From the Great Deep to the Great Deep

[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.