From the Great Deep to the Great Deep

[Voshkod]

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/f/f4/How_Mordred_was_Slain_by_Arthur.jpg/300px-How_Mordred_was_Slain_by_Arthur.jpg

From the Great Deep to the Great Deep

A Pendragon Cycle

Starring:

Rachel Lorelei as Owain ap Alain of Escavalon

MandibleBones as Griffin of Cameliard

H Savvy as Maelfannon of Tintagel

But when that moan had past for evermore,
The stillness of the dead world's winter dawn
Amazed him and he groaned, 'The King is gone.'
And therewithal came on him the weird rhyme,
'From the great deep to the great deep he goes.'

[Voshkod]

Chapter One

The New Sun Rose

Thereat once more he moved about, and clomb
Even to the highest he could climb, and saw,
Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand,
Or thought he saw, the speck that bare the King,
Down that long water opening on the deep
Somewhere far off, pass on and on, and go
From less to less and vanish into light.
And the new sun rose bringing the new year.

And a long hard trip it was, that long late December march through the rainy winter of Britain. They came from across the island, from far-off Orkney and the ends of Cornwall, from the shining towers of Escalavon and war-torn Cameliard, to the ruins of Verulamium, the ancient Roman city, where in tourney the next King of the Britons would be chosen. For there the last King had fallen in battle with the Saxons, there Uther Pendragon had driven his sword into the very stones of the Earth at the moment of his death, leaving it for his true heir. But yet, no man had come forth to draw that sword, to claim that crown, so lesser men would squabble over the throne on the field of mock battle.

From Orkney came Lot, King of that winter land, massive and dark and cruel. From Escalavon came the wealthy King Alain, with his sons, Owain and David, and the archbishop of Carlion and Prelate of Britain, Dubrecis. From Cameliard came good king Leodegrance, keeper of Uther's round table, with his son Griffin and his daughter, Guinevere. The Centurion King of Malahaut, from the north, with his daughter Flora. And from Cornwall, King Felix, escorting Uther's wife, the High Queen Ygraine and her daughter Morgan. Ygraine's other daughter, Margawse, was there with her husband, Lot.

And thus it was, on the eve of the year 510 of our Lord, did the great nobles of Britain assemble in camp at Verulamium. After a mass before the sword in the stone, they assembled for a great feast for, upon the rising of the first sun of the new year, they would choose a King.

[Voshkod]

" . . . . and may the Lord protect all those that fight on the field of honor tomorrow, and may He guide the hand of he that shall be our King, so that when the sun sets upon that field, a right and just man wears the Crown. Amen." Archbishop Dubrecis' voice roars through the vast tent. He's a massive man, son of a blacksmith who went into the Church. He rode with Uther Pendragon on the battlefield, and buried the High King here, at Verulamium. "Amen," the assembled crowd shouts back, and the food is served.

The tent is hot, great fires burning in the corners, and smells of men and the perfume of ladies, honey pastries and almond milk pie, crab and vinegar, stuffed stomach of porpoise, peas porridge with onions, chicken in wine sauce, rabbit pie, lamb in sage and parsley, and wine, mulled wine, and beer. The four Kings are at their own tables in each corner. The King of Malahaut, who holds the old Roman ways in Eberacum, still in the garb of a Centurion, sits with his daughter Flora, who looks as if she just stepped off a Roman coin. Lot of Orkney, surrounded by men that are but a step removed from the Saxons and sea raiders, tears at a chicken while his beautiful wife Margawse, daughter of the High Queen, laughs at someone's joke. Alain of Escavalon smiles with his knights, as his young son and page David scurries about. An empty seat at his side, a reminder of his Queen, just passed but months ago. Leodegrance of Cameliard exchanges a toast with one of his knights, while his daughter, Guinevere, seems to pull every eye to her long black hair. At the center of the tent is the High Queen's table, where Ygraine, still a beauty after these years, sits with her younger daughter, Morgan, whose coppery hair reflects a touch of another world (or so the gossips would say).

Around the four great tables are the Dukes and Earls and their men, then the knights errant. The food is passed from the tables of the Kings to them, and from them to the squires, who sit at tables scattered about the tent. And so it is that at your table, the food arrives, picked over by your betters, but still enough to eat. The wine and beer flow freely enough. There are six of you at this table. A smaller man, Cai, from Orkneys, who seems to be enjoying his drink, squire to Lot. A tall, dark-haired man named Bedevere, squire to a local knight. And Arthur, brown-haired and dark-eyed, who's sipping his wine and looking off sort of dreamily, squire of Sir Kay of Cameliard.

Bedevere puts down his mug. "Kings. They can eat, can't they?," he mutters with a laugh, picking at a chicken carcass. "Pity the poor pages, who come after us. No one eats like a squire."

Cai frowns. "Lot, he can eat. I've seen him devour an entire pig at a sitting. Then ask for another one."

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain ap Alain

"Ha! Back when I was a page, I would have asked for a third. Come, don't you remember being fourteen and always hungry?" Owain takes a bite of the drumstick in his hand and washes it down with beer.
"I remember days I came near to eating my horse, and that after dinner! Be generous, friends--leave some for the pages."

Owain, King Alain's son, is the largest of the squires in most ways: tallest, at over six feet, and broadest of shoulder. His eyes are leaf-green and his hair is golden, coming down to his shoulders. His cheekbones are prominent, and his face narrows to a nevertheless squared-off chin. Setting down his beer, he clasps a hand to Arthur's shoulder.

"What's got you all entranced, Art? The Lady Guinevere, or the Lady Morgan?"

[Voshkod]

Arthur blushes, smiles. "Actually, I was looking at the High Queen. I've heard of her in so many stories, but I've never seen her before."

Bedevere laughs. "She's a little old for you, Arthur." Everyone chuckles. Suddenly, a plate of wine-braised short ribs appears at the tables. The page whispers, "From the table of the King of Escavalon, with his compliments." Owain sees his father raise his glass in a toast.

Maelfannon notices that Morgan stands, whispers something to her mother, the Queen, then slips out, unremarked by most.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain laughs with the rest, murmurs a comment about certain qualities of older women, and hefts his mug in his father's direction with a smile.
Taking the plate of ribs from the page, the big squire shifts about a third of the contents onto an emptied plate, and hands that to the youth who brought the ribs.
"Bring that to the pages' table, and have some yourself, lad. From the table of the Prince of Escavalon, with his compliments!"

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon of Tintagel

Maelfannon drums his fingers idly and sips mulled wine. He has drifted in and out of the conversation, but there is nigh on to naught in this discussion to hold his focus. The vices of royalty, to Maelfannon, are no more interesting than the vices of common folk, which is to say, not very. A glutton is a glutton, who cares how famous he is. Why choose to discuss that glutton, and not another?

Maelfannon of Tintagel, squire to the Commander of the Queen's Guard, is not known among the squires for the size of his body nor the strength of his arm, but the mind that guides them both. Slight and wiry, he is known as being both fleet of foot and quick of tongue. His hair is black and straight, and occasionally covers his pale grey eyes. He is surprisingly clean and well-groomed; a small pointed beard adorns the chin of his otherwise smooth face. There are some who consider him unfriendly or a bit gruff, but he has a rough charisma that many find charming and a kind, if mischievous, demeanor.

Glancing about in his ennui, he notes Morgan, daughter of Ygraine, slip out of the tent. Maelfannon tries as best he can to slip away from the drudgery of the conversation and the crowd of squires at the table, preparing to follow her, and see what she is up to.

[Voshkod]

Morgan shoots Maelfannon, one he recognizes from long nights in Tintagel. She's in one of her black moods, and is seeking solitude. As she's heading out, she runs in to a tall, thin man entering. He's carrying a lyre. They look at each other for a moment in recognition, and the older man looks away first as Morgan pushes by.

"The Merlin," Arthur says. "He's a storyteller and singer. My father used to host him." The Merlin makes his way to the center of the room, where he kneels before the High Queen, who greets him with naught more than a nasty scowl. He rises.

"My dear High Queen, Kings, Earls, Dukes, and noble knights, squires, pages, and all others, I've been asked for a song. So I shall sing about Uther Pendragon and the course of his life. A King's life is like the daily course of the sun, which rises from the Eastern Sea and falls into the Western Sea. A bright fire at dawn, a struggle toward zenith, a spectacular noon, and a long slow descent into darkness. Mark it well, you who would be Kings, for your reign shall follow this course." He's looking right at your table when he says this.

He beings to sing. His voice is rich and low, like the waves of the sea. He sings of the dawn, of Uther's bloody birth in the dying hours of the Roman presence in Britain, the morning of Uther's rise, his battles against Saxons, kings, and warlords. He sings of Uther's glorious noon, the crown of the High King upon his brow. He sings of afternoon, of Uther's fatal love of Ygraine, and his betray of Duke Golorios of Tintagel. And then he sings of dusk, Uther's betrayal and murder near this very tent. And then a few lines on the night that followed.

He holds everyone in the tent enraptured during the song, and when he ends, the High Queen is quietly weeping.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin of Camaliard

"My lord Maelfannon," murmurs the clean-shaven young prince from Calmaliard, "Whatever could stir you from your food?" The other wiry young man eats sparingly, savoring each bite. Clearly, despite his thin frame, this is a man who enjoys a good meal.

Then, as Merlin enters, Griffin draws silent again. A song, the sandy-haired squire thinks, should be interrupted for no man, nor, he muses, following Maelfannon's gaze, for no Morgan.

Griffen's brown eyes seek his family, then he quickly turns away, back to his food and back to this table.

[H Savvy]

As he stands, Maelfannon catches a glimpse of Morgan's expression, and begins to sit back down. They say that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but in truth, a woman scorned hath no fury like Morgan le Fay. He had no intention of disturbing the girl when she was in such a volatile mood. Maelfannon was no fool.

"Lord Maelfannon? Is that what they're calling me these days, Prince Griffin? I had no idea I'd become a landed noble. As for pulling me away from these oh-so-fine table scraps, I needed but to stretch. I doubt I would be able to stay myself during the Merlin's performance without first working the stiffness from my body."

[MandibleBones]

Prince Griffin

"I meant no offense," Griffin murmurs, his attention still on the Merlin's song. "My mind was, as it often is, elsewhere." He smiles thinly. "I have," he muses, "no idea what people are calling you these days, Maelfannon. Perhaps I should pay more attention."

[H Savvy]

"Such thin skin and prim manners you have, Prince Griffin! I never dreamed you were so dainty. Ah, well, no offense taken, no offense meant. Drink and be more merry, man, lest your sour thoughts pickle your brain rotten. Ha."

With that, Maelfannon turns and addresses his attention to the words of the the murlynd, drinking deeply of the old man's story.

[Voshkod]

King Leodegrance raises his glass when Griffin looks his way, a small salute to his son. Griffin's sister, Guinevere, looks over as well, her gaze lingering on Arthur for a moment.

Arthur raises a hand. "Come now, my friends, this is not the time and place for such talk. Look, the Kings have come here in peace to decide which of them should rule Britain. Surely we can keep the peace at a squires' table?"

"Indeed," Bedevere says, putting down his wine. "It's getting hot in here. Listen, have you all seen Uther's sword? It's only a few yards away. Everyone should get a chance to pull the sword from the stone. Who knows? Maybe the next King isn't up there, he's right at our table."

Cai snorts derisively. "Maybe the next archbishop as well. But I'm game. I've heard too much about that sword not to see it."

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

The young prince raises his glass in respect to his father, then turns to speak quietly to the others. "Not a poor interest, to be sure, Cai. I, for one, would be interested in seeing this blade of which many have spoken, though I've no intention of pulling it myself."

[H Savvy]

"Afraid of what it means if you can't, Griffin?"Maelfannon grins. "I, for one, will give it a try. Though I suspect it to be impossible, a cruel joke for the amusement of Uther's ghost. I bet he'd just love to see everyone straining to fill his vacancy."

He reaches for a honey pastry and begins to eat it, pulling off small pieces and sipping on his mulled wine.

"So when shall we go investigate this sword? I must admit I wish to see the so-called miracle of the Sword in the Stone."

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

"Not hardly. I just have no desire to rule over all the land. Cameliard, in service to the High King, will be enough - and that not for many years," he says.

[Voshkod]

"Well then," says Bedevere, "let's go!" You all step out of the overheated tent into the chill of midnight. The sudden rush of cold drives out the lethargy of drink and heat and food, leaving behind a knife's sharpness.

The sky has cleared, and the moon hangs heavy in the sky. There's a gossamer ring around it, and a million stars. Your breath puffs out in front of you.

"God's wounds," Cai curses. "I didn't think it got this cold outside of Orkney." You make your way through the ruins of Verulamium, past old walls, toward an collapsed arch. As you pass through, you can feel the weight of history here, of Uther, ambushed, outnumbered, driven back with his guard, to here, surrounded by the walls, no way out. A last desperate battle against an overwhelming number of Saxons, the smells of blood and sweat, the High King, crippled, crawling through the muck, to the stone, and in his last moment of rage, driving the sword into the bones of the earth itself.

His sword. There, in the moonlight, the sword in the stone. And kneeling on the frozen ground before it, Morgan. She almost appears to be praying. She doesn't appear to have heard you coming.

[H Savvy]

There's a bit of ill fortune for you. Morgan in one of her "dark moods" seeking solitude, and by coincidence, Maelfannon and the others seeking just the opposite in the same locale.

He calls out the kneeling girl, his voice calm and gentle. "Our pardon, dear sister. We had no desire to disturb you amidst your meditations, but you have chosen a most interesting spot in which to carry them out. We have come to see it, Uther's sword, the fabled Sword in the Stone."

Despite his earlier cynicism, there is a note of awe and reverence in his voice as he mentions the sword. There is some magic in the weight of this place's history, and it has clearly had its impact on the dark-haired young man.

[Voshkod]

"So you've come here to see Uther's sword," she says, standing gracefully. Alarms start ringing in Maelfannon's head when he hears her tone. "Excellent timing, as Uther is here to see it as well." She turns, her hair spinning out in a fan behind her. Her eyes almost seem to glow greenly in the moonlight. She lacks Guinevere nearly etheral beauty, or the classical looks of Flora; she has instead a dangerous allure, earthy, and very real.

"Uther is here, released from the cauldron for a night, but I don't know why. And he is here with those that died with him." She points, wildly, to her left. "Yes, I can see you, you murderous, lecherous, traitorous rapist!," she screams at the air. "Tell me why you're here, you dog!" The wind whips around her, gusting coldly.

She stops, cocking her head slightly, as if listening to a far off noise. "He says he's here to watch. They're all here to watch. Can't any of you see them?" There is nothing here but you all, Morgan, the sword, and the leaves twisting around her legs.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

"Perhaps we're all blind," he says, "For I can see neither Uther nor his foes." He pauses, shivering ever-so-slightly. "Still, there is something more than worldly in tonight's air. Excitement, perhaps - or perhaps not. But what does a squire know?" he asks, somewhat rhetorically. He pulls his clothes a little tighter.

[H Savvy]

This was bad. Things were deviating rather drastically from their original simple plan of viewing the Sword, and maybe giving it a pull.

He is cautious, but always, his voice is calm and polite. "We are simply here to observe the sword, sister. We do not wish to disturb or intrude. We seek trouble nor from you, neither from those beyond the veil.

"You say Uther is here to observe. Observe what? Who? We are neither knights nor peoples of particularly great significance. What cause is it that brings Uther into the world this night?"

[Voshkod]

"I don't know why he's here, Maelfannon, but he is, with his legions." She's looking past all of you know, into the darkness. "It's wise not to keep him waiting. He's an impatient man, and I doubt ages in the cauldron have improved that. You came to just look at the sword? There it is. If you came for more, he knows. He's waiting."

"Ummm. . .," Cai starts, "is she seeing the Other Side, or is she just touched?"

"I have no idea," says Bedevere quietly, "Maelfannon, what do you think?"

"She's cold," Arthur says, stepping forward. "Morgan, I'm Arthur. Please, take my cloak." He unbuckles his cloak and wraps it around her shoulders.

[H Savvy]

"Morgan has always seen and known more than ordinary folk. It is as though she walks half in the world of fey and spirits. If it must be that she is either crazy or truthful, I know which I believe.

"As for the possibility that she is having fun with us, abolish it from your mind. My sister has never known the meaning of the word. Uther is here."

He walks forward to the Sword. He turns and speaks to the others. "I, for one, had planned to see if I could pull the Sword. To deny that to those beyond would be as hiding a latern 'neath a sheet. They know our desires better perhaps than we ourselves."

He reaches out one of his slim, pale hands. His long fingers wrap about the handle of the Sword. Simply touching it sends an electric feeling shooting through his body. There is power in this sword, and he can feel it brushing against him. He pulls. His second hand reaches out and he pulls with all his might, feeling the power seethe and surge against his palms.

It doesn't budge.

"As I thought. If there is one who can pull the sword, it was not a part of my destiny. Now," he grins as he turns to the others. He sweeps his arm up as if presenting the Sword, "who else will test their fate? Let us not tarry, the dead have little patience, and less for fools."

[Voshkod]

Morgan pulls Arthur's cloak around her and shoots Maelfannon a nasty look. "Thank you," she whispers.

Cai steps up. "Well, in Orkneys, we've always been taught to listen to witches and wise women. Or at least not to anger them," Cai says. "All right, spirits, meet the next High King." Cai grasps the sword and pulls, muscles bulging. "Come on, the spirits don't have all day," he grunts, pulling harder. Finally, he steps back. "Right. Who's next? Bedevere?"

Bedevere steps up. "Well, I've tried this before. But I'll give it another go." He takes a pull, to no avail, and shrugs. Griffin? Owain? Arthur?"

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

Griffin, having shown no desire to touch the hilt in rock before him, nevertheless thinks for a moment. "Morgan?" he asks, "Does Uther care if I try?" He seems only half serious, but then he walks up to the sword and pauses, waiting soberly for her answer.

[Voshkod]

Morgan studies Griffin for a moment, and then her eyes soften slightly. "No, I don't see him caring at all. About anything. Except himself."

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

The prince ponders that, then steps back. "Then I really do have no reason to tug at this useless piece of metal." He waves the others forward. "Someone without a kingdom of their own to inherit try it. It's not mine to pull."

[H Savvy]

"Useless piece of metal, Griffin? Never that. The sword is an item of great power and prophecy, to this I can attest. I was dubious of the Sword's power ere we came here, but truly, from the moment my finger brushed its mythic hilt I felt the strength and weight of this talisman's magic.

Indeed, if Uther cares for naught but himself, methinks that includes his Sword and his legacy. Belittle them with care, Griffin, and mind the way you speak of High Kings, even High Kings past."

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

Owain ap Alain leaves the tent chatting, mug still in hand, but his usual friendly demeanor fades into a thoroughly uncustomary solemnity in the chill wind's wake. He shivers for a moment, but makes no comment; his lips are pressed together as he eyes the moon, the stars, the sword.

He does not interrupt the conversation with Morgan, save to dip a short bow in greeting; his hair spills down onto his tunic's shoulders, and he watches unblinking as the others take their turns and try to tug the sword free.

"Do you know," the elder Prince of Escavalon says, tone conversational but voice low, "I was going to wait until every man with the desire had tried it, loosened it up a bit, maybe? I'd go last now, but I rather think I'd never forgive myself if I waited and another wound up pulling it before I'd even made the attempt."

He is tall, Owain, wide of shoulder and arm; he could tower over a man Maelfannon's size were he to play up his stature in an attempt to be imposing. He draws himself up to his full height, now, and spreads his arms wide, pushing back in a stretch. Then he approaches the sword, and falls upon it like a wrestler on an opponent: with both arms under the cross-piece, legs parted, Owain pulls.
The moon's corona is straight above him in the sky, and the moon's light falls white on his golden hair. White, too, are his knuckles as he pulls with every ounce of strength he posses, every sinew--the kind of effort one might use to lift a horse clear off the ground.
His teeth grit, the muscles in his neck stand out like the ropes of a ship's rigging, and he lets out a low groan of exertion. Owain is strong, any who've sparred with him know, stronger than most grown men: he bares the truth of this, without shame but not in pride; holds nothing back here on the field with Uther's ghost and Uther's sword.
It avails him not.
The massive white stone in which the sword rests lets out a grinding sound as it shifts a scant fingersbreadth, but the sword itself does not budge. Owain releases it, then, muscles slackening, and falls back, breathing as hard as a man who's just run a race.

[Voshkod]

Arthur looks around. "Well, I guess it's to me, then." He steps up to the sword. "I don't fear these spirits," he says quietly. "They mean me no harm." He puts one hand on the hilt and pulls.

The sword of Uther Pendragon comes free of the stone as if it were kept in an oiled hilt. There's a ring of metal on stone, and it cuts an arc of light across the night sky like a comet. Arthur is standing there, a look of shock on his face, Uther's sword, sharp as the day it was forged, held tight in his right hand. The tip seems to be carving the very face of the moon.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

The Prince of Camaliard's lip curls up in a half-smile, and he drops to one knee.

"Hail Arther, High King," he says, his voice a sad smile. "Long life to our king."

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon hears a sharp intake of breath as the Sword sings free of its niche and a piercing and resonant ringing fills the air. It takes him a few moments to realize the sound he heard was his own.
"Amazing," he whispers.

For a long moment that lasts an eternity before it passes, the courtyard is still and silent in the moonlight. The once-calm air seems to thrum with hidden energy. To his side, Prince Griffin kneels and declares Arthur High King.

Maelfannon stares. "Had I not tested for myself the Sword of yon Stone, never would I have believed its power. Had I not myself seen that which just transpired, I could not have trusted the meaning and truth of it. But I have seen. Uther is here, and by his presence, he has spoken. There can be no doubt."

He drops to one knee, bowing his head. "My liege, Arthur, High King of the Britons, I, Maelfannon of Tintagel, adpoted son of the High Queen Igraine, do pledge to you my sword and my service."

[Voshkod]

Bedevere goes to one knee. "My lord and King," he says quietly, "as I was your friend, now I am your servant." Arthur just stands there, paralyzed, sword in hand. Morgan's face is frozen behind him, tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. Cai stands in shock.

"No. This can't be . . .," Arthur mumbles. "But . . . I fear it is. I can feel Uther Pendragon here. It explains . . . so much." He looks over at you all. "Please, Prince Griffin, Maelfannon, Bedevere, get up, please. I'm not a King. This . . . this sword doesn't make a King. Not now. Please, my friends, this needs to be a secret. For now, at least. Please, swear, swear on what is dear, that you'll not speak of this unless I ask you to."

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

"Your majesty, that sword does make you my king. But I swear on whatever honor I can lay claim to, on my arms, on my family and on my sword, that I will not reveal this until you bid me to." Griffen rises from his knee and claps Arthur gently on the back. "You're our friend, too, my king. Let us know what we can do to help."

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon rises.

"My liege," Maelfannon pauses, briefly, noting the expression on the young High King's face, "..Arthur. This is all very sudden, and I can imagine it is terribly overwhelming, but I fear that this is not the time to be apprehensive. Remember why we are gathered here this evening. We are here for a tournament, and not just any tournament, but a contest to determine who is to be king! High King! The tournament must not go on, my liege, lest there be a challenge to the position you have just rightly inherited.

"This is not the kind of thing that can be kept a secret. Nor should it! We all attempted to pull the Sword, and none could. Even Owain's lusty brawn could nary budge the Sword an inch, and yet you pulled that same Sword as easily as one plucks a flower. The Sword chose you, Arthur. The Sword chose you for a reason. And it will be as a beacon to all those who see it. The moment they clap eyes upon that blade in your hands, they'll know.

"I feel I must advise you away from secrecy, Arthur. The people need their King, and providence hath delivered. Do not fear this thing. This is no ill omen.

"If you still desire our confidence, then I will obey your wishes. Whatever your decision, we are with you, all of us... my liege." He bows his head in deference.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain, too, has fallen to one knee and bowed his head--there is no denying the power of that blade, the truth of it. "All hail, and all bow. Long live High King Arthur."

He rises with Maelfannon. "Aye, I'll swear, if you so desire. But Maelfannon has the right of it, I think: there'll be no hiding this. Announce it now, while everyone is gathered and feasting, so all eyes can see it and no tongue can deny it. And remember, Art," he adds more gently, "your friends before you drew the sword. You'll have no shortage of them soon enough."

[Voshkod]

Arthur walks back to the stone. "It cannot happen like this, in the dark of night. That will lead to war. The kings must have their hour on the field. You all have sworn your silence, and I believe your vows." With a sudden thrust, he slams the sword back into the stone. It rings again, a bell calling in midnight.

"Bedevere, pray draw the sword," Arthur says, stepping back. Bedevere steps forward and tugs at the sword, to no avail.

Arthur exhales, his breath clouding before him. "We should go back to our lords. The meeting of the kings is ending, they will expect our service. Thank you all, again, my friends. Owain, you say I will soon have many friends. You are right, but I will trust those I knew before."

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon sighs. "I fear that letting them select and back a king before revealing yourself could lead to great War, but I can understand how the boisterous and drunken atmosphere in the dining hall would not be the best place for such business either. I have sworn to keep my Lord's confidence, and I shall. Now, shall we return? We have been gone long enough, methinks."

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

"Let's, then, my k... Arthur," he says. "Morgan? Will you yet join us?" he adds quietly as the group passes the odd young woman by. He inclines his head in respect either way.

[Voshkod]

"I'll return with my brother," Morgan says quietly, moving to Maelfannon. "My real brother," she whispers.

"We have been away for some time, longer than we think," Cai says. "Spirits are like that. We'd best be off, or the King will flog me."

With that, you all return to the main tent. The commanders and Kings are departing. Cai quickly trots over to stand behind King Lot, who cuffs him. "Where the hell have you been, boy?," he bellows. You can't hear Cai's reply.

King Leodegrance looks troubled. "Come, Griffin, there's much to be done for tomorrow."

King Alain looks pleased with himself. "Owain, boy, over here. Let's go. Much to deal with."

Finally, the High Queen emerges from the tent. "Morgan, Maelfannon, where have you two been," she says with a note of concern. "This is not the place to wander about."

Arthur falls in behind Sir Ector and Sir Kay.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

The prince bows his head in respect. "My apologies, father," he says politely. "The night got away from me. What do you require for tomorrow, beyond the normal tourneyment preparations? I've started those before feast, and will of course have those done in good time for your tourney on the morrow."

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

"Very well, then... Arthur. The sword is replaced, and none of us will talk. Draw it in full view of everyone, then--that way, there'll be no denying it."
He returns to the tent, quiet on the outside, but sizzling with energy--this is something momentous, something as big as the world, and he is a part of it. Greatness and glory can but follow.

"Of course, Father," he acknowledges King Alain. "Feeling confident about your chances?"

[Voshkod]

Griffin

Leodegrance frowns. "Let us retrieve your sister from the ladies' tent, then we will speak. You both walk in silence for a moment before coming to a smaller tent, the sound of music and laughter inside. "Guinevere," your father bellows, and your sister quickly runs out. She's laughing.

"Sorry, father, sorry, we lost track of the time. How did your meeting go?"

"Later, dear girl. Attend."

Back at your camp, you sit in your father's tent. Guinevere pours mulled wine into wood cups. "Griffin, there will likely be war soon. Lot will not accept the crown on any head but his own, and I will not follow that beast."

Owain

"Well enough, Owain, well enough." You both walk away from the main tent, toward your encampment. "Lot wants a war. Thinks he can take it all for himself. Malahaut's not showing his hand, and Leodegrance thinks justice and honor will out. Poor fool." Alain laughs. "War is profitable for us. We're out of the way. Lot has to go through Malahaut and Cameliard first. And that means we can throw our strength at high cost. What to you think of that Guinevere girl? Make a fine wife for a Prince."

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon bows his head. "Yes, mother. I am sorry if we worried you. The night simply got away from us. We are back now, though, if there be aught you need from us."

[Voshkod]

Maelfannon

"Not worried about you, Maelfannon, unless you were with Morgan. Then I worry." Ygraine gives a tired smile as the three of you walk back toward her encampment.

"Can I tell you a story, Mael?," Morgan whispers. "It's about my baby brother, the boy my mother got from the Pendragon, and how The Merlin stole him away one night, and Mother tried to tell me he died. Have I ever told you that story?" There's cruelty and anger undercutting her otherwise sweet tone.

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon rolls his eyes and sighs under his breath. More of Morgan's games. He whispers back to her, quietly. "Did I ever tell you one of my favorite stories, sister dear? The one about how glad I am no shared blood flows in our veins? No? Too bad... it's a good one."

[Voshkod]

She winces and recoils. "I'm sorry, Mael, I'm sorry. You know my storms, and seeing Uther. . . ." She trails off for a moment. "But I'm telling the truth. Uther did come to Mother in the guise of my father, and got her with child, and The Merlin did take the child. Uther raged and Mother wept and they thought I was asleep but I watched it all, and I think that boy today . . . . that Arthur."

She falls silent for a long moment. "Sometimes I wish you were my little brother, Mael."

[H Savvy]

His annoyed visage melted.

"I am, Morgan. Blood ties aside, we are family, sister. Do not forget that."

Such pride he had exhibited... such lack of patience... such rudeness. His sister was a creature of shifting mercurial moods and strange, otherworldliness. He had let her get to him, and he had hurt her. It struck him that all her ties to the fey were a part of her, something she seemed to have been born into, not a choice she had made. Uther's spirit... the strange events of the evening... it had been hard on her, he could see that. Storms indeed, for she had ever been unpredictable as the weather, but there was sun and warmth in her, as well as rime and tempest.

The things she said about Uther, though... and Arthur... Considering the connection he had been witness to tonight... was there some deeper link? It was all so strange... too impossible... but so were many things that Morgan knew. Troubling thoughts, these, and they burdened his mind as he followed his mother back.

[Voshkod]

"I know, Mael, I know. But times are changing. The old ways . . . I see a wave, Mael, a black wave rising over the land. In my dreams. But it's not a wave, it's the wings of a dragon." She takes your hand and you both follow Ygraine.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

"Guinevere?" Owain blinks, smiles crookedly, runs a hand through his hair. "Griffin's sister? I hardly know her. She's lovely enough to stand out even here, but there are a lot of lovely women, Father. Besides, I'm not yet a knight; hardly fit to wed, I'd say. I'd sooner gain glory first and a wife after."
The big youth laughs, then sobers. "Lot's always been quick to jump at war or cruelty, like the sea raiders. I'm not surprised he's doing so now. Still, I pray there may yet be a way to prevent it. War may be profitable, but it's also costly. Better the prosperity of peace, didn't you teach me that? "

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

The prince puts on a show of sobriety as he polishes the last smudge out of King Leodegrance's armor, then looks up curiously.

"Surely he will accept a crown on a head not his own if everyone else is behind it," Griffin says. "Even Lot cannot stand against all of us combined, and he's bound to know that. Would he really risk his holdings against insurmountable odds for foolish pride?"

[Voshkod]

Owain

"Listen, boy," the King says. "Your life isn't your own. It belongs to the Kingdom. And you'll marry for the Kingdom. If you're unlucky, you'll get someone ugly and hateful. If you're somewhat lucky, she'll be either ugly or hateful, but not both. And if you're lucky, like I was, she'll be neither, and you'll fall in love with her. At least with Leodegrance's daughter, you know you're not getting ugly." He chuckles.

"As for Lot," he says, "it's hard to tell. Peace is always better than war, unless war leads to a peace that you control. And Lot thinks he can take it all."

Griffin

Your father sighs. "Lot, alone, is a threat, but not a mortal one. But the Centurion Knight of Malahaut has not declared yet. If he falls with Lot, then the North stands against Cameliard. And I cannot rely on Alain of Escavalion, not with our treasury standing where it does."

[Voshkod]

The sun rises on a new year, and the rime of frost on the trees glitters in the new day. The camps stir early, fires burning, smoke rising into the clear cold air. Down at the field, the horses stamp impatiently, steam blasting from their nostrils. Armor is polished, gleaming in the hard winter light. The four Kings are drawn up in their corners of the battleground.

Lot is wearing heavy black chain, and is seated on the largest horse any of you have seen. The Centurion Knight wears his famous heavy bronze armor, the armor of a Roman soldier, an almost atavistic throwback here in England. King Alain wears heavy chain shot through with gold thread, and sits on a majestic white charger. Leodegrance of Cameliard wears the most ordinary armor, simple heavy chain, and he sits with confidence on his horse.

"The terms of the battle are simple," bellows Dubrecis, the Archbishop of Escalavion and Primate of England. "Last King standing shall have the opportunity to pull forth the Pendragon's sword, and then shall be crowned High King. All weapons are rebated, and any call for quarter shall be honored. There shall be no battles to death, and a man who falls from his horse will be remounted without challenge, and a man who loses his weapon will be allowed to regain it. Swear to these rules, my Lords, before God."

Each King in turn so swears. You all are on the sidelines, near the ladies' seats, where the High Queen and others wait. You have extra weapons, bandages, splints, and such things that may be needed in the crash of arms. Arthur is there, looking distant. Bedevere is pacing, watching his father, who fights for Leodegrance. Cai looks unhappy, watching Lot on his charger.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

Griffin stands near Bedavere, and he turns once to speak to his fellow squire. "They'll be fine," he says, as if assuring himself as well as Bedavere. "Your father and mine, that is," he adds. He then turns to watch the battle, hoping Lot doesn't lose his mind to the bloodrage.

[Voshkod]

"I'm not worried about them, Griffin. Our fathers can take care of themselves. I'm worried about . . . ." He lowers his voice. "Arthur. Last night, after we all left, I was worried about him. So I followed him a bit, just to make sure he wasn't in danger. He went to see the Archbishop."

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon seems slightly relieved at this latest news.

"I, too, was worried for our secret King, but it seems he has chosen well. King or no, no one man can rule a country, and if he is seeking the council of the Wise, then I am rather somewhat relieved... depending on what the Archbishop said, for not even the wisest of men are infallible.

"Still... I won't disturb his thoughts. I'm not sure he'd take kindly to thought that you followed him, Bedivere, despite your well-meaning intentions. No, I think we'll simply have to wait and see what happens, and support him however we can."

With that, Maelfannon turns back to the tournament. It is a fine display, but he was ever more fond of sword than lance, both as entertainment and in practice.

[Voshkod]

"You're probably right, Mael, but . . . there's one other thing. The Merlin was there as well. And that's just weird. The Merlin and the Archbishop? I'm worried that Arthur's well, someone's tool." Bedevere turns back to the field as the first lance charge lines up.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

"As odd as that is, I can't see the boy as anyone's tool. You saw him last night." He barely avoids sneaking a look at Arthur. "Still, you're right - it's odd."

[Voshkod]

"Well, whatever happens," Bedevere says, hefting an extra lance. "I'll be at his side." He grins as the horses on the field begin to charge at each other. The Centurion Knight and Alain are holding back, and Lot and Leodegrance's force are going head to head.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

Owain stays quiet, watching the field, waiting as his father waits to enter the fray. Inwardly, he cheers for Leodegrance over Lot.
His green eyes skitter right and up, catching the High Queen--and Guinevere. I will need to ask Griffin about her. It's best to know what one's getting into. Still, more immediate concerns...

Bandages, weapons, a pair of spare shields in case Alain's shatters--Owain's are laid out in front of him, neatly organized, so that he can retrieve what he needs and respond immediately.
He watches the field, examining the nobles to see who wears which woman's favor, and he can't help but glance up at Guinevere on occasion.

[Voshkod]

Lot and Leodegrance smash together with a noise like thunder, and two lances splinter against shields. In the first charge, it appears Leodegrance got the better of his foe, as Lot reels back but stays ahorse. They begin to wheel around to get new lances for a fresh charge when Alain's men come off the side, toward Lot's disordered flank, roaring "For Escavalon!"

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

Owain opens his mouth, then closes; it's more decorous to wait, keen-eyed, until one can be useful than it is to cheer. Still, he smiles when Lot rocks in his saddle.
Not as good as you thought you were, perhaps. Not quite as.
He dampens the smile, but his heart pounds faster as his father and his father's men charge Lot's forces.

[Voshkod]

Alain's forces pound across the field when the Centurion Knights forces charge his flank. Malahaut's forces ride without cheers, in excellent formation. At first impression, he has the most organized force. Alain's men pivot to take the charge, too slow, and the Centurion's forces rip through them as Lot refuses his flank. The melee is general now, the lances dropping into the mud and the rebated weapons coming to the fore.

[Battle rolls if you want to analyze the situation. Roll a d20, trying to get lower then your battle score. Post the results here.]

[Rachel Lorelei]

Damn! Evens out the odds, I suppose. Can Father turn it around?

(Battle: [roll0] vs. 10.
Edit: which makes a critical success, IIRC?)

[Voshkod]

(OOC: Critical indeed. Make a note of that, perhaps in the OOC thread, so when winter phase comes you can improve it.)

Some things jump out clearly to Owain. Lot and Malahaut are in league, but so are Alain and Leodegrance. The lines are already drawn. Man for man, Lot's men are the best warriors. Army for army, Malahaut has the advantage. Together, they will likely best Alain and Leodegrance in short order.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Oh, damn. The Centurion's siding with Lot, and Father and Leodegrance can't stand against them. Battles are decided so early on--it's just a formality at this point... I'd be more upset if Arthur hadn't pulled the sword, I suppose.

[H Savvy]

A small knot was gently tightening in Maelfannon's stomach. He wasn't particularly nervous... but he worried about Arthur's fate if Lot were to win the tournament. Almost any other of the Kings would surely give way to the Rightful High King... but Lot?

The longer the tournament went on, the harder it would be for Arthur's claim to stand uncontested... but to interrupt or pre-empt the tournament would be disaster. This was a matter of precise and careful timing. They couldn't have revealed it last night, Maelfannon was at least in accordance with that, but delay too long, and this could turn ugly.

Arthur... good luck to you... may that and the assistance of your friends be enough to see you through this...

[Voshkod]

With a roar, Lot charges Leodegrance with a war hammer (rebated, for all the good that will do). Lot's massive horse breaks the lines like a stone through water. The King of Cameliard brings his sword up to block, but Lot's blow is too fierce. He smashes Leodegrance on the shoulder, unhorsing him, and the King plummets into the churning mud below the horses' panicked hooves.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin stands and rushes to the edge of the stands, searching for any sign of his father. Worry is writ large all over his princely face.

[Voshkod]

Leodegrance rises out of the muck bleeding. "Get back on your horse, Cameliard, so I can end this," Lot bellows at him. The King of Cameliard darts forward and with a swift move of his rebated sword, manages to unsaddle Lot. "Why don't you get off yours instead?," he shouts back at Lot plummets into the muck. The King of Orkneys rises laughing, and they begin to square off in individual combat.

The Centurion Knight has rolled up Alain's exposed flank, rending Escavalon's charge in twain. King Alain is knocking knights of Malahaut from their horses with apparent ease as he moves toward the Centurion.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

Perhaps it's not over yet--the Centurion is very good, but Father's no slouch, and he's bigger. And luck does play a part. If they meet, perhaps Father can beat him even if our men go down.

[Voshkod]

The melee has become a general brawl now, men smashing each other with rebated weapons. Every few minutes someone is dragged from the field injured, and the Archbishop is giving last rites to a poor knight of Escalavon who's bleeding out from a wound to the face. Rebated weapons or no, the tourney is a dangerous thing.

"How's father doing, Griffin?," Guinevere asks anxiously. The High Queen sits stoically, watching the fray, while her eldest daughter, Margawse, Lot's wife, cheers as he lands a solid blow on Leodegrance. Morgan, for her part, is watching the morning clouds scud by.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin turns to his sister. "I'm trying to figure that out myself at present," he admits, "Though it appears that he's still the same never-say-die father he's always been," he adds. "Look, he just knocked King Lot off his horse. Even a squire like me knows that's good for him and bad for Lot."

[roll0] Compare to Battle 10 to see how people are doing. Additionally, [roll1] against Heraldry 10 to recognize the dying knight.

[Voshkod]

The battle is too confused and Griffin too full of filial concern to really grasp the battle, but you recognize the three silver rings of Sir Lucas, a knight in your father's service. A man of no great note except for his loyalty to Cameliard, and liege of three small holds in the forest. A young woman is tending his wounds while weeping.

OOC: Note that you made your heraldry roll. Recognize roll for the young woman.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain, too, glances at the fallen knight and his lady.

Heraldry: [roll0]; Recognize: [roll1]
Edit: crit on the Heraldry, too!

[MandibleBones]

Griffin closes his eyes, quietly mourning the loss of a loyal knight. There are too few of those left in the world.

[roll0] versus Recognize 6.

[Voshkod]

Owain also recognizes the shield of Sir Lucas, and has a vague memory of his small fame in killing a pack of wolves on dark night. The lady, you both realize, is his daughter, Kyra. Griffin recalls dancing with her at some party or the other in his father's castle - an excellent dancer.

Both are interrupted by a loud clang from the field, as Lot's hammer smashes Leodegrance's shield and, perhaps, arm. The King of Cameliard falls again in the mud, and Lot sways for a moment. "Yield," Lot shouts. Leodegrance rises, bows slightly to Lot, and limps toward the edge of the field, followed by the flag of Cameliard.

Alain and the Centurion Knight continue to trade blows when a horseman nearly tramples the King of Escalavon. Alain stumbles and Malahaut lunges, his rebated sword going up under Alain's helmet. They lock into a grapple.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain murmurs a curse as Leodegrance leaves the field, but smiles briefly as his father and the Centurion lock together--Alain should have more of an advantage this way.

[Voshkod]

Alain's strength comes to the fore, and he batters the Centurion Knight to the mud. "I yield," Malahaut shouts, and Alain reaches down to help him up. At that moment, Lot appears through the mob, smashes aside one of Alain's guard, and bring his hammer down on the King of Escavalon's helm. Alain stumbles forward and falls on Malahaut.

"Enough!," the Archbishop roars. "The Kings have fallen, the tourney is over. Squires, attend to your knights!"

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

The Prince hurries to his father, thankful that Leodegrance, at least, left the field conscious. He mutters a quick prayer for King Alain, and, after a moment's guilty hesitation, one for Malahaut as well. His prayer for his father's dying knight and his soon-to-be-fatherless daughter is longer and silent. He makes a mental note to offer his condolences as soon as his lord is tended to.

"Well fought, Father," he says quietly, helping Leodegrance with whatever armor he needs loosened or tightened, "Your honor on the field even in the face of defeat makes me proud to be your son."

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain rushes towards his father, pulling him off Malahut; he removes Alain's helm, checking for consciousness.

[Voshkod]

Leodegrance leans heavily on his son. "In an actual battle, with men-at-arms, we'd stand a better chance, my boy. We need to see Lucas." Griffin helps his father over to the dying knight.

"Kyra, dear," Leodegrance says softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Have the churgeons looked to him?"

"They have, my lord," she says, stifling back tears, "and they say there is naught to be done."

At the sound of their voices, Sir Lucas' eyes flutter open. "My king? Kyra? I hear you both, but I cannot see you."

"I'm here, father," Kyra says, hugging him.

"Here, old friend," says Leodegrance. "You fought well."

"Not well enough, my King," Lucas says with a blood-spattering cough. "I've lived and died in your service, to my honor, but now I would ask my leige a favor."

"Anything," Leodegrance says, gripping Lucas' hand in a mailed fist.

"Protect my daughter and my lands until she marries, I beg . . . ." Lucas stops, jerks upright, eyes wide. "My Lord!," he says clearly. Then the light fades, and he slumps back into Kyra's arms.

Very quietly, the King of Cameliard whispers, "I shall, Sir Lucas."

* * *

It takes a moment to work Alain's helmet loose, as it has a deep dent on one side. He's concious, just barely, muttering something about stones and rings and wings, Owain thinks. Malahaut kneels down next to you both. "How is he, Prince Owain? Orkneys struck him quite a blow."

[Rachel Lorelei]

"Conscious, if a little addlepated. Healers!" he calls, raising his voice; he does his best to help his father up and lead him to where the physicians can take a look.
"He did, Your Majesty. A hard hit from the side with no chance to defend; I suppose Father got off lightly."

[Voshkod]

Malahaut helps you with King Alain. "We had a good bout there, Alain," he says loudly (perhaps slightly addled himself). Churgeons rush over to check both of them out.

Malahaut turns to you as the healers look over Alain. "Aye, lad, I saw Orkneys take his main chance with your father. On a battlefield, no matter, no rules. But on the tourney fields, it says something about Orkneys. I wonder how the crown will fit that head," he says, walking off.

[Rachel Lorelei]

With his father in the physicians' care, Owain moves over to Arthur.
"Now might be the time, Art," he suggests, glancing at Lot. "Before Orkneys crowns himself, sword or no sword."

A little thrill runs through him at the mention of their secret. Here he is, speaking to the High King, even if none but their small group know it.

[Voshkod]

"Soon," Arthur says, looking rather calm - or perhaps resigned. "Very soon."

[Voshkod]

"The wounded are being tended to," Dubrecis says. "Let us attend to the matters ahead. King Lot of Orkneys, if you would follow us?"

With a large smile, Lot and his flags take the lead, and the Kings follow the Archbishop. "Where are we going, god man?," Orkneys says with annoyance.

"To the proper place for a crowning, my King of Orkneys," Dubrecis says with a rumble.

"Lady Kyra," Leodegrance says, "I would fain be at your side a moment longer, but duty demands my presence and that of the Prince. We shall return." The young woman nods without speaking, and with that the King of Cameliard falls in behind Lot.

"Let's go, boy," Alain says. He begins to stagger from the field behind Cameliard, leaning heavily on Owain.

The High Queen stands. "Maelfannon, attend, please," she says, holding out an arm for you to escort her.

"Maelfannon, attend, please," Morgan echoes, holding out the her arm. Sir Brastus, Maelfannon's knight and head of the High Queen's guard, smiles wanly and nods to you. With a lady on each arm, Maelfannon attends.

And soon, the Kings of Britain, Orkneys and Malahaut, Cameliard and Escavalon, Cornwall and the High Queen, are standing before Uther Pendragon's sword. As usual, the squires have been grouped together to the side.

"We are hear to crown the victory of the grand tourney of the New Year's the High King of England." Lot steps forward. Maelfannon, you can see your elder sister Margawse staring after him with what can only be called a feral grin.

"The crown, god man," Lot grumbles.

"A moment." The Merlin steps out of nowhere. "There are ceremonies, rites, rules, before the crown, no?"

"Then be done with it, story weaver." Lot crosses his arms and waits.

"Here before us, where it cleft the very earth," The Merlin begins, "stands the sword of the Pendragon. For many years, men have tried to claim his crown and his heritage. Now before us is Lot of Orkneys, who claims this crown by right of strength." The Merlin's voice builds as he speaks, until he sounds like he's calling down the thunder. "Before Lot of Orkneys takes this crown, is there any man here who wishes to claim the blood of the Pendragon, who wishes to draw forth the sword from the stone?"

A long silence follows.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

With his size and his strength, Owain has no problems supporting the weight of an armored man, even one as big as his father; he lets Alain brace himself against his arm and shoulder and focus on walking. His eyes seek out Arthur; if the youth--the High King!--doesn't act soon, things will get much more difficult.

Then the Merlin appears as though out of thin air. He knows, Owain is somehow sure. He's giving Art the opportunity.
He glances at Arthur; twitches his head towards the sword. God help him, if Arthur doesn't announce himself, he'll have to do it for him.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

The prince has closed his eyes, and all thoughts save one prayer rush from his head. That prayer, he repeats over and over and over in his mind: Please God Please God Please God Please God PLEASE GOD let this work out for the best.

[Voshkod]

The silence ends as Lot steps up. "Well then . . . ."

Arthur steps forward. "I'll try the sword." His voice cracks slightly, squeaks even.

"Arthur," Sir Kay says, "get back here, you damn fool."

"No," old Sir Ector, Arthur's father says. "Do it, boy. Godspeed." The old knight is crying.

Most of the other men are laughing. "You said any man, tale weaver, that's just a boy," Lot roars.

"Then you have nothing to fear, Orkneys," the Archbishop shoots back. Lot shrugs.

"Go ahead, boy. Give it your best, maybe you'll remember this day when you're old," Lot sneers.

Arthur steps forward, places one hand on the sword, and pulls it free with an easy motion. The ring seems to stop the hearts of all.

[H Savvy]

Now! Now was the moment, before the stunned silence had broken, to give a call of support, preempting the inevitable uproar.

Maelfannon calls out, adding as much surprise and enthusiasm to his voice as he can without sounding trite and overeager. "He has pulled the Sword from the Stone! It is as the Merlin has said. By right of the sword of Uther Pendragon, Arthur is true heir to the crown!"

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

"Here's your chance, father," Griffin murmurs to King Leodegrance. "A king who isn't Orkneys." Following his father's lead, the young prince kneels before the High King.

[Voshkod]

"It's a trick, a stupid bard's trick," Lot screams. The rest of the knights and kings are still, expect Sir Ector, who pulls his sword and kneels. "'Tis true," Ector says, "my son . . . Arthur, he's the true son of Uther Pendragon."

"You say it's a trick, Lot of Orkneys," Arthur says, his voice carrying suddenly. He turns and slams it back into the rock. "Then pull it, Orkneys. Pull it."

Lot laughs, and steps up to the stone. He places both massive hands on it. "When I pull this forth, boy, I'll split your skull with it." He beings to pull. The muscles on his arms stand out, great ropes. He grits his teeth with such force that one shatters with an audible crack, sending tiny shards of bone shooting out. And then . . . nothing. The sword stands still.

Boos start from the crowd, and Lot steps back. Arthur walks up to him, then past, and pulls the sword again with ease. Many present break out in cheers, even some Orkneys men.

Leodegrance of Cameliard is first, pulling forth his sword and kneeling. "My lord, my King, take this, your sword, and take my service, son of the Pendragon."

Arthur steps over to him. "Good king, you have been a kind master to my father for these many years. I leave you your sword, but take your service with a grateful heart." He looks over to Griffin. "And your son's service as well, if I may."

[Rachel Lorelei]

He's done it. He's done it!

Owain steps forward and sinks to one knee. His eyes skitter to the side; find Griffin. "Griff," he hisses, hoping the other will follow his lead.
"All hail King Arthur! Long live the High King!" He thrusts a fist into the air.

[Voshkod]

Lot's sword comes out. "No! This trickery will not stand!" He takes step toward Arthur as the Archbishop steps between the two.

"You swore an oath, Lot of Orkneys, that peace would be kept here. Will you defame yourself and your honor?" The Archbishop's stare carries glints of hellfire, and Orkneys' men begin to mumble.

Lot stops. "You men are Kings," he says to Alain, Malahaut, and Cornwall. "Will you stoop to this boy?"

Alain pulls his sword. "Better than stooping to you, Lot." He kneels before Arthur. "My sword, my life, my honor, to you, my King."

[Rachel Lorelei]

Father and Leodegrance have acknowledged arthur. If the Centurion and Cornwall do, too, Lot would have no choice...

It is not his place to speak out against Lot, and so Owain remains on bent kne beside his father.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

The Prince of Cameliard stays kneeling beside his father, but raises his head just the slightest amount to meet Arthur's eyes. An inclination of his head, respectful but just the slightest bit irreverent, and the corner of a smile touches his lips. Friends first, it seems to say, and Lot be damned.

[Voshkod]

The Centurion Knight turns to his men. "Break camp. We will be marching within the hour." His troops turn and depart in good order. He looks at Arthur, then at Lot. "I did not come here to swear my sword to a child. I came here to find a King, and I see very few of those in attendence." With a slight bow to those present, Malahaut turns and leaves.

Felix of Cornwall kneels before Arthur. "The Centurion is wrong, my King. The blood of Uther flows still here, before me, and blessed are my days that I live to see it. Take my sword and my loyalty, Arthur High King." Arthur puts a hand on the old man's head and whispers something.

Lot's fury nears breaking. "By right of arms and right of tourney I won the crown this day, boy," he spits at Arthur. "And now I will take it, and your head, by right of battle. Attend for a bloody summer, Arthur bastard of Uther, and all your pathetic band." Lot draws a dagger and cuts his palm, dark blood welling forth. "Tale spinner, heed this, that by my blood this day I swear upon Morrigan that I will kill this bastard of a bastard or die on the path." Archbishop Dubrecis pales slightly, and makes the sign of the cross.

The Merlin smiles. "I so witness your blood oath, Orkneys, and I feel the Morrigan has heard as well. She will walk with you on whatever path lies ahead." Lot grunts and stalks out his troops behind him.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

Cornwall has pledged. The Centurion has not--but neither has he pledged for Lot; there's hope there, yet. As for Lot--so very greedy. He cares for nothing but the throne, and feels he has been robbed.
Owain ap Alain rises from his kneeling position, and there is thunder on his face.
"That was ill said, my lord," his baritone tolls out.
"Your lordship is too proud. The strongest beast is not the one that roars most loud! May you reap what you have sown here, Lot of Orkneys. Methinks it will be an ill harvest."

[Voshkod]

Lot continues to march out. "Thought I heard a pup mewling," he says to one of his knights.

Arthur watches Lot go, then turns to the gathered men. "I thank the Kings of Cornwall, Escavalon, and Cameliard for their loyalty. It shall never be forgotten, and shall always be repaid. It is good to know such trusted men are with me." Arthur seems to be finding his "kingly" voice quickly. "But I need trusted me at my side, at all times, for Orkneys is not an honorable foe. I ask Owain ap Alain, Griffin of Cameliard, Maelfannon of Tintagel, Bedevere of Cameliard, and . . ." He raises his voice, so the men of Orkneys can hear. ". . . and Cai of Orkneys to step forward!"

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

Owain ap Alain,already standing, steps forward first; positions himself so that the morning sun comes down on golden curls and a green tunic, throwing his long shadow out to the side. He is tall, Owain, and broad--he towers over standing and kneeling men alike. His arms rise and spread, palms up, as though he were presenting himself to Arthur, to the gathered mass of men, to the world. Things innumerable and without name swell within him; a high tide, which threatens to burt from his throat in a cry of joy.
"It is the just man who, like a bold lion, should be without fear. I am here!"
He lowers his hands, moves to one side to make room for the others, stands still and proud.
"You were my friend before you were my liege, High King Arthur; I will serve you doubly well for that. Ask sword or service or life of me; I will pledge it."

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon shakes his head at Owain's antics with Lot, and the great pride motivating them, and watches again as that same great pride moves Owain to call attention to himself as he crosses the field.

Not one to be either so flashy or overt, Maelfannon quietly moves to Arthur's side, saying quietly to his mother and sister before he does, "It seems my path has always been crossed by the business of High Kings."

Standing quietly next to the boy-king, straight and still, Maelfannon aches for the opportunity to talk to Arthur: to cajole, to congratulate, to plan his next actions, but he holds his tongue, waiting for a moment of greater propriety with which to talk to the High King. For now, it was Arthur's show, and he had no intention of spoiling it or stealing the spotlight.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

The prince steps up and kneels. "What would you have of me, my friend and my king?"

[Voshkod]

You all step before the King. Arthur smiles at you all. "These squires, these men," he says, "they have proven their worth to me, they have proven that I can trust them. Let it be recorded that my first act as King is to raise Bedevere of Cameliard, Maelfannon of Tintagel, Owain of Escavalon, and Griffin of Cameliard to the rank of knight, and that I do name them, without prejudice to their station or their heritage, my personal guard." The sword of the Pendragon dips to touch your shoulders lightly. "So rise, Sir Griffin, Sir Owain, Sir Maelfannon, and Sir Bedevere, and go forth and arm yourself to my defense."

[Voshkod]

Bedevere stands. "My lord, my king, I swear to you my absolute loyalty, fealty, my sword and my honor." The men cheer.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain hastens to retrieve his sword-belt, donning it and putting the sword in its finely crafted, gold-chased leather sheath through it. He returns to Arthur, just behind Bedevere.

"My lord, my king," he repeats, turning Bedevere's words into something more formal, hoping the rest will follow suit, "I swear to you my absolute loyalty, fealty, my sword, and my honor."

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

"My lord, my king," he says, pausing a moment to let the "my friend" stand unsaid, "I swear to you my absolute loyalty, fealty, my sword and my honor."

At Arthur's bidding, he rises, and heads toward Cameliard's camp, though as he passes Leodegrance, his father stops him.

"Sir Griffin," the older king says, the glint of knightly tears of joy in his eyes. "I believe this is yours." He holds out a sheathed sword, and Griffin takes it gratefully. Only after he holds it in his hands and sees that his father is wearing a simple, unadorned blade rather than his own sword does he realize the magnitude of Leodegrance's gift.

His eyes flash with pride and gratitude that mere words could never convey, and he embraces his father as a brother before rejoining the High King, his father's sword - now his - at his side.

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon kneels before Arthur and follows Bedivere's lead, swearing his allegiance to the High King. "My lord, my king, I swear to you my absolute loyalty, fealty, my sword and my honor. Where my King wills it, there shall I put my sword."

[Voshkod]

Armed and honored, you stand together before the assembled knights. "Hurrah for the knights of King Arthur," Leodegrance shouts, and every throat rips loose with a loud "Hurrah!" As the cheering continues, Arthur leans forward and whispers to you all: "That was the easy part. Go find Cai for me and bring him here, if he will come."

[Rachel Lorelei]

Sir Owain

The newly-knighted youth bows to Arthur; glances at his similarily-honored friends.
"Cai... left with Orkneys' men, I think. So, we go after them. Let us don armor and ride, then, and offer Cai his choice."

[Voshkod]

"I want him to know he's welcome at my side," Arthur said. "Now, I should speak with the Kings. We'll be back in the central tent. Thank you, my friends. Knowing you'll be at my side will make the upcoming days that much easier." Arthur shakes your hands with a small smile, then turns. "I would meet with the Kings of Escavalon, Cameliard, and Cornwall, with the Archbishop, and the Merlin."

[Rachel Lorelei]

Sir Owain

"Come on, friends."
Owain moves towards the men of Escavalon, seeking out his younger brother.

"David! Where's my armor? Come help me get it on. Errand for the High King, you know."

[MandibleBones]

Griffin throws on a mail hauberk, quick as he can, and an argent-and-gules tabard over the steel links, then stands ready to accompany his friends.

[H Savvy]

Returning to the side of his mother and sister, Maelfannon carefully avoids meeting eyes with Morgan. Not knowing what her reaction will be, or whether it will be a pleasant one, he would rather find out later. He was on the King's business.

Donning a mail haubergeon and coif and the surcoat emblazoned with his arms, he asks an attendant to fetch his horse, and bring it to where he was meeting the others.

[Voshkod]

The four of you make your way toward Lot's camp. His soldiers are breaking camp, tents coming down, horses being readied for travel. The common soldiers part for you as you make your way toward Orkneys' banner, which features a silver castle on a black background. You see Cai, packing Lot's belongings.

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon manages a smile at the sight of Cai. He had begun to worry that he would be at Lot's side, and thus much harder to converse with.

With a somewhat cheery wave, the young man from Tintagel calls out to Lot's squire. "Cai! We need to speak with you! We bear a message of great import from" at this point, Maelfannon's smile becomes a fully fledged grin, "the High King, Arthur!"

[Voshkod]

Cai flinches as Lot comes out of the tent. "High King? A boy king and his child knights," the King of Orkneys says with a laugh. "It's all a game to you, isn't it, boy? That young fool and his masters are going to start a war over this. You think he's earned the right to call himself my King because he drew a sword? He's unproven, untested, and can't show his royal blood. But forgive me," he snarls, "you've come to speak to my squire. Go on, then."

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

As the others speak to Cai, Griffin keeps his eyes on Lot. "You may contest Arthur's royal blood," he says in that quiet manner of his, but more formally than he has spoken in years, "But surely not mine - for as I am the son to a man you recognize as a brother king, then surely I am a Prince in my own right. Therefore, hear me out in full, King Lot," he says.

"Your pride, nay, your honor, may well demand that you refuse this young man's claim to the throne, but I pray that you will not throw your own holdings to the four winds for pride alone. All other leaders of men have either thrown in their lot with the High King, or like the Centurion, stood apart - but if you stand against him, surely even in victory you would lose many vassals. There can be no benefit for you in war.

"I do not ask that you recant your skepticism, merely that you follow the Centurion's example: wait, and see. Send Cai to watch the court, to advise you of its doings, and form your opinions on the king you call a lad by way of patience and observation, rather than by rash pride. I suspect that you will not be dissappointed - and that in your decision to stand by and learn, all will know that Lot of Orkneys is a wise and just king indeed."

He waits cautiously, hoping to God above that he has given Orkneys an out with his pride intact rather than provoking Lot's legendary wrath. Still, he reasons in the seconds before destruction, he has done nothing to insult the king in truth - if there is cause for harm, it is only in Orkney's mind, and his fellow knights will back him.

At least, he hopes so.

[Voshkod]

"Well spoken, scion of Cameliard," Lot says. "And yet I am not driven solely by pride. Our island faces great threats, Prince Griffin. Here in the southlands you have not yet faced the Saxons en masse, as we have in the North. As the Centurion has. You have not faced the fury of the Norsemen, or the Irish. We came together here this day to choose a High King to lead us in battle against the carrion crows that would pick at our bones, and at battle I and my men have been shown to be victorious. A priest and a conjurer would take instead take a boy they can control and expect him to lead to victory?"

He shakes his head. "Nay. We cannot afford such luxuries now. And ask yourself this, son of Leodegrance. Was your father going to come on bended knee to me after I had won? Would proud Alain of Escalavon kneels before the barbarian Lot of the North? Nay. It was all going to end in war one way or the other. But yet, I have not heard the words the High King Arthur has for my squire. Come now, and tell us of his great words." The sarcasm at the last few words cannot be missed.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

"I will not speak for my father, and I can not speak for King Alain," Griffin says, "But I can speak for myself, and I say honestly that, had you pulled that sword from that stone, I would have followed you as the rightful high king," he says, with eyes that speak only truth. Swiftly, he moves on to a separate subject.

"I am also inclined to believe your words on the threats from without. Would that not dictate a need for an allied, if not united, land?" he muses. "In any event, I will carry your concern to the high king, and again, I pray that you will consider at least a peace between Orkneys and the high king, in light of those concerns."

With that, Griffin turns to Cai.

"Cai, the High King asks that we present you to him, to be a knight in his service and, without prejudice to heritage or station, a member of his personal guard. The choice is yours, and yours alone," he says, careful not to look at Lot as he says this, "Even as it was my choice to serve as such."

[H Savvy]

"And mine.

King Lot of Cornwall. I do not seek to deny or undermine the importance and difficulty of your struggle against the constant press of the Saxon barbarians. Rarely before have I had cause to consider the hardships of your far-flung lands, and truly, I have great respect for you and your people." And as he said it, he realized it was quite true. Lot was a great warlike beast, but that's because he was the leader of a warlike nation... not out of choice, perhaps, but born of necessity and circumstance.

"It is no exaggeration that your nation is one faced by constant and bitter dangers, but yours is not the only domain embroiled by conflict. The Picts, the Scots, and the occasionally even the Romans are all dangers of the Southlands. These dangers are facts of our existence.

Were it that nor you, King Lot, Lord of Cornwall, neither King Leodogrance, Lord of Cameliard, neither King Alain, Lord of Escavalon, neither the great Centurion Knight, Lord of Malahaut, neither the High King Arthur, Lord of the Britons, were to exist, still these threats would exist. They are a danger of the land, as are the floods, as are the locusts.

Indeed, if we are to settle into the bitter reality of civil warfare, we may as well lay down arms and welcome the Saxon and Pictish animals into our homes. It is the strength of unity, King Lot, that best allows us to weather the constant dangers of the land. Infighting results in naught but death for all - by each others hands, or by the hands of alien invaders taking advantage of the weakened state of the survivors.

Lord, no malice or insult do we bear from the High King. We have not come under mien of offense. To young Cai we extend the invitation of the High King, but before such a thing could happen, first, to you, King Lot, we entreat your favor. Cai is squired to you, your majesty. To bring him without your permission or knowledge would be to risk great offense, and that is what we do not wish. We would not have him steal out of your camp like a common thief, but rather leave with the honorable blessing of his lord.

Great Orkneys, King Lot of Cornwall, will you release your squire, Cai, from your service that he may serve as a Knight of High King Arthur?"

[Voshkod]

"A war cannot be won under the wrong leader. Our foreign foes will not be ready to fight for some campaign seasons to come. I believe I can destroy the dragonet and his children within a single season." Lot grins.

Cai is looking at the ground. "I've sworn an oath to serve the King of Orkneys."

"And I have not released you of that oath," Lot growls. "When their lieges swore to follow the boy, the oaths of your friends followed. I have not, and will not, swear. But this is truce ground, boy. You can break your oath and go to the boy king, but you know the fate of oathbreakers . . . and their kin."

Cai nods slowly. "My oath has value to me, even now." He looks up at you all. "Tell Arthur . . . tell the High King of Britain . . . that I thank him for his friendship, but my honor must come first."

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain has sat quietly, a storm on his face, one hand at his belt near--though deliberately not at--the hilt of his sword.

"Ill done, King of Orkneys," he murmurs. There is little enough of boyhood left in his posture, his visage, his rumbling voice. "A true servant is one who gives his oath because he desires to serve, not one who serves because he has given an oath and can not break it. As a king, you can find squires eager to serve you: let this one go. What good will it do you to keep him? What will happen when you ride to battle, spurred on by uttermost pride, and he rides beside you, save that we will meet him? Whatever the result, a friend's blood will spill at a friend's hands. Avert this fate, Orkneys. Find yourself a more willing squire, and releasee Cai to ride with us, honor intact."

[Voshkod]

"Get your hand away from your sword, boy, or I'll cut you down where you stand, truce be damned," Lot rumbles to Owain. "You southerners. You think you can lecture me. Cai's father was my shieldman, and was well rewarded with lands until his death, lands Cai shall rule when he comes of age as my shieldman. He can break his oath if he wishes, tho' his lands and sisters will become forfeit to me to dispose of if he dare. Make up your mind, boy, we haven't got all day." Lot turns and walks over to some other knights, leaving you all alone.

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

Griffin speaks to his fellows. "Lot is right: the squire has an obligation to his family. Let's let Arthur know." He sighs. "Cai, I hope we see you again soon when Lot changes his mind."

He waits for his fellow knights, and will go with them back to Arthur.

[H Savvy]

"King Lot!" Maelfannon calls out after the departing monarch. "You are right about Cai, Your Majesty. But I will never accept that you are right about the High King."

"As for you, Cai, I would not wish to be in your position. I believe, however, Arthur.. King Arthur," he corrects himself, "foresaw this likelihood. But still, we had to try. Know this, Cai: You shall always have a welcome place at the High King's side, by his own words. I hope you take comfort in that.

You'd best hurry and finish here that you may seem quite willing to attend to your Lord and King, though. He seems in a foul temper over the whole thing, and I'm sure our presence here did not please him. It is meet that we depart, as our continued presence will likely only arouse his anger further. Fare well, Cai. May your days in Lot's service be happy ones. We shall surely meet again."

[Voshkod]

"Tell Arthur that I can't leave my lands and my sisters," Cai says mournfully. "When this war is over and Arthur has destroyed Lot, I hope there will still be a place for me." He grins slightly. "I promise you this - should we meet on the field of arms, I'll salute and turn to fight someone else." He lowers his voice. "One more thing. Lot and the Centurion met a moment ago in Lot's tent and left with a handshake. I don't know what it means, but warn Arthur."

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon nods silently and turns to leave, heading back to Arthur's camp.

[Voshkod]

The four of you return toward Arthur's camp. Camp is being broken, the knights and soldiers preparing to travel. One large tent - Alain of Escavalon's - remains standing, under heavy guard. Likely the place of the King.

Near the High Queen's camp, Morgan is sitting on a black rock, looking at the earth.

[OOC: Sorry, bit of writer's block. I'm working on getting back on it.]

[Voshkod]

A squire hurries over to Maelfannon. "Your mother and your sister request your presence, sir, at their tent. And your other sister, as well," he says, pointing, but not looking at Morgan, who casts the bones again on the dirt.

Griffin and Owain can see the men of their lands preparing for the march, but no sign of the Kings or the newly minted High King.

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon nods his acceptance of the squire's message, but remains otherwise silent, brooding not only over the meeting with Lot but the choice laid now before him. He knew, of course, which he should probably attend to first.

He also knew which he would actually attend to first. But knowing made it no easier. He approached his lone sister sitting on a black rock.

"Sister. I am here. I have heard you seek palaver with me. I... I would like to speak with you, Morgan. I..."

He falls silent and looks uncomfortable for a moment. He finds himself unable, even after all their long years together, to read the expression on her face. At a momentary loss, he takes a seat on the large black rock, side by side with his sister.

[Voshkod]

Morgan sweeps up the bones from the dust and puts them back in a leather pouch. "I didn't want to talk to you, little brother," she says flatly. "Mother and Margause wanted to see us both. I don't want to see either of them. Margause is going to cry, and Mother is going to tell you that nothing has changed." She looks over at you, her eyes reddened. "Everything's changed, Maelfannon. Everything."

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain breaks away from the others, guiding his horse towards his men, pausing it before those nearest.

"Our King, my friends, and the High King. Where can I find them; are they in council?"


(Whoop! Sorry I haven't gotten a post in!)

[Voshkod]

"They meet in your father's tent, Sir Owain," one of the knights says. "And we are under orders to prepare for the march."

[MandibleBones]

Griffin

The Prince knows his duties are taken care of; he'd been prepared to leave since this morning. His eyes look longingly at the tent where his father and his king meet in conference.

"I wonder," he wonders aloud, "If our presence is required?"

[H Savvy]

"Whether you wished to talk to me or not, Morgan, I have come to you in seek of counsel. You say everything has changed, and I believe you. I believe you because you believe, and I can feel the force of that conviction... and that it brings you no comfort.

You are right about Mother, though. She will tell me how proud she is of me, her son." He shoots a glance at Morgan. It is not pain in his eyes, and not bitterness, but some alien emotion, more akin to reluctant acceptance. "We both know that the truth of that is but partial. Though she is as my mother, never was I truly her son. The thread of my destiny is pulled from a different cloth, and it is woven into a different part of the Great Tapestry than that of the High Queen's bloodline... than your own. We are brother and sister, are we not? And yet, not so. It is a strange bond we share, Morgan. Many have been spoken ill of you, sister, and I have been among their number in the past. I... I'm sorry. If any understand your situation, your character, it should be me.

I have been doing a great deal of thinking lately, Morgan. A great deal.

I feel as though I have been swept up by the makings of legend, and it is not my own legend that carries me. Ever have I been a part of someone else's story, sister, a player on someone else's stage. I believe you understand, that you can, mayhaps, relate. It is perhaps this that cements our bond, more than any tie of kinship. But if I am to be a player, Morgan, I would at least know the form of the drama.

What do you see, sister? What do you see?"

[Voshkod]

Griffin and Owain

Bedevere shrugs. "We are the King's guard. We go where he is, unless he tells us otherwise, right? It's not like this is his honeymoon night or something." Bedevere strides into the tent.

Maelfannon

"There are three sisters who weave the story of the world, Maelfannon," Morgan says softly. "They choose which threads make which stories, and we are the threads. The thread in the center cannot hold a tapestry without the many threads around, so which is more important? We are all swept into legend, brother."

She stands, brushing off her dress. "We should go. Margause will not have much time, and I feel she has much gloating to do." She takes your hand and you both starting walking toward the High Queen's tent. "What have I seen, Maelfannon? A dark wave o'er the land with a dragon aloft. The fingerbones of children scattered in the dust. What the King holds now he will not hold long, and you must tell him that the Lady will wish to see him soon."

[H Savvy]

"Which Lady, Morgan? Which Lady do you see in Arthur's future?"

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

The big blond dismounts, letting one of Escavalon's men take his horse; he strides towards Griffin.
"We are, in fact," he agrees with Bedevere, "the King's guard. The Kingsguard? We should be at his side. --HOY! Maelfannon," he calls, raising a hand and beckoning.

[Voshkod]

Maelfannon

"There are many ladies, and some women, in his future," she says with a slight smile. "But the Lady of the Lake will wish to see him, for he is the King of the land."

Owain

Maelfannon appears to be in deep discussion with Morgan. The two of you follow Bedevere into the tent.

". . . a winter campaign, my lord," concludes Alain of Escavalon.

"A winter campaign is a poor idea, my King," says Cornwall. "We have neither the food nor men, and Lot's troops are more accustomed to the cold than ours."

"I concur with Cornwall," Leodegrance says. "We should take to winter quarters, plant winter crops. By spring, we'll have enough food and fodder to march."

"But we can take him in the field now," Alain says.

Arthur is sitting quietly between them, taking it all in.

[H Savvy]

From most other people, such a remark would strike Maelfannon as little more than foolishness or pointless gibing. From his sister, though, and in that certain tone of voice, the one that tells him not that she wishes him to believe her, but simply that it is another something she knows, he simply accepts it.

Walkly mutely and soaking in her words, he accompanies her into the tent of their mother, the High Queen Igraine.

[Rachel Lorelei]

Owain

"Your Majesty," Owain says with a salute as he steps in, "I'm afraid Cai chose to stay with Lot to care for his family. He sends you these words, though: the Centurion and Lot met in Lot's tent, and they left with a handshake." A pause, to let the grim news sink in; he turns to face Alain.
"A winter campaign would be an ill thing for everyone, I'd think, Father, even if we win. Best to give it time--perhaps the Centurion will come around when he's seen our King rule."

[Voshkod]

Maelfannon

The High Queen stands among the chaos of the breaking camp, tall and regal even as her knights scurry about. A fire is burning, Margause huddled close. "Well, well, here he is, mother," she says, rubbing her hands. "I guess you kept the wrong one."

"Quiet, daughter," Igraine says, and Morgan shoots Lot's wife a nasty look. "Let me look upon my family in peace for a moment before the events of the day tear us asunder."

Margause smiles at you, a friendly thing, and you can remember the times she was almost your mother, when Igraine was called to Court. She's changed since she went to the cold north. "Sorry, Mael, just a little joke, little brother," she says, patting the space on the log next to her. "Join me by the fire."

Owain and Griffin

"Barely a knight for an hour," Alain says, "but he's ready to run a war."

"I would remind you, King Alain, that I was but a squire an hour ago myself," Arthur says quietly.

"Forgive me, my son, and my King," Alain says. "I meant no offense."

"None taken," Arthur says. "But I concur with Cornwall and Cameliard - and the Prince of Escavalon. What a winter campaign might gain us it will cost us more, and Lot's men are more accustomed to the cold. You should return to your lands to prepare for a spring battle."

"And where will you go, my King?," says Leodegrance. "You would be welcome on Cameliard."

[H Savvy]

Maelfannon closes his eyes and inhales deeply. Letting his breath out he says, "Yes, sister," in a quiet voice that had no hint of scorn. He sits on the log next to his older sister, close enough not to be considered disrespectful, but not nearly so close as one might expect, given the intimacy of their relationship.

"You do seem to have grown fonder of such 'little jokes' of late, Margause," the newly appointed knight says, gazing into the fire.

[Voshkod]

Maelfannon

"They're a rougher sort up in Orkneys, Mael," she says. "You'd best get used to that if you're going to throw your lot in with the baby king back there. It won't be a pretty little war."

"That baby little king," Igraine replies, with ice in her voice, "is the true heir of Uther Pendragon, who took me by shadows and artifice during the seige of Tintagel." She closes her eyes. "'Tis true. The Merlin cast upon Uther the form of my husband Gorlios. Uther gained the castle, and me, through such device. And when Arthur was born, the Merlin took him from my breast. Your father had died during the seige, Maelfannon, and your mother in labor, so I took you as my own for . . . ." Some tears form at the corners of her eyes. "For I had much to give, and none to give to."

Morgan is drawing in the ashes with a stick.