[Truthfully, he wasn't holding out on hope that she'd make any appearance at all. The surprise is welcome, to say the very least. Mordred gives her space, and a respectful, courtly bow.]
If it pleases Her Majesty. [He straightens with a smirk at the corner of his mouth.] I'm deeply honored to be your Favored, after all.
[Mordred knew she would cut an impressive figure, but the reality of it is arresting nevertheless. She seems to exude the faintest haze of shadows, and he feels from her the greatest depth of every winter night, ancient and deadly and bitter cold. He's not afraid of her, because he's not really afraid of anything. But the honor is genuine. He'd be honored to know her in his own life, if she existed like this.
So he approaches her when bidden; when he's close enough, he pauses, and there is an equally playful little glitter in his eye before he sinks down to a knee in front of the Queen of Faerie, watching her intently.]
[By her smile and her soft laugh, the Queen is clearly delighted by the gesture. One cold fingertip gently tucks beneath his chin, tipping his head up. She leans down and kisses his forehead, and her fingertip runs down lightly and taps against his chest, a pendant of a twisted, thorned rose vine left dangling in the place she touched.]
Ah, but I chose so very well with you, didn't I, darling?
[Her finger flicks his chin lightly as she draws back.]
[He does, somewhat deliciously chilled at the point of contact, as his fingers go to the pendant now resting against his chest. It's cold, and bites at his fingertips before the heat of his touch warms it.]
Thank you, my queen, for your generosity.
[He doesn't release it immediately, a little shimmer of his own magic passing over it.]
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If it pleases Her Majesty. [He straightens with a smirk at the corner of his mouth.] I'm deeply honored to be your Favored, after all.
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Well then.
[She rises from the chair, taller in stature than perhaps one might have expected, and beckons Mordred closer with a playful crook of her finger.]
Come and receive it then.
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So he approaches her when bidden; when he's close enough, he pauses, and there is an equally playful little glitter in his eye before he sinks down to a knee in front of the Queen of Faerie, watching her intently.]
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Ah, but I chose so very well with you, didn't I, darling?
[Her finger flicks his chin lightly as she draws back.]
You may rise.
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Thank you, my queen, for your generosity.
[He doesn't release it immediately, a little shimmer of his own magic passing over it.]
I do intend to prove you right.
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[Mab kisses her cold fingertips and touches them lightly to Mordred's lips.]
See that you don't disappoint me.
[And with a whirl of black smoke, her form vanishes.]