assume a beautiful exterior can speak for its virtue.

Gavin enters the house quietly, not bothering to turn on the electric lights. They haven’t been allowed to use them for the past three weeks, not outside of the hours when they must for appearances. He pulls out a candle from his shirt, lighting it, as he makes his way to the sitting room.

“What took you so long,” Mordred says from the shadows near the window.
Gavin nearly drops the candle.

"Fu – “ Gavin catches the curse, and the candle, exhaling in a steady breath. “I had things to do,” Gavin says, his voice as light and confident as he can make it. Never let Mordred see how much he scares you. That was the first rule.

“You had a very particular job to do,” Mordred says in a low voice. It’s not his dangerous voice, but Gavin feels the chill settle on his shoulders all the same. Mordred is not happy. “You know you’re being watched, Gavin. Go there, do what needs to be done, come back. Did you get lost?” There’s a gentleness to the words that are filled with the soft menace Mordred wields like a knife in the dark. Gavin moves to set the candle down on the table, lighting several more.

“I stopped by a tavern to have some dinner, Mordred. No one was following me, and even if they did, all they would have seen is a man getting something to eat,” Gavin says as he sits on the couch with a flop, straining to seem casual and unaffected.

Mordred steps forward out of the shadows, his face caught in its perpetual sneer. “As if I believe you were dining alone,” he says.

Gavin waves a hand in the air. “Of course not. I didn’t say I was. Some new girl. Don’t even remember her name, probably won’t ever see her again. It was just for fun, and even if someone was looking, I didn’t do anything.”

“Be sure you don’t,” Mordred says, as he moves across the wooden floors, his feet barely making any noise, despite the creaky boards from the older wood that needed replacing two years ago. He heads to the desk in the corner, and Gavin lets his shoulders drop ever so slightly. “Colson Aspenwood has been seen three times in the Forlorn Cavern this week.”

“So?” Gavin says, shifting his legs up onto the couch, dangling his boots off the edge.

“So,” Mordred says, his voice shifting into that dangerous low croon. “Your wife made a visit to their townhouse several weeks ago, and now, there he is, coming and going into Forlorn Proprietary Information, Gavin.”

Gavin makes a dismissive sound at that. “Come on, Mordred, don't be paranoid. Lucy made them some sort of weird trinket, a little clock, and you know how she gets, all sentimental and so on.”

Mordred’s mouth tightens into a thin line, as he turns slowly in place to face Gavin. “Do not dismiss it. Colson Aspenwood knows something, at least as much as the pawn shop, and likely more. There were alterations to the contract that imply that he knows enough about the situation to attempt to ensure we are cut off from Mordecai’s inheritance. The Aspenwoods would not have cared, so it is something Colson has done for his own reasons, and we know he’s not spending much on Mordecai, not with what he’s been doing in Shattrath. We have no idea what Colson knows, or how he intends to use the information. What if he told your wife exactly what you have been up to those days you see to your…” Mordred makes a sound of disgust.

Gavin does not roll his eyes; he just happens to look up at the ceiling at that, spreading his arms wide on the couch as he talks to the high rafters.

“He didn’t! Or if he did, she didn’t believe him. And if she did, what of it? I’d just do the whole song and dance, the ‘oh, I’ve made such a terrible mistake, you’re the only one for me, it’s just all this time you’ve been spending working, etc, etc.’ Lucy isn’t going to believe Colson over me,” Gavin says, and it’s clear from his tone that he believes that.

Mordred says nothing as he returns his attention to the desk, taking out a pen, and several folders, sifting through the papers before pulling out two from what look like long contracts.

“How much was the bracelet?”

Gavin gives the amount promptly, and honestly. That was the second rule: you always give Mordred what he wants.

Mordred huffs something under his breath, but Gavin knew it was coming, the disapproval. It was not enough, and, at least, it was what Mordred had been expecting. Gavin swallows, as though his mouth has gone very dry, and he tries to calm his breathing. It’s fine. He knows he has good news. He just needs to play it right, the right card at the right moment.

“We will need to find another way to pay off Hittenspattle,” Mordred says.

“I already did,” Gavin says, in a rush, his words tumbling over each other too fast, not the smooth, planned easy drawl he had intended. Mordred’s hands go still on the paperwork.

“You did what?”

Gavin’s face goes pale. It’s the dangerous voice. Mordred’s back is still turned and the candlelight isn’t bright. Maybe Mordred won’t be able to tell. Gavin swallows twice and makes his voice as even and casual as he can make it, his hands trembling ever so faintly with the force of his pulse. He did well. He played it smart. He knows he did.

“I got a loan. A good one, with enough money to pay Hittenspattle, and move some of the funds over to Lord Underholdt.” Gavin twists his hand in the air, to cover the tremor. “You’re welcome,” he adds, because it sounds confident, and that was rule number three: you never showed Mordred that you were weak.

“What exactly did you do, Gavin,” Mordred continues, in that dangerous voice, the one that slithers through the darkness and the shadows, a creeping poison dripping like wax down a candle, slowly making its way to the table.

“There was a businessman offering a loan around the amount we needed, willing to work with me. It’s fine. He wanted a little collateral, but it’s in the contract that if we get him 15% by the end 30 days, he’ll remove it. It’s in the contract,” Gavin repeats, his voice going lower than usual to hide the way his fear is making him sound smaller, and younger. “You said we needed to get Hittenspattle off of us. It was an opportunity, and I wasn’t going to let it slide past me.”

It’s a blink. A whisper of a second. The candles snuff out. And Mordred is just there, his arms on each side of the couch trapping Gavin like a spider ready to wrap its prey in its web. Gavin barely flinches; he knows this trick, knows how Mordred does it, the side step, the shadows, the sprint. It doesn’t help enough to know how he does it to stop that flinch, though, and Mordred sneers at his younger brother.

“You. Idiot.” In the darkness of the room, with the only light the moonlight filtering in through the high glass windows, Mordred’s eyes glitter like obsidian stones. “You have no ‘collateral,’ Gavin. What did you do?”

“I do,” Gavin says. His breath is coming too fast. He can’t make it stop. “I do have collateral. The house. He wanted the house. I - I know you said we can’t use it, but this isn’t like the other ones. It’s temporary. It’s in the contract,” Gavin knows he’s repeating it. He can’t stop. You have to give Mordred what he wants.

“Show me,” Mordred says. Gavin takes it out of his jacket pocket, handing it over, hoping the darkness covers the nerves. Mordred takes it, and moves to the candles, lighting them once more. He takes a long moment to read through the documents, while Gavin attempts to make himself lounge easily on the couch, running a hand through his hair.

The silence in the room grows loud enough that the candles flickering in the slight currents of the air seem audible.

“If your wife discovers what you’ve done, you will have breached your marital contract,” Mordred says, slanting his gaze to Gavin.

“She won’t,” Gavin says. “And even if she did, for, I can’t even imagine whatever reason, I’ll tell her it’s for the wedding, that we were forced by the Aspenwoods to make it work for the speed. She liked the wedding. It will be fine. And I’ll tell her – truthfully – that it’s just temporary. All we need is the 15%. You can get that, Mordred.”

“I was not going to do anything until we could be sure that no one was interfering.”

“Yeah, well, we needed to pay the goblin either way, so. And it was a lucky break.” Mordred takes the contract to the desk, his back blocking most of his movement as the sound of rustling paperwork fills the room, finally louder than Gavin’s heartbeat in his ears.

Gavin knows already that things are being filed, moved, shifted, paperwork among dummy papers, files within files, obscuring the true purpose of most of them. Nothing ever listed for what it really was, all within some code that only Mordred knew the full extent of.

“I will have to find something,” Mordred says as he turns back around. “If I am not able to find a game within the week, you will find a way to get the money, Gavin, if you have to sell yourself on the market to do so.”

Gavin breathes carefully through his nose, controlling his reaction. He knows that in the full light of day, Mordred would see it, but in the candlelight, there is plausible deniability. Gavin says nothing as he rises, cuts a bow to his brother, not daring to let even a hit of mockery shine through the gesture, and walks to the door to let himself back out. Whatever Mordred was going to do to get the money, Gavin wasn’t going to interfere with it.

That was the fourth rule: you got out of Mordred’s way.