<<if settings.achievements>><<notify 3s>>Achievements active!<</notify>><</if>>Ultrices in iaculis nunc sed augue lacus. Duis ultricies lacus sed turpis tincidunt id. Amet dictum sit amet justo donec enim diam. Sodales ut eu sem integer vitae justo eget magna. Amet justo donec enim diam vulputate. Turpis egestas sed tempus urna et. Erat imperdiet sed euismod nisi porta lorem mollis aliquam. Quis varius quam quisque id diam. Ultricies mi eget mauris pharetra et ultrices. Nulla at volutpat diam ut venenatis tellus in metus. Accumsan sit amet nulla facilisi. Libero nunc consequat interdum varius sit. Sit amet tellus cras adipiscing enim. Urna et pharetra pharetra massa. Libero justo laoreet sit amet cursus sit. Mattis aliquam faucibus purus in massa tempor nec. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et. In nisl nisi scelerisque eu ultrices vitae auctor eu.
<div class="choice">[[next - pronoun setting|3]]</div><<if settings.achievements>><<notify 3s>>Achievements active!<</notify>><</if>>Elementum nisi quis eleifend quam adipiscing vitae. Ullamcorper dignissim cras tincidunt lobortis. Dictum varius duis at consectetur lorem donec massa sapien. Eu scelerisque felis imperdiet proin fermentum leo. Massa id neque aliquam vestibulum morbi blandit. Nec dui nunc mattis enim ut tellus. Rhoncus dolor purus non enim praesent elementum. Ante in nibh mauris cursus mattis. Nullam non nisi est sit amet facilisis. Orci sagittis eu volutpat odio facilisis mauris. At risus viverra adipiscing at in tellus integer. Ultrices neque ornare aenean euismod elementum nisi quis eleifend quam.
<div class="choice">[[next - pronoun setting|3]]</div>select your pronouns:
<div class="choice">[[plural - they/them|4][$plural to true,$they to "they"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[singular - he/him, she/her, xe/xem|4][$plural to false,$they to "she"]]</div><<liveblock>>$they <<are>> happy.
$they <<were>> sad.
$they run<<s>> down the road.
<</liveblock>>
<div class="choice"><<link "She/her Pronouns">><<set $they to "she">><<set $plural to false>><<update>><</link>></div>
<div class="choice"><<link "He/him Pronouns">><<set $they to "he">><<set $plural to false>><<update>><</link>></div>
<div class="choice"><<link "Xe/xem Pronouns">><<set $they to "xe">><<set $plural to false>><<update>><</link>></div>
<div class="choice"><<link "They/them Pronouns">><<set $they to "they">><<set $plural to true>><<update>><</link>></div><<if $morgana_talk == "mad">>
You are stomping down the corridor to your chambers, your steps echoing furious and ringing in your ears along your rushing blood.
"Mordred?" Your name comes out distressed, and you look up from the flagstones to see Gareth leaning against your door. He pushes away from it and approaches you.
"Are you alright?" He hovers in front of you, taking in your expression carefully, concern clear.
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine," you lie, managing a somewhat genuine smile.|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "1", $honest to $honest-2, $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I just...I just had a disagreement with mother.\""|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "2", $honest to $honest+2, $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yeah," you say, not very convincingly.|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "3", $honest to $honest-1, $emotional to $emotional-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What are you doing here?" you ask, both curious and wishing to divert the subject.|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "4", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Break down into tears.|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "12", $emotional to $emotional+2, $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "cry">>
You can barely see where you're going, your gaze still hazy with tears - but you could navigate this castle blindfolded, and so your steps carry you to your chambers, where a blurry figure leans against your door.
"Mordred!" Your name comes out distressed. "Are you alright?" He pushes himself off the door and approaches you. He makes to open his arms, but hesitates, unsure of how welcome his gesture of comfort is. Finally, he settles for placing his hands on your shoulders. "Are you alright?"
<div class="choice">[["I'm alright." You put on a faint smile.|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "5", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head.|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "6", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Y-yeah," you say, not very convincingly.|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "7", $emotional to $emotional-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What are you doing here?" you ask, both curious and wishing to divert the subject.|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "8", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "ok">>
You're walking down the corridor to your chambers, and you're met with a surprise as you reach them. Gareth is leaning against your door.
"I've been waiting for you." He pushes himself off the door and approaches you. "How's Sir Accolon?" he asks, a tinge of anxiety hanging onto his words.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good. But what about you? I can't imagine watching was easy for you," he adds softly.
<div class="choice">[["I'm alright." You put on a faint smile.|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "9", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'm not fine, but I'll be.\""|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "10", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine," you say, not very convincingly.|Gareth40][$chapt3_gareth_check to "11", $emotional to $emotional-1]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_talk == "mad">>
You are stomping down the corridor to your chambers, your steps echoing furious and ringing in your ears along your rushing blood.
"Mordred?" Your name comes out distressed, and you look up from the flagstones to see Gareth leaning against your door. He pushes away from it and approaches you.
"Are you alright?" He hovers in front of you, taking in your expression carefully, concern clear.
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine," you lie, managing a somewhat genuine smile.|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "1", $honest to $honest-2, $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I just...I just had a disagreement with mother.\""|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "2", $honest to $honest+2, $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yeah," you say, not very convincingly.|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "3", $honest to $honest-1, $emotional to $emotional-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What are you doing here?" you ask, both curious and wishing to divert the subject.|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "4", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Break down into tears.|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "12", $emotional to $emotional+2, $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "cry">>
You can barely see where you're going, your gaze still hazy with tears - but you could navigate this castle blindfolded, and so your steps carry you to your chambers, where a blurry figure leans against your door.
"Mordred!" Your name comes out distressed. "Are you alright?" He pushes himself off the door and approaches you, ready to offer the comfort you need. He wraps his arms around you in a tight hug, which seems to squeeze all the tension out of you, leaving you weary yet soothed. When he finally pulls back, he keeps steady hands on your shoulders. "Are you alright?"
<div class="choice">[["I'm alright." You put on a faint smile.|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "5", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head.|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "6", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Y-yeah," you say, not very convincingly.|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "7", $emotional to $emotional-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What are you doing here?" you ask, both curious and wishing to divert the subject.|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "8", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "ok">>
You're walking down the corridor to your chambers, and you're met with a surprise as you reach them. Gareth is leaning against your door.
"I've been waiting for you." He pushes himself off the door and approaches you. "How's Sir Accolon?" he asks, a tinge of anxiety hanging onto his words.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good. But what about you? I can't imagine watching was easy for you," he adds softly.
<div class="choice">[["I'm alright." You put on a faint smile.|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "9", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'm not fine, but I'll be.\""|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "10", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine," you say, not very convincingly.|Gareth60][$chapt3_gareth_check to "11", $emotional to $emotional-1]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_talk == "mad">>
You open the door to your chamber, a bit more forcefully than necessary, still seething from your fight with Morgana. As you enter, your gaze locks with Gareth's bewildered one, and your fury is suddenly washed away by a wave of relief and pleasant surprise.
"Mordred!" Your brother springs up from the bed. "Are you alright?" He hovers in front of you, taking in your expression carefully, concern clear.
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine," you lie, managing a somewhat genuine smile.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "1", $honest to $honest-2, $emotional to $emotional-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I just...I just had a disagreement with mother.\""|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "2", $honest to $honest+2, $emotional to $emotional+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yeah," you say, not very convincingly.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "3", $honest to $honest-1, $emotional to $emotional-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What are you doing here?" you ask, both curious and wishing to divert the subject.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "4", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Break down into tears.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "13", $emotional to $emotional+2, $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "cry">>
You open the door to your chamber, a bit more forcefully than necessary, still reeling from your argument with Morgana. As you enter, your tear-filled, hazy gaze locks with Gareth's bewildered one, and your anguish is suddenly washed away by a wave of relief and pleasant surprise.
"Mordred!" He takes in your tear-streaked face, concern slipping in his features as he quickly springs off the bed and approaches you, ready to offer the comfort you need. He wraps his arms around you in a tight hug, which seems to squeeze all the tension out of you, leaving you weary yet soothed. When he finally pulls back, he keeps steady hands on your shoulders. "Are you alright?"
<div class="choice">[["I'm alright." You put on a faint smile.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "5", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "6", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Y-yeah," you say, not very convincingly.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "7", $emotional to $emotional-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What are you doing here?" you ask, both curious and wishing to divert the subject.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "8", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "ok">>
You open the door to your chamber, only to find Gareth sitting on your bed. He looks up from an opened tome on his crossed legs and his concerned gaze locks with your bewildered one.
"Mordred!" He shuts the book and sets it on your nightstand. "I've been waiting for you." You make your way to the bed, hopping up across from him. "How's Sir Accolon?" He asks, a tinge of anxiety hanging onto his words.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good. But what about you? I can't imagine watching was easy for you," he adds softly.
<div class="choice">[["I'm alright." You put on a faint smile.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "9", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'm not fine, but I'll be.\""|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "10", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine," you say, not very convincingly.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "11", $emotional to $emotional-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Don't worry about me. What were you reading just before?" you ask to change the subject.|Gareth80][$chapt3_gareth_check to "12", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_accolon_love == "1">>
The words spill out of your mouth as soon as your arms wrap around the man. He returns the embrace, placing a kiss on top of your head, muttering into your hair, "I love you too, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_accolon_love == "2">>
You don't know what else do to, how else to show the emotion that has overcome you, and so you wrap your arms tightly around the man, hoping it can convey your love. He returns the embrace, placing a kiss on top of your head, muttering into your hair, "I love you, Mordred." You only hug him tighter in reply.
<<elseif $chapt3_accolon_love == "3">>
The smile on your face is a genuine, loving one. Words fail to help you convey the love you feel, but you don't need them anyway. Accolon understands, and he leans in, placing a kiss on top of your head, muttering into your hair, "I love you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_accolon_love == "4">>
You smile at him, and he returns it, slowly laying down as you get up and leave.
<<elseif $chapt3_accolon_love == "5">>
You just nod at him, leaving without a word.
<</if>>
Once you're out of the chamber, you set out at a brisk step, intent on quickly grabbing some sweets from a stand before making your way to the dragons' lodge. $dragon_name has quite the sweet tooth, and $dragon_he deserves a treat after having to go through the whirwind that your emotions have been these past few days.
[[Continue|Chapt3GalahadRiver]]Accolon Istrate, the man who actually is a father to you. A knight of Lothia and Morgana's partner.
//Description//: Accolon has ginger hair and warm hazel eyes, his complexion rosy beige. He's of average height, with an athletic build. When he smiles, it etches dimples around his mouth.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]<<if $chapt3consider == "1">>
"I consider you my father," you say, earnestly. How could you not? "Only you." Because Arthur isn't deserving of the title, and neither do you think he can earn it now.
Accolon grasps your hand with his calloused one, squeezing lightly. "I'm so happy you do, Mordred, because to me, you are my ?child." His smile falters for a moment. "And I understand why you can't see Arthur as your father."
<<elseif $chapt3consider == "2">>
"I consider you my father," you say earnestly, then hesitate. "But I also consider Arthur my father."
Accolon grasps your hand with his calloused one, squeezing lightly. "And that's perfectly normal, Mordred," he assures you. "I understand you. And I'm so happy you see me as your father, too, because to me, you are my ?child."
You'd expected Accolon to be hurt that you see Arthur as a father. That he'd feel like he is the unwanted one now, that you're casting him away for an undeserving man. And yet he's so understanding. As always.
<</if>>
<<if $child_title == "ftm">>
Something tender and soft tugs at your chest at the declaration of affection; and yet it's marred by this feeling of inadequacy. It's not the sentiment - it's the word itself, //daughter//.
<div class="choice">[[Brush it off.|AccolonQuestion1.2][$chapt3_child_title to "1", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Daughter doesn't sit right with me," you decide to say. "And I'm not sure right now what would."|AccolonQuestion1.2][$chapt3_child_title to "2", $chapt3_gender_talk to true, $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Daughter doesn't sit right with me," you decide to say. "I think son would feel better."|AccolonQuestion1.2][$chapt3_child_title to "3", $chapt3_gender_talk to true, $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<elseif $child_title == "mtf">>
Something tender and soft tugs at your chest at the declaration of affection; and yet it's marred by this feeling of inadequacy. It's not the sentiment - it's the word itself, //son//.
<div class="choice">[[Brush it off.|AccolonQuestion1.2][$chapt3_child_title to "4", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Son doesn't sit right with me," you decide to say. "And I'm not sure right now what would."|AccolonQuestion1.2][$chapt3_child_title to "5", $chapt3_gender_talk to true, $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Son doesn't sit right with me," you decide to say. "I think daughter would feel better."|AccolonQuestion1.2][$chapt3_child_title to "6", $chapt3_gender_talk to true, $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<elseif $child_title == "nb">>
Something tender and soft tugs at your chest at the declaration of affection; and yet it's marred by this feeling of inadequacy. It's not the sentiment - it's the word itself, // ?child //.
<div class="choice">[[Brush it off.|AccolonQuestion1.2][$chapt3_child_title to "7", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"The word " + $child + " doesn't sit right with me. I think I'd just like to be called child.\""|AccolonQuestion1.2][$chapt3_child_title to "8", $chapt3_gender_talk to true, $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3AccolonQuestions]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_child_title == "1" or $chapt3_child_title == "4" or $chapt3_child_title == "7">>
You decide to just brush it off for now, smiling softly back at the man.
<<elseif $chapt3_child_title == "2">>
It's the same uneasy feeling you had when Arthur called you daughter; and it's not the first time you feel it, not the first time you question how well it represents you.
"Daughter doesn't sit right with me," you say softly, then rush to add, "Not because I don't see myself as your child, it's just..." You hug yourself, running your palms along your arms. "I'm not sure right now what would work."
Accolon puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, meeting your gaze as steady and tender as always. "It's fine. You'll figure out what works best for you. And in the meantime, you know you can talk to me and Morgana if you need. You could also talk to Robin. You know they're always happy to help you." He takes his hand from your shoulder so he can instead brush the hair behind your ear.
<<elseif $chapt3_child_title == "3">>
It's the same uneasy feeling you had when Arthur called you daughter; and it's not the first time you feel it, not the first time you question how well it represents you.
"Daughter doesn't sit right with me," you say softly, then rush to add, "Not because I don't see myself as your child, it's just..." You hug yourself, running your palms along your arms. "I think son might represent me more."
Accolon puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, meeting your gaze as steady and tender as always. "Then let me correct myself; I consider you my son, Mordred."
A timid, questing warmth blooms in your chest as you drink in the word. "Your son," you echo, smiling. "I think I'd like to hear it more."
Accolon's smile widens. "You know you can talk to me and Morgana if you need. You could also talk to Robin. You know they're always happy to help you." He removes his hand from your shoulder so he can instead stroke your cheek.
<<elseif $chapt3_child_title == "5">>
It's the same uneasy feeling you had when Arthur called you son; and it's not the first time you feel it, not the first time you question how well it represents you.
"Son doesn't sit right with me," you say softly, then rush to add, "Not because I don't see myself as your child, it's just..." You hug yourself, running your palms along your arms. "I'm not sure right now what would work."
Accolon puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, meeting your gaze as steady and tender as always. "It's fine. You'll figure out what works best for you. And in the meantime, you know you can talk to me and Morgana if you need. You could also talk to Robin. You know they're always happy to help you." He removes his hand from your shoulder so he can instead stroke your cheek.
<<elseif $chapt3_child_title == "6">>
It's the same uneasy feeling you had when Arthur called you son; and it's not the first time you feel it, not the first time you question how well it represents you.
"Son doesn't sit right with me," you say softly, then rush to add, "Not because I don't see myself as your child, it's just..." You hug yourself, running your palms along your arms. "I think daughter might represent me more."
Accolon puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, meeting your gaze as steady and tender as always. "Then let me correct myself; I consider you my daughter, Mordred."
A timid, questing warmth blooms in your chest as you drink in the word. "Your daughter," you echo, smiling. "I think I'd like to hear it more."
Accolon's smile widens. "You know you can talk to me and Morgana if you need. You could also talk to Robin. You know they're always happy to help you." He removes his hand from your shoulder so he can instead stroke your cheek.
<<elseif $chapt3_child_title == "8">>
It's the same uneasy feeling you had when Arthur called you $child; and it's not the first time you feel it, not the first time you question how well it represents you.
"The word $child doesn't sit right with me," you say softly, then rush to add, "Not because I don't see myself as your child, it's just..." You hug yourself, running your palms along your arms. "Can't I just be child?"
Accolon puts a comforting hand on your shoulder, meeting your gaze as steady and tender as always. "Of course you can, Mordred. Let me correct myself; I consider you my child, Mordred."
A timid, questing warmth blooms in your chest as you drink in the word. "I think I'd like to hear it more."
Accolon's smile widens. "You know you can talk to me and Morgana if you need. You could also talk to Robin. You know they're always happy to help you." He removes his hand from your shoulder so he can instead stroke your cheek.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3AccolonQuestions]]You've always wondered how your father, your blood, could abandon you - yet this man, who has no obligation towards you, loves you as his own child, raised you, stepped up to the task of a parent. Arthur gave you nothing, yet Accolon gave you everything. Whereas Arthur has, up until now, been a shadow, a cold absence, a questioning silence, Accolon has always been there, with a kind word, with a gentle smile, with open arms, always there for you.
"Why do you love me?" you ask puzzled. What makes one a father? Clearly, blood doesn't bind anyone to someone - but what made Accolon want to care for you?
"What do you mean?" He searches your face, confused.
"I'm not your blood, but you raised me as if I were."
"Mordred..." A rueful smile blooms on Accolon's face. He inhales deeply, his gaze distant as he looks away, peering somewhere in a well of memories. "When your mother took you away to Avalon to protect you, I followed. I told Duke Lot I was leaving under the pretense to bring his wife back…" The corner of his mouth twist in a grimace. "But it was never my intention. I knew not who was your father, I only knew it was not Lot. All I knew is that I needed to be there for Morgana. And well." He chuckles.
"When I arrived, I realized that perhaps Morgana didn't necessarily need me. She was managing quite well, with Junia lending a helping hand. But then, I saw you." His gaze finds yours, their hazel filled with affection. "Crying your eyes out as babes do. And I picked you up to soothe you, and you did." There's a trace of wonder in his voice, as if he's still in astonishment of that moment. "You looked at me with those round, $eye eyes and I... I knew I wanted to be there for you. Morgana told me Arthur has forsaken you, but I can't judge him too harshly for not wishing to be a father. There's so much responsibility on the shoulders of a young king." A serious expression settles on his face to accompany the gravity of his tone. "I don't think one should be coerced into giving affection, as it hurts just as much as none given." The earnestness melts to give way to a soft smile. "But I always wanted to be a father. Family is more than blood, Mordred. I'm sure Sir Ector, his adopted father, loves Arthur just as much as Kay, the son he sired."
<div class="choice">[["I consider you my father. Only you."|AccolonQuestion1.1][$chapt3consider to "1"]]</div>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope" or $opinion_arthur == "anguish">><div class="choice">[["I consider both you and Arthur my fathers."|AccolonQuestion1.1][$chapt3consider to "2", $father to "father"]]</div><</if>><<if $chapt3consider == "1">>
Exasperation slips into your words as you remember the disaster your talk with Morgana has been. "Will you tell mother that, too? Because she won't listen to me."
Accolon exhales, and you get the impression he has, in fact, tried to tell her. And it seems she won't listen to him either.
"Morgana can be..." Accolon carefully searches for a word - probably for a soft version of whatever someone else might apply to Morgana. "very stubborn, but she's only looking out for you, and I think you can make her understand that Arthur means no harm."
<<elseif $chapt3consider == "2">>
You kept thinking of it. Of how Arthur let it all unfold. He could've done something. He could've stopped his Champion Knight, yet all he did was stay riveted to his seat, gaze cast aside, turning a blind eye to the senseless violence in front of him.
"I don't know if I want to know Arthur anymore, after he allowed Lancelot to hurt you."
"Mordred." His voice is serious, urgent. "Don't let Lancelot win by giving him what he wants."
<</if>>
Accolon smiles. "If you want to get to know Arthur…I'll stand by you. I'll try to make Morgana understand."
[[Continue|Chapt3AccolonQuestions]]After all, Arthur's never been here, doing the things Accolon did. Accolon played with you. He carried you all the way to your home in Avalon when you grazed your knees. He told you bedtime stories of his knightly adventures, and always told off your bullies. Arthur was there for none of it, yet you want to give him a chance. A chance to prove himself to you, that he can heal your wounds, that he can offer some solace for all the years of thinking you're unwanted.
"You're not mad at me for wanting to get to know Arthur?"
"Mordred, I cannot fault you for wanting to know the man who sired you. Arthur is well-meaning, if misguided." It's a more generous opinion than Morgana's.
<div class="choice">[[''Will you tell mother that, too? Because she won't listen to me.''|AccolonQuestion2.1][$chapt3consider to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[''I don't know if I want to know Arthur anymore, after he allowed Lancelot to hurt you.''|AccolonQuestion2.1][$chapt3consider to "2"]]</div>"I should let you rest," you say.
<div class="choice">[["I love you," you hug Accolon before leaving.|AccolonLove][$chapt3_accolon_love to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You silently hug Accolon, overcome by emotion, before leaving.|AccolonLove][$chapt3_accolon_love to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You simply smile, not knowing how else to show your love.|AccolonLove][$chapt3_accolon_love to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You simply smile as you leave.|AccolonLove][$chapt3_accolon_love to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You take your leave.|AccolonLove][$chapt3_accolon_love to "5"]]</div>"There's something I want to show you, but I must fetch it from my room first."
"Go along," the man encourages you. "I'll be waiting."
You spring from the bed and rush out the door, being quick to return with the dragon figurine. You hold it out for Accolon to see. "Arthur gave me this."
"It's beautiful. Did he sculpt it?"
You nod, perching yourself back up next to him.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"I haven't shown it to anyone else. I completely forgot, what with the prophecy. I don't think mother would be happy about it though."
<<elseif $show_morgana == "yes">>
"I showed it to mother, and she wasn't very happy about it."
<<elseif $show_morgana == "no">>
"I didn't show it to mother. I knew she wouldn't be happy about it."
<</if>>
Accolon's face twists, mouth forming a sad, tight line. "She's still hurting. But so is Arthur." The somber line turns into a watery smile. "I'm sure he cares about you and this is his way of showing it."
You stare at the figurine, at its meticulously carved scales, musing his words.
[[Continue|Chapt3AccolonQuestions]]You reach Morgana's chambers and follow Accolon inside, watching as the man gingerly lowers himself on the bed, letting out a sigh. You take off your cloak slowly, your mind racing - you've been pondering on the way here about some matters. Matters you want to ask Accolon, questions that have been pestering you these days and nights, questions you can ask now, taking advantage of the intimacy of the room, no prying ears to hear.
You approach the bed, and Accolon can already tell you've got something to say, expression expectant. "Come sit down," he softly beckons, and you do.
<<if $accolon_talk == "no" and $betray == "confusion">>
[[Continue|Chapt3AccolonTalkConfusion]]
<<elseif $accolon_talk == "no" and $betray == "betrayed">>
[[Continue|Chapt3AccolonTalkBetrayed]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3AccolonTalk1]]
<</if>>You're making your way through the feast hall, the events of the day still hanging heavy on your mind as you're looking for a place to sit- and spot an empty seat next to Gawain. The boy is sitting alone, a peculiar sight, since you can't remember seeing him much without his sullen companion.
<<if $Gawain_friend > 4>>
<div class="choice">[[It's a relief. You can't wait to talk to Gawain and not have to face Galahad.|Chapt3GoGawainFriend][$chapt3_boy to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're excited to talk to Gawain, but a little disappointed his friend isn't here. You really do want to try to make things better with Galahad, to change his mind.|Chapt3GoGawainFriend][$chapt3_boy to "2"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[It's a relief. You don't mind his company, especially if Galahad's is lacking.|Chapt3GoGawain][$chapt3_boy to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't mind Gawain's company, but you're a little disappointed his friend isn't here. You really do want to try to make things better with Galahad, to change his mind.|Chapt3GoGawain][$chapt3_boy to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You really don't want to talk to Gawain, but you can't see another empty seat.|Chapt3GoGawain][$chapt3_boy to "3"]]</div>
<</if>>You seem to have walked in the moment just before a fight. The air is brimming with tension as $dragon_name is baring $dragon_his teeth at one of the dragons, while the other is cowering in the corner, feebly trying to calm down the two of them.
<div class="choice">[["\"" + $dragon_name + "! No! Stop!\""|DragonLodge2][$chapt3_dragon_reaction to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Leave " + $dragon_name + " alone!\""|DragonLodge2][$chapt3_dragon_reaction to "5"]]</div>//Arthur's POV//
Arthur is pacing the length of his guest room, fearing he'll wear straight through the vibrantly embroidered carpet by the time Lancelot arrives. The flowers already seem a little faded - and Arthur feels jaded, yet his legs keep moving him in restless circles.
Finally, a knock on the door startles him, and the man he's been expecting steps into the chamber.
Lancelot has donned a red and gold tunic - the colors of Camelot - and let his blonde hair hang loose around his tanned face. A faint bruise runs across his jaw, and there's a bandage peeking from the collar of his shirt. Lancelot hasn't come out completely unscathed, but unlike Accolon, he has left the ring on his own two feet.
The look in his gray eyes tells Arthur he knows why he's been summoned. It's not remorse Arthur sees, however, or if there is any, it's masked by a firm stubbornness. Back straight and hands clasped behind him, Lancelot meets his friend's gaze.
Arthur realizes he has no idea how to begin. Moments ago it felt like he could scream - and now the words have been snatched from him, left to blindly reach out for something, anything.
"Why?" The word is quiet, desperation hanging onto it. "Why did you do it? I know your strikes, Lancelot, and they were most vicious, and it was no error of strength on your part."
Lancelot's steely gray gaze meets his. It's cold, unforgiving and unyielding like a blade. When Lancelot wields his words, it's with the same conviction he wields his sword.
"I did it to protect you, Arthur. To send a message to Morgana that I will tolerate no foul play or wicked scheming from her."
"Protect me?" Arthur weakly echoes. "You attacked a man, in a friendly tournament. You attacked the one who..." He sucked in a sharp breath. "The man who raised my child." //When I wasn't there.// The role he should have taken, yet the mantle of it felt like a burden he couldn't carry.
//Mordred may think you abandoned ?them. Morgana may feel the same. But you didn't, Arthur. You didn't abandon Mordred. The child deserves the kindness of an explanation - though perhaps the explanation isn't kind itself - but it should come from both of their parents.//
This is what Kay once told him, on a particular day when his thoughts had been gnawing at him, consuming him. His adopted, older brother had taken him walking into the woods, like they used to as kids, back at Ector's estate; they picked berries but they felt like thorns going down Arthur's throat. They stopped on a log, and the King had spilt all his worries.
And yet the gentle words couldn't appease that creeping guilt.
Arthur shakes his head, as if he can dispel the feelings. "Mordred has good reasons to loathe me," he says bitterly. Especially now, when he allowed Accolon to get hurt.
"Then ?they has cause to loathe ?their mother, too," the knight fiercely retorts, making Arthur flinch.
He blinks at his friend, mouth parting to say something, though he isn't sure what. Instead, he returns to the matter at hand, the reason he summoned Lancelot.
"I'm disappointed in you." It's an understatement. As images of the fight flutter before his eyes, he is horrified, at Lancelot and at himself for not intervening. Horrified at his own paralyzing cowardice.
Arthur sinks down in an armchair, trembling with something between fury and helplessness. Lancelot walks to him, dropping to one knee, hand clasping Arthur's forearm.
"I took an oath to protect you, and that's what I'm doing. I'm doing it for your own sake."
"If you're doing it for my own sake, then why don't you hear me out? Why don't you listen to what I want?"
It would be scandalous, bordering on treasonous, to tell a king he does not know what's good for himself. That you could make better decisions in his stead. The lines between Champion Knight and friend of the king seem to blur for Lancelot, using his status as the former to act as the later. Arthur himself isn't quite sure where he stands, or who he stands as right now, in front of the man. Both understanding his worry and his pledge to his protection. Both wanting to shout at him as friend and king for not considering what he wants.
"You attacked Accolon, and it's all because I wanted to meet my child."
Lancelot's expression darkens. "Make no mistake, Arthur. I don't know what Morgana is scheming, and perhaps not even the child knows yet - but she will turn Mordred into the weapon of your destruction."
"Well there's one matter you and Morgana can agree upon, and that is me staying away from Mordred."
//But it is up to neither what Mordred or I do.//
Arthur wants to say the words, but he hesitates. Merlin's prophecy swims around in his head like a restless monster thirsty for blood. Lancelot's own concern resonates, but so do Kay's words, kind and gentle and reasonable.
"I'd like to rest before the feast," Arthur says as way to dismiss Lancelot. The knight seems reluctant for a second, then gives his arm a squeeze before retreating.
<<if $Gareth >= 80>>
[[Continue|AFterStudyGareth80]]
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
[[Continue|AFterStudyGareth60]]
<<elseif $Gareth >= 40>>
[[Continue|AFterStudyGareth40]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|AfterStudy]]
<</if>>Arthur Pendragon, your father, son of Uther Pendragon and Igraine Le Fay. Squire turned King, Arthur was raised by an adopted family with no knowledge of his royal blood until he was thrust on the throne at the age of fifteen. He's believed to be the last of the dragon bloods, after Uther put an end to the other remaining line.
//Description//: Arthur has kind $eye eyes and $arthur_hair brown hair. His $complexion complexion matches yours. He is of average height, with a lean frame.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]Back in Avalon, Accolon used to tell you stories of his adventures together with his partner, Sir Sera - not just of their knightly exploits, but of their friendships, too. Accolon had been cheering Sera on as they shyly approached Corra and started courting; he'd been among the first people to congratulate them on the hatching of their child. Once, he told you of the first time he'd held them in his arms, and how boundlessly proud and happy he felt to call himself their uncle.
You smiled then, but were quickly swept away in a dark undercurrent of thoughts. "Do you love them?" you asked.
"Yes, of course."
"As much as you love me? Or more than you love me?"
He considered you for a moment, smile taking on a sympathetic, understanding edge. "My heart is big enough to hold love for everyone: for you, for them, for Morgana, for Sera. They may be different types of love; they may look different, but none is lesser to the other. They're...each unique." Then he scooped you up in his arms and you laughed, surprised and delighted. "Blood or not, I consider you mine, Mordred."
[[Back to the present|Lothia9]]<<if $chapt1beach == "1">>Your mother may get mad at you for not being keen on wanting to blabber to a pool of water, but you don't see the need of having to earn the favor of a Goddess when you have your own Le Fay powers that none can rival. She insists that it can offer you the power to heal wounds. Not just the scrapped knees and shallow cuts you sometimes get that she heals away. Deep, bleeding wounds. Broken bones. She recounted to you, holding up her hand, how she used to slash her own palm, letting the blade dig deep - and here she drew her index over the flesh, mimicking the action - and then heal it herself or let Junia do it. And yet the skin holds no scar.
You've countered that you can always simply carry bandages and healing potions. She persists it's not the same, but you're unmoved.
You shrug at Niniane in response. It's not a lie, Morgana is teaching you, but you're not the best student.
Niniane arches an eyebrow, but she seems rather amused.
<<elseif $chapt1beach == "2">>You tried to plea that, seeing as you are a sorcerer, you don't need to gain the favor of a Goddess to grant you powers; Morgana was less than impressed, and rather irked. She insists that it can offer you the power to heal wounds. Not just the scrapped knees and shallow cuts you sometimes get that she heals away. Deep, bleeding wounds. Broken bones. She recounted to you, holding up her hand, how she used to slash her own palm, letting the blade dig deep - and here she drew her index over the flesh, mimicking the action - and then heal it herself or let Junia do it. And yet the skin holds no scar.
You've countered that you can always simply carry bandages and healing potions. She persists it's not the same, but you're unmoved.
You nod earnestly at Niniane. The woman smiles.
<<elseif $chapt1beach == "3">>The ways Morgana has shown you the powers of the Goddess were rather small in scope at the begining, prayers to heal your wounds or purify drinking water. But you've asked her once to give you more, something bigger. She said you could easily see the wonders healing does through a visit at the infirmary, but that it'd not be the best idea given how young you are. She recounted to you, holding up her hand, how she used to slash her own palm, letting the blade dig deep - and here she drew her index over the flesh, mimicking the action - and then heal it herself or let Junia do it. And yet the skin holds no scar.
But to appease your desire for grandiose tricks, she took you and Junia by the sea, on a deserted patch of sand, and asked the redhead to make a demonstration. The Le Fay are known for controlling the elements, and Morgana wanted to leave no doubt that water could be summoned by the Goddess just like your own powers could.
So Junia raised her arms and the waves followed, rising in height two times her own. She moved the waters above you, then willed them to swirl around you, fish caught in the flying liquid.
You nod eagerly at Niniane. The woman chuckles at your enthusiasm.
<<elseif $chapt1beach == "4">>Morgana has inspired a sense of reverence in you towards the Goddess and her powers. She can heal, she can call a storm; she is not a creature to anger. Morgana heals your scrapped knees and cuts and purifies the water by praying to her. But she said that's not the full extent of the Goddess' powers. She can heal deep, bleeding wounds. Broken bones. She recounted to you, holding up her hand, how she used to slash her own palm, letting the blade dig deep - and here she drew her index over the flesh, mimicking the action - and then heal it herself or let Junia do it. And yet the skin holds no scar. It was enough to convince you the Goddess is someone whose power needs to be respected.
You nod earnestly at Niniane. The woman smiles.
<</if>>
"Mordred, Nimue, go and stay on the side." She guides the girl towards you. "Now then, I believe we should start the ritual." Niniane turns toward the Priestess, and as you shuffle to the side of the Temple, you catch Junia thanking the woman with a genuine look of gratitude.
When you're at the edge of the platform, you cast a glance down at the water; just a few moments ago, the waves seemed to be hitting harder against the stone, with mounting anger; now they are again serene.
You turn to the girl next to you. You know Nimue well enough; you've played before. She is three years older than you, and if you are together it's most likely because she was put to babysit you. She's always quiet, and her eyes seem to always shift around suspiciously, as if they pick up on details no one else does. She's also not on Avalon year-round, splitting her stays between the island and Camelot, with Merlin, her father.
You'd like to say something to her, but the ritual is starting, and your attention is drawn to the women in the middle of the Temple, forming a circle. They start humming, almost inaudible with the waves in your ears, but soon their voices raise over the racket, melodious like the call of a siren.
They turn their backs to each other, not breaking the circle and in sync, move their arms in an upward arch, chanting praise to the water and Goddess.
<div class="choice">[[This is boring.|Beach1][$chapt1temple = "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[This is fascinating.|Beach1][$chapt1temple = "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You are mildly curious.|Beach1][$chapt1temple = "3"]]</div><<if $chapt1_babysit == "1">>
She's stayed with you before, even played with you; she's not very talkative, but she's patient and nice with you.
<<elseif $chapt1_babysit == "2">>
Your cheeks heat at the mere idea of spending time with Nimue; you really, really like her, and how could you not? She's cute and nice and patient and while she may not speak a lot, she always listens to you talk about dragons and magic, and when she does pipe in, you soak up every word.
<</if>>
You follow Nimue to the beach; when your feet hit the sand, the girl takes off her sandals and tosses them before walking towards the calm waves.
"Let's pick seashells," she says.
You quickly do the same as her; the water is cool but refreshing, and you soon get used to it as you splash around, getting the hem of your robe wet.
The girl's gaze is trained on the ground, spying for any glint in the sand.
<<if $chapt1_babysit == "1">>
You want to do the same, but find yourself more interested in her.
<<elseif $chapt1_babysit == "2">>
You want to do the same, but find yourself more interested in her - and the way her focused, green gaze shimmers like the sun-touched waves.
<</if>>
Nimue's a good friend, even if she's not always in Avalon. When she is, she'll gladly listen to your rambles, and in turn relay weird and intriguing facts about magic and the life that teems under the sea. She plays pretend and board games with you, but at times she's content merely walking in silence while "//the waves do the talking"//, as she put it.
Yet now you have questions you want to ask. The wedding invitations broke the dam of curiosity concerning Camelot, its King and the Royal Sorcerer, who just happens to be her father. It wouldn't be the first time you're quering her on these subjects, and she's never been too forthcoming with answers. You'd pose a question and receive only vague, mystifying replies til you stopped asking altogether.
Now you are motivated enough to try again.
<<include BeachQuestions>><<if $chapt1temple == "1">>It's boring. All they're doing is chanting repetitive words and doing the same movement.
You start tapping your foot petulantly, crossing your arms.
You are suddenly startled by a splash of water hitting your back, leaving your bottom wet and cold. You let out a yelp and look behind, but the ocean is as calm as before. A smile tugs at the corner of Nimue's lips.
<<elseif $chapt1temple == "2">>Your mouth forms an awed o as you stare at them. There's something beautiful to their graceful, practiced moves. You can feel power bubbling among them.
Nimue is watching with rapt attention, too, though the only thing that betray it is the gleam in her green eyes.
<<elseif $chapt1temple == "3">>You watch with interest, appreciative of their movements, thinking of the practice it must have taken. Nimue, on the other hand, seems more enthranced, going by the look in her green eyes.<</if>>
When the ritual is over, it's like the silence after a storm. Something still hangs in the air, and it makes you shiver.
Junia beckons to you, and you bound to her. "Mordred, I still have some matters to settle, but Niniane said Nimue will play with you on the beach. I'll come fetch you."
<div class="choice">[[Nimue's babysat you before; you're used to it.|Beach1.1][$chapt1_babysit to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nimue's babysat you before; and like every other time, you're both excited and nervous to spend time with the girl you like. ❤ |Beach1.1][$chapt1_babysit to "2", $nimue_childhood_crush to true]]</div>By now the sea has completely engulfed the sun and all its blazing colors, leaving the sky a muted blue still faintly illuminated by the setting sun.
"Mordred!" Junia calls you, Niniane at her side.
You put back on your sandals over your feet covered in wet, gritty sand that makes each of your step sticky and not all that pleasant.
You part ways with Nimue and Niniane, heading home, one hand in Junia's and the other filled with shells and rocks.
[[End of Chapter 1|Chapter2]]<<if $chapt1beachq1 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Do you like Camelot?\""|BeachQuestions1][$chapt1beachq1 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt1beachq2 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"What's Merlin like?\""|BeachQuestions2][$chapt1beachq2 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt1beachq3 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"You've met Arthur, didn't you?\""|BeachQuestions3][$chapt1beachq3 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt1beachq4 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Did you have any visions recently?\""|BeachQuestions5][$chapt1beachq4 to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You hear Junia calling you.|Beach2]]</div>You know she spends half of the year at Camelot, with her father. Your mother explained that even though her parents separated - and were never married in the first place - they both wish to raise her. Or rather, as Morgana said, Niniane wishes to raise her as a daughter and Merlin as an apprentice.
"Do you like Camelot?" you blurt out.
Nimue, who has been studying a cream seashell, twisted and broken, meets your wide eyes with her unreadable green ones. A smile tugs at her lips and the lets she seashell fall.
"I do, though not as much as Avalon."
"Why?"
She gazes at the lazy waves, "Because it doesn't feel like home." She splashes through the water, passing you by. "There's no ocean. But there are many people at court, and I like watching them from the shadows. Listening to their conversations and gossip. Learning their secrets." She glances at you, and maybe it's just the sunset caught in her eyes, but they're gleaming. "It's fun."
"What else do you do at court?"
Nimue continues to look for seashells, plunging her fist into the shallow water to excavate sand and choosing the ones she finds pretty, while chucking the others back.
"Mostly stay by my father's side, to learn magic from him. And get pestered by Kay's son."
You tense. The boy Arthur cares for more than you, his child. "Gawain?"
"Yes." She looks at you. "You've never met him, have you? Or your brother? You haven't been to the Continent, mother says."
<div class="choice">[["No, but mother will take me soon," you say eagerly.|BeachQuestions4][$chapt1eager to "eager"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, but mother will take me soon," you say bitterly.|BeachQuestions4][$chapt1eager to "bitter"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, but mother will take me soon," you say casually.|BeachQuestions4][$chapt1eager to "casual"]]</div>You try your luck finding seashells. You happen upon a cream fanning one, and decide to keep it. You also fish out a rock, smoothed by the sea, but Nimue didn't mention anything about picking rocks.
You prepare to throw it, but Nimue stops you, fingers closing around your wrist as she gently guides your hand under her sharp eyes. "It's pretty."
And that simple observation spares the poor rock from being tossed back into the depths of the sea. You add it to your growing collection, standing out amongst the off-white and brown and beige shells with its deep, shiny green.
"So what's Merlin like?" you ask, kicking a foot at an incoming wave. It breaks into a million little drops that settle on your robe, on your forearms, sending a ripple of goosebumps all the way to your shoulders.
"He's caring," Nimue replies, not looking at you. Her eyes are pinned on the spiraling, broken shell she's stroking with her thumb. Face as placid as the sea beyond her. "He never yells at me. He takes me herb picking with him and gave me a beautiful, leather bound grimoire."
"Does he play with you?" Accolon often plays with you and he's like a father to you, so you assume all fathers must or should at least do so too. Perhaps even those as villainous as Merlin.
She gives you look between dubious and amused. "Yes," she says, "we play all kinds of board games."
He sounds almost nice, nicer than how Morgana depicts him. Though she did warn you he that likes to trick people into liking him, into seeing what he wants them to see.
"My mother doesn't trust him," you say plainly.
"Father doesn't trust your mother either," Nimue replies just as bluntly. She sounds amused, as if this were all a joke you were both in on. "What a wonderfully intricate situation, isn't it?"
You frown. It's her words are intricate. What does she mean by them - is this situation extraordinarily complex, or it is just wonderful that it's so difficult? You're not sure what's that intricate, anyway. Mother's always been clear that Merlin is an awful man.
Nimue's not willing to elaborate, either. She goes back to searching seashells, unbothered, while you flounder for an explanation.
<<include BeachQuestions>>Nimue's been to Camelot, and not just as any other visitor, but as the daughter of the Royal Advisor. If she's around Merlin, she'll most likely end up in Arthur's company for enough time to form an opinion of him, to get a grip of his demeanor.
"You said you met Arthur. But you never said what's he like."
Well, she did say //some// things, but never the things you really wanted to hear - the things she wouldn't even know about, or at least pretends not to. You need to know if Arthur misses you, if he ever thinks of you - if he abandoned you like one of those unloved toys you toss at the bottom of a trunk, seal away and forget about.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
"I suppose I didn't say much" Nimue concedes, unaffected by her cruel hording of precious information. Surely, she can tell you more; if she did, perhaps you could ascertain that all else you've heard is true. That he really is the thoughtful, gentle, caring man the others say he is, and that one day he'll show you that, too.
And beyond that, you simply crave to know details. What's his laugh like? What's his favorite cake? Does he love cats like you do, too?
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
"I suppose I didn't say much" Nimue concedes, unaffected by her cruel hording of precious information. Surely, she can tell you more. More than what you've heard before, which seeks to make Arthur to be some thoughtful, gentle, nice man when he's never been any of these to you. Surely, such a man would not forsake his child like he did.
Besides, a weird curiosity demands of you to find out if there's anything he does that you do too; does he love cats like you do? Is he fond of flying, what's his laugh like? Do you share anything beyond appearance?
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
"I suppose I didn't say much" Nimue concedes, unaffected by her cruel hording of precious information. Surely, she can tell you more; if she did, perhaps you could ascertain who's right and who's wrong about him. You need to know why, if he's such thoughtful, gentle, caring man the others say he is, he abandoned you.
And beyond that, you simply crave to know details. What's his laugh like? What's his favorite cake? Does he love cats like you do, too?
<</if>>
"So what is he like?"
Nimue's eyes flicker in your direction, green as polished and shiny as a stone. "Hasn't Morgana told you about him?"
You kick at the water as impatience courses through you at the elusive response. "I want to hear more." The arrival of the wedding invitation has made you realize you want - need - to know more. You're so starved of information that you'll grasp onto any scrap you can get.
Infuriatingly, Nimue simply shrugs - denying a hungry man a seat at the table and throwing you only the barest, thinnest of bones." He's kind."
<<include BeachQuestions>><<if $chapt1eager == "eager">>
"No, but mother will take me soon!" You skip through the breaking waves, splashing your robes.
Nimue's brow raises. "To become a squire, I heard?"
"Yes!" You thrust your arm forward as if holding a sword. "And become a knight of the Round Table!"
The splatter of a heavy seashell in the water draws your attention. "Because your mother says so?"
"Well...yes!" That's how knighthood works; it's the parent that chooses this path for the child. "But I wanna go to the Continent! And I want to be a knight!"
It means you can grow up to be as amazing as Accolon.
Nimue gives you a small, humouring smile.
<<elseif $chapt1eager == "bitter">>
"No, but mother will take me soon," You trudge through the breaking waves, splashing your robes.
Nimue's brow raises. "To become I squire, I heard?"
"Yes," you sigh. "And become a knight of the Round Table."
The splatter of a heavy seashell in the water draws your attention. "Because your mother said so?"
"Well...yes." That's how knighthood works; it's the parent that chooses this path for the child. "But I don't want to leave Avalon," you grumble under your breath.
The small smile Nimue gives you is sympathetic.
<<elseif $chapt1eager == "casual">>
"No, but mother will take me soon," You walk through the breaking waves, splashing your robes.
Nimue's brow raises. "To become I squire, I heard?"
"Yes," you say as you skim your fingers through the shallows. "And become a knight of the Round Table."
The splatter of a heavy seashell in the water draws your attention. "Because your mother said so?"
"I suppose." That's how knighthood works; it's the parent that chooses this path for the child. Mother said the position will be //'helpful'// for you later.
<</if>>
"I'll be spending more time in Camelot too, soon," Nimue said. "To become father's apprentice."
You throw her own question back at her. "Because he said so?"
"Because I want to." She says so with the same conviction with which the waves crash against the rocks.
<<include BeachQuestions>>Nimue has inherited her father's magical affinity towards divination. It gives her a propensity for visions and predictions - for her to make them with higher accuracy when she channels her power, or for them to come to her unprompted.
Morgana told you it's not a branch of magic she's particularly interested in, being so nebulous, and many times unreliable. //Even for someone like Merlin?// you'd asked her. Her lips had thinned and she'd bitterly deemed the sorcerer 'wicked enough for her to consider anything that comes out his mouth unreliable'.
Even so, every now and then you like asking Nimue if she has any interesting predictions to share. Sometimes she shakes her head, other times she offers enigmatic smiles.
Still you persevere. "Did you have any visions recently?"
Nimue turns her gaze from the shallows, where a bank of tiny, shiny fish flit by, to you. When a little smirk starts pulling at her lips, you fear that's all you'll get from her; but then she leans in, voice hushed as she confesses, "I did. Actually-" her eyes flutter closed "-one's coming right now."
Her smile smooths into a solemn expression. She stands perfectly still as waves lap at your feet, voice momentous as she says, "I sense...A splash coming your way!"
She flicks her wrist, willing briny droplets to spray against your cheek.
<div class="choice">[[You giggle and jump back.|BeachQuestions6][$chapt1_vision to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You frown and spray her back.|BeachQuestions6][$chapt1_vision to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You frown and cross your arms.|BeachQuestions6][$chapt1_vision to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You pout.|BeachQuestions6][$chapt1_vision to 4]]</div><<if $chapt1_vision == 1>>
You jump back giggling and rubbing at your cheek with the back of your palm. "That's not a vision!"
"But it was," she insists. "A self-fulfilling prophecy."
<<elseif $chapt1_vision == 2>>
You mirror her gesture, drawing upon your powers to make the water rise. Nimue springs back and slashes an arm through the air, redirecting the incoming splatter back onto the sea, away from her.
"That wasn't a vision," you say, frowning.
"But it was," she insists, with a smile that only makes your furrow deeper. "A self-fulfilling prophecy."
<<elseif $chapt1_vision == 3>>
You cross your arms and frown at her. "That wasn't a vision."
"But it was," she insists, with a smile that only makes your furrow deeper. "A self-fulfilling prophecy."
<<elseif $chapt1_vision == 4>>
Your lips pucker in a disappointed moue. "That wasn't a vision."
"But it was," she insists. "A self-fulfilling prophecy."
<</if>>
<<include BeachQuestions>>"You can barely stay awake," Morgana says in a mellow voice.
<<include Chapter1.6>>You let Morgana lead you, trudging drowsily, a huge yawn escaping you.
<<include Chapter1.6>><<if $chapt1_small_talk == 1>>
"I can't wait either. So let's start getting to know each other!"
$dragon_name nods. "How about we each share some things we love? You can go first."
"I love playing in nature."
"What a coincidence, so do I!" They stretch out one leathery wing. "That, and flying."
"I used to fly a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's head tilts to the side. "Scaly? That's an... unusual name. Is that the name they chose for themselves?"
"No, it's a nickname I came up with, and they thought it was funny."
They hum in acknowledgement, a low rumble in their throat. "Do they call //you// Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"A wasted opportunity," $dragon_name replies.
Their tone is light enough that you reckon you must have not offended them too much, so you go on. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too, especially the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name opens their mouth, smiling wider.
"So do I. I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp, but I'm not discouraged, I'll get it right someday." They slide closer to you, and bump their shoulder into yours. "We should learn together."
"Yeah, with our combined powers we'll burn two trees."
$dragon_name laughs, and you find yourself agreeing with them: you two will surely make a formidable pair.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 2>>
$dragon_name eyes you expectantly, eyes bright and friendly. They talk and walk with ease, already utterly convinced that you'll make a great team. It's a relief to have such a warm welcome, and their confidence has you almost believing you'll be the best knight Camelot has ever seen. How are you supposed to reply to that? Feels like no right words come to your mind.
"So," you say, arms swinging at your side as if the sweeping motion might help you grasp an opener. "$dragon_name." They wait, but you're stuck.
"How about we each share some things we love? You can go first."
"I love playing in nature."
"What a coincidence, so do I!" They stretch out one leathery wing. "That, and flying."
"I used to fly a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's head tilts to the side. "Scaly? That's an... unusual name. Is that the name they chose for themselves?"
"No, it's a nickname I came up with, and they thought it was funny."
They hum in acknowledgement, a low rumble in their throat. "Do they call //you// Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"A wasted opportunity," $dragon_name replies.
Their tone is light enough that you reckon you must have not offended them too much, so you go on. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too, especially the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name opens their mouth, smiling wider.
"So do I. I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp, but I'm not discouraged, I'll get it right someday." They slide closer to you, and bump their shoulder into yours. "We should learn together."
"Yeah, with our combined powers we'll burn two trees."
$dragon_name laughs, and you find yourself agreeing with them: you two will surely make a formidable pair.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 3>>
$dragon_name eyes you expectantly, eyes bright and friendly. It's a relief to have such a warm welcome, and their confidence would have you almost believe you'll be the best knight Camelot has ever seen. They talk and walk with ease, already utterly convinced that you'll make a great team. Yet you can't share their optimism. They seem nice, sure, but nice doesn't mean you necessarily fit together. What if the two of you don't become friends for whatever reasons? What happens if you fail to bond with your chosen partner? Will you have to find another one, or will you be forever barred from becoming a knight? You can just imagine your mother and Accolon shaking their heads in tandem disappointment.
You sigh and kick at a rock. You watch it skitter away, running from you like your chance of becoming a knight if you don't make this work. You envy Nimue right now, if only you had her propensity for predictions, you could reassure yourself that everything would turn out alright.
"You sure showed that rock," $dragon_name jokes. "Our enemies shall tremble before us."
You crack a small smile. "I guess."
"How about we each share some things we love? You can go first."
"I love playing in nature."
"What a coincidence, so do I!" They stretch out one leathery wing. "That, and flying."
"I used to fly a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's head tilts to the side. "Scaly? That's an... unusual name."
Your heart skips a bit. "Is it?"
"Maybe. Is that the name they chose for themselves?"
"No, it's a nickname I came up with, and they thought it was funny."
They hum in acknowledgement, a low rumble in their throat. "Do they call //you// Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"A wasted opportunity," $dragon_name replies.
Their tone is light enough that you reckon you must have not offended them too much, so you go on. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too, especially the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name opens their mouth, smiling wider.
"So do I. I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp, but I'm not discouraged, I'll get it right someday." They slide closer to you, and bump their shoulder into yours. "We should learn together."
"Yeah, with our combined powers we'll burn two trees."
$dragon_name laughs, and you feel your doubts slowly dissipate. Perhaps you're not hopeless.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 4>>
Standing here, in a land foreign to you, with a dragon you barely met - no matter how talked up to you by Accolon - brings forth a sweeping tide of melancholy. The island you left behind, kind Junia and her fathers, your good friend Scaly, all far away from you, beyond the mists of Avalon. You don't want to be here anymore, you've been on the continent for mere days, and you've already been kicked out of one castle and coldly received to this one by Duke Lot.
$dragon_name eyes you expectantly, mouth open with the corners pulled back in the imitation of a smile, revealing rows of white, spittle-shiny fangs. They seem nice, sure, but right now you can't bring yourself to chit-chat.
You sigh, and kick at a rock. You watch it skitter away, far away from you like Avalon is now. You envy Nimue right now, if only you had her propensity for predictions, you could reassure yourself that everything would turn out alright.
"You sure showed that rock," $dragon_name jokes. "Our enemies shall tremble before us."
You crack a small smile. "I guess."
"How about we each share some things we love? You can go first."
"I love playing in nature."
"What a coincidence, so do I!" They stretch out one leathery wing. "That, and flying."
"I used to fly a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's head tilts to the side. "Scaly? That's an... unusual name."
Your heart skips a bit. "Is it?"
"Maybe. Is that the name they chose for themselves?"
"No, it's a nickname I came up with, and they thought it was funny."
They hum in acknowledgement, a low rumble in their throat. "Do they call //you// Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"A wasted opportunity," $dragon_name replies.
Their tone is light enough that you reckon you must have not offended them too much, so you go on. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too, especially the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name opens their mouth, smiling wider.
"So do I. I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp, but I'm not discouraged, I'll get it right someday." They slide closer to you, and bump their shoulder into yours. "We should learn together."
"Yeah, with our combined powers we'll burn two trees."
$dragon_name laughs, and you feel your doubts slowly dissipate. With a new friend at your side, you'll be alright.
<</if>>
[[Continue|BoldTelepathy]]Your strolling has brought you to a big oak tree where you decide to rest in the shade. $dragon_name sits with their limbs tucked beneath them, a scaly loaf, and you fold your legs to your chest.
"There is a river nearby I like to swim in," $dragon_name says, "and plenty of woods to explore." They've quickly and proudly taken the role of your guide, promising to introduce you to all the great places they know.
You've talked about all sorts of things, but one subject you didn't fully broach is your nature as a dragonblood. $dragon_name knows, as their parents do, so they're trustworthy, which makes them one of the few dragons you can mentally communicate with.
<div class="choice">[[Pop into their head to surprise them and say hello.|BoldTelepathy1][$chapt1_say_hello to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Reach out mentally and ask to talk.|BoldTelepathy1][$chapt1_say_hello to 2]]</div><<if $chapt1_say_hello == 1>>
You feel out for their mental presence - which is easy given how close they are - and send a loud and clear "//Hello!//"
$dragon_name leaps to their feet and smacks their tail against the tree trunk in the process. "Ouch. Why?"
"Oops. Sorry!"
Once settled back into their comfortable loaf position, they give you a little nod. "Just don't try that again." Their next words float into your head, gentler than yours did into theirs. "//But we can continue talking like this.//"
"//It's amazing, it's like a secret correspondence, but quicker, and more fun.//"
$dragon_name chuckles, the sound ringing in your head. "//It's pretty mundane for dragons, but it is fun. So you don't find it weird? I know humans can't do this... usually.//"
"//Not at all,//" you reply. "//It feels normal and natural and amazing!//" A trickle of your excitement seeps to them, and it bounces off their own enthusiasm, two facing mirrors endlessly reflecting each other.
This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and your life as a squire.
<<elseif $chapt1_say_hello == 2>>
You feel out for their mental presence - which is easy given how close they are - and pose a question. "//Can we talk like this?//"
"//Of course.//"
"//It's amazing, it's like a secret correspondence, but quicker, and more fun.//"
$dragon_name chuckles, the sound ringing in your head. "//It's pretty mundane for dragons, but it is fun. So you don't find it weird? I know humans can't do this... usually.//"
"//Not at all,//" you reply. "//It feels normal and natural and amazing!//" A trickle of your excitement seeps to them, and it bounces off their own enthusiasm, two facing mirrors endlessly reflecting each other.
This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and your life as a squire.
<</if>>
[[End of Chapter 2|Chapter3]]A wry smile curls your lips. "What were you up to, setting up bets? I don't think you're allowed to do this."
"Oh, but it's nothing serious," $dragon_name smoothly explains, tail tracing a nonchalant, dismissive arc through the air. "Just a bit of betting between friends, nothing quite so organized. We're betting on pebbles, anyway."
"So the winners get a pile of rocks?"
"The winners get to feel a sense of pride and accomplishment." They strike a pose, head held high, pride and accomplishment embodied.
"Anyway," $dragon_name says, settling back down on the ground. "I think I may have made a new friend today. Did you spot that dragon in the front? The one with the red and orange scales That's Ariawen."
"Ariawen," you repeat, the name familiar. "Isn't that-?
"Yes. Gawain’s partner. They came up to me, all excited to be making my acquaintance. As if I were some sort of famous knight already."
$dragon_name taps a talon to their head. "As excited as Gawain was to meet you, as you've shown me. I didn't expect this reaction."
<<if $chapt3_trick_add == 1 or $chapt3_trick_add == 3>>
"I know!" you say, voice pitched high by incredulity. "I didn't expect him to be so sweet."
<<if $chapt3_trick_add == 3>>
"And cute?" $dragon_name is looking at you with a knowing, smug expression.
You chuckle self-consciously, cupping your face as a rush of heat floods them, pleasantly warm against your fingers. "And cute..."
<<else>>
It's surprising, given their proximity to Merlin - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. At best, you expected a lack of interest in you, expected that apprehension would keep him at bay. At worst, you were prepared for the kind of loathing you've come to anticipate.
<</if>>
"I think I may have made a friend today," you say, wonderment still lingering in your voice. "Or maybe he was just being nice because he knows nobody else is nice to me."
You try to say it flippantly, but $dragon_name scoffs.
"Don't sell yourself short." It's not a plea; it's a reassurance that sounds almost like an order.
You smile, but the expression is short-lived. "Galahad, on the other side, wasn't nearly as happy to meet me. I shouldn't be surprised, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 2 or $chapt3_trick_add == 4 or $chapt3_trick_add == 5 or $chapt3_trick_add == 7>>
"I know," you say, puzzlement still lingering. He was surprisingly nice. Nicer than I expected. Though honestly, I don't know what I was supposed to expect."
It's surprising, given their proximity to Merlin - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. At best, you expected a lack of interest in you, expected that apprehension would keep him at bay. At worst, you were prepared for the kind of loathing you've come to anticipate.
"There's someone else who wasn't nearly as excited to meet me, however," you say, cold, sharp gaze flashing through your mind." Though that was expected, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 6 or $chapt3_trick_add == 8>>
You roll your eyes. "He's the only one excited. I don't even know what he's so excited about - I thought Arthur's family hated us."
Gawain's lived all his life in Camelot at Merlin's side - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. Your mother's tales of Camelot have instilled a sense of apprehension in you, one that may well aid you.
"Maybe he pities me and that is worse. In any case, I am not interested in being his friend."
Your interaction offered you no reason to want to pursue his friendship, anyway.
$dragon_name gives a thoughtful hum in response. "It's unexpected that he'd be this enthusiastic, isn't it? I'm not saying you should befriend him, but perhaps you could have tried to be nice, at least." Before you can protest, they continue, "Have you considered that it could be helpful to you? In a few years we'll be in Camelot. We should try to build some connections."
You mull over the words, not particularly eager to relent defeat. "Maybe," you concede. "In any case, I don't think that would work on Galahad. He wasn't quite so happy to meet me. Which is not surprising, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 9>>
$dragon_name tilts their head, considering you. "He was so excited to meet you," they repeat. "And you offered him quite a fiery introduction."
Your lips pull into a smirk. "Well, he did ask me for tricks as if I were a dog."
$dragon_name is not smiling. "That was dangerous. You do know that, Mordred, don't you? He could have went crying to his parents or Arthur. It could've easily been seen as attacking a member of the royal family."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
You tilt your head back and press the bridge of your palms against your eyes. "You're no fun. That's what Gareth said, too."
"Has it occurred to you that he's right? If you want us to get to Camelot, you will have to play nice for a while. And besides," $dragon_name goes on when you only huff, "You know, being nice could get you far further than antagonizing the King's nephew could."
<<else>>
You tilt your head back and press the bridge of your palms against your eyes. "You're no fun. He was being annoying."
"Next time just use that sharp tongue of yours. I'll sting as much but lead to fewer possible repercussions. And besides," $dragon_name goes on when you only huff, "You know, being nice could get you far further than antagonizing the King's nephew could."
<</if>>
"Like this?" you reply, tone and smile cloyingly sweet.
They let out a small, amused snort. "You look just like your mother when you do that."
<</if>>
$dragon_name swishes their tail through the air, as if batting away an annoying fly. "Forget about them. Did you encounter any more pleasant sights?"
You talk about the stalls, and the merchants streaming in. About the performers tuning their instruments, or adding the finishing touches to their tents and stages. You exchange mental images of knights in shining armor and dragons with bejeweled horns.
[[Continue|C3LayDownDragon]]<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
A wry smile curls your lips. "Your tug-of-war match seemed to get pretty intense."
$dragon_name thrust their snout in the air, puffing a triumphant ring of smoke. "I swept the ground with my opponent."
<<else>>
A sheepish smile curls your lips. "Your tug-of-war match seemed pretty intense. I'm sorry I came and ruined it."
$dragon_name flaps their tail dismissively. "No apologizing. It's fine. My opponent got lucky - I would have destroyed them otherwise. Which I still plan on doing, during our rematch."
<</if>>
"Who are they, by the way?"
"That," $dragon_name says, "is Ariawen."
"Ariawen," you repeat, the name familiar. "Isn't that-?
"Yes. Gawain’s partner. They came up to me, all excited to be making my acquaintance, like I was some sort of famous knight already. Approaching me as if Camelot doesn't consider your family and anyone associated as disgraced."
$dragon_name taps a talon to their head. "Similar to how Gawain approached you. I didn't expect such...overly-friendliness." By the circumspect note in their tone, they don't seem to know what to make of it.
<<if $chapt3_trick_add == 1 or $chapt3_trick_add == 3>>
You, however, have no such reticence. "I know!" you say, voice pitched high by incredulity. "I didn't expect Gawain to be so sweet."
<<if $chapt3_trick_add == 3>>
"Sweet, you say?" $dragon_name fixes you with a steady, knowing look. "Just sweet?"
You chuckle self-consciously and playfully shove their face away from you. "Very sweet."
<<else>>
It's surprising, given their proximity to Merlin - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. At best, you expected a lack of interest in you, expected that apprehension would keep him at bay. At worst, you were prepared for the kind of loathing you've come to anticipate.
<</if>>
"I think I may have made a friend today," you say, wonderment still clinging to your voice. "Or maybe he was just being nice because he knows nobody else is nice to me."
You try to say it flippantly, but $dragon_name only scoffs.
"We don't need their pity." A smirk slowly splits their maw. "Consider this - perhaps it's an act of rebellion. We are the forbidden, dangerous friendship."
You snort. "You think so?"
"It does sound rather flattering."
You smile, but the expression is short-lived. "Galahad, on the other side, probably just thinks we're dangerous. He wasn't nearly as happy to meet me. I shouldn't be surprised, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 2 or $chapt3_trick_add == 4 or $chapt3_trick_add == 5 or $chapt3_trick_add == 7>>
"I know," you say, puzzlement still lingering. He was surprisingly nice. Nicer than I expected. Though honestly, I don't know what I was supposed to expect."
It's surprising, given their proximity to Merlin - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. At best, you expected a lack of interest in you, expected that apprehension would keep him at bay. At worst, you were prepared for the kind of loathing you've come to anticipate.
"Mmm," $dragon_name hums in agreement, "they were a bit //too// familiar. Considering everything. Maybe we're exciting to them. That forbidden, dangerous friendship you shouldn't pursue."
You snort. "You think so?"
"It makes it sound more flattering, to me."
"There's someone else who wasn't nearly as excited to meet me, however," you say, cold, sharp gaze flashing through your mind." Though that was expected, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 6 or $chapt3_trick_add == 8>>
You roll your eyes. "He's the only one excited. I don't even know what he's so excited about - I thought Arthur's family hated us."
Gawain's lived all his life in Camelot at Merlin's side - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. Your mother's tales of Camelot have instilled a sense of apprehension in you, one that may well aid you.
"Maybe he pities me and that is worse. In any case, I am not interested in being his friend."
Your interaction offered you no reason to want to pursue his friendship, anyway.
"They can keep their pity." A smirk slowly splits their maw. "Consider this - perhaps it's an act of rebellion. We are the forbidden, dangerous friendship."
You snort. "You think so?"
"It does sound rather flattering. I suppose I am curious to see how much this enthusiasm of theirs will last. At the very least, Ariawen was a worthy opponent."
"You know who wasn't happy to meet me though? Galahad. Which is not surprising, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 9>>
A smirk splits $dragon_name's face. "And you gave him quite the fiery trick."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
"That's what you get for asking me to do tricks like I'm a dog. Gareth didn't think it was funny though."
"Oh, you know your brother. He's still trying to play it safe."
"It's working kind of better when people already respect you," you grumble.
"I do find it interesting that they approached us, though," $dragon_name goes on. "It does take some gall, I'll admit. I guess I'm curious to see how much this enthusiasm of Ariawen will last. At the very least, they were a worthy opponent."
<<else>>
"I do find it interesting that they approached us, though," $dragon_name goes on. "It does take some gall, I'll admit. I guess I'm curious to see how much this enthusiasm of Ariawen will last. At the very least, they were a worthy opponent."
<</if>>
"You know who wasn't happy to meet me though? Galahad. Which is not surprising, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<</if>>
$dragon_name thumps their tail against the ground, sending bits of dry soil flying. "Forget about them. Did you see anything more interesting around?"
You talk about the stalls, and the merchants streaming in. About the performers tuning their instruments, or adding the finishing touches to their tents and stages. You exchange mental images of knights in shining armor and dragons with bejeweled horns.
[[Continue|C3LayDownDragon]]A wry smile curls your lips. "What were you and the other dragons up to, gambling?"
"It wasn't gambling!" $dragon_name protests with a giddy, fluttery chuckle. " It was just a game. And we were betting on pebbles anyway."
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
"Uh-huh," you hum, smiling wider. "Earned pebbles that you did not collect."
They flap their tail glibly. "More pebbles for the others."
"To gamble some more," you reply without missing a beat.
<<else>>
"Uh-huh." Your smile turns sheepish grimace. "I'm sorry I made you choke on the die, though."
They reassuringly tap the back of your palm with their tail. "It was all fine. If I didn't spit it out, I could have just swallowed it, and it would have come out the other way-"
You scrunch up your nose, but can't help but chuckle. "Ew."
"Ew indeed. I wouldn't want to be the one cleaning it up. You could have-"
You put up your hand. "Let's just be glad you spit it out."
<</if>>
$dragon_name lazily rolls onto their side, then quickly perks back up. "Oh! I also made a new friend. Remember that dragon with the red and orange scales? That's Ariawen."
"Ariawen," you repeat, the name familiar. "Isn't that-?
"Yes. Gawain’s partner. They approached me, all excited to meet me and play together. When I learned who they are, I was so surprised!" They demonstrate just that, popping their eyes and opening their maw wide. "I couldn't believe it!"
$dragon_name taps a talon against their head. "They were as excited as Gawain seemed to be in your memory."
<<if $chapt3_trick_add == 1 or $chapt3_trick_add == 3>>
"I know!" you say, voice pitched high by incredulity. "I didn't expect Gawain to be so sweet."
<<if $chapt3_trick_add == 3>>
$dragon_name leans in, eyes narrowed with amusement. "Sweet, you say? You know, I saw that in your head too."
You laugh and playfylly shove their face away. "Yes. Sweet."
<<else>>
Its surprising, given their proximity to Merlin - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. At best, you expected a lack of interest in you, expected that apprehension would keep him at bay. At worst, you were prepared for the kind of loathing you've come to anticipate.
<</if>>
"I think I may have made a friend today too," you say, wonderment still clinging to your voice. "Or maybe he was just being nice because he knows nobody else is nice to me."
You try to say it flippantly, but $dragon_name doesn't laugh.
Their eyes go so wide as to reveal the concealed whites of their eyes. "Don't say that! They both seemed genuinely nice. And even if they do feel bad about us, it doesn't mean they don't like us. People approach others for all sorts of reasons. All that matters is what happens afterwards - and what happened was //fun//!"
"Right." You smile, but the expression is short-lived. "Galahad, on the other side, wasn't nearly as happy to meet me. I shouldn't be surprised, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 2 or $chapt3_trick_add == 4 or $chapt3_trick_add == 5 or $chapt3_trick_add == 7>>
"I know," you say, puzzlement still lingering. He was surprisingly nice. Nicer than I expected. Though honestly, I don't know what I was supposed to expect."
It's surprising, given their proximity to Merlin - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. At best, you expected a lack of interest in you, expected that apprehension would keep him at bay. At worst, you were prepared for the kind of loathing you've come to anticipate.
$dragon_name thumps their tail against the ground, a quick, excited motion. "I, for one, am really glad that Ariawen approached me."
"That's great," you say with a small smile. Yet the expression is short-lived. "There's someone else who wasn't nearly as excited to meet me, however," you say, cold, sharp gaze flashing through your mind."Though that was expected, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 6 or $chapt3_trick_add == 8>>
You roll your eyes. "He's the only one excited.I don't even know what he's so excited about - I thought Arthur's family hated us."
Gawain's lived all his life in Camelot at Merlin's side - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. Your mother's tales of Camelot have instilled a sense of apprehension in you, one that may well aid you.
"Maybe he pities me and that is worse."
Their eyes go so wide as to reveal the concealed whites of their eyes. "Even if they do feel bad about us, it doesn't mean they don't like us. People approach others for all sorts of reasons. All that matters is what happens afterwards - that you have //fun//!"
"And I didn't have fun. I'm glad you had with Ariawen, but I'm not interested in being Gawain's friend."
Your interaction offered you no reason to want to pursue his friendship, anyway.
"I thought you'd be happy to have someone want to befriend you," $dragon_name offers in return, without missing a beat, voice not unkind.
"Not if that one asks me for tricks like I'm a dog. Anyway, he's not the only one I met. Galahad wasn't too happy to see me, which is not surprising, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 9>>
"He was so excited, and you burnt him!"
"His cape," you correct, to which $dragon_name just shakes their head violently.
"Why?"
It's not so much the rebuke itself that stings - but the confused, saddened look in their eyes.
"Because he was being annoying! He asked me for a trick, so I gave him one. Would //you// have jumped at the opportunity if someone asked you to do loops in the air?"
As soon as the question leaves your mouth, you realize you posed it to the wrong person.
"Yes!" $dragon_name replies truthfully. "I would have been delighted to show off."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
"Well, I wasn't." You sigh, rubbing a palm over your face. "Ugh, Gareth said I was being mean too, but he doesn't understand either."
<<else>>
"Well, I wasn't."
<</if>>
"I thought you'd be happy to have someone want to befriend you," $dragon_name says, voice not unkind.
"I don't need to settle for scraps of kindness. And neither do you." Before they can scold you some more, you change the subject. "You know who wasn't happy at all to meet me though? Galahad. Which is not surprising, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<</if>>
$dragon_name's tail slices through the air, banishing the subject. "Forget them. Did you see anything more interesting around?"
You talk about the stalls, and the merchants streaming in. About the performers tuning their instruments, or adding the finishing touches to their tents and stages. You exchange mental images of knights in shining armor and dragons with bejeweled horns.
[[Continue|C3LayDownDragon]]When the conversation lulls, you lay down on the grass, side by side, facing each other.
$dragon_name’s body forms a crescent around you, their tail draped over your legs, their head bent above yours, one wing spread out to cover you like a blanket. You tuck your head beneath, and the world fades away.
There's nothing but the bed of soil and grass beneath you and their warm breath against the crown of your head. The light filters a gentle faint $scales through the expanse of leathery skin.
In the silence, it's hard not to be crushed by the weight of your affection. It doesn't so much hit you from without as it threatens to rip you open from within. You let this feeling spill into them. $dragon_name has made your burdens theirs, but you do not wish to only pour poison in their heart - you want your love to be theirs too. They open their mind and heart to receive your affection and send back their own, just as bone crushing.
After a while, you crane back your head to look up at $dragon_name.
<<if $horns == "no">>
Their scales glisten where the sunlight hits them - more than usual, that is, as if powdered with crushed diamonds.
<<if $dragon_type == "bold">>
They’ve lined their eyes in a bold, loud metallic that shines even brighter than their scales and brings out the color of their eyes. The lines are sharp, confident and precise.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "fierce">>
They have lined their eyes with harsh strokes of a dark and striking hue that stands out against their scales and brings out the color of their eyes.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "friendly">>
They have lined their eyes in bright joyful colors; they couldn't settle for one, so they've painted a rainbow around their eyes.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "shy">>
They have lined their eyes with a thin, timid stroke of a metallic hue that brings out the color of their eyes.
<</if>>
<<else>>
Their scales glisten where the sunlight hits them - more than usual, that is, as if powdered with crushed diamonds.
<<if $dragon_type == "bold">>
They’ve lined their eyes in a bold, loud metallic that shines even brighter than their scales and brings out the color of their eyes. The lines are sharp, confident and precise. Their horns are adorned too: bands of gold sit at their base, inlaid with $dragon_eyes gems.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "fierce">>
They have lined their eyes with harsh strokes of a dark and striking hue that stands out against their scales and brings out the color of their eyes. Their horns are adorned too: bands of gold sit at their base, inlaid with $dragon_eyes gems.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "friendly">>
They have lined their eyes in bright joyful colors; they couldn't settle for one, so they've painted a rainbow around their eyes. Their horns are adorned too: silk ribbons twist around them, the shiny $dragon_eyes fabric the same hue as their eyes.
<<else>>
They have lined their eyes with a thin, timid stroke of a metallic hue that brings out the color of their eyes.Their horns are adorned too: shiny, $dragon_eyes silk ribbons twist around them.
<</if>>
<</if>>
As you're staring, one of their eyes pops open and they ask “What?”
<div class="choice">[[“I failed to notice how glittery you look today. Did you do something to your scales?”|Chapt3GlowyScales][$chapt3_glowy_scales to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“I failed to notice how cute you look today - well more than usual. Did you do something to your scales?” You don't hide the feeling blooming in your chest. ❤|Chapt3GlowyScales][$chapt3_glowy_scales to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“I failed to notice how cute you look today - well more than usual. Did you do something to your scales?” You burrow deep the feelings in your chest. ❤|Chapt3GlowyScales][$chapt3_glowy_scales to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“I failed to notice how cute you look today - well more than usual. Did you do something to your scales?” 💕|Chapt3GlowyScales][$chapt3_glowy_scales to 4]]</div>A wry smile curls your lips. "Did you just make a friend today? Who are they?"
$dragon_name gives a small, giddy chuckle. "I think. I hope so, at least. Their name is Ariawen."
"Ariawen," you repeat, the name familiar. "Isn't that-?
"Yes. Gawain’s partner. They approached me - well, I don't think there was any doubt about that - and were very excited to meet me. It was a bit overwhelming but...nice, you know."
$dragon_name points a talon to their head. "They were as excited as Gawain seemed to be in your memory. It was...completely unexpected."
<<if $chapt3_trick_add == 1 or $chapt3_trick_add == 3>>
"I know!" you say, voice pitched high by incredulity. "I didn't expect Gawain to be so sweet."
<<if $chapt3_trick_add == 3>>
$dragon_name gives you a long look, the corner of their mouth twitching to pull into a smile. "I saw that in your head too."
You smile and pull your legs to your chest, arms looped around them, face half-concealed by you knees. "He just simply is so sweet."
<<else>>
Its surprising, given their proximity to Merlin - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. At best, you expected a lack of interest in you, expected that apprehension would keep him at bay. At worst, you were prepared for the kind of loathing you've come to anticipate.
<</if>>
"I think I may have made a friend today too," you say, wonderment still clinging to in your voice. "Or maybe he was just being nice because he knows nobody else is nice to me."
You try to say it flippantly, but $dragon_name doesn't laugh.
Their eyes go so wide as to reveal the concealed whites of their eyes. "Don't say that. They both seemed genuinely nice. Ariawen seemed to really enjoy playing and talking together. And even if they do feel bad about us, it doesn't mean they can't like us. Right?" Before you can even open your mouth, $dragon_name gives themselves a decisive answer, "Right," and you realize this is as much a reassurance for you as it is for them.
"Right." You smile, but the expression is short-lived. "Galahad, on the other side, probably just thinks we're dangerous. He wasn't nearly as excited to meet me. I shouldn't be surprised, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 2 or $chapt3_trick_add == 4 or $chapt3_trick_add == 5 or $chapt3_trick_add == 7>>
"I know," you say, puzzlement still lingering. He was surprisingly nice. Nicer than I expected. Though honestly, I don't know what I was supposed to expect."
It's surprising, given their proximity to Merlin - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. At best, you expected a lack of interest in you, expected that apprehension would keep him at bay. At worst, you were prepared for the kind of loathing you've come to anticipate.
$dragon_name looks down at the grass, where their talon is tracing little circles into the soil. "Well," they softly say, "I'm glad they turned out to be like this. I think I'd like to be Ariawen's friend."
"You seem to have already started on that," you say with a small smile. Yet the expression is short-lived. "There's someone else who wasn't nearly as excited to meet me, however," you say, cold, sharp gaze flashing through your mind."Though that was expected, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 6 or $chapt3_trick_add == 8>>
You roll your eyes. "He's the only one excited.I don't even know what he's so excited about - I thought Arthur's family hated us."
Gawain's lived all his life in Camelot at Merlin's side - who's ensured your family's continued downfall, well after their spilt blood was scrubbed off of your castle's floors. Your mother's tales of Camelot have instilled a sense of apprehension in you, one that may well aid you.
"Maybe he pities me and that is worse. In any case, I am not interested in being his friend."
Your interaction offered you no reason to want to pursue his friendship, anyway.
Their eyes go so wide as to reveal the concealed whites of their eyes. "Don't say that. Ariawen seemed to really enjoy playing and talking together. And even if they do feel bad about us, it doesn't mean they can't like us. Right?" Before you can even open your mouth, $dragon_name gives themselves a decisive answer, "Right," and you realize this is as much a reassurance for you as it is for them.
"Well, I'm glad you had a good time with Ariawen. I simply can't say the same about Gawain."
$dragon_name gives a little pensive hum, the sound of falling sand. "It would have been nice though, wouldn't it? To have a friend - or at least, know someone by the time we're in Camelot. A friendly face."
You reach out a hand to place over their claw. "I'll have you, won't I?"
They don't hesitate, claw turning to twine with your fingers. "Always."
"Unfriendly faces in Camelot just can't be helped, unfortunately. I already met one. Galahad wasn't too happy to see me, which is not surprising, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 9>>
$dragon_name fixes you with an saddened look. "He was so excited, and you burnt his cape. That wasn't very nice of you."
It's not so much the rebuke itself that stings - but the look in their eyes, the crestfallen tone of their voice lands true and sharp.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
You roll your eyes. "Ugh, Gareth said the same thing. That's what he gets for being annoying and asking me to do tricks like I'm some dog."
<<else>>
You roll your eyes. "That's what he gets for being annoying and asking me to do tricks like I'm some dog."
<</if>>
"You could have hurt him."
"But I aimed right, didn't I? For his cape, not his skin."
$dragon_name sighs, the sound long and weary. "I just thought - I thought you'd be happy to meet someone like that-"
You cut them off: "I don't need to settle for scraps of kindness. And neither do you." Before they can scold you some more, you change the subject. "You know who wasn't happy at all to meet me though? Galahad. Which is not surprising, knowing what mother told me about him and his father and what they think of us."
<</if>>
$dragon_name shakes their head, casting these unpleasant thoughts away. "Let's not focus on them. Did you see anything more interesting around?"
You talk about the stalls, and the merchants streaming in. About the performers tuning their instruments, or adding the finishing touches to their tents and stages. You exchange mental images of knights in shining armor and dragons with bejeweled horns.
[[Continue|C3LayDownDragon]]<<if $chapt1_fly == "1">>
You turn to your mother. "Can I go with Scaly for a ride?"
Morgana cocks her head to the side, still smiling, but there's a small crease between her brows. "Only if Scaly promises not to fly recklessly."
"They won't," you promise earnestly. Morgana nods her head and picks you up from under your arms, heaving you onto the dragon's back.
As your little hands latch around their neck, you lightly push your heels against their sides and will them to take off. Scaly starts batting their wings and soon you are putting more and more distance between you and the ground. At first, the dragon hobbles in air under your weight, but quickly recovers.
<<elseif $chapt1_fly == "2">>
You spin around to face Morgana, bouncing on your heels."Can I go with Scaly for a ride? Can I, can I, can I-?" You're teeming with excitement, your words coming out like a fervent chant.
Morgana bites back a smile. But while there's mirth in her $eye eyes, a small knot creases her brow. "Only if Scaly promises not to fly reckless-"
Before she can even finish the sentence, you shake your head energetically, "They won't." Morgana narrows her eyes at you but nods and picks you up from under your arms, heaving you onto the dragon's back.
As your little hands latch around their neck, you lightly push your heels against their sides and will them to take off. Scaly starts batting their wings and soon you are putting more and more distance between you and the ground. At first, the dragon hobbles in air under your weight, but quickly recovers.
<<elseif $chapt1_fly == "3">>
//Help me up,// you mentally ask the dragon, hands already reaching out. Scaly lowers themself, and just as you're about to hop on, Morgana's calm yet sharp tone makes you snap your head to her. "What exactly are you trying to do?"
You hoist yourself up. "We want to go flying."
Your mother crosses her arms. "You could have asked me first. No, you //should// have asked me first."
"Can I?" you asks belatedly.
Morgana sighs, an exasperated smile curling her lips and a knot creasing her brow. "Yes, but only if Scaly promises not to fly recklessly."
You nod eagerly. As your little hands latch around their neck, you lightly push your heels against their sides and will them to take off. Scaly starts batting their wings and soon you are putting more and more distance between you and the ground. At first, the dragon hobbles in air under your weight, but quickly recovers.
<<elseif $chapt1_fly == "4">>
Morgana is always apprehensive of you flying around on Scaly, and you're not sure if she'd agree. Best to just do it and then face the ensuing lecture.
"Mother, can you help me onto Scaly? We just want to trot around a bit."
Morgana regards you for a moment, bringing up one hand to rest her knuckles against her chin, musingly. "Is that so? Just...trot around?" Her tone is artless, or so it seems. "You're not going to fly off, are you?" She's onto you: you can tell from the syrupy sweet lilt of her words.
"No, we'll just ramble about" you mimick her voice.
"Mmm, I'm sure." She lets her arm drop. "You can just ask, Mordred."
Your brow raises. "And will you let me?"
The corner of her mouth quirks up, but there's a crease between her brows. "Yes, but only if Scaly doesn't fly recklessly."
"They won't." Morgana narrows her eyes at you but nods and picks you up from under your arms, heaving you onto the dragon's back.
As your little hands latch around their neck, you lightly push your heels against their sides and will them to take off. Scaly starts batting their wings and soon you are putting more and more distance between you and the ground. At first, the dragon hobbles in air under your weight, but quickly recovers.
<</if>>
The salty air is crisp against your face as you ride, hair billowing in the wind, eyes watery. This isn't your first ride, but it's always an exhilarating feeling, as you try to become one with the dragon, leaning into their moves or setting the direction. Scaly takes you high over the hill, giving you a complete view of the scenery. The forest rising on the crest of the hill; the golden sand of the beach below, caressed by tender, calm waves of cyan turning into white. There are fishing boats out, and a large ship is disappearing through the mist that borders Avalon's waters. You recognize the ship as the one which bears messages from the Continent, and wonder if Accolon has sent you a letter- it's been weeks since he last visited, and his letter a week ago wasn't hopeful that he'd be able to come anytime soon, held back by duty at the Lothian court.
Scaly suddenly aims sharply up, flying you further away, towards the sky.
//"Let's fly through the clouds!"// they say, and you clutch on tighter.
You think you hear Morgana call out to you, but the wind is too loud in your ears. As you rise higher, the fluffy white clouds grow bigger, a flock of sheep through which you're going to barge like a hungry wolf.
You enter the fuzzy cloud and you're embraced by a wet, cool blanket for a few moments before you shoot out of it, light clothes now soaked. Scaly repeats the feat a few more times before descending back onto the hillside to a concerned Morgana.
Scaly makes a less than graceful landing, almost throwing you off their back. You get off, feeling dizzy and sodden and already missing the sensation of freely flying across the sky.
Scaly turns their head towards you. //"What did you think?"//
<div class="choice">[["It was wet!" you exclaim, more surprised than bothered.|Wet1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"That was so amazing!\""|Wet2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It was wet, I didn't like it," you whine.|Wet3]]</div><<if $chapt2sorry == "10">>
You hug yourself. "Gareth called me a bastard."
Morgana's eyes widen, hurt. "Gareth…" She sounds disappointed.
Gareth hangs his head. "I'm sorry."
<<elseif $chapt2sorry == "11">>
You point at him. "Gareth called me a bastard!"
Morgana's eyes widen, hurt. "Gareth…" She sounds disappointed.
Gareth hangs his head. "I'm sorry."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I accept your apology," you say honestly.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I accept your apology," you lie.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't accept your apology," you say.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "7"]]</div><<if $chapt2bastard == "3">>
You feel the tears gather. You are tired of feeling as if you have to answer to someone. As if you have to prove yourself. As if being a bastard is a crime. As if you are worth less for your blood.
Gareth looks concerned. "Oh, don't cry, I'm sorry!"
<</if>>
The nanny rushes to you, and you see her through blurry eyes, book held high, ready to swing at you. Gareth, however, jumps to his feet and puts himself between you two.
"Nanny, what are you doing?" he shouts.
"Don't you touch my child!" Morgana is leaning over the balcony overlooking the yard, her gaze swooping over the scene. She sees you crying, and immediately glares at the nanny with an expression that chills you to the bone.
"You." The single word holds all of the fury of a blazing sun. Morgana descends the stairs quickly, leveling the woman with her seething gaze all the way. "What did you do?"
"Nothing yet," the woman mocks. "But that child deserves a whooping."
"This is a warning," Morgana says, voice cool. "Next time, I won't be so merciful." With that threat she dismisses the nanny, turning to kneel in front of you instead. As she does, the fire has mellowed to worry. "What happened?"
"Gareth called me a bastard."
Morgana raises an eyebrow, "Is it true, Gareth?"
Gareth fumbles, "Yes."
Morgana looks disappointed. "I want you two to get along," she says, pained. "Gareth, apologize."
"I'm sorry," he says genuinely.
<div class="choice">[["I accept your apology," you say honestly.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Don't, it's not your fault," you smile faintly.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "10"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I accept your apology," you lie.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't accept your apology," you say.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "7"]]</div><<if $chapt3_opinion == "1">>
Gareth winces. "That's one way of putting it."
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "2">>
Gareth smiles encouragingly. "In time."
<</if>>
<<if $magictrick == "yes">>
"Gawain asked me to do a magic trick, since he loves magic. So I did."
"So you're making friends!" Gareth enthuses. "That's good. One day you'll be in Camelot, and it's good to make friends from now."
That's what Morgana says too, though you are sure in her vision, friend is akin to ally. As in, doesn't matter if your friendship is genuine as long as they think so.
<<elseif $magictrick == "nocautious">>
"Gawain asked me to do a magic trick, but I'd rather not. There were too many people. He seemed to understand."
"So you're making friends!" Gareth enthuses. "That's good. One day you'll be in Camelot, and it's good to make friends from now."
That's what Morgana says too, though you are sure in her vision, friend is akin to ally. As in, doesn't matter if your friendship is genuine as long as they think so.
<<elseif $magictrick == "no">>
"Gawain asked me to do a magic trick, but I refused. He can't just ask me to do trick." You cross your arms.
"Well...I suppose not. But you should try to make friends. One day you'll be in Camelot, and it's good to make friends from now."
That's what Morgana says too, though you are sure in her vision, friend is akin to ally. As in, doesn't matter if you friendship is genuine as long as they think so.
<<elseif $magictrick == "nogently">>
"Gawain asked me to do a magic trick, but I'd rather not. I didn't want to disappoint him either, but he didn't seem to bothered."
"So you're making friends!" Gareth enthuses. "That's good. One day you'll be in Camelot, and it's good to make friends from now."
That's what Morgana says too, though you are sure in her vision, friend is akin to ally. As in, doesn't matter if you friendship is genuine as long as they think so.
<</if>>
You get up. "I should let you study. Or try to." You grin. "See you at the feast."
You leave, heading for the dragons' lodge.
[[Continue|DragonLodge]]<<if $chapt3_book == "1">>
You'll take any opportunity or excuse to spend some time with Gareth, so you nod eagerly. "Of course!"
She smiles, relieved. "Thank you, Mordred. I have other matters to attend to urgently. After all, I //am// the Duke's wife."
<<elseif $chapt3_book == "2">>
You'll take any opportunity or excuse to spend some time with Gareth, so you nod eagerly. "Of course!"
She smiles, relieved. "Thank you, Mordred. I have other matters to attend to urgently. After all, I //am// the Duke's wife."
<</if>>
The library where Gareth studies is located on the top floor, on the side of the castle overlooking the plain where the tournament is being held. A cruel punishment for a child who has to attend to his obligations while seeing the merriment from their window.
The library is not a very large chamber, almost all the wood paneled walls filled with tomes and scrolls. A few armchairs are strewn across the room on the carpet. Placed next to the small window to allow natural light when reading and writing, is a desk stained with candle wicker. That's where you find Gareth's figure hunched over an open book, his pen hovering over the page and his head turned towards the window, away from you. When you close the door, however, he almost jumps out of his seat.
"I was merely taking a break!" he says defensively, before realizing it's just you. His lips curl into an easy smile. "Mordred. I saw you at the pavilions. Not that I was watching." He chuckles nervously, as if you'd tell on him or his professors were listening from the walls. Oh, well. You never know which walls have ears, Morgana says. "I was studying."
"Uh-huh," you humor him, amused. "Mother said I should bring you this book. You know, so you can study even better."
"Joy," he exhales.
You slide the book on the desk and get on the chair opposite him. Propping your elbow on the surface and your chin in your palm, you say, "Is it that dull?"
He shrugs. "Not particularly, but I want to be there, too. See the knights come." He shakes his head, his dark brown curls bouncing. "I have to focus. Father himself will check on me at the end of my studies."
You pat his arm. "That is very unfortunate indeed. Want to hear something interesting?"
He places down his pen and leans forward. "Please."
"I met Gawain and Galahad at the blacksmith's pavilion."
"That's exciting!" Gareth claps his hands. "Oh, why did you tell me? Now I'm even more eager to go out there."
You chuckle. "I'm sure you'll meet them at the feast tonight, anyway."
"Yes, of course, just a few hours until the feast. Dull, few hours." He grimaces. He tilts his head, as if remembering something, looking hesitant. "And, um. How did the meeting go?" He tries to tread carefully, knowing full well how people usually react to you.
<<if $gawainok == "yes">>
[[Continue|LibraryGawain1]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|LibraryGawain2]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_opinion == "3">>
He chuckles. "Fair."
"I came to bring you this book mother gave me," you say, putting it down on the desk.
"Oh joy." Gareth rolls his eyes.
He takes the book and leafs through it flippantly before sighing and adding it to the stack of books on his desk. "What's it like at the tournament? Come on," a smile tugs at his lips, "tease me about everything I'm missing on."
<div class="choice">[[Take mercy on him and tell him about the tournament, but keep out your meeting with the two squires.|DragonLodge][$Gareth to $Gareth+2, $chapt3_opinion to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take mercy on him and talk to him about the tournament and meeting the two squires.|DragonLodge][$Gareth to $Gareth+2, $chapt3_opinion to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[''I really should go.''|DragonLodge][$chapt3_opinion to "8"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "4">>
Gareth frowns at your biting words.
"I just came to bring you this book mother gave me," you say, slamming it down on the desk.
And with that, you leave Gareth to his studies.
[[Continue|DragonLodge]]
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "5">>
"Oh joy." Gareth rolls his eyes.
He takes the book and leafs through it flippantly before sighing and adding it to the stack of books on his desk. "What's it like at the tournament? Come on," a smile tugs at his lips, "tease me about everything I'm missing on."
<div class="choice">[[Take mercy on him and tell him about the tournament, but keep out your meeting with the two squires.|DragonLodge][$Gareth to $Gareth+2, $chapt3_opinion to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take mercy on him and talk to him about the tournament and meeting the two squires.|DragonLodge][$Gareth to $Gareth+2, $chapt3_opinion to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[''I really should go.''|DragonLodge][$chapt3_opinion to "8"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_book == "3">>
Perhaps your arrival will prove a welcome respite for him. "Sure."
She smiles, relieved. "Thank you, Mordred. I have other matters to attend to urgently. After all, I //am// the Duke's wife."
<<elseif $chapt3_book == "4">>"Sure," you hold back a sigh.
She smiles, relieved. "Thank you, Mordred. I have other matters to attend to urgently. After all, I //am// the Duke's wife."
<</if>>
The library where Gareth studies is located on the top floor, on the side of the castle overlooking the plain where the tournament is being held. A cruel punishment for a child who has to attend to his obligations while seeing the merriment from their window.
The library is not a very large chamber, almost all the wood paneled walls filled with tomes and scrolls. A few armchairs are strewn across the room on the carpet. Placed next to the small window to allow natural light when reading and writing, is a desk stained with candle wicker. That's where you find Gareth's figure hunched over an open book, his pen hovering over the page and his head turned towards the window, away from you. When you close the door, however, he almost jumps out of his seat.
"I was merely taking a break!" he says defensively before realizing it's just you. His lips curl into an easy smile. "Mordred. What are you doing here? Don't you have squire duties to attend to?"
<div class="choice">[["Don't you have lessons to study?" you retort in jest. "I saw you're not really paying attention."|Chapt2Gareth2.1][$Gareth to $Gareth+2, $chapt3_opinion to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Don't you have lessons to study?" you bite back.|Chapt2Gareth2.1][$Gareth to $Gareth-5, $chapt3_opinion to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Morgana told me to bring you this book.\""|Chapt2Gareth2.1][$chapt3_opinion to "5"]]</div><<if $chapt3_book == "5">>You easily summon a smile, "Sure."
She smiles, relieved. "Thank you, Mordred. I have other matters to attend to urgently. After all, I //am// the Duke's wife."
<<elseif $chapt3_book == "6">>
You roll your eyes, and let disatisfaction hang onto your response. "Sure."
She narrows her eyes. "Thank you, Mordred. I have other matters to attend to urgently. After all, I //am// the Duke's wife."
<<elseif $chapt3_book == "7">>"Ugh," you groan, crossing your arms. "I don't feel like it."
You can see her grip on the book tighten, as her lips form a severe line. "Oh, is that so? I suppose I don't feel like letting you go fly with $dragon_name until the tournament is over, either. You have to focus on your squire duties," she nonchalantly says, but you know she holds on to her threats.
You frown. "But!"
She shoves the book in your hands, already passing you by, "Take it. I have other matters to attend to urgently. After all, I //am// the Duke's wife."
<</if>>
The library where Gareth studies is located on the top floor, on the side of the castle overlooking the plain where the tournament is being held. A cruel punishment for a child who has to attend to his obligations while seeing the merriment from their window.
The library is not a very large chamber, almost all the wood paneled walls filled with tomes and scrolls. A few armchairs are strewn across the room on the carpet. Placed next to the small window to allow natural light when reading and writing, is a desk stained with candle wicker. That's where you find Gareth's figured hunched over an open book, his pen hovering over the page and his head turned towards the window, away from you. When you close the door, however, he almost jumps out of his seat.
"I was merely taking a break!" he says defensively, before realizing who's entered. "It's you," he notes coolly. "What do you want?"
<div class="choice">[["What's it like to study while everyone is having fun?" you tease him.|Ink][$chapt3_opinion to "9", $kind to $kind-2, $Gareth to $Gareth-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm here to give you this than I'm leaving," you say curtly.|DragonLodge][$chapt3_opinion to "10"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Toss the book at him, leave.|DragonLodge][$chapt3_opinion to "11", $kind to $kind-2, $Gareth to $Gareth-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll tell Morgana you're not studying," you tease him.|Ink][$chapt3_opinion to "12", $Gareth to $Gareth-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How's studying going?" you ask nicely.|DragonLodge][$chapt3_opinion to "13", $Gareth to $Gareth+2]]</div><<if $chapt2bastard == "1">>
You cross your arms. "That's stupid. Lot's my father," you snap.
Gareth seems taken aback, as if you just slapped him. "You don't have to be mean. I just wanted to ask. No one would tell me the same."
The nanny looks up from her book - she's finally turned a page - and asks, "What's happening there?"
Before you can reply, you hear another voice, this one affectionate: "My dears." You glance up to see Morgana leaning over the balcony overlooking the yard. "How are you doing?" She descends the steps, smiling as if she's come upon the loveliest sight she's ever since. It falters as her gaze lingers and she takes in the troubling details - both of your frowning faces, more specifically. "Is everything alright?"
<<elseif $chapt2bastard == "2">>
You assure him, "Lot's my father." It's true to some extent.
Gareth smiles. "I thought so."
The nanny looks up from her book - she's finally turned a page - to check up on you. "What's happening there?"
Before you can reply, you hear another voice, this one affectionate: "My dears." You glance up to see Morgana leaning over the balcony overlooking the yard. "How are you doing?" She descends the steps, smiling as if she's come upon the loveliest sight she's ever since.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["We're having fun!" you say, letting go of Gareth's remarks.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "8", $affable to $affable+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["We're having fun!" The remarks bother you, but you won't bring them up.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "9", $honest to $honest-2, $emotional to $emotional-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Gareth called me a bastard," you say, sad.|Chapt2Apologize][$chapt2sorry to "10", $emotional to $emotional+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Gareth called me a bastard!" you say, angry.|Chapt2Apologize][$chapt2sorry to "11", $honest to $honest-2, $emotional to $emotional-3, $calm to $calm-2]]</div><<if $chapt2bastard == "6">>
"And what if he's not my father? He's awful anyway!" You're angry, your blood drumming in your ears. The anger makes you destructive, and calls for you to sting in return. Gripping the edge of the map, you pull on it. The figurines tumble across the yard, and Gareth jumps to gather them.
"Why did you do that?" he yells at you as he scrambles after the fallen knights and dragons.
<<elseif $chapt2bastard == "7">>
"Who cares? He doesn't want to be my father anyway!" You're hurt, and the wound makes you destructive, calls for you to plunge a dagger in return. Gripping the edge of the map, you pull on it. The figurines tumble across the yard, and Gareth jumps to gather them.
"Why did you do that?" he yells at you "Why did you do that?" he yells at you as he scrambles after the fallen knights and dragons.
<</if>>
The nanny rushes to you, swinging her book like a weapon. A weapon of punishment she hits you across the cheek with. You shout in pain, bringing up a hand to your throbbing face. Gareth jumps to his feet, wide-eyed with shock. "Nanny! You can't do that!"
"?They was disrespecting you, young master," she explains, as if she's done some magnanimous gesture for him by hitting you. "Lord Lot should not allow any bastards at his court, or that wench."
The concern on his face morphs into a frown. "That's my mother, nanny!" Gareth warns.
The old nanny sighs. "Both you and your father, fools." She sounds pityingly.
"What's with all the commotion?" Morgana is leaning over the balcony overlooking the yard, her gaze swooping over the scene. She sees your red cheek, and immediately glares at the nanny with an expression that chills you to the bone.
"You." The single word holds all of the fury of a blazing sun. Morgana descends the stairs quickly, leveling the woman with her seething gaze all the way. "You don't lay a hand on my child."
"Or what?" the nanny mocks, a terrible, terrible mistake. "You'll cast a spell on me?"
"This is a warning," Morgana says, voice cool. "Next time, I won't be so merciful." With that threat she dismisses the nanny, turning to you instead. When she does, the fire has mellowed to worry. She kneels in front of you, "I have just the balm for it," she mutters, checking your cheek. "What happened?"
"Gareth called me a bastard."
Morgana raises an eyebrow, "Is it true, Gareth?"
Gareth fumbles, "Yes."
Morgana looks disappointed. "I want you two to get along," she says, pained. "Gareth, apologize."
"Only if ?they apologizes for throwing my toys!"
"Mordred?" Morgana regards you expectantly.
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry," you say genuinely.|Lothia6][$honest to $honest+2, $kind to $kind+2, $Gareth to $Gareth+10, $chapt2sorry to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry," you lie.|Lothia6][$honest to $honest-2, $kind to $kind-2, $Gareth to $Gareth+10, $chapt2sorry to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"You go first.\""|Lothia6][$defiant to $defiant+2, $chapt2sorry to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"No! I'm not apologizing!\""|Lothia6][$defiant to $defiant+2, $kind to $kind-2, $Gareth to $Gareth-10, $chapt2sorry to "4"]]</div><<if $chapt2bastard == "4">>
You cross your arms, the words you say filled with hurt and fury. "And what if he's not my father? He's awful anyway!"
Gareth looks as if you have slapped him. "Father is not awful!" he yells.
"Yes he is!"
He gets up. "I don't want to play with you anymore."
<<elseif $chapt2bastard == "5">>
You cross your arms, the words you say filled with hurt and fury. "Who cares? He doesn't want to be my father anyway."
Gareth looks as if you have slapped him. "What do you mean?"
"He hates me!"
"No he doesn't," he says, but he hesitates.
<</if>>
The nanny rushes to you, swinging her book like a weapon. A weapon of punishment she hits you across the cheek with. You shout in pain, bringing up a hand to your throbbing face. Gareth jumps to his feet, wide-eyed with shock. "Nanny! You can't do that!"
"?They was disrespecting you, young master," she explains, as if she's done some magnanimous gesture for him by hitting you. "Lord Lot should not allow any bastards at his court, or that wench."
The concern on his face morphs into a frown. "That's my mother, nanny!" Gareth warns.
The old nanny sighs. "Both you and your father, fools." She sounds pityingly.
"What's with all the commotion?" Morgana is leaning over the balcony overlooking the yard, her gaze swooping over the scene. She sees your red cheek, and immediately glares at the nanny with an expression that chills you to the bone.
"You." The single word holds all of the fury of a blazing sun. Morgana descends the stairs quickly, leveling the woman with her seething gaze all the way. "You don't lay a hand on my child."
"Or what?" the nanny mocks, a terrible, terrible mistake. "You'll cast a spell on me?"
"This is a warning," Morgana says, voice cool. "Next time, I won't be so merciful." With that threat she dismisses the nanny, turning to you instead. When she does, the fire has mellowed to worry. She kneels in front of you, "I have just the balm for it," she mutters, checking your cheek. "What happened?"
"Gareth called me a bastard."
Morgana raises an eyebrow, "Is it true, Gareth?"
Gareth fumbles, "Yes."
Morgana looks disappointed. "I want you two to get along," she says, pained. "Gareth, apologize."
"I'm sorry," Gareth says genuinely.
<div class="choice">[["I accept your apology," you say honestly.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I accept your apology," you lie.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't accept your apology," you say.|Lothia6][$chapt2sorry to "7"]]</div><<if $oblivious_crush == "yes">>
"Accolon, there's something strange...this feeling in my stomach when I'm around Gawain." As you speak, you feel warmth pool into your cheeks, unbidden, and quickly splay your palms over them. "And my face burns too!" You meet Accolon's gaze with your wide, scared one. "Am I sick?"
He tries his best to bite back a smile, but his eyes crease with amusement. Is he not taking this seriously!? "Well, let's see," he starts, calm as ever. "When exactly do you get these reactions?"
You let your hands fall into your lap, cocking your head to the side as you look back on those moments. "When he was being sweet to me." Your brow furrows. "And close, too."
"Hmm," he hums non-commitally, the way you've seen Robin do when they're doing a medical assesment. It gives nothing away, and it's not particularly reassuring despite the soothing intonation.
"So? What it is?" you prompt him, worrying your bottom lip.
By now, he's not even attempting to hide his smile. "Mordred...do you by any chance...like Gawain?"
You lean back in surprise. "Like? Well, otherwise I wouldn't spend time with him!"
Accolon chuckles. "I meant, more than a friend."
Your face, which had just managed to cool down, goes up in flames again. "Like-//like//?" You voice takes on a high pitch.
Accolon nods, now grinning. You turn away towards the ring, processing this revelation. Now that Accolon has said it, it seems...possible. After all, it's not an unpleasant sensation, and you greatly enjoy his company. Have you even liked someone this way before? You've never really had the chance.
"And now what?" you think out loud.
"You could make your feelings known," Accolon readily offers a solution.
<div class="choice">[["What's the point?" you say dejectedly. "He's leaving in a couple days."|Chapt3CrushTalk1][$chapt3_crush to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I should."|Chapt3CrushTalk1][$chapt3_crush to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe..." If you can summon the courage, that is.|Chapt3CrushTalk1][$chapt3_crush to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll...I'll think about it." You still need to process it all.|Chapt3CrushTalk1][$chapt3_crush to "4"]]</div>
<<else>>
You shrug away the feeling. Gawain doesn't seem like the kind to do this to you.
Kay's opponent falls to his knees, and the crowd explodes in applause as the victor triumphantly takes off his helmet, grinning. He offers the fallen man an amicable helping hand, which he accepts. You see Gawain rush into the ring, even as a guard makes a show of trying to stop him. As soon as he is in reach, the boy launches into his father's arms and is enveloped in a hug. The man picks him up and shouts to the crowd, "My brave squire, without who I couldn't have won!"
As the knights prepare for the next trial, with the announcer hyping up the crowd, Accolon's expression becomes wary. "Has Galahad been giving you trouble?"
<div class="choice">[["He has plenty of trouble to offer," you say sardonically.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon1][$chapt3_trouble to "1", $told_accolon_gally to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A bit," you admit nervously.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon2][$chapt3_trouble to "2", $told_accolon_gally to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, but I will change his mind about me," you say firmly.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon3][$chapt3_trouble to "3", $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Just being a bully," you shrug. "I'm used to it."|Chapt3GalahadAccolon4][$chapt3_trouble to "4", $told_accolon_gally to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_cheer == "1">>
A warm smile immediately appears on your face. "He's really fun to be around," you tell Accolon. "And he genuinely want to be my friend." There's a sliver of vulnerability hanging on the words, and Accolon's expression mollifies.
"That's wonderful, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_cheer == "2">>
"He's nice," you simply say, smiling to yourself as warmth fills your chest at the thought of having someone as caring and fun as Gawain to call friend.
Accolon catches your smile and mirrors it.
<<elseif $chapt3_cheer == "5">>
"Truth be told, I'm just being nice to him." You shrug, dismissing any prospect of friendship as Accolon's smile falters. "Better to be on good terms with him."
"I see," the man nods. You know that sympathetic look in his eye, so you go on to add, "I don't need or want him to be my friend. Friendly acquaintance is enough."
"Indeed, that's...good too." Accolon summons back a sketch of a smile.
<<elseif $chapt3_cheer == "6">>
"Truth be told, I started out talking him just out of courtesy," you begin, and Accolon's smile falters a bit, uncertainly. "But he's actually good company, and I think I can consider him a friend."
"I'm happy for you," the man beams.
<</if>>
Kay's opponent falls to his knees, and the crowd explodes in applause as the victor triumphantly takes off his helmet, grinning. He offers the fallen man an amicable helping hand, which he accepts. You see Gawain rush into the ring, even as a guard makes a show of trying to stop him. As soon as he is in reach, the boy launches into his father's arms and is enveloped in a hug. The man picks him up and shouts to the crowd, "My brave squire, without who I couldn't have won!"
As the knights prepare for the next trial, with the announcer hyping up the crowd, Accolon's expression becomes wary. "Has Galahad been giving you trouble?"
<div class="choice">[["He has plenty of trouble to offer," you say sardonically.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon1][$chapt3_trouble to "1", $told_accolon_gally to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A bit," you admit nervously.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon2][$chapt3_trouble to "2", $told_accolon_gally to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, but I will change his mind about me," you say firmly.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon3][$chapt3_trouble to "3", $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Just being a bully," you shrug. "I'm used to it."|Chapt3GalahadAccolon4][$chapt3_trouble to "4", $told_accolon_gally to 4]]</div><<if $chapt3_cheer == "3">>
"Yes," you say nervously, pulling at your embroidered sleeve, averting your gaze as warmth invades your cheeks. "A very good..." you hesitate, "friend."
Accolon peers at you curiously, but you stubbornly stare ahead, the heat only intensifying as the man's smile grows. "Mordred..." he says deviously. "Do you like Gawain?"
"N-no!" you say a little bit too loudly, making the people in front of you glance at you over their shoulders. Accolon doesn't look at all convinced.
"Does he like you too?"
<<if $lute == "yes" and $gawain_ro >= 4>>
You smile softly. "I think so. We sang a love song on our lutes last night, his idea."
Accolon looks impressed. "That's lovely. What a charming boy," he says, pleased.
<<elseif $lute == "no" and $gawain_ro >= 4>>
You smile softly. "I think so. He sang me a love song on his lute last night."
Accolon looks impressed. "That's lovely. What a charming boy," he says, pleased.
<<else>>
"I don't know," you say, helplessly.
<</if>>
"Will you let him know how you feel?"
<<elseif $chapt3_cheer == "4">>
A smile curls your lips, and you ball your fists, slamming them against your thighs with determination as you say, "Yes, but I want to be more than friends!"
Accolon stares at you with wide eyes before breaking out into laughter.
"What's so funny?" you demand, crossing your arms and puffing out your cheeks.
"You're just so adorable." The man pats your head affectionately. "So, there's something between you?"
You give him a grin.
<<if $lute == "yes">>
"We sang a love song on our lutes last night, his idea."
Accolon looks impressed. "That's lovely. What a charming boy," he says, pleased.
<<else>>
"He sang me a love song on his lute last night."
Accolon looks impressed. "That's lovely. What a charming boy," he says, pleased.
<</if>>
"Will you let him know how you feel?"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["What's the point?" you say dejectedly. "He's leaving in a couple days."|Chapt3CrushTalk][$chapt3_crush to 1, $gawain_crush_confess to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course!"|Chapt3CrushTalk][$chapt3_crush to 2, $gawain_crush_confess to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe..." If you can summon the courage, that is.|Chapt3CrushTalk][$chapt3_crush to 3, $gawain_crush_confess to "shy"]]</div>At the mention of Gawain, your stomach twists, but it's not necessarily uncomfortable. It's an odd sensation, but you don't feel nauseous. It sends tingles from your spine all the way to your fingertips, warm and not completely unlike your fire. "Yes, he's really fun!" you smile up at Accolon, but as you look away, your brow furrows. Should you bring up this weird feeling with him? Maybe you're just coming down with some stomach bug, and Morgana might have some medicine for it, or perhaps it's merely nervousness about possibly losing your newly acquired friend. After all, even the Lothian kids brave enough to approach you would just abandon you, without notice, after a bit. <<if $gawain_envy > 0>>
Or, perhaps, it's that insidious sense of envy, of knowing he's holding Arthur's affection and attention when you did not.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Accolon, there's something strange...this feeling in my stomach when I'm around Gawain.\""💕|Chapt3AccolonGawainCrush][$oblivious_crush to "yes", $told_accolon_gawain to true, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Must just be nervousness.💕|Chapt3AccolonGawainCrush][$oblivious_crush to "no", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Must just be nervousness.|Chapt3AccolonGawainCrush][$oblivious_crush to "noro"]]</div><<if $chapt3accolon1 is false>><div class="choice">[[''Why do you love me?''|AccolonQuestion1][$chapt3accolon1 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3accolon2 is false and $opinion_arthur == "hope">><div class="choice">[[''You're not mad at me for wanting to get to know Arthur?''|AccolonQuestion2][$chapt3accolon2 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3accolon3 is false and $figurine == "yes">><div class="choice">[[Show him the dragon figurine.|AccolonQuestionShow][$chapt3accolon3 to true, $show_accolon to "yes"]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You should let Accolon rest.|AccolonQuestion3]]</div>As you sit down, your gaze finds Morgana's vanity, carved dark wood, silver containers glimmering in the noon sun. The mirror is encircled by a wooden serpant devouring it's own tail. Morgana once tried to explain to you that it's a symbol of sorts, but it just reminds you of how baby dragons chase their own tails.
[[Continue|Chapt3AccolonQuestions]]It's been brewing like a potion and now it overspills, words tumbling out of your mouth. "I feel so betrayed about the fact that you and mother decided to keep the prophecy secret from me."
"Mordred, I know you're upset...I know Morgana and I may go the wrong way about some things, but we're only doing it to protect you."
You pull at your sleeve, brow furrowed. It feels like you've heard these words so much these days - //protecting you//.
"Perhaps," you huff out, tossing your gaze towards the sunny sky you can see through the window. "But I think I'm entitled to know the prophecy on which some people formed their opinion on me. A prophecy that foretells that I bring ruin."
<<if $stay == "behind">>
I should know about a prophecy that tries to dictate my actions, like Morgana tries."
Your words are cutting, and you can see on Accolon's face that it stung.
<</if>>
The man looks at you sorrowfully. "I thought it a cruel thing to tell you the prophecy. You need not carry the burden of it."
<div class="choice">[["I understand." And you forgive them.|Chapt3ForgiveTalk][$betray to "forgive", $Morgana to $Morgana+5, $Accolon to $Accolon+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It still hurts...but I'll forgive you, eventually."|Chapt3ForgiveTalk][$betray to "willforgive"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod. You understand, but it'll leave a scar.|Chapt3ForgiveTalk][$betray to "notforgive", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>It's been brewing like a potion and now it overspills, words tumbling out of your mouth. "I feel so conflicted about the prophecy, and the fact that you and Morgana decided to keep it secret from me." You feel embers of hurt - heated yet not quite a fire yet.
"Mordred, I know you're upset...I know Morgana and I may go the wrong way about some things, but we're only doing it to protect you."
You pull at your sleeve, brow furrowed. It feels like you've heard these words so much these days - //protecting you//.
"Perhaps," you sigh, tossing your gaze towards the sunny sky you can see through the window. "But I think I'm entitled to know the prophecy on which some people formed their opinion on me. A prophecy that foretells that I bring ruin."
<<if $stay == "behind">>
I should know about a prophecy that tries to dictate my actions, like Morgana tries."
Your words are cutting, and you can see on Accolon's face that it stung.
<</if>>
The man looks at you sorrowfully. "I thought it a cruel thing to tell you the prophecy. You need not carry the burden of it."
<div class="choice">[["I understand." And you forgive them.|Chapt3ForgiveTalk][$betray to "forgive", $Morgana to $Morgana+5, $Accolon to $Accolon+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It still hurts...but I'll forgive you, eventually."|Chapt3ForgiveTalk][$betray to "willforgive"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod. You understand, but it'll leave a scar.|Chapt3ForgiveTalk][$betray to "notforgive", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div><<if $stay == "furious">>
Anger flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you, going behind your back to warn Arthur.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
Anger flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
You dragon is angry you're letting Morgana make the decision for you- it's not up to her what you do.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
Anger flares up in your dragon at Arthur's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
Anger flares up in your dragon at Arthur's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
Your dragon agrees it's Arthur's decision to approach you.
<</if>>
//The prophecy...// You can sense $dragon_name 's fury. //That can be our revenge!//
<<if $prophecy == "rule">>
//No! My rule will bring change, not ruin Camelot!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "good">>
//No! We won't destroy Camelot!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid">>
//Prophecies are stupid.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "plan">>
//No!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
//"Yes!"//
<<elseif $prophecy == "hate">>
//No! I hate this prophecy. It's the reason Arthur is afraid of me.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "wrong">>
//Prophecies are unpredictable.//
<</if>>
//I heard a commotion last night, outside the lodge. A dragon rushed out. When I looked, it was Elewen.//
//Do you think she jumped to Arthur's defense?//
Whatever did Morgana do?
//Yes. It sounded like a fight.//
A knock on your door startles you, and you hastily tell your dragon you'll talk later.
"Yes?" you asks.
Morgana's head peeks inside. Her eyes are red and puffy, telltales of shed tears, yet her expression is one of utter composure, any desperation she had displayed in the ring, when Accolon was injured, wiped away now. Her tone is somber, putting a knot in your throat, as she says, "I want to talk to you, Mordred. Come to my study."
<div class="choice">[["Yes, mother," you readily follow her.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "readily"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What about?" You cross your arms.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do I have to?" you ask warily.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "wary"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How's Accolon?" you ask, worried.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "worry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nod eagerly. "Yes! I have lots of questions."|Chapt3Study][$brief to "eagerly"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go reluctantly.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "reluctantly"]]</div><<if $chapt3_alina_mean == 1>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but that's all she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. And to see her so miserably subdued by the threat, hanging over her like an executioner's axe, floods you with a glee like gushing blood.
"Yes, and to let you know just how much I'm relishing this." And here you take a long, avid sip of your drink to illustrate just how much you're enjoying it. Alina snorts, as angry yet helpless as a caged animal. "I am oh so delighted to see you finally suffer the consequences of your actions.
"How wonderful for you," she says with a fake smile, more teeth and less lips.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 2>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but that's all she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. A caged animal, angry and helpless, which you're about to poke.
You affect a mock hurt, lips puckering in a moue. "Careful how you talk to me, Alina. I may yet tell the King you haven't changed your malicious ways."
Her eyes widen, momentarily filled with fear before anger comes in anew. Alina snorts, turning her head so quickly away from you you think she'll crack it on the pillar.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 3>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but that's all she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. Which means that, for the first time since you've arrived to this wretched place, you'll finally get a respite from her.
"I'm just glad you'll finally give me a break." You bring up your cup to drink, then halt, looking at her over the rim. "Which I'm sure you will do, right? Would be a shame if I had to write to inform the King otherwise."
Her jaw sets, so tight it's a wonder she doesn't break a tooth. "Right," she answers tersely.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 4>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but that's all she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. It's a shame it's had to come to such serious threats for her to actually leave you alone. You've started off on the wrong foot, and it's continued to go on disastruously. Yet a part of you can't help but wonder how things might have been different.
"You know, Alina," you begin, swirling your grape juice in the cup with an affected nonchalance," things could have been different. We might even have been friends if you weren't so nasty."
As response, the girl shows you a fake, forced smile, all teeth. "Indeed."
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 5>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but in the end, it's the consequences of her own actions - andall she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. She's treated you poorly for years, showing no remorse for the trouble she caused you. You won't throw her a pity party - and you very much doubt she'd want you to - for her own abhorent actions coming back to bite her.
"It's the consequences of your own actions, Alina," you remind her calmly, as if responding to one surprised to find themself wet after going out in the rain.
Alina just snorts. You don't know how much she'll actually learn from this punishment. Perhaps it'll only serve to fuel her loathing of you.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 6>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but that's all she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. You just hope she won't find a way to cirmcumvent the request, the way she's been toying the line all these years to abate any consequences.
But now - now you have something to keep her in line.
"Careful how you talk to me, Alina," you say smoothly. Keeping your tone steady, your face a placid mask. "I may yet tell the King you haven't changed your malicious ways."
Her eyes widen, momentarily filled with fear before anger comes in anew. Alina snorts, turning her head so quickly away from you you think she'll crack it on the pillar.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 7>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but that's all she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. Which means that, for the first time since you've arrived to this wretched place, you'll finally get a respite from her.
"I'm just glad you'll finally give me a break." You bring up your cup to drink, then halt, looking at her over the rim. "Which I'm sure you will do, right? Would be a shame if I had to write to inform the King otherwise."
Her jaw sets, so tight it's a wonder she doesn't break a tooth. "Right," she answers tersely.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 8>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but that's all she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. It's a shame it's had to come to such serious threats for her to actually leave you alone. You've started off on the wrong foot, and it's continued to go on disastruously. Yet a part of you can't help but wonder how things might have been different. A part of you pangs when you think that, only if she were willing, things could have been so much better between the two of you.
"You know, Alina," you begin, brows pinching, "things could have been different. We might even have been friends if you weren't so mean."
As response the girl snorts, as if the proposition was too preposterous to even consider, and looks away.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 9>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but in the end, it's the consequences of her own actions - andall she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. She's treated you poorly for years, showing no remorse for the trouble she caused you. You won't throw her a pity party - and you very much doubt she'd want you to - for her own abhorent actions coming back to bite her.
"It's the consequences of your own actions, Alina," you remind her, voice as quiet as the rustle of silk.
Alina just snorts. You don't know how much she'll actually learn from this punishment. Perhaps it'll only serve to fuel her loathing of you.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 10>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but that's all she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. Which means that, for the first time since you've arrived to this wretched place, you'll finally get a respite from her. It's all you've wanted from her, all you've asked of her, yet she's denied you every time, continuing to treat you as if you were her dummy she can take all her frustrations out on.
"All I ever wanted was for you to leave me alone," you say as softly as the rustle of silk.
As response, the girl snorts and looks away.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 11>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but that's all she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. Which means that, for the first time since you've arrived to this wretched place, you'll finally get a respite from her.
"I'm just glad you'll finally give me a break," you say softly, bringing up your cup to drink. You halt just before you do and say, heart fluttering as a stab of fear pierces it. "Right?"
"Right," she tersely replies.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina_mean == 12>>
She can glare and fume and seethe all she wants, but that's all she can resume herself at if she truly cares to escape her family's shadow and become a Knight of the Round Table. It's a shame it's had to come to such serious threats for her to actually leave you alone. You've started off on the wrong foot, and it's continued to go on disastruously. Yet a part of you can't help but wonder how things might have been different. A part of you pangs when you think that, only if she were willing, things could have been so much better between the two of you.
"You know, Alina," you begin, brows pinching, "I wish things could have been different between us. Better."
As response the girl snorts, as if the proposition was too preposterous to even consider, and looks away.
<</if>>
A beringed hand slithers from behind and up the pillar, jewerly like a snake's scales as it slides into view. It's followed by a lenght of ruffled sleeve, a sharp shoulder and a red-haired head, draping forward like a lush curtain until Darious Solomon has revealed his full flamboyant self. He leans lazily against the pillar, an equally languid smile on his lips.
"Chin up, Alina," her oldest sibling says and Alina balks.
Darius' brown, mirth-filled eyes turn on you, and he tilts his head in silent consideration.
<<if $attitude == "defiant">>
You meet his gaze head-on and steadfast until he seems to grow bored and direct it back to his little sister.
<<elseif $attitude == "meek">>
You cast your gaze away, having half a mind to just scurry away like a spooked mouse. His attention lingers on you briefly, however, before it returns to his little sister.
<<elseif $attitude == "friendly" or $attitude == "shy">>
You incline your head in a curt, uneasy nod. He mirrors the gesture affably, before turning his attention back to his little sister.
<</if>>
You've never been quite sure where you stand with Darius Solomon. These days he's scarcely seen at Court, kept away by his sorcerer's duties, and even before you had llittle reasons to cross paths with him. You think your scandalous status has somewhat piqued his interest, but beyond that you're mostly invisible to him, which is for the best.
"Think of it like that," he says, placing a palm on her head and tapping his fingers against her hair as if she were merely a bust at his convenience. A prop in his little play, for Darius Solomon moves as if he were on stage, every move methodically practiced and honed to this nonchalant ease. Alina swats his arm away, miserable and flushed. "The King has just given you his first order. A preview to what it'll be like to be his knight."
"How encouraging," she snaps at him, and turning away from him, finds you and concentrates all her impotent rage in a glare sent your way. Then she leaves in a huff while Darius chuckles quietly.
You stare up at him - the ruddiness in his cheeks suggests he's had more than the goblet of wine he's holding - until he takes notice of your gaze. He looks at you inquisitively over the rim of his cup. "Something on my face?" he asks obliviously.
<<if $defiant >= 50>>
"Just thinking," you say breezily, "that I can see the family resemblance." Both in looks and behavior. Darius frowns but you're gone before he can reply.
<<else>>
"Nothing," you rush to say, the word barely out of your mouth when you spin around and take your leave. You were simply contemplating the family resemblance, both in looks and //behavior//.
<</if>>
You resume your prowl of the feast hall, observing the revelers, until your eyelids grow heavy and you decide to trudge back to your bedchamber.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3GawainMorningLeave]]
<<else>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3MorningLeave]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_alina == 1>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here. What could the King be wanting with you both?
Yes, indeed, what does he want? Is he swooping in to save you? You don't need - you don't want - his help.
"We were just going our separate ways," you reply calmly.
"It didn't seem to me like that."
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 2>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here. What could the King be wanting with you both?
You and Alina caused a wave, but it's time to still the waters.
"We were just going our separate ways," you reply calmly.
"It didn't seem to me like that."
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 3>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here. And they all must sense it, that fiery tension that sizzles the air.
You turn to Arthur with a mirthless smile. "Having a pleasant conversation, isn't that clear?"
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 4>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here. And they all must sense it, that fiery tension that sizzles the air.
You turn to Arthur, relief washing away the tension from your shoulders. "She's picking on me. Like she always does." You hold his gaze, silently asking for his help. At least this once, if he truly cares about you.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 5>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here. What could the King be wanting with you both?
You and Alina caused a wave, but it's time to still the waters.
"Nothing," you say quietly, gaze cast to the ground.
"It didn't seem to me like that."
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 6>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here. What could the King be wanting with you both?
Yes, indeed, what does he want? Is he swooping in to save you? You don't need - you don't want - his help.
"Nothing," you snap.
"It didn't seem to me like that."
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 7>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here. And they all must sense it, that fiery tension that sizzles the air.
Arthur can see that for himself, too.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 8>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here. And they all must sense it, that fiery tension that sizzles the air.
You turn to Arthur, eyes stinging with tears. "She's picking on me. Like she always does." You hold his gaze even as your vision clouds, silently asking for his help. At least this once, if he truly cares about you.
Arthur's face, already contorted by your hazy gaze, twists in pain. He reaches out tentatively, but his hand stops midway. You're sure he'll retract it when it flashes forward and squeezes your shoulder comfortingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 9>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here.
You and Alina caused a wave, but it's time to still the waters.
"Nothing," you say, but your eyes sting with the tears that cloud your vision. They set loose as you blink, and you bite your lip to keep it from trembling.
His face, already contorted by your hazy gaze, twists in pain. He reaches out tentatively, but his hand stops midway. You're sure he'll retract it when it flashes forward and squeezes your shoulder comfortingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 10>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here.
Yes, indeed, what does he want? Is he swooping in to save you? You don't need - you don't want - his help.
"Nothing," you say, but your eyes sting with the tears that cloud your vision. They set loose as you blink, and you bite your lip to keep it from trembling.
His face, already contorted by your hazy gaze, twists in pain. He reaches out tentatively and you stagger back. You don't need his help, and you certainly don't need his comfort. Your message gets across and he lets his hand fall.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 11>>
More and more people are starting to stare. Eyes drawn to the King draped in eye-catching, vibrant red. Wearing the golden circlet atop his brown curls. Eyes drawn to the young Solomon girl, the one the family magic tragically skipped. Eyes drawn on you, Morgana's child, the bastard, the one unwelcomed here. And they all must sense it, that fiery tension that sizzles the air.
You turn to Arthur. "She's picking on me. Like she always does." You hold his gaze steadfast, hoping it conveys your silent question. Your silent request of help. At least this once, if he truly cares about you as he claims.
His face, already contorted by your hazy gaze, twists in pain. He reaches out tentatively and you stagger back. You don't need his help, and you certainly don't need his comfort. Your message gets across and he lets his hand fall.
<</if>>
Arthur takes a deep breath. A steadying, fortifying intake, a summoning of his will. He pulls his shoulders back and his lips, weighted down by anguish, flatten into a grim line. He raises his chin ever so slightly and the sun catches in a ruby inlaid in his circlet. And you realize what's happening, this schooling of himself into some semblance of authority, this shift in gravity of his features. He's trying to fit his crown.
To fit the role of your father.
The crease between his brows, just below the circlet, persists, etched like a painful scar.
"What's your name, child?" His voice is mellow, like it always is. Mellow and gentle and with no sharp edges you can cut yourself on. Yet it's not devoid of warning.
The girl, who just moments ago looked so self assured, so mocking, is now cowering like a mouse in the paws of a cat. Any trace of malice in her gaze has been thoroughly replaced by dread.
"A-Alina," she thurst her chin forward, but the confidence of the gesture is sabotaged by the stammer in her voice.
"And your surname?" Arthur prompts.
She swallows. Looking as if she'd very much like to swallow her name, too. "Solomon."
Arthur nods in acknowledgment, keeping his tone calm, soothing, yet its effect is far from assuring. It's like a tutor about to tell you exactly why you're wrong after giving your response. "I've been told you wish to become a knight of The Round Table."
All color drains from her cheeks and she can only summon the energy for a weak nod. Her mind must be already racing with the consequences of this slip-up, what it might cost her. The prospect of being denied into the Round Table - her way of escaping her siblings' shadow - the most frightening of all punishments.
"This is not very knightly behavior of you," Arthur says, a pang of hurt slipping into his voice. "Why are you doing this?" You're not sure whether the wave of red now flooding her face is shame or anger. Perhaps both. She opens her mouth, exploding like a stoked fire. "Be-because ?they's a bas-" She isn't able to spit out the word she so happily tossed your way so many times. "Because Morgana..." The spark is short-lived though and her fire tames as she trails off, knowing no word she could come up with would help her case.
And how could it? How can she say the cruel treatment she gives you comes from the fact that your circumstances make it easy to be loathed. That you're an easy target to let her anger out on, because you're everyone's training dummy. She mustn't feel remorseful over mistreating you.
If she can't lash out at her siblings, she'll lash out at you.
She crosses her arms, frowning in frustration, still as red as her hair.
"Miss Solomon, I will have a discussion with your mothers about this."
You didn't think it was possible, but she's turning even redder.
"Now, I would like you to apologize to Mordred."
<div class="choice">[["Go on, apologize," you smile too wide. Relishing this.|Chapt3AlinaLecture1][$chapt3_alina1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You wait patiently.|Chapt3AlinaLecture1][$chapt3_alina1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I don't need her apologies. She's not sorry about it, she's sorry she got caught.\""|Chapt3AlinaLecture1][$chapt3_alina1 to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just wait, standing awkwardly.|Chapt3AlinaLecture1][$chapt3_alina1 to 4]]</div><<if $chapt3_alina1 == 1>>
Oh, it's not the first time an apology has been demanded of Alina, from Morgana or Accolon. She either stubbornly kept her mouth shut or spit out the word with so much hate it's lost all meaning, and gained a new one specifically dedicated to insulting you. But now she can't back down.
"Go on, apologize," you smile, too wide for it to be nice. Her panicked eyes snap to you, and your sight alone is enough to make way for a sliver of anger to show.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina1 == 2>>
This is not the first time an apology has been demanded of Alina, from Morgana or Accolon. She either stubbornly kept her mouth shut or spit out the word with so much hate it's lost all meaning, and gained a new one specifically dedicated to insulting you. But now she can't back down. So she'll utter the apology, and it'll mean nothing, anyway.
You just look at her, patiently waiting to hear her empty words. Or perhaps that's the wrong word here. It won't be empty, but it won't be filled with remorse either. Just a desperate need to cling to her aspirations.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina1 == 3>>
This is not the first time an apology has been demanded of Alina, from Morgana or Accolon. She either stubbornly kept her mouth shut or spit out the word with so much hate it's lost all meaning, and gained a new one specifically dedicated to insulting you. But now she can't back down. So she'll utter it the apology, and it'll mean nothing, anyway.
"I don't need her apologies. She's not sorry about it, she's sorry she got caught."
Her gaze snaps at you, anger trickling through the panic.
<<elseif $chapt3_alina1 == 4>>
This is not the first time an apology has been demanded of Alina, from Morgana or Accolon. She either stubbornly kept her mouth shut or spit out the word with so much hate it's lost all meaning, and gained a new one specifically dedicated to insulting you. But now she can't back down. So she'll utter the apology and it'll mean nothing, anyway.
You just wait, shifting from feet to feet, face turned downwards. Waiting for an empty apology. Or perhaps that's the wrong word here. It won't be empty, but it won't be filled with remorse either. Just a desperate need to cling to her aspirations.
<</if>>
Alina looks like she'd sooner cut off her tongue than utter the apology. But stronger yet is her desire for knighthood, and she lets go of her pride.
She turns to you, face still blazing red and defeated. "I am sorry, Mordred." The words are stiff, as is she.
"Now go on," he dismisses her. "I shall talk with your parents later."
Released, she bows lowly, muttering choked words of parting meant for a King, then sprints off.
But while Alina left, the gaze of the crowd remains. It's only now that you realize that the flute music has stopped, too, and the player's audience has become yours. Arthur seems aware of this, too, and he raises a hand, nodding at the crowd. "Please," he speaks clearly, lightly. "Carry on." A King's word is order, and everyone obliges. You're sure their ears are still tuned to you, however.
Arthur turns to you with a tender smile.
<<if $chapt3_alina == 4 or $chapt3_alina == 8 or $chapt3_alina == 11>>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you smile warmly.|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you're grateful, but your smile is sad. "I'm not sure it'll stop her, though."|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to thank him but the words fade as you remember he didn't do the same for Accolon.|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say stiffly. It's the least he could have done.|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 1 or $chapt3_alina == 6 or $chapt3_alina == 10>>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say bedrudgingly.|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I didn't need your help.\""|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 2 or $chapt3_alina == 3 or $chapt3_alina == 5 or $chapt3_alina == 7 or $chapt3_alina == 9>>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you smile warmly.|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you're grateful, but your smile is sad. "I'm not sure it'll stop her, though."|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say bedrudgingly.|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to thank him but the words fade as you remember he didn't do the same for Accolon.|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I didn't need your help.\""|Chapt3ArthurHelp][$chapt3_alina1 to 3]]</div>
<</if>>Kay's opponent falls to his knees, and the crowd explodes in applause as the victor triumphantly takes off his helmet, grinning. He offers the fallen man an amicable helping hand, which he accepts. You see Gawain rush into the ring, even as a guard makes a show of trying to stop him. As soon as he is in reach, the boy launches into his father's arms and is enveloped in a hug. The man picks him up and shouts to the crowd, "My brave squire, without who I couldn't have won!"
As the knights prepare for the next trial, with the announcer hyping up the crowd, Accolon's expression becomes wary. "Has Galahad been giving you trouble?"
<div class="choice">[["He has plenty of trouble to offer," you say sardonically.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon1][$chapt3_trouble to "1", $told_accolon_gally to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A bit," you admit nervously.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon2][$chapt3_trouble to "2", $told_accolon_gally to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, but I will change his mind about me," you say firmly.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon3][$chapt3_trouble to "3", $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Just being a bully," you shrug. "I'm used to it."|Chapt3GalahadAccolon4][$chapt3_trouble to "4", $told_accolon_gally to 4]]</div><<if $chapt3_lodge_father == "1">>
"Then do it!" You lean forward, propelled by the same desire. "Be my father!"
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want to. But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "2">>
"Please," you say pleadingly, "I just want you to be my father."
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want to. But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't…I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "3">>
He couldn't even hug you in public, how will he be better?
"But can you?" you ask, disheartened by the gesture that could have meant so much.
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want to. But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "4">>
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want to be your father. But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "5">>
"I don't need you to be my father."
His gaze is hazy with tears. "But I want to." He blinks, tears streaking down his cheeks. "I can only do so behind closed doors though. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "6">>
A pang of pain claws at your chest, hopeless sadness dripping off your words, "I used to want that too, but I'm not so sure anymore."
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "Please, give me a chance. I want to be your father." It's a desperate plea. "But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<</if>>
"Because you never tried. She thinks you don't care." You say, your own eyes stinging.
"She loathes me, and for good reasons. I thought you'd loathe me, too. Merlin said Morgana is turning you against me. He told me to stay away from you, as you'll only bring me destruction, like the prophecy foretells."
"Prophecy?" you echo, frowning. Latching onto the word that settles uneasily in the pit of your stomach like a boulder, word he's mentioned so nonchalantly, as if it were something you should be aware of. It's the first time you've heard of a prophecy that involves you - lest one that involves you being the destruction of anything.
"The prophecy Merlin made when you were born," Arthur explains.
The words hit you like a wave that sweeps you off your feet. No one told you anything of a prophecy. Not Morgana, not Accolon, not Junia. You are to take the throne as your birth right, so what is this prophecy of destruction?
"You didn't know," Arthur concludes with the grim air of one who's made a mess and must now reckon with it.
The tent flap flies open, and Accolon bursts in. "Mordred!" he exclaims in relief upon seeing you. Which would register as a surprise, since Morgana's never had any reservations about you wandering the castle grounds at your liberty; but you're in a state where such little things don't truly register. Accolon's gaze slides over to Arthur next to you and something shifts in his demeanor. He seems almost wary.
"Morgana and I were worried when you disappeared from the feast," Accolon says and proffers a hand. "I think it's better to return now."
You get up but hesitate, glancing back at Arthur. You were interrupted - there are things left unsaid, and a lot more questions than when you came in that you crave answers to - but Arthur silently encourages you to go. Perhaps it's for the best given your mother's temper which you're sure he's trying to avoid. Accolon puts a protective hand over your shoulder - Arthur's gaze falls on it and beholds it as if it were laid on a sword. There's apprehension in his face, but also pain as if the blade had already lanced him through.
Just as you're about to exit, Arthur calls out. "Thank you, Accolon. For being there for Mordred."
Accolon pauses, one foot out the tent already. For an uncertain moment he doesn't react, and you can't quite fathom the sentiment that passes his features. Then he angles his head back to Arthur and offers him but a gracious smile before guiding you out into the hall. Arthur doesn't follow.
As you leave Elewen's tent, the crisp, chill night air slaps you in the face. You barely pay any attention to the way it bites into your exposed skin and seeps under your clothes. As you cross the field, your mind is buzzing with what Arthur told you. Loudest of all is the prophecy he so carelessly mentioned. The prophecy you have never heard before
<div class="choice">[[Confront Accolon about it.|Chapt3ConfrontAccolon][$confront to "accolon"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait to confront Morgana about it.|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana][$confront to "morgana"]]</div><<if $chapt3_study_arthur == "1">>
You cross your arms, quirking an eyebrow. Isn't that an interesting choice of word, confront? You know very well she went with the intention of picking a fight, giving Arthur no choice, just like she does with you. What $dragon_name told you only confirms it.
"You mean attacked him? $dragon_name told me $dragon_he heard a fight."
Morgana keeps a calm expression, arching an eyebrow in a gesture similar to yours. "I merely gave him a nudge," she explains. "And when push came to shove, he caved, like I expected."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "2">>
She confronted or rather, intimidated him. She sought him with the intent to pick a fight. What $dragon_name told you only confirms it.
"I hope you didn't scare him off," you say quietly.
Morgana gives you a sympathetic smile. "It's not me you have fear scaring him off, Mordred. It's himself."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "3">>
You cross your arms, glaring at her. "Yes, confronted him despite me telling you not to. Because you never listen to me." And by what $dragon_name told you, Morgana went picking a fight.
Morgana frowns. "I'm just looking out for you, Mordred."
"Sure," you say sardonically.
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "4">>
You frown, "I asked you not to," you say desperately, wondering if she scared Arthur, or even attacked him.
Morgana smiles sympathetically. "I'm just looking out for you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "5">>
Morgana looks surprised. "I merely gave Arthur a nudge," she explains. "And when push came to shove, he caved, like I expected."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "6">>
His abandonment hurt, and even though you ache to give him a chance, it'll only hurt you more.
"Did you tell him to stay away?"
"Yes," Morgana says gently.
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "7">>
He chose to abandon you, and now wants to make amends? Hurt you and now expects everything to be better?
"Did you tell him to stay away?"
"Yes," Morgana says gently.
<</if>>
Morgana smooths her skirt as she continues, "I confronted Arthur to ask him, once again like I did all those years ago when you were born, to make reparations. To claim you, give us back the Le Fay title and Tintal. But Merlin's words are so rooted in his mind, that he refused. He won't stand up for you, Mordred." Her tone is calm, her words sharp. "Do you really want a father that is ashamed of you? A father that is afraid to show you affection in public? That will cast you aside the moment Merlin tells him to?"
<div class="choice">[["Arthur's making an effort! He cares about me!"|Chapt3Anguish2][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "effort"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Arthur's making an effort! He cares about me! And if he hurts me, at least it was my choice."|Chapt3Anguish2][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "choice"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I want to make my own decision," you say calmly. And your decision is to get to know Arthur.|Chapt3Anguish2][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "decision"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You hesitate. "You really think he will?"|Chapt3Anguish2][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "hesitate"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just want him to be my father," you say, on the verge of tears.|Chapt3Anguish2][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "tears", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know if I can see him as a father, but I'd be happy to have him as an uncle. Just let me choose."|Chapt3Anguish2][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "uncle"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I want to get to know him."|Chapt3Anguish2][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "know"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I don't." It hurts, but you can't help but crave his affection. "But I do want him to do better."|Chapt3Anguish2][$opinion_arthur to "anguish", $say to "hurt"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I don't." Hurt is slowly turning into hate.|Chapt3Anguish2][$opinion_arthur to "hate", $say to "hate"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly.|Chapt3Anguish2][$opinion_arthur to "indifference", $say to "behind"]]</div><<if $say == "effort">>
You're tired of her disregarding both your and Arthur's choice. You're tired of her not seeing that Arthur is not how she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father. If you're willing to accept him, and he's making amends, why can't she? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"Arthur's making an effort!" you burst out. "He cares about me! Why do you keep ignoring my decisions?"
"Because I care about you too! That's why I want to protect you!" Morgana shouts, leaning over the table, face pained.
<<elseif $say == "choice">>
You're tired of her disregarding both your and Arthur's choice. You're tired of her not seeing that Arthur is not how she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father. If you're willing to accept him, and he's making amends, why can't she? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"Arthur's making an effort!" you burst out. "He cares about me! Why do you keep ignoring my decisions? If he hurts me, at least it was my choice!"
"I care about you!" Morgana shouts, leaning over the table, face pained. "I want to protect you!"
<<elseif $say == "decision">>
You keep having to battle to have your voice heard. Perhaps she can't see that Arthur is willing to make an effort, but you can. He's not the man she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father. If you're willing to accept him, and he's making amends, why can't she? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"I want to make my own decision," you say calmly.
"And I want to protect you," Morgana counters.
<<elseif $say == "hesitate">>
Morgana keeps insisting that he'll hurt you, that he'll abandon you again, that he won't make amends. Yet you see that he's trying, that he's not the man she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father.
You don't know him as well as she does, though. He wants to be your father, but he wavers, and so do you. "You really think he will?"
Morgana smiles ruefully. "Yes, my dear."
You shake your head. "No!"
<<elseif $say == "tears">>
The father that abandoned you has come to make amends, yet Morgana keeps insisting he'll hurt you, keeps you away from him. There's a claw in your chest, your eyes are clouding with tears.
"I just want him to be my father," you say, on the verge of tears, pain clinging to your words.
"Dear, please don't cry," Morgana leans forward, sadness in her tone.
<<elseif $say == "uncle">>
Arthur abandoned you. You can't wipe out the pain of those years. But he's here to make amends and you're giving him a chance, even if not as a father, but an uncle. Why can't Morgana do that? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"I don't know if I can see him as a father, but I'd be happy to have him as an uncle. Just let me choose."
"But it's not a good choice," Morgana says.
<<elseif $say == "know">>
You didn't know your father, just what Morgana told you. But he's not the man she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father.
"I want to get to know him."
"But it's not a good idea."
<<elseif $say == "hurt">>
Each word is like a stab in your bleeding heart, each sharp yet true. "No, I don't," you say. "But I do want him to do better." You hold her gaze, your own steeled by the determination that bleeds into your words.
Morgana smiles sadly. "I just don't want you to be disappointed when he doesn't, Mordred."
<<elseif $say == "hate">>
Each word fans the flame of your hate. "No, I don't."
"Good." Morgana nods.
<<elseif $say == "behind">>
Your choices may align, but you didn't ask her to tell him to back off.
"I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly.
"And I want to protect you," Morgana counters. "I knew you didn't want Arthur approaching you."
<</if>>
<<if $say == "hurt" or $say == "hate" or $say == "behind">>
Morgana laughs mirthlessly. "You know, I don't even think he realizes how he's wrong. He's kind, but naive. He listens to whatever Merlin tells him to do, and won't think for himself."
<div class="choice">[[Nod. "But what if he stops listening to Merlin? Can't you tell him not to trust him?"|Chapt3Anguish3][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "nottrust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["If he can't make his own decision, I can't trust him."|Chapt3Anguish3][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "canttrust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just cry. Merlin seems like an evil man.|Chapt3Anguish3][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "cryevil"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're angry. Merlin seems like an evil man.|Chapt3Anguish3][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "angryevil"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shrug. "Maybe he'll change."|Chapt3Anguish3][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "maybe"]]</div>
<<else>>
Morgana takes in a deep breath, staring at you, eyes guarded. She's searching for words. "Mordred," she begins, calmly, soothingly. "You don't know Arthur as well as I do. In the months I spent in Camelot, pregnant with you, I've come to know him. He's kind but naive. He's swayed by Merlin, who wants to harm you. I don't trust either of them. Not until Arthur stops listening to Merlin."
<div class="choice">[["So, you're just going to control me like you claim Merlin controls Arthur?"|Chapt3Anguish3][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "control"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I trust Arthur, and you should trust me."|Chapt3Anguish3][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "trustme"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just really wish you could trust Arthur."|Chapt3Anguish3][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "trust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, be sure that I'll stop listening to you."|Chapt3Anguish3][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "stop"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Burst into tears.|Chapt3Anguish3][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $morgana_talk to "cry", $control to "tears"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not talking to you until you start listening to me."|Chapt3Anguish3][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "start"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $control == "control">>
She keeps talking about how Merlin is pulling Arthur's string, like a puppet- and yet, what is she doing to you? Isn't it all the same, even if it's out of concern for you?
"So, you're just going to control me like you claim Merlin controls Arthur?"
Morgana looks as if you've just slapped her across the face. She stares at a loss of words, horrified.
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
She doesn't trust Arthur, but you do. You understand if she can't put her faith in Arthur just yet, but why won't she trust you?
"I trust Arthur, and you should trust me."
Morgana clenches her fists. "You shouldn't trust him. You don't know-" she starts but you cut her off.
"So you don't trust me."
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
If only she trusted Arthur like you do.
"I just really wish you could trust Arthur."
"But I can't, and you shouldn't trust him either."
"Yet I do."
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
You cross your arms. If she won't listen to you, you won't listen to her. "Well, be sure that I'll stop listening to you."
Morgana looks as if you've just slapped her across the face.
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
You burst into tears, Morgana's refusal to listen to you and her distrust of Arthur overwhelming you. Morgana reaches to you but you pull away, running to the door. She calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
There's no reasoning with her. So you won't try to, not until she's willing to listen to you. "I'm not talking to you until you start listening to me."
Morgana looks as if you've just slapped her across the face.
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "nottrust">>
You nod. You won't deny Merlin has an influence on Arthur, but you don't see it quite as bleakly as your mother does. Surely Arthur could be brought to see how Merlin manipulates him; surely, if he's made this first step of approaching you, there's hope for him. "But what if he stops listening to Merlin? Can't you tell him not to trust him?"
Morgana regards you pityingly. As if you've just told her something impossibly childlike and naive, and she feels bad to shatter your innocence. "Arthur blindly trusts him. I think, until he sees the consequences, he won't stop listening to him. Now," she shifts and smiles. "I believe you should go back to your room and get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "cryevil">>
Tears stream down your face. Merlin seems to be at the root of so many of your problems.
Morgana rounds the desk to cup your face, hushing you and caressing your hair. When you calm down, she tells you to do back to your chamber to get ready for the feast.
<<elseif $control == "angryevil">>
Anger seeps through your veins. Merlin seems to be at the root of so many of your problems.
"You should go back to your chamber to get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "canttrust">>
"Me either," Morgana says. "You should go back to your chamber and get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "maybe">>
Maybe he'll mature, maybe he'll realize Merlin is not to be trusted. For his benefit, you hope he will.
You shrug. "Maybe he'll change."
Morgana smiles ruefully.
<</if>>
[[Continue|MorganaPOV2]]Alina freezes. Her narrowed eyes widen and she jumps back as if you've burned her. She looks over her shoulder, seeking support from her friends, but they've scattered like spooked birds, losing themselves in a crowd that is slowly turning its attention to you.
Or, more specifically, Arthur.
He stands before you, garbed in a scarlet doublet, lined with golden thread and decorated with gilded buttons. Distress painted on his face.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<div class="choice">[["We were just going our separate ways," you reply calmly. You don't want more trouble.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$calm to $calm+1, $chapt3_alina to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Having a pleasant conversation, isn't that clear?" you spit, sardonic.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's picking on me. Like she always does." You're grateful if he's here to help you.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing," you say meekly. You don't want to cause more trouble.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$meek to $meek+1, $chapt3_alina to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Say nothing. Isn't it clear?|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's picking on me," you say, tears welling up. Hoping he'll help you.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $chapt3_alina to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing." You don't want trouble. But tears well up.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $chapt3_alina to 9]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
<div class="choice">[["We were just going our separate ways," you reply calmly. You don't need his help.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$calm to $calm+1, $chapt3_alina to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["We were just going our separate ways," you reply calmly. You don't want more trouble.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$calm to $calm+1, $chapt3_alina to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Having a pleasant conversation, isn't that clear?" you spit, sardonic.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's picking on me. Like she always does." You're grateful if he's here to help you.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing," you say meekly. You don't want to cause more trouble.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$meek to $meek+1, $chapt3_alina to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing," you snap. You don't want his help.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$calm to $calm-1, $chapt3_alina to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Say nothing.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's picking on me," you say, tears welling up. Hoping he'll help you.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $chapt3_alina to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing." You don't want trouble. But tears well up.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $chapt3_alina to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing." You don't want his help. But tears well up.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $chapt3_alina to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's picking on me, like she alwasy does." He's a King, and supposedly wants to be your father. Helping you now is the least he can do.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 11]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "indifference">>
<div class="choice">[["We were just going our separate ways," you reply calmly. You don't need his help.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$calm to $calm+1, $chapt3_alina to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["We were just going our separate ways," you reply calmly. You don't want more trouble.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$calm to $calm+1, $chapt3_alina to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Having a pleasant conversation, isn't that clear?" you spit, sardonic.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's picking on me. Like she always does." You're grateful if he's here to help you.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing," you say meekly. You don't want to cause more trouble.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$meek to $meek+1, $chapt3_alina to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing," you snap. You don't want his help.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$calm to $calm-1, $chapt3_alina to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Say nothing.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's picking on me," you say, tears welling up. Hoping he'll help you.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $chapt3_alina to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing." You don't want trouble. But tears well up.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $chapt3_alina to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing." You don't want his help. But tears well up.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $chapt3_alina to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's picking on me, like she alwasy does." He's a King, and supposedly wants to be your father. Helping you now is the least he can do.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 11]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate">>
<div class="choice">[["We were just going our separate ways." You reply calmly. You don't need his help.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$calm to $calm+1, $chapt3_alina to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["We were just going our separate ways." You reply calmly. You don't want more trouble.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$calm to $calm+1, $chapt3_alina to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Having a pleasant conversation, isn't that clear?" you spit, sardonic.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing," you say meekly. You don't want to cause more trouble.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$meek to $meek+1, $chapt3_alina to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing," you snap. You don't want his help.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$calm to $calm-1, $chapt3_alina to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing." You don't want trouble. But tears well up.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $chapt3_alina to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing." You don't want his help. But tears well up.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$crybaby to $crybaby+1, $chapt3_alina to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's picking on me, like she alwasy does." He's a King, and supposedly wants to be your father. Helping you now is the least he can do.|Chapt3AlinaLecture][$chapt3_alina to 11]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3dragonblood1 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Your bond with Elewen. I wonder if it's the same as my dragon and I.\""|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood2][$chapt3dragonblood1 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3dragonblood2 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Can I see your scales armor? What does it feel like?\""|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood1][$chapt3dragonblood2 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3dragonblood3 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"What do you think of compulsion?\""|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood3][$chapt3dragonblood3 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3dragonblood4 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"About Merlin...Why do you trust him? Mother says he's bad.\""|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4][$chapt3dragonblood4 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3dragonblood5 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Does Guinevere know about me? About the prophecy?\""|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood6][$chapt3dragonblood5 to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["We should head back," Arthur says regretfully.|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood5][$chapt3dragonblood4 to true]]</div>Your eyes scan over the exposed $complexion skin of Arthur's hands, painting red scales atop them with your mind's eye. The books describe them as looking and feeling akin dragons' scales. "Can I see your scale armor? What does it feel like, summoning it?"
Arthur looks delighted by the question. "I suppose it's like...Like moving a muscle? But you do need practice to control it. How long you hold it, how much it covers." He extends a hand, pulling the sleeve of his tunic up to his elbow. Scarlet scales bloom over his skin, gleaming like rubies, the color bright and vibrant. "At first, it felt like tingling...Intense tingling, but now it simply feels like something shifting under the skin."
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You touch his arm, tentative at first, running just the tip of your fingers over it. The scales are cool and smooth and when you close your palm against his arm, they feel sturdy and tough under your skin. Just like dragon scales.
<<else>>
"Can I?" you ask, hand hovering patiently over his arm. He nods, and you take the invitation to touch his arm, tentative at first, running just the tip of your fingers over it. The scales are cool and smooth and when you close your palm against his arm, they feel sturdy and tough under your skin. Just like dragon scales.
<</if>>
You hold out your own arm next to Arthur's, tug up your puffy sleeve and concentrate on...On whatever it must feel like, soft, fleshy skin morphing into hard red scales. Your brow furrows, your fist clenches, your jaw tenses but nothing happens and you most likely look like you're having trouble popping out something entirely else than scales.
Arthur chuckles good-naturedly as he regards your scaleless arm. "It's alright, you can't force them out. I only got my scales at about fifteen."
"Fifteen?" you balk but he just bites back a smile.
"Perhaps you won't be a late bloomer like me. Most get them around twelve or fourteen."
You cradle your arm to your chest, still marveling at Arthur's scaled one. "What does it feel like, just having it out?"
"Most people would probably think it must feel strange," Arthur says, "but it feels oddly natural. It's certainly different, a very different sensation, but it's almost comforting. To me, at least." He lets his arm fall on his lap and just as he rolls down the sleeve, you see the scales disappear, replaced again by $complexion skin.
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood>>"Your bond with Elewen." Arthur looks at you expectantly. "I wonder if it's like mine with $dragon_name. Do you two speak telepathically often and share your feelings through your bond?" He nods keenly and you go on. "I've watched the race trial. The two of you are very skilled. Elewen's so fast and..." You cock your head, deliberating the best way to put into words what you've seen. "Agile. And kinda slippery. You were helping each other through your connection, right? Flying in unison. The way you squeezed through others and changed directions so quickly yet smoothly."
Arthur inclines his head graciously, thanking you and promising to impart the compliment to Elewen as well. Assuring you she will be most delighted to hear that.
"You should introduce me to your dragon friend some time," says Arthur. "I'd love to meet them."
"$dragon_name? I'd love for you to meet them too, they're the best."
Arthur props his chin in his palm. "Tell me about them."
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
You do so gladly, telling Arthur of your sweet, fun-loving companion.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
You do so gladly, telling Arthur of your friendly, high-spirited companion.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
You do so gladly, telling Arthur of your confident, daring companion.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
You do so gladly, telling Arthur of your bold, intense companion.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
You do so gladly, telling Arthur of your sweet, timid companion.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
You do so gladly, telling Arthur of your sweet, timid companion.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood>><<if $compulsion == "no">>
It does indeed sound like a horrible, helpless and violating position to put a dragon in. Just the thought makes your stomach churn. You'd rather attempt any other method before getting to compulsion, as Arthur said.
<<elseif $compulsion == "maybe">>
It does indeed sound like a horrible, helpless and violating position to put a dragon in. It makes your stomach coil uncomfortably, but you won't deny it //is// something that could serve to your advantage. Something that could help you, were you to be in danger. You may not jump directly to using it, but you would not be quick to toss the option away.
<<elseif $compulsion == "yes">>
It does indeed sound like a horrible, helpless and violating position to put a dragon in. You'd be furious if anyone attempted such a thing on $dragon_name, but you won't deny it //is// something that could serve to your advantage. Something that could help you, were you to be in danger.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood>>"What do you think of compulsion?"
This aspect of your powers is, in actuality, an unwanted, unexpected part of being a dragon blood. A power that the books talk warily of, a power that can easily be abused and that has long been disputed by dragons and humans alike. A power that Uther was not shy to use.
"I...I'm not fond of using compulsion." His mouth twists in an anguished grimace as if the mere thought pains him. "I find it cruel, bending ther will...Stealing it away from them entirely. It could be used for good," even as he says it, he doesn't sound convinced of it. "To soothe down distressed or angry dragons. Though I think you should first exhaust all other options, beside violence of course, to get the situation under control. Like, trying to reason with them, or calm them with your words. It is better than using violence, though," he allows. "I simply try not to resort to compulsion. But if my words and deeds fail me, I do."
This is what Morgana would call weakness. She's always impressed upon you how you must seize the advantages you're given. That if you don't do so, someone else might.
<div class="choice">[[You understand Arthur. It does sound horrible.|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood3.1][$compulsion to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's horrible, yes, but it could come in helpful, in difficult situations.|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood3.1][$compulsion to "maybe"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Is it horrible? Yes. But it's a tool, a weapon you could use to your advantage.|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood3.1][$compulsion to "yes"]]</div><<if $arthur_hug is true>>
Your hand shoots out to cover his own, fidgeting with his tunic. His restless fingers still as soon as you make contact, and tense for a fraught moment where you fear he'll pull away - tense, the same way he felt when you've hugged him, like a bird that's frantically considering its escape from your grasp.
<<else>>
Your hand shoots out to cover his own, fidgeting with his tunic. His restless fingers still as soon as you make contact, and tense for a fraught moment where you fear he'll pull away, fly away like a bird that's frantically considering its escape from your grasp.
<</if>>
But he relaxes as do you, strung in anticipation as you were. You offer him a smile and squeeze his fingers, hoping it conveys the words you don't quite know how to say. He's not a monster. Despite the hurt and wounds and his absence, you don't consider him a monster.
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.6>>"You've hurt me," you say, because it's the truth. You mustn't hide. To heal the wounds you must first acknowledge them. "But I don't think you did it intentionally. I don't consider you a monster. To me...you seem wounded, like I am."You can see it even now in his face - etched in the lines of his brow, clear in the liquid $eye of his eyes, unspoken yet so loudly told by the quivering line of his lips.
"I know I've hurt you. And I admit I am hurt, too. That's why I hope to heal both our wounds."
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.6>>You offer him a smile, hoping to ease his mind. Yes, you've been hurt, but now he's here to make amends and heal the wounds - both of your wounds. "What matters is that you're making up for it." You say it with a conviction that you hope to impart on Arthur, holding his gaze steadfast.
He nods earnestly. "Yes! I want to make up for it. I really do."
"Exactly." You sweep an arm around you. "That's why we're here."
The smile that curls his lips floods his eyes with warm tenderness which envelops you like a wool blanket on a cold winter night.
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.6>>"Oh," you wave a hand as if chasing away an insistent bee. "Not a monster. Just a terrible father." You might as well have punched him in the gut; it would have likely hurt less. And while your intention had been to make light of the situation - however poorly - it's turned out worse than you've anticipated. You stumble over your words to rectify your mistake, "I didn't mean to be mean-"
"No, Mordred, you're right." He bows his head, face cast in shameful shadows. "But I want to do better."
Guilt squeezes tightly at your chest and you cast your gaze about, as if you may find a way to remedy the situation laying somewhere in the grass. "That's why we're here, isn't it?" you say carefully. "To mend the hurt, to heal our wounds." He tilts his head up enough to peek at you beneath brown curls. You smile. "So that makes you not a terrible father. But a father that makes an effort." Your words manage to muster a faint smile from him.
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.6>>"Oh," you wave a hand as if chasing away an insistent bee. "Not a monster. Just a terrible father." You might as well have punched him in the gut; it would have likely hurt less. And while your intention had been to make light of the situation - however poorly - it's turned out worse than you've anticipated. A part of you feels you've been hit, too; yet another can't help but feel a wicked, insidious pleasure to have stung him the same way he's hurt you. "I went too far."
"No, Mordred, you're right." He bows his head, face cast in shameful shadows. "But I want to do better."
Guilt squeezes tightly at your chest and you cast your gaze about, as if you may find a way to remedy the situation laying somewhere in the grass. "That's why we're here, isn't it?" you say carefully. "To mend the hurt, to heal our wounds." He tilts his head up enough to peek at you beneath brown curls. You smile. "So that makes you not a terrible father. But a father that makes an effort." Your words manage to muster a faint smile from him.
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.6>>Arthur's gaze turns onto the river, his face calmer and brighter by the moment, the clouds that have darkened it being slowly chased away. You look at it too, and together you wach it glimmer and slither and gurgle, letting it fill the silence before Arthur finally breaks it. "Do you practice the magic of the Lady of the Lake?"
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
<<if $water_type == "healing">>
"Yes, and I focus on learning to heal through it. Do you?"
"I've found myself praying to her, just to soothe myself or to achieve some clarity of mind through troubled times. But I can't draw upon her power."
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood>>
<<elseif $water_type == "meditation">>
"Yes, I mostly just meditate, when I want to clear my mind and relax. What about you?"
"I've found myself praying to her, just to soothe myself or to achieve some clarity of mind through troubled times. But I can't draw upon her power."
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood>>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["\"I mostly learn healing. If I need to control water, I can simply draw on my own powers.\""|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.7][$water_type to "healing"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I mostly meditate, when I want to clear my mind and relax.\""|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.7][$water_type to "meditation"]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
You shake your head. "No, though mom isn't hapy about it. Do you?"
"I've found myself praying to her, just to soothe myself or to achieve some clarity of mind through troubled times. But I can't draw upon her power."
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood>>
<</if>><<if $water_type == "healing">>
"Yes, and I focus on learning to heal through it. Do you?"
"I've found myself praying to her, just to soothe myself or to achieve some clarity of mind through troubled times. But I can't draw upon her power."
<<elseif $water_type == "meditation">>
"Yes, I mostly just meditate, when I want to clear my mind and relax. What about you?"
"I've found myself praying to her, just to soothe myself or to achieve some clarity of mind through troubled times. But I can't draw upon her power."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood>><<if $defiant >= 50>>
"Regarding Merlin..." you begin, and Arthur considers you expectantly. "Mother says Merlin is an evil man and that you shouldn't trust him." She's also called him a fool for doing so, but you keep that detail out. You level him with a serious, self-assured look, trying your best to impart onto him the point of view he's currently too blind to see.
<<else>>
"Regarding Merlin..." you begin tentatively, and Arthur considers you expectantly. "Mother says Merlin is not a good man and that you shouldn't trust him." She's also called him a fool for doing so, but you keep that detail out. You level him with a look that's almost pleading, silently entreating him to see things your way.
<</if>>
Arthur smiles, strained. "Your mother, she...I know Merlin and she have history. A not very pleasant one, given his involvement in" - he takes a halting, sharp breath in - "Uther's war. But he means well. He's been so welcoming and supportive of me when I arrived at court. Like a rock in a river, you know? That you can hold onto while the water rushes by." He speaks with candid admiration, but even worse, he speaks with a firm, unmoving kind of respect. The kind riveted by thick roots that extend deep underneath the earth.
"But he helped massacre the Le Fays," you protest, hands closing around tufts of tall grass. It's his family too. Doesn't it affect him? Even if he didn't have to endure the legacy of suffering Morgana has, even if he may not be familiar with all the details, doesn't he find it concerning that Merlin had a hand in it? That he tore down the magical defenses of Tintal to allow Uther's army to pass, to allow the slaughter of your family, of so many innocent people?
Arthur sighs, a bone-weary sigh which deflates his whole frame. "Well, it's just...Uther was brutal and merciless, but Merlin tried to rein him in as much as he could. I imagine it's not an easy job to manage, being a King's advisor, but I do believe I'm not making it any more difficult for him." He scratches the back of his neck, then straightens, as if remembering there's a crown he must balance on his head, that he must put on the appropiate kingly image now that you're talking of kingly matters. And there is a hint of pride in his voice as he continues, "Anyway, that's why he supports my ideas, because they're the opposite of Uther's."
His ideas, his promises. No more war, no more bloodshed. A reign defined by kindness and goodwill and tolerance.
You nod. "I've heard of your vision."
"Really?"
"Yes. My tutors discussed it, and people talk a lot. I hear a lot too." You pause, memories dregging up from some recess of your mind. Memories that smell heavily of ink and leather and parchment. Of powdery rose, a scent you've come to associate with a certain redhead. "And well. Do you know Junia?"
"Your mom's friend?"
Friend doesn't begin to cover it. It's true that there are very few Morgana would genuinely call friend, but Junia is so much more than that. She's like a sister to Morgana. She's family.
"Yes. She really admires you, and always spoke highly of you. Even if mom hates it."
"Oh," he smiles timidly. " So you haven't only been told horrible things about me?" He lets out an inaudible, relieved sigh which you catch in the way his shoulders relax. "That's..." he seeks the right word and nods to himself when he finds it. "Reassuring. I didn't want to be painted solely as a monster to you, Mordred. Though I did abandon you, so perhaps I deserve it."
<div class="choice">[[Reach out to silently comfort him.|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"You've hurt me...But I don't think you did it intentionally. I don't consider you a monster. You seem wounded like me.\""|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"What matters is that you're making up for it.\""|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, not a monster. Just a terrible father," you try to make light of it.|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, not a monster. Just a terrible father." You're more or less serious. Trying to make light of it yet letting slip by some bitterness.|Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood4.5]]</div>Arthur considers the sun's lofty position in the sky. It is with regretful reluctance that he gets up and holds out a hand to you, suggesting that you head back. You accept the help and side by side you set out through the woods, treading the same path back. You make a stop at the blackberry bushes to pick whatever berries that may have escaped you. The sounds of the fair gradually trickle into your world, like water through cracks in a boat, making you wistfully aware that you're returning to a world where you'll go back to pretending, back to hiding.
But what truly hits you like a furious wave square in the face is the sight that awaits you at the edge of the forest.
Morgana.
She stands among the trees, arms crossed over her chest, wearing her sturdier pair of boots, that still manages to look sophisticated. Her mien a painted expression of calm, one that is too calculated, too measured to represent genuine tranquillity - a clear blue sky taunted in the distance by dark clouds of gloom. Looking every inch the barely contained storm you know her to be.
She's not alone, and your surprise only mounts when you spot Kay hanging near her, leaning against a tree trunk. He gives you a small smile when you meet his gaze, but your attention is swiftly pulled back to your mother.
Last time she confronted Arthur, it ended in howling gales that carried threats.
So this time too you expect jaundiced words hurled at Arthur, and sympathetic frowns offered your way, as if they could be any form of consolation.
<<if $chapt1_3_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[[You won't even give her the chance. Put yourself between them. It's your choice to spend time with Arthur and she should accept it.|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 1, $defiant to $defiant+1, $shy to $shy-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't even give her the chance. Put yourself between them, even as your pulse races. It's your choice to spend time with Arthur and she should accept it.|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 2, $defiant to $defiant+1, $shy to $shy+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait to see what Arthur does. You wish he would speak up for you this time, too.|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 3, $defiant to $defiant-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Freeze up, deflated. Perhaps Arthur will speak up for you this time, too.|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 4, $defiant to $defiant-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Come up with a quick lie. Which proves a bit hard.|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 5, $honest to $honest+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Lie that you only met up to discuss your powers. You can make a compeling argument.|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 6, $honest to $honest-2, $persuasion to $persuasion+2]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You won't even give her the chance. Put yourself between them. It's your choice to spend time with Arthur and she should accept it.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 1, $defiant to $defiant+1, $shy to $shy-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't even give her the chance. Put yourself between them, even as your pulse races. It's your choice to spend time with Arthur and she should accept it.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 2, $defiant to $defiant+1, $shy to $shy+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait to see what Arthur does. You wish he would speak up for you this time, too.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 3, $defiant to $defiant-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Freeze up, deflated. Perhaps Arthur will speak up for you this time, too.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 4, $defiant to $defiant-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Come up with a quick lie. Which proves a bit hard.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 5, $honest to $honest+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Lie that you only met up to discuss your powers. You can make a compeling argument.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWoods][$morgana_wood to 6, $honest to $honest-2, $persuasion to $persuasion+2]]</div>
<</if>>You know of those that were present when Arthur tried to rip you away from your mother, by Merlin's instruction: Lancelot, Kay and Lot stood witness to it. But what about the Queen? It would be five more years till the two married, and Morgana could never gauge how much she knew. Not for lack of trying - she's treated the invitation to the Royal wedding as an opportunity to assess the state of Court, to measure foes and allies in preparation for you return.
Now, you have the occasion to ask, though your curiosity stems from less calculating motivations. It's only fair to know, a need that feels especially raw after the reveal of the prophecy and its well-kept secret.
"Does Guinevere know about me? Does she know about the prophecy?"
"She knows," Arthur answers. His voice is heavy and his face unsmiling, cast downwards. "I told her a few months into our engagement, when she could still back out of it, should she wish it." His restless fingers pull at the lace knot of his boot till it unravels. He continues to wind and unwind the cord round his knuckles, over and over. "I wanted her to know what she was getting herself into, to understand the circumstances before she bound herself to me, to this union. She could break the engagement - but she didn't." A breathy chuckle of disbelief escapes him, like he couldn't believe his luck even years after. He shakes his hand free of the laces and looks up at you, a smile creeping up at the corners of his mouth. "She stayed."
"And what does she think of me?" Or better put, your existence; you've never met the Queen in person. She's but a picture cobbled out of second-hand and //second// second-hand impressions, much like Arthur was until recently - a patchwork of Morgana's descriptions and Junia's, of chronicles and talk at court.
"She understands things are...difficult and complicated," Arthur carefully weighs his words. "She understands why I kept my distance - but said that if I ever wanted to close it, that she'd be delighted to be involved too. To get to know you."
Something warm and tender flutters in your chest.
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood>><<if $chapt3_go_arthur == 1>>
Your face is split by a brilliant smile. "Yes, I'd love that."
"Truly?" Arthur seems genuinely - and pleasantly - surprised by your acceptance. "Well, then." His eyes roam over the crowd, lingering on particular faces. Faces turned towards the two of you, but not with curious gazes or gaping mouths. //Guards.// "I have to speak with someone first but you go on ahead and I'll meet you afterwards. The woods, behind the lodge?" You nod, and he smiles, wide, merry, beaming before leaving your side.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodYes]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 2>>
A faint smile curls your lips. "I'd like that, but I'm worried." You meet Arthur's gaze. "What if Lancelot finds out again? I don't want any more harm to come to Accolon."
The smile slowly curling up his lips twists all the way back down in a grimace. "I promise you, Mordred, that won't be the case."
You accept his promise, because it's the only reassurance you can get. You afford him your trust and hope he stays true to his word.
"Well, then." His eyes roam over the crowd, lingering on particular faces. Faces turned towards the two of you, but not with curious gazes or gaping mouths. //Guards.// "I have to speak with someone first but you go on ahead and I'll meet you afterwards. The woods, behind the lodge?" You nod, and he smiles, wide, merry, beaming before leaving your side.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodYes]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 3>>
//Yes.// The word blooms in your chest, warm and fragile, and travels all the way to your tongue where it wilts away leaving a bitter taste behind. You want to say yes. A part of you is desperate to do so. Thinking that it's an opportunity to make reparations. That it may alleviate old wounds.
But what if it merely deepens them? What if it only makes you bleed more? You've seen what happened so far. Accolon had to take the fall, simply for Arthur reaching out to you. Then there's the way Arthur looked at you in the lodge, the words he spoke that echo defeaningly in your mind.
//"I don't want to be ashamed of you!"//
He couldn't even assure you he's not. You know if you accept this kind of love, it'll only hurt you more.
You shake your head, no matter how much it pains you. No matter how much it pains Arthur. And it does, you can tell from the way his features crumble as hope seeps away. Still he says, "I understand. Enjoy the fair," before he parts with you.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodNo]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 4>>
The two of you are the only Pendragons - no, the only dragon bloods - left. Anything you can learn about your kind, about the way your powers work, is through books and scrolls. You have your dragon, Morgana and Accolon to help, but it's still different to having an actual Pendragon tutor you. You have questons. And like it or not, Arthur could answer them.
"Fine, but just because you're the only one," your voice goes quiet, "like me. And I have questions." You cross your arms, putting on an earnest expression. Showing Arthur this is purely meant to be a lesson, a professional affair, not some heartfelt father-child bonding. It's the least he can do for you.
His face crumbles as hope seeps away. Still he summons a watery smile. "I could try to answer them. Well, then." His eyes roam over the crowd, lingering on particular faces. Faces turned towards the two of you, but not with curious gazes or gaping mouths. //Guards.// "I have to speak with someone first but you go on ahead and I'll meet you afterwards. The woods, behind the lodge?" You nod, and he leaves your side, faint smile persisting on his lips.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodQuestion]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 5>>
He's trying yet again to reach out to you, trying to make reparations for the wounds inflicted by his absence. Trying yet failing, because you will not reach back to him.
You press your lips in a tight, grim line. "I think you should leave."
His face crumbles as hope seeps away. Still he says, "I understand. Enjoy the fair," before parting.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodNo]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 6>>
He's trying yet again to reach out to you, trying to make reparations for the wounds inflicted by his absence. Failing to understand that it's not what you want. It's not what you ask of him.
You cross your arms, leveling him with a frown. "I don't want anything to do with you. Understand that already."
And it does, you can tell from the way his features crumble as hope seeps away. Still he says, "I apologize. Enjoy the fair," before parting.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodNo]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 7>>
He's trying yet again to reach out to you, trying to make reparations for the wounds inflicted by his absence. And this time, you're willing to reach back, willing to try. Perhaps the two of you can reconcile after all. Hope blooms in your chest, still faint, still fragile, but warm all the same.
"Wait." His eyes widen, the single word kindling the hope in them. Making it shine brighter. "You don't have to leave," you go on.
"You'd like to spend time with me?" he asks incredulously, and you nod. His face lights up with a growing smile. "Well, then." His eyes roam over the crowd, lingering on particular faces. Faces turned towards the two of you, but not with curious gazes or gaping mouths. //Guards.// "I have to speak with someone first but you go on ahead and I'll meet you afterwards. The woods, behind the lodge?" You nod, and he smiles, wide, merry, beaming, before leaving your side.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodYes]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 8>>
He's trying yet again to reach out to you, trying to make reparations for the wounds inflicted by his absence. And this time, you're willing to reach back, willing to try. Perhaps the two of you can reconcile after all. Hope blooms in your chest, still faint, still fragile, but warm all the same.
"Wait." His eyes widen, the single word kindling the hope in them. Making it shine brighter. "You don't have to leave," you go on. "I'd like to spend some time with you. But I'm worried as well. What if Lancelot finds out again? I don't want any more harm to come to Accolon."
The smile slowly curling up his lips twists all the way back down in a grimace. "I promise you, Mordred, that won't be the case."
You accept his promise, because it's the only reassurance you can get. You afford him your trust and hope he stays true to his word.
"Well, then." His eyes roam over the crowd, lingering on particular faces. Faces turned towards the two of you, but not with curious gazes or gaping mouths. //Guards.// "I have to speak with someone first but you go on ahead and I'll meet you afterwards. The woods, behind the lodge?" You nod, and he smiles, wide, merry, beaming before leaving your side.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodYes]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 9>>
//Stay.// The word blooms in your chest, warm and fragile, and travels all the way to your tongue where it wilts away leaving a bitter taste behind. You want to tell him to stay. A part of you is desperate to do so. Thinking that it's an opportunity to make reparations. That it may alleviate old wounds.
But what if it merely deepens them? What if it only makes you bleed more? You've seen what happened so far. Accolon had to take the fall, simply for Arthur reaching out to you. Then there's the way Arthur looked at you in the lodge, the words he spoke that echo defeaningly in your mind.
//"I don't want to be ashamed of you!"//
He couldn't even assure you he's not. You know if you accept this kind of love, it'll only hurt you more.
"You should leave," you agree with Arthur. No matter how much it pains you. No matter how much it pains him. And it does, you can tell from the way his features crumble as hope seeps away. Still he says, "I understand. Enjoy the fair," before leaving your side.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodNo]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 10>>
He's hoping you'll stop him. Hoping you'll ask him to stay, ask him to make reparations for the wounds inflicted by his absence. But you stay firmly rooted to the spot, and in your sentiments.
You press your lips in a tight, grim line. "You should leave."
His face crumbles as hope seeps away. Still he says, "Enjoy the fair," before parting.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodNo]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 11>>
The two of you are the only Pendragons - no, the only dragon bloods - left. Anything you can learn about your kind, about the way your powers work, is through books and scrolls. You have your dragon, Morgana and Accolon to help, but it's still different to having an actual Pendragon tutor you. You have questons. And like it or not, Arthur could answer them.
"Wait." His eyes widen, the single word kindling the hope in them. Making it shine brighter. Too bad you'll just as promptly snuff it out. "You're the only one," your voice goes quiet, "like me. And I have questions." You cross your arms, putting on an earnest expression. Showing Arthur this is purely meant to be a lesson, a professional affair, not some heartfelt father-child bonding. It's the least he can do for you.
His face crumbles as hope seeps away. Still he summons a watery smile. "I could try to answer them. Well, then." His eyes roam over the crowd, lingering on particular faces. Faces turned towards the two of you, but not with curious gazes or gaping mouths. //Guards.// "I have to speak with someone first but you go on ahead and I'll meet you afterwards. The woods, behind the lodge?" You nod, and he leaves your side, faint smile persisting on his lips.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodQuestion]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_go_arthur == 1>>
"You should leave." Your pain is still too raw. But these words hurt no less. Hurt the both of you. You can tell from the way his features crumble as hope seeps away. Still he says, "I understand. Enjoy the fair," before leaving your side.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodNo]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 2>>
"Truly?" Arthur seems genuinely - and pleasantly - surprised by your acceptance. "Well, then." His eyes roam over the crowd, lingering on particular faces. Faces turned towards the two of you, but not with curious gazes or gaping mouths. //Guards.// "I have to speak with someone first but you go on ahead and I'll meet you afterwards. The woods, behind the lodge?" You nod, and he smiles, wide, merry, beaming before leaving your side.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodYes]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 3>>
"Truly?" Arthur seems genuinely - and pleasantly - surprised by your request. "Well, then." His eyes roam over the crowd, lingering on particular faces. Faces turned towards the two of you, but not with curious gazes or gaping mouths. //Guards.// "Let's go someplace else. I have to speak with someone first but you go on ahead and I'll meet you afterwards. The woods, behind the lodge?" You nod, and he smiles, wide, merry, beaming before leaving your side.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodYes]]
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 4>>
You shake your head. "Nothing. I think you should leave." Your pain is still too raw. But these words hurt no less. Hurt the both of you. You can tell from the way his features crumble as hope seeps away. Still he says, "I understand. Enjoy the fair," before leaving your side.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurWoodNo]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_go_arthur == 12>>
You hesistate. A part of you screams to accept the invitation. It soars high on wings of hope, it aches with the intensity of your yearning.
<<if $chapt1_3_arthur == "hope" or $chapt1_3_arthur == "confused">>
It's everything you've ever wanted since you were a small child, hoping against hope in the depths of your heart that mother was wrong about him. That Merlin had not blackened his heart against you, and that maybe one day he could be the father you've always longed for.
<<else>>
Even as a little child angered by his absence, a part of you wondered if the same man who caused your wounds may soothe them, not quite daring to hope lest it deepened your suffering. Mother told you Merlin had blackened his heart against you, and so what hope was there to be?
<</if>>
And while Merlin did not succeed in turning Arthur against you, he's still plagued by doubts. Poisoined by words of a ruinous prophecy, hindered by shame. There is a certain hesitance in everything he does. A hesitance to act like a king, a hesitance to act like a father, a hesitance to acknowledge you and your brother as family like he acknowledges Gawain.
Indeed, perhaps mother was right about one thing when she called him a weak coward, as harsh as the words are. He didn't stand up for Accolon when he needed him to - when //you// needed him to. And you if you agree to his invitation, it will be done in secrecy. It's a thought that stings like no other, and yet you're not sure you'll ever get anything better out of him.
"I don't know," you say, because you truly don't. Your chest constricts and your face is twisted in a troubled frown, as his is in a pained one. "It's still hard...I'm still upset for your inaction, when Lancelot attacked Accolon."
"I understand," he replies, voice catching. "Whatever you think is best."
<div class="choice">[[You're too hurt right now. "I think you should leave."|Chapt3ArthurGo1.1][$chapt3_go_arthur to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're hurt, but you want this. "Fine. I'll go with you."|Chapt3ArthurGo1.1][$chapt3_go_arthur to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_go_arthur == 13>>
"Wait." The word leaves you before you can stop yourself, welling up from a part of you that yearns for him to stay, the desire painful in its intensity.
<<if $chapt1_3_arthur == "hope" or $chapt1_3_arthur == "confused">>
His affection and attention are everything you've ever wanted since you were a small child, hoping against hope in the depths of your heart that mother was wrong about him. That Merlin had not blackened his heart against you, and that maybe one day he could be the father you've always longed for.
<<else>>
Even as a little child angered by his absence, a part of you wondered if the same man who caused your wounds may soothe them, not quite daring to hope lest it deepened your suffering. Mother told you Merlin had blackened his heart against you, and so what hope was there to be?
<</if>>
And while Merlin did not succeed in turning Arthur against you, he's still plagued by doubts. Poisoined by words of a ruinous prophecy, hindered by shame. There is a certain hesitance in everything he does. A hesitance to act like a king, a hesitance to act like a father, a hesitance to acknowledge you and your brother as family like he acknowledges Gawain.
Indeed, perhaps mother was right about one thing when she called him a weak coward, as harsh as the words are. He didn't stand up for Accolon when he needed him to - when //you// needed him to. And you if you ask for his company, it will be done in secrecy. It's a thought that stings like no other, and yet you're not sure you'll ever get anything better out of him.
"Yes?" Arthur prompts you, hope rekindled in his eyes.
<div class="choice">[[You're too hurt right now. "I think you should leave."|Chapt3ArthurGo1.1][$chapt3_go_arthur to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're hurt, but you want this. "Will you stay with me?"|Chapt3ArthurGo1.1][$chapt3_go_arthur to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_alina1 == 1>>
A warm smile curls your lips and reaches your eyes, gleaming. "Thank you. I don't know if it'll make her stop, but thanks for at least intervening."
That concerned furrow creases his brow again. "I'll make sure she doesn't, Mordred. This is unacceptable."
<<elseif $chapt3_alina1 == 2>>
You cross your arms, loathe to thank him, like Alina was to apologize. Yet he did intervene, and he did make a promise to further deal with the issue. "Thank you. Though I don't know if it'll make her stop."
That concerned furrow creases his brow again. "I'll make sure she doesn't, Mordred. This is unacceptable."
<<elseif $chapt3_alina1 == 3>>
You cross your arms, setting your jaw. "I didn't need your help."
His shoulders slump, but it's concern more than sorrow that furrows his brow. "This is unacceptable, Mordred. I'll make sure she stops."
<<elseif $chapt3_alina1 == 4>>
Gratitude blooms in your chest, warm and fuzzy like the sun coming out of the clouds after a storm. Yet that light does not reach your eyes, your lips pulled in a grim line. For this is most likely just a respite, a balm that soothes the pain but doesn't treat the infection. "Thank you. Though I don't suppose it'll prevent her from doing it again."
That concerned furrow creases his brow again. "I'll make sure she doesn't, Mordred. This is unacceptable."
<<elseif $chapt3_alina1 == 5>>
Gratitude blooms in you, tentative and hopeful like the sight of the first snowdrops, heralding a new season. Of all people, you would have never expected Arthur to be your savior, and you do not take his aid lightly, nor his promise of further intervention. It's deserving of recognition, particularly if the man follows up on it. And you wish to let him know that, wish to have your appreciation spoken. Your lips start to form around words, yet they fade on your tongue, dissolving in the sudden bile that's risen up your throat, as bitter as your thoughts have turned as an image jumps to the forefront of your mind. No, you wouldn't have expected Arthur to be the one to sweep in and put an end to Alina's vicious harrasment. He's given you no reason to think so. Accolon bears the sore marks that can attest to that - for Arthur stood and watched as Lancelot dealt blow after blow. Sitting as if the same crown that would have given him the authority to intervene - that gave him the authority to help you now - was too heavy a weight for him to get up. The memory is still clear and raw.
Whatever warm feelings may have bloomed freeze and wither away in the face of wintry resentment. Biting and hurt, bleeding into your quiet voice. "Thank you, for whatever it's worth. I don't know if it'll make her stop though."
That concerned furrow creases his brow again. "I'll make sure she doesn't, Mordred. This is unacceptable."
<<elseif $chapt3_alina1 == 6>>
"Thank you," you say, stiffly. It was the least he could do; you're not going to prostrate yourself simply because he did the right thing for once. "Though I don't know if it'll make her stop."
That concerned furrow creases his brow again. "I'll make sure she doesn't, Mordred. This is unacceptable."
<</if>>
The flute music picks up again, high and light like the warbling of birds. Around you people flow to and fro, their gazes washing over you like a stream over rocks.
"Is this..." Arthur hesitates. Almost as if he fears the answer. "Is this a common occurance then?"
You pull at the cordon of your shirt, words bitter. "Welcome to my life."
"I would have thought Morgana might have done-" he catches himself, realizing the implication it carries, given Morgana's act of retribution. "I don't mean anything-Well," he stumbles again, and you shake your head.
"She can't constantly threaten people," - or poison them - "and expect to stay at court." Morgana once said, as she was dressing one of your cuts, grace of Alina's rough sparring, that she'd smite the whole of Lothia if she could. The fire in the hearth then cracked and rose, licking hungrily at the mantlepiece. Restless to get out. Restless to consume everything in its wake.
<<if $eye == "amber">>
Her eyes captured the seething flames, making them shine menacingly. Their amber already looks so much like embers, waiting to be stoked. Threatening to explode.
<<elseif $eye == "gray">>
Her eyes captured the seething flames, making them shine menacingly. Gray is a cool color, but not on your mother's face - on hers, it's heated metal. Touch it and you'll burn yourself.
<<else>>
Her eyes captured the seething flames, making their $eye shine menacingly.
<</if>>
"And Alina's a Solomon," you continue. "No matter how many times mother has talked with her moms, Alina's been given a stern talk, left me alone for a while, then got back at it."
Alina's not foolish enough to cross certain lines, anyway. She hurls insults your way, yes. She jostles you out of her way, gets all up in your face. Uses your sparring sessions to take out her anger on you. //She didn't realize she was putting so much force behind her strike.// But always toes the line, always stops before raising her hand at you. Toeing the line of what she can do until your families jump at each other's throat. But if Morgana couldn't get a resolution, perhaps a King could yield better results. At least he has the power of dangling knighthood above Alina's head. Thinking back on Arthur's little speech, there are two words that have carved themselves in your mind.
<div class="choice">[[You sigh. "I wish you would have done the same for Accolon. Stop the trial like you stood up for me now. Why didn't you?"|Chapt3ArthurLecture1][$chapt3_arthur_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Knightly behavior," you snort. "You didn't have any problems with Lancelot attacking Accolon though."|Chapt3ArthurLecture1][$chapt3_arthur_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't say anything.|Chapt3ArthurLecture1][$chapt3_arthur_why to 3]]</div><<if $lute == "yes">>
"I like playing the lute."
"I'd like to hear you play me a tune."
<<elseif $lute == "yes" and $music == "yes">>
"I like playing the lute and composing music."
"I'd like to hear you play a tune you composed."
<<elseif $write == "yes">>
"I enjoy writing stories."
"I'd like to read one of your stories, if you're willing to share."
<<elseif $draw == "yes">>
"I enjoy drawing, too."
"I'd like to see your drawings, if you're willing to share."
<<elseif $read == "yes">>
"Oh, what books? Perhaps I could send you some, and maybe you have some reading recommendations for me."
<</if>>
The river gurgles ahead of you, its calmly flowing water glistening through the trees. You settle down on the strip of land between the woods and the stream; it's much narrower than where you usually go with $dragon_name, and the river bank is lower here too. If you lean to the side and reach out your arm, your fingers would be dipping in the cool water.
"I've always wondered," Arthur starts, watching you with a twinkle in his eyes. It reminds you of Morgana when she receives a new batch of potions or newly printed magic tomes, looking at you like you're some wondrous, curious thing. "What does it feel like, the magic from your Le Fay blood compared to the Pendragon one? When you use fire, I mean."
Morgana asked you the same, once. //How different is it? Can you even feel a difference?//
They're intertwined, yet still distinct, both of them just as much a part of yourself. "My Le Fay magic feels like it comes from both within and without me." You flex your fingers as you test the sensation in your hands, inviting that familiar tingle to ignite in your fingertips and spread till it envelops your palm. Fire brimming just beneath the skin and in the air around it; you feel it deep inside you, like a smoldering flame waiting to be fanned. "But it feels somewhat different, the Pendragon magic. It feels like it comes solely from within me." You let the buzzing ebb away; it leaves your hand feeling strangely naked.
"Yes, that's what it feels like, the Pendragon fire," Arthur agrees, softness setting into his features as he regards you. It occurs to you this is the first time he has met someone like him - the first time you met someone like you.
"It still feels linked to my emotions, the way my affinity is," you continue casually even as warmth pools in your chest.
"I suppose you don't need any pointers in this department, then? It sounds like something Morgana could quite easily cover."
"I suppose," you agree, calling once again upon the prickling in your skin. This time you let it turn into a little flame to dance in the palm of your hand to a soundless tune.
Arthur watches it. Then he extends his own hand and conjures a flame of his own. "Can you pass it to your other hand?"
"Of course!" You demonstrate just so, flicking your wrist to send the fire bouncing against your other palm, where it flickers excitedly.
Arthur nods, satisfied. "You've got nice control. Though I'm not sure if it's due to you being a dragon blood or sorcerer."
You shrug, making the flame crawl up to the tip of your index. You spin it, tracing a small, fiery whirwind through the air. "Perhaps it's both."
Arthur keeps his eyes on it, but his attention seems drawn inwards, to some inner rumination. When his gaze flits back to yours, his face is lit up by playful anticipation, like a kitten whose spotted an unattended dish. "How about shaping fire into stories, the way dragons do?"
What Arthur refers to is an integral part of dragon culture, a particularity of their magic: fire storytelling, willing figures and scenery out of flames, sometimes to accompany the speaker's words, other times to tell the story all on their own.
You've attempted it before, of course you have. The first time Morgana and Accolon took you to see such a performance was in Avalon. You were entranced and couldn't stop thinking and talking about it for days. You've tried to recreate what you've seen, to results beyond disappointing - hazardous even. You've managed to set the curtain on fire and Morgana had to douse it with water. You weren't deterred by your failure though. You've made an attempt yet again in Lothia, taking all the necessary precations, including doing it near the river. The outcome was less dangerous but not much less pathetic. Luckily, only $dragon_name was there to witness it, and $dragon_he will tease you about it every now and then; $dragon_his own attempts are more successful as well, a fact $dragon_he likes to remind you. You can't blame $dragon_him for it, though. You were filled with pride for $dragon_name as you watched the fire take shape, however rough and flickering.
"I'm learning," you say, just a tad defensive, the memory of your failures sore on your mind. "Can you do it?"
"Yes. Well, it's not as masterful and intricate as the craft of professional dragon performers," he explains sheepishly, "but I can do it."
You lean forward, propping your chin in your hands. "Show me."
Arthur gives an obliging nod. He closes his palm against the flame that was still blazing on and takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the feat. He holds out both hands, palms facing each other, a flame cradled in the space between them, suspended in the air. His fingers move as if he were molding clay - instead he's giving shape to the fire, turning it from a sizzling mass whose seams kept extended and shirking like the tide comes and goes, into the silhouette of a dragon. Their wings are outstretched as if it hovers midflight and its mouth open, spewing fire.
You give him an impressed round of applause and he laughs, the sound ringing merrily. He clasps his hands, snuffing out the fire.
Arthur flexes his fingers, considering them with a smile before glancing back up at you. "What about your connection to your dragon?"
"Strong," you say, a smile curling your lips. "Accolon has been helping us. He may not be a dragon blood, but he's read up on our powers and he's a patient teacher."
"I'm glad." There's a trace of wistfulness to his tone, an unsaid yearning brewing under the surface that's not hard to guess at - //he wishes it were him who tutored you//.
"It seems you've got it all covered up. I didn't have a dragon blood to guide me, either." His gaze flits down to his lap, where his fingers tug at a corner of his tunic. "Just me and Elewen, learning from books and scrolls. We did receive lots of encouragement from our families, and that counts too, of course. Then when I became King, Merlin started lending me help, enlisting the support of dragons to tutor us." He looks up, bright determination steels his $eye eyes. "This is a great opportunity for the both of us, as dragon bloods. "So ask whatever you wish."
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood>>The river gurgles ahead of you, its calmly flowing water glistening through the trees. You settle down on the strip of land between the woods and the stream; it's much narrower than where you usually go with $dragon_name, and the river bank is lower here too. If you lean to the side and reach out your arm, your fingers would be dipping in the cool water.
"I've always wondered," Arthur starts, watching you with a twinkle in his eyes. It reminds you of Morgana when she receives a new batch of potions or newly printed magic tomes, looking at you like you're some wondrous, curious thing. "What does it feel like, the magic from your Le Fay blood compared to the Pendragon one? When you use fire, I mean."
Morgana asked you the same, once. //How different is it? Can you even feel a difference?//
They're intertwined, yet still distinct, both of them just as much a part of yourself. "My Le Fay magic feels like it comes from both within and without me." You flex your fingers as you test the sensation in your hands, inviting that familiar tingle to ignite in your fingertips and spread till it envelops your palm. Fire brimming just beneath the skin and in the air around it; you feel it deep inside you, like a smoldering flame waiting to be fanned. "But it feels somewhat different, the Pendragon magic. It feels like it comes solely from within me." You let the buzzing ebb away; it leaves your hand feeling strangely naked.
"Yes, that's what if feels like, the Pendragon fire," Arthur agrees, softness setting into his features as he regards you. It occurs to you this is the first time he has met someone like him - the first time you met someone like you.
"It still feels linked to my emotions, the way my affinity is," you continue casually even as warmth pools in your chest.
"I suppose you don't need any pointers in this department, then? It sounds like something Morgana could quite easily cover."
"I suppose," you agree, calling once again upon the prickling in your skin. This time you let it turn into a little flame to dance in the palm of your hand to a soundless tune.
Arthur watches it. Then he extends his own hand and conjures a flame of his own. "Can you pass it to your other hand?"
"Of course!" You demonstrate just so, flicking your wrist to send the fire bouncing against your other palm, where it flickers excitedly.
Arthur nods, satisfied. "You've got nice control. Though I'm not sure if it's due to you being a dragon blood or sorcerer."
You shrug, making the flame crawl up to the tip of your index. You spin it, tracing a small, fiery whirwind through the air. "Perhaps it's both."
Arthur keeps his eyes on it, but his attention seems drawn inwards, to some inner rumination. When his gaze flits back to yours, his face is lit up by playful anticipation, like a kitten whose spotted an unattended dish. "How about shaping fire into stories, the way dragons do?"
What Arthur refers to is an integral part of dragon culture, a particularity of their magic: fire storytelling, willing figures and scenery out of flames, sometimes to accompany the speaker's words, other times to tell the story all on their own.
You've attempted it before, of course you have. The first time Morgana and Accolon took you to see such a performance was in Avalon. You were entranced and couldn't stop thinking and talking about it for days. You've tried to recreate what you've seen, to results beyond disappointing - hazardous even. You've managed to set the curtain on fire and Morgana had to douse it with water. You weren't deterred by your failure though. You've made an attempt yet again in Lothia, taking all the necessary precations, including doing it near the river. The outcome was less dangerous but not much less pathetic. Luckily, only $dragon_name was there to witness it, and $dragon_he will tease you about it every now and then; $dragon_his own attempts are more successful as well, a fact $dragon_he likes to remind you. You can't blame $dragon_him for it, thought. You're filled with pride for $dragon_name as you watch the fire take shape, however rough and flickering.
"I'm learning," you say, just a tad defensive, the memory of your failures sore on your mind. "Can you do it?"
"Yes. Well, it's not as masterful and intricate as the craft of professional dragon performers," he explains sheepishly, "but I can do it."
You lean forward, propping your chin in your hands. "Show me."
Arthur gives an obliging nod. He closes his palm against the flame that was still blazing on and takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the feat. He holds out both hands, palms facing each other, a flame cradled in the space between them, suspended in the air. His fingers move as if he were molding clay - instead he's giving shape to the fire, turning it from a sizzling mass whose seams kept extended and shirking like the tide comes and goes, into the silhouette of a dragon. Their wings are outstretched as if it hovers midflight and its mouth open, spewing fire.
You give him an impressed round of applause and he laughs, the sound ringing merrily. He clasps his hands, snuffing out the fire.
Arthur flexes his fingers, considering them with a smile before glancing back up at you. "What about your connection to your dragon?"
"Strong," you say, a smile curling your lips. "Accolon has been helping us. He may not be a dragon blood, but he's read up on our powers and he's a patient teacher."
"I'm glad." There's a trace of wistfulness to his tone, an unsaid yearning brewing under the surface that's not hard to guess at - //he wishes it were him who tutored you//.
"It seems you've got it all covered up. I didn't have a dragon blood to guide me, either." His gaze flits down to his lap, where his fingers tug at a corner of his tunic. "Just me and Elewen, learning from books and scrolls. We did receive lots of encouragement from our families, and that counts too, of course. Then when I became King, Merlin started lending me help, enlisting the support of dragons to tutor us." He looks up, bright determination steels his $eye eyes. "This is a great opportunity for the both of us, as dragon bloods. "So ask whatever you wish."
<<include Chapt3ArthurDragonBlood>><<if $chapt3_arthur_why == 1>>
You sigh, and it rattles your whole frame. "I just...I just wish you would have done the same for Accolon. Stop the trial like you stood up for me now." You meet his gaze, pained. "Why didn't you?"
You find his expression mirrors your own. "I just...I just froze, Mordred. I'm so sorry. I know it's not an excuse." He lowers his head, casting his eyes down on his wringing hands. "I had a talk with Lancelot, after the duel. Well, it was more of a fight." He bites his lip, teeth dragging slowly over it as his conflicted frown deepens. "We don't usually fight. Yes, we do have arguments but this time I...I couldn't believe what he's done." He glances at you. "How is Sir Accolon?"
"Recovering," you reply. You've stopped by Morgana's chamber in the morning, timing your visit with Robin's arrival to hear the results of the examination. The healer assured you all Accolon is continuing to recover well, but they strongly recommend rest. They conceded Accolon could join the festivities in the evening, however.
<<elseif $chapt3_arthur_why == 2>>
"Knightly behavior," you snort. "You didn't have any problems with Lancelot attacking Accolon, though." You meet his gaze, your own accusatory. "You didn't stop him, either. I suppose it's a lot easier to tell off a child than someone your age."
He looks pained. "I just...I just froze, Mordred. I'm so sorry. I know it's not an excuse." He lowers his head, casting his eyes down on his wringing hands. "I had a talk with Lancelot, after the duel. Well, it was more of a fight." He bites his lip, teeth dragging slowly over it as his conflicted frown deepens. "We don't usually fight. Yes, we do have arguments but this time I...I couldn't believe what he's done." He glances at you. "How is Sir Accolon?"
"Recovering," you reply curtly. You've stopped by Morgana's chamber in the morning, timing your visit with Robin's arrival to hear the results of the examination. The healer assured you all Accolon is continuing to recover well, but they strongly recommend rest. They conceded Accolon could join the festivities in the evening, however.
<<else>>
"I'm sorry," Arthur says, voice tight and brow pinched. "I'm sorry I couldn't do the same for Accolon, back during the duel. I just...I just froze, Mordred. I'm so sorry. I know it's not an excuse." He lowers his head, casting his eyes down on his wringing hands. "I had a talk with Lancelot, after the duel. Well, it was more of a fight." He bites his lip, teeth dragging slowly over it as his conflicted frown deepens. "We don't usually fight. Yes, we do have arguments but this time I...I couldn't believe what he's done." He glances at you. "How is Sir Accolon?"
"Recovering," you reply. You've stopped by Morgana's chamber in the morning, timing your visit with Robin's arrival to hear the results of the examination. The healer assured you all Accolon is continuing to recover well, but they strongly recommend rest. They conceded Accolon could join the festivities in the evening, however.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt1_3_arthur == "hope">>
Arthur shifts, and you feel like there's something he's trying to get out. Words on the tip of his tongue, you reckon by the way his mouth parts slightly before closing again. Words he seems too nervous to give sound to. He shifts again. "I wanted to ask you if you'd like to spend some time together. We could catch up...Maybe I could give you some pointers, since we're both..." His eyes are brimming with hope.
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, I'd love that.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'd like that, but I'm worried...if Lancelot finds out again.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." You hesitate. You're still uset about what happened to Accolon.|Chapt3ArthurGo1][$chapt3_go_arthur to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt1_3_arthur == "anguish" or $chapt1_3_arthur == "confused">>
Arthur shifts, and you feel like there's something he's trying to get out. Words on the tip of his tongue, you reckon by the way his mouth parts slightly before closing again. Words he seems too nervous to give sound to. He shifts again. "I wanted to ask you if you'd like to spend some time together. We could catch up...Maybe I could give you some pointers, since we're both..." His eyes gleam with guarded hope.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, I'd love that.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'd like that, but I'm worried...if Lancelot finds out again.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." You hesitate. You're still upset about what happened to Accolon.|Chapt3ArthurGo1][$chapt3_go_arthur to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, I'd love that.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'd like that, but I'm worried...if Lancelot finds out again.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to say yes, but you're afraid you'll only hurt yourself more. You shake your head in refusal.|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." You hesitate. You're still upset about what happened to Accolon.|Chapt3ArthurGo1][$chapt3_go_arthur to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "indifference">>
<div class="choice">[["\"Fine, but just because you're the only one...like me. And I have questions.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I think you should leave.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate">>
<div class="choice">[["\"Fine, but just because you're the only one...like me. And I have questions.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I think you should leave.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I don't want anything to do with you.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 6]]</div>
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt1_3_arthur == "awful">>
Arthur shifts, and you feel like there's something he wishes to say, but hesitates. He shifts again. "I suppose I should leave you then." He says the words, but he doesn't move. His eyes stay on you, watching you intently, trying to mask that faint hope that you may stop him, that arises in spite of everything.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
<div class="choice">[["Wait...you don't have to." You do want to spend some time with him.|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Wait...You don't have to. But I'm also worried." Worried if Lancelot finds out again.|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to tell him to stay, but you're afraid you'll only hurt yourself more. "You should go."|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Wait..." You hesitate. You're still upset about what happened to Accolon, yet a part of you wishes he'd stay.|Chapt3ArthurGo1][$chapt3_go_arthur to 13]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "indifference">>
<div class="choice">[["You should", you agree firmly.|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Wait. You're the only one...like me. And I have questions.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 11]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate">>
<div class="choice">[["You should", you agree firmly.|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Wait. You're the only one...like me. And I have questions.\""|Chapt3ArthurGo][$chapt3_go_arthur to 11]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>><<if $morgana_wood2 == 1>>
"Yes, let's go!" You're reminded of the multitude of stalls, of rows upon rows of cakes and biscuits and pastries and the mouth-watering aromas that swarmed you. "Can we get some sweets too?"
Morgana chuckles. "Of course, anything you want. I'm craving something sweet myself, actually."
<<include Chapter3MorganaTalkToFairTrain>>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 2>>
Betrayal over them not disclosing the prophecy to you still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind; it's an open wound you're still tending to. You're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGo1][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mom, I just need some space. Please."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairNo1][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 3>>
Betrayal over them not disclosing the prophecy to you still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind, joined by the hurt inflicted by her choice to disregard you and talk with Arthur behind your back; it all amounts to an open wound you're still tending to. You're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGo1][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mom, I just need some space. Please."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairNo1][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 4>>
Betrayal over her choice to talk with Arthur behind your back, disregarding you in the process, still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind; it's an open wound you're still tending to. You're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGo1][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Mom, I just need some space. Please.\""|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairNo1][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_wood2 == 1>>
"Yes, let's go!" You're reminded of the multitude of stalls, of rows upon rows of cakes and biscuits and pastries and the mouth-watering aromas that swarmed you. "Can we get some sweets too?"
Morgana chuckles. "Of course, anything you want. I'm craving something sweet myself, actually."
<<include Chapter3MorganaTalkToFair>>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 2>>
Betrayal over them not disclosing the prophecy to you still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind; it's an open wound you're still tending to. You're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGo][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mom, I just need some space. Please."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairNo][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 3>>
Betrayal over them not disclosing the prophecy to you still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind, joined by the hurt inflicted by her choice to disregard your desires and talk with Arthur behind your back; it all amounts to an open wound you're still tending to. And even though she's changed her stance, you're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGo][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mom, I just need some space. Please."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairNo][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 4>>
Betrayal over her choice to talk with Arthur behind your back and disregard your desire to connect with him still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind; it's an open wound you're still tending to. And even though she's changed her stance, you're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGo][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mom, I just need some space. Please."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairNo][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_gally_talk == 1 and $gally_river == "charm_good">>
"It's alright, mom. I'm making good work on turning him around."
Morgana's lips twitch, fighting back a smile; it's a battle quickly lost to chuckling. It rings both amused and surprised, as if you've told her a very improbable yet very entertaining tale. "Lancelot's son, actually liking you; oh, that'd be revenge on its own." She shakes her head. As she does, her laughter dissipates like mist in the wind. When she looks back at you, the mirth is utterly gone. "But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
"But isn't there merit in trying to get him to be more favorable?" you suggest.
She daintily wipes at the corner of her mouth with her fingers. "Could be, but he seems as stubborn as his father."
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 1 and $gally_river == "friend_good">>
"It's alright, mom. I'm making progress changing his opinion on me. I hope we can become friends at some point."
Morgana's lips twitch, fighting back a smile; it's a battle quickly lost to chuckling. It rings both amused and surprised, as if you've told her a very improbable yet very entertaining tale. "Lancelot's son, actually liking you; oh, that'd be revenge on its own." She shakes her head. As she does, her laughter dissipates like mist in the wind. When she looks back at you, the mirth is utterly gone. "But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
"I've seen glimpses underneath that ice armor of his, mother. He seems so different. And I truly think I've managed to reach him, if only a bit."
Morgana regards you. "There could be merit in the idea...But it's too risky. I don't like or trust Galahad."
<<if $defiant >= 50>>
"Whatever," you roll your eyes. She can say whatever she wants and you'll do as you wish.
She looks at you askew. "I don't like the sound of that, Mordred," her voice carries a warning but you just shrug it off.
<<else>>
You bite your tongue; you know how stubborn she gets on the topic.
<</if>>
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 2>>
"Yes," you admit and don't elaborate. Morgana munches on the pastry, studying your face, waiting; you chew on a particularly chewy toffee in return, matching her gaze till she finally relents that's all you're willing to say.
She, however, has something to add: "Lancelot's son, actually liking you, that'd be revenge on its own. But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 3 and $gally_river == "charm_good">>
"It's alright, mom. I'm still working on turning him around."
Morgana's lips twitch, fighting back a smile; it's a battle quickly lost to chuckling. It rings both amused and surprised, as if you've told her a very improbable yet very entertaining tale. "Lancelot's son, actually liking you; oh, that'd be revenge on its own." She shakes her head. As she does, her laughter dissipates like mist in the wind. When she looks back at you, the mirth is utterly gone. "But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
"But isn't there merit in trying to get him to be more favorable?" you suggest.
She daintily wipes at the corner of her mouth with her fingers. "Could be, but he seems as stubborn as his father."
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 3 and $gally_river == "friend_good">>
"It's alright, mom. I'm still working on changing his opinion of me. I hope we can become friends at some point."
Morgana's lips twitch, fighting back a smile; it's a battle quickly lost to chuckling. It rings both amused and surprised, as if you've told her a very improbable yet very entertaining tale. "Lancelot's son, actually liking you; oh, that'd be revenge on its own." She shakes her head. As she does, her laughter dissipates like mist in the wind. When she looks back at you, the mirth is utterly gone. "But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
"But what if I could to reach him?"
Morgana regards you. "There could be merit in the idea...But it's too risky. I don't like or trust Galahad."
<<if $defiant >= 50>>
"Whatever," you roll your eyes. She can say whatever she wants and you'll do as you wish.
"I don't like the sound of that, Mordred," her voice carries a warning but you just shrug.
<<else>>
You bite your tongue; you know how stubborn she gets on the topic.
<</if>>
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 4>>
"Yes," you admit and don't elaborate. Morgana munches on the pastry, studying your face, waiting; you chew on a particularly chewy toffee in return, matching her gaze till she finally relents that's all you're willing to say.
She, however, has something to add: "Lancelot's son, actually liking you, that'd be revenge on its own. But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 5>>
"Yes..." Morgana promptly catches onto your hesitance.
"Is it not working out?"
"Not as well as I'd hoped."
Morgana smiles. "It's for the best, Mordred. Lancelot's son, actually liking you; oh, that'd be revenge on its own. But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 6 and $gally_river == "charm_good">>
"A bit," you admit. "But I'm doing my best to change his opinion of me."
Morgana's lips twitch, fighting back a smile; it's a battle quickly lost to chuckling. It rings both amused and surprised, as if you've told her a very improbable yet very entertaining tale. "Lancelot's son, actually liking you; oh, that'd be revenge on its own." She shakes her head. As she does, her laughter dissipates like mist in the wind. When she looks back at you, the mirth is utterly gone. "But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
"But isn't there merit in trying to get him to be more favorable?" you suggest.
She daintily wipes at the corner of her mouth with her fingers. "Could be, but he seems as stubborn as his father."
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 6 and $gally_river == "friend_good">>
"A bit," you admit. "But I'm doing my best to change his opinion of me."
Morgana's lips twitch, fighting back a smile; it's a battle quickly lost to chuckling. It rings both amused and surprised, as if you've told her a very improbable yet very entertaining tale. "Lancelot's son, actually liking you; oh, that'd be revenge on its own." She shakes her head. As she does, her laughter dissipates like mist in the wind. When she looks back at you, the mirth is utterly gone. "But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
"But what if I could to reach him?"
Morgana regards you. "There could be merit in the idea...But it's too risky. I don't like or trust Galahad."
<<if $defiant >= 50>>
"Whatever," you roll your eyes. She can say whatever she wants and you'll do as you wish.
"I don't like the sound of that, Mordred," her voice carries a warning but you just shrug.
<<else>>
You bite your tongue; you know how stubborn she gets on the topic.
<</if>>
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 7>>
"A bit," you admit, leaving out your ambitious plan of changing Galahad's opinion of you.
Morgana nods as if she didn't expect anything to the contrary. "Just avoid him. Or reply in kind." You too did not expect a different piece of advice from her.
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 8>>
"It's alright, mom. I'm making good work on turning him around."
Morgana's lips twitch, fighting back a smile; it's a battle quickly lost to chuckling. It rings both amused and surprised, as if you've told her a very improbable yet very entertaining tale. "Lancelot's son, actually liking you; oh, that'd be revenge on its own." She shakes her head. As she does, her laughter dissipates like mist in the wind. When she looks back at you, the mirth is utterly gone. "But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
"But wouldn't it be good, to have him think better of me?" you suggest.
She daintily wipes at the corner of her mouth with her fingers. "Could be, but he seems as stubborn as his father."
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 9>>
"Yes," you admit and don't elaborate. Morgana munches on the pastry, studying your face, waiting; you chew on a particularly chewy toffee in return, matching her gaze till she finally relents that's all you're willing to say.
She, however, has something to add: "Lancelot's son, actually liking you, that'd be revenge on its own. But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
<<elseif $morgana_gally_talk == 10>>
"Yes..." Morgana promptly catches onto your hesitance.
"Is it not working out?" she asks, and you shrug. "It's for the best, Mordred. Lancelot's son, actually liking you; oh, that'd be revenge on its own. But there are better ways of taking revenge on Lancelot than this. That boy is not worth the trouble, Mordred."
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3_gender_talk is true>>
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaGenderTalk]]
<<elseif $trans_count >= 2>>
<div class="choice">[[Continue munching on your treats.|Chapt3MorganaFireShow]]</div>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[["There's something I wanted to talk to you, actually," you say after a pause. You want to tell her about how son doesn't seem adequate.|Chapt3GenderTalk1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">> <div class="choice">[["There's something I wanted to talk to you, actually," you say after a pause. You want to tell her about how daughter doesn't seem adequate.|Chapt3GenderTalk2]]</div><</if>>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaFireShow]]
<</if>>A wave of riotous laughter surfs a nearby crowd as the performer on stage stumbles, somersaults and jumps to their feet, holding up their hands victoriously at escaping the attack of highwaymen, who look on beffudled at the empty space among them.
"What about Galahad? He follows Gawain around like a shadow," she considers the crescent pastry held between index and thumb. "Or like a good little dog. Reminds me of his father."
<<if $told_accolon_gally == 3>>
She looks at you. "Accolon told me he's been causing you strife. But that you've made up your mind about getting him to like you."
<<if $gally_river == "friend_good" or $gally_river == "charm_good">>
Indeed, you said so; and after your chance encounter yesterday, you're confident you're on the right track.
<div class="choice">[["Yes, and I've made progress on that."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you admit but don't elaborate.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "friend" or $gally_river == "charm">>
Indeed, you said so, but in the wake of your chance encounter, you've been left with a bitter taste of defeat.
<div class="choice">[["Yes, and I'm still working on it."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you admit but don't elaborate.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes..." You're not quite that sure anymore.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "confront">>
When you encountered Galahad at the river, you've decided to confront him regarding his behaviour towards you; you're not sure how conductive it's actually been towards changing his opinion on you for the better, however.
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I still want to change his mind about me. "|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you say and don't elaborate.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, I'm trying," you say, convinction a bit shaken. |Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 10]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "spite">>
When you encountered Galahad at the river, you've decided to spite him with your mere presence, forgoing any attempt at interacting; you're not sure how conductive it's actually been towards changing his opinion on you for the better. But he was on your spot!
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I still want to change his mind about me. "|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you say and don't elaborate.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, I'm hoping to," you say, convinction a bit shaken. |Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 10]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "stubborn">>
When you encountered Galahad at the river, you've fought with him over your spot. You're not sure how conductive it's actually been towards changing his opinion on you for the better. But it was your place! You had to at least try claiming it back for yourself.
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I still want to change his mind about me. "|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you say and don't elaborate.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, I'm hoping to," you say, convinction a bit shaken. |Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 10]]</div>
<<else>>
When you spotted Galahad at the river, you've decided to just avoid him. You wanted some time with your dragon, and didn't have the energy to deal with him and the frosty treatment he gives you.
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I still want to change his mind about me. "|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you say and don't elaborate.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, I'm hoping to," you say, convinction a bit shaken. |Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 10]]</div>
<</if>>
<<elseif $told_accolon_gally != 0>>
She looks at you. "Accolon told me he's been causing you strife."
<<if $gally_river == "spite" or $gally_river == "confront" or $gally_river == "stubborn">>
You shrug and assure her, "Nothing I can't handle."
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaFireShow]]
<<elseif $gally_river == "charm_good" or $gally_river == "friend_good">>
<div class="choice">[["A bit, but I'm making progress on changing his opinion about me."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Just a bit." Don't mention you're trying to change his mind about you.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 7]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "charm" or $gally_river == "friend">>
<div class="choice">[["A bit, but I'm working on changing his opinion about me." Mention your meeting.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Just a bit." Don't mention you're trying to change his mind about you.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 7]]</div>
<<else>>
"I'm just doing my best to avoid him, at this point."
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaFireShow]]
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Has he been troubling you?"
"Well...he //definitely// seems to have some unpleasant, preconceived idea of me," you say.
<<if $gally_river == "spite" or $gally_river == "confront" or $gally_river == "stubborn">>
You shrug and assure her, "Nothing I can't handle."
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaFireShow]]
<<elseif $gally_river == "charm_good" or $gally_river == "friend_good">>
<div class="choice">[["\"A bit, but I'm making progress on changing his opinion about me.\""|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A bit," you admit but don't mention you're trying to change his opinion of you.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 7]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "charm" or $gally_river == "friend">>
<div class="choice">[["A bit, but I'm working on changing his opinion about me."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A bit," you admit but don't mention you're trying to change his opinion of you.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGally][$morgana_gally_talk to 7]]</div>
<<else>>
"I'm just doing my best to avoid him, at this point."
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaFireShow]]
<</if>>
<</if>><<if $morgana_gawain_talk == 1>>
"Yes," you say definitively. Schooling your face, to the best of your abilities, into an image of calm, the same way you've seen her done. Letting nothing slip by.
Yet she still sees through it. Morgana chooses not to call you out on it, not by words; her smile, however, lets you know she knows.
"Alright. Just a little advice. I'm sure your //friend// would appreciate some flowers or sweets. Or a token."
"Yes," you agree, "as a //friendly// gesture."
Morgana's lips twitch with barely suppressed laughter. "What else?"
<<elseif $morgana_gawain_talk == 2>>
"Yes," you blurt out the word, as if there's a race. A race to giving yourself away, that is. Heat slithers up your neck and cradles your cheeks.
She's got your little infatuation figured out, but she chooses not to call you out on it, not by words at least; her smile, however, lets you know she knows.
"Alright. Just a little advice. I'm sure your //friend// would appreciate some flowers or sweets. Or a token."
You want to dump the contents of the sweets bag and stuff it over your head. "Yes, as a //friendly// gesture," you add, but it's not helpful at all to your cause, not in //that// nervous tone.
Morgana's lips twitch with barely suppressed laughter. "What else?"
<<elseif $morgana_gawain_talk == 3>>
"Well, I like him. Really //like// him. Any advice on how I can tell him that?" you look at Morgana. After all, despite whatever people may think of her love for Accolon, you can't deny how much they care for one another. She must know a thing or two about these matters of the heart.
"Simply saying the words would be a way," Morgana replies. She rests her knuckles against her jaw, eyes turned upwards. Not at the sky, but some inner machinations. "If you wish to be more romantic, you could buy him some flowers. And perhaps...A small token. Something that could remind him of you. Like a bracelet. Or even just a statuete. Anything you think he'd like."
<<elseif $morgana_gawain_talk == 4>>
Heat creeps up your neck, cradles your face. "Well, I like him. Really //like// him. Any advice on how I can tell him that?" You keep your eyes on your boots but your ears sharp for any incoming tips. After all, despite whatever people may think of her love for Accolon, you can't deny how much they care for one another. She must know a thing or two about these matters of the heart.
"Simply saying the words would be a way," Morgana replies, and you peek a look her way. She rests her knuckles against her jaw, eyes turned upwards. Not at the sky, but some inner machinations. "If you wish to be more romantic, you could buy him some flowers. And perhaps...A small token. Something that could remind him of you. Like a bracelet. Or even just a statuete. Anything you think he'd like."
<<elseif $morgana_gawain_talk == 5>>
"I like him. I //really// like him, but that's all. He's leaving tomorrow, so I don't plan on telling him."
"It's your choice, in the end. But you can always correspond," she offers. "If you want to tell him, don't let that stop you. Distance never stopped Accolon and I." You ruminate on her words as you chew on your sweetbread.
<<elseif $morgana_gawain_talk == 6>>
You like him more than a friend: fuzzy feeling in your chest kind of way. But you don't tell that to Morgana, chewing on your sweetbread instead.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>Oh, she's playing dirty. Her smile has now turned sweeter, sweet like honey laid out to trap unsuspecting flies. It's shrewd, the smile of one who knows they're about to get their way.
And it's absolutely working. "Fine, but I want a big bag of treats," you yield, lulled in by the tasty bribe. Flies and honey, moths and light, you and sweets, it's all the same saying.
Morgana nods, smile more smug than sweet now. Yet her eyes gleam with amusement, and not that cruel delight so at home in her gaze, but authentic happiness. "Let's go."
<<include Chapter3MorganaTalkToFair>>Oh, she's playing dirty. Her smile has now turned sweeter, sweet like honey laid out to trap unsuspecting flies. It's shrewd, the smile of one who knows they're about to get their way.
And it's absolutely working. "Fine, but I want a big bag of treats," you yield, lulled in by the tasty bribe. Flies and honey, moths and light, you and sweets, it's all the same saying.
Morgana nods, smile more smug than sweet now. Yet her eyes gleam with amusement, and not that cruel delight so at home in her gaze, but authentic happiness. "Let's go."
<<include Chapter3MorganaTalkToFairTrain>>Oh, she's playing dirty, trying to lull you in with such sweet promises. But it's not working, not now.
You bring the tip of your boot hard against the earth. "No," you shake your head. "I need some space." You meet her gaze to impress the firmness of your decision upon her. "Please, mom." It's a plea, both frustrated and tired, for her to understand.
Her smile drops, and so does the temperature. A subtle yet distinctly cool breeze sweeps around you - through the chasm between you. "Of course," she says, for a change allowing you what you want without any fuss. You can tell it's not easy for her, though; she summons a faint smile, but it doesn't hide the hurt in her eyes. "You go on ahead, then."
And you do, quickly traversing the open field to the fair, intent on going to the food stalls to get sweets on your own.
<<include Chapt3FairAlone>>Oh, she's playing dirty, trying to lull you in with such sweet promises. But it's not working, not now.
You bring the tip of your boot hard against the earth. "No," you shake your head. ", need some space." You meet her gaze to impress the firmness of your decision upon her. "Please, mom." It's a plea, both frustrated and tired, for her to understand.
Her smile drops, and so does the temperature. A subtle yet distinctly cool breeze sweeps around you - through the chasm between you. "Of course," she says, for a change allowing you what you want without any fuss. You can tell it's not easy for her, though; she summons a faint smile, but it doesn't hide the hurt in her eyes. "You go on ahead, then."
And you do, making your way quickly across the field to the fair, headed to the food stalls for some sweets.
<<include Chapt3FairAlone>><<if $morgana_wood3 == 1>>
"Thank you, I thought so myself," you reply with a shadow of a smile.
<<elseif $morgana_wood3 == 2>>
"So, does this mean you trust me and won't go behind my back? I know how adamant you are about Arthur and staying away from him, but I think I'm capable of deciding myself when I want to talk to him."
Morgana nods, conceding. "I have arrived at that conclusion myself. I'm sorry, Mordred."
<<elseif $morgana_wood3 == 3>>
You simply nod in response.
<</if>>
"Now," she adjusts her puffy sleeve which gathers at the wrist. Her dress is a vision of gauzy deep purple and lush embroidery. "I think it's time to reap the fruits of my labor and enjoy the fair. Will you join me?" She smiles, and you know it's genuine by the way it crinkles the corners of her eyes. It's so much different than all those sweet ones she fakes.
<<if $betray == "notforgive" or $betray == "willforgive">>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3ArthurMorgana1Fair][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Your fight regarding the prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3ArthurMorgana1Fair][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Your fight regarding the prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...as well as her choice to go behind your back and talk to Arthur. Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3ArthurMorgana1Fair][$morgana_wood2 to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3ArthurMorgana1Fair][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Her choice to go behind your back and talk to Arthur still hangs heavy on your mind.|Chapt3ArthurMorgana1Fair][$morgana_wood2 to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_wood == 1>>
You put yourself between Arthur and Morgana, hoping to inspire, despite your smaller frame, the same sturdy and resilient quality the gates of a Castle inspire. And, you realize, act as a shield to Arthur in the process. "I can make my own decisions, mom. And that includes talking with Arthur if I wish to. I wanted to know more about my Pendragon powers."
"I see," says Morgana, as impassively as she looks.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 2>>
You put yourself between Arthur and Morgana, hoping to inspire, despite your smaller frame, the same sturdy and resilient quality the gates of a Castle inspire. Even as your heart beats a galloping rhythm that drums in your ears like a war call. And, you realize, act as a shield to Arthur in the process. "I can make my own decisions, mom. And that includes talking with Arthur if I wish to. I wanted to know more about my Pendragon powers." Your throat is dry, your voice quives, but there's no mistaking there's a power behind the words. A will of steel.
"I see," says Morgana, as impassively as she looks.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 3>>
Morgana will brandish her ominous warnings again, thinking she's doing the best for you. You wonder if Arthur will just take it. That's what Morgana would make out of him - a spineless coward. And thinking back on that horrible, bloody duel, you're tempted to agree, yet him standing up for you today might be a flicker of more, hidding deep inside Arthur. Smoldering embers of willpower. They only need be stoked.
"Morgana," Arthur begins, "Mordred had questions about their Pendragon powers, so I merely obliged their interest. It was a learning experience for the both of us."
"I see," says Morgana, as impassively as she looks.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 4>>
You're not quite sure what Morgana will think on it. She'd most likely be split between loathing your choice of tutor and seeing the merit in seeking answers from the only other Pendragon. It's safer to come up with a lie, and fast.
"Mom, I was just taking a walk through the woods to catch a break from the festival and all those gossiping, gaping people," you appeal first and foremost to her feelings, weaving in something that's quite true. People were staring after Arthur arrived, and those two fancy nobles in the queue were talking about her. "And Arthur saw me and decided to come after me, to address what's happened this past few days."
"Really?" Morgana looks just as impassive. She's not buying it, despite how well you consider you're selling your little fiction.
Your gaze darts to Kay then. The most possible culprit for this. And your suspicions are immediately confirmed by Morgana.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 5>>
You're not quite sure what Morgana will think on it. She'd most likely be split between loathing your choice of tutor and seeing the merit in seeking answers from the only other Pendragon. It's safer to come up with a lie, and fast.
"Mother!" We were just...you see..." you rack your brain frantically, seeking for the excuse in a dissaray of thoughts like a chamber that's been ransaked. Your fingers dig into an idea but when you open your palm to regard it, it slips through like sand and you're left opening and closing your mouth, making many an articulate sounds like "umm" and "hmm" and even some intelligible yet clumsy words such as "well", "you see" and "that's". That's sure to convince her.
"Arthur got lost!" You finally grasp upon a flimsy premise, which requires a great deal of coincidence, and suspension of disbelief. "And I found him. How lucky!" Her impassive face tells you she's not impressed with your little fiction. At least you tried.
You know there's company, but you also know there's no need to hide. Morgana's told you Kay was among the people who are aware of your true heritage, who were there when you were a babe. When they tried to take you away. She specifically told you that it was him who was ordered to snatch you away from her arms, but knew better than to do that.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 6>>
You know there's company, but you also know there's no need to hide. Morgana's told you Kay was among the people who are aware of your true heritage, who were there when you were a babe. When they tried to take you away. She specifically told you that it was him who was ordered to snatch you away from her arms, but knew better than to do that.
"We were just returning to the festival. We had a little discussion about my Pendragon powers. Since he's the only one like me thought it'd be worthwhile.
"I see," says Morgana, as impassively as she looks.
<</if>>
"Well, I suppose you're all done now. If Mordred has any more questions, I'm sure ?they can reach out ?themselves. No need to further hound ?them otherwise."
"I wouldn't call it hounding," Kay pipes in with a lightness that feels acted out. "More like trying to connect with his child."
"I do believe this doesn't concern you, Sir Kay," Morgana replies, voice as smooth as a searing knife through flesh.
"Still," Kay continues, pushing himself off the tree to join your little circle. "Arthur's merely made an attempt at connecting with Mordred. Extending a hand to see if ?they was willing, understanding why ?they may not be. He knows he's been absent for long. But I hope you understand why it's been difficult for him, Morgana." There's a certain heaviness to his tone, weighting down the air between you. You're not quite sure what to make of it - does he refer to the twisted misunderstanding that has led to your conception? The threats and demands Morgana made when you were born? Both?
Morgana, however, seems to catch the meaning behind the words.
You've never seen Morgana squirm. You've seen her flooded with regret after having her angry outbursts in front of you, or the pain that creases her face when you hurt or fight; you've seen her furious aplenty, and it's an emotion that seems to almost befit her, as if her face has been specifically molded to give the most menacing of frowns. But you've never seen her squirm. She's the one to make others writhe under her gaze. Yet for just a fraction of a moment, unease descends upon her, seeps into her eyes, twists her brow, stiffens her whole frame. It's gone as quick as it came, her features schooled back into an aloof mask. If Kay notices, he chooses to ignore it.
<<if $Gawain >= 60 and $crush_gawain > 5>>
"Have a nice day," Kay inclines his head your way. "Also know that Gawain is looking forward to see you. Very much so," he adds with a wink.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
"Have a nice day," Kay inclines his head your way. "Also know that Gawain is looking forward to see you."
<<else>>
"Have a nice day," Kay inclines his head your way.
<</if>>
He suggests that Arthur and he go ahead so that your party wouldn't rouse suspicion; and with that you're left at the edge of the forest, alone with Morgana.
Finally, she sheds her stony mask, and the tenderness that now softens her features makes for a stark contrast. It renders her almost vulnerable. "I will say," she starts, "not a bad idea. Getting Arthur to answer some questions for you. It's the least he can do for you."
<div class="choice">[["Thank you."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaW][$morgana_wood3 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["So you trust me and won't go behind my back, right? I know you're very adamant about Arthur, but it's up to me too, what I do."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaW][$morgana_wood3 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You simply nod.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaW][$morgana_wood3 to 3]]</div><<if $morgana_wood2 == 1>>
Just a couple days ago, mother was so stubbornly rooted against you being around Arthur, that there was little hope to convincing her otherwise; or at the very least, little hope to do so easily. This change of heart has taken you by surprise - the same surprise a lost man has when he stumbles out of the thick of the forest to encouter friendly travelers, with wine for his parched throat and food for his rumbling stomach. So you feel yourself soothed and seen and understood.
"Thank you," you say, each word emphasized. "Thank you for finally understanding."
"As I said. I'm doing this for you, not Arthur. I understand now how much you want this. So I'm willing to compromise for you. Because I don't want to fight you, Mordred." There's a trace of sadness in her voice, echoed in the soft, doleful rustling of leaves.
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 2>>
Just a couple days ago, it had felt as if you were banging your naked fists against the locked gates of a castle with no hopes of getting in. She was stubbornly unmoving to your plea but now it seems she's had a sudden change of heart. And while you're happy that your fighting is over, you can't help but feel a whiff of bitterness at even having to have fought so hard over a matter that should have been easily resolved. You have every right to want to know the man who sired you.
"I'm glad you finally decided to listen to me," you say because you are. But there's a tinge of exasperation in your tone, too, that you don't bother hiding.
"I understand now how much you want this. So I'm willing to compromise for you. Because I don't want to fight you, Mordred." There's a trace of sadness in her voice, echoed in the soft, doleful rustling of leaves.
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 3>>
This development gladdens you, but doubt cast its shadow over it; Morgana has been adamant about staying away from Arthur, yet she's suddenly changed her mind. You'd like to think that what prompted this change is her finally accepting your choice, but dark tendrils of suspicion coil around your mind, making you wonder if her reason is yet more dubious.
"Why are you doing this?" you demand of her. Searching her face for a telltale to confirm your conjecture, but you come up empty. "You don't hope to spy on Arthur through me or something, do you?"
"Oh? I didn't know your correspondence would consist of secrets of the crown," she notes lightly. "But no," she answers your question.
Morgana does on, "As I said. I'm doing this for you, not Arthur. I understand now how much you want this. So I'm willing to compromise for you. Because I don't want to fight you, Mordred." There's a trace of sadness in her voice, echoed in the soft, doleful rustling of leaves.
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 4>>
"You want this, don't you?" she asks, and you nod earnestly. You want it with all of your heart. Wounded as it may be yet still soaring with optimism. "Then yes."
"Why?" you push, not quite believing the sudden change in her. Though perhaps you shouldn't prod, lest she decides against.
"As I said. I'm doing this for you, not Arthur. I understand now how much you want this. So I'm willing to compromise for you. Because I don't want to fight you, Mordred." There's a trace of sadness in her voice, echoed in the soft, doleful rustling of leaves.
<</if>>
"Now," she adjusts her puffy sleeve which gathers at the wrist. Her dress is a vision of gauzy deep purple and lush embroidery. "I think it's time to reap the fruits of my labor and enjoy the fair. Will you join me?" She smiles, and you know it's genuine by the way it crinkles the corners of her eyes. It's so much different than all those sweet ones she fakes.
<<if $betray == "notforgive" or $betray == "willforgive">>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Your fight regarding the prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Your fight regarding the prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...as well as her choice to go behind your back and talk to Arthur, even if she did right by you eventually. Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Her choice to go behind your back and talk to Arthur still hangs heavy on your mind. Betrayal still stings. Even if she did right by you eventually.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_wood == 1>>
You put yourself between Morgana and Arthur, resolute despite your smaller frame to be the shield protecting him from her wrath. And you'll wield your words like a sword, as a knight might protect ?their King. Your first strike: reiterate to Morgana that it's your choice to be here. "I want to know Arthur better, and I want you to respect my choice."
Morgana regards you with unreadable and piercing eyes that would make others squirm and hesitate. But you keep your stance, rooted in your decision.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 2>>
You put yourself between Morgana and Arthur, resolute despite your smaller frame to be the shield protecting him from her wrath. And you'll wield your words like a sword, as a knight might protect ?their King. Even as your heart beats a galloping rhythm that drums in your ears like a war call. Your first strike: reiterate to Morgana that it's your choice to be here. "I want to know Arthur better, and I want you to respect my choice." Your throat is dry, your voice quivers, but there's no mistaking there's a power behind the words. A will of steel.
Morgana regards you with unreadable and piercing eyes that would make others squirm and hesitate. But you keep your stance, rooted in your decision.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 3>>
Morgana will brandish her ominous warnings again, thinking she's doing the best for you. But it's her who can't bear to be around Arthur, who lets the open wounds bleed and refuses any offer of stitching them up. And blinded as she is in her hatred and hurt, she can't see that this is your choice to make. That this is what you want.
You only wish Arthur would stand up to her like he stood up to Alina for you. Perhaps that way, he'd prove himself to Morgana, if only a little.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 4>>
Morgana will brandish her ominous warnings again, thinking she's doing the best for you. But it's her who can't bear to be around Arthur, who lets the open wounds bleed and refuses any offer of stitching them up. And blinded as she is in her hatred and hurt, she can't see that this is your choice to make. That this is what you want.
But you can't quite judge her as you feel dismay, bitter and biting, flood you, turning your blood to ice that freezes you to the spot. You've seen how obstinate Morgana can be - how can you ever convince her that this is what you want? If only Arthur would stand up to her like he stood up to Alina for you. Perhaps that way, he'd prove himself to Morgana, if only a little.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 5>>
Morgana can't know why you're really here; she'd never approve of it, that much she made clear yesterday. You must make this seem like a chance meeting, and do it fast.
"Mother!" We were just...you see..." you rack your brain frantically, seeking for the excuse in a dissaray of thoughts like a chamber that's been ransaked. Your fingers dig into an idea but when you open your palm to regard it, it slips through like sand and you're left opening and closing your mouth, making many an articulate sounds like "umm" and "hmm" and even some intelligible yet clumsy words such as "well", "you see" and "that's". That's sure to convince her.
"Arthur got lost!" You finally grasp upon a flimsy premise, which requires a great deal of coincidence, and suspension of disbelief. "And I found him. How lucky!" Her impassive face tells you she's not impressed with your little fiction. At least you tried.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 6>>
"We were just returning to the festival. We've met up to talk about our Pendragon powers." You know there's company, but you also know there's no need to hide. Morgana's told you Kay was among the people who are aware of your true heritage, who were there when you were a babe. When they tried to take you away. She specifically told you that it was him who was ordered to snatch you away from her arms, but knew better than to do that.
"Surely you must understand," you go on reasonably, "that I had questions that he could answer. Practice is better than just reading books, and I've never seen actual dragon blood armor before. I simply wanted some advice from someone like me."
<</if>>
"Do you truly want this?" The question is not directed at you, but Arthur. She stares at him as if she could pluck the answer out of his head herself.
Arthur rolls back his shoulders, refusing to be a willow bent in Morgana's wind. "Yes, Morgana. I want to get to know my child. I want to be in Mordred's life."
"You leave tommorrow for Camelot," she states. As if this (bigger) little detail could hinder you.
<div class="choice">[["We can write letters!" you pipe in.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWoods1][$morgana_wood1 to 1, $impulsive to $impulsive+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let Arthur reply.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWoods1][$morgana_wood1 to 2, $impulsive to $impulsive-1]]</div><<if $morgana_wood1 == 1>>
"I see no issue at all. We can correspond-"
"We can write letters!"
Your shared solution comes out at the same time, mingling in an earnest cacophony that's actually pleasant to hear. Your eyes lock, first surprised than delighted.
<<else>>
"I see no issue," Arthur says. "We can correspond." And your chest suffuses with joy at hearing the words you hoped he'd say.
He looks at you, and you look back at him, both of you battling smiles, not yet allowing yourself to celebrate this victory. Both turning on Morgana, awaiting her answer.
<</if>>
Morgana's gaze flits to you, softening for a brief moment, a momentary crack in her steel mask. "Fine. You shall correspond."
You can't believe your ears. That Morgana would relent on this topic astonishes you, despite this being what you yearned for; such was her stubborness. But more overwhelming than surprise is your glee, pouring into the shared look between you and Arthur.
"But," Morgana holds up her index. The air around you that just a second ago buzzed with excitement now seems unnaturally still. Somehow, it's even more menacing than if the wind had picked up in the usual restless chorus that accompanies Morgana's threats. "Don't you dare break Mordred's heart //again//, Arthur. I'm doing this for ?their sake. After all the hurt ?they's endured, ?they's still willing to give you a chance. So I'm willing to give you an opportunity. Don't squander it."
"Yes-I mean I won't!"
"How did you find us?" Though your question is directed at Morgana, you glance Kay's way. You can easily take a guess, but you're curious about the details. You'd think Arthur's company would prefer keeping Morgana away from Arthur. Though judging by Gawain's unexpected attitude towards you, perhaps Kay's will surprise you too.
"That would be due to me," replies Kay, pushing himself off the tree to join your little circle. "Lady Morgana asked me where to find you after she correctly deduced you were with Arthur. So I brought her here on the promise she wouldn't make any other threats, which well," he chuckles, but the sound is restrained, "wasn't honored-"
"It wasn't a threat," Morgana cuts in as smoothly as a searing knife through flesh. "It was a promise."
"Even better," Kay quips with mock brightness. "In any case, Lady Morgana, I must say I'm pleasantly surprised to see you change your stance on the matter. It's easy to see you care deeply about Mordred and I hope you'll come to see that so does Arthur. And that you'll understand his absence, given the //cause// of it." Kay puts a strange emphasis on the word //cause//. You're not quite sure what to make of it - does he refer to the twisted misunderstanding that has led to your conception? The threats and demands Morgana made when you were born? Both?
Morgana, however, seems to catch the meaning behind the word.
You've never seen Morgana squirm. You've seen her flooded with regret after having her angry outbursts in front of you, or the pain that creases her face when you hurt or fight; you've see her furious aplenty, and it's an emotion that seems to almost befit her, as if her face has been specifically molded to give the most menacing of frowns. But you've never seen her squirm. She's the one to make others writhe under her gaze. Yet for just a fraction of a moment, unease descends upon her, seeps into her eyes, twists her brow, stiffens her whole frame. It's gone as quick as it came, her features schooled back into an aloof mask. If Kay notices, he chooses to ignore it.
<<if $Gawain >= 60 and $crush_gawain > 5>>
"I hope you had a good time," Kay inclines his head your way. "Also know that Gawain is looking forward to see you. Very much so," he adds with a wink.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
"I hope you had a good time," Kay inclines his head your way. "Also know that Gawain is looking forward to see you."
<<else>>
"I hope you had a good time," Kay inclines his head your way.
<</if>>
He suggests that Arthur and he go ahead so that your party wouldn't rouse suspicion; before leaving, Arthur promises to find you tomorrow to say his farewells. And with that you're left at the edge of the forest, alone with Morgana.
Finally, she sheds her stony mask, and the tenderness that now softens her features makes for a stark contrast. It renders her almost vulnerable.
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say, genuinely touched. "Thank you for finally understanding."|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWood2][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm glad you finally decided to listen to me," you say, still sore about all the fuss needed for her to understand.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWood2][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why are you doing this?" you ask, a bit dubious of her motivation. "You don't hope to spy on Arthur through me or something, do you?"|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWood2][$morgana_wood2 to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stare at her in disbelief. "You'll actually allow this?"|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWood2][$morgana_wood2 to 4]]</div><<if $chapt3_stare == 1>>
You stare at him, face set in an unimpressed expression, until he finally looks your way. His timid smile falters. A few beats more and it withers away completely. He ducks his head and clears his throat. "Right. You don't want to hear about that." You nod decisively.
The rest of the walk is silent, punctured only by the rustling of leaves and dry, bone-crunching splintering of branches under your boots.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurQuestion2]]
<<elseif $chapt3_stare == 2>>
You nod your head to indicate you're listening as you keep your gaze ahead of you. You're not bonding; you're just making polite conversation. It's something to fill the silence, at least.
When you don't object, your compliant silence seems to bolster him; he goes on, more brightly: "We used to run around with our wooden swords and pretend we were fighting imaginary foes that posed a threat to our castle, or dueling each other for honor - and the bigger share of the berries we picked. But Kay //always// let me take more, anyway." Arthur raises his head, surveying your surroundings. "I wonder...Ah!" He points somewhere ahead of you, at a bush. "Please tell me those are blackberries."
Your brow creases in confusion, and you squint your eyes to peer better at the dark fruits peeking between dark leaves. "What else could it be?"
"Dewberries," Arthur replies, in the voice of one uttering the name of their sworn enemy. "They're awful. Bitter and awful. I remember when I first tasted one, I thought it was a curious looking blackberry and when I popped it into my mouth I almost cried."
<div class="choice">[["They're dewberries," you lie. Maybe like this he won't detour you.|Chapt3ArthurQuestion2][$chapt3_stare1 to 1, $honest to $honest-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["They're blackberries," you assure him. You'd like a couple yourself, to be honest.|Chapt3ArthurQuestion2][$chapt3_stare1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["They're blackberries," you inform him. "But can we just keep moving on?"|Chapt3ArthurQuestion2][$chapt3_stare1 to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_stare == 3>>
You doubt there's any secret of the crown or hidden weakness that you'd find out of Arthur's childhood stories, but it is an opportunity to learn more about him, and isn't that what Morgana told you? Talk with people, listen to them, watch them closely. How do they carry themselves, what makes them tick? It can all be valuable to you at some point.
You nod, glancing at him to show he's got your attention. It seems to bolster him, and his smile widens as he goes on. "We used to run around with our wooden swords and pretend we were fighting imaginary foes that posed a threat to our castle, or dueling each other for honor - and the bigger share of the berries we picked. But Kay //always// let me take more, anyway." Arthur raises his head, surveying your surroundings. "I wonder...Ah!" He points somewhere ahead of you, at a bush. "Please tell me those are blackberries."
Your brow creases in confusion, and you squint your eyes to peer better at the dark fruits peeking between dark leaves. "What else could it be?"
"Dewberries," Arthur replies, in the voice of one uttering the name of their sworn enemy. "They're awful. Bitter and awful. I remember when I first tasted one, I thought it was a curious looking blackberry and when I popped it into my mouth I almost cried."
<div class="choice">[["They're dewberries," you lie. Maybe like this he won't detour you.|Chapt3ArthurQuestion2][$chapt3_stare1 to 1, $honest to $honest-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["They're blackberries," you assure him. You'd like a couple yourself, to be honest.|Chapt3ArthurQuestion2][$chapt3_stare1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["They're blackberries," you inform him. "But can we just keep moving on?"|Chapt3ArthurQuestion2][$chapt3_stare1 to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_stare == 4>>
You cross your arms in vexation. Does he not get a hint? Were you not clear enough when establishing the parameters of this meeting? This is not a social call, this is not a merry father-child outing in the woods. This is serious business, and if you're not talking on matters of your powers, you're not interested. "I don't want to talk," you snap, tone sharp and clipped. His smile withers away and he ducks his head.
"Right. You don't want to hear about that." You nod decisively.
The rest of the walk is silent, punctured only by the rustling of leaves and dry, bone-crunching splintering of branches under your boots.
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurQuestion2]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_stare1 == 1>>
You've tread this path before with Morgana, and you've stopped together at this very bushes to pick them, so can say in confidence that they're blackberries. But you fear that if you let Arthur know, he'll want to stop, and if you stop he'll talk even more about things that don't concern you. Attempting to //bond//. You can't stand this - his awfully sweet smile, that guileless, excited look in his eyes. As if nothing is wrong. As if he can just waltz in and pretend he's being a father.
"They're dewberries. Very tart and bitter indeed. We have the worst in the Continent. Nasty species of dewberries."
Arthur regards them with a grave expression, as if locking eyes with an enemy from across the battlefield. "Pity." And it really does sound like he thinks so, but you can only internally celebrate your small victory.
The river gurgles ahead of you, its calmly flowing water glistening through the trees. You settle down on the strip of land between the woods and the stream; it's much narrower than where you usually go with $dragon_name, and the river bank is lower here too. If you lean to the side and reach out your arm, your fingers would be dipping in the cool water.
<<elseif $chapt3_stare1 == 2>>
You've tread this path before with Morgana, and you've stopped together at this very bushes to pick them, so can say in confidence that they're blackberries, and let Arthur know that too.
His face splits into a smile. "Great. We should pick a few." You don't protest; now that he brought them up, you find yourself craving berries too.
You reach the bush, and Arthur can see so for himself. He plucks a berry and inspects it critically, raising it to his eye level, before smiling.
You both start picking the fruits, seeking the ripe ones while minding the thorns. Before long you're back on your way.
The river gurgles ahead of you, its calmly flowing water glistening through the trees. You settle down on the strip of land between the woods and the stream; it's much narrower than where you usually go with $dragon_name, and the river bank is lower here too. If you lean to the side and reach out your arm, your fingers would be dipping in the cool water.
<<elseif $chapt3_stare1 == 3>>
You've tread this path before with Morgana, and you've stopped together at this very bushes to pick them, so can say in confidence that they're blackberries, and let Arthur know that too.
His face splits into a smile. "Great. We should pick a few."
"Can we just keep moving on? We're here to talk about our powers," you remind him, and his smile falters.
"Just a few, please? Learning is always better on a full stomach."
All this talk of berries and sweet treats is starting to make you crave some. "I don't want berries," you say but the words are rendered unconvincing when they're followed by a heavy gulp.
Arthur takes this as a win for him. "Berries it is then."
To your benefit, Arthur makes a quick job of picking berries, and so do you. You search nimbly through leaves and evade thorns to find the ripest fruit.
The river gurgles ahead of you, its calmly flowing water glistening through the trees. You settle down on the strip of land between the woods and the stream; it's much narrower than where you usually go with $dragon_name, and the river bank is lower here too. If you lean to the side and reach out your arm, your fingers would be dipping in the cool water.
<<else>>
The river gurgles ahead of you, its calmly flowing water glistening through the trees. You settle down on the strip of land between the woods and the stream; it's much narrower than where you usually go with $dragon_name, and the river bank is lower here too. If you lean to the side and reach out your arm, your fingers would be dipping in the cool water.
<</if>>
"Oh, this is lovely," Arthur remarks as he looks about. "Do you often come here...?"
<<if $chapt3_stare == 1>>
His gaze trails to your face and it's enough to shut him up. Good. He's finally starting to understand.
<<elseif $chapt3_stare == 2>>
"Yes," you reply and don't elaborate. Something to which he seems to catch on quickly.
<<elseif $chapt3_stare == 3>>
"Yes, I've come here before with mother," you reply.
<<elseif $chapt3_stare == 4>>
You open your mouth to remind him yet again what you're here for but he puts up his hands, placating. "Come here often to practice with your dragon or study, I mean?" He smiles sheepishly.
You squint your eyes at him. A quick save. Impressive. "Yes." It's not quite accurate, but you won't elaborate.
<</if>>
"I have a question of my own," Arthur starts, watching you with a twinkle in his eyes. It reminds you of Morgana when she receives a new batch of potions or newly printed magic tomes, looking at you like you're some wondrous, curious thing. "And I promise it has to do with your dragon blood powers," he adds before you can even try to deny him. "What does it feel like, the magic from your Le Fay blood compared to the Pendragon one? When you use fire, I mean."
Morgana asked you the same, once. //How different is it? Can you even feel a difference?//
They're intertwined, yet still distinct, both of them just as much a part of yourself. "My Le Fay magic feels like it comes from both within and without me." You humor him, because that's what you're both here for - to talk dragon blood to dragon blood. You flex your fingers as you test the sensation in your hands, inviting that familiar tingle to ignite in your fingertips and spread till it envelops your palm. Fire brimming just beneath the skin and in the air around it; you feel it deep inside you, like a smoldering flame waiting to be fanned. "But it feels somewhat different, the Pendragon magic. It feels like it comes solely from within me." You let the buzzing ebb away; it leaves your hand feeling strangely naked.
"Yes, that's what it feels like, the Pendragon fire," Arthur agrees, softness setting into his features as he regards you. There's a woeful quality to this softness, though.
"It still feels linked to my emotions, the way my affinity is," you continue casually, ignoring his expression.
"I suppose you don't need any pointers in this department, then? It sounds like something Morgana could quite easily cover."
"I suppose," you agree, calling once again upon the prickling in your skin. This time you let it turn into a little flame to dance in the palm of your hand to a soundless tune.
Arthur watches it. Then he extends his own hand and conjures a flame of his own. "Can you pass it to your other hand?"
"Of course!" You demonstrate just so, flicking your wrist to send the fire bouncing against your other palm, where it flickers excitedly.
Arthur nods, satisfied. "You've got nice control. Though I'm not sure if it's due to you being a dragon blood or sorcerer."
You shrug, making the flame crawl up to the tip of your index. You spin it, tracing a small, fiery whirwind through the air. "Perhaps it's both."
Arthur keeps his eyes on it, but his attention seems drawn inwards, to some inner rumination. When his gaze flits back to yours, his face is lit up by playful anticipation, like a kitten whose spotted an unattended dish. "How about shaping fire into stories, the way dragons do?"
What Arthur refers to is an integral part of dragon culture, a particularity of their magic: fire storytelling, willing figures and scenery out of flames, sometimes to accompany the speaker's words, other times to tell the story all on their own.
You've attempted it before, of course you have. The first time Morgana and Accolon took you to see such a performance was in Avalon. You were entranced and couldn't stop thinking and talking about it for days. You've tried to recreate what you've seen, to results beyond disappointing - hazardous even. You've managed to set the curtain on fire and Morgana had to douse it with water. You weren't deterred by your failure though. You've made an attempt yet again in Lothia, taking all the necessary precations, including doing it near the river. The outcome was less dangerous but not much less pathetic. Luckily, only $dragon_name was there to witness it, and $dragon_he will tease you about it every now and then; $dragon_his own attempts are more successful as well, a fact $dragon_he likes to remind you. You can't blame $dragon_him for it, though. You were filled with pride for $dragon_name as you watched the fire take shape, however rough and flickering.
"I'm learning," you say, just a tad defensive, the memory of your failures sore on your mind. "Can you do it?"
"Yes. Well, it's not as masterful and intricate as the craft of professional dragon performers," he explains sheepishly, "but I can do it."
You lean forward, propping your chin in your hands. "Show me."
Arthur gives an obliging nod. He closes his palm against the flame that was still blazing on and takes a deep breath, preparing himself for the feat. He holds out both hands, palms facing each other, a flame cradled in the space between them, suspended in the air. His fingers move as if he were molding clay - instead he's giving shape to the fire, turning it from a sizzling mass whose seams kept extended and shirking like the tide comes and goes, into the silhouette of a dragon. Their wings are outstretched as if it hovers midflight and its mouth open, spewing fire.
You nod at him, quite impressed, and he smiles in return and clasps his hands, snuffing out the fire.
Arthur flexes his fingers, considering them with a smile before glancing back up at you. "What about your connection to your dragon?"
"Strong," you say, sketching a smile. "Accolon has been helping us. He may not be a dragon blood, but he's read up on our powers and he's a patient teacher."
"I'm glad." There's a trace of wistfulness to his tone, an unsaid yearning brewing under the surface that's not hard to guess at - //he wishes it were him who tutored you//.
"It seems you've got it all covered up. I didn't have a dragon blood to guide me, either." His gaze flits down to his lap, where his fingers tug at a corner of his tunic. "Just me and Elewen, learning from books and scrolls. We did receive lots of encouragement from our families, and that counts too, of course. Then when I became King, Merlin started lending me help, enlisting the support of dragons to tutor us." He looks up, bright determination steels his $eye eyes. "This is a great opportunity for the both of us, as dragon bloods. "So ask whatever you wish."
<<include Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon>><<if $chapt3dragonblood1 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Your bond with Elewen. I wonder if it's the same as my dragon and I.\""|Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon1][$chapt3dragonblood1 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3dragonblood2 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Can I see your scales armor? What does it feel like?\""|Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon2][$chapt3dragonblood2 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3dragonblood3 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"What do you think of compulsion?\""|Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon3][$chapt3dragonblood3 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3dragonblood4 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Does Guinevere know about me? About the prophecy?\""|Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon4][$chapt3dragonblood4 to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["We should head back," Arthur say.|Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon5][$chapt3dragonblood4 to true]]</div><<if $chapt3_stare1 == 1>>
Arthur doesn't press you.
<<elseif $chapt3_stare1 == 2>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
You humour Arthur, telling him a bit of your sweet, fun-loving companion.
"$dragon_name's sweet and fun-loving."
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "playful">>
You humour Arthur, telling him a bit of your friendly, high-spirited companion.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
You humour Arthur, telling him a bit of your confident, daring companion.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
You humour Arthur, telling him a bit of your bold, intense companion.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
You humour Arthur, telling him a bit of your sweet, timid companion.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
You humour Arthur, telling him a bit of your sweet, timid companion.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon>>"Your bond with Elewen." Arthur looks at you expectantly. "I wonder if it's like mine with $dragon_name. Do you two speak telepathically often and share your feelings through your bond?" He nods keenly and you go on. "I've watched the race trial. The two of you are very skilled. Elewen's so fast and..." You cock your head, deliberating the best way to put into words what you've seen. "Agile. And kinda slippery. The way you squeezed through others and changed directions so quickly yet smoothly - is this coordonation thanks to your bond?"
Arthur inclines his head graciously. "Thank you. I'll pass your compliment on to Elewen. And yes, I think in part it's due to our bond. It certainly makes it a lot easier to coordinate, to fly as one. And well-" he smiles "-we simply enjoy flying, so we do it as often as we can. Practice makes better." You nod earnestly, but Arthur hesitates. "Can you tell me more about your dragon companion?"
"$dragon_name?"
"What are they like?"
<div class="choice">[["Let's get back on track," you evade the question.|Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon1.1][$chapt3_stare1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Tell him.|Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon1.1][$chapt3_stare1 to 2]]</div>Your eyes scan over the exposed $complexion skin of Arthur's hands, painting red scales atop them with your mind's eye. The books describe them as looking and feeling akin dragons' scales. "Can I see your scale armor? What does it feel like, summoning it?"
Arthur looks delighted by the question. "I suppose it's like...Like moving a muscle? But you do need practice to control it. How long you hold it, how much it covers." He exntends a hand, pulling the sleeve of his tunic up to his elbow. Scarlet scales bloom over his skin, gleaming like rubies, the color bright and vibrant. "At first, it felt like tingling...Intense tingling, but now it simply feels like something shifting under the skin."
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You touch his arm, tentative at first, running just the tip of your fingers over it. The scales are cool and smooth and when you close your palm against his arm, they feel sturdy and tough under your skin. Just like dragon scales.
<<else>>
"Can I?" you ask, hand hovering patiently over his arm. He nods, and you take the invitation to touch his arm, tentative at first, running just the tip of your fingers over it. The scales are cool and smooth and when you close your palm against his arm, they feel sturdy and tough under your skin. Just like dragon scales.
<</if>>
You hold out your own arm next to Arthur's, tug up your puffy sleeve and concentrate on...On whatever it must feel like, soft, fleshy skin morphing into hard red scales. Your brow furrows, your fist clenches, your jaw tenses but nothing happens and you most likely look like you're having trouble popping out something entirely else than scales.
Arthur chuckles good-naturedly as he regards your scaleless arm. "It's alright, you can't force them out. I only got my scales at about fifteen."
"Fifteen?" you balk but he just bites back a smile.
"Perhaps you won't be a late bloomer like me. Most get them around twelve or fourteen."
You cradle your arm to your chest, still marveling at Arthur's scaled one. "What does it feel like, just having it out?"
"Most people would probably think it must feel strange," Arthur says, "but it feels oddly natural. It's certainly different, a very different sensation, but it's almost comforting. To met, at least." He lets his arm fall on his lap and just as he rolls down the sleeve, you see the scales disappear, replaced again by $complexion skin.
<<include Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon>><<if $compulsion == "no">>
It does indeed sound like a horrible, helpess and violating position to put a dragon in. Just the thought makes your stomach churn. You'd rather attempt any other method before getting to compulsion, as Arthur said.
<<elseif $compulsion == "maybe">>
It does indeed sound like a horrible, helpess and violating position to put a dragon in. It makes your stomach coil uncomfortably, but you won't deny it //is// something that could serve to your advantage. Something that could help you, were you to be in danger. You may not jump directly to using it, but you would not be quick to toss the option away.
<<elseif $compulsion == "yes">>
It does indeed sound like a horrible, helpess and violating position to put a dragon in. You'd be furious if anyone attempted such a thing on $dragon_name, but you won't deny it //is// something that could serve to your advantage. Something that could help you, were you to be in danger.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon>>"What do you think of compulsion?"
This aspect of your powers is, in actuality, an unwanted, unexpected part of being a dragon blood. A power that the books talk warily of, a power that can easily be abused and that has long been disputed by dragons and humans alike. A power that Uther was not shy to use.
"I...I'm not fond of using compulsion." His mouth twists in an anguished grimace as if the mere thought pains him. "I find it cruel, bending ther will...Stealing it away from them entirely. It could be used for good," even as he says it, he doesn't sound convinced of it. "To soothe down distressed or angry dragons. Though I think you should first exhaust all other options, beside violence of course, to get the situation under control. Like, trying to reason with them, or calm them with your words. It is better than using violence, though," he allows. "I simply try not to resort to compulsion. But if my words and deeds fail me, I do."
This is what Morgana would all weakness. She's always impressed upon you how you must seize the advantages you're given. That if you don't do so, someone else might.
<div class="choice">[[You understand Arthur. It does sound horrible.|Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon3.1][$compulsion to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's horrible, yes, but it could come in helpful, in difficult situations.|Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon3.1][$compulsion to "maybe"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Is it horrible? Yes. But it's a tool, a weapon you could use to your advantage.|Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon3.1][$compulsion to "yes"]]</div>You know of those that were present when Arthur tried to rip you away from your mother, by Merlin's instruction: Lancelot, Kay and Lot stood witness to it. But what about the Queen? It would be five more years till the two married, and Morgana could never gauge how much she knew. Not for lack of trying - she's treated the invitation to the Royal wedding as an opportunity to assess the state of Court, to measure foes and allies in preparation for you return.
Now, your curiosity is piqued too, and you have the occasion to ask. It's only fair to know, a need that feels especially raw after the reveal of the prophecy and its well-kept secret.
"Does Guineve know about me? Does she know about the prophecy?"
Arthur looks surprised by the personal question - after all, you're not here to bond. This is a purely instructional, educational meeting and you're asking for practical information.
"She knows," Arthur answers. His voice is heavy and his face unsmiling, cast downwards. "I told her a few months into our engagement, when she could still back out of it, should she wish it." His restless fingers pull at the lace knot of his boot till it unravels. He continues to wind and unwind the cord round his knuckles, over and over. "I wanted her to know what she was getting herself into, to understand the circumstances before she bound herself to me, to this union. She could break the engagement - but she didn't." A breathy chuckle of disbelief escapes him, like he couldn't believe his luck even years after. He shakes his hand free of the laces and looks up at you, a smile creeping up at the corners of his mouth. "She stayed."
"And what does she think of me?" Or better put, your existence; you've never met the Queen in person. She's but a picture cobbled out of second-hand and //second// second-hand impressions, much like Arthur was until recently - a patchwork of Morgana's descriptions and Junia's, of chronicles and talk at court.
"She understands things are...difficult and complicated. She understands why I kept my distance. But-" he cuts himself off, swallows the rest of the sentence. "Nevermind."
"But what?"
The corner of his mouth twitches as he decides whether to continue or not. "She would have been delighted to get to know you, too. To be involved. That is, if the two of us bridged the distance."
Is there a sliver of hope, buried under the ruefulness? You must dash it. "Which we're not," you say.
"No, we're not," he sadly concurs.
<<include Chapt3ArthurQuestionDragon>>Arthur considers the sun's lofty position in the sky. It is with some reluctance that he gets up, suggesting that you head back.
The more you walk, the sounds of the fair trickle into your world, as if reaching you underwater.
But what truly hits you like a furious wave square in the face is the sight that awaits you at the edge of the forest.
Morgana.
She stands among the trees, arms crossed over her chest, wearing her sturdier pair of boots, that still manages to look sophisticated. Her mien a painted expression of calm, one that is too calculated, too measured to represent genuine tranquillity - a clear blue sky taunted in the distance by dark clouds of gloom. Looking every inch the barely contained storm you know her to be.
She's not alone, and your surprise only mounts when you spot Kay hanging nar her, leaning against a tree trunk. He gives you a small smile when you meet his gaze, but your attention is swiftly pulled back to your mother.
Last time she confronted Arthur, it ended in howling gales that carried threats.
So this time too you expect jaundiced words hurled at Arthur, and sympathetic frowns offered your way. And perhaps a dose of confusion at you even being here with him.
<div class="choice">[[You won't even give her the chance. Put yourself between them. You're capable of making your own choices. She's already went behind your back once.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWood1][$morgana_wood to 1, $defiant to $defiant+1, $shy to $shy-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[ You won't even give her the chance. Put yourself between them, even as your pulse races. You're capable of making your own choices. She's already went behind your back once.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWood1][$morgana_wood to 2, $defiant to $defiant+1, $shy to $shy+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait to see what Arthur does. If he keeps saying he wants to step up, then you hope he'll stand up for you again.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWood1][$morgana_wood to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Come up with a quick lie. It may not be convincing, but you'll work at selling it as best as you can.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWood1][$morgana_wood to 4, $honest to $honest-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Come up with a quick lie. Which proves a bit hard.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWood1][$morgana_wood to 5, $honest to $honest+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Explain you only met up to discuss your powers. You can make a compeling argument.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaWood1][$morgana_wood to 6]]</div>You linger on the spot as Arthur's lost in the crowd; his guards retreat too, as if pulled to him by an invisible string. The flute music rises to the sky in silvery, twinkling notes, but you don't stay to listen the rest of the performance. Perhaps you could go get some sweets; the craving hits you hard as the thought pops in your head. Sweets, and then you can go watch the dragons' fire spectacle.
You don't make it far before you're accosted again, however. This time by Morgana.
And she looks delighted to see you. "Mordred, I was looking for you. I thought I'd have a harder time finding you in this crowd."
<<if $say == "effort" or $say == "choice" or $say == "decision" or $say == "hesitate" or $say == "tears" or $say == "uncle" or $say == "know" or $say == "hurt">>
So delighted and carefree. As if these days haven't been anything but that. Out of all of them, however, the current heavy thought brewing at the forefront of your mind is your fight with her in the study, over no one else but the man you've just parted ways with.
Her smile falters as she studies your face, her own turning guarded. "Regarding the other day..." she begins carefully. "I've been thinking about what you told me, Mordred, and I decided that, if it truly is what you desire, I can't keep you away from Arthur. And I'll stop trying to. I don't want to fight you, Mordred." A trace of sadness slips into in her voice and the facade crumbles if only a bit, giving way to vulnerability. "He's leaving tomorrow, and I don't know when he'll deign to visit again, but you may correspond, if that's what you want."
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say, genuinely touched. "Thank you for finally understanding."|Chapt3NoMorganaLetter][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm glad you finally decided to listen to me," you say, still sore about all the fuss needed for her to understand.|Chapt3NoMorganaLetter][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why are you doing this?" you ask, a bit dubious of her motivation. "You don't hope to spy on Arthur through me or something, do you?"|Chapt3NoMorganaLetter][$morgana_wood2 to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stare at her in disbelief. "You'll actually allow this?"|Chapt3NoMorganaLetter][$morgana_wood2 to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $say == "behind" or $say == "behind1" or $say == "behind2">>
So delighted and carefree. As if these days haven't been anything but that. Out of all of them, however, the current heavy thought brewing at the forefront of your mind is your fight with her in the study, over no one else but the man you've just parted ways with.
Her smile falters as she studies your face, her own turning guarded. "Regarding the other day..." she begins carefully. "I've been thinking about what you told me, Mordred, and I wanted to apologize for going behind your back. The matter concerned you and I should have talked things out with you. I just don't want to fight you, Mordred." A trace of sadness slips into in her voice and the facade crumbles if only a bit, giving way to vulnerability.
<div class="choice">[["Thank you."|Chapt3ArthurWoodNoMorgana][$morgana_wood3 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["So you trust me and won't go behind my back in the future, right?"|Chapt3ArthurWoodNoMorgana][$morgana_wood3 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You simply nod.|Chapt3ArthurWoodNoMorgana][$morgana_wood3 to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $betray == "notforgive" or $betray == "willforgive">>
So delighted and carefree. As if these days haven't been anything but that. Out of all of them, however, the current heavy thought brewing at the forefront of your mind is the betrayal over the prophecy that's been kept away from you.
Her smile falters as she studies your face, her own turning guarded. "Are you still upset with me regarding the prophecy?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper, eyes shifting carefully over the crowd. "As I said, Mordred, I've only done it for your own good. I would have told you myself when you were older." Her gaze settles back on you. Her facade crumbles if only a bit, giving way to vulnerability. "I don't want to fight you, Mordred."
"It doesn't change the fact that I feel betrayed," you counter.
"Of course not," she sighs. "Will you let it try to make it up to you, then? Perhaps we could start by having a walk around the fair. Getting some sweets." She smiles, as saccharine as the treat she promises. "You could get anything you want. As much as you want."
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3NoMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Your fight regarding the prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3NoMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<<else>>
She adjusts her puffy sleeve which gathers at the wrist. Her dress is a vision of gauzy deep purple and lush embroidery. "I think it's time to reap the fruits of my labor and enjoy the fair. Will you join me?" She smiles, and you know it's genuine by the way it crinkles the corners of her eyes. It's so much different than all those sweet ones she fakes.
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3NoMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Your fight regarding the prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3NoMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_wood3 == 1>>
"Thank you," you smile faintly.
<<elseif $morgana_wood3 == 2>>
"So, does this mean you trust me and won't go behind my back in the future? I know how adamant you can be about things."
Morgana nods, conceding.
<<elseif $morgana_wood3 == 3>>
You simply nod in response.
<</if>>
"Now," she adjusts her puffy sleeve which gathers at the wrist. Her dress is a vision of gauzy deep purple and lush embroidery. "I think it's time to reap the fruits of my labor and enjoy the fair. Will you join me?" She smiles, and you know it's genuine by the way it crinkles the corners of her eyes. It's so much different than all those sweet ones she fakes.
<<if $betray == "notforgive" or $betray == "willforgive">>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3NoMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." The prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3NoMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." The prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...as well as her choice to go behind your back and talk to Arthur. Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3NoMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3NoMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Her choice to go behind your back and talk to Arthur still hangs heavy on your mind. Betrayal still stings. Even if she did right by you eventually.|Chapt3NoMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<silently>><<set $chapt3_arthur_river to "train">><</silently>>
You wait for Arthur at the edge of the woods, shielded from prying eyes by the autumn-tinged foliage as you lean against a tree trunk. You can spy the fair, a maze of colorful booths swarming with people with even more colorful garments and dragons whose scales glint vibrantly in the sun, rivaling the gleam of the jewelry adorning their horns. The Castle reigns over it all, varnished in pristine white, crowned by its dark roof.
It's taking Arthur a while to arrive. You think of the guards, in their shiny armors and scarlet red tunics, hands always resting near their sword's hilt, and wonder if Arthur's having any trouble escaping their scurtiny. He didn't seem to have any the times he's met you in private before.
You kick at a pile of rust-colored leaves. They scatter with a crisp, brittle rustle then fall back again, quietly. He'll come. He's merely understandably delayed. You did go ahead of him, step hurried as you weaved through the crowd, eyes fixed on the ever changing tide of shoes you may stumble upon and elbows that may jostle you. Still, your chest constricts with a silly, irritating feeling. Pestering, nagging little voice, coming from the darker corners of your mind, unhelpfully suggesting that he won't come. That he'll abandon you like he did before, when you were born. When you needed him.
And it's such a silly and foolish and stupid thing. You don't need him. If he doesn't come soon, you'll simply leave.
You're about to do so, pushing yourself off the tree, when you hear his voice, timidly calling out to you, barely louder than the whispering of trees.
"Over here." You flutter your hand as his shock of brown hairs pops between trees.
He's dressed differently: scarlet doublet swapped for a simple, brown tunic and dainty, pointed shoes discarded for sturdy, leather boots. The golden circlet inlaid with rubies, most telling of his status, is gone too.
It makes him look carefree, relaxed. Without his fine, rich garbs and gilded crown reminding him with every step of his station, he moves freely, expansively, like someone who doesn't have to make decisions that hold the fate of a kingdom it their balance. No longer preocuppied about fitting into his clothes, for these ones mold perfectly to him.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mordred." He shakes his head, and a leaf comes loose.
"How did you manage to get away?" you ask, looking him up and down. "And get new clothes?
"Oh, well," he chuckles sheepishly. "I asked Kay for some help. He brough me these and I changed quickly out of view," - like an actor changing roles and clothes between scenes - "so I may go unnoticed by the crowd."
"Your guards?"
"They're willing to turn a blind eye for a while." He scratches the back of his neck. "Not being able to go where you want, when you want, without chaperones and without everyone's eyes on you, is the worst part of being King," he confesses. "Aside from the speeches. And the paperwork. And the stress." His mouth twists, realizing that all that constitues being King may just be the worst. He shakes his head and his smile falls back into place. "Do you have a place in mind for us to go, or do we just wander about?"
The strip of river bank where you and $dragon_name usually go would be too far a distance away for you to traverse on foot, and you don't know if you'd like to take Arthur to a place that's so special and intimate to you. But the river coils through the forest like a slithering serpent, and you know a bend that comes closer to the Castle, where Morgana goes to pray and draw, so you nod and tell him to follow you.
Dried leaves and twigs crunch under your boots as you walk on, the merry sounds of the fair now faded, faint, belonging to a different world. A world that does not know that the man by your side is the one who sired you. That does not know the two of you beyond your respective titles - bastard and King.
"You know, I used to do this a lot with Kay, when we were kids. Before," he waves a hand about his head, "I even knew I was King. There's a patch of forest on Ector's estate, just beyond the gardens and training grounds."
<div class="choice">[[Stare at him pointedly.|Chapt3ArthurQuestion1][$chapt3_stare to 1, $calm to $calm+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Listen to him just to appease him. At least the walk won't be boring?|Chapt3ArthurQuestion1][$chapt3_stare to 2, $affable to $affable+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Listen to him. Perhaps there's something you could learn that may come to your advantage. Morgana always does say it's best to keep your enemies close.|Chapt3ArthurQuestion1][$chapt3_stare to 3, $affable to $affable+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[ "I don't want to talk," you snap.|Chapt3ArthurQuestion1][$chapt3_stare to 4, $calm to $calm-1, $affable to $affable-1]]</div><<silently>><<set $chapt3_arthur_river to "yes">><</silently>>
You wait for Arthur at the edge of the woods, shielded from prying eyes by the autumn-tinged foliage as you lean against a tree trunk. You can spy the fair, a maze of colorful booths swarming with people with even more colorful garments and dragons whose scales glint vibrantly in the sun, rivaling the gleam of the jewelry adorning their horns. The Castle reigns over it all, varnished in pristine white, crowned by its dark roof.
It's taking Arthur a while to arrive. You think of the guards, in their shiny armors and scarlet red tunics, hands always resting near their sword's hilt, and wonder if Arthur's having any trouble escaping their scurtiny. He didn't seem to have any the times he's met you in private before.
You kick at a pile of rust-colored leaves. They scatter with a crisp, brittle rustle then fall back again, quietly. He's coming. He's merely understandably delayed. You did go ahead of him, step hurried as you weaved through the crowd, eyes fixed on the ever changing tide of shoes you may stumble upon and elbows that may jostle you. Still, your chest constricts with a silly, irritating feeling. Pestering, nagging little voice, coming from the darker corners of your mind, unhelpfully suggesting that he won't come.
And so when you hear his voice, timidly calling out to you, barely louder than the whispering of trees, your chest expands, filling with joy.
"Over here!" You flutter your hand as his shock of brown hairs pops between trees.
He's dressed differently: scarlet doublet swapped for a simple, brown tunic and dainty, pointed shoes discarded for sturdy, leather boots. The golden circlet inlaid with rubies, most telling of his status, is gone too.
It makes him look carefree, relaxed. Without his fine, rich garbs and gilded crown reminding him with every step of his station, he moves freely, expansively, like someone who doesn't have to make decisions that hold the fate of a kingdom it their balance. No longer preocuppied about fitting into his clothes, for these ones mold perfectly to him.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mordred." He shakes his head, and a leaf comes loose.
"How did you manage to get away?" you ask, looking him up and down. "And get new clothes?
"Oh, well," he chuckles sheepishly. "I asked Kay for some help. He brought me these and I changed quickly out of view," - like an actor changing roles and clothes between scenes - "so I may go unnoticed by the crowd."
"Your guards?"
"They're willing to turn a blind eye for a while." He scratches the back of his neck. "Not being able to go where you want, when you want, without chaperones and without everyone's eyes on you, is the worst part of being King," he confesses. "Aside from the speeches. And the paperwork. And the stress." His mouth twists, realizing that all that constitues being King may just be the worst. He shakes his head and his smile falls back into place. "Do you have a place in mind for us to go, or do we just wander about?"
The strip of river bank where you and $dragon_name usually go would be too far a distance away for you to traverse on foot. But the river coils through the forest like a slithering serpent, and you know a bend that comes closer to the Castle, where Morgana goes to pray and draw, so you nod and tell him to follow you.
Dried leaves and twigs crunch under your boots as you walk on, the merry sounds of the fair now faded, faint, belonging to a different world. A world that does not know that the man by your side is your father. That does not know the two of you beyond your respective titles - bastard and King.
"You know, I used to do this a lot with Kay, when we were kids. Before," he waves a hand about his head, "I even knew I was King." He jumps over a thick, jutting root. "There's a patch of forest on Ector's estate, just beyond the gardens and training grounds. We used to run around with our wooden swords and pretend we were fighting imaginary foes that posed a threat to our castle, or dueling each other for honor - and the bigger share of the berries we picked. But Kay //always// let me take more, anyway." Arthur raises his head, surveying your surroundings. "I wonder...Ah!" He points somewhere ahead of you, at a bush. "Please tell me those are blackberries."
Your brow creases in confusion, and you squint your eyes to peer better at the dark fruits peeking between dark leaves. "What else could it be?"
"Dewberries," Arthur replies, in the voice of one uttering the name of their sworn enemy. "They're awful. Bitter and awful. I remember when I first tasted one, I thought it was a curious looking blackberry and when I popped it into my mouth I almost cried."
You snort and a nearby bird startles. "No, they're blackberries," you assure him. "I've picked before from this very bush, with mother."
You reach it, and Arthur can see so for himself. He plucks a berry and inspects it critically, raising it to his eye level, before smiling.
You both start picking the fruits, seeking the ripe ones while minding the thorns. "What else did you and Kay get up to?"
Arthur rushes through chewing a mouthful to answer. "Well, we used to get in trouble quite a bit. Dad says Kay is a menance. Says so lovingly," he clarifies. "We used to steal cookies from the kitchen."
You bite back a smile. "Couldn't you just ask?"
Arthur leans in, voice low, as if imparting a secret of the crown. "But they taste better stolen." This time, you don't hold back your smile.
He continues to regale you with tales of their mischief as you pluck berry after berry, working dilligently at clearing the bush clean. When you leave, you do so with one bush lighter and bellies fuller.
There's a lull in the conversation as your laugh subsides - Arthur has just recounted to you the time Kay and him spooked a poor, tipsy noble at the summer solstice, fooling the man into thinking they were fae. Arthur's gaze is set on you, and you feel there's something he wishes yet hesitates to say.
"Are you and Gareth close?"
<<if $Gareth >= 80>>
A soft smile blooms on your face. "Yes, we're actually very close."
Arthur's smile matches yours. "That's wonderful to hear. Do you...have any stories of what you get up to?"
Your smile widens, taking on a playful edge. "Maybe..." And so you venture to recount how you sneak Gareth sweets between lessons, your escapades in the woods during solstices, hoping you may catch a glimpse of the fae, how you convinced Gareth to fly with you despite how adverse he is to heights.
Arthur listens with a smile that even though small, reaches his eyes with a tender brilliance. You wonder if it's like a mirror held to his own close relationship with Kay. A question pops in your mind, one that's circled you before, like a hornet that keeps returning to the same coveted pastry despite being swatted away.
You couldn't help but notice that Gareth's almost as forsaken by Arthur as you. He's received gifts, and he's met with him before, but he's never been showered with the same attention and love as Gawain. "Why do you keep away from Gareth too?"
Arthur's step slows and completely halts as he treads on a dry branch. It splinters under his leather boot with a loud, bone-cracking sound. As he turns to face you, his shoulders tense. You merely wait patiently for his answer, head tilted and face schooled in an image of evenness.
Arthur takes a deep breath, then exhales just as extensively. It washes away some of the rigidity but instead leaves his frame slumping, defeated. "I suppose, as I've kept away from you and Morgana," he talks slowly, carefully, as if afraid he'll cut his tongue on the words, "so I've kept away from Gareth, too. I don't think either Morgana or Lot would want me around him, anyway. Lord Lot does not desire my company, that I know."
You snort, and it startles both Arthur and a nearby bird. "Don't trouble yourself with what Lot thinks."
Arthur smiles mirthlessly. It's gone as quick as it came. "Does Gareth...feel my absence too?"
You nod. "If you're trying to be closer to me...perhaps you could try being closer to both." Arthur nods earnestly in response.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
A soft smile blooms on your face. "We're there for each other."
Arthur's smile matches yours. "That's wonderful to hear. Do you...have any stories of what you get up to?"
Your smile widens, taking on a playful edge. "Maybe..." And so you venture to recount your escapades in the woods during solstices, hoping you may catch a glimpse of the fae, how you convinced Gareth to fly with you despite how adverse he is to heights.
Arthur listens with a smile that even though small, reaches his eyes with a tender brilliance. You wonder if it's like a mirror held to his own close relationship with Kay. A question pops in your mind, one that's circled you before, like a hornet that keeps returning to the same coveted pastry despite being swatted away.
You couldn't help but notice that Gareth's almost as forsaken by Arthur as you. He's received gifts, and he's met with him before, but he's never been showered with the same attention and love as Gawain. "Why do you keep away from Gareth too?"
Arthur's step slows and completely halts as he treads on a dry branch. It splinters under his leather boot with a loud, bone-cracking sound. As he turns to face you, his shoulders tense. You merely wait patiently for his answer, head tilted and face schooled in an image of eveness.
Arthur takes a deep breath, then exhales just as extensively. It washes away some of the rigidity but instead leaves his frame slumping, defeated. "I suppose, as I've kept away from you and Morgana," he talks slowly, carefully, as if afraid he'll cut his tongue on the words, "so I've kept away from Gareth, too. I don't think either Morgana or Lot would want me around him, anyway. Lord Lot does not desire my company, that I know."
You snort, and it startles both Arthur and a nearby bird. "Don't trouble yourself with what Lot thinks."
Arthur smiles mirthlessly. It's gone as quick as it came. "Does Gareth...feel my absence too?"
You nod. "If you're trying to be closer to me...perhaps you could try being closer to both." Arthur nods earnestly in response.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 40>>
You shrug, pushing aside a low-hanging branch. "We're not close, but we get along well enough."
"I see," Arthur nods thouthgfully.
A question pops up in your mind, one that's circled you before, like a hornet that keeps returning to the same coveted pastry despite being swatted away.
You couldn't help but notice that Gareth's almost as forsaken by Arthur as you. He's received gifts, and he's met with him before, but he's never been showered with the same attention and love as Gawain. "Why do you keep away from Gareth too?"
Arthur's step slows and completely halts as he treads on a dry branch. It splinters under his leather boot with a loud, bone-cracking sound. As he turns to face you, his shoulders tense. You merely wait patiently for his answer, head tilted and face schooled in an image of eveness.
Arthur takes a deep breath, then exhales just as extensively. It washes away some of the rigidity but instead leaves his frame slumping, defeated. "I suppose, as I've kept away from you and Morgana," he talks slowly, carefully, as if afraid he'll cut his tongue on the words, "so I've kept away from Gareth, too. I don't think either Morgana or Lot would want me around him, anyway. Lord Lot does not desire my company, that I know."
You snort, and it startles both Arthur and a nearby bird. "Don't trouble yourself with what Lot thinks."
Arthur smiles mirthlessly. It's gone as quick as it came. "Does Gareth...feel my absence too?"
You nod. "If you're trying to be closer to me...perhaps you could try being closer to both." Arthur nods earnestly in response.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
You shrug, pushing aside a low-hanging branch. "We're far from close."
"I'm sorry," he mutters, though you're not quite sure what he's apologizing for - sorry that he even asked? His question did not bother you, and it's not as if it's his fault your relationship is so aloof. You wonder if the sentiment behind his words wells from his own regrets and sorrow at having a sister he can only claim by blood and not affection.
Something slimy and uneasy claws its way from your stomach to lodge in your throat. It's odd, thinking of them as siblings as you and Gareth, the comparison making it all the more unpleasant. Mostly you simply think of them as the ones who made you. And so you swallow back the discomfort and redirect your attention to a question that's circled you before, like a hornet that keeps returning to the same coveted pastry despite being swatted away.
You don't quite care about Gareth, but you couldn't help but notice that he's almost as forsaken by Arthur as you. He's received gifts, and he's met with him before, but he's never been showered with the same attention and love as Gawain. "Why do you keep away from Gareth too?"
Arthur's step slows and completely halts as he treads on a dry branch. It splinters under his leather boot with a loud, bone-cracking sound. As he turns to face you, his shoulders tense. You merely wait patiently for his answer, head tilted and face schooled in an image of eveness.
Arthur takes a deep breath, then exhales just as extensively. It washes away some of the rigidity but instead leaves his frame slumping, defeated. "I suppose, as I've kept away from you and Morgana," he talks slowly, carefully, as if afraid he'll cut his tongue on the words, "so I've kept away from Gareth, too. I don't think either Morgana or Lot would want me around him, anyway. Lord Lot does not desire my company, that I know."
You snort, and it startles both Arthur and a nearby bird. "Don't trouble yourself with what Lot thinks."
Arthur smiles mirthlessly. It's gone as quick as it came.
<<else>>
You scowl merely at the mention of his name. Arthur's smile falters. "I gather that you're not?"
"He's insuffurable," you huff, miffed.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, though you're not quite sure what he's apologizing for - sorry that he even asked? It's not as if it's his fault Gareth is a dunce you can't stand. You wonder if it's like a mirror held to his own rocky relationship with Morgana. If the sentiment behind his words wells from his own regrets and sorrow at having a sister he can only claim by blood and not affection.
Something slimy and uneasy claws its way from your stomach to lodge in your throat. It's odd, thinking of them as siblings as you and Gareth, the comparison making it all the more unpleasant. Mostly you simply think of them as the ones who made you. And so you swallow back the discomfort and redirect your attention to a question that's circled you before, like a hornet that keeps returning to the same coveted pastry despite being swatted away.
You don't quite care about Gareth, but you couldn't help but notice that he's almost as forsaken by Arthur as you. He's received gifts, and he's met with him before, but he's never been showered with the same attention and love as Gawain. "Why do you keep away from Gareth too?"
Arthur's step slows and completely halts as he treads on a dry branch. It splinters under his leather boot with a loud, bone-cracking sound. As he turns to face you, his shoulders tense. You merely wait patiently for his answer, head tilted and face schooled in an image of eveness.
Arthur takes a deep breath, then exhales just as extensively. It washes away some of the rigidity but instead leaves his frame slumping, defeated. "I suppose, as I've kept away from you and Morgana," he talks slowly, carefully, as if afraid he'll cut his tongue on the words, "so I've kept away from Gareth, too. I don't think either Morgana or Lot would want me around him, anyway. Lord Lot does not desire my company, that I know."
You snort, and it startles both Arthur and a nearby bird. "Don't trouble yourself with what Lot thinks."
Arthur smiles mirthlessly. It's gone as quick as it came.
<</if>>
You continue on, both silent. Arthur seems to have been pulled deep inside his mind by the undercurrents of his thoughts. By now, the sound of the fair is lost within the warbling of birds. Instead, the rush of water reaches you, almost drowned in the noisy track you trail over the dried, fallen leaves. You're getting nearby.
"Where did you learn to carve wood?" you break the silence, thinking back on the dragon sculpture he's presented to you, the one meant as a token of affection, made with his own hands.
"That would be from my father," Arthur says. "Kay and I would sit next to him while he whittled away and told us stories of the fae and his adventures as knight. Kay never did but I picked up the craft from him. At six, I made my own very first sculpture."
"What was it?"
"A little bird." He holds apart his thumb and index to better illustrate how small it was. "Like a sparrow. It isn't much, but father still has it in his study."
"And now you carve detailed dragons," you note, admiringly.
He ducks his head but a sunny smiles splits his face. "What about you? Do you have any creative endeavours? I know Morgana draws."
<<if $lute == "yes" and $music != "yes" and $write != "yes">>
"I like playing the lute."
"Oh! That's lovely, Mordred. You should play me a tune sometime."
<<elseif $lute == "yes" and $music == "yes" and $write != "yes">>
"I like playing the lute and composing music."
"Really? That's lovely, Mordred. You should play me a tune you composed sometime."
<<elseif $lute == "yes" and $music != "yes" and $write == "yes">>
"I play the lute and I enjoy writing stories."
"Really? That's lovely, Mordred. Perhaps you could play me a tune and show me one of your stories sometime."
<<elseif $lute != "yes" and $music != "yes" and $write == "yes">>
"I enjoy writing stories."
"Oh! That's lovely, Mordred. You should show me one of your stories sometime."
<</if>>
<<if $hobby_count < 1>>
<<if $lute != "yes">><div class="choice">[["I like playing the lute."|Chapt3ArthurHobby][$lute to "yes", $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $write != "yes">><div class="choice">[["I enjoy writing."|Chapt3ArthurHobby][$write to "yes", $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $lute != "yes" and $music != "yes">><div class="choice">[["I like playing the lute and composing music."|Chapt3ArthurHobby][$lute to "yes", $music to "yes", $hobby_count to $hobby_count+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I like drawing, too."|Chapt3ArthurHobby][$draw to "yes", $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like reading."|Chapt3ArthurHobby][$read to "yes", $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1]]</div>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3ArthurHobbyAlt]]
<</if>>"Lancelot grew up on Avalon, raised by the temple, like me. Then, at seven years old, he left for Camelot to become a squire. We haven't crossed paths that much, only when he came to visit, and his training rarely allowed him to." Her mouth twists. "He was as popular with the Priests that raised him as he was with the young girls. They all fawned over such an honorable boy bringing the Goddess's magic to the Continent." She spits the words as if they're sour. "But one day, when I was fourteen." Morgana pauses, her gaze far away. There's a sudden yet subtle change in the air, like the smell of rain before a storm that ravages everything in it's way. "One day he came, in the Pendragon crest." She takes in a sharp breath, her brow knotting. "Red with a golden dragon. And I, too, saw red before my eyes. Red like the blood that was spilled, red like the soldiers that took over Tintal."
The dried herbs sway above. "And so, as he came off the boat, amidst his fans, I stormed to him." Her expression twists to one of rage, but pain too, raw in her eyes. "I started yelling at him, how dare he come to Avalon in that garb. In that monster's banner." The glass bottles and jars on the table clink against each other as they tremble, but Morgana pays them no mind, too entranced with the vivid memory playing in her head. "We were on the pontoon, surrounded by water. Water that was calm mere seconds ago, and turned tumultuous as my temper rose. I raised my arms," she meets your eye, finally breaking from her trance, taking you aback with the fury their $eye holds, "and summoned waves to crash onto him from all sides. Push him off the edge of the pontoon, relentlessly hitting him over and over, so he couldn't reach the surface." The herbs are now rustling and the glass clinking rings around the room.
<div class="choice">[["Mother, break out of it!" you hastily lean forward, scared.|Chapt3CalmDown][$chapt3_calm to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mother, stop," you beg of her.|Chapt3CalmDown][$chapt3_calm to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Snap out of it!" you shout.|Chapt3CalmDown][$chapt3_calm to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mother, stop," you say firmly.|Chapt3CalmDown][$chapt3_calm to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait for her to calm down. You're used to these outbursts.|Chapt3CalmDown][$chapt3_calm to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait for her to calm down. You're too scared to say something.|Chapt3CalmDown][$chapt3_calm to "6"]]</div><<if $chapt3_lodge_father == "1">>
His gaze is hazy with tears, his voice thick with them. "You and Morgana loathe me, and for good reasons. Merlin told me to stay away from you, as you'll only bring me destruction, like the prophecy foretells."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "2">>
The power of your rage sends a gust of wind to him.
Arthur recoils. His gaze is hazy with tears, his voice thick with them. "But I want to. You and Morgana loathe me, and for good reasons. Merlin told me to stay away from you, as you'll only bring me destruction, like the prophecy foretells."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "3">>
You want it. It hurts, but at the same time it's the only thing that can console you - blood of your blood, cause of your misery and the remedy for it.
You part your lips to voice the thought, like a songbird finally let out of its cage, only for it to die in your throat. It's too fragile, too vulnerable, stomped down by the surfacing bitterness. It spread it wings, and plummeted to the ground.
His gaze is hazy with tears, his voice thick with them. "You and Morgana loathe me, and for good reasons. Merlin told me to stay away from you, as you'll only bring me destruction, like the prophecy foretells."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "4">>
Amid the bitterness and anger, something feeble and tender blooms. "Really? Will you try, for me?" The hopefulness in your voice surprises both of you.
Arthur's eyes, hazy with tears, widen in disbelief. Taking you in anew, marveling at and mirroring the hope that has slipped into your expression.
"Yes. Yes!" He nods earnestly, then takes a deep, steadying breath. "Morgana loathes me...and I thought you did, too. For good reasons. Merlin told me to stay away from you, as you'll only bring me destruction, like the prophecy foretells."
<</if>>
"Prophecy?" you echo, frowning. Latching onto the word that settles uneasily in the pit of your stomach like a boulder, word he's mentioned so nonchalantly, as if it were something you should be aware of. It's the first time you've heard of a prophecy that involves you - let alone one that involves you being the destruction of anything.
"The prophecy Merlin made when you were born," Arthur explains.
The words hit you like a wave that sweeps you off your feet. No one told you anything of a prophecy. Not Morgana, not Accolon, not Junia. You are to take the throne as your birth right, so what is this prophecy of destruction?
"You didn't know," Arthur concludes with the grim air of one who's made a mess and must now reckon with it.
The tent flap flies open, and Accolon bursts in. "Mordred!" he exclaims in relief upon seeing you. Which would register as a surprise, since Morgana's never had any reservations about you wandering the castle grounds at your liberty; but you're in a state where such little things don't truly register. Accolon's gaze slides over to Arthur next to you and something shifts in his demeanor. He seems almost wary.
"Morgana and I were worried when you disappeared from the feast," Accolon says and proffers a hand. "I think it's better to return now."
<<if $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
You throw Arthur one last, conflicted look before you join Accolon's side. He puts a protective hand over your shoulder - Arthur's gaze falls on it and beholds it as if it were laid on a sword. There's apprehension in his face, but also pain as if the blade had already lanced him through.
<<else>>
You deign to throw one last scathing look in Arthur's direction before you join Accolon's side. He puts a protective hand over your shoulder - Arthur's gaze falls on it and beholds it as if it were laid on a sword. There's apprehension in his face, but also pain as if the blade had already lanced him through.
<</if>>
Just as you're about to exit, Arthur scrambles to his feet and calls out. "Thank you, Accolon. For being there for Mordred."
Accolon pauses, one foot out the tent already. For an uncertain moment he doesn't react, and you can't quite fathom the sentiment that passes his features. Then he angles his head back to Arthur and offers him but a gracious smile before guiding you out into the hall. Arthur doesn't follow.
As you leave Elewen's tent, the crisp, chill night air slaps you in the face. You barely pay any attention to the way it bites into your exposed skin and seeps under your clothes. As you cross the field, your mind is buzzing with what Arthur told you. Loudest of all is the prophecy he so carelessly mentioned. The prophecy you have never heard before.
<div class="choice">[[Confront Accolon about it.|Chapt3ConfrontAccolon][$confront to "accolon"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait to confront Morgana about it.|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana][$confront to "morgana"]]</div><<if $morgana_wood2 == 1>>
Just a couple days ago, you've seen how mullishly rooted Morgana has been in her belief of Arthur being a fool and a coward that should keep away from the two of you; how strongly against your encounters she's been. You've had a change of heart, but so did she.
"I've changed my mind," is all you say in response to her remark.
Morgana studies your face, as if in the hopes that it may yield more than your words. "So it seems."
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 2>>
Just a couple days ago, you've seen how mullishly rooted Morgana has been in her belief of Arthur being a fool and a coward that should keep away from the two of you; how strongly against your encounters she's been. You've had a change of heart, but so did she. It has taken you by surprise - the same surprise a lost man has when he stumbles out of the thick of the forest to encouter friendly travelers, with wine for his parched throat and food for his rumbling stomach. So you feel yourself soothed and seen and understood.
"Things changed," you say, smiling. "I met Arthur, and saw that he truly does care and want to make it up to me. I'm giving him - us - that chance. So thank you for this."
"I'm willing to compromise for //you//. Because I don't want to fight you, Mordred." There's a trace of sadness in her voice, echoed in the soft, doleful rustling of leaves.
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 3>>
This development gladdens you, but doubt cast its shadow over it; Morgana has been adamant about staying away from Arthur, yet she's suddenly changed her mind. You did the same, that's true, but her change of heart is astonishing to you. Dark tendrils of suspicion coil around your mind, making you wonder if her reason is yet more dubious.
"I didn't expect for you to relent so quickly. Why are you doing this?" you demand of her. Searching her face for a telltale to confirm your conjecture, but you come up empty. "You don't hope to spy on Arthur through me or something, do you?"
"Oh? I didn't know your correspondence would consist of secrets of the crown," she notes lightly. "But no," she answers your question.
Morgana goes on, "As I said. I'm doing this for you, not Arthur. You want this so I'm willing to compromise for you. Because I don't want to fight you, Mordred." There's a trace of sadness in her voice, echoed in the soft, doleful rustling of leaves.
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 4>>
Just a couple days ago, you've seen how mullishly rooted Morgana has been in her belief of Arthur being a fool and a coward that should keep away from the two of you; how strongly against your encounters she's been. You've had a change of heart, but so did she. And it utterly baffles you.
"Yes, I do," you say, then hastily add: "You'll actually allow this?" Your voice is small and quiet, as if questioning it would make her reconsider her decision.
"You want this, don't you?" she asks, and you nod earnestly. You want it with all of your heart. Wounded as it may be yet still soaring with optimism. "Then yes."
"Why?" you push, not quite believing the sudden change in her. Though perhaps you shouldn't prod, lest she decides against.
"As I said. I'm doing this for you, not Arthur. You want this so I'm willing to compromise for you. Because I don't want to fight you, Mordred." There's a trace of sadness in her voice, echoed in the soft, doleful rustling of leaves.
<</if>>
"Now," she adjusts her puffy sleeve which gathers at the wrist. Her dress is a vision of gauzy deep purple and lush embroidery. "I think it's time to reap the fruits of my labor and enjoy the fair. Will you join me?" She smiles, and you know it's genuine by the way it crinkles the corners of her eyes. It's so much different than all those sweet ones she fakes.
<<if $betray == "notforgive" or $betray == "willforgive">>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Your fight regarding the prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Your fight regarding the prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...as well as her choice to go behind your back and talk to Arthur, even if she did right by you eventually. Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Her choice to go behind your back and talk to Arthur still hangs heavy on your mind. Betrayal still stings. Even if she did right by you eventually.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFair][$morgana_wood2 to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_wood == 1>>
You put yourself between Morgana and Arthur, resolute despite your smaller frame to be the shield protecting him from her wrath. And you'll wield your words like a sword, as a knight might protect ?their King. Your first strike: let Morgana know that it's your choice to be here. "I want to know Arthur better, and I want you to respect my choice."
Morgana regards you with unreadable and piercing eyes that would make others squirm and hesitate. But you keep your stance, rooted in your decision.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 2>>
You put yourself between Morgana and Arthur, resolute despite your smaller frame to be the shield protecting him from her wrath. And you'll wield your words like a sword, as a knight might protect ?their King. Even as your heart beats a galloping rhythm that drums in your ears like a war call. Your first strike: let Morgana know that it's your choice to be here. "I want to know Arthur better, and I want you to respect my choice." Your throat is dry, your voice quivers, but there's no mistaking there's a power behind the words. A will of steel.
Morgana regards you with unreadable and piercing eyes that would make others squirm and hesitate. But you keep your stance, rooted in your decision.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 3>>
Morgana will brandish her ominous warnings again, thinking she's doing the best for you. But it's her who still can't bear to be around Arthur, who lets the open wounds bleed and refuses any offer of stitching them up - you're willing to attempt to let it heal, now. Blinded as she is in her hatred and hurt, you're afraid she won't see that this is your choice to make. That this is what you want.
You only wish Arthur would stand up to her like he stood up to Alina for you. Perhaps that way, he'd prove himself to Morgana, if only a little.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 4>>
Morgana will brandish her ominous warnings again, thinking she's doing the best for you. But it's her who still can't bear to be around Arthur, who lets the open wounds bleed and refuses any offer of stitching them up - you're willing to attempt to let it heal, now. Blinded as she is in her hatred and hurt, you're afraid she won't see that this is your choice to make. That this is what you want.
But you can't quite judge her as you feel dismay, bitter and biting, flood you, turning your blood to ice that freezes you to the spot. You've seen how obstinate Morgana can be - how can you ever convince her that this is what you want? If only Arthur would stand up to her like he stood up to Alina for you. Perhaps that way, he'd prove himself to Morgana, if only a little.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 5>>
Morgana can't know why you're really here; she'd never approve of it, that much she made clear. You must make this seem like a chance meeting, and do it fast.
"Mother!" We were just...you see..." you rack your brain frantically, seeking for the excuse in a dissaray of thoughts like a chamber that's been ransaked. Your fingers dig into an idea but when you open your palm to regard it, it slips through like sand and you're left opening and closing your mouth, making many an articulate sounds like "umm" and "hmm" and even some intelligible yet clumsy words such as "well", "you see" and "that's". That's sure to convince her.
"Arthur got lost!" You finally grasp upon a flimsy premise, which requires a great deal of coincidence, and suspension of disbelief. "And I found him. How lucky!" Her impassive face tells you she's not impressed with your little fiction. At least you tried.
<<elseif $morgana_wood == 6>>
"We were just returning to the festival. We've met up to talk about our Pendragon powers." You know there's company, but you also know there's no need to hide. Morgana's told you Kay was among the people who are aware of your true heritage, who were there when you were a babe. When they tried to take you away. She specifically told you that it was him who was ordered to snatch you away from her arms, but knew better than to do that.
"Surely you must understand," you go on reasonably, "that I had questions that he could answer. Practice is better than just reading books, and I've never seen actual dragon blood armor before. I simply wanted some advice from someone like me."
<</if>>
"Do you truly want this?" The question is not directed at you, but Arthur. She stares at him as if she could pluck the answer out of his head herself.
Arthur rolls back his shoulders, refusing to be a willow bent in Morgana's wind. "Yes, Morgana. I want to get to know my child. I want to be in Mordred's life."
"You leave tomorrow for Camelot," she states. As if this (bigger) little detail could hinder you.
<div class="choice">[["We can write letters!" you pipe in.|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWoods1][$morgana_wood1 to 1, $impulsive to $impulsive+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let Arthur reply.|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWoods1][$morgana_wood1 to 2, $impulsive to $impulsive-1]]</div><<if $morgana_wood1 == 1>>
"I see no issue at all. We can correspond-"
"We can write letters!"
Your shared solution comes out at the same time, mingling in an earnest cacophony that's actually pleasant to hear. Your eyes lock, first surprised than delighted.
<<else>>
"I see no issue," Arthur says. "We can correspond." And your chest suffuses with joy at hearing the words you hoped he'd say.
He looks at you, and you look back at him, both of you battling smiles, not yet allowing yourself to celebrate this victory. Both turning on Morgana, awaiting her answer.
<</if>>
Morgana's gaze flits to you, softening for a brief moment, a momentary crack in her steel mask. "Fine. You shall correspond."
You can't believe your ears. That Morgana would relent on this topic so easily astonishes you. But more overwhelming than surprise is your glee, pouring into the shared look between you and Arthur.
"But," Morgana holds up her index. The air around you that just a second ago buzzed with excitement now seems unnaturally still. Somehow, it's even more menacing than if the wind had picked up in the usual restless chorus that accompanies Morgana's threats. "Don't you dare break Mordred's heart //again//, Arthur. I'm doing this for ?their sake. After all the hurt ?they's endured, ?they's still willing to give you a chance. So I'm willing to give you an opportunity. Don't squander it."
"Yes-I mean I won't!"
"How did you find us?" Though your question is directed at Morgana, you glance Kay's way. You can easily take a guess, but you're curious about the details. You'd think Arthur's company would prefer keeping Morgana away from Arthur. Though judging by Gawain's unexpected attitude towards you, perhaps Kay's will surprise you too.
"That would be due to me," replies Kay, pushing himself off the tree to join your little circle. "Lady Morgana asked me where to find you after she correctly deduced you were with Arthur. So I brought her here on the promise she wouldn't make any other threats, which well," he chuckles, but the sound is restrained, "wasn't honored-"
"It wasn't a threat," Morgana cuts in as smoothly as a searing knife through flesh. "It was a promise."
"Even better," Kay quips with mock brightness. "In any case, Lady Morgana, I must say I'm pleasantly surprised to see you change your stance on the matter. It's easy to see you care deeply about Mordred and I hope you'll come to see that so does Arthur. And that you'll understand his absence, given the //cause// of it." Kay puts a strange emphasis on the word //cause//. You're not quite sure what to make of it - does he refer to the twisted misunderstanding that has led to your conception? The threats and demands Morgana made when you were born? Both?
Morgana, however, seems to catch the meaning behind the word.
You've never seen Morgana squirm. You've seen her flooded with regret after having her angry outbursts in front of you, or the pain that creases her face when you hurt or fight; you've seen her furious aplenty, and it's an emotion that seems to almost befit her, as if her face has been specifically molded to give the most menacing of frowns. But you've never seen her squirm. She's the one to make others writhe under her gaze. Yet for just a fraction of a moment, unease descends upon her, seeps into her eyes, twists her brow, stiffens her whole frame. It's gone as quick as it came, her features schooled back into an aloof mask. If Kay notices, he chooses to ignore it.
<<if $Gawain >= 60 and $crush_gawain > 5>>
"I hope you had a good time," Kay inclines his head your way. "Also know that Gawain is looking forward to see you. Very much so," he adds with a wink.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
"I hope you had a good time," Kay inclines his head your way. "Also know that Gawain is looking forward to see you."
<<else>>
"I hope you had a good time," Kay inclines his head your way.
<</if>>
He suggests that Arthur and he go ahead so that your party wouldn't rouse suspicion; before leaving, Arthur promises to find you tomorrow to say his farewells. And with that you're left at the edge of the forest, alone with Morgana.
Finally, she sheds her stony mask, and the tenderness that now softens her features makes for a stark contrast. It renders her almost vulnerable.
"I didn't expect you to want this," she says.
<div class="choice">[["I've changed my mind," you simply say.|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWood2][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, things changed. I met Arthur. I saw that he truly wants to try. So thank you for this," you say.|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWood2][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["And I didn't expect you to relent so quickly. Why are you doing this?" you ask, a bit dubious of her motivation. "You don't hope to spy on Arthur through me or something, do you?"|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWood2][$morgana_wood2 to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stare at her in disbelief. "Yes, I do," you say hastily, wanting to get to the more important matter: "You'll actually allow this?"|Chapt3AwfulArthurMorganaWood2][$morgana_wood2 to 4]]</div><<if $chapt3_beat == "1">>
"No, not really."
<<elseif $chapt3_beat == "2">>
She smiles.
<<elseif $chapt3_beat == "3">>
She frowns. "Not unprovoked. How could I stand aside and watch them congratulate him for being part of an army that destroyed my home?"
<<elseif $chapt3_beat == "4">>
"Likely," she shrugs nonchalantly.
<<elseif $chapt3_beat == "5">>
She frowns. "Not unprovoked. How could I stand beside and watch them congratulate him for being part of an army that destroyed my home?"
<<elseif $chapt3_beat == "6">>
"Don't compare me to that man," Morgana hisses.
<</if>>
Morgana folds her arms on the desk, leaning forward. There's something about it, a certain gravity imposed by the shift in position and the way she holds your gaze, as if she's on the verge of changing the subject to more important matters. And as it turns out, she is: "I wanted to talk to you about the prophecy. I wished it was me who told you about it, not Arthur," she admits remorsefully.
<<if $betray == "ok">>
"When did you want to tell me, then?" you inquire. You trust her judgment.
<<elseif $betray == "confused">>
"When did you want to tell me, then?" you inquire. You trust she wanted what's best, but you still think she should have told you.
<<elseif $betray == "betrayed">>
"When did you want to tell me, then?" you inquire petulantly. You feel betrayed.
<</if>>
You notice how her hand tightens around her elbow. "Later. It's a stupid prophecy. I hope you don't believe a word of it."
"So Merlin is a fraud? How true are his prophecies?" If Morgana insists they're so useless, then why does Arthur put so much trust in them? Why does anyone? He's built his fame, his career on the very skill Morgana seems to so flippantly dismiss now.
"Oh, they're true. There's a long list of prophecies he made and were fulfilled. It's a power no one can deny. But prophecies aren't precise, like making a potion, where you add each ingredient as written, or a ritual, where you carefully draw the runes. It's not like a spell which, correctly cast, you know its outcome. No.
"You've noticed that while we have touched on the topic of divination, I haven't really placed too much of an emphasis on it, at least not yet. It's never particularly interested me - but I have studied it, as all sorcerers who want a well-rounded education should." Here she meaningfully holds your gaze, taking the opportunity to weasel in an apropos regarding the importance of your magical lessons. As if she doesn't always stress that. "And you know what I learned? That it's easy to charm those not in the known of how it works. It sounds so mysterious and fascinating to them." She scoffs. "It is fascinating, but it's not what they think. Visions come in many shapes. They could play out in your head like a memory would, or come as a feeling. It can come in fragmented pieces. It leaves room for interpretation. Merlin didn't get so far just because he has an affinity for prophecies - he climbed the ranks because he knows how to spin them so he's always right. You see where I'm going with this, Mordred?" Morgana asks, tilting her head. "Merlin hates me. Hates //us//. He'll take any opportunity to turn us into villains. I don't actually know what he saw. I doubt anyone knows. So I don't trust a word he says, and neither should you."
You ruminate on her words, turning them around in your head. Then you ask: "What do you //know// about my prophecy then?"
"Merlin had it the night you were born. I was holding you in my arms. You were so small, and you had just stopped crying." A tender smile creeps on her face but it fades before it can fully bloom. "That sorcerer burst into my chamber, a wild look in his eyes." She runs her fingers over her forearm, absent-mindedly, as her gaze once again glazes over, replaying the memory. "You know, Mordred, he's usually very composed. Very calculated. And so when he appeared so frantic, I knew something deeply disturbed him. He pointed at me-" her eyes glimmer with mirthless amusement "-said he knows the child in my arms is Arthur's, and that they'll be the undoing of Camelot. You see, I was still in Camelot because I had requested to be close to Arthur. Merlin was making a scene, demanding I gave you up. Weak as I was from giving birth, I still managed to throw him out. The next day, I was called into the throne room."
You know this part of the story, that flames your hatred for Merlin.
"He wanted to take you away. To arrange an accident, to get rid of you." Your mother sighs. "He's convinced himself the undoing means destruction, but that's only because you taking the throne spells the end of his reign. That's what Arthur and Lancelot think too."
<div class="choice">[["\"You keep talking about taking the throne. What if I don't want to?\""|Chapt3Throne][$throne to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[She keeps talking about taking the throne. You don't dare say you're starting to think you don't want it.|Chapt3Throne][$throne to "nono"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Taking the throne is what you must do to avenge the Le Fay.|Chapt3Throne][$throne to "revenge"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[The throne is your birth right.|Chapt3Throne][$throne to "right"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want the throne. You want to be a good ruler.|Chapt3Throne][$throne to "good"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want the throne. You want to spite everyone who wronged you.|Chapt3Throne][$throne to "wrong"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's what Morgana tells you. She knows best.|Chapt3Throne][$throne to "know"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't want the throne unless it's Arthur that wishes you to take it, but you don't say anything.|Chapt3Throne][$throne to "give"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't want the throne unless it's Arthur that wishes you to take it, and you say as such.|Chapt3Throne][$throne to "givesay"]]</div>As the two leave the chambers, Accolon calls out to you brightly, patting the edge of the bed, "Come, Mordred."
You approach quickly, pushing yourself off the wall you've been leaning against, trying not to get in Robin's way, and sit down gingerly on the bed so not to jostle Accolon, meeting his smile with a faint, yet gentle one of your own. "I'm happy you're feeling better."
"Thank you." He searches your face, his brow furrowing slightly. "You looked a little tired, Mordred. Have you slept well?"
<div class="choice">[["I was worried about you and everything that happened these days. It's been a stressful time," you admit.|Chapt3Sleep2][$chapt3_stress to "1", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well enough," you brush it off with a smile. |Chapt3Sleep2][$chapt3_stress to "2", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>As the two leave the chambers, Accolon calls out to you brightly, patting the edge of the bed, "Come, Mordred."
You approach quickly, pushing yourself off the wall you've been leaning against, trying not to get in Robin's way, and sit down gingerly on the bed so not to jostle Accolon, meeting his smile with a faint, yet gentle one of your own. "I'm happy you're feeling better."
"Thank you." He searches your face, his brow furrowing slightly. "You looked a little tired, Mordred. Have you slept well?"
<div class="choice">[["I was worried about you and everything that happened these days. It's been a stressful time," you admit.|Chapt3Sleep1][$chapt3_stress to "1", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well enough," you brush it off with a smile. |Chapt3Sleep1][$chapt3_stress to "2", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>As the two leave the chambers, Accolon calls out to you brightly, patting the edge of the bed, "Come, Mordred."
You sprint from where you've been leaning back against the wall, trying not to get in Robin's way, but stop abruptly as you make to bounce on the bed, realizing jostling Accolon may not be for the best now. Instead, you gingerly sit down, matching his smile with a radiant one of your own. "I'm so happy you're feeling better."
"Thank you." He searches your face, his brow furrowing slightly. "You looked a little tired, Mordred. Have you slept well?"
<div class="choice">[["I was worried about you. It's been a stressful few days," you admit.|Chapt3Sleep][$chapt3_stress to "1", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well enough," you brush it off with a smile.|Chapt3Sleep][$chapt3_stress to "2", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div><<if $stay == "furious">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you, going behind your back to warn Arthur.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
Your dragon agrees that Morgana only wants the best, but maybe doesn't know what's best for you. You should make your own decision.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Arthur's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Arthur's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
Your dragon agrees it's Arthur's decision to approach you.
<</if>>
//The prophecy...// You can sense $dragon_name's disbelief, the doubt over the accuracy of the word. //It doesn't really mean anything, does it?//
<<if $prophecy == "rule">>
//Yes! My rule will bring change.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "good">>
//Yes!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid">>
//Prophecies are stupid.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "plan">>
//Right!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
//I want to see it burn.//
//That's alarming.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "hate">>
//Yes...but Arthur believes him, and is afraid of me.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "wrong">>
//Prophecies are unpredictable.//
<</if>>
//I heard a commotion last night, outside the lodge. A dragon rushed out. When I looked, it was Elewen.//
//Do you think she jumped to Arthur's defense?//
Whatever did Morgana do?
//Yes. It sounded like a fight.//
A knock on your door startles you, and you hastily tell your dragon you'll talk later.
"Yes?" you asks.
Morgana's head peeks inside. Her eyes are red and puffy, telltales of shed tears, yet her expression is one of utter composure, any desperation she had displayed in the ring, when Accolon was injured, wiped away now. Her tone is somber, putting a knot in your throat, as she says, "I want to talk to you, Mordred. Come to my study."
<div class="choice">[["Yes, mother," you readily follow her.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "readily"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What about?" You cross your arms.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do I have to?" you ask warily.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "wary"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How's Accolon?" you ask, worried.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "worry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nod eagerly. "Yes! I have lots of questions."|Chapt3Study][$brief to "eagerly"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go reluctantly.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "reluctantly"]]</div><<if $chapt3_break == "1">>
You hang back, spying for an opportunity. No one takes note of your presence, engrossed in preparation or Morgana's performance.
When she finishes a few minutes later, you step forward. She sees you and smiles, the lines of frustration on her face smoothing.
<<elseif $chapt3_break == "2">>
This can't wait. "Mother!" You shout as you run to her.
Startled, Morgana drops the garland she was trying to put up, and spins around. "Mordred?" She looks concerned.
<</if>>
"Mother, there's something urgent I have to tell you."
Morgana looks sideways at the servants, who pretend not to be listening. "Let's go outside."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
[[Continue|Chapt3TellMorganaRun]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Break1]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Break2]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Break3]]
<</if>>Once outside in the empty corridor, you whisper, "I met Arthur."
Morgana sucks in a breath. "What?" Before you can say anything, she grabs your hand and rushes you into a side hall, within the alcove formed by a great painted door. Pulling chalk out of her waist belt, she drops to her haunches to draw a circle around you, and within it a few runes you're quick to recognize. Then she closes her eyes, brow furrowing in concentration. A ripple of magic washes over your skin like an errant draft.
"No one can hear us now," she says, getting up and dusting the chalk off her hands. She grips your hands - loose enough as to not hurt, but tight enough to let you know this is serious. "He met you? Behind my back?"
"He was looking for me in the inner yard as I was heading for the lodge," you say. "He said he wanted to see me."
Morgana scoffs, the expression on her face so violently mad that you lean back, "Oh, so now he wants to see you? Now, just because he so happens to be in Lothia?" Her grip on your fingers tenses, and it smarts. She sees your grimace and immediately loosens it, caressesing the back of your hand with her thumb. "Oh, Mordred. Are you well?"
Hot red anger lances you like a flaming sword. "I'm furious! How dare he!"
She cups your face and hushes you down gently. "I know, my dear."
<<if $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
"He even tried to give me a wood dragon he sculped."
Morgana pauses, and you go on, "I didn't take it. I couldn't."
<<else>>
"He even tried to give me a stupid wood dragon he sculpted!"
Morgana pauses, and you go on, "I don't want it. I don't want anything from him."
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
"He even gave me a stupid wood dragon he sculpted! As if that helps!"
Morgana pauses, but you go on, pulling it out of your pocket. "I don't want it. I don't want anything from him."
<</if>>
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "So that's what he's trying to do. Make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares.
"I have to get back to work," Morgana sighs, wiping away the chalk with her shoe. "But I will come help you get ready for the feast."
<<if $tell == "morganagareth">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Gareth]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3Castle1]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_hope == "1">>
Seeing the hope slip from your features, Morgana frowns sympathetically. "Mordred, don't be sad. He's never been a father to you, but Accolon has."
<<elseif $chapt3_hope == "2">>
Seeing the glimmer of hope in your face, Morgana frown sympathetically, "Mordred, he doesn't care. He's never been a father to you, but Accolon has."
<<elseif $chapt3_hope == "3">>
The hope slips from you, replaced by anguish.
<<elseif $chapt3_hope == "4">>
Hope persists, a stubborn flame in the wind.
<</if>>
"I have to get back to work," Morgana sighs, wiping away the chalk with her shoe. "But I will come help you get ready for the feast."
<<if $tell == "morganagareth">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Gareth]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3Castle1]]
<</if>>Once outside in the empty corridor, you whisper, "I met Arthur."
Morgana sucks in a breath. "What?" Before you can say anything, she grabs your hand and rushes you into a side hall, within the alcove formed by a great painted door. Pulling chalk out of her waist belt, she drops to her haunches to draw a circle around you, and within it a few runes you're quick to recognize. Then she closes her eyes, brow furrowing in concentration. A ripple of magic washes over your skin like an errant draft.
"No one can hear us now," she says, getting up and dusting the chalk off her hands. She grips your hands - loose enough as to not hurt, but tight enough to let you know this is serious. "He met you? Behind my back?"
"He was looking for me in the inner yard as I was heading for the lodge," you say. "He said he wanted to see me."
Morgana scoffs, the expression on her face so violently mad that you lean back, "Oh, so now he wants to see you? Now, just because he so happens to be in Lothia?" Her grip on your fingers tenses, and it smarts. She sees your grimace and immediately loosens it, caressesing the back of your hand with her thumb. "Oh, Mordred. Are you well?"
"I'm...overwhelmed." You bite your lip, trying and failing to untangle all the things you feel. "He seemed to want to make things right. He looked happy to see me. But - then why did he abandon me?"
Morgana cups your face, speaking such gently an answer so cruel. "Because he doesn't care about you, Mordred."
<<if $figurine == "no">>
"He tried to give me a wood dragon he sculpted," you say, remembering the way his restless fingers shifted over the painstakingly carved scales. "But I didn't take it."
<<include Chapt3Break2Show>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<div class="choice">[[Show her the dragon figurine.|Chapt3Break2Show][$chapt3_show to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't show her the dragon figurine. What if she doesn't let you keep it?|Chapt3Break2Show][$chapt3_show to "2", $show_morgana to "no"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_show == "1">>
"He gave me a wood dragon he sculpted." You pull it out of your pocket. "Does this mean he cares?"
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "So that's what he's trying to do. Make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<<elseif $chapt3_show == "2">>
You surreptitiously draw your cloak, making sure it conceals the dragon figurine. Seeing how angry she is at Arthur, you don't think she'd be thrilled about the gift.
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "All he's trying to do is make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<<else>>
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "So that's what he's trying to do. Make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["So he doesn't care?" Your face crumbles. You feel anguish rise.|Chapt3Break2.1][$chapt3_hope to "1", $opinion_arthur to "anguish"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But...what if he does care?" You hold onto hope.|Chapt3Break2.1][$chapt3_hope to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So he doesn't care? You feel anguish rise, but don't say anything.|Chapt3Break2.1][$chapt3_hope to "3", $opinion_arthur to "anguish"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[But what if he does care? You hold onto hope, but don't say anything.|Chapt3Break2.1][$chapt3_hope to "4"]]</div>Once outside in the empty corridor, you whisper, "I met Arthur."
Morgana sucks in a breath. "What?" Before you can say anything, she grabs your hand and rushes you into a side hall, within the alcove formed by a great painted door. Pulling chalk out of her waist belt, she drops to her haunches to draw a circle around you, and within it a few runes you're quick to recognize. Then she closes her eyes, brow furrowing in concentration. A ripple of magic washes over your skin like an errant draft.
"No one can hear us now," she says, getting up and dusting the chalk off her hands. She grips your hands - loose enough as to not hurt, but tight enough to let you know this is serious. "He met you? Behind my back?"
"He was looking for me in the inner yard as I was heading for the lodge," you say. "He said he wanted to see me."
Morgana scoffs, the expression on her face so violently mad that you lean back, "Oh, so now he wants to see you? Now, just because he so happens to be in Lothia?" Her grip on your fingers tenses, and it smarts. She sees your grimace and immediately loosens it, caressesing the back of your hand with her thumb. "Oh, Mordred. Are you well?"
"I'm.." you search for a word, but none seem to be able to fit the light and warmth that you feel, that you can barely contain yourself. So you settle for a simple: "happy," and let your smile convey the rest. "He seemed to want to make things right. He was happy to see me!"
Morgana cups your face, regarding you strangely, as if you were blazing with fever but insisted it was merely a hot flash. "Really?"
<<if $figurine == "no">>
"He tried to give me a wood dragon he sculpted," you say, remembering the way his restless fingers shifted over the painstakingly carved scales. "But I didn't take it."
[[Continue|Chapt3Break3Show]]
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<div class="choice">[[Show her the dragon figurine.|Chapt3Break3Show][$chapt3_show to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't show her the dragon figurine. What if she doesn't let you keep it?|Chapt3Break3Show][$chapt3_show to "2", $show_morgana to "no"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_show == "1">>
"He gave me a wood dragon he sculpted." You pull it out of your pocket, the token of affection inspiring hope. "It means he cares."
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "So that's what he's trying to do. Make you believe he really cares about anything. He never cared until now, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for the absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<<elseif $chapt3_show == "2">>
You surreptitiously draw your cloak, making sure it conceals the dragon figurine. Seeing how angry she is at Arthur, you don't think she'd be thrilled about the gift.
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "All he's doing is trying to make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<<else>>
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "So that's what he's trying to do. Make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["So he doesn't care?" Your face crumbles. You feel anguish rise.|Chapt3Break2.1][$chapt3_hope to "1", $opinion_arthur to "anguish"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But...what if he does care?" You hold onto hope.|Chapt3Break2.1][$chapt3_hope to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So he doesn't care? You feel anguish rise, but don't say anything.|Chapt3Break2.1][$chapt3_hope to "3", $opinion_arthur to "anguish"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[But what if he does care? You hold onto hope, but don't say anything.|Chapt3Break2.1][$chapt3_hope to "4"]]</div><<if $chapt3_calm == "1">>
You know her outbursts- violent and uncontrollable, accidents waiting to happen. Scared, you hastily lean forward in your chair, flailing your arms, fear hinging on your words, "Mother! Break out of it!"
Morgana flinches and the room settles. She stares at you with wide eyes, the rage drained away, replaced with something else. Fear that mirrors your own, as she realizes she scared you. "I'm sorry, Mordred." She reaches forward.
<<elseif $chapt3_calm == "2">>
You know her outbursts- violent and uncontrollable, accidents waiting to happen. You're scared, making yourself small in the chair, your voice quiet as you beg, "Mother, stop."
Morgana flinches and the room settles. She stares at you with wide eyes, the rage drained away, replaced with something else. Fear that mirrors your own, as she realizes she scared you. "I'm sorry, Mordred." She reaches forward.
<<elseif $chapt3_calm == "3">>
You know her outbursts- violent and uncontrollable, accidents waiting to happen. "Snap out of it!" you shout.
Morgana flinches and the room settles. She stares at you with wide eyes, the rage drained away, replaced with something else. Fear, as she stares in your wary eyes. "I'm sorry, Mordred." She reaches forward.
<<elseif $chapt3_calm == "4">>
You know her outbursts- violent and uncontrollable, accidents waiting to happen. "Mother, stop," you say firmly.
Morgana flinches and the room settles. She stares at you with wide eyes, the rage drained away, replaced with something else. Fear, as she stares in your wary eyes. "I'm sorry, Mordred." She reaches forward.
<<elseif $chapt3_calm == "5">>
You know her outbursts- violent and uncontrollable. You let the fury rage through her, wait for her to calm down.
A sharp sound pierces the room and Morgana flinches, the room settling. You look to the side, where a bottle has broken on the table, liquid trickling down the wood onto the mosaic. Morgana frowns, but doesn't bother to fix it, meeting your gaze instead with wide eyes, the rage drained away, replaced with something else. Fear. "I'm sorry, Mordred." She reaches forward.
<<elseif $chapt3_calm == "6">>
You know her outbursts- violent and uncontrollable. You let the fury rage through her, wait for her to calm down, too scared to say anything.
A sharp sound pierces the room and Morgana flinches, the room settling. You look to the side, where a bottle has broken on the table, liquid trickling down the wood onto the mosaic. Morgana frowns, but doesn't bother to fix it, meeting your gaze instead with wide eyes, the rage drained away, replaced with something else. Fear that mirrors your own, as she realizes she scared you. "I'm sorry, Mordred." She reaches forward.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Flinch.|Chapt3Flinch][$flinch to "flinch"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you say firmly.|Chapt3Flinch][$flinch to "no", $defiant to $defiant+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Too startled, you allow the touch.|Chapt3Flinch][$flinch to "startled", $defiant to $defiant-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You welcome the comfort.|Chapt3Flinch][$flinch to "comfort"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Allow her.|Chapt3Flinch][$flinch to "allow"]]</div>Back at the castle, you don't have any more obligations as a squire. You could find Morgana and tell her about your encounter with Arthur - she must be in the great hall, or in the kitchen, giving orders to the servants. Or you could wait till she comes help you choose your attire for the feast. Perhaps it's best not to disturb her now, when she's already got so much to attend to.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
There's also the possibility of telling Gareth. He must still be in the library, and your company will be a boon. You could, of course, search for both.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>><div class="choice">[[Find Morgana then tell Gareth.|Chapt3MorganaNow][$tell to "morganagareth"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>><div class="choice">[[You'll tell Morgana when she comes to your chambers. You'll find Gareth in the meanwhile.|Chapt3Gareth][$tell to "gareth"]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Don't tell Morgana.|Chapt3Castle1][$tell to "no", $show_morgana to "no"]]</div>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>><div class="choice">[[Don't tell Morgana, but tell Gareth.|Chapt3Gareth][$tell to "onlygareth", $show_morgana to "no"]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Tell Morgana now.|Chapt3MorganaNow][$tell to "now"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Tell her later.|Chapt3MorganaLater][$tell to "later"]]</div><<if $tell == "morganagareth" or $tell == "no" or $tell == "onlygareth" or $tell == "now">>
Morgana has come to help you get ready for the feast before doing so herself. As soon as she came she started rummaging through your wardrobe, running her fingers over gossamer gauze and embroided velvet and dyed linen, humming to herself ever so often in melodious approval or tutting disappointment. You sit on the bed, dangling your feet off the edge, elbows propped on your thighs and chin in palms, watching her put aside a choice of your finest attires for you to select from.
Once she's done she brings the critically and carefully hand-picked pile over to you. "Choose one."
<</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">>
<div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "feminine", $outfit to "dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "femalemasculine", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them. You want to be like the boys.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "ftm", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them. You've always felt strange about doing what's expected of you just because you're a girl, but following what's expected of a boy doesn't feel right either.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's what girls usually wear and you love them, but you've always felt strange about the fact that it's expected of you. You'd rather wear what you like, and not be told you should be something.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "dress"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "masculine", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you love dresses.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "malefeminine", $outfit to "dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you love dresses. You want to be like the girls.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "mtf", $outfit to "dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you love dresses. You've always felt strange about doing what's expected of you just because you're a boy, but following what's expected of a girl doesn't feel right either.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's what boys usually wear and you love them, but you've always felt strange about the fact that it's expected of you. You'd rather wear what you like, and not be told you should be something.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div>
<</if>>Once you finally get to your chamber, you throw yourself on your bed, relishing its softness.
<<if $figurine == "yes" and $show_morgana == "yes">>
As you turn on your side, the dragon figurine on your bedside table catches your eye. You reach for it, staring at it as you're trying to make sense of your thoughts.
<</if>>
How much does Galahad really know? Does he know about the prophecy? He talked about destruction, but isn't that what anyone thinks anyway? That Morgana wants to take revenge. That you want to steal his throne. No. Not steal, Morgana says. Claiming what's yours.
You hear the flapping of wings, and rush to your window. The last trial of the day has begun, and the dragons have taken off. You lean your arms against the sill, watching the creatures sail the sky, and wish you were flying with $dragon_name. Arthur is leading the race, again. You can tell it's no favor for the King done by the other knights - he and Elewen are simply the fastest. As you watch them soar, you ache to reach out for your dragon. You wonder if word of what's happened has found them yet. Sera must have been informed, as Accolon's partner, and with $dragon_name shadowing them, they too must know by now.
You close your eyes and concentrate. Calling out to your dragon is a tricky process that Morgana is wary of, fearing some other dragon might hear you. It's easy when you're in proximity. But you've been practicing with Accolon in the forest for longer distances too. $dragon_name would stay in a place, while you and Accolon, atop Sera, flew away. You started with small distances, testing the limit of your connection, how far away you could still call to each other, and daunting as the way between the lodge and castle may seem, you know $dragon_he will hear you.
//Mordred?// Your name resonates frantic in your head. //I've been looking for you! Where are you?//
You project an image of your bedchamber. //You've heard then?//
//I did. How is Accolon faring? How are you faring?//
You relay Robin's assesment to $dragon_name, then hesitate before answering the second question. Running a finger along the dark, wooden frame of the windows, you echo it to yourself, searching for the answer. The fear that gripped you brought you on high peaks of terror and anger and now that it's released you, dropped you to the ground, leaving you drained and exhausted.
So you answer, //I don't know,// and it's perhaps the most accurate answer you can give right now. //Are you still at the tournament?//
It's $dragon_name's turn to project an image into your mind. The scaly, small figures of the squire dragons replaces the sky and forest you could see through your window. They're still out at the dragons' pavilion. //Sera said I'm free to do whatever, so I went looking for you, but couldn't see you anywhere near the healing tent.// $dragon_he hesitate, inner voice pained as $dragon_he go on. //I've seen Accolon though. Mordred, what happened exactly?// $dragon_name asks. A mix of dread and concern sweeps over you - this time not your own.
You start with Lancelot's ruthless attack against Accolon. Worry and anger that is not your own, but mirrors it well floods you through your connection as you recount the fight. You then go on to tell $dragon_him about Galahad approaching you, only to spew the same words you've heard before.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
Your dragon sounds hurt. //"I thought the trials were supposed to be fun!"//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
Your dragon sounds hurt. //That bully.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
Your dragon huffs, aggravated. //How dare Lancelot? Such a bully! Oh, I'd tell him a piece of my mind if I could.//
<<if $attack == "jab">>
They add, with no small amount of satisfaction, //I'm glad you did at least.//
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Your dragon growls, furious. //That bully. Let me at him, Mordred. I'll find him and tear him to shreds!//
<<if $attack == "water" or $attack == "wind" or $attack == "fire">>
They add, with no small amount of satisfaction, //I'm so glad you attacked him, at least!//
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
Your dragon sounds worried. //That bully. Please be careful around them.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
Your dragon whimpers. //Be careful, Mordred. They sound dangerous.//
<</if>>
Silence stretches on between you as you watch the flurry of flapping wings. Dragons rush to the finish line, the race drawing to a close. Elewen and Arthur are in the lead, so there's no surprise when her taloned feet are the first to hit the ground.
//Arthur and Elewen won the dragon race again,// $dragon_name says, if only to fill the quiet. You tug at your sleeve, realizing you haven't told $dragon_name about your meeting with Arthur and the prophecy. They immediately pick up on the emotions the memory stir.
//What happened?//
You pour it all out. What Arthur told you- that he wants to be your father, yet he's ashamed of you. That he can't claim you, that he can't show affection in public. The prophecy Merlin made, and Morgana hid from you. How Morgana went to confront Arthur. $dragon_name listens intently to it all.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Playful]]
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Friendly]]
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Bold]]
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Aggressive]]
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Shy]]
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Fearful]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_greet_elewen == 1>>
Perhaps it’s a tad overly familiar gesture for a first meeting - to an older dragon nonetheless - but you can’t help but want to match Elewen’s affable tone. Vaguely, like the heat coming off a fire, you feel their happiness radiate towards your mind.
<<elseif $chapt3_greet_elewen == 2>>
Perhaps it's an overly familiar gesture for a first meeting - and to an older dragon nonetheless - but you throw your arms around Elewen's snoot. They doesn't seem bothered in the least. On the contrary, they snuggle against you, making a soft, purr-like sigh of contentment. Vaguely, like the heat coming off a fire, you feel their happiness radiate towards you.
<<elseif $chapt3_greet_elewen == 3>>
Perhaps it's an overly familiar gesture for a first meeting - and to an older dragon nonetheless - but you bow your head and bob forward in invitation. There’s a brief pause, where you fear you might have offended them with your forwardness, and you almost straighten yourself in mortification, but then - talons pad softly against the carpet and there it is, the reassuring pressure of their forehead against yours. Vaguely, like the heat coming off a fire, you feel their happiness radiate towards you.
<<elseif $chapt3_greet_elewen == 4>>
“I don’t want anything to do with either of you.” In the draconic language, your hissed words come out even harsher, barbed.
You feel, vaguely, the edges of their disappointment, brushing against your mind, not sharpened just...dull, a blunted pain, one it takes years to get used to. “I know it’s difficult for you, Mordred. I could not ask of you not to feel the way you do.” Elewen speaks in a kind, patient voice of a teacher explaining a complicated lesson to their student. “I know you’ve suffered. So has Arthur, and your mother, and their mother before them - all I ask is that you listen. That you give Arthur the chance to say his side of the story. Hear him out, and make up your mind afterwards. Whatever you decide, it truly was a pleasure to finally meet you.” Their head tilts slightly as they drink in your face, as if trying to commit to memory all its details. “You do have the same eyes. Like Arthur, like Morgana, like Igraine.”
You’re not sure what it is - whether its the words themselves, or the whispered way they say them, in that voice that slithers down your ears and coils round your thoughts, blotting, for a brief moment, all sense out of your head.
Before you can unravel it all in your mind, however, Elewen goes on. “I hope I’ll be seeing your face around from now on, but even if I don’t, I want you to know that whenever you or $dragon_name need someone to turn to, I am here. And so is Arthur. I shall leave the two of you now, to talk.”
<<elseif $chapt3_greet_elewen == 5>>
“A belated pleasure, surely,” you say, tone sharp. “Since it took Arthur so long to come meet me.”
You feel, vaguely, the edges of their disappointment, brushing against your mind, not sharpened just...dull, a blunted pain, one it takes years to get used to. “I know it’s difficult for you, Mordred. I could not ask of you not to feel the way you do.” Elewen speaks in a kind, patient voice of a teacher explaining a complicated lesson to their student. “I know you’ve suffered. So has Arthur, and your mother, and their mother before them - all I ask is that you listen. That you give Arthur the chance to say his side of the story. Hear him out, and make up your mind afterwards. Whatever you decide, it truly was a pleasure to finally meet you.” Their head tilts slightly as they drink in your face, as if trying to commit to memory all its details. “You do have the same eyes. Like Arthur, like Morgana, like Igraine.”
You’re not sure what it is - whether its the words themselves, or the whispered way they say them, in that voice that slithers down your ears and coils round your thoughts, blotting, for a brief moment, all sense out of your head.
Before you can unravel it all in your mind, however, Elewen goes on. “I hope I’ll be seeing your face around from now on, but even if I don’t, I want you to know that whenever you or $dragon_name need someone to turn to, I am here. And so is Arthur. I shall leave the two of you now, to talk.”
<<elseif $chapt3_greet_elewen == 6>>
You offer a polite nod - nothing else seems fit for the moment.
You sense, vaguely, relief and cautious happiness radiating off Elewen, like heat off a bonfire.
Elewen considers you for a beat, lids slightly lowered over their crimson eyes in an expression you can’t quite decipher. “I know it’s difficult for you, Mordred. I could not ask of you not to feel the way you do.” Elewen speaks in a kind, patient voice of a teacher explainating a complicated lesson to their student. “I know you’ve suffered. So has Arthur, and your mother, and their mother before them - all I ask is that you listen. That you give Arthur the chance to say his side of the story. Hear him out, and make up your mind afterwards. Whatever you decide, it truly was a pleasure to finally meet you.” Their head tilts slightly as they drink in your face, as if trying to commit to memory all its details. “You do have the same eyes. Like Arthur, like Morgana, like Igraine.”
You’re not sure what it is - whether its the words themselves, or the whispered way they say them, which makes them slither up your ears and coil round your thoughts, blotting, for a brief moment, all sense out of your head.
Before you can unravel it all in your mind, however, Elewen goes on. “I hope I’ll be seeing your face around from now on, but even if I don’t, I want you to know that whenever you or $dragon_name need someone to turn to, I am here. And so is Arthur. I shall leave the two of you now, to talk.”
<<elseif $chapt3_greet_elewen == 7>>
You offer a smile that’s as charming as it is fake, and incline your head in a friendly nod. There’s no reason not to be polite with the Royal Scholar, at least.
You sense, vaguely, relief and cautious happiness radiating off Elewen, like heat off a bonfire.
They consider you for a beat, lids slightly lowered over their crimson eyes in an expression you can’t quite decipher. “I know it’s difficult for you, Mordred. I know it must have been painful for you, and yet here you are, receiving us with far more warmth than expected.” Elewen speaks in a kind, patient, soothing voice that you could see easily lulling you to peaceful sleep. “I know you’ve suffered. So has Arthur, and your mother, and their mother before them - all I ask is that you listen. That you give Arthur the chance to say his side of the story. Hear him out, and make up your mind afterwards. Whatever you decide, it truly was a pleasure to finally meet you.” Their head tilts slightly as they drink in your face, as if trying to commit to memory all its details. “You do have the same eyes. Like Arthur, like Morgana, like Igraine.”
You’re not sure what it is - whether its the words themselves, or the whispered way they say them, in that voice that slithers down your ears and coils round your thoughts, blotting, for a brief moment, all sense out of your head.
Before you can unravel it all in your mind, however, Elewen goes on. “I hope I’ll be seeing your face around from now on, but even if I don’t, I want you to know that whenever you or $dragon_name need someone to turn to, I am here. And so is Arthur. I shall leave the two of you now, to talk.”
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3_greet_elewen == 1 or $chapt3_greet_elewen == 2 or $chapt3_greet_elewen == 3>>
Elewen considers you for a beat, lids slightly lowered over their crimson eyes in an expression you can’t quite decipher. “I know it’s difficult for you, Mordred. I know it must have been painful for you, and yet here you are, receiving us with far more warmth than expected.” Elewen speaks in a kind, patient, soothing voice that you could see easily lulling you to peaceful sleep. “I know you’ve suffered. So has Arthur, and your mother, and their mother before them - all I ask is that you listen. That you give Arthur the chance to say his side of the story. Hear him out, and make up your mind afterwards. Whatever you decide, it truly was a pleasure to finally meet you.” Their head tilts slightly as they drink in your face, as if trying to commit to memory all its details. “You do have the same eyes. Like Arthur, like Morgana, like Igraine.”
You’re not sure what it is - whether its the words themselves, or the whispered way they say them, which makes them slither up your ears and coil round your thoughts, blotting, for a brief moment, all sense out of your head.
Before you can unravel it all in your mind, however, Elewen goes on. “I hope I’ll be seeing your face around from now on, but even if I don’t, I want you to know that whenever you or $dragon_name need someone to turn to, I am here. And so is Arthur. I shall leave the two of you now, to talk.”
<</if>>
Elewen touches their snoot against Arthur’s cheek before slipping out into the night - a sliver of cold seeping in as the flap flutters behind them, sending a shiver through your frame. Arthur watches them go, a fond, wistful smile on his lips.
"We've been together since we were both six," he says, and you can't help but think of you and $dragon_name. He glances at you. "You know, I was raised to become a knight too, as Ector's squire along with Kay."
Just like you. Raised as a squire, by an adoptive father, more loving than the absent father who sired you. Just like you, he has those $eye colored eyes, staring at you know from a face on which, with a mere closer look, you can already map the similarities to yours.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"Yesterday," Arthur says, reaching into his cloak. "You ran away before I could say anything." He stops rummaging for whatever he was looking for, and instead considers your face, as if seeing it anew all over again. You don’t know what to make of his expression - if it’s more sad smile or pained grimace, a bit of each, more than either. Even the tone of his voice - so brittle, so vulnerable - makes you wonder if the comparison is even a compliment. "I wanted to give you this." He extends you a wooden dragon figurine, smiling gently. "I sculpted it myself."
<div class="choice">[[Take it happily.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "yes", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it and hug him.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "yes", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously, but touched.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "yes", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it just to appease him.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "yes", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, not sure how to feel about it.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "yes", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't take it. You don't want anything from him.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "no", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't take it. "A toy won't make up for your absence."|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "no", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't take it. "Thank you so much," you say sardonically.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "no", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "8"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Throw it against the wall.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "no", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "9"]]</div>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3MeetArthur3]]
<</if>>When you first arrived in Lothia, Morgana and Accolon still conducted their romance under some pretense of secrecy, however feeble. But like a river, the rumors kept flowing. And so, slowly every gaze and touch became bolder, under the ever judgmental eye of Lothia, scrutinizing with disgust every gesture of affection. And somewhere along the way, Morgana's chambers became his too.
So now you find yourself in their bedchamber, half an hour before the last day of the tournament commences, the sound of hurried footsteps and mingled conversations of servants and participants filling the silence as Robin consults Accolon. They need to determine if Accolon is in any shape to attend the trials today, brow furrowed as they remove the bandages. The man does his best not to wince as the healer looks at a nasty slash that has already started to heal, no doubt thanks to Morgana's help.
<<if $betray == "confusion">>
The revelation of the prophecy, and the fact that it's been kept a secret from you, still stings, but the pang of pain you felt seeing Accolon beaten overpowered it. Your mind is a muddy mess of conflicted thoughts, swarming like angry bees, buzzing and keeping you up at night. Conflicted thoughts, each of them trying to be heard, insisting that they only did it to protect you, that they violated your trust, that this stupid prophecy is the cause of your suffering, that it's your right to know about a prophecy that makes you the villain of a kingdom. And to these thoughts, joined frantic ones concerning Accolon's well-being - if he was feeling better, if the wounds were healing well, and reassuring yourself he was in good hands - for Morgana is as skilled at alleviating pain as she is at inflicting it, when she desires. You rushed here in the morning, reaching the room just as Robin did.
<<elseif $betray == "betrayed">>
The betrayal hurts, but so does your worry for Accolon. Your trust has been violated, but part of you wishes it was all to protect you. Yet it angers you, because you have the right to know about a prophecy that makes you the villain of a kingdom. And along anger, concern for Accolon's well-being kept you twisting and turning in bed all night, wondering if he was feeling better, if the wounds were healing well, and reassuring yourself he was in good hands - for Morgana is as skilled at alleviating pain as she is at inflicting it, when she desires. You rushed here in the morning, reaching the room just as Robin did.
<<else>>
You've been twisting and turning in bed all night, wondering if he was feeling better, if the wounds were healing well, and reassuring yourself he was in good hands - for Morgana is as skilled at alleviating pain as she is at inflicting it, when she desires. You rushed here in the morning, reaching the room just as Robin did.
<</if>>
Robin straightens with a smile. "You look a lot better, Sir Accolon." Their gaze flits to Morgana, perched on the edge of the bed. "You've taken good care of him."
Morgana smiles softly. She must have been up all night attending to Accolon, preparing potions and praying to the Goddess for him, like she does when you're sick, snuggling in bed with you. Yet the rings under her eyes are barely noticeable, hidden by whatever tint she deviced in her study.
"She did," Accolon confirms, reaching out to take Morgana's hand, twining his fingers with hers, letting his gaze drink her in lovingly before turning back to Robin.
"You're making such a great recovery, but I think it'd be better for you to not push yourself, and not compete today in any trial. It'd be too strenuous on your healing wounds."
Accolon chuckles. "I concur to your advice, Robin. I shall rest today."
Morgana gives Robin a thankful, relieved look. "Yesterday, he was rather stubborn about participating."
"Still," Accolon chimes in, his gaze flickering to you. "Would it be fine for me to take a walk?"
"As long as it's a slow walk and you don't tire yourself, go ahead." Robin nods. "Now, I reckon I should be heading towards the tournament."
As they go to pick up their satchel, Morgana brings Accolon's hand to her lips to place a quick kiss on the back of it, then goes to the healer.
"Have you heard anything of how Sir Lancelot's been faring?" Morgana asks, deceptively polite. "Will he be competing?"
Not enough to deceive Robin though, who gives the woman a stern look. "No, he won't. He's been retching and sleeping in the restroom, well after he's expelled all food from him, in a constant feverish state."
Morgana doesn't hold back her delighted smile at the news of the Champion Knight's suffering.
"You won't even pretend the news doesn't delight you, will you?" Robin quirks an eyebrow.
"Oh, tragedy," Morgana's words are dipped in sardonic poison.
Robin sighs, shaking their head and pinching the bridge of their nose. "I know it was your work, Morgana," they whisper in exasperation. "The healer's potions should have helped more than they did would it have been a simple food intoxication. There's been rumors, whispers - a servant said Lancelot was blabbering and cursing you."
"Good," Morgana says firmly.
This time, Robin's sigh rattles the entirety of their willowy frame. "I should really go."
"Wait for me?" Morgana smiles sweetly, and the healer crosses their arms, but waits.
Morgana approaches the vanity, letting her gaze roam over her figure, wiping with the tip of her finger at a smudge of her eye tint then, picking up a small tin can off the table, scoops the powder on her fingertip and quickly dabs at her cheeks, rendering a soft dash of color against her
<div class="choice">[[ivory complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "ivory", $morgana_skin_show to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[warm beige complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "warm beige", $morgana_skin_show to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[cool beige complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "cool beige", $morgana_skin_show to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[rosy complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "rosy", $morgana_skin_show to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[tawny complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "tawny", $morgana_skin_show to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[olive complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "olive", $morgana_skin_show to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[light brown complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "light brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[sepia brown complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "sepia brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[golden brown complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "golden brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[russet brown complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "russet brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[dark brown complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "dark brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[warm black complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "warm black"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[cool black complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "cool black"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[deep black complexion.|Chapt3Complexion][$morgana_complexion to "deep black"]]</div><<if $chapt3_ariawen_company == 1>>
Might as well have some company then. Perhaps you’ll even enjoy it.
<<elseif $chapt3_ariawen_company == 2>>
You’re not particularly keen on the company, but $dragon_name clearly is, so you make no protest to it.
<<elseif $chapt3_ariawen_company == 3>>
You’re not particularly keen on the company - it was supposed to be just you and $dragon_name, as always! Just the two of you, enjoying the tournament, having your quiet mental conversations, without any bothersome intrusion. Yet $dragon_name clearly doesn’t see it like this, and wants Ariawen here, so you can’t spoil it for them. You bury the vexation deep inside your chest and instead put a polite smile on your face.
<<elseif $chapt3_ariawen_company == 4>>
You’re not particularly keen on the company - it was supposed to be just you and $dragon_name, as always! Just the two of you, enjoying the tournament, having your quiet mental conversations,without any bothersome intrusion. Yet $dragon_name clearly doesn’t see it like this, and wants Ariawen here, and it really stings. Isn’t your company fun enough - good enough?
//”Do they really have to join us?”// you ask, glancing askew at the chattering dragon.
<<if $dragon_type == “bold”>>
//”Yes. Come on, Modred. We’re still spending time together; we just have some company, which we so rarely do. Is it really that bad?//”
The sentiment you send back in response makes it clear that it is.
<<elseif $dragon_type == “friendly”>>
//”Come on, it’ll be fun! We’re still together we just have some company, and I promise Aria is great fun.”//
You’re aghast; they’re already on nicknames?
<<elseif $dragon_type == “shy”>>
You feel their conflict, the reluctance to hurt you, the yearning for more - new - friendship. //”Please, Mordred. They’re really nice, you know.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == “fierce”>>
//”Yes. We need some new company, Mordred. It’s good to be challenged now and then, you know. And we’re still spending time together.”//
//”I guess.”//
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_ariawen_company == 5>>
You’re not keen on the unasked for company, but $dragon_name clearly is; so as to not spoil their fun, you decide it’s better to just leave them to it.
//”You two have fun, I’ll go see what Sera’s doing.”//
//”Are you sure?”// $dragon_name asks.
//”Yes.”// When you still feel a sliver of uncertainty on their part, you add, //”Really, I’m just not in the mood for conversation with new people. But that shouldn’t stop you.”//
Ariawen, too distracted by the action out on the ring, doesn’t even notice as you slip away and make your way to Sera, who hangs around a couple of other draconic knights, awaiting their turn in the next trial.
“Mordred,” Sera sounds mildly surprised, but smiles at your approach. Then, gaze flicking back to $dragon_name before returning to you, they silently ask in your head, //”Is everything alright?”//
//”Yes.”// “I just want to get your professional knight expertise on how the trial’s going,” you say out loud.
Sera briefly touches the tip of their snout to your shoulder, a tender gesture. “Well, let’s see….There’s Accolon. He’s faring quite well.”
You watch the fighting knights, your eye caught by the dragon crested armors of the Camelotian knights, the gilded embossing shining as if they carried a piece of the sun across their chests. One knight in particular captures your attention, holding it tight in their gauntlet’s vice-like grip. They wield a sword in one hand, its hilt gilded, ruby winking from the pommel, the design simple but elegant; their other hand is ungloved. Already lost in the frenzy, you reckon, or perhaps a peculiar choice - at least that’s what you make of it until you see their fingers flexing, summoning water from the basin placed in the middle of the ring. The water rises with the motion, separating into blobs that hover in the air, shaping themselves into throwing knives that then pour down on his enemy.
The crowd out in the stands and below the pavilion explodes in gasps and murmurs of awe.
“That’s Sir Lancelot,” Sera says, voice tight. “From what I’ve heard, his son is also learning how to wield the Lady’s magic like him.”
The trial is finally finished half an hour later, with considerably fewer knights left in the competition, Accolon among them. He returns, grinning. A gauntleted hand lands on Accolon's armored shoulder with a loud clang, followed by a friendly, "You fought well, Sir Accolon." Kay smiles at your knight.
[[Continue|Chapt3Magic1]]
<<elseif $chapt3_ariawen_company == 6>>
You’re not particularly keen on the company - it was supposed to be just you and $dragon_name, as always! Just the two of you, enjoying the tournament, having your quiet mental conversations, without any bothersome intrusion. Yet $dragon_name clearly doesn’t see it like this, and wants Ariawen here, so you can’t spoil it for them. You bury the vexation deep inside your chest and say, //”You two have fun, I’ll go see what Sera’s doing.”//
//”Are you sure?”// $dragon_name asks.
//”Yes.”// When you still feel a sliver of uncertainty on their part, you add, //”Really, I’m just not in the mood for conversation with new people. But that shouldn’t stop you.”//
Ariawen, too distracted by the action out on the ring, doesn’t even notice as you slip away and make your way to Sera, who hangs around a couple of other draconic knights, awaiting their turn in the next trial.
“Mordred,” Sera sounds mildly surprised, but smiles at your approach. Then, gaze flicking back to $dragon_name before returning to you, they silently ask in your head, //”Is everything alright?”//
//”Yes.”// You try your best to sound convincing, and it’s not that hard; after all, unlike with $dragon_name, it’s easier to shield your thoughts and emotions against Sera. They’re not as deeply burrowed in your mind as they are. “I just want to get your professional knight expertise on how the trial’s going,” you say out loud.
Sera briefly touches the tip of their snout to your shoulder, a tender gesture. “Well, let’s see….There’s Accolon. He’s faring quite well.”
You watch the fighting knights, your eye caught by the dragon crested armors of the Camelotian knights, the gilded embossing shining as if they carried a piece of the sun across their chests. One knight in particular captures your attention, holding it tight in their gauntlet’s vice-like grip. They wield a sword in one hand, its hilt gilded, ruby winking from the pommel, the design simple but elegant; their other hand is ungloved. Already lost in the frenzy, you reckon, or perhaps a peculiar choice - at least that’s what you make of it until you see their fingers flexing, summoning water from the basin placed in the middle of the ring. The water rises with the motion, separating into blobs that hover in the air, shaping themselves into throwing knives that then pour down on his enemy.
The crowd out in the stands and below the pavilion explodes in gasps and murmurs of awe.
“That’s Sir Lancelot,” Sera says, voice tight. “From what I’ve heard, his son is also learning how to wield the Lady’s magic like him.”
The trial is finally finished half an hour later, with considerably fewer knights left in the competition, Accolon among them. He returns, grinning. A gauntleted hand lands on Accolon's armored shoulder with a loud clang, followed by a friendly, "You fought well, Sir Accolon." Kay smiles at your knight.
[[Continue|Chapt3Magic1]]
<<elseif $chapt3_ariawen_company == 7>>
You’re not particularly keen on the company - it was supposed to be just you and $dragon_name, as always! Just the two of you, enjoying the tournament, having your quiet mental conversations, without any bothersome intrusion. Yet $dragon_name clearly doesn’t see it like this, and wants Ariawen here, and it really stings. Isn’t your company fun enough - good enough?
//”Do they really have to join us?”// you ask, glancing askew at the chattering dragon.
<<if $dragon_type == “bold”>>
//”Yes. Come on, Modred. We’re still spending time together; we just have some company, which we so rarely do. Is it really that bad?//”
The sentiment you send back in response makes it clear that it does.
<<elseif $dragon_type == “friendly”>>
//”Come on, it’ll be fun! We’re still together we just have some company, and I promise Aria is great company.”//
You’re aghast; they’re already on nicknames?
<<elseif $dragon_type == “shy”>>
You feel their conflict, the reluctance to hurt you, the yearning for more - new - friendship. //”please, mordred. They’re really nice, you know.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == “fierce”>>
//”Yes. We need some new company, Mordred. It’s good to be challenged now and then, you know. And we’re still spending time together.”//
//”I guess.”//
<</if>>
You take a deep, steadying breath, then let it out slowly. //”Alright, I’ll go see what Sera’s doing. You two can talk all you want. Clearly, I’m not needed here.”//
//“Mordred! You know that’s not true. Don’t be like that.”//
Their sadness, twined with disappointment, burrows in your chest like a blade; your heart beats painfully around it. //”Fine,”// you say, if only because you can’t stand them feeling like this, //you// feeling like this, //”but I’m still going. Have fun.”//
Ariawen, too distracted by the action out on the ring, doesn’t even notice as you slip away and make your way to Sera, who hangs around a couple of other draconic knights, awaiting their turn in the next trial.
“Mordred,” Sera sounds mildly surprised, but smiles at your approach. Then, gaze flicking back to $dragon_name before returning to you, they silently ask in your head, //”Is everything alright?”//
//”Yes.”// You try your best to sound convincing, and it’s not that hard; after all, unlike with $dragon_name, it’s easier to shield your thoughts and emotions against Sera. They’re not as deeply burrowed in your mind as they are. “I just want to get your professional knight expertise on how the trial’s going,” you say out loud.
Sera briefly touches the tip of their snout to your shoulder, a tender gesture. “Well, let’s see….There’s Accolon. He’s faring quite well.”
You watch the fighting knights, your eye caught by the dragon crested armors of the Camelotian knights, the gilded embossing shining as if they carried a piece of the sun across their chests. One knight in particular captures your attention, holding it tight in their gauntlet’s vice-like grip. They wield a sword in one hand, its hilt gilded, ruby winking from the pommel, the design simple but elegant; their other hand is ungloved. Already lost in the frenzy, you reckon, or perhaps a peculiar choice - at least that’s what you make of it until you see their fingers flexing, summoning water from the basin placed in the middle of the ring. The water rises with the motion, separating into blobs that hover in the air, shaping themselves into throwing knives that then pour down on his enemy.
The crowd out in the stands and below the pavilion explodes in gasps and murmurs of awe.
“That’s Sir Lancelot,” Sera says, voice tight. “From what I’ve heard, his son is also learning how to wield the Lady’s magic like him.”
The trial is finally finished half an hour later, with considerably fewer knights left in the competition, Accolon among them. He returns, grinning. A gauntleted hand lands on Accolon's armored shoulder with a loud clang, followed by a friendly, "You fought well, Sir Accolon." Kay smiles at your knight.
[[Continue|Chapt3Magic1]]
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3_ariawen_company == 1 or $chapt3_ariawen_company == 2 or $chapt3_ariawen_company == 3>>
<<if $trial == “combat”>>
“$dragon_name said this is your favorite trial. You must be so excited that it’s first! And Sir Accolon is competing, too, isn’t he?”
<<else>>
“Sir Accolon is competing, right?”
<</if>>
They turn their gaze onto the arena, sweeping it over the chaotic, incessant, action. ‘“That’s him, right? He’s doing great! And that one’s Kay! He also fights with a longsword.”
You watch the fighting knights, your eye caught by the dragon crested armors of the Camelotian knights, the gilded embossing shining as if they carried a piece of the sun across their chests. One knight in particular captures your attention, holding it tight in their gauntlet’s vice-like grip. They wield a sword in one hand, its hilt gilded, ruby winking from the pommel, the design simple but elegant; their other hand is ungloved. Already lost in the frenzy, you reckon, or perhaps a peculiar choice - at least that’s what you make of it until you see their fingers flexing, summoning water from the basin placed in the middle of the ring. The water rises with the motion, separating into blobs that hover in the air, shaping themselves into throwing knives that then pour down on his enemy.
“That’s Lance!” Ariawen informs you, though you’d already gathered the fact. “Galahad’s learning to fight like that with magic, too. Isn’t it impressive? Impressive for a humans’ fight, at least,” they add before anyone can offer their own opinion/input/can either agree or protest. “His ice knives are no match for a dragon’s fire though.” They take a pouncing stance, neck low, back curled, tail held taut in the air, legs wide. “I just take a deep breath and then poof - “ they make to demonstrate, though spare the pavilion from chaos by merely exhaling a circle of smoke and nothing more - “and the ice knives melt in the air! They don’t even get the chance to touch me.”
Then, turning to you, “Hey, your family is also devoted to the Lady, right? Are you also learning to wield her magic? You probably only need to learn healing, I mean what with your elemental affinity.”
<div class="choice">[[“Yes; I both pray to her and learn how to heal through her power.”|Chapt3MagicAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_question to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“I pray to her, yes, and I’m learning a little bit of healing, too.”|Chapt3MagicAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_question to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“No, I already have my elemental magic; and healing can be done through other means, too.”|Chapt3MagicAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_question to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_ariawen_company == 4>>
<<if $trial == “combat”>>
“$dragon_name said this is your favorite trial. You must be so excited that it’s first! And Sir Accolon is competing, too, isn’t he?”
<<else>>
“Sir Accolon is competing, right?”
<</if>>
They turn their gaze onto the arena, sweeping it over the chaotic, incessant, action. ‘“That’s him, right? He’s doing great! And that one’s Kay! He also fights with a longsword.”
You watch the fighting knights, your eye caught by the dragon crested armors of the Camelotian knights, the gilded embossing shining as if they carried a piece of the sun across their chests. One knight in particular captures your attention, holding it tight in their gauntlet’s vice-like grip. They wield a sword in one hand, its hilt gilded, ruby winking from the pommel, the design simple but elegant; their other hand is ungloved. Already lost in the frenzy, you reckon, or perhaps a peculiar choice - at least that’s what you make of it until you see their fingers flexing, summoning water from the basin placed in the middle of the ring. The water rises with the motion, separating into blobs that hover in the air, shaping themselves into throwing knives that then pour down on his enemy.
“That’s Lance!” Ariawen informs you, though you’d already gathered the fact. “Galahad’s learning to fight like that with magic, too. Isn’t it impressive? Impressive for a humans’ fight, at least,” they add before anyone can offer their own opinion/input/can either agree or protest. “His ice knives are no match for a dragon’s fire though.” They take a pouncing stance, neck low, back curled, tail held taut in the air, legs wide. “I just take a deep breath and then poof - “ they make to demonstrate, though spare the pavilion from chaos by merely exhaling a circle of smoke and nothing more - “and the ice knives melt in the air! They don’t even get the chance to touch me.”
Then, turning to you, “Hey, your family is also devoted to the Lady, right? Are you also learning to wield her magic? You probably only need to learn healing, I mean what with your elemental affinity.”
//Goddess//, do they talk a lot.
<div class="choice">[[“Yes; I both pray to her and learn how to heal through her power.”|Chapt3MagicAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_question to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“I pray to her, yes, and I’m learning a little bit of healing, too.”|Chapt3MagicAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_question to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“No, I already have my elemental magic; and healing can be done through other means, too.”|Chapt3MagicAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_question to 3]]</div>
<</if>>>>Morgana catches your eye in the mirror, and gives you a tender smile.
<<if $morgana_talk == "mad" or $morgana_talk == "cry">>
<div class="choice">[[Return her smile, watery.|Chapt3Smile][$Morgana to $Morgana+2, $chapt3_mirror to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Frown.|Chapt3Smile][$chapt3_mirror to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Look away.|Chapt3Smile][$chapt3_mirror to "3"]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "ok">>
<<if $betray == "ok">>
You return the smile, making the corners of her lips tugging even higher. She steps away from the mirror, cupping your face and kissing your forehead before moving to the bed to offer Accolon a kiss on the lips, while Robin pointedly faces the door, running their fingers over the criss-cross of their braid.
[[Continue|Chapt3BedOk]]
<<elseif $betray == "confusion">>
You give her a weak smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, still not sure how you feel about the secrets she kept from you. She hesitates in front of you as she steps away from the mirror, her expression flickering between a sad smile and a hard line before she finally moves to give Accolon a kiss on the lips, while Robin pointedly faces the door, running their fingers over the criss-cross of their braid.
[[Continue|Chapt3BedConfused]]
<<elseif $betray == "betrayed">>
You snap your gaze away, brow set in a frown. You hear her sigh softly as she moves past you to give Accolon a kiss on the lips, while Robin pointedly faces the door, running their fingers over the criss-cross of their braid.
[[Continue|Chapt3BedBetrayed]]
<</if>>
<</if>>You put yourself in Accolon's way, blurting out: "Arthur told me there's a prophecy involving me. Is it true?"
Accolon's eyes widen with surprise and it dawns on you. He does knows. So you press forward, set on getting answers. "He said Merlin foretold I'll bring destruction. What does it mean?"
"Mordred..." Accolon's voice is gentle, torn, his face searching yours. He treads carefully, each word a ginger step into the dangerous territory that could be your reaction. "When you were born, Merlin foretold you will be the undoing of Camelot. That you'll bring ruin, in what form, he did not say or knows."
//Undoing.// The word echoes around you on the gust of wind picking up and chilling you.
<div class="choice">[[Shake your head, retreating. "No, no! But I'm supposed to rule Camelot, not destroy it!"|Chapt3Prophecy1][$prophecy to "rule"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Undoing? What if it isn't ruin? What if it's just a change? A good one?" you say hopefully.|Chapt3Prophecy2][$prophecy to "good"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Prophecies are stupid.\""|Chapt3Prophecy3][$prophecy to "stupid"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is this what mother wants me to do? Ruin Camelot?" you say, scared.|Chapt3Prophecy4][$prophecy to "plan"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll gladly embrace the prophecy! I can't wait to see Camelot burn!"|Chapt3Prophecy5][$prophecy to "ruin"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is this why Arthur doesn't love me?" You fight tears.|Chapt3Prophecy6][$prophecy to "hate"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"What if the prophecy is wrong? I don't want to be the ruin of anything!\""|Chapt3Prophecy7][$prophecy to "wrong"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Prophecies aren't absolute. I'll prove them wrong," you say calmly.|Chapt3Prophecy8][$prophecy to "calm"]]</div>You quietly follow him. At the base of the hill you find Morgana climbing down, her cloak swaying in the wind, apparently forsaking waiting to come look for you herself. She picks up her pace when she sees you.
"Mordred! Where have you been?"
"?They's been with Arthur, at the lodge," Accolon answers for you.
Shock colors Morgana's face. "What?" The word is quiet, barely audible over the rising wind. Her gaze darts to you, the intensity of it making you flinch. "What did he say to you? What does he want? Does he never listen?" These questions seem no longer addressed to you, but flung with poison at the night air as she gazes to the lodge. "I told him to stay away from you."
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<div class="choice">[["You did what? Behind my back?" you say furiously.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "furious", $defiant to $defiant+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you ever ask me what I want? I don't want him to stay away!" you burst out.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "stop", $defiant to $defiat+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But I don't want him to stay away. Please, give him a chance," you plead.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "chance", $defiant to $defiant-2, $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to know Arthur, but maybe Morgana is right. She's just looking out for you.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "maybe", $defiant to $defiant-3]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
<div class="choice">[["You did what? Behind my back?" you say furiously.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "furious", $defiant to $defiant+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you ever ask me what I want? I don't want him to stay away!" you burst out.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "stop", $defiant to $defiat+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But I don't want him to stay away. Please, give him a chance," you plead.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "chance", $defiant to $defiant-2, $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to know Arthur, but maybe Morgana is right. She's just looking out for you.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "maybe", $defiant to $defiant-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"You don't mind if he stays away.\""|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "no"]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
<div class="choice">[["You did what? Behind my back?" you say furiously.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "furious", $defiant to $defiant+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you ever ask me what I want? I don't want him to stay away!" you burst out.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "stop", $defiant to $defiat+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But I don't want him to stay away. Please, give him a chance," you plead.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "chance", $defiant to $defiant-2, $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to know Arthur, but maybe Morgana is right. She's just looking out for you.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "maybe", $defiant to $defiant-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"You don't mind if he stays away.\""|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"What if I don't want him to stay away?\""|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "sayangryaway"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't say anything, but you're not sure you want him to stay away. Underneath all the rage, there's hurt.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "angryaway"]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[["You did what? Behind my back?" you say furiously.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "furious", $defiant to $defiant+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He doesn't listen to anyone." You roll your eyes.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "listen", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Tell him again then!" you burst out, angry at Arthur.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "away", $calm to $calm-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"You don't mind if he stays away.\""|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"What if I don't want him to stay away?\""|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "sayangryaway"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't say anything, but you're not sure you want him to stay away. Underneath all the rage, there's hurt.|Chapt3ConfrontMorganaFurious][$stay to "angryaway"]]</div>
<</if>>You shake your head, disbelieving, retreating slowly, horrified, as the words sink in. Ruin Camelot. The very kingdom you will rule, the very kingdom you'll lead…right into ruin. "No, no!" Your voice is desperate, the wind around you howling. "But I'm supposed to rule Camelot, not destroy it!"
Morgana quickly cups your face, hushing you softly, "You will rule Camelot, my darling, don't you listen to foolish prophecies."
Accolon chimes in, "Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
<div class="choice">[[Her touch is comforting.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull back, confused.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "2", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull back. You feel betrayed they haven't told you of it.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "3", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>You cling to that hope desperately. You don't want to bring doom and destruction! You don't want to be the villain they expect you to be.
"Undoing? What if it isn't ruin? What if it's just a change? A good one?"
"It can be," Morgana says, cupping your face. "A new era, ushered in by a new, better ruler."
Accolon chimes in, "Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
"Then why does Arthur think so?"
"Because Arthur is a fool," Morgana replies poisonously.
<div class="choice">[[Her touch is comforting.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as her words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, confused.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "5", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as her words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, betrayed.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "6", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>"Prophecies are stupid," you laugh, the sound harsh like the wind. "Is this what Arthur is so scared of? Vague words of a fool?"
Morgana smiles sardonically, "That's what they are."
Accolon chimes in, "Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
<div class="choice">[[Just as you thought. |Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just as you thought. Still, it's confusing. Why didn't they tell you?|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "8", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just as you thought. Still, you feel betrayed. Why didn't they tell you?|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "9", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>Morgana yearns for revenge- what if it comes in the form of you destroying Camelot? The very kingdom she hopes to conquer, the very kingdom that hates her. Will you have to ravish it to get on the throne, and sit on the throne among ruins of a kingdom? Is this what she wants?
"Is this what you want me to do? Ruin Camelot?" The wind howls.
"Sometimes, yes," Morgana says, the poisonous words chilling you.
Accolon chimes in, "Morgana! You're just angry now." He looks at you reassuringly. "Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
<div class="choice">[[You nod.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "10"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You pull back. It's confusing.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "11", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You pull back, betrayed.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "12", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>Let this prophecy be a harbinger of the ruin you'll rain down on the Kingdom that loathes you, watching them burn in the flames of your wrath, that all they seem to do is keep fanning, from embers to fire. You hold no love for a kingdom that has no problem punishing you for being a bastard, something out of your control.
"I'll gladly embrace the prophecy!" you scream, your words bitter, venomous, throwing your arms up, the wind angry.
"Sometimes that's what I want," she says quietly, her words poisonous.
"Morgana, don't feed ?their rage." Accolon grips your shoulders firmly. "Is this really what you want? Let anger consume you? You'll show them they've wronged you, but not like this." His eyes gleam with recognition. Is this what he sees in Morgana too? That burning hate. That loathe. You want to make them suffer. "Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
<div class="choice">[["But I want destruction."|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "13"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull back. You're still confused about this prophecy.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "14", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull back, betrayed. They omitted it.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "15", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>Tears sting your eyes, and you're not sure if they're caused by the biting wind howling through the pavilions, or your turmoil. You gulp them back, your voice quiet. "Is this why Arthur doesn't love me?"
"Arthur is a coward and a fool," Morgana cups your face. "You don't need his love."
Accolon chimes in, "I think he loves you, in his own way. The best he can." Morgana laughs mirthlessly, but Accolon continues. "Prophecy aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
"Then why does Arthur think so?"
"Because he only listens to Merlin," Morgana says.
<div class="choice">[[The touch is comforting.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "16"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as her words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, confused.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "17", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as her words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, betrayed.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "18", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>Prophecies become true one way or another, but they're vague enough to leave space for different courses.
"Prophecies aren't absolute. I'll prove them wrong," you say calmly and resolutely.
"Exactly!" Accolon encourages you. "They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
<div class="choice">[[Smile at him.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "22"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're confused why they didn't tell you though.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "23", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're betrayed they didn't tell you.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "24", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>The wind resonates with you, howling in anguish at this fate thrown your way, this prophecy you don't want.
"What if the prophecy is wrong? I don't want to be the ruin of anything!"
Morgana cups your face, "You won't be. You'll bring a new era."
Accolon chimes in, Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction." You barely hear his voice over the violent flapping of the pavilions in the wind.
"Then why does Arthur think so?"
"Because he's a fool," Morgana says.
<div class="choice">[[The touch is comforting.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "19"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as her words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, confused.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "20", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as her words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, betrayed.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort1][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "21", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div><<if $stay == "furious">>
"You did what?" You step to Morgana, outraged. "Behind my back?" The wind picks up around you, howling in kindred indignation.
Morgana looks at you perplexed, then frowns. "What did you want me to do?" she defends herself. "He's more bad than good to you!"
"That's for me to decide." Your cheeks heat, blazing hot and angry. You're grateful for the wind, for the way it whips cold against your face.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
Your blood boils at this revealed betrayal. You want Arthur to be a father to you, and he already seems reluctant enough - you don't need Morgana scaring him off. "Did you ever ask me what I want?" you shout, your voice rising over the wind, howling in kindred indignation. "I don't want him to stay away! Stop making decisions for me!"
"I'm just protecting you!" Morgana yells back and you scoff.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
You feel desperation at the thought that Arthur may back away because of Morgana. You step forward, words rushing out of your mouth, "But I don't want him to stay away. Please, give him a chance."
Morgana frowns sympathetically, "He's more bad than good to you."
"No, I think he wants to be better," you plead.
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
Arthur already proved to you he won't claim you or publicly show you affection. Maybe she's right, and it's best if he keeps away, even though it aches.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
You cross your arms and roll your eyes. "He doesn't listen to anyone." You don't want to meet him, really.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
"Tell him again, then!" you shout. You want him to stop his pathetic attempts at being a father to you. You don't want this feeble, pitiable love that he offers.
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
You don't want him to be your father. He's renounced that role the moment he abandoned you and has no right to reclaim it.
<<elseif $stay == "sayangryaway">>
Your voice as uncertain and quiet as the emotion in your chest. "What if I don't want him to stay away?"
Morgana looks perplexed, but the surprise is soon replaced by bitterness. "He'll only hurt you."
<<elseif $stay == "angryaway">>
You don't say anything, but you're not sure you want him to stay away. Underneath all the rage, there's hurt, and within it, a fragile desire to know him, to have him be the father he never was.
<</if>>
"He told me about a prophecy. Merlin foretold I'll bring destruction. Is it true?"
Morgana's gaze falls on you, disbelieving, as if she didn't understand the words coming out of your mouth.
"Merlin foretold you'll be the undoing of Camelot," she says, the words bitter.
//Undoing.// The word echoes around you on the gust of wind picking up and chilling you.
<div class="choice">[[Shake your head, retreating. "No, no! But I'm supposed to rule Camelot, not destroy it!"|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana1][$prophecy to "rule"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Undoing? What if it isn't ruin? What if it's just a change? A good one?" you say hopefully.|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana2][$prophecy to "good"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Prophecies are stupid.\""|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana3][$prophecy to "stupid"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is this what mother wants me to do? Ruin Camelot?" you say, scared.|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana4][$prophecy to "plan"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'll gladly embrace the prophecy! I can't wait to see Camelot burn!\""|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana5][$prophecy to "ruin"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is this why Arthur doesn't love me?" You fight tears.|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana6][$prophecy to "hate"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"What if the prophecy is wrong? I don't want to be the ruin of anything!\""|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana8][$prophecy to "wrong"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Prophecies aren't absolute. I'll prove them wrong," you say calmly.|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana7][$prophecy to "calm"]]</div><<if $chapt3_study_arthur == "1">>
You cross your arms, quirking an eyebrow. Isn't that an interesting choice of word, confront? You know very well she went with the intention of picking a fight, giving Arthur no choice, just like she does with you. What $dragon_name told you only confirms it.
"You mean attacked him? $dragon_name told me $dragon_he heard a fight."
Morgana keeps a calm expression, arching an eyebrow in a gesture similar to yours. "I merely gave him a nudge," she explains. "And when push came to shove, he caved, like I expected."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "2">>
She confronted or rather, intimidated him. She sought him with the intent to pick a fight. What $dragon_name told you only confirms it.
"I hope you didn't scare him off," you say quietly.
Morgana gives you a sympathetic smile. "It's not me you have fear scaring him off, Mordred. It's himself."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "3">>
You cross your arms, glaring at her. "Yes, confronted him despite me telling you not to. Because you never listen to me." And by what $dragon_name told you, Morgana went picking a fight.
Morgana frowns. "I'm just looking out for you, Mordred."
"Sure," you say sardonically.
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "4">>
You frown, "I asked you not to," you say desperately, wondering if she scared Arthur, or even attacked him.
Morgana smiles sympathetically. "I'm just looking out for you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "5">>
Morgana looks surprised. "I merely gave Arthur a nudge," she explains. "And when push came to shove, he caved, like I expected."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "6">>
His abandonment hurt, and even though you ache to give him a chance, it'll only hurt you more.
"Did you tell him to stay away?"
"Yes," Morgana says gently.
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "7">>
He chose to abandon you, and now wants to make amends? Hurt you and now expects everything to be better?
"Did you tell him to stay away?"
"Yes," Morgana says gently.
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "8">>
You're tired of Arthur trying to be a father. He hasn't been until now, he doesn't have to start now.
"I hope you told him to stay away from me."
"I did," Morgana smiles.
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "9">>
Morgana would think it foolish of you, but despite your open, bleeding wound, you still wish he'd try to reach out to you again, even though you've been putting up a fiery wall. Because behind it, you just really wished he'd wanted you.
"Did you scare him off?" you ask, bitter.
"I told him to stay away," is her gentle response, as if she's doing you a favor.
<</if>>
Morgana smooths her skirt as she continues, "I confronted Arthur to ask him, once again like I did all those years ago when you were born, to make reparations. To claim you, give us back the Le Fay title and Tintal. But Merlin's words are so rooted in his mind, that he refused. He won't stand up for you, Mordred." Her tone is calm, her words sharp. "Do you really want a father that is ashamed of you? A father that is afraid to show you affection in public? That will cast you aside the moment Merlin tells him to?"
<div class="choice">[["Arthur's making an effort! He cares about me!"|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "effort"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Arthur's making an effort! He cares about me! And if he hurts me, at least it was my choice."|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "choice"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I want to make my own decision," you say calmly.|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "decision"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You hesitate. "You really think he will?"|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "hesitate"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just want him to be my father," you say, on the verge of tears.|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "tears", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know if I can see him as a father, but I'd be happy to have him as an uncle. Just let me choose."|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "uncle"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I want to get to know him."|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $say to "know"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I don't." It hurts, but you can't help but crave his affection. "But I do want him to do better."|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "anguish", $say to "hurt"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I don't." Hurt is slowly turning into hate.|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "hate", $say to "hate"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't really care about Arthur."|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "indifference", $say to "indifference"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't really care about Arthur."|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "indifference", $say to "indifference"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I don't. I hate him."|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "hate", $say to "loathe"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly. You don't care for Arthur.|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "indifference", $say to "behind"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly. You hate Arthur.|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "hate", $say to "behind1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly. You're starting to pity Arthur.|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "indifference", $say to "behind2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You hate him for abandoning you, yet a part of you still yearns for his affection, and it hurts. "I wish he could do better."|Chapt3Confuse1][$opinion_arthur to "anguish", $say to "angst"]]</div><<if $say == "effort">>
You're tired of her disregarding both your and Arthur's choice. You're tired of her not seeing that Arthur is not how she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father. If you're willing to accept him, and he's making amends, why can't she? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"Arthur's making an effort!" you burst out. "He cares about me! You keep ignoring my decisions!"
"I care about you too! That's why I want to protect you!" Morgana shouts, leaning over the table, face pained.
<<elseif $say == "choice">>
You're tired of her disregarding both your and Arthur's choice. You're tired of her not seeing that Arthur is not how she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father. If you're willing to accept him, and he's making amends, why can't she? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"Arthur's making an effort!" you burst out. "He cares about me! You keep ignoring my decisions! If he hurts me, at least it was my choice! Do you even care about me?"
"I care about you!" Morgana shouts, leaning over the table, face pained. "I want to protect you!"
<<elseif $say == "decision">>
You keep having to battle to have your voice heard. Perhaps she can't see that Arthur is willing to make an effort, but you can. He's not the man she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father. If you're willing to accept him, and he's making amends, why can't she? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"I want to make my own decision," you say calmly.
"And I want to protect you," Morgana counters.
<<elseif $say == "hesitate">>
Morgana keeps insisting that he'll hurt you, that he'll abandon you again, that he won't make amends. Yet you see that he's trying, that he's not the man she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father.
You don't know him as well as she does, though. He wants to be your father, but he wavers, and so do you. "You really think he will?"
Morgana smiles ruefully. "Yes, my dear."
You shake your head. "No!"
<<elseif $say == "tears">>
The father that abandoned you has come to make amends, yet Morgana keeps insisting he'll hurt you, keeps you away from him. There's a claw in your chest, your eyes are clouding with tears.
"I just want him to be my father," you say, on the verge of tears, pain clinging to your words.
"Dear, please don't cry," Morgana leans forward, sadness in her tone.
<<elseif $say == "uncle">>
Arthur abandoned you. You can't wipe out the pain of those years. But he's here to make amends and you're giving him a chance, even if not as a father, but an uncle. Why can't Morgana do that? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"I don't know if I can see him as a father, but I'd be happy to have him as an uncle. Just let me choose."
"But it's not a good choice," Morgana says.
<<elseif $say == "know">>
You didn't know your father, just what Morgana told you. But he's not the man she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father.
"I want to get to know him."
"But it's not a good idea."
<<elseif $say == "hurt">>
Each word is like a stab in your bleeding heart, each sharp yet true. "No, I don't," you say. "But I do want him to do better." You hold her gaze, your own steeled by the determination that bleeds into your words.
Morgana smiles sadly. "I just don't want you to be disappointed when he doesn't, Mordred."
<<elseif $say == "hate">>
Each word fans the flame of your hate. "No, I don't."
"Good." Morgana nods.
<<elseif $say == "indifference">>
You shrug. "I don't really care about Arthur."
"Good." Morgana nods.
<<elseif $say == "loathe">>
Each word fans the flame of your hate, "No, I don't. I hate him."
Morgana nods. "He's given you no reason to love him."
<<elseif $say == "behind">>
Your choices may align, but you didn't ask her to tell him to back off.
"I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly.
"And I want to protect you," Morgana counters. "I knew you didn't want Arthur approaching you."
<<elseif $say == "behind1">>
Your choices may align, but you didn't ask her to tell him to back off.
"I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly.
"And I want to protect you," Morgana counters. "I knew you didn't want Arthur approaching you."
<<elseif $say == "behind2">>
Your choices may align, but you didn't ask her to tell him to back off.
"I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly.
"And I want to protect you," Morgana counters. "I knew you didn't want Arthur approaching you."
<<elseif $say == "angst">>
"I wish he could do better." Your tone's gloomy; as if you're looking at the sky and despite the pitch black of the clouds, you still hope it won't rain.
"I wish that, too," Morgana echoes. She's not about to dispel the clouds though, but only bring the thunder. "I doubt he will, though."
<</if>>
<<if $say == "hurt" or $say == "hate">>
Morgana laughs mirthlessly. "You know, I don't even think he realizes how he's wrong. He's kind, but naive. He listens to whatever Merlin tells him to do, and won't think for himself."
<div class="choice">[[Nod. "But what if he stops listening to Merlin? Can't you tell him not to trust him?"|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "nottrust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["If he can't make his own decision, I can't trust him."|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "canttrust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just cry. Merlin seems like an evil man.|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "cryevil", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're angry. Merlin seems like an evil man.|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "angryevil"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He's stupid if he listens to Merlin."|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "stupid"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shrug. "Maybe he'll change."|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "maybe"]]</div>
<<elseif $say == "indifference" or $say == "loathe" or $say == "behind" or $say == "behind1">>
Morgana laughs mirthlessly. "You know, I don't even think he realizes how he's wrong. He's kind, but naive. He listens to whatever Merlin tells him to do, and won't think for himself."
<div class="choice">[[Nod. "But what if he stops listening to Merlin? Can't you tell him not to trust him?"|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "nottrust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["If he can't make his own decision, I can't trust him."|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "canttrust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just cry. Merlin seems like an evil man.|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "cryevil", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're angry. Merlin seems like an evil man.|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "angryevil"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He's stupid if he listens to Merlin."|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "stupid"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shrug. "Maybe he'll change."|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "maybe"]]</div>
<<else>>
Morgana takes in a deep breath, staring at you, eyes guarded. She's searching for words. "Mordred," she begins, calmly, soothingly. "You don't know Arthur as well as I do. In the months I spent in Camelot, pregnant with you, I've come to know him. He's kind but naive. He's swayed by Merlin, who wants to harm you. I don't trust either of them. Not until Arthur stops listening to Merlin."
<div class="choice">[["So, you're just going to control me like you claim Merlin controls Arthur?"|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "control"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I trust Arthur, and you should trust me."|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "trustme"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just really wish you could trust Arthur."|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "trust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, be sure that I'll stop listening to you."|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "stop"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Burst into tears.|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "tears"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not talking to you until you start listening to me."|Chapt3Confuse2][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "start"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $control == "nottrust">>
You nod. You won't deny Merlin has an influence on Arthur, but you don't see it quite as bleakly as your mother does. Surely Arthur could be brought to see how Merlin manipulates him; surely, if he's made this first step of approaching you, there's hope for him. "But what if he stops listening to Merlin? Can't you tell him not to trust him?"
Morgana regards you pityingly. As if you've just told her something impossibly childlike and naive, and she feels bad to shatter your innocence. "Arthur blindly trusts him. I think, until he sees the consequences, he won't stop listening to him. Now," she shifts and smiles. "I believe you should go back to your room and get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "canttrust">>
"Me either," Morgana says. "You should go back to your chamber and get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "cryevil">>
Tears stream down your face. Merlin seems to be at the root of so many of your problems.
Morgana rounds the desk to cup your face, hushing you and caressing your hair. When you calm down, she tells you to do back to your chamber to get ready for the feast.
<<elseif $control == "angryevil">>
Anger seeps through your veins. Merlin seems to be at the root of so many of your problems.
"You should go back to your chamber to get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "stupid">>
You scoff. "He's stupid if he listens to Merlin."
"That he is. You should go back to your chamber to get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "maybe">>
Maybe he'll mature, maybe he'll realize Merlin is not to be trusted. For his benefit, you hope he will.
You shrug. "Maybe he'll change."
Morgana smiles ruefully.
<<elseif $control == "control">>
She keeps talking about how Merlin is pulling Arthur's string, like a puppet- and yet, what is she doing to you? Isn't it all the same, even if it's out of concern for you?
"So, you're just going to control me like you claim Merlin controls Arthur?"
Morgana looks as if you've just slapped her across the face. She stares at a loss of words, horrified.
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
She doesn't trust Arthur, but you do. You understand if she can't put her faith in Arthur just yet, but why won't she trust you?
"I trust Arthur, and you should trust me."
Morgana clenches her fists. "You shouldn't trust him. You don't know-" she starts but you cut her off.
"So you don't trust me."
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
If only she trusted Arthur like you do.
"I just really wish you could trust Arthur."
"But I can't, and you shouldn't trust him either."
"Yet I do."
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
You cross your arms. If she won't listen to you, you won't listen to her. "Well, be sure that I'll stop listening to you."
Morgana looks as if you've just slapped her across the face.
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
You burst into tears, Morgana's refusal to listen to you and her distrust of Arthur overwhelming you. Morgana reaches to you but you pull away, running to the door. She calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
There's no reasoning with her. So you won't try to, not until she's willing to listen to you. "I'm not talking to you until you start listening to me."
Morgana looks as if you've just slapped her across the face.
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<</if>>
[[Continue|MorganaPOV2]]<<if $chapt3_lodge_father == "1">>
"Then do it!" You lean forward, propelled by the same desire. "Be my father!"
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want to."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "2">>
"Please," you say pleadingly, "I just want you to be my father."
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want that, too."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "3">>
He couldn't even hug you in public, how will he be better?
"But can you?" you ask, disheartened by the gesture that could have meant so much.
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want to."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "4">>
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "Please."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "5">>
"I don't need you to be my father."
His gaze is hazy with tears. "But I want to."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "6">>
A pang of pain claws at your chest, hopeless sadness dripping off your words, "I used to want that too, but I'm not so sure anymore."
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "Please, just give me a chance." It's a desperate plea.
<</if>>
He blinks, and tears streak down his cheeks. "But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
"Because you never tried. She thinks you don't care," you say, your own eyes stinging.
"She loathes me, and for good reasons. I thought you'd loathe me, too. Merlin said Morgana is turning you against me. He told me to stay away from you, as you'll only bring me destruction, like the prophecy foretells."
"Prophecy?" you echo, frowning. Latching onto the word that settles uneasily in the pit of your stomach like a boulder, word he's mentioned so nonchalantly, as if it were something you should be aware of. It's the first time you've heard of a prophecy that involves you - lest one that involves you being the destruction of anything.
"The prophecy Merlin made when you were born," Arthur explains.
The words hit you like a wave that sweeps you off your feet. No one told you anything of a prophecy. Not Morgana, not Accolon, not Junia. You are to take the throne as your birth right, so what is this prophecy of destruction?
"You didn't know," Arthur concludes with the grim air of one who's made a mess and must now reckon with it.
The tent flap flies open, and Accolon bursts in. "Mordred!" he exclaims in relief upon seeing you. Which would register as a surprise, since Morgana's never had any reservations about you wandering the castle grounds at your liberty; but you're in a state where such little things don't truly register. Accolon's gaze slides over to Arthur next to you and something shifts in his demeanor. He seems almost wary.
"Morgana and I were worried when you disappeared from the feast," Accolon says and proffers a hand. "I think it's better to return now."
You get up but hesitate, glancing back at Arthur. You were interrupted - there are things left unsaid, and a lot more questions than when you came in that you crave answers to - but Arthur silently encourages you to go. Perhaps it's for the best given your mother's temper which you're sure he's trying to avoid. Accolon puts a protective hand over your shoulder - Arthur's gaze falls on it and beholds it as if it were laid on a sword. There's apprehension in his face, but also pain as if the blade had already lanced him through.
Just as you're about to exit, Arthur calls out. "Thank you, Accolon. For being there for Mordred."
Accolon pauses, one foot out the tent already. For an uncertain moment he doesn't react, and you can't quite fathom the sentiment that passes his features. Then he angles his head back to Arthur and offers him but a gracious smile before guiding you out into the hall. Arthur doesn't follow.
As you leave Elewen's tent, the crisp, chill night air slaps you in the face. You barely pay any attention to the way it bites into your exposed skin and seeps under your clothes. As you cross the field, your mind is buzzing with what Arthur told you. Loudest of all is the prophecy he so carelessly mentioned. The prophecy you have never heard before.
<div class="choice">[[Confront Accolon about it.|Chapt3ConfrontAccolon][$confront to "accolon"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait to confront Morgana about it.|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana][$confront to "morgana"]]</div><<if $chapt3_crush == 1>>
Your smile falters, and your shoulders hunch. "What's the point?" you say dejectedly. "He's leaving in a couple days." You gnaw at your lower lip, sadness tugging at your chest.
"Mordred," Accolon puts an arm around you soothingly. "Even if he leaves, you can correspond," the man encourages you. "I'm sure Gawain would love that."
<<elseif $chapt3_crush == 2>>
How could you not say something? You must! "Of course! He's leaving in a couple days, so I must do it fast."
<<elseif $chapt3_crush == 3>>
"Maybe..." you pull your sleeves over your hands, conflicted. On one hand, you'd absolutely love to let Gawain know how you feel. On another hand, you don't think you'll be able to string the words together.
Accolon pats your knee. "You can do it, Mordred. Maybe tell him through a gift, if you think you can't say it."
<</if>>
Kay's opponent falls to his knees, and the crowd explodes in applause as the victor triumphantly takes off his helmet, grinning. He offers the fallen man an amicable helping hand, which he accepts. You see Gawain rush into the ring, even as a guard makes a show of trying to stop him. As soon as he is in reach, the boy launches into his father's arms and is enveloped in a hug. The man picks him up and shouts to the crowd, "My brave squire, without who I couldn't have won!"
As the knights prepare for the next trial, with the announcer hyping up the crowd, Accolon's expression becomes wary. "Has Galahad been giving you trouble?"
<div class="choice">[["He has plenty of trouble to offer," you say sardonically.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon1][$chapt3_trouble to "1", $told_accolon_gally to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A bit," you admit nervously.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon2][$chapt3_trouble to "2", $told_accolon_gally to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, but I will change his mind about me," you say firmly.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon3][$chapt3_trouble to "3", $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Just being a bully," you shrug. "I'm used to it."|Chapt3GalahadAccolon4][$chapt3_trouble to "4", $told_accolon_gally to 4]]</div><<if $chapt3_crush == "1">>
Your shoulders hunch. "What's the point?" you say dejectedly. "He's leaving in a couple days."
"Mordred," Accolon puts an arm around you soothingly. "Even if he leaves, you can correspond," the man encourages you. "I'm sure Gawain would love that."
<<elseif $chapt3_crush == "2">>
"Yes," you nod your head, resolute. "I should." You suck in a deep breath. "Do you think he feels the same?"
"You never know until you try.
"Then I have to."
<<elseif $chapt3_crush == "3">>
"Maybe..." you pull your sleeves over your hands, conflicted. "If I can find the courage."
Accolon pats your knee. "You can do it, Mordred. Maybe tell him through a gift, if you think you can't say it."
<<elseif $chapt3_crush == "4">>
"I...don't know." You shake your head, as if it'd put your messy thoughts in order. "I'm still processing it all."
"It's understandable."
<</if>>
Kay's opponent falls to his knees, and the crowd explodes in applause as the victor triumphantly takes off his helmet, grinning. He offers the fallen man an amicable helping hand, which he accepts. You see Gawain rush into the ring, even as a guard makes a show of trying to stop him. As soon as he is in reach, the boy launches into his father's arms and is enveloped in a hug. The man picks him up and shouts to the crowd, "My brave squire, without who I couldn't have won!"
As the knights prepare for the next trial, with the announcer hyping up the crowd, Accolon's expression becomes wary. "Has Galahad been giving you trouble?"
<div class="choice">[["He has plenty of trouble to offer," you say sardonically.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon1][$chapt3_trouble to "1", $told_accolon_gally to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A bit," you admit nervously.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon2][$chapt3_trouble to "2", $told_accolon_gally to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, but I will change his mind about me," you say firmly.|Chapt3GalahadAccolon3][$chapt3_trouble to "3", $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Just being a bully," you shrug. "I'm used to it."|Chapt3GalahadAccolon4][$chapt3_trouble to "4", $told_accolon_gally to 4]]</div><<if $chapt3_char == "pirate">>
"I'll be a pirate turned adventurer, so I know how to fight and sail, and I'm not afraid to play dirty if need comes."
"Maybe we even faced off before," Gareth pipes in to complete the image of your backstories. "And we're not starting on the best foot because of it now."
Gawain scribbles away excitedly.
<<elseif $chapt3_char == "healer">>
"I'm a healer of the Lady of the Lake who's always admired the sea from the shore and for once wants to go aboard and have an adventure. I can heal the crew's wounds as well as help with sailing by controlling the water. I'm not particularly fond of fighting."
"Maybe our characters were friends before embarking on this quest," Terryn pipes in. "I used to tell you all these exciting stories about the sea that made you want to sail even more."
Gawain scribbles away excitedly.
<<elseif $chapt3_char == "sailor">>
"I'm just a sailor, I guess," you shrug, not particularly interested in this whole role-playing affair.
Gawain looks up from where he's scribbling. "Alright, what can you do then? Beside the obvious like sailing," he chuckles but you just shrug again.
"Fight, I suppose."
He puckers his lips and furrows his brow, disappointed by your underwhelming response. "Alright."
<<elseif $chapt3_char == "noble">>
"I'm a noble who grew up sheltered but looks forward to embarking on an adventure! I don't know the first thing about sailing, I'm most likely to injure myself if I wield a sword, but I make up for it by sheer enthusiasm. I'm also sponsoring the quest, and I've read up on sea creatures extensively."
"Maybe my character used to sing a lot at your castle," Gawain says, "and stoked your love of adventure with my stories. I told you about the quest and roped you in."
<<elseif $chapt3_char == "mate">>
"I'm the captain's first mate. We've been friends for years, and been together on many adventures. Saved each other countless times, and there's no one else we trust more than the other." You throw Gareth a grin and he reciprocates.
"That's so adorable," Gawain says as he jots it all down. "Then I take it your character is also good at fighting and sailing?"
"And good at keeping things running smoothly on the ship, solving disputes among the crew and staying calm under pressure."
<<elseif $chapt3_char == "matemutiny">>
"I'm the captain's first mate. We've been friends for years, and been together on many adventures. Saved each other countless times."
"That's so adorable," Gawain says as he jots it all down, but you're not done.
"And I'm planning a mutiny."
Gawain stops writing, looking up at you with a bemused smile.
"I'm second in command even though it's clear I can run this ship better than the Captain," you say, affecting a mock seriousness. You glance at Gareth, who's just shaking his head with a smile.
"Such bitter betrayal."
<</if>>
Gawain turns to Galahad, the only one left. "What about you, Gally?"
<div class="choice">[["Aww, Gally?" you repeat, mockingly sweet. Perfect for teasing.|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Aww, Gally?" you repeat, mockingly sweet. It's actually kind of cute - not that you would say it. And it's perfect for teasing. ❤|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 2, $gally_crush to $gally_crush+1, $Galahad_ro to $Galahad_ro+1]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Aww, Gally?" you repeat, mockingly sweet. It's actually kind of sweet, and perfect for teasing.💕|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 3, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+1, $Galahad_ro to $Galahad_ro+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Gally?" you repeat. "That sounds stupid."|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 4]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Gally?" you repeat. "That sounds stupid." 💕|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 5, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+1, $Galahad_ro to $Galahad_ro+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Gally? That sounds nice."|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Gally? That sounds nice." And cute...like him. ❤|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 7, $gally_crush to $gally_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Gally? That sounds nice." 💕|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 8, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[So he calls him Gally. Whatever.|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So he calls him Gally. That's kind of endearing.|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So he calls him Gally. That's kind of cute...like Gally himself. ❤ |Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 11, $gally_crush to $gally_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[So he calls him Gally. That's kind of endearing. 💕|Chapt3DnDGally][$chapt3_gally_tease to 12, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>><<if $chapt3_gally_tease == 1>>
<<if $Galahad_friend <= 2>>
This is the first time you're hearing this endearment used for Galahad, and it almost sounds too winsome and playful for the cool-eyed, cold-hearted boy.
<<else>>
This is the first time you're hearing this endearment used for Galahad, and it almost sounds too winsome and playful for the stony, scowly boy.
<</if>>
"Aww, Gally?" you repeat, voice drenched in honeyed tones, the kind of sticky, sickly sweet that turns your stomach upside-down.
Galahad glares at you, his eyes plainly saying, //Don't you dare//. But you do indeed dare. Especially when you know it strikes a chord with him, how could you restrain yourself? "Come on, //Gally//, tell us what character you've conjured up."
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 2>>
This is the first time you're hearing this endearment used for Galahad, and it almost sounds too winsome and playful for the stony, scowly boy. Yet there is something charming about the hard, unrelenting line of his mouth, and the cool color of his eyes like wisterias, frozen in a wintry scenery.
"Aww, Gally?" you repeat, voice drenched in honeyed tones, the kind of sticky, sickly sweet that turns your stomach upside-down.
Galahad glares at you, his eyes plainly saying, //Don't you dare//. But you do indeed dare. Especially when you know it strikes a chord with him, how could you restrain yourself? "Come on, //Gally//, tell us what character you've conjured up."
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 3>>
This is the first time you're hearing this endearment used for Galahad, and it almost sounds too winsome and playful for the stony, scowly boy. Yet you can't deny there is something charming about the hard, unrelenting line of his mouth, and the cool color of his eyes like wisterias, frozen in a wintry scenery.
"Aww, Gally?" you repeat, voice drenched in honeyed tones, the kind of sticky, sickly sweet that turns your stomach upside-down.
Galahad glares at you, his eyes plainly saying, //Don't you dare//. But you do indeed dare. Especially when you know it strikes a chord with him, how could you restrain yourself? "Come on, //Gally//, tell us what character you've conjured up."
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 4>>
"Gally?" This is the first time you're hearing this endearment used for Galahad, and you voice the first thought passing through your brain, "It sounds stupid."
Galahad glares at you with the force of a wintry gale but before he can say anything, Gawain pipes in, ever the shield, though you're not quite sure who he's protecting right now. "I think it's cute."
You mull over the suggestion, then shake your head definitely. "No, it's just stupid."
<<if $Gawain >= 55>>
Gawain's shoulders droop as his fingers flex tighter around the sheets as he fixes you, a tad disappointed. As if he expected better from you. "Right." He turns back to //Gally//. "So, tell us."
<<else>>
Gawain's shoulders droop as his fingers flex tighter around the sheets. "Well, maybe for you." He turns back to //Gally//. "So, tell us."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 5>>
"Gally?" This is the first time you're hearing this endearment used for Galahad, and you voice the first thought passing through your brain, "It sounds stupid."
Galahad glares at you with the force of a wintry gale but before he can say anything, Gawain pipes in, ever the shield, though you're not quite sure who he's protecting right now. "I think it's cute."
You mull over the suggestion, studying Galahad face as you do: the hard, unreleting line of his mouth and the cool color of his eyes like wisterias, frozen in a wintry scenery. He meets your eye and a ripple of goosebumps travels the lenghts of your arms, his gaze a cold embrace. You look back at Gawain and shake your head, a bit unnerved. "No, it's just stupid."
<<if $Gawain >= 55>>
Gawain's shoulders droop as his fingers flex tighter around the sheets as he fixes you, a tad disappointed. As if he expected better from you. "Right." He turns back to //Gally//. "So, tell us."
<<else>>
Gawain's shoulders droop as his fingers flex tighter around the sheets. "Well, maybe for you." He turns back to //Gally//. "So, tell us."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 6>>
"Gally?" you echo the name, testing its weight on your tongue, the way it rolls over it. "It sounds nice."
Galahad throws you a cautious look, as if //nice// was far from what he expected of you and would have much rather heard you say the opposite. He looks almost conflicted, as if realizing that usually, this would be a time where one is expected to reply with a //thank you.//
Luckily, Gawain steps in for him, always the voice, no matter if it matches Galahad's sentiments or not. "It is, isn't it? Now," he turns to //Gally//, "tell us about your character."
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 7>>
"Gally?" you echo the name, testing its weight on your tongue, the way it rolls over it. "It sounds nice." Perhaps the cute quality of the name finds itself at odd with the hard, unreleting line of his mouth and the cool color of his eyes like wisterias, frozen in a wintry scenery. Yet you don't find these features unappealing - on the contrary.
Galahad throws you a cautious look, as if //nice// was far from what he expected of you and would have much rather heard you say the opposite. He looks almost conflicted, as if realizing that usually, this would be a time where one is expected to reply with a //thank you.//
Luckily, Gawain steps in for him, always the voice regardless of whether it matches Galahad's sentiments or not. "It is, isn't it? Now," he turns to //Gally//, "tell us about your character."
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 8>>
"Gally?" you echo the name, testing its weight on your tongue, the way it rolls over it. "It sounds nice." Perhaps the cute quality of the name finds itself at odd with the hard, unreleting line of his mouth and the cool color of his eyes like wisterias, frozen in a wintry scenery. The features themselves are not unappealing, though.
Galahad throws you a cautious look, as if //nice// was far from what he expected of you and would have much rather heard you say the opposite. He looks almost conflicted, as if realizing that usually, this would be a time where one is expected to reply with a //thank you.//
Luckily, Gawain steps in for him, always the voice regardless of whether it matches Galahad's sentiments or not. "It is, isn't it? Now," he turns to //Gally//, "tell us about your character."
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 9>>
So he calls him Gally - friends often call themselves by shorted, affectionate names and this one seems quite obvious of a nickname. Nothing surprising or interesting here.
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 10>>
//Gally.// You echo the endearment in your head, and it rings sweet and lovely.
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 11>>
//Gally.// You echo the endearment in your head, and it rings sweet and lovely. And as you study the hard, unreleting line of Gally's mouth and the cool color of his eyes like wisterias frozen in a wintry scenery, you can't help but think that it fits him, strangely. There's a certain appeal to the nickname - and him, too.
<<elseif $chapt3_gally_tease == 12>>
//Gally.// You echo the endearment in your head, and it rings sweet and lovely. And as you study the hard, unreleting line of Gally's mouth and the cool color of his eyes like wisterias frozen in a wintry scenery, you can't help but think that it fits him, strangely.
<</if>>
Galahad, who has furled himself on the fur carpet, legs drawn to his chest, sketches a smile as he replies, "My character is an adept of the Lady of the Lake. He regularly travels with ships to secure the crew's safe travels, help them navigate and fight against pirates and other such threats."
Gawain nods as he dutifully takes note of it all.
<<if $Galahad_friend >= 3>>
<<if $chapt3_char == "pirate">>
"Maybe our characters also went toe to toe at some point and they're now learning to be friends," you amiably suggest in your own bid at friendship, given your chosen backstory as pirate.
Galahad searches your face, eyes wary yet not cold. In fact, they look inquisitive. "We'll see," he answers, and you take it as a victory seeing he didn't openly rebuke you.
<<elseif $chapt3_char == "healer">>
"Then we'll be both followers of the Goddess," you say with a smile. "We could collaborate."
Galahad's gaze shifts to you, wary yet not cold. It's almost curious. "I suppose two are better than one," he concedes and you silently celebrate the small victory.
<</if>>
<</if>>
Next, you each choose the figurine most fitting, and given Gareth's vast collection and its large array of options, it all goes smoothly and without any squabbles. Then Gawain sets the scene, presenting you with the map he's hastily put together, which leads from a peninsula, across the sea, to an island within an archipelago, all rather crudely yet intelligibly drawn.
While Gawain's drawing skills are far from impressive, the same can't be told of his storytelling ability. He weaves the tale with ease, and gives unique voices to each character that appears not played by any of you; he comes up with twists and turns that keep your group on their toes and the story entertaining. He's even managed to make Galahad //smile//.
On your perilous journey, you fight a giant squid, which Terryn ultimately defeats. You face a ravaging sea storm, which almost sank your ship. You battle vicious pirates and resist the call of sirens, and finally arrive at your destination, where you must solve puzzles and riddles to work out where the treasure is hidden.
By the time you conclude your adventure and return to your chamber, you're as tired and content as your character.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3GawainMorningLeave]]
<<else>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3MorningLeave]]
<</if>>You stop by the side, out of the way of the crowd that keeps flowing on like a river. Your eyes flutter closed as you call out to $dragon_name in your head, picking up on the imaginary thread of your connection and tugging to pull $dragon_his attention.
The response comes, flooding you with excitement. //Mordred? Where are you?//
You open your eyes. //Somewhere near to a dancing troupe. If that narrows it down.// $dragon_name agrees that it does not. //What about you?//
$dragon_name explains he'd set to meet up with Ariawen, and that Gawain had been with them, too before he went away with Galahad. //But I'll come meet up with you now!//
You settle on a meeting point you can both navigate to, and set off.
Together, you take in the various performances and talk about what each of you has been up to; for $dragon_name, as it turns out, it's been quite fun. Spending time and eating sweets with Ariawen, who even introduced $dragon_name to other dragon friends of hers.
//What about your day?//
//Mine's been eventful, for sure.// You dive into everything, in order, from the nobles gossiping about your mother at the food stall to Morgana seeking you out.
As you talk, you come upon a magic show, and decide to stop by.
A red-headed sorcerer plays parlor tricks on an elevated platform to a rapt audience. Heavily bejeweled hands present a glass jar with flourish, every motion studied, languid, expansive. //Dramatic//. Like an actor on stage. A brilliant, charming smile stays plastered on his face, but it doesn't look forced. It's fueled by the delight of having dozens of eyes following your every move. The long, billowy sleeves of his purple tunic sway with every move. Their cut is decisively unlike Lothian fashion, but you know the sorcerer to be Lothian. Darius Solomon, the eldest of Alina's siblings.
Something flashes in the jar he brandishes, stirring relentlessly like a caged animal circling its enclosure. Eager to be let out. A fragment of lightning, glimmering a silvery white.
The audience gasps as he allows it float out. But he does not let it run away - it dances in the palm of his hand, flows like water along the length of his arm, across his shoulders, looping over his neck to glide down his other arm and end up in his palm.
The crowd claps, and he bows deep, smile wider. Smugger.
You stay at the fair until it's time to get ready for the feast.
[[At the feast|FeastNight]]You won’t be able to pick out $dragon_name from the crowd by sight alone, not from this far away, so you don’t even try - instead you reach out with your mind, for the seams of that that familiar presence. When you’re only met with silence, you cast your thoughts out farther, wider, as much as you can, like a net; you push and push till your temples start to throb dully, but all is quiet in your head. Wherever $dragon_name is, they’re too far away to hear you.
<<if $chapt3_call_dragon_reason == "support">>
<<if $go == "build">>
You’ll have to properly introduce them to Arthur another time, then.
<<else>>
You have no choice but to face Arthur on your own.
<</if>>>>
<<else>>
<<if $go == "build">>
You’ll just tell them about it all later.
<<else>>
You have no choice but to go, with nothing but your own tangled thoughts to prepare you for the meeting ahead.
<</if>>
<</if>>
Beyond the tournament fair, lining the edge of the woods, rise neat rows of tents - all grandly decorated, since they host your the most important of your draconic guests.
You heard Sera and Cora discuss this particular arrangement in the weeks counting down to the tournament; you heard the former say this rank-based organization isn’t the way dragons would have handled the accommodations, usually. //No//, Cora had replied, //but 'tis diplomacy. Which came to mean yet another compromise on our side, yet another way we get subsumed into them.//
It’s easy to pick out Elewen’s tent - it stands tallest and most ornate, placed at a distance from the others. As you approach, you hear no noises coming from inside; there’s just the soft glow of fire, smothered by the red canvas.
<<if $go == "build">>
You grasp the entrance flap, heartbeat pulsating in each of your fingertips. With a smile, you slip inside.
<<elseif $go == "answers">>
You grasp the flap, heartbeat pulsating in each of your fingertips. With a steadying breath, you slip inside.
<<elseif $go == "fury">>
You jerk the flap aside and stride in.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3TentMeetElewen]]<<if $flush == 3 or $flush == 2>>
"You know, I saw that," $dragon_name says as you watch Galahad and Callum growing smaller and smaller. "Felt it, too."
You snap your head to $dragon_him. "Saw what?" you say even as a new wave of heat suffuses your face.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Aha! That! Mordred, don't tell me..." You let out a sharp, loud exhale. You don't need to answer. $dragon_name has figured it out. "Galahad? Really?" they snort, looking at you in a mixture of disbelief and pity. As if you've just done some incredibly stupid mistake, yet they're ready to help you mend it.
<div class="choice">[["So what?" you thrust your chin defiantly.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant+1, $dragon_saw_that to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know it's not ideal..." you say, lips twisting.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant-1, $dragon_saw_that to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
"Aha! That! Mordred, don't tell me..." You let out a sharp, loud exhale. You don't need to answer. $dragon_name has figured it out. "Galahad? Really?" $dragon_he sounds surprised, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
<div class="choice">[["Really," you nod decisively.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant+1, $dragon_saw_that to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know it's not ideal..." you say, lips twisting.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant-1, $dragon_saw_that to 4]]</div>
<<else>>
"Aha! That! Mordred, don't tell me..." You let out a sharp, loud exhale. You don't need to answer. $dragon_name has figured it out. "Galahad? Really?" they sound concerned for you, as if you've just told $dragon_him that you're about to do something incredibly reckless and they're mentally working through ways to dissuade you.
<div class="choice">[["So what?" you thrust your chin defiantly.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant+1, $dragon_saw_that to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know it's not ideal..." you say, lips twisting.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant-1, $dragon_saw_that to 6]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
"You know, I felt that," $dragon_name says as you watch Galahad and Callum growing smaller and smaller. "You're lucky your face doesn't give it away."
You snap your head to $dragon_him. "Saw what?" you say even as a new wave of heat suffuses your face.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Mordred, don't tell me..." You let out a sharp, loud exhale. You don't need to answer. $dragon_name has figured it out. "Galahad? Really?" they snort, looking at you in a mixture of disbelief and pity. As if you've just done some incredibly stupid mistake, yet they're ready to help you mend it.
<div class="choice">[["So what?" you thrust your chin defiantly.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant+1, $dragon_saw_that to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know it's not ideal..." you say, lips twisting.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant-1, $dragon_saw_that to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
"Mordred, don't tell me..." You let out a sharp, loud exhale. You don't need to answer. $dragon_name has figured it out. "Galahad? Really?" they sound surprised, eyes gleaming with curiosity.
<div class="choice">[["Really," you nod decisively.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant+1, $dragon_saw_that to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know it's not ideal..." you say, lips twisting.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant-1, $dragon_saw_that to 4]]</div>
<<else>>
"Mordred, don't tell me..." You let out a sharp, loud exhale. You don't need to answer. $dragon_name has figured it out. "Galahad? Really?" they sound concerned for you, as if you've just told $dragon_him that you're about to do something incredibly reckless and they're mentally working through ways to dissuade you.
<div class="choice">[["So what?" you thrust your chin defiantly.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant+1, $dragon_saw_that to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know it's not ideal..." you say, lips twisting.|DragonSaw][$defiant to $defiant-1, $dragon_saw_that to 6]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>>No one understands you quite like your dragon. And you're not sure how they could. You and $dragon_name share thoughts and emotions. It's such an intimate bond, to have someone know every corner and twist of your mind and heart. All of the pain you bear, your dragon feels. The happiness $dragon_name feels, resonates within you. And so your wounds and joy, your thrills and anger are shared.
Your dragon has grown a lot, the difference between you getting bigger. They are about the size of a pony now. A big, muscular pony with large wings bursting from their back. A year ago you were forced to quit inviting $dragon_name to your chambers, which you found incredibly unfair. It's true that one of $dragon_his wings accidentally knocked over a candle and set fire to the sheets in your bedroom, but you were quick to put it out! And the burping fire incident? It wasn't even that bad! The man's eyebrows grew back rather quickly.
It was an argument that ignited every time you were within Morgana's earshot. It only waned when Lot made his appearance, which was a rare occurence. So Accolon had to appease you. And he took Morgana's side, which felt like betrayal, but assured you you could visit $dragon_name anytime.
You walk past the lodge, toward the woods, the noise of the tournament getting more distant with every brisk step. You want to get away from it for a while.
You and $dragon_name have a spot, in the woods, a small meadow in which you like to laze around after flying for a bit. And so you get on the dragon, telling $dragon_him you'll talk once you get to the meadow.
You take off, gaining height as the air rushes past you; it stings your eyes and whips at your hair and cloak, a feeling oh so liberating. The rush, the thrill, the swarm in your belly as you get higher.
<div class="choice">[[You forgot to take the safety harness as you left the lodge. You don't need it anyway.|DragonFly1][$chapt3_harness to "no", $impulsive to $impulsive+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You took the safety harness and strapped it on quickly.|DragonFly1][$chapt3_harness to "yes", $impulsive to $impulsive-3]]</div><<if $clothes == "feminine" or $clothes == "masculine">>
You smooth down your clothes and slip into your boots, tenderly polished by Morgana.
"A very fine choice," your mother says, smiling. "You'll look elegant and dashing."
<<else>>
You smooth down your clothes and slip into your boots, tenderly polished by Morgana.
Your mother smiles as she studies your outfit. "A very fine choice. You'll look elegant and dashing." Then, softer, holding your gaze with a meaningful look: "You know, Mordred, I'll support you whatever choices you make."
<</if>>
[[Continue|Feast]]<<if $say == "effort">>
You're tired of her disregarding both your and Arthur's choice. You're tired of her not seeing that Arthur is not how she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father. If you're willing to accept him, and he's making amends, why can't she? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"Arthur's making an effort!" you burst out. "He cares about me! You keep ignoring my decisions!"
"I care about you too! That's why I want to protect you!" Morgana shouts, leaning over the table, face pained.
<<elseif $say == "choice">>
You're tired of her disregarding both your and Arthur's choice. You're tired of her not seeing that Arthur is not how she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father. If you're willing to accept him, and he's making amends, why can't she? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"Arthur's making an effort!" you burst out. "He cares about me! You keep ignoring my decisions! If he hurts me, at least it was my choice! Do you even care about me?"
"I care about you!" Morgana shouts, leaning over the table, face pained. "I want to protect you!"
<<elseif $say == "decision">>
You keep having to battle to have your voice heard. Perhaps she can't see that Arthur is willing to make an effort, but you can. He's not the man she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father. If you're willing to accept him, and he's making amends, why can't she? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"I want to make my own decision," you say calmly.
"And I want to protect you," Morgana counters.
<<elseif $say == "hesitate">>
Morgana keeps insisting that he'll hurt you, that he'll abandon you again, that he won't make amends. Yet you see that he's trying, that he's not the man she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father.
You don't know him as well as she does, though. He wants to be your father, but he wavers, and so do you. "You really think he will?"
Morgana smiles ruefully. "Yes, my dear."
You shake your head. "No!"
<<elseif $say == "tears">>
The father that abandoned you has come to make amends, yet Morgana keeps insisting he'll hurt you, keeps you away from him. There's a claw in your chest, your eyes are clouding with tears.
"I just want him to be my father," you say, on the verge of tears, pain clinging to your words.
"Dear, please don't cry," Morgana leans forward, sadness in her tone.
<<elseif $say == "uncle">>
Arthur abandoned you. You can't wipe out the pain of those years. But he's here to make amends and you're giving him a chance, even if not as a father, but an uncle. Why can't Morgana do that? Why is her decision more important than yours, when he's your father?
"I don't know if I can see him as a father, but I'd be happy to have him as an uncle. Just let me choose."
"But it's not a good choice," Morgana says.
<<elseif $say == "know">>
You didn't know your father, just what Morgana told you. But he's not the man she painted him to be, a coward, hateful man that doesn't want to be your father.
"I want to get to know him."
"But it's not a good idea."
<</if>>
Morgana takes in a deep breath, staring at you, eyes guarded. She's searching for words. "Mordred," she begins, calmly, soothingly. "You don't know Arthur as well as I do. In the months I spent in Camelot, pregnant with you, I've come to know him. He's kind but naive. He's swayed by Merlin, who wants to harm you. I don't trust either of them. Not until Arthur stops listening to Merlin."
<div class="choice">[["So, you're just going to control me like you claim Merlin controls Arthur?"|Chapt3Merlin][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "control"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I trust Arthur, and you should trust me."|Chapt3Merlin][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "trustme"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just really wish you could trust Arthur."|Chapt3Merlin][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "trust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, be sure that I'll stop listening to you."|Chapt3Merlin][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "stop"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Burst into tears.|Chapt3Merlin][$morgana_talk to "cry", $control to "tears", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not talking to you until you start listening to me."|Chapt3Merlin][$morgana_talk to "mad", $control to "start"]]</div>You buy yourself a variety of treats in a generously big paper bag, figuring you deserve it after the events of the last days, then set off to find the dragon fireshow, making your way unhurried.
A wave of riotous laughter surfs a nearby crowd as the performer on stage stumbles, somersaults and jumps to their feet, holding up their hands victoriously, escaping the attack of highwaymen, who look on beffudled at the empty space among them. You decide to stop by the comedy show for a bit, positioning yourself at the edge of the crowd as you munch on sweetbread.
"So the Solomon girl was bothering Mordred?" Like the crack of thunder, the mention of your name snaps your attention away from the play and to the women in front of you.
They're both garbed in Lothian dresses, green and red respectively. You vaguely remember their faces from other Courtly events, with no names you can conjure up form your memories to attach to them.
"Oh well," Lady in Red checks her manicured nails, in no hurry to confirm that yes, the daughter of one of the most influencial families in her Duchy is a little menace who loves to torment you. "You have to keep these bastards in check somehow, I suppose." Her companion looks a bit dubious, not quite eager to excuse the bullying of children. Whatever she may say in your defense, however, is swallowed back when Lady in Red continues, "No one keeps ?their mother in check and look what happened."
Green Lady wouldn't want to be caught appearing to speak up about someone who's most likely poisoned the Champion Knight, definitely threatened the King and blissfully cheats on your ruling Duke so instead, she sips on her goblet uneasily. Then she says, "But the King stepped in."
It seems word of the incident is spreading as quickly as wildfire. At this point, the Lothian Court should start paying you wages for the gossiping material you and your mother supply them with.
"Hmmm," Lady in Red hums, running a finger around the lip of her goblet, "I understand he reprimanded her. I wonder if the whole incident with Sir Lancelot scared him and perhaps he considers he needs to butter up Lady Morgana."
"People say he's a kind man. Maybe he didn't like the fact that Alina Solomon was..." Green Lady hesitates, "bothering Mordred."
Lady in Red shrugs and downs the dregs of her drink. She turns, looping an arm around her friend's, tugging her away, commenting about needing to replenish her cup.
<<if $defiant >= 50>>
You stay planted where you are. Not caring if they see you and wonder how much you've heard of what they said, your own attention seemingly focused on the comedic play before you. Green Lady's eyes flit over you, then dart back widened as your identity sinks in. You'd call the look she gives you remorseful, before she's swiftly pulled away by her friend who doesn't seem to take note of you.
<<else>>
You move away quickly, disappearing farther into the crowd to avoid being seen; you don't want to face them, or let them wonder how much you've heard of their talk.
<</if>>
There's a loud whooshing, followed by a cloud of fire exploding high over a gasping, applauding crowd. You've found the dragons' fire show.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You sprint through the crowd, leaving behind a string of gasps and expletives as you cut between people, at one point veering left just before you collide into another child.
<<else>>
You quicken your step, eyes sharpened to any gap in the crowd that may speed up your way, stepping elengantly between people who stop to gape at the performances around you.
<</if>>
Once you've reached the show, you find one last obstacle: the densely packed crowd standing between you and the dragons. You could watch the fire show from here too, of course. You can see the shapes carved out of fire from atop the audience, but you can't see the performers themselves. And you're determined to get to the front.
<div class="choice">[[You make your way slowly, excusing yourself at every step.|Chapt3FairAloneShow1][$defiant to $defiant-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You plough on without issue, elbowing people if need be.|Chapt3FairAloneShow2][$defiant to $defiant+1]]</div>You take a deep breath and dive in. Moving slowly, looking out for less crammed spaces to slip through, murmuring excuses like a chant to keep you safe on your journey. And despite some protesting and complaining, you manage to reach your destination.
There's a cordon circling the performance, to clearly determine just how close it is safe to approach. The dragons are, obviously, masters of their craft, so the issue of accidents doesn't rest on them, but foolish humans. Especially foolish, //drunk// humans.
There are three dragons peformers, none of them exceeding by much the height of what would be considered a tall human. Two of them have horns sprouting out of their heads, lushly decorated by gemstones that wink in the bright sun and golden or silver chains that weave into elaborate designs in the space between their horns, dangling down to frame their scaled faces. The third dragon has a swirling motif of red roses painted over their white scales and golden bracelets atop their taloned feet.
<<if $chapt3_arthur_river != "no">>
Each of the dragons exhales fire, and gives it shape, the three of them working together to tell a story as vivid as if there was a theatre play unfolding before your eyes. They don't need any narration - everything is told through the forms that dance in the air in blazing shades of orange and red and yellow. It's a story of adventure and friendship blooming between a dragon and a human. Flying together over rivers of flames, celebrating their victories around bonfires, sleeping snuggled together under the starry sky.
<<else>>
Fire storytelling is a custom of the dragons, an integral aspect of their culture, a particularity of their magic: willing figures and scenery out of flames, sometimes to accompany the speaker's words, other times to tell the story all on their own.
You've attempted it before, of course you have. The first time Morgana and Accolon took you to see such a performance was in Avalon. You were entranced and couldn't stop thinking and talking about it for days. You've tried to recreate what you've seen, to results beyond disappointing - hazardous even. You've managed to set the curtain on fire and Morgana had to douse it with water. You weren't deterred by your failure though. You've made an attempt yet again in Lothia, taking all the necessary precations, including doing it near the river. The outcome was less dangerous but not much less pathetic. Luckily, only $dragon_name was there to witness it, and they will tease you about it every now and then; their own attempts are more successful as well, a fact they like to remind you. You can't blame them for it, though. You were filled with pride for $dragon_name as you watched the fire take shape, however rough and flickering.
Each of the dragons exhales fire, and gives it shape, the three of them working together to tell a story as vivid as if there was a theatre play unfolding before your eyes. They don't need any narration - everything is told through the forms that dance in the air in blazing shades of orange and red and yellow. It's a story of adventure and friendship blooming between a dragon and a human. Flying together over rivers of flames, celebrating their victories around bonfires, sleeping snuggled together under the starry sky.
<</if>>
You watch it all bewitched, forgetting even about the remainder of your sweets. The end of the story marks a break for the dragons, too, who bow extensively to the thunderous applause before departing to get some refreshments, to return for their next story with renewed energy.
<<if $Gawain >= 58 and $Gawain_friend >= 3>>
You too take your leave, intent on finding Gawain and $dragon_name.
<<include Chapt3GawainFair>>
<<else>>
You too take your leave, intent on finding $dragon_name.
<<include Chapt3DragonNameFair>>
<</if>>You dive right in with the confidence of a ship cresting the waves. You carve your way through the crowds unwaveringly, slipping through the gaps you find and making your own with your elbows if you need; pushing on to a chorus of protests and complains until you reach your destination.
There's a cordon circling the performance, to clearly determine just how close it is safe to approach. The dragons are, obviously, masters of their craft, so the issue of accidents doesn't rest on them, but foolish humans. Especially foolish, //drunk// humans.
There are three dragons peformers, none of them exceeding by much the height of what would be considered a tall human. Two of them have horns sprouting out of their heads, lushly decorated by gemstones that wink in the bright sun and golden or silver chains that weave into elaborate designs in the space between their horns, dangling down to frame their scaled faces. The third dragon has a swirling motif of red roses painted over their white scales and golden bracelets atop their taloned feet.
<<if $chapt3_arthur_river != "no">>
Each of the dragons exhales fire, and gives it shape, the three of them working together to tell a story as vivid as if there was a theatre play unfolding before your eyes. They don't need any narration - everything is told through the forms that dance in the air in blazing shades of orange and red and yellow. It's a story of adventure and friendship blooming between a dragon and a human. Flying together over rivers of flames, celebrating their victories around bonfires, sleeping snuggled together under the starry sky.
<<else>>
Fire storytelling is a custom of the dragons, an integral aspect of their culture, a particularity of their magic: willing figures and scenery out of flames, sometimes to accompany the speaker's words, other times to tell the story all on their own.
You've attempted it before, of course you have. The first time Morgana and Accolon took you to see such a performance was in Avalon. You were entranced and couldn't stop thinking and talking about it for days. You've tried to recreate what you've seen, to results beyond disappointing - hazardous even. You've managed to set the curtain on fire and Morgana had to douse it with water. You weren't deterred by your failure though. You've made an attempt yet again in Lothia, taking all the necessary precations, including doing it near the river. The outcome was less dangerous but not much less pathetic. Luckily, only $dragon_name was there to witness it, and they will tease you about it every now and then; their own attempts are more successful as well, a fact they like to remind you. You can't blame them for it, though. You were filled with pride for $dragon_name as you watched the fire take shape, however rough and flickering.
Each of the dragons exhales fire, and gives it shape, the three of them working together to tell a story as vivid as if there was a theatre play unfolding before your eyes. They don't need any narration - everything is told through the forms that dance in the air in blazing shades of orange and red and yellow. It's a story of adventure and friendship blooming between a dragon and a human. Flying together over rivers of flames, celebrating their victories around bonfires, sleeping snuggled together under the starry sky.
<</if>>
You watch it all bewitched, forgetting even about the remainder of your sweets. The end of the story marks a break for the dragons, too, who bow extensively to the thunderous applause before departing to get some refreshments, to return for their next story with renewed energy.
<<if $Gawain >= 58 and $Gawain_friend >= 3>>
You too take your leave, intent on finding Gawain and $dragon_name.
<<include Chapt3GawainFair>>
<<else>>
You too take your leave, intent on finding $dragon_name.
<<include Chapt3DragonNameFair>>
<</if>>You cross your arms, scoffing. "So now you decide to show up?" Every wound opens at the sight of him.
Regret flashes over his features and he smiles sadly, "I'm sorry."
Sorry? If only those words could heal your wounds! But all they do is plunge the dagger and twist it, widening the wound. Sorry doesn't make up anything. Sorry doesn't make him a father.
"I just wanted to see you." Arthur's eyes roam over your features, with wonder and a sort of tenderness. "I…always wondered what you grew up to be like," he adds in a whisper, more to himself than you.
You only just now notice he's holding something. He starts turning it in his hands, the fingers restless just like his gaze, drinking you in. "You look just like Morgana." He inhales a sharp breath. You can't quite tell what the expression in his eyes means- hope, regret and fear making a dangerous concotion, leaving you wondering whether the remark is meant for good or not.
He notices you looking at his hands, and he holds a hand out to show you a small, wooden dragon figurine. "For you. I sculpted it. I wanted to give you something." He smiles, that soft and hopeful smile. Ignoring all the years of silence, extending a peace offering in the form of a wooden dragon figurine.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[[You storm down the stairs and knock it out of his hands.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "yeet", $chapt3_take_figurine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, but just to appease him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "appease", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>
<</if>>You climb down a step. There's no denying. It's the face you saw in the drawing. Your eyes set in a face that is both familiar and strange.
"Arthur?"
He smiles softly. "Yes," he confirms and the single word is leaden with so much feeling. "I just wanted to see you." Arthur's eyes roam over your features, with wonder and a guarded sort of tenderness. "I...always wondered what you grew up to be like," he adds in a whisper, more to himself than you.
You only just now notice he's holding something. He starts turning it in his hands, the fingers restless just like his gaze, drinking you in. "You look just like Morgana." He inhales a sharp breath. You can't quite tell what the expression in his eyes means - hope, regret and fear making a dangerous concoction, leaving you wondering whether the remark is meant for good or not.
He notices you looking at his hands, and he holds a hand out to show you a small, wooden dragon figurine. "For you. I sculpted it. I wanted to give you something." He smiles, that soft and hopeful smile. Ignoring all the years of silence, extending a peace offering in the form of a wooden dragon figurine.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[[You storm down the stairs and knock it out of his hands.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "yeet", $chapt3_take_figurine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, but just to appease him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "appease", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, but just to appease him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "appease", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<div class="choice">[[Take it and hug him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "hug", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, happily.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $opinion to "hope", $chapt3_take_figurine to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
Tears sting your eyes, and you're not sure whether they stem from anger or bitterness, from hurt and anguish, but they streak down your cheek. You furiously dab at your eyes with the back of your palm, struggling to make out your feelings.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
Tears sting your eyes, overwhelmed. You're not sure how you're feeling- you longed to meet him, hoping he'd heal the wounds he made.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
Tears sting your eyes, but you're smiling, tasting salt in your mouth. Your father is here, and you hope he'll heal the wounds he made.
<</if>>
Arthur looks concerned, and he steps forward. "Please, don't cry. I'm sorry."
You're not sure what he's apologizing for - making you cry or his absence.
"I just wanted to see you." Arthur's eyes roam over your features, with wonder and a sort of tenderness. "I…always wondered what you grew up to be like," he adds in a whisper, more to himself than you.
You only just now notice he's holding something. He starts turning it in his hands, the fingers restless just like his gaze, drinking you in. "You look just like Morgana." He inhales a sharp breath. You can't quite tell what the expression in his eyes means- hope, regret and fear making a dangerous concoction, leaving you wondering whether the remark is meant for good or not.
He notices you looking at his hands, and he holds a hand out to show you a small, wooden dragon figurine. "For you. I sculpted it. I wanted to give you something." He smiles, that soft and hopeful smile. Ignoring all the years of silence, extending a peace offering in the form of a wooden dragon figurine.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[[You storm down the stairs and knock it out of his hands.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "yeet", $chapt3_take_figurine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, but just to appease him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "appease", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, happily.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it and hug him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "hug", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>
<</if>>"You..."
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
All the poison you've been harboring is in that word. Every wound opens at his sight, every word Morgana has told floods your mind. He abandoned you. It's all because of him that you have to suffer. He will pay for it.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
You didn't know what to think of him. Yet, seeing him now, every wound opens. Here he is. How will he respond for every offense he did? Abandoning you. How will he make up for it?
<</if>>
The wind has picked up. It's cooler, harsher. Angrier.
Arthur takes a step back, looking at you with horror in his eyes. And a strange sort of recognition. "Please!" He puts up one hand. "I just want to talk," he begs.
<div class="choice">[["Now you want to talk?" you snap.|Chapt3Hate][$chapt3_snap to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Go on, talk," you say bitterly.|Chapt3Hate][$chapt3_snap to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to talk."|Chapt3Hate][$chapt3_snap to "3"]]</div>You smile. He abandoned you, but he's here to make amends, you desperately hope.
"I've been hoping to meet you."
He smiles softly.
"I just wanted to see you." Arthur's eyes roam over your features, with wonder and a sort of tenderness. "I…always wondered what you grew up to be like," he adds in a whisper, more to himself than you.
You only just now notice he's holding something. He starts turning it in his hands, the fingers restless just like his gaze, drinking you in. "You look just like Morgana." He inhales a sharp breath. You can't quite tell what the expression in his eyes means- hope, regret and fear making a dangerous concoction, leaving you wondering whether the remark is meant for good or not.
He notices you looking at his hands, and he holds a hand out to show you a small, wooden dragon figurine. "For you. I sculpted it. I wanted to give you something." He smiles, that soft and hopeful smile. Ignoring all the years of silence, extending a peace offering in the form of a wooden dragon figurine.
<div class="choice">[[Take it, happily.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $opinion to "hope", $chapt3_take_figurine to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it and hug him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "hug", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>All the years of absence, all the tears and rage and longing come rushing to you as you propel yourself to him. You've always wanted him to love you, but Morgana makes it seem so impossible, and his absence attested to it. But now he's here, and you don't know if you want to hug him or hit him.
Arthur takes a confused step back.
<div class="choice">[[Hug him.|FatherHug][$reaction to "runhug"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hit him in the chest, more hurt than angry.|FatherHug][$reaction to "hit"]]</div>Joy explodes inside of you. "Father!"
Running down the stairs, Arthur takes a confused step back, but you throw your arms around him, holding him tightly, as if he'd run away if you let go. You feel his hands on your shoulders, and you press your cheek against him.
Hesitantly, he returns the hug.
When you finally pull back, he's smiling softly.
"I just wanted to see you." Arthur's eyes roam over your features, with wonder and a sort of tenderness. "I…always wondered what you grew up to be like," he adds in a whisper, more to himself than you.
You only just now notice he's holding something. He starts turning it in his hands, the fingers restless just like his gaze, drinking you in. "You look just like Morgana." He inhales a sharp breath. You can't quite tell what the expression in his eyes means- hope, regret and fear making a dangerous concotion, leaving you wondering whether the remark is meant for good or not.
He notices you looking at his hands, and he holds a hand out to show you a small, wooden dragon figurine. "For you. I sculpted it. I wanted to give you something." He smiles, that soft and hopeful smile. Ignoring all the years of silence, extending a peace offering in the form of a wooden dragon figurine.
<div class="choice">[[Take it, happily.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $opinion to "hope", $chapt3_take_figurine to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it and hug him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "hug", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 11]]</div>You freeze. Like a small animal in front of a wolf, you stay still and hope they'll let you go.
"No, you've mistaken me!" you shout. "I'm not Mordred!"
Arthur blinks, as if it would clear his vision and see that he has indeed mistaken the very similar features you share. And to your horror, it cleared as he says, "It's you."
"I just wanted to see you." Arthur's eyes roam over your features, with wonder and a sort of tenderness. "I…always wondered what you grew up to be like," he adds in a whisper, more to himself than you.
You only just now notice he's holding something. He starts turning it in his hands, the fingers restless just like his gaze, drinking you in. "You look just like Morgana." He inhales a sharp breath. You can't quite tell what the expression in his eyes means- hope, regret and fear making a dangerous concotion, leaving you wondering whether the remark is meant for good or not.
He notices you looking at his hands, and he holds a hand out to show you a small, wooden dragon figurine. "For you. I sculpted it. I wanted to give you something." He smiles, that soft and hopeful smile. Ignoring all the years of silence, extending a peace offering in the form of a wooden dragon figurine.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[[You storm down the stairs and knock it out of his hands.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "yeet", $chapt3_take_figurine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, but just to appease him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "appease", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, but just to appease him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "appease", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, happily.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $opinion to "hope", $chapt3_take_figurine to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it and hug him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "hug", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>
<</if>><<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
Seeing his face, of the year of absence are coming to you, and overwhelmed by fury, you run down the stairs and away from him.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
Is he here to make amends? Will he react like the others? Can you forgive him? You can't face him. Overwhelmed, you run down the stairs and away from him.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
Is he here to make amends? Despite the years of absence, you can't help but hope he still wants you. But right now, seeing him, you can't face him. Overwhelmed, you run down the stairs and away from him.
<</if>>
You hear him call out after you, but you don't stop.
[[Continue|Chapter3ArthurPOV]]"Father?" It comes out quiet, small. Fragile.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
You hate yourself for uttering the word, but you couldn't help yourself. Your loathing stems from hurt- hurt that he abandoned you, hurt that he doesn't want you. You're a fool to call him a word he doesn't deserve. You're a fool to think of him as a father, when even Lot has done more for you, by giving you his name. When Accolon is the one who's a father to you.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
The word is a question, as if you're trying it out. Is it fitting? Does he deserve you to call him that, when even Lot who gave you his name did more for you? When Accolon is the one who's a father to you?
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
It's hopeful. Hopeful that he wants to earn the title. Hopeful that he will make up for his absence. But will it be enough?
<</if>>
His eyes widen, and you see a pleasant surprise flash over his features, before hurt settles in. The word must have been like a sword through him, a reminder that he has been anything but a father to you. He tries to smile, but it's strained.
"Yes," he replies softly. "I just wanted to see you." Arthur's eyes roam over your features, with wonder and a sort of tenderness. "I…always wondered what you grew up to be like," he adds in a whisper, more to himself than you.
You only just now notice he's holding something. He starts turning it in his hands, the fingers restless just like his gaze, drinking you in. "You look just like Morgana." He inhales a sharp breath. You can't quite tell what the expression in his eyes means - hope, regret and fear making a dangerous concoction, leaving you wondering whether the remark is meant for good or not.
He notices you looking at his hands, and he holds a hand out to show you a small, wooden dragon figurine. "For you. I sculpted it. I wanted to give you something." He smiles, that soft and hopeful smile. Ignoring all the years of silence, extending a peace offering in the form of a wooden dragon figurine.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[[You storm down the stairs and knock it out of his hands.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "yeet", $chapt3_take_figurine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, but just to appease him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "appease", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, happily.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it and hug him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "hug", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_fault == "1">>
As you look at Accolon, listless yet attempting his best to give you a gentle smile, you feel tears gathering in your eyes, ready to spill. "It's all my fault." A knot rises in your neck, and you blink, your vision hazy. Accolon's features pinch in worry. "If I hadn't met Arthur in the lodge, Lancelot wouldn't have hurt you." Your words are shaky, and so are your hands which the man firmly grasps as he pulls you closer to him.
His hand cups your cheek as his thumb wipes away a stray tear, and he finds your gaze. "Mordred," his tone is soothing, mellow. "It's not your fault." You shake your head, the reassurance hard to accept. "Listen to me." Gentle, yet firm. He drops his words to a whisper as he continues, "I won't blame you for wanting to meet Arthur, and you shouldn't either."
You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and bite your lips, nodding. Seeing you appeased, Accolon smiles. "Now, I think you should go back. I'll be fine." You stay put however, but Accolon squeezes your hand. "Go, Mordred. Take a break."
<<elseif $chapt3_fault == "2">>
You don't budge, holding his gaze, frowning. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, Mordred." He smiles as if to prove to you it truly is fine, but it's hard to relent when the smile is painted over his bruised face. Still, you do, trudging away with a heavy heart, turning every so often to throw him worried glances.
<<elseif $chapt3_fault == "3">>
You bite your lip, hesitating. He senses your uncertainty and decides to change tactics. "If you don't go now the healers will chase you away to allow me to rest."
"Fine," you finally relent with a deep sigh.
He smiles, but it's not a reassuring sight when it's painted over his bruised face. Still you take your leave, trudging away with a heavy heart, turning every so often to throw him worried glances.
<<elseif $chapt3_fault == "4">>
"Fine." He needs rest, and there's nothing you can help him with except by offering him your company.
He smiles, but it's not a reassuring sight when it's painted over his bruised face. You take your leave, trudging away with a heavy heart, turning every so often to throw him worried glances.
<</if>>
A chorus of applause from the crowd accompanies you. It's almost mocking to your suffering, the booming clapping clattering against your ears like a sword banging against a shield. Unyielding and unrelenting as it rattles you.
It must mean the swordfighting trial is about to be finished; the dragon race is up next.
<<if $trial == "sword">>It seems insignificant, while Accolon lies in bed, wounded, but a bitter thought crosses your mind - you've been looking forward to the swordfighting trial and Lancelot utterly ruined it.
<<elseif $trial == "race">>
You've been looking forward to this next trial, and in your wretched state, you find a glimmer of happiness at the thought that your chamber has a rather good vantage point.
<<else>>
Should you want to watch, your room has a good enough vantage point.
<</if>>
You could really use some time to unwind and try to process this whole mess. As a headache begins throbbing at your temple, you direct your quick steps towards the castle. But just as the pavilions become sparse and you near the hill, a voice calls after you, and a chill runs down your spine. You spin around and there is Galahad, his gray eyes taking you in cautiously.
<div class="choice">[["Are you here to make my day worse?" you ask sharply.|Chapt3GalahadConfront][$defiant to $defiant+2, $chapt3_talk_gally to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Not him, you groan internally.|Chapt3GalahadConfront][$chapt3_talk_gally to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If he's here to pick up on you too, you're going to start crying.|Chapt3GalahadConfront][$chapt3_talk_gally to "3", $crybaby to $crybaby+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You flinch. After seeing his father beat Accolon, you wouldn't be surprised if he sent his son to do the same to you.|Chapt3GalahadConfront][$chapt3_talk_gally to "4", $Galahad to $Galahad+5, $defiant to $defiant-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes?" you ask genuinely curious why he'd reach out.|Chapt3GalahadConfront][$chapt3_talk_gally to "5", $Galahad to $Galahad+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I hope you're here to apologize for your father's behavior, otherwise leave.\""|Chapt3GalahadConfront][$chapt3_talk_gally to "6", $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're exhausted. "Yes?"|Chapt3GalahadConfront][$chapt3_talk_gally to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Please just leave me alone," you say quietly.|Chapt3GalahadConfront][$chapt3_talk_gally to "8", $defiant to $defiant-5, $Galahad to $Galahad+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[How dare he approach you after what Lancelot did? You slap him!|Chapt3GalahadConfront][$chapt3_talk_gally to "9"]]</div><<if $stay == "furious">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you, going behind your back to warn Arthur.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
Your dragon agrees with Morgana. She knows best.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Arthur's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Arthur's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
Your dragon agrees it's Arthur's decision to approach you.
<</if>>
//The prophecy...// You can sense $dragon_name's overwhelmed feelings, the doubt over the accuracy of the words. //It doesn't really mean anything, does it? Undoing is just change, right?//
<<if $prophecy == "rule">>
//Yes! My rule will bring change.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "good">>
//Yes!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid">>
//Prophecies are stupid anyway,// you dismiss $dragon_name's worry.
<<elseif $prophecy == "plan">>
//Right!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
//I want to see it burn.//
//That's alarming,// $dragon_name notes warily.
<<elseif $prophecy == "hate">>
//Yes...but Arthur believes him, and is afraid of me.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "wrong">>
//Prophecies are unpredictable,// you say carefully.
<</if>>
//I heard a commotion last night, outside the lodge. A dragon rushed out. When I looked, it was Elewen.//
//Do you think she jumped to Arthur's defense?//
Whatever did Morgana do?
//Yes. It sounded like a fight.//
A knock on your door startles you, and you hastily tell your dragon you'll talk later.
"Yes?" you asks.
Morgana's head peeks inside. Her eyes are red and puffy, telltales of shed tears, yet her expression is one of utter composure, any desperation she had displayed in the ring, when Accolon was injured, wiped away now. Her tone is somber, putting a knot in your throat, as she says, "I want to talk to you, Mordred. Come to my study."
<div class="choice">[["Yes, mother," you readily follow her.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "readily"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What about?" You cross your arms.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do I have to?" you ask warily.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "wary"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How's Accolon?" you ask, worried.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "worry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nod eagerly. "Yes! I have lots of questions."|Chapt3Study][$brief to "eagerly"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go reluctantly.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "reluctantly"]]</div>The sky blazes a fiery orange, clouds bleeding rosy pink as you're standing next to your mother under its bloody dome, seeing off the first party to leave - the Camelotian one. Lot stands straight and dour, hands clasped firmly behind his back like a General facing his army before a battle whose odds promise to claim many of his soliders. Morgana looks resplendent and warm in her coat of emerald green, lined with fur. Gareth, in his green cape and knee-high boots takes more after Morgana in poise and affable smile.
<<if $chapt3_arthur_library is true>>
You share a lingering, secretive smile with Arthur before he steps back to make space for Sir Kay and his family.
<<else>>
Arthur throws you a plaintive look before he steps back to make space for Sir Kay and his family.
<</if>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you till he leaves you breathless. But you don't mind as you return the embrace just as tightly, your heart racing as if it wanted to burst right out of your chest and join him, a piece of you to take on his journey back home, a piece of you that you feel belongs to him now. You inhale deeply, eyes fluttering close as you bask in his warmth and flowery scent, and he nuzzles his face into the crook of your shoulder.
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
When he pulls back he does so reluctantly, eyes suspiciously liquid and gleaming. Yours too sting with unshed tears that blur Gawain's sad smile. You're left cold and exposed and vulnerable, a desolate abyss gapping between you. Yet his perfume clings to you, and it somewhat soothes you.
<<else>>
When he pulls back he does so reluctantly, eyes suspiciously liquid and gleaming. You're left cold and exposed and vulnerable, a desolate abyss gapping between you. Yet his perfume clings to you, and it somewhat soothes you.
<</if>>
Next up in line is the du Lac family. Lancelot's farewell is textbook courteous and perfectly cold, while Elena speaks hers demurely.
<<if $Galahad >= 25>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. The frost reserved for you has thawed, giving away to an emotion you can't fathom. He seems inquisitive. He's looked at you before as if you were a puzzle, one that particuarly vexed him, but now there's some new sentiment, one that looks almost like regret.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 20>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. The frost reserved for you has mostly thawed, giving away to confusion. He's looked at you before as if you were a puzzle, one that particuarly vexed him.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. It's not as chill as you expected, and not that sharp either. It seems mostly guarded, peeking at you from over a metaphorical shield.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 10>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens the look he gives you isn't as chill as you expected, but still sharp and guarded.
<<else>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, but when he straightens he treats you with the usual biting glare you've come to expect.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You smile brightly at Galahad.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 1, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_friend to $gally_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile shyly at Galahad.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 2, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_friend to $gally_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give him a fake, charming smile.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 3, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_ally to $gally_ally+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stick your tongue out at him.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile sardonically.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Scowl.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 6, $Galahad to $Galahad-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ignore him.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 7]]</div><<if $chapt3_take_figurine == 1>>
Propelled forward by fury, you run down the stairs. Arthur's smile falters, falling to pieces before your eyes just like your bruised heart has broken again and again over the years every time you heard of the man who abandoned you, forsaken you. That now thinks he can just waltz into your life with a pathetic figurine as appeasement. You summon all your wrath into the throw of your arm and knock away the offending object.
"I don't want anything from you!" you shout to Arthur's face. You're alight with anger - it teems under your skin, fiery, itchy, yearning to be let out - but there's none of it to be found in Arthur's expression. There's just hurt, written loudly and plainly across every feature. It's in the plaintive curve of his lips, the woebegone $eye of his eyes, the desolate pucker of his brow.
He goes to gently pick up the fallen figurine, and his feet shuffle pitifully over the drumming blood in your ears. His gaze lingers on the wooden dragon, pensive, and he doesn't look at you as he says, "I have to go."
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 2>>
You accepting this gift - this affectionately, hand crafted gift of his - seems to mean a lot to Arthur, so you decide to take it as an appeasement, if nothing else. You climb down the stairs and as you do, Arthur's smile widens. You take the figurine, and see the spark of hope fanned in his eyes.
He stares at you with those bright eyes for a while, as if he still can't quite believe you're there, in front of him, drinking in every detail of your face. Somewhat marveling, whether at your countenance or docile reaction, you can't quite tell. Perhaps both. You return the quiet inspection with curiosity of your own, studying the face you've only ever seen in paintings before.
"I have to go," he says finally, regret tinging his words.
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 3>>
A gift! A tenderly, hand crafted gift! For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, to now find out that not only has he thought of you, he's thought of you lovingly enough to sculpt something so beautiful, just for you. A token of affection, a promise of more to come.
You climb down the stairs and as you do, Arthur's smile widens. You return his smile, incandescent with joy, and take the figurine, seeing the spark of hope fanned in his eyes.
He stares at you with those bright eyes for a while, as if he still can't quite believe you're there, in front of him, drinking in every detail of your face. Somewhat marveling, whether at your countenance or smiling reaction, you can't quite tell. Perhaps both. You return the quiet inspection with curiosity of your own, studying the face you've only ever seen in paintings before.
"I have to go," he says finally, regret tinging his words.
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 4>>
A gift? After years of abandonment, years of living under the shadow of a man whose blood and eyes you share but that you've never met yourself, never heard from, not a written line - he has the audacity to waltz into your life with a pathetic gift and dumb gentle smile and pitifully - almost insultingly - misplaced hope. He has no right.
You cross your arms, making your refusal abundantly clear in any way that you can. "I don't want anything from you."
Arthur's stupid face shifts to the desperate and woeful as he pleads with you, "Please."
You vehemently shake your head and he pulls back his hand. Not mad, just simply and overwhelmingly sad. "I have to go." He hesitates, as if you'd change your mind, and when you don't he finally leaves.
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 5>>
A gift! A tenderly, hand crafted gift! For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, to now find out that not only has he thought of you, he's thought of you lovingly enough to sculpt something so beautiful, just for you. A token of affection, a promise of more to come.
You climb down the stairs and as you do, Arthur's smile widens. You return his smile, incandescent with joy, and take the figurine, seeing the spark of hope fanned in his eyes. Then, propelled by a sudden need, almost violent in its intensity - a desperate, frantic, agonizing yearning you've nursed for years - you throw your arms around him. Arthur draws a sharp, surprised breath, and after just a moment's hesitation he hugs you back, squeezing you tight.
He pulls back reluctantly to stare at you with those bright eyes for a while, as if he still can't quite believe you're there, in front of him, drinking in every detail of your face. Somewhat marveling, whether at your countenance or eager reaction, you can't quite tell. Perhaps both. You return the quiet inspection with curiosity of your own, studying the face you've only ever seen in paintings before.
"I have to go," he says finally, regret tinging his words.
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 6>>
He's brought you a gift - a tenderly, hand crafted gift. For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, to now find out that not only has he thought of you, he's thought of you lovingly enough to sculpt something so beautiful, just for you. It seems like an auspicious begining, a promise of more to come - but will he keep to it or break your heart all over again?
You climb down the stairs and as you do, Arthur's smile widens. You return his smile faintly. Joy simmers under the surface, guarded and subdued, afraid to blaze into something bigger, brighter only to be mercilessly snuffed out later. You take the figurine, seeing the spark of hope fanned in his eyes.
He stares at you with those bright eyes for a while, as if he still can't quite believe you're there, in front of him, drinking in every detail of your face. Somewhat marveling, whether at your countenance or smiling reaction, you can't quite tell. Perhaps both. You return the quiet inspection with curiosity of your own, studying the face you've only ever seen in paintings before.
"I have to go," he says finally, regret tinging his words.
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 7>>
You accepting this gift - this affectionately, hand crafted gift of his - seems to mean a lot to Arthur, so you decide to take it as an appeasement, if nothing else. As you do, the spark of hope shines brighter in his eyes.
Arthur stares at you with those bright eyes for a while, as if he still can't quite believe you're there, in front of him, drinking in every detail of your face. Somewhat marveling, whether at your countenance or docile reaction, you can't quite tell. Perhaps both. You return the quiet inspection with curiosity of your own, studying the face you've only ever seen in paintings before.
"I have to go," he says finally, regret tinging his words.
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 8>>
A gift! A tenderly, hand crafted gift! For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, to now find out that not only has he thought of you, he's thought of you lovingly enough to sculpt something so beautiful, just for you. A token of affection, a promise of more to come.
You reach out and as you do, Arthur's smile widens. You return his smile, incandescent with joy, and take the figurine, seeing the spark of hope fanned in his eyes.
He stares at you with those bright eyes for a while, as if he still can't quite believe you're there, in front of him, drinking in every detail of your face. Somewhat marveling, whether at your countenance or smiling reaction, you can't quite tell. Perhaps both. You return the quiet inspection with curiosity of your own, studying the face you've only ever seen in paintings before.
"I have to go," he says finally, regret tinging his words.
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 9>>
You summon all your wrath into the throw of your arm and knock away the offending object. Arthur's smile falters, falling to pieces before your eyes just like your bruised heart has broken again and again over the years every time you heard of the man who abandoned you, forsaken you. That now thinks he can just waltz into your life with a pathetic figurine as appeasement.
"I don't want anything from you!" you shout to Arthur's face. You're alight with anger - it teems under your skin, fiery, itchy, yearning to be let out - but there's none of it to be found in Arthur's expression. There's just hurt, written loudly and plainly across every feature. It's in the plaintive curve of his lips, the woebegone $eye of his eyes, the desolate pucker of his brow.
He goes to gently pick up the fallen figurine, and his feet shuffle pitifully over the drumming blood in your ears. His gaze lingers on the wooden dragon, pensive, and he doesn't look at you as he says, "I have to go."
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 10>>
A gift! A tenderly, hand crafted gift! For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, to now find out that not only has he thought of you, he's thought of you lovingly enough to sculpt something so beautiful, just for you. A token of affection, a promise of more to come.
You reach out and as you do, Arthur's smile widens. You return his smile, incandescent with joy, and take the figurine, seeing the spark of hope fanned in his eyes. Then, propelled by a sudden need, almost violent in its intensity - a desperate, frantic, agonizing yearning you've nursed for years - you throw your arms around him. Arthur draws a sharp, surprised breath, and after just a moment's hesitation he hugs you back, squeezing you tight.
He pulls back reluctantly to stare at you with those bright eyes for a while, as if he still can't quite believe you're there, in front of him, drinking in every detail of your face. Somewhat marveling, whether at your countenance or eager reaction, you can't quite tell. Perhaps both. You return the quiet inspection with curiosity of your own, studying the face you've only ever seen in paintings before.
"I have to go," he says finally, regret tinging his words.
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 11>>
He's brought you a gift - a tenderly, hand crafted gift. For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, to now find out that not only has he thought of you, he's thought of you lovingly enough to sculpt something so beautiful, just for you. It seems like a auspicious begining, a promise of more to come - but will he keep to it or break your heart all over again?
You reach out slowly, as if not quite allowing yourself to hope. Arthur's smile widens and you too smile in reply, faintly. Joy simmers under the surface, guarded and subdued, afraid to blaze into something bigger, brighter only to be mercilessly snuffed out later. You take the figurine, seeing the spark of hope fanned in his eyes.
He stares at you with those bright eyes for a while, as if he still can't quite believe you're there, in front of him, drinking in every detail of your face. Somewhat marveling, whether at your countenance or smiling reaction, you can't quite tell. Perhaps both. You return the quiet inspection with curiosity of your own, studying the face you've only ever seen in paintings before.
"I have to go," he says finally, regret tinging his words.
<<elseif $chapt3_take_figurine == 12>>
A part of you earns for it - to reach out and accept the figurine and all that it implies. For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, and now he waltzes into your life with this token of affection, this symbol that despite abandoning you, he did not forget about you. You make the first steps, desperate, reckless steps towards throwing yourself into this intoxicating promise of more, of getting everything you've yearned for. Yet something holds you back, a bitter uncertainty. Can this truly be enough? So you halt abruptly in your descend, fists balling at your side.
You see the hope drain out of his gaze, a dimming flame that settles into a sad understanding. "I have to go." He hesitates, as if you'd change your mind, and when you don't, he leaves.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapter3ArthurPOV]]<<if $flinch == "flinch">>
You flinch, leaning back to avoid her touch. Morgana looks stricken, hand hovering over the desk, but she sits back in her chair, quickly hiding her hurt.
<<elseif $flinch == "no">>
"No," you say firmly.
Morgana looks stricken, hand hovering over the desk, but she sits back in her chair, quickly hiding her hurt.
<<elseif $flinch == "startled">>
Like prey, you don't move, rooted to your place. Morgana gently caresses your cheek before leaning back.
<<elseif $flinch == "comfort">>
Morgana gently caresses your cheek, the gesture comforting, before leaning back.
<<elseif $flinch == "allow">>
Morgana gently caresses your cheek before leaning back.
<</if>>
"Anyway," Morgana smoothly continues as if nothing happened. "They restrained me and rescued Lancelot, and they wouldn't let me approach him from then on. As they escorted me, he looked at me like I was the monster, not the man he was serving."
<div class="choice">[["\"Is this why you called me? You tell me how you beat Lancelot?\""|Chapt3Beat][$chapt3_beat to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["That's impressive," you say, awed.|Chapt3Beat][$chapt3_beat to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["So you attacked him unprovoked?" It feels wrong.|Chapt3Beat][$chapt3_beat to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Is this when he started hating you?\""|Chapt3Beat][$chapt3_beat to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"So you attacked him unprovoked. That's wrong.\""|Chapt3Beat][$chapt3_beat to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"So you attacked him unprovoked, like he attacked Accolon. You have something in common.\""|Chapt3Beat][$chapt3_beat to "6"]]</div><<if $betray == "forgive">>
Can you really blame them? What would you have done in their stead? It's a heavy thing to tell a child, but you'd like to think you're mature enough.
You sigh, letting all tension wash away, smiling feebly. "I understand."
<<elseif $betray == "willforgive">>
You shake your head. The deception is not easily forgiven, even though you understand the secrecy. "It still hurts...but I'll forgive you, eventually."
<<elseif $betray == "notforgive">>
Lies cut deep, like blades, and you can only wonder whatever else they keep away in pretense of protection. You simply nod.
<</if>>
You fall silent, your gaze straying away, finding Morgana's vanity, carved dark wood, silver containers glimmering in the noon sun. The mirror is encircled by a wooden serpent devouring it's own tail. Morgana once tried to explain to you that it's a symbol of sorts, but it just reminds you of how baby dragons chase their own tails.
[[Continue|Chapt3AccolonQuestions]]<<if $stay == "furious">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you, going behind your back to warn Arthur.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
Your dragon agrees that Morgana only wants the best, but maybe doesn't know what's best for you. After all, why not befriend Arthur?
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
Your dragon counters that Arthur is just being friendly.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
Your dragon counters that Arthur is just being friendly.
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
Your dragon agrees it's Arthur's decision to approach you.
<</if>>
//The prophecy...// You can sense $dragon_name's overwhelmed feelings, the doubt over the accuracy of the words. //It doesn't really mean anything, does it? Undoing is just change, right?//
<<if $prophecy == "rule">>
//Yes! My rule will bring change.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "good">>
//Yes!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid">>
//Prophecies are stupid.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "plan">>
//Right!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
//I want to see it burn.//
//That's alarming.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "hate">>
//Yes...but Arthur believes him, and is afraid of me.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "wrong">>
//Prophecies are unpredictable.//
<</if>>
//I heard a commotion last night, outside the lodge. A dragon rushed out. When I looked, it was Elewen.//
//Do you think she jumped to Arthur's defense?//
Whatever did Morgana do?
//Yes. It sounded like a fight.//
A knock on your door startles you, and you hastily tell your dragon you'll talk later.
"Yes?" you asks.
Morgana's head peeks inside. Her eyes are red and puffy, telltales of shed tears, yet her expression is one of utter composure, any desperation she had displayed in the ring, when Accolon was injured, wiped away now. Her tone is somber, putting a knot in your throat, as she says, "I want to talk to you, Mordred. Come to my study."
<div class="choice">[["Yes, mother," you readily follow her.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "readily"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What about?" You cross your arms.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do I have to?" you ask warily.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "wary"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How's Accolon?" you ask, worried.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "worry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nod eagerly. "Yes! I have lots of questions."|Chapt3Study][$brief to "eagerly"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go reluctantly.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "reluctantly"]]</div>Facing Galahad is like facing a wall - stony, unmoving and unrelenting.
<<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
It makes your stomach twist like a tightly coiled rope, but you take a deep breath and plough on.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
You came here to win him over, and you're happy to take on the challange.
<</if>>
<<if $Galahad >= 20>>
You're surprised to find that the ice in his gaze seems to have cracked, just enough for an uneasy uncertainty to peek through as he considers you. When he meets your eyes, his brow knots in puzzlement.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
You're surprised to find a certain wary watchfulness in his gaze, as if he's sizing you up and can't quite comprehend what he's seeing. It vanishes the moment his eyes meet yours.
<<else>>
You're not surprised to find in his gaze the icy coolness you've grown used to. He may have failed to will the water into ice daggers, but his eyes have mastered throwing them.
<</if>>
You dare take on more step forward. "We started things on such a bad note." Not only that - it began on a bad note, and went on to become a full off-tune melody. "Why don't we begin anew?" Your smile is as winsome as they come.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum gives Galahad a pleading, round-eyed stare. You wonder how can he still be made of stone around the likes of Callum and Gawain, who have mastered the puppy eyes so skillfully.
Galahad replies with an adamantly hard look, a clear rebuttal.
"Why?"
<<else>>
"Why should we?" It's not a surprising answer. You didn't expect to gain his favor with so little effort.
<</if>>
"Well," you reply, easily, casually. "Why should we fight? Just because our parents have unresolved issues? That's between them, not us. Is it because of the things you've heard about me? I don't think it's fair to judge someone just based off rumours."
"You mean like your mother teaches you to hate Arthur based off her own word?" he quips.
You clench your hands, but refuse to bite. You could say the very same about what his own father does, but it would not be conductive to your goal. Instead, you keep calm. Affable.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
"I understand. You're wary of me. You must be, after everything you must have heard about me. I just wish we could put it aside and mend things."
"Yes!" your dragon pipes in. "Everything would be better if we all just got along."
Galahad's companion nods along earnestly, but the boy isn't convinced.
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad hesitates, a crack in the wall. "How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He sounds vexed, yes, but beneath it hides desperation. His frustration wells from within, and the harsh words seem to almost beg you to help him make up his mind with the easiest alternative - you being the thing he's been led to believe.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<<else>>
"How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He does love talking about snakes, while spitting venom himself. You wonder how many times he must have heard that word from Lancelot.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
"I understand. You're wary of me. You must be, after everything you must have heard about me. I just wish we could put it aside and mend things."
"Yes!" your dragon pipes in. "Everything would be better if we all just got along."
Galahad's companion nods along earnestly, but the boy isn't convinced.
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad hesitates, a crack in the wall. "How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He sounds vexed, yes, but beneath it hides desperation. His frustration wells from within, and the harsh words seem to almost beg you to help him make up his mind with the easiest alternative - you being the thing he's been led to believe.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<<else>>
"How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He does love talking about snakes, while spitting venom himself. You wonder how many times he must have heard that word from Lancelot.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
Your dragon, however, does not.
"Hey, listen here, you knucklehead," $dragon_name surges forward, speaking in the dragon tongue. "Mordred here is trying to be nice, though I don't know why-"
"It's fine, $dragon_name," you place a hand on $dragon_his side, placating. "Galahad is right to be wary of me, after all the things he must have heard of me. I just wish we could put it aside and mend things."
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad hesitates, a crack in the wall. "How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He sounds vexed, yes, but beneath it hides desperation. His frustration wells from within, and the harsh words seem to almost beg you to help him make up his mind with the easiest alternative - you being the thing he's been led to believe.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<<else>>
"How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He does love talking about snakes, while spitting venom himself. You wonder how many times he must have heard that word from Lancelot.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Your dragon, however, does not.
"Hey, listen here, you knucklehead," $dragon_name surges forward, speaking in the dragon tongue. "Mordred here is trying to be nice, though I don't know why-"
"It's fine, $dragon_name," you place a hand on $dragon_his side, placating. "Galahad is right to be wary of me, after all the things he musthave heard of me. I just wish we could put it aside and mend things."
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad hesitates, a crack in the wall. "How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He sounds vexed, yes, but beneath it hides desperation. His frustration wells from within, and the harsh words seem to almost beg you to help him make up his mind with the easiest alternative - you being the thing he's been led to believe.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<<else>>
"How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He does love talking about snakes, while spitting venom himself. You wonder how many times he must have heard that word from Lancelot.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Maybe we should just go away,// $dragon_name says in your head, but you shake off the suggestion. You have to try.
"I understand. You're wary of me. You must be, after everything you must have heard about me. I just wish we could put it aside and mend things."
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad hesitates, a crack in the wall. "How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He sounds vexed, yes, but beneath it hides desperation. His frustration wells from within, and the harsh words seem to almost beg you to help him make up his mind with the easiest alternative - you being the thing he's been led to believe.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<<else>>
"How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He does love talking about snakes, while spitting venom himself. You wonder how many times he must have heard that word from Lancelot.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//Maybe we should just go away,// $dragon_name says in your head, but you shake off the suggestion. You have to try.
"I understand. You're wary of me. You must be, after everything you must have heard about me. I just wish we could put it aside and mend things."
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad hesitates, a crack in the wall. "How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He sounds vexed, yes, but beneath it hides desperation. His frustration wells from within, and the harsh words seem to almost beg you to help him make up his mind with the easiest alternative - you being the thing he's been led to believe.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<<else>>
"How can I believe any of the words you say? How can I know they're genuine and you're not a snake like your mother?" He does love talking about snakes, while spitting venom himself. You wonder how many times he must have heard that word from Lancelot.
"I suppose you can't know. Not without trying to see for yourself."
He scoffs.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $Gawain >= 55>>
"Is this what you're doing with Gawain, too? Mending things?" he coolly asks.
"Well, that, and being friends."
"Gawain doesn't need friends like you." A reprise of the warning he imparted on the first night. "And I don't, either."
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"I don't need to. I already know." His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"I don't need to. I already know." It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum looks at you with sad, apologetic blue eyes before going to join Galahad by the river, tail curling protectively around the boy.
<<else>>
Galahad's dragon glances at you with unsure, sad eyes before going to join Galahad by the river, tail curling protectively around the boy.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Sit down next to him. Try to make conversation.|Chapt3GalahadCharm2][$Galahad to $Galahad+2, $Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+2, $gally_river to "charm_good"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Leave. Go down by the river.|Chapt3GalahadCharmOver][$Galahad to $Galahad-4]]</div><<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
It makes you wring the hem of you cloak in your hands, yet you take a deep, steadying breath and turn slowly.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
You take a deep breath and turn around briskly, head held high.
<</if>>
<<if $Galahad >= 18>>
As you do, you're surprised to find that the ice in Galahad's gaze seems to have cracked, just enough for an uneasy uncertainty to peek through as he considers you. When he meets your eyes, his brow knots in puzzlement.
Your own expression mirrors his, both of you suspended in mutual inspection and confusion. You expected more hostility in his eyes, that sharp iciness that freezes you to the bone. Perhaps he's just measuring you now, trying to gouge out whatever wicked motive you have for approaching him. You shake your head and step forward, crossing your arms.
<<if $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
"What's your problem, Galahad?" Your voice rings clear and confident. "I don't care for yet another bully. Do you enjoy it, picking on me? Does it make you feel better about youtself?" You fix him with a hard look, hoping you return the icy favor of his own glares.
<<else>>
"What's your problem, Galahad?" You do your best to keep your voice steady and clear, even as nervousness writhes in your stomach, squeasy, uneasy, heavy. "I don't care for yet another bully. Do you enjoy it, picking on me? Does it make you feel better about yourself?" You fix him with a hard look, or at least try to. Your fingers dig into our arms, and your feet shuffle ever so slightly. Hoping he looks away before you begin squirming under his unwavering scrutiny.
<</if>>
Galahad scoffs, and his frown deepens. "I just see you for what you are." But for all the strenght of his words, he hesitates. His gaze rakes over you urgently, almost desperately, as if needing to convince himself that what he claims and what he sees truly coincide. The next words are weaker, quieter, but no less bitter. "A snake."
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
As you do, you're surprised to find a certain wary watchfulness in his gaze, as if he's sizing you up and can't quite comprehend what he's seeing. It vanishes the moment his eyes meet yours. All that greets you is a wall of iciness - intimidating but guarded, too. So you return the favor with your own icy gaze. Building a wall of your own.
<<if $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
"What's your problem, Galahad?" Your voice rings clear and confident. "I don't care for yet another bully. Do you enjoy it, picking on me? Does it make you feel better about youtself?" You fix him with a hard look, hoping you return the icy favor of his own glares.
<<else>>
"What's your problem, Galahad?" You do your best to keep your voice steady and clear, even as nervousness writhes in your stomach, squeasy, uneasy, heavy. "I don't care for yet another bully. Do you enjoy it, picking on me? Does it make you feel better about yourself?" You fix him with a hard look, or at least try to. Your fingers dig into our arms, and your feet shuffle ever so slightly. Hoping he looks away before you begin squirming under his unwavering scrutiny.
<</if>>
<<else>>
You're not surprised by his icy reception. Where he failed to will the water into frozen daggers, he has mastered the art of throwing them with his eyes. It's what you've come to expect of him, so you return the favor with your own steely gaze.
<<if $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
"What's your problem, Galahad?" Your voice rings clear and confident. "I don't care for yet another bully. Do you enjoy it, picking on me? Does it make you feel better about youtself?" You fix him with a hard look, hoping you return the icy favor of his own glares.
<<else>>
"What's your problem, Galahad?" You do your best to keep your voice steady and clear, even as nervousness writhes in your stomach, squeasy, uneasy, heavy. "I don't care for yet another bully. Do you enjoy it, picking on me? Does it make you feel better about yourself?" You fix him with a hard look, or at least try to. Your fingers dig into our arms, and your feet shuffle ever so slightly. Hoping he looks away before you begin squirming under his unwavering scrutiny.
<</if>>
<</if>>
"My problem is that you're a snake. You and your mother both."
You touch a hand to the serpent pendant hanging from your neck, displayed over the colorful motif of intertwining vines of your shirt.
Perhaps snake does befit you. It is the family banner, is it not? Even stolen from you as it is, it's still all what people see. Once, it was revered. Now hate and spite is all it garners you.
<div class="choice">[["You don't even know me." You feel a pang in your chest.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy1][$chapt3_shyness to 1, $defiant to $defiant-1, $Galahad to $Galahad+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Careful with what you say. This snake is venomous too," you threaten.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy1][$chapt3_shyness to 2, $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't care what you think about me. I just want you to leave me alone," you say calmly.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy1][$chapt3_shyness to 3, $calm to $calm+2, $Galahad to $Galahad+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yeah well I see you too! And what I see is a dog!" Your voice raises, angry.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy1][$chapt3_shyness to 4, $calm to $calm-2]]</div><<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
Your brow furrows, a familiar pang of pain in your chest. Always judged based on the conjuctions that swept the Kingdom, on actions that are not your own. Judged, but never seen for yourself. "You don't even know me."
"I don't need to," he bites back, as sharp as the hit of a blade.
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
You press your lips in a tight line to keep them from quivering. Bitterness builds up like a lump in your throat. Worse yet, it gathers behind your eyes, stinging and threatening to turn liquid. "How is that fair? Should I judge you solely based on your father, then?" You consider him from head to toe. He has Lancelot's stormy gray eyes, his golden blonde hair, his honey complexion, and worst of all, his sour attitude. They may both claim Morgana wields her words like poison, dangerous and insidious, but they swing theirs like a weapon too - each a mighty axe, stricking hard and painful.
You shake your head, voice thick with the tears you fight back. "You'd probably consider it a compliment. It really isn't."
He looks stricken by lightning, mouth parted and cheekbones red.
<<else>>
Your lips thin, pressed in a grim line. "How is that fair? Should I judge you solely based on your father, then?" You consider him from head to toe. He has Lancelot's stormy gray eyes, his golden blonde hair, his honey complexion, and worst of all, his sour attitude. They may both claim Morgana wields her words like poison, dangerous and insidious, but they swing theirs like a weapon too - each a mighty axe, stricking hard and painful.
You shake your head, huffing. "You'd probably consider it a compliment. It really isn't."
He looks stricken by lightning, mouth parted and cheekbones red.
<</if>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//You tell him, Mordred!// $dragon_name growls, the sound resonating in your head and reverberating over your shoulder, too, for Galahad to hear. Low, like the rumbling of shifting stones, a clear threat. The boy's frown, etched deeply, creases even more.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Are you sure it's a good idea to antagonize him like that?// $dragon_name whispers in your head. It's endearing how $dragon_he worries for you, but you can handle yourself against this bully.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//Is this according to your plan, Mordred?// $dragon_name's rings with a hint of nervousness.
<<else>>
//You tell him, Mordred!// $dragon_name encourages you. Then, for all of you to hear, in the dragon tongue, "That's all you are a bully!" The boy's frown, etched deeply, creases even more.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
Does he mean it as an insult? Think he can hurt you with your own family banner? Very well. You shall take this in stride then. You are indeed a snake - a snake with sharp fangs and deadly venom. "Careful," you say, tone razor-sharp. "This snake is venomous, and it may just bite you."
He thrusts his chin forward, undaunted by your threat. Words that prove to him that you truly meet his expectations.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//You tell him, Mordred!// $dragon_name growls, the sound resonating in your head and reverberating over your shoulder, too, for Galahad to hear. Low, like the rumbling of shifting stones, a clear threat. The boy levels your dragon with a steady, icy glare.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Are you sure it's a good idea to antagonize him like that?// $dragon_name whispers in your head. It's endearing how $dragon_he worries for you, but you can handle yourself against this bully.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//Is this according to your plan, Mordred?// $dragon_name's rings with a hint of nervousness.
<<else>>
//You tell him, Mordred!// $dragon_name encourages you. Then, for all of you to hear, in the dragon tongue, "You better leave Mordred alone!" The boy levels your dragon with a steady, icy glare.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 3>>
"I don't care what you think about me," you say calmly, letting your arms fall to your side. "Call me a snake, call me whatever. Just leave me alone, will you?"
"Gladly," he spits, "if only I knew you'd stay away from Arthur and Camelot."
//This again. Perhaps he's on to something//, you think bitterly, the ominous words of the prophecy echoing around your head.
"Kind of hard to do when I'm training to be a knight of the Round Table," you retort, maintaining your steady tone.
His eyes narrow. "How convenient." Whatever you tell Galahad, it seems you're still a snake in tall grass, slithering silently and waiting for its moment to strike.
"It is convenient, becoming a knight," you agree, "for someone like me." //A bastard.// You don't say the word, but it hangs in the air, heavy as dew in the morning. To that, he says nothing. "Come on, Galahad," you try to keep your exasperation at bay. "You don't like me, clearly, so just avoid me. Starting right now." You look pointedly at the sky.
He huffs, the sound haughty. "I will keep my distance. But I'll be watching you."
"From a distance great enough to require a spyglass, I hope."
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
$dragon_name pipes in, voice underlined by a low growl. "And if you don't keep your distance, there'll be consequences." The boy levels your dragon with a steady, icy glare.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Are you sure it's a good idea to antagonize him like that?// $dragon_name whispers in your head. It's endearing how $dragon_he worries for you, but you can handle yourself against this bully.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//Is this according to your plan, Mordred?// $dragon_name's rings with a hint of nervousness.
<<else>>
$dragon_name pipes in, head held high. "You better stay away, you bully." The boy levels your dragon with a steady, icy glare.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 4>>
Your arms fly to the side, fists balling. Two can play at this game.
"Well maybe I'm a snake," you step forward, squaring your shoulders. The way you've seen dragons do before they're about to charge, when they arch their back and growl with all their might. "But I see you too, Galahad. And do you know what I see?" The trees lining the river bank rustle, a chorus of anger accompanying you. "A dog! A dog who yaps and yaps whatever he's heard from Lancelot or-or Merlin or whoever else has something against me, for nothing." Your palms itch, hot. You dig your nails into them.
Galahad's honey complexion has turned crimson, from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. He opens his mouth, but he looks too choked to speak. Your lips curl up sharply. Seems you shut this dog right up.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//You tell him, Mordred!// $dragon_name growls, the sound resonating in your head and reverberating over your shoulder, too, for Galahad to hear. Low, like the rumbling of shifting stones, a clear threat. The boy levels your dragon with a steady, icy glare.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Are you sure it's a good idea to antagonize him like that?// $dragon_name whispers in your head. It's endearing how $dragon_he worries for you, but you can handle yourself against this bully.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//Is this going according to plan, Mordred?// $dragon_name's voice rings with a hint of nervousness.
<<else>>
//You tell him, Mordred!// $dragon_name encourages you. Then, for all of you to hear, in the dragon tongue, "You better leave Mordred alone!" The boy levels your dragon with a steady, icy glare.
<</if>>
<</if>>
Galahad turns away from you with a snap of his cloak. His dragon companion gives you a lingering look before joining him.
You let the silence be filled by the blabbering of the river and song of the birds, both too peaceful and cheery for the tightly coiled tension weaved between you two.
<<if $Gawain >= 55>>
Finally, Galahad breaks it. "Just stay away from Gawain." He peeks at you over his shoulder. "I don't know what he sees in you."
<<if $Galahad >= 20>>
Yet there's frustration lining his features. Almost as if he wished he knew what is is.
<</if>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Hey, you stupid bully," $dragon_name steps forward, the hissing sounds of the dragon tongue making the words even more aggressive, "if Gawain wants to be Mordred's friend, it's none of your business."
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
"Hey! Mordred is great and deserves good friends, too," $dragon_name's shoulder are hunched, but $dragon_his words are firm. "You should let your friend decide for himself."
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
"Hey, that's really not nice of you!" $dragon_name reprimands him. "Mordred deserves good friends too, and you should let your friend choose for himself."
<<else>>
"Hey, it's none of your business if Gawain wants to be Mordred's friend," $dragon_name steps forward, keeping Galahad's gaze firmly.
<</if>>
"Whatever," Galahad turns away. "I'll be watching you." His dragon loosely wraps a white tail around his wrist.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Might as well ask. "What were you doing here, anyway?"|Chapt3GalConfrontShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think you should leave."|Chapt3GalConfrontShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 2]]</div><<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
"What were you doing here, anyway?" You move closer to the river, but keep your distance from him. "Trying to copy those ice daggers of Lancelot?"
"Practising," he replies sharply.
"Wasn't going too well," you mumble, loud enough to be heard over the rushing of water. He throws you a glare. There it is, a veritable ice shard. Those ones he's mastered.
He whirls around completely, sending a couple rocks careening down the bank and into the river. "Can you do better?" It's a challange, as sharp as the blade of a sword.
<div class="choice">[[You won't be intimidated. You'll do it, using your Le Fay magic.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy3][$chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<<if $water_magic == "sometimes" or $water_magic == "yes">><div class="choice">[[You won't be intimidated. Attempt it too, invoking the Goddess.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy3][$chapt3_shyness to 2, $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Pretend to attempt it then splash him with water.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy3][$chapt3_shyness to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Wouldn't want to further humiliate you," you deflect.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy3][$chapt3_shyness to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't have anything to prove to you," you refuse.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy3][$chapt3_shyness to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
"Whatever you were doing," you begin, drawing closer to him. "You chose the worst place along this river bank to do it." He glares at you over his shoulder and you sweep an arm to encompass the space. //Your space.// "So move along."
"With pleasure." His acidic tone indicates anything but pleasure. He stomps past you, calling in the dragon tongue to Callum to join him. He hauls himself onto his nervous looking dragon and flies away without a glance behind, leaving you finally alone with $dragon_name.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon1]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
"Fine," you readily accept the challenge. "But don't expect me to use your brand of magic. I have my own," you sweep an arm towards the river, making the calm waves raise higher. He doesn't look impressed or intimidated, arms crossed against his chest. Waiting.
So you get to work, turning to face the river. Water, air, earth and fire, they all bend to the will of a Le Fay. You can feel them simmer around you, in your veins, in your bones. Reaching out and speaking out to your very core, a melody you don't need to learn. And so you spread out your arms, allowing the magic to wash over you like the water over rocks, rushing like blood in your veins. Your hands move, pulling the strings of it. Willing the water to rise. It does so smoothly, a basin worth of water suspended in the air at your eye level. Your fingers flex, and you imagine sculpting the liquid into solid, cold ice. Imagine the stake-like form you want to achieve, end pointed and dangerous. The water swarms, trembles, and drifts apart, separating into shapeless forms that you'll mold-
And it cascades back into the river with a splash that startles you and sprays you right in the face. You wipe at your bewildered expression with the puffy sleeve of your shirt, as if rubbing your eyes shall reveal the desired ice stakes to you. All you're met with is Galahad's derisive snort.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You clench your fist...Then unclench it as you throw your arm back and trace a wide arc with it, summoning water to splash Galahad. It hits him squarely in the chest, wetting his blue tunic. Now you're both wet and miserable.
<<else>>
"Whatever," you brush droplets off your cloaked shoulder. "One day I'll control all four elements, and you'll still be stuck with your silly ice daggers."
<</if>>
Galahad turns around on his heels and stalks off, calling to Callum to follow in the dragon tongue.
<div class="choice">[["Hey Galahad," you call out, taunting him. "How's your father?"|Chapt3GalConfrontShy5][$chapt3_taunt_him to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He's leaving. Finally.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy5][$chapt3_taunt_him to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
"Fine," you readily accept the challenge. "And for all this to be fair, I won't even use my Le Fay magic."
He nods curtly and crosses his arms across his chest. Waiting. So you get to work, turning to face the river.
For you to invoke the power of the Lady of the Lake, you must reach out with a prayer. You have been told that it can be whatever you want - it's the intent behind that matters. Gratidude. Respect. An understanding of her magic that can only be gained through meditation, through listening to the murmur of water till you can feel it pulsing in your very core. And so you close your eyes and hold out your arms, fingers outstretched.
<div class="choice">[["Oh Great Lady of the Lake, allow me to bring this bully down a peg," you mutter.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy4][$chapt3_spite_prayer to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh Lady of the Lake, please lend me a fraction of your powers," you mutter reverentially.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy4][$chapt3_spite_prayer to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 3>>
"Fine," you say, biting back a smirk. "I accept the challenge." You've got something better up your sleeve, however. He crosses his arms, watching you expectantly.
So you get to work, turning to face the river. Water, air, earth and fire, they all bend to the will of a Le Fay. You can feel them simmer around you, in your veins, in your bones. Reaching out and speaking out to your very core, a melody you don't need to learn. And so you spread out your arms, allowing the magic to wash over you like the water over rocks, rushing like blood in your veins. Your hands move, pulling the strings of it. Willing the water to raise. It does so smoothly, a basin worth of water suspended in the air at your eye level. Your fingers flex, but instead of trying to mold the water into the stake-like figures, you whirl around, guiding the water towards Galahad.
It splashes him before he can jump back, soaking him. He shakes his head, glaring at you from sodden strands of blonde hair as his dragon friend rushes closer, spilling a torrent of reassurences in the dragon tongue and eyeing you warily. You simply smile at Galahad, brimming with satisfaction as he stalks off, boots squeaking with every angry stomp. He hauls himself up on his dragon and takes off without another glance in your direction.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon1]]
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 4>>
You shrug one shoulder, tone flippant. "Wouldn't want to further humiliate you." And most of all, you wouldn't want to humiliate yourself.
Galahad only rolls his eyes. "I'm leaving." He turns around on his heels and stalks off, calling to Callum to follow in the dragon tongue.
<div class="choice">[["Hey Galahad," you call out, taunting him. "How's your father?"|Chapt3GalConfrontShy5][$chapt3_taunt_him to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He's leaving. Finally.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy5][$chapt3_taunt_him to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 5>>
"I don't have anything to prove to you," you say, pushing your chin up.
Galahad only rolls his eyes. "I'm leaving." He turns around on his heels and stalks off, calling to Callum to follow in the dragon tongue.
<div class="choice">[["Hey Galahad," you call out, taunting him. "How's your father?"|Chapt3GalConfrontShy5][$chapt3_taunt_him to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He's leaving. Finally.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy5][$chapt3_taunt_him to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_spite_prayer == 1>>
"Oh Great Lady of the Lake, allow me to bring this bully down a peg," goes your muttered prayer, letting your fervent desire to triumph over Galahad course through you like an angry river. He scoffs but you ignore him, listening to the waters. Inviting its magic. You've done this before, but with less grand feats - splashing water and healing shallow cuts that barely drew blood.
Your skin prickles, but it's not unpleasant. You let the magic wash over you and open your eyes. The river stirs, the water slowly rising. A basin's worth of it, hovering at eye level. Good. Now you only need separate it, the mold it into stake-like figures. Your fingers flex, and you imagine sculpting the liquid into solid, cold ice. Imagine the stake-like form you want to achieve, end pointed and dangerous. The water swarms, trembles, and drifts apart, separating into shapeless forms that you'll mold-
And it cascades back into the river with a splash that startles you and sprays you right in the face. You wipe at your bewildered expression with the puffy sleeve of your shirt, as if rubbing your eyes shall reveal the desired ice stakes to you. All you're met with is Galahad's derisive snort.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You clench your fist...Then unclench it as you throw your arm back and trace a wide arc with it, summoning water to splash Galahad. It hits him squarely in the chest, wetting his blue tunic. Now you're both wet and miserable.
<<else>>
"Whatever," you brush droplets off your cloaked shoulder. "One day I'll control all four elements, and you'll still be stuck with your silly ice daggers."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_spite_prayer == 2>>
"Oh Lady of the Lake, please lend me a fraction of your powers," you mutter reverentially, drawing on your admiration and respect for her. A serene calmness envelops you, like lowering yourself in a pool of revigorating water. Out of the corner of your eye you glimpse Galahad watching you intently. You focus on listening to the waters. Inviting its magic. You've done this before, but with less grand feats - splashing water and healing shallow cuts that barely drew blood.
Your skin prickles, but it's not unpleasant. You let the magic wash over you and open your eyes. The river stirs, the water slowly rising. A basin's worth of it, hovering at eye level. Good. Now you only need separate it, the mold it into stake-like figures.Your fingers flex, and you imagine sculpting the liquid into solid, cold ice. Imagine the stake-like form you want to achieve, end pointed and dangerous. The water swarms, trembles, and drifts apart, separating into shapeless forms that you'll mold-
And it cascades back into the river with a splash that startles you and sprays you right in the face. You wipe at your bewildered expression with the puffy sleeve of your shirt, as if rubbing your eyes shall reveal the desired ice stakes to you. All you're met with is Galahad's derisive snort.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You clench your fist...Then unclench it as you throw your arm back and trace a wide arc with it, summoning water to splash Galahad. It hits him squarely in the chest, wetting his blue tunic. Now you're both wet and miserable.
<<else>>
"Whatever," you brush droplets off your cloaked shoulder. "One day I'll control all four elements, and you'll still be stuck with your silly ice daggers."
<</if>>
<</if>>
Galahad turns around on his heels and stalks off, calling to Callum to follow in the dragon tongue.
<div class="choice">[["Hey Galahad," you call out, taunting him. "How's your father?"|Chapt3GalConfrontShy5][$chapt3_taunt_him to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He's leaving. Finally.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy5][$chapt3_taunt_him to 2]]</div><<if $chapt3_taunt_him == 1>>
Perhaps it's bitterness. Perhaps it's a twisted desire to see him suffer just as you have, to have him experience the same hurt you've felt first hand. The words raise on your tongue along with bile, pouring venomous and taunting out of your mouth. "Hey, Galahad, how's your father? Heard he's been barfing all night."
He halts, spinning so fast his feet struggle to find purchase. Heat creeps up his neck, an angry red that warns you're treading thin ice. "What about yours? Can he even walk?" he snaps back.
You should have expected the retaliation. It's low hanging fruit. Low enough to grab and hurl, and as heavy as a watermelon to the face. What you don't expect, however, is the shock that hits Galahad just as heavily. Abrupt regret, a sort of surprised horror manages to surface through the cracks of the resentful, wounded anger warping his features. He shakes his head, violently so, and hauls himself up on his dragon, leaving without another glance in your direction. Without another word. Which may be for the best, for the barb remarks of you both have already drawn blood.
<div class="choice">[[Good.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy6][$chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you feels guilty.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy6][$chapt3_shyness to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_taunt_him == 2>>
He hauls himself onto his nervous looking dragon and flies away without a glance behind, leaving you finally alone with $dragon_name.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon1]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
Good. You may have got cut in the process as well, but it's the price to pay.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
A part of you twists uncomfortably. Guiltily. You've cut deep. Perhaps too deep. You may not sympathize with Lancelot, but you do know what's it like, having an ailing father.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon1]]<<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
It makes you wring the hem of you cloak in your hands, yet you take a deep, steadying breath and turn slowly.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
It makes you bubble over with barely contained excitement, and you spin around eagerly.
<</if>>
<<if $Galahad >= 20>>
As you do, you're surprised to find that the ice in Galahad's gaze seems to have cracked, just enough for an uneasy uncertainty to peek through as he considers you. When he meets your eyes, his brow knots in puzzlement.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
As you do, you're surprised to find a certain wary watchfulness in his gaze, as if he's sizing you up and can't quite comprehend what he's seeing. It vanishes the moment his eyes meet yours.
<<else>>
As you do, you're not surprised to find his usual icy gaze. He may have failed to will the water into ice daggers, but his eyes have mastered throwing them.
<</if>>
You take a step forward, putting on a genuine smile, hoping you can show him you're here in good faith. "Hello."
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Two answers come out at the same time, very different in tone and scope: "What do you want?" and "Hi!"
Galahad gives Callum a look very much like the ones you saw him offer Gawain when he cheerfully approached you.
<<else>>
"What do you want?" It's not the sort of answer you'd expect or desire after your friendly greeting, but you'll take it.
<</if>>
"I just really wish for us to make things right. Perhaps," you venture, "even become friends?"
<<if $Galahad >= 20>>
His frown deepens, as if you just handed him a particularly hard puzzlebox to solve. "Friends?" he repeats the word and you nod hopefully. "We can't be friends."
You feel your smile falter. "Why?"
The guileless question stumps him. His expression twists, different emotions battling over each other - surprise, wariness, frustration, one bleeding into the other in that order. Finding no answer to offer, he turns on his heels and stalks towards the riverbank. You follow. "I know Morgana is responsible for father's sickness," he says glumly.
However you may feel about Morgana's way of obtaining retribution, it's Lancelot who attacked Accolon first, for the sole fact that you met Arthur. And you can't keep quiet about it. "Your father attacked Accolon, in a match that was supposed to be friendly."
Galahad flinches, pain flashing over his face. He shakes his head, choosing to ignore the words. "I bet she put you up to this, too. Fool me into befriending you so you can use me."
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
You roll your lips together as tears swell up behind your eyes. "I'm being genuine," you say, voice quivering slightly as you speak over the knot in your throat. "I want to be friends, and I wish you could give me a chance."
<<else>>
You roll your lips together as frustration builds up. This isn't going well. "I'm being genuine. I want to be friends, and I wish you could give me a chance."
<</if>>
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum has made their way to you and nudges Galahad gently with their snout. It's a quiet encouragement.
"Not you too," the boy mumbles, then looks at you. "I know Gawain likes you. But I don't trust you, and I don't think he should either."
<</if>>
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
His frown deepens, as if you just handed him a particularly hard puzzlebox to solve. "Friends?" he repeats the word and you nod hopefully. "We can't be friends."
You feel your smile falter. "Why?"
Surprise blooms on his face at your guileless question, but it soon morphs into wariness. "Because I don't trust you."
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
You roll your lips together as tears swell up behind your eyes. "I'm being genuine," you say, voice quivering slightly as you speak over the knot in your throat. "I want to be friends, and I wish you could give me a chance."
He shakes his head, and you deflate.
<<else>>
You roll your lips together as frustration builds up. It's not going well at all. "I'm being genuine. I want to be friends, and I wish you could give me a chance."
He shakes his head, and you deflate.
<</if>>
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum has made their way to you and nudges Galahad gently with their snout. It's a quiet encouragement.
"Not you too," the boy mumbles, then looks at you. "I know Gawain likes you, and I don't like it."
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Friends?" he scoffs, crossing his arms, looking as if the mere idea offends him. You can feel your smile falter, but you push forward.
"Yes! I know you must have heard many bad things about me, but if you could just give me a chance-"
"No," he flatly says, cutting you off. There's stony conviction in the single word, and just like a statue, you doubt he'll budge.
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
You roll your lips together, smile falling off completely as tears swell up behind your eyes. It's not going well at all.
<<else>>
You roll your lips together, smile falling off completely as frustration builds up. It's not going well at all.
<</if>>
<<if $Gawain >= 55>>
"And I'm not fond of you going around trying to be Gawain's friend, either," the boy continues, a reprise of his warning at the first feast.
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GalahadFriend1]]<<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
You turn around to return the favor of his glare.
<<if $Galahad >= 20>>
As you do, you're surprised to find that the ice in Galahad's gaze seems to have cracked, just enough for an uneasy uncertainty to peek through as he considers you. When he meets your eyes, his brow knots in puzzlement. Your own expression mirrors his, both of you suspended in mutual inspection and confusion. You expected more hostility in his eyes, that sharp iciness that freezes you to the bone. Perhaps he's just measuring you now, trying to gouge out whatever motive you have for landing here.
You shake off your surprise and narrow your eyes at him, frowning. He's the one who took your spot. Not that he'd know it's yours.
<<else>>
As you do, you're not surprised to find his usual icy gaze. He may have failed to will the water into ice daggers, but his eyes have mastered throwing them. It's what you've come to expect of him, so you return the favor with your own steely gaze. He's the one who took your spot. Not that he'd know it's yours.
<</if>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive" or $dragon_personality == "bold">>
Your dragon, too, levels Galahad with narrowed eyes.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//I don't like this,// $dragon_name's voice is quiet in your mind, $dragon_his head turned away from Galahad.
<<else>>
//His dragon companion doesn't look hostile, are you sure we can't-//
//No,// you send the message, firm and clear.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
You turn, a cheeky grin plastered on your face.
<<if $Galahad >= 20>>
As you do, you're surprised to find that the ice in Galahad's gaze seems to have cracked, just enough for an uneasy uncertainty to peek through as he considers you. When he meets your eyes, his brow knots in puzzlement. Your smile falters, unsure. You expected more hostility in his eyes, that sharp iciness that freezes you to the bone. Perhaps he's just measuring you now, trying to gouge out whatever motive you have for landing here.
So you smile wider, thrusting your chin forward.
<<else>>
As you do, you're not surprised to find his usual icy gaze. He may have failed to will the water into ice daggers, but his eyes have mastered throwing them. It's what you've come to expect of him, and you respond by grinning wider, thrusting your chin forward.
<</if>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive" or $dragon_personality == "bold">>
Your dragon levels Galahad with narrowed eyes.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//I don't like this,// $dragon_name's voice is quiet in your mind, $dragon_his head turned away from Galahad.
<<else>>
//His dragon companion doesn't look hostile, are you sure we can't-//
//No,// you send the message, firm and clear.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 3>>
You don't even deign to look in his direction. You're going to go about your own affairs, and if your presence displeases him, he's free to leave.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive" or $dragon_personality == "bold">>
Your dragon, levels Galahad with narrowed eyes.
//Don't mind him,// you tell $dragon_him.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//I don't like this,// $dragon_name's voice is quiet in your mind, $dragon_his head turned away from Galahad.
//Don't mind him,// you tell $dragon_him.
<<else>>
//His dragon companion doesn't look hostile, are you sure we can't-//
//No,// you send the message, firm and clear. //Don't even look at them.//
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GalSpiteShy1]]You sit down by the river bank, hands spread out in the grass on either side of you. You lean back, tilting your head to let it hang between your shoulders and expose your face to the sky, so that the autumn sun may caress it with its wane warmth. $dragon_name joins your side, folding their front legs beneath them.
"You look like a loaf," you tell them in the dragon tongue.
$dragon_name flicks $dragon_his tail across your calf, a playful slap.
"So, what are we doing, exactly?" $dragon_his head is turned to you, but $dragon_his eyes are pointed across the river.
"Waiting for them to leave," you reply brightly.
"And if they don't?"
You shrug, laying down completely. Listening to the rumbling of the river, like a lullaby, weaving with the cheerful bird song. Vision filled by the expanse of blue. Somewhere in the distance, the tournament goes on. Swords clash. Arrows split the air. Knights grip their weapons and dragons flick their tails in anticipation. The crowd cheers and boos and claps. But here, in this corner of the forest, it's all so tranquil.
Except for the intruder across the river.
You loll your head to the side, and sneak a glance at Galahad. He's huddling next to his dragon, sitting close to the river as well. Your gaze must have summoned his attention, for he looks up from the calm waves to you. Frown etched on his brow.
<<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
You narrow your eyes into disdainful slits. His scowl deepens.
And he relents. He gets up brusquely, sending a few rocks careening down the bank and into the river. He says something to his companion, but the words are lost, stolen by the river seperating you. When he hauls himself up on the dragon, however, the meaning becomes clear. You snort, lips twisting with satisfaction.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
You smirk. His scowl deepens.
And he relents. He gets up brusquely, sending a few rocks careening down the bank and into the river. He says something to his companion, but the words are lost, stolen by the river seperating you. When he hauls himself up on the dragon, however, the meaning becomes clear. Your smirk widens.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 3>>
You turn your sights back on the sky, bored. Tapping your boots to a tune in your head, a melody you remember from the feast.
You only look back across the river when the flapping of wings fills the air.
<</if>>
And so, you've conquered back your place. And to make this victory yet sweeter, you propose leaping back to your side of the river.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon1]]<<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
It makes you wring the hem of you cloak in your hands, yet you take a deep, steadying breath, drawing confidence from your vexation.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
You take a deep breath and turn around briskly, head held high.
<</if>>
<<if $Galahad >= 18>>
You're surprised to find that the ice in his gaze seems to have cracked, just enough for an uneasy uncertainty to peek through as he considers you. When he meets your eyes, his brow knots in puzzlement.
Your own expression mirrors his, both of you suspended in mutual inspection and confusion. You expected more hostility in his eyes, that sharp iciness that freezes you to the bone. Perhaps he's just measuring you now, trying to gouge out whatever wicked motive you have for approaching him. You shake your head and step forward, crossing your arms.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 13>>
You're surprised to find a certain wary watchfulness in his gaze, as if he's sizing you up and can't quite comprehend what he's seeing. It vanishes the moment his eyes meet yours. All that greets you is a wall of iciness - intimidating but guarded, too.
<<else>>
You're not surprised to find in his gaze the icy coolness you've grown used to. He may have failed to will the water into ice daggers, but his eyes have mastered throwing them.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
You march up to him, crossing your arms across your chest. Your pulse quickens, nervous, but you do your best to keep your voice steady. "Look, you couldn't have known it, but this is my place. So you'd better leave."
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
You march up to him, crossing your arms across your chest. "Look, you couldn't have known it, but this is my place. So you'd better leave."
<</if>>
Galahad narrows his eyes at you, twin slits of dagger-sharp gray. "It's a forest, Mordred. You don't own it."
<div class="choice">[["I come here all the time, so it's my place," you say pettishly.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy1][$chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, actually, Lot owns it, and since I'm legally his child..." you begin, smug smile on.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy1][$chapt3_shyness to 2, $persuasion to $persuasion+1]]</div><<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
"Yeah well I don't care," you say pettishly. "I come here all the time, therefore it's my place."
He still fixes you askance. "That does not make something yours."
Well, he's right, but you'd sooner throw yourself in the cold river than agree with Galahad.
<div class="choice">[["Isn't it enough how you treat me? Must you take this from me too?" you frown.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I mean...Well! Of course it does." You struggle to counter his argument.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why are you even here?" you deflect. "Shouldn't you be with Gawain?"|Chapt3GalStubbornShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why are you even here?" you deflect. "Shouldn't you be by your father's side or whatever?"|Chapt3GalStubbornShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Whatever." You leave.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
You push your chin forward. "Well, actually. I am, by all means, Lot's legitimate child. And he owns these lands." Or rather, has the privileage and responsability to oversee them, lent to him by the ruling monarch, as your tutor has taught you. But such superfluous details are beyond the point and only muddle your argument. "So that means that I too own them. Surely more than you do, anyway." A smug smile is plastered on your face.
He still fixes you askance. Processing your words, but too stubborn to relent, it seems. "Does Lot support that claim?"
<div class="choice">[["Isn't it enough how you treat me? Must you take this from me too?" you frown, deflecting.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why are you even here?" you deflect. "Shouldn't you be with Gawain?"|Chapt3GalStubbornShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why are you even here?" you deflect. "Shouldn't you be by your father's side or whatever?"|Chapt3GalStubbornShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well he better. A patch of forest is the least he can do."|Chapt3GalStubbornShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Whatever." You leave.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy2][$chapt3_shyness to 5]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
"Isn't it enough the way you treat me?" Frustration creases your brow. "Must you take this away from me? A patch of forest?"
<<if $Galahad >= 20>>
A flash of surprise passes over his face, quickly replaced with a hard look. "Just move farther down the river."
<<else>>
He stiffens. "Just move farther down the river."
<</if>>
You shake your head, adamant. "No, //you// move down the river."
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Yeah, you move along!" your dragon growls, the hissing sounds of the dragon tongue made harsher for it.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Exactly! Move along, quickly now," $dragon_name raises $dragon_his snout, haughtily.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Maybe we should just move along, Mordred...// $dragon_name's voice is quiet and nervous in your head.
<<else>>
//This isn't going quite so well, is it?// $dragon_name remarks warily in your mind. //He's so rude!//
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
Well...he //is// right. Just like always going to the same tavern, every week, doesn't make the owner suddenly relinquish it onto you. But if you agree, it'll only serve as satisfaction for him, and the mere idea of it makes you bristle.
"I mean..." You struggle to come up with an articulate response, let alone persuasive. So you resort to sheer stuborness. "Well! Of course it does."
He quirks an eyebrow, unconvinced.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Yeah, so move along!" your dragon growls, the hissing sounds of the dragon tongue made harsher for it.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Exactly! Move along, quickly now," $dragon_name raises $dragon_his snout, haughtily.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Maybe we should just move along, Mordred...// $dragon_name's voice is quiet and nervous in your head.
<<else>>
//This isn't going quite so well, is it?// $dragon_name remarks warily in your mind. //He's so rude!//
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 3>>
Well, you don't have any counterargument to that. He is, after all, //right//, even if the mere idea makes you bristle. So it's time to abruptly change the subject. "Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be with Gawain?"
"It's none of your business," he replies tersely.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Yeah, you move along!" your dragon growls, the hissing sounds of the dragon tongue made harsher for it.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Exactly! Move along, quickly now," $dragon_name raises $dragon_his snout, haughtily.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Maybe we should just move along, Mordred...// $dragon_name's voice is quiet and nervous in your head.
<<else>>
//This isn't going quite so well, is it?// $dragon_name remarks warily in your mind.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 4>>
Well, you don't have any counterargument to that. He is, after all, //right//, even if the mere idea makes you bristle. So it's time to abrutply change the subject. "Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be by your ailing father's side or whatever?"
Galahad stiffens. "I could ask the same of you."
You clench your jaw, teeth gnashing.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Your dragon growls lowly.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Hey!" $dragon_name reprimands him. "It's //your// father's fault for Accolon's state."
Galahad frowns, but it looks more conflicted than angry.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Maybe we should just move along, Mordred...// $dragon_name's voice is quiet and nervous in your head.
<<else>>
//This isn't going quite so well, is it?// $dragon_name remarks warily in your mind.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 5>>
You don't have the nerves to deal with Galahad right now. He may have stolen your spot, but all the resolve you set out with is slowly draining out of you. "Whatever. I'm leaving."
In response, Galahad unceremoniously turns his back on you, stalking off to sit on the river bank. His dragon friend gives you a lingering, uncertain look before joining him, tail coiling tenderly around the boy's wrist.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//You're just going to let him get away with it?// $dragon_name sounds incredulous. //Let him step all over you?//
//I don't have the energy for yet another bully.// Your response mollifies $dragon_him, hot anger slowly cooling down.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//Oh, that bully. Are we really letting him get away?// $dragon_name says, indignant.
//I don't have the energy to deal with him.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//It's better this way, Mordred,// $dragon_name assures you.
<<else>>
//Well, this didn't go so well after all.// $dragon_name remarks warily in your mind.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 6>>
You know for a fact Lot would not support your claim. It'd be met with a disgusted scoff of rebuttal, and that deep, ugly scowl of his. As if you were mere dirt beneath his boot, you definietely doesn't deserve even a tiny strip of river bank.
And here is Galahad, probably thinking the same.
"Isn't it enough the way you treat me?" Frustration creases your brow. "Must you take this away from me? A patch of forest?"
<<if $Galahad >= 20>>
A flash of surprise passes over his face, quickly replaced with a hard look. "Just move farther down the river."
<<else>>
He stiffens. "Just move farther down the river."
<</if>>
You shake your head, adamant. "No, //you// move down the river."
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Yeah, you move along!" your dragon growls, the hissing sounds of the dragon tongue made harsher for it.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Exactly! Move along, quickly now," $dragon_name raises $dragon_his snout, haughtily.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Maybe we should just move along, Mordred...// $dragon_name's voice is quiet and nervous in your head.
<<else>>
//This isn't going quite so well, is it?// $dragon_name remarks warily in your mind. //He's so rude!//
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 7>>
You know for a fact Lot would not support your claim. It'd be met with a disgusted scoff of rebuttal, and that deep, ugly scowl of his. As if you were mere dirt beneath his boot, you definietely doesn't deserve even a tiny strip of river bank.
And here is Galahad, probably thinking the same.
Well, you don't have any counterargument. He is right, even if the mere idea makes you bristle. So it's time to abruptly change the subject. "Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be with Gawain?"
"It's none of your business," he replies tersely.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Yeah, you move along!" your dragon growls, the hissing sounds of the dragon tongue made harsher for it.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Exactly! Move along, quickly now," $dragon_name raises $dragon_his snout, haughtily.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Maybe we should just move along, Mordred...// $dragon_name's voice is quiet and nervous in your head.
<<else>>
//This isn't going quite so well, is it?// $dragon_name remarks warily in your mind.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 8>>
You know for a fact Lot would not support your claim. It'd be met with a disgusted scoff of rebuttal, and that deep, ugly scowl of his. As if you were mere dirt beneath his boot, you definietely doesn't deserve even a tiny strip of river bank.
And here is Galahad, probably thinking the same.
Well, you don't have any counterargument. He is right, even if the mere idea makes you bristle. So it's time to abruptly change the subject. "Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be by your ailing father's side or whatever?"
Galahad stiffens. "I could ask the same of you."
You clench your jaw, teeth gnashing.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Your dragon growls lowly.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Hey!" $dragon_name reprimands him. "It's //your// father's fault for Accolon's state."
Galahad frowns, but it looks more conflicted than angry.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Maybe we should just move along, Mordred...// $dragon_name's voice is quiet and nervous in your head.
<<else>>
//This isn't going quite so well, is it?// $dragon_name remarks warily in your mind.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 9>>
"Well he better," you retort. "A patch of forest is the least he can do."
"He claimed you, isn't that the least?" His voice drips with sarcasm.
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
"Yes, and wasn't that //so kind// of him," you scoff, putting bitter emphasis on the words. Pressure builds in your throat, gathers behind your eyes. "He's so kind, in fact, he's willing to turn a blind eye on people treating me like a diseased rat. Himself included." Your voice breaks, shrill and sharp like a porcelain vase shattering.
<<else>>
"Yes, and wasn't that //so kind// of him," you snark, making sure to emphasize certain words with a bite. "He's so kind, in fact, he's willing to turn a blind eye on people treating me like a diseased rat. Himself included." There's a hint of hurt to your words, the rawness of a bleeding wound slipping into your voice.
<</if>>
<<if $Galahad >= 16>>
A flash of surprise passes over his face. He opens his mouth, then shuts it just as quickly, pressing his lips in a grim line. //What's this//, you think grimly, noticing the shift in his demeanor. Does he feel bad for you? Is that even possible?
<<else>>
He stiffens, lips pressed in a tight line as he looks away. //What's this//, you think grimly, noticing the shift in his demeanor. Does he feel bad for you? Is that even possible?
<</if>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Your dragon growls lowly. "Careful what you say."
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Hey!" $dragon_name reprimands him. "Careful what you say."
Galahad frowns, but it looks more conflicted than angry.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Maybe we should just move along, Mordred...// $dragon_name's voice is quiet and nervous in your head.
<<else>>
//This isn't going quite so well, is it?// $dragon_name remarks warily in your mind.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[If he thinks you'll relent he's sorely mistaken.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy3][$chapt3_shyness to 1, $gally_rival to $gally_rival+2, $chapt3_staring_contest to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Whatever." You leave.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy3][$chapt3_shyness to 2, $chapt3_staring_contest to false]]</div><<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
If he thinks you're backing down then he's sorely mistaken. You firmly plant your feet, rooting yourself to the spot in a blatant show of refusal to leave. "I'm not leaving. I've got all day to spare." Maybe it's petty. After all, you could move down along the river. You could have done it from the start, in fact, and avoid this whole fuss. But this is your place, and to have Galahad of all people take that away from you is not something you can allow. You refuse to back down. Especially not now. Relenting now would spell a bitter defeat and mean so much more than losing a strip of land. It would be a relinquishing of your own pride.
Galahad mirrors your stance, showing you that he understands the stakes. Whoever leaves first will do so with their tail tucked between their feet.
And it won't be you.
"I know how we can settle this," you say. "A staring contest. Whoever blinks first has to leave."
"That's childish."
"No, you refusing to leave my spot is childish," you retort and he presses his lips in a taut, vexed line.
He accepts the challenge.
<div class="choice">[[Do it fair and square.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy4][$chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Splash water into his eyes to secure your win.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy4][$chapt3_shyness to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hold your eyes open with your fingers when you feel like blinking.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy4][$chapt3_shyness to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
You don't have the nerves to deal with Galahad right now. He may have stolen your spot, but all the resolve you set out with is slowly draining out of you. "Whatever. I'm leaving."
In response, Galahad unceremoniously turns his back on you, stalking off to sit on the river bank. His dragon friend gives you a lingering, uncertain look before joining him, tail coiling tenderly around the boy's wrist.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//You're just going to let him get away with it?// $dragon_name sounds incredulous. //Let him step all over you?//
//I don't have the energy for yet another bully.// Your response mollifies $dragon_him, hot anger slowly cooling down.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//Oh, that bully. Are we really letting him get away?// $dragon_name says, indignant.
//I don't have the energy to deal with him.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful" or $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//It's better this way, Mordred,// $dragon_name assures you.
<<else>>
//Well, this didn't go so well after all.// $dragon_name remarks warily in your mind.
<</if>>
You take your leave in flight, looking for another place along the river.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
You'll play fair and square. May the one who can better withstand dry eyes win.
"Good," you nod. "Starting on the count of three. 1..." You close your eyes tightly, readying yourself. "2..." You open them again. Galahad's features harden with determination. "3!"
You stare. Galahad stares back.
Gray meets $eye, like two swords clashing in battle.
The stormy depths of his gaze fill your vision. His eyes are a gray that leans to violet, each shade taking turns to tint his eyes more vibrantly depending on the lightning. Gray is sharp, harsh - violet gentle, soft.
<div class="choice">[[Your eyes are starting to dry...|Chapt3GalStubbornShy5][$chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're actually quite pretty. ❤|Chapt3GalStubbornShy5][$chapt3_shyness to 2, $gally_crush to $gally_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0 and $Galahad_ro == 0>><div class="choice">[[You feel yourself pulled into their depths.💕|Chapt3GalStubbornShy5][$chapt3_shyness to 3, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
You didn't establish any rules, so everything goes.
"Good," you nod. "Starting on the count of three. 1..." You close your eyes tightly, readying yourself. "2..." You open them again. Galahad's features harden with determination. "3!"
You stare. Galahad stares back.
Gray meets $eye, like two swords clashing in battle.
The stormy depths of his gaze fill your vision. His eyes are a gray that leans to violet, each shade taking turns to tint his eyes more vibrantly depending on the lightning. Gray is sharp, harsh - violet gentle, soft.
<div class="choice">[[Your eyes are starting to dry...|Chapt3GalStubbornShy5][$chapt3_shyness to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're actually quite pretty. ❤|Chapt3GalStubbornShy5][$chapt3_shyness to 5, $gally_crush to $gally_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0 and $Galahad_ro == 0>><div class="choice">[[You feel yourself pulled into their depths.💕|Chapt3GalStubbornShy5][$chapt3_shyness to 6, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 3>>
You didn't establish any rules, so everything goes.
"Good," you nod. "Starting on the count of three. 1..." You close your eyes tightly, readying yourself. "2..." You open them again. Galahad's features harden with determination. "3!"
You stare. Galahad stares back.
Gray meets $eye, like two swords clashing in battle.
The stormy depths of his gaze fill your vision. His eyes are a gray that leans to violet, each shade taking turns to tint his eyes more vibrantly depending on the lightning. Gray is sharp, harsh - violet gentle, soft.
<div class="choice">[[Your eyes are starting to dry...|Chapt3GalStubbornShy5][$chapt3_shyness to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're actually quite pretty. ❤|Chapt3GalStubbornShy5][$chapt3_shyness to 8, $gally_crush to $gally_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0 and $Galahad_ro == 0>><div class="choice">[[You feel yourself pulled into their depths.💕|Chapt3GalStubbornShy5][$chapt3_shyness to 9, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_shyness == 1>>
Your eyes are starting to sting, and you scrunch up your nose and squint your eyes. You have to win. Your mouth twists at your growing discomfort, while the corner of Galahad's lips quirks up ever so slightly. But his eyes are narrowed, too, so he can't be faring much better than you.
//You can do it, Mordred!// $dragon_name's encouragement resonates in your mind, steeling your resolve.
You stare. Your eyes burn, yet you go on staring, and so does Galahad.
And then the violet gray before you disappears for a flash. Galahad blinked.
"Ha!"
He rubs at his eyes, disgruntled. "Fine. I'm leaving."
He stomps away, his dragon companion following closely. He hauls himself up and takes off, leaving you alone with $dragon_name.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
Is it gray violet, or rather violet gray? It's intriguing how they capture the light, morphing from silver to violet depending on the angle. Strange how they behave, the effect akin to that of an optical illusion.
They're beautiful.
You blink, bewildered. And lose.
"Ha." Set above Galahad's smug smile, however, they seem less beautiful. Or at least that's what you tell yourself, ripping your gaze away from his.
"Fine," you mutter, irritated, eyes stubbornly set on your boots. "You win. I'll go on and leave."
$dragon_name wraps a comforting tail around your wrist as you move away. You keep your eyes fixed on the ground, on the river, on your dragon - anywhere but Galahad. Yet as $dragon_name's wings flap and you're taking to the skies, you sneak one quick glance at the boy. And find him already staring at you, but instead of the smirk you expected what you see is an unfathomable expression.
If your usual spot by the river is taken, you'll just have to move lower along the bank. $dragon_name glides above the tree tops, following the river as it slithers to the right, until you find yourself a shielded strip of land far enough.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 3>>
Is it gray violet, or rather violet gray? You lean in closer, pulled within their silvery purple depths. Strange how they behave, the effect akin to that of an optical illusion.
And then the violet gray disappears for a flash. Galahad blinked.
"Ha!"
He rubs at his eyes, disgruntled. "Fine. I'm leaving."
He stomps away, his dragon companion following closely, watching Galahad with concern. He hauls himself up and as the thunder of wings fills the air, you sneak a glance at Galahad. You find him already fixing you with an unfathomable expression.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 4>>
Your eyes are starting to sting, and you won't be able to hold much longer. Time to make a splash.
You move quickly, like a snake stricking. Your arm draws a wide arch in the air, willing water from the river to follow its motion. It catches Galahad on the side of his face, wetting his hair and shoulder, entering his eyes.
"I win!" you proclaim victoriously, and the boy glares at you from between sodden golden hair.
"You cheated."
"Did we ever agree on any rules?"
He huffs a puff of annoyance and shakes his head, spraying you in the face. But nothing can wipe off your grin. "Fine. I'm leaving."
He stomps away, his dragon companion following closely, watching Galahad with concern. He hauls himself up and takes off, leaving you and $dragon_name alone.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 5>>
Is it gray violet, or rather violet gray? It's intriguing how they capture the light, morphing from silver to violet depending on the angle. Strange how they behave, the effect akin to that of an optical illusion.
They're beautiful.
You clench your fists, willing yourself to focus on your goal. You move quickly, like a snake stricking. Your arm draws a wide arch in the air, willing water from the river to follow its motion. It catches Galahad on the side of his face, wetting his hair and shoulder, entering his eyes.
"I win!" you proclaim victoriously.
The boy glares at you from between sodden golden hair but you rip your gaze away. Warmth creeps up your neck, and you quickly try to squash it down before it can spread like an infection across your skin. "You cheated."
"We didn't agree on any rules now, did we?" you reply as breezily as you can. Pretending to be mighty interested in your boots, feeling his gaze bore into you.
Galahad doesn't reply. You push a rock with the tip of your shoe.
"Fine. I'm leaving."
He stomps away, his dragon companion following closely, watching Galahad with concern. He hauls himself up and as the thunder of wings fills the air, you sneak a glance at Galahad. You find him already fixing you with an unfathomable expression.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 6>>
Is it gray violet, or rather violet gray? You lean in closer, pulled within their silvery purple depths. Strange how they behave when light captures them, akin some kind of optic illusion.
But you must focus on your plan. You move quickly, like a snake stricking. Your arm draws a wide arch in the air, willing water from the river to follow its motion. It catches Galahad on the side of his face, wetting his hair and shoulder, entering his eyes.
"I win!" you proclaim victoriously.
The boy glares at you from between sodden golden. "You cheated."
"We didn't agree on any rules now, did we?" you reply as breezily as you can. Pretending to be mighty interested in your boots, feeling his gaze bore into you.
Galahad doesn't reply. You push a rock with the tip of your shoes.
"Fine. I'm leaving."
He stomps away, his dragon companion following closely, watching Galahad with concern. He hauls himself up and as the thunder of wings fills the air, you sneak a glance at Galahad. You find him already fixing you with an unfathomable expression.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 7>>
Your eyes are starting to sting, and you won't be able to hold much longer. And so you bring up your hands and force them to stay open, index fingers pushing against your eyebrows, thumb stretching the skin under your eyes.
Galahad's brown creases. "That's cheating."
"Says who? We didn't agree on any rules."
Galahad's eyes narrow at you. Then, they blink.
"Ha! I win."
"I let you," he says flatly. "Since you're not playing fair anyway."
"Doesn't change the fact I've won." Nothing can wipe the grin off your face.
"Fine. I'm leaving."
He walks away, his dragon companion following closely. He hauls himself up and takes off, leaving you alone with $dragon_name.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 8>>
Is it gray violet, or rather violet gray? It's intriguing, how they capture the light and allow it to morph them either into silver or amethyst. Strange how they behave, akin some kind of optic illusion.
They're beautiful.
And your eyes are starting to sting.
And so you bring up your hands and force them to stay open, index fingers pushing against your eyebrows, thumb stretching the skin under your eyes.
Galahad's brown creases. "That's cheating."
"Says who? We didn't agree on any rules."
Galahad's eyes narrow at you. Then, they blink.
"Ha! I win."
"I let you," he says flatly. "Since you're not playing fair anyway."
"Doesn't change the fact I've won." Nothing can wipe the grin off your face. But as warmth creeps up your neck, you find yourself casting your gaze to your boots.
Galahad doesn't reply. You push a rock with the tip of your shoes.
"Fine. I'm leaving."
He walks away, his dragon companion following closely. He hauls himself up and as the thunder of wings fills the air, you sneak a glance at Galahad. You find him already fixing you with an unfathomable expression.
<<elseif $chapt3_shyness == 9>>
Is it gray violet, or rather violet gray? You lean in closer, pulled within their silvery purple depths. Strange how they behave when light captures them, akin some kind of optic illusion.
And your eyes are starting to sting.
And so you bring up your hands and force them to stay open, index fingers pushing against your eyebrows, thumb stretching the skin under your eyes.
Galahad's brown creases. "That's cheating."
"Says who? We didn't agree on any rules."
Galahad's eyes narrow at you. Then, they blink.
"Ha! I win."
"I let you," he says flatly. "Since you're not playing fair anyway."
"Doesn't change the fact I've won." Nothing can wipe the grin off your face.
"Fine. I'm leaving."
He walks away, his dragon companion following closely. He hauls himself up and as the thunder of wings fills the air, you sneak a glance at Galahad. You find him already fixing you with an unfathomable expression.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3_shyness == 2>>
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon1]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_destroy == "1">>
You roll your eyes, lips twisting in a bitter, sardonic smile. "Yes. And I'd appreciate it if he left me alone to plot."
Galahad snorts. His gray eyes are resolute, a decision made as he storms off.
<<elseif $chapt3_destroy == "2">>
"I don't want him to be my," you pause, because the word you'd use would be father, but Galahad can't know that, so you settle for the next best word, "uncle, but I wouldn't go as far as to say I want to destroy him."
Galahad frowns, his gray eyes uncertain as they search your face, as if trying to determine the truth of your admission. Whatever he finds makes him frown deeper and storm off.
<<elseif $chapt3_destroy == "5">>
You're not sure what he wants from you. But if it's only to hurl words you know so well, then you're leaving. Spinning around, you don't deign to give him any answer, marching off towards the castle. Let him make what he will from your silence.
<<elseif $chapt3_destroy == "6">>
The dam breaks and tears start to pour. Tasting salty on your lips as you say, "I just want him to be my uncle."
Galahad's concerned face is hazy through your teary eyes. He reaches out a hand as if to comfort you then snaps it back, the concern turning to suspicion. "If this is a trick to make me pity you, it won't work."
His harsh words only make it worse, a sob escaping your lips. Galahad looks uncertain, yet again leaning towards you as if to offer consolation, but instead storms off before he can give in to your supposed act.
<<elseif $chapt3_destroy == "7">>
You crumble completely. Lancelot attacking Accolon with his sword, now Galahad you with his words - it sets your tears loose. You can see Galahad's concerned face, hazy through the tears, but before he can say or do anything, you turn around and run.
<<elseif $chapt3_destroy == "8">>
"I don't want to destroy Arthur!" you insist, hoping Galahad will see the truth in your words.
Galahad frowns, his gray eyes uncertain as they search your face, as if trying to determine the truth of your admission. You hold his gaze steadfast, willing him to see it. Whatever he finds makes him frown deeper and storm off.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3Chamber]]<<if $chapt3_destroy == "1">>
You step up to him, throwing up your hands in exasperation. "I'm not! I make my own choices!" The boy stares baffled at your outbreak. "Stop trying to tell me what to do!"
He frowns, struggling for a response. He can't solve his loss of words, so he storms off.
<<elseif $chapt3_destroy == "2">>
You stay calm, the infuriating words familiar. "I'm not. I make my own choices."
He frowns, struggling for a response. He can't solve his loss of words, so he storms off.
<<elseif $chapt3_destroy == "3">>
Preposterous! You're both tools of your parents. They both fill your heads with whatever they want you to think, trying to make decisions for you. But you won't take it anymore. "As if you're not Lancelot's tool!" you burst out.
His face is red, as if he's on the verge of an outburst of his own. Instead, he storms off.
<<elseif $chapt3_destroy == "4">>
Preposterous! You're both tools of your parents. They both fill your heads with whatever they want you to think, trying to make decisions for you. But you won't take it anymore. "As if you're not Lancelot's tool." You quirk an eyebrow, challenging him to disagree.
Galahad doesn't disagree, because he can't. He may deny it, but a part of him, however small, however hidden, must know it too. His face reddens and he storms off.
<<elseif $chapt3_destroy == "5">>
You shrug, keeping your composure, the infuriating words familiar, "I'm not, but there's no arguing with you. You won't take my word, anyway."
Galahad scoffs. "No, there's no value to your word," he agrees and storms off.
<<elseif $chapt3_destroy == "6">>
You shake your head and spinning around, storm off.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3Chamber]]You frown. "I don't want to destroy him. I want him to be my uncle." Father is the fitting word, however.
Galahad frowns, too, looking even more confused. He shakes his head, his words firm, "No. You'll hurt him. You're just Morgana's tool of revenge."
<div class="choice">[["I'm not!" You shout.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$Galahad to $Galahad+5, $calm to $calm-2, $chapt3_destroy to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not," you say calmly.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$Galahad to $Galahad+5, $calm to $calm+2, $chapt3_destroy to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["As if you're not Lancelot's tool!" you burst.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$emotional to $emotional+2, $calm to $calm-2, $chapt3_destroy to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["As if you're not Lancelot's tool," you say calmly.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$calm to $calm+2, $chapt3_destroy to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not, but there's no arguing with you," you say calmly.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$Galahad to $Galahad+5, $calm to $calm+2, $chapt3_destroy to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just leave.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$chapt3_destroy to "6"]]</div>You frown. "I don't want to destroy him. I want him to be my uncle." You really do.
Galahad frowns, too, looking even more confused. He shakes his head, his words firm, "No. You'll hurt him. You're just Morgana's tool of revenge."
<div class="choice">[["I'm not!" you shout.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$Galahad to $Galahad+5, $calm to $calm-2, $chapt3_destroy to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not," you say calmly.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$Galahad to $Galahad+5, $calm to $calm+2, $chapt3_destroy to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["As if you're not Lancelot's tool!" you burst.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$emotional to $emotional+2, $calm to $calm-2, $chapt3_destroy to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["As if you're not Lancelot's tool," you say calmly.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$calm to $calm+2, $chapt3_destroy to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not, but there's no arguing with you," you say calmly.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$Galahad to $Galahad+5, $calm to $calm+2, $chapt3_destroy to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just leave.|Chapt3Galahad1.1][$chapt3_destroy to "6"]]</div>"He has plenty of trouble to offer," you say sardonically. "He told me to stay away from Gawain just because Gawain talked to me. And yesterday, after you got injured, he chased me down to tell me how evil I am and to leave Arthur alone."
Accolon sighs. "Takes after his father," he mutters under his breath before sketching a rueful smile. "Just stay away from him."
<div class="choice">[[You push down the swelling anger.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "1", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The nerve on him!" Your voice raises as your anger swells.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "2", $calm to $calm-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll stay away if he does the same," you say calmly.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "3", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I want him to see I'm not like that," you say quietly.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "4", $confident to $confident-2, $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Stay away?" your eyes widen with determination. "No! I'm going to change his opinion on me!"|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "5", $confident to $confident+2, $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod, feeling dejected. Yet another bully to avoid.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "6", $defiant to $defiant-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh no. I'm not afraid of him."|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "7", $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>"A bit," you admit nervously. You bump your knees against each other as you quietly say, "He told me to stay away from Gawain, just because he talked to me, and that I'm evil and should stay away from Arthur."
Accolon sighs. "Takes after his father," he mutters under his breath before sketching a rueful smile. "Just stay away from him."
<div class="choice">[[You push down the swelling anger.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "1", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The nerve on him!" Your voice raises as your anger swells.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "2", $calm to $calm-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll stay away if he does the same," you say calmly.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "3", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I want him to see I'm not like that," you say quietly.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "4", $confident to $confident-2, $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Stay away?" your eyes widen with determination. "No! I'm going to change his opinion on me!"|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "5", $confident to $confident+2, $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod, feeling dejected. Yet another bully to avoid.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "6", $defiant to $defiant-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh no. I'm not afraid of him."|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "7", $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>"Yes, but I will change his mind about me," you say firmly. "He told me to stay away from Gawain just because he talked to me, and that I'm evil and should stay away from Arthur. But I will win him over."
Accolon looks taken aback. "It'd be lovely to change his mind, Mordred, but be careful around him."
<div class="choice">[["I just want him to see I'm not like that," you say quietly.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "4", $confident to $confident-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I am." You thrust your chin forward. "I just want to show him what I'm really like."|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "8", $confident to $confident+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I don't need to be careful, I just need to win him over.\""|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "9", $impulsive to $impulsive+1]]</div>"Just being a bully," you shrug. "I'm used to it. Stay away from my friend, I heard that before," you say, gesturing dismissively, recounting his warning concerning Gawain. "Stay away from Arthur because you are evil is new. Not the evil part, though."
Accolon sighs. "Takes after his father," he mutters under his breath before sketching a rueful smile. "Just stay away from him."
<div class="choice">[[You push down the swelling anger.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "1", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The nerve on him!" Your voice raises as your anger swells.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "2", $calm to $calm-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll stay away if he does the same," you say calmly.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "3", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I want him to see I'm not like that," you say quietly.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "4", $confident to $confident-2, $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Stay away?" your eyes widen with determination. "No! I'm going to change his opinion on me!"|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "5", $confident to $confident+2, $told_accolon_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod, feeling dejected. Yet another bully to avoid.|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "6", $defiant to $defiant-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh no. I'm not afraid of him."|Chapt3TournamentAnger][$chapt3_anger to "7", $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div><<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I'm too afraid of what he might do.//
//Fine by me,// $dragon_name agrees.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I'm too afraid of what he might do.//
//Fine then,// $dragon_name agrees, gentle. //If only we could befriend them though...//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I'm too afraid of what he might do.//
//Oh, I'm not afraid. And you shouldn't be, not with me by your side. I just really want to chew him out.// A pause. //Verbally I mean. Unless he decides to act up.//
//Please.//
//Fine.// The word reverberates in your mind with a softness that constracts their prior fiercecess.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I'm too afraid of what he might do.//
//Exactly! Best to stay away,// $dragon_name promptly agrees.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I'm too afraid of what he might do.//
//Exactly! Best to stay away,// $dragon_name promptly agrees.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I'm too afraid of what he might do.//
//What?// your dragon sounds indignant. //He's a bully! We should show him for how he treated you! Don't be afraid, if he tries anything I'll protect you!//
//Please, $dragon_name,// you plead, a tinge of genuine fear clinging to your words.
//Fine,// $dragon_he resigns, and while $dragon_he doesn't sound happy, the word is soft.
<</if>>
As $dragon_name swerves you throw Galahad and his dragon companion one last glance before leaving them behind. And meet Galahad's gaze and furrowed brow.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum's expression, however, shines with a timid curiosity.
<<else>>
The dragon, however, watches with light blue eyes devoid of any hostility so plentiful in his rider's own - instead, they seem confused, almost curious.
<</if>>
And then you turn your eyes back on the forest.
If your usual spot by the river is taken, you'll just have to move lower along the bank. $dragon_name glides above the tree tops, following the river as it slithers to the right, until you find yourself a shielded strip of land far enough.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon]]<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I'm planning on winning him over, one way or another!//
//Oh, I really want to see you draw a friendly expresion from him.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I'm planning on winning him over, one way or another!//
//That's the spirit!// $dragon_name's cheering whoop booms in your mind.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I'm planning on winning him over, one way or another!//
//You can win him over after I chew him out.// A pause. //Verbally I mean. Unless he decides to act up.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I'm planning on winning him over, one way or another!//
//If that's what you want Mordred...// $dragon_name doesn't sound as convinced as you.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I'm planning on winning him over, one way or another!//
//I don't think it's a good idea,// $dragon_name protests, but you won't hear it.
//Trust me, I can handle it.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I'm planning on winning him over, one way or another!//
//What?// your dragon sounds indignant. //He's a bully! We should show him for how he treated you!//
//Come on, $dragon_name! It's like mother says - sometimes honeyed words are more powerful than the sharpest dagger.//
//Fine,// $dragon_he resigns, not too happy.
<</if>>
When he realizes your landing trajectory, Galahad's cool gaze narrows.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum's expression, however, shines with a timid delight.
<<else>>
His dragon watches with light blue eyes, devoid of any hostility so plentiful in his rider's own - instead, the dragon seems confused, almost curious.
<</if>>
$dragon_name makes a smooth landing next to the pair. The flapping of wings flutters his blonde hair and his pale blue cloak, but the boy doesn't flinch. Just as fluidly, you slip off your dragon's back. Your appearance is not as put together though.
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy" or $hair_type == "curly">>
Flying can sometimes leave your hair in an utter mess, and once you even lost your loosely fastened cloak. Not this time, luckily. You quickly arrange your hair and toss your dragon a smile before turning towards Galahad and his dragon.
<<else>>
Flying can sometimes leave you in an utter mess, and once you even lost your loosely fastened cloak. Not this time, luckily. You quickly pat down your clothes and toss your dragon a smile before turning towards Galahad and his dragon.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Your motivation isn't dampened, but you feel shyness creeping in.|Chapt3GalCharmShy][$confident to $confident-5, $chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You arm yourself with a friendly smile.|Chapt3GalCharmShy][$confident to $confident+5, $chapt3_shyness to 2]]</div>You will prevail over this wall of a boy. Steeling your determination, you go to sit down by the river next to Galahad. The stream flows by with the same strength and unrelentness as your own.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
Your dragon follows you, $dragon_his own rush of eagerness washing over you.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
Your dragon follows you, $dragon_his own rush of eagerness washing over you.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
Your dragon hesitates, disbelief clear. Sensing your persistence, however, $dragon_he follows you, encouraging you by pouring into you $dragon_his own confidence.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
Your dragon follows you, gathering their confidence.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
Your dragon follows you, slightly uncertain but encouraged by your own eagerness.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Your dragon hesitates, disbelief clear. Sensing your persistence, however, $dragon_he follows you, encouraging you by pouring into you $dragon_his own confidence.
<</if>>
"What are you doing?" Galahad eyes you suspiciously.
"We don't need to be friends to make conversation," you reply with a smile.
He doesn't further protest, which must be a good sign. Instead, he goes back to morosely gaze at the river. It reminds you of how inconsolable you were, bundled up in Morgana's arms, sitting on the sand, watching Accolon's ship disappear throught the mist of Avalon, while she tried to cheer you up with stories.
<<include Chapt3GallyCharmConvo>>You cross your arms, tension growing between your brows.
//Well, this is a disaster,// you mentally send $dragon_name's way. "I think it's better if we left, at least for now."
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//Oh, and it's such a shame,// $dragon_he laments. //His dragon friend seems nice.//
//You could still befriend him later,// you gently encourage, and it seems to lift $dragon_his spirits.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//He's just a tough egg to crack,// your friend replies,//I'm sure you'd get to him eventually, if you really want to.//
//Think so?// You smile up at $dragon_him wryly.
//Of course!//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//We're better off without that bully, anyway,// your friend lets out a small, miffed puff.
//Well, it'd be better to have that bully on our side.//
//Maybe,// $dragon_he concedes. //Anyway, if he tries anything, I'll put him in his place.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Ugh, this went about as well as I would have imagined,// your friend shakes $dragon_his head. //It's for the better to leave him alone.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//Ugh, this went about as well as I would have imagined,// your friend hangs $dragon_his head. //It's for the better to leave him alone.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Your friend responds in a series of dragon expletives that go beyond what can be expressed in human language, bouncing angrily around your mind. //We don't need that bully,// $dragon_name concludes, nudging you with $dragon_his snoot with a stark gentleness.
//Well, it'd be better to have that bully on our side.//
//Maybe. But if he tries anything, I'll put him in his place, Mordred.//
<</if>>
//Let's go.// You heave yourself up on $dragon_name's back, a sense of defeat weighing down your movements.
As you take off, you see Galahad throw one quick glance over his shoulder at you. Then your dragon swerves, and you leave the boy and his dragon behind.
If your usual spot by the river is taken, you'll just have to move lower along the bank. $dragon_name glides above the tree tops, following the river as it slithers to the right, until you find yourself a shielded strip of land far enough.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon]]<<if $chapt3_talk_gally == "1">>
Ah yes, as if that jerk of a knight, using a competition for his petty warning, wasn't enough for today, now you have to deal with his equally hateful son.
"Are you here to make my day worse?" you ask sharply.
Galahad flinches, your words cutting like a sword through him. He hesitates, seeming to truly consider the words before he steels himself and takes a step forward. Fists clenching at his side.
<<elseif $chapt3_talk_gally == "2">>
You want to scream out your frustration. You have to settle for an internal groan. You look at him expectantly, though you have little interest or patience for whatever reason he thought necessary to seek you out. Knowing his father, it's probably another warning. Hopefully a less bloody one.
Seeing as he got your attention, Galahad takes a step forward.
<<elseif $chapt3_talk_gally == "3">>
The tears have built up somewhere behind your throat, a yarn woven from anguish, worry and tension. It only needs Galahad to give you a push for it to unravel and let your tears loose.
The boy frowns for a moment, your expression giving him pause. He steps forward, somewhat hesitant.
<<elseif $chapt3_talk_gally == "4">>
You flinch, hugging your arms around you as if to protect yourself. After Lancelot's violent display, you don't know what to expect from his son.
Confusion flashes over Galahad's face. Then his eyes widen in realization, holding within them, for a split moment, an uncharacteristic alarm. It's washed away by suspicion that settles uneasily over his honeyed features as he narrows his eyes at you and takes a step forward.
<<elseif $chapt3_talk_gally == "5">>
You don't want to jump to conclusion, and decide to greet him with an open, genuine expression. You want to hear him out. "Yes?" you ask, curious.
Surprise flashes over his face. Despite being the one to apporach you, it seems he didn't expect you to be quite receptive - which you can't blame him for. Given what Lancelot did in the ring, and his less than nice treatment of you, it would come as no surprise if you didn't want to hear him out.
Galahad takes a step forward, eyeing you carefully.
<<elseif $chapt3_talk_gally == "6">>
You cross your arms. There's only one thing you could want to hear from him, and that's an apology. No more warnings or threats. "I hope you're here to apologize for your father's behavior, otherwise leave."
Galahad looks conflicted for a moment, as if truly considering the second part of your offer. Then steps forward, and by the wary look on his face you doubt he's here to give you that apology.
<<elseif $chapt3_talk_gally == "7">>
Every bit of energy has been drained from you, so much so that even the single word "Yes?" seems like an effort.
Galahad frowns for a moment, hesitating, as if reconsidering his decision to approach you. Then he steel himself and steps forward.
<<elseif $chapt3_talk_gally == "8">>
You don't have the energy to deal with another bully. "Please just leave me alone," you say quietly.
Galahad looks conflicted for a moment, as if reconsidering his decision to approach you, then steels himself and steps forward.
<<elseif $chapt3_talk_gally == "9">>
Your fists clench. How dare he? After Lancelot left Accolon bloody and bruised, he dares come to you? What for? To taunt you with another warning? To beat you too?
With vengeful fury, you march to Galahad and raising your hand, slap him. Your palm stings, but not as much as your anguished voice: "How dare you?"
Galahad cups his red cheek, staring at you with wide gray eyes. You expect a tempest. A hit in return. Instead, he just continues to stare until he shakes off the shock and replaces it with the iciness you're growing used to.
<</if>>
"My father told me about last night," he says. "That Arthur sought you out, that he wants to be your uncle." He frowns, considering you as if he's trying to figure you out. It reminds you of your confusion as you try to make out $dragon_name's tangled harness, or a particular difficult rune pattern. "I don't understand why he would. You and Morgana only want to destroy him."
<div class="choice">[["Yes. And I'd appreciate it if he left me alone to plot," you say sardonically.|Chapt3Galahad][$chapt3_destroy to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want him to be my uncle," the fitting word is father, however, "but I wouldn't go as far as to say I want to destroy him."|Chapt3Galahad][$chapt3_destroy to "2", $father to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to destroy him. I want him to be my uncle." The fitting word is father.|Chapt3Galahad1][$chapt3_destroy to "3", $father to "father", $Galahad to $Galahad+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to destroy him. I want him to be my uncle." You can't see him as a father.|Chapt3Galahad2][$chapt3_destroy to "4", $father to "uncle", $Galahad to $Galahad+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Leave.|Chapt3Galahad][$chapt3_destroy to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Cry. "I just want him to be my uncle." The fitting word is father.|Chapt3Galahad][$chapt3_destroy to "6", $crybaby to $crybaby+1, $cry_gally to $cry_gally+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+5, $emotional to $emotional+3, $father to "father"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Leave, crying.|Chapt3Galahad][$chapt3_destroy to "7", $crybaby to $crybaby+1, $cry_gally to $cry_gally+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+5, $emotional to $emotional+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to destroy Arthur!" You don't know what he is to you- a father or uncle, but you know you don't want to hurt him.|Chapt3Galahad][$chapt3_destroy to "8", $father to "confused"]]</div><<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//We're landing next to him. I think it's time we had a talk about that attitude of his.//
//Yes! Let's! $dragon_name cheers. There's a slight hesitation that catches in $dragon_his voice, however. When $dragon_he speaks again, $dragon_his words are less certain, //Do you think this will end in a fight?//
//I don't know what to expect from him,// you admit with a shake of the head.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//We're landing right next to him. I think it's time we had a talk about that attitude of his.//
//Oh, don't you think we could try to befriend them?// $dragon_name asks. Hope clings to $dragon_his words, that relentless hope that friendship will prevail.
//I'm not befriending that bully,// you reply, your mind firmly made up.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//We're landing right next to him. I think it's time we had a talk about that attitude of his.//
//Yeah!// $dragon_name cheers you on. //Oh, I'll chew him out for how he treats you.// A pause, in which your dragon silently ruminates upon the bloody implication. //Verbally, I mean. Unless he decides to act up.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//We're landing right next to him. I think it's time we had a talk about that attitude of his.//
//Maybe we could just go somewhere else then? Avoid any conflict? What if it ends in a fight?// $dragon_name's thoughts race around in panicked circles.
//No! He's been hostile me since he arrived and I need to confront him.//
//Oh, I don't know...// You feel $dragon_his hesitation, trickling through to you. You reply by sending your own determination to $dragon_him, to steel $dragon_his nerves.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//We're landing right next to him. I think it's time we had a talk about that attitude of his.//
//I don't think it's a good idea. We should just go somewhere else, avoid conflict. What if it ends in a fight?// $dragon_name protests, thoughts hurried and panicked, but you won't hear it.
//Trust me, I can handle that bully.// You accompany your words with your own determination, to steel $dragon_his nerves.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//We're landing right next to him. I think it's time we had a talk about that attitude of his.//
//Yes! We'll show him!// $dragon_name's fierce whoop of encouragement booms in your mind.
<</if>>
When he realizes your landing trajectory, Galahad's cool gaze narrows.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum's expression, however, shines with a timid delight.
<<else>>
His dragon watches with light blue eyes, devoid of any hostility so plentiful in his rider's own - instead, the dragon seems confused, almost curious.
<</if>>
$dragon_name makes a smooth landing next to the pair. The flapping of wings flutters his blonde hair and his pale blue cloak, but the boy doesn't flinch. Just as fluidly, you slip off your dragon's back. Your appearance is not as put together though.
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy" or $hair_type == "curly">>
Flying can sometimes leave your hair in an utter mess, and once you even lost your loosely fastened cloak. Not this time, luckily. You quickly arrange your hair and toss your dragon a smile before turning towards Galahad and his dragon.
<<else>>
Flying can sometimes leave you in an utter mess, and once you even lost your loosely fastened cloak. Not this time, luckily. You quickly pat down your clothes and toss your dragon a smile before turning towards Galahad and his dragon.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Your motivation isn't dampened, but you feel shyness creeping in.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy][$confident to $confident-5, $chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You stride forward, fueled by your confidence.|Chapt3GalConfrontShy][$confident to $confident+5, $chapt3_shyness to 2]]</div><<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I want to befriend him!//
//Oh, yes! And I can play with his dragon!//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I want to befriend him!//
//That's the spirit!// $dragon_name's cheering whoop booms in your mind.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I want to befriend him!//
//You can befriend him after I chew him out.// A pause. //Verbally I mean. Unless he decides to act up.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I want to befriend him!//
//If that's what you want Mordred...// $dragon_name doesn't sound as convinced as you.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I want to befriend him!//
//I don't think it's a good idea,// $dragon_name protests, but you won't hear it.
//Trust me, I can win him over.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//We're going to land right next to him. I want to befriend him!//
//What?// your dragon sounds indignant. //He's a bully! We should show him for how he treated you!//
//Come on, $dragon_name! I'm sure he's just misjudged me. He's really nice to Gawain.//
//Fine,// $dragon_he resigns, not too happy.
<</if>>
When he realizes your landing trajectory, Galahad's cool gaze narrows.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum's expression, however, shines with a timid delight.
<<else>>
The dragon watches with light blue eyes devoid of any hostility so plentiful in his rider's own - instead, they seem confused, almost curious.
<</if>>
$dragon_name makes a smooth landing next to the pair. The flapping of wings flutters his blonde hair and his pale blue cloak, but the boy doesn't flinch. Just as fluidly, you slip off your dragon's back. Your appearance is not as put together though.
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy" or $hair_type == "curly">>
Flying can sometimes leave your hair in an utter mess, and once you even lost your loosely fastened cloak. Not this time, luckily. You quickly arrange your hair and toss your dragon a smile before turning towards Galahad and his dragon.
<<else>>
Flying can sometimes leave you in an utter mess, and once you even lost your loosely fastened cloak. Not this time, luckily. You quickly pat down your clothes and toss your dragon a smile before turning towards Galahad and his dragon.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Your motivation isn't dampened, but you feel shyness creeping in.|Chapt3GalFriendShy][$confident to $confident-5, $chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your enthusiasm somehow only grows, fueled by your confidence.|Chapt3GalFriendShy][$confident to $confident+5, $chapt3_shyness to 2]]</div><<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
Before either of you can say anything else, $dragon_name steps in, speaking out in $dragon_his tongue, "That's not very nice of you!" $dragon_he chides Galahad. "Mordred doesn't have a lot of friends, and really doesn't need another bully."
Callum throws you a sympathetic look. Galahad, on the other hand, is staring at your dragon with an unreadable expression. It soon settles into a blank, cool mask as he turns on you.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<</if>>
$dragon_name sighs.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
Before either of you can say anything else, $dragon_name steps in, speaking out in $dragon_his tongue, "That's not very nice of you!" $dragon_he chides Galahad. "Mordred doesn't have a lot of friends, and really doesn't need another bully."
Callum throws you a sympathetic look. Galahad, on the other hand, is staring at your dragon with an unreadable expression. It soon settles into a blank, cool mask as he turns on you.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<</if>>
$dragon_name sighs.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
Before either of you can say anything else, $dragon_name steps in, speaking out in $dragon_his tongue, "Listen here, you bully! Mordred wants to befriend you, though I don't think you deserve ?them as your friend. Especially after the way you treated ?them. Apologize right now, and either give ?them a chance or leave ?them alone."
Galahad is staring at your dragon with an unreadable expression. It soon settles into a blank, cool mask as he turns on you.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<</if>>
"Hey!" $dragon_name shouts after him, but Galahad ignores $dragon_him. "The bully didn't apologize." It's followed by an outpour of dragon-tongue expletives which you don't think Cora would be very happy about.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
Before either of you can say anything else, $dragon_name steps in, speaking out in $dragon_his tongue, "Please don't be mean to Mordred, ?they just want to make friends. ?They doesn't have a lot of friends, though ?they does have bullies like you..."
Callum throws you a sympathetic look. Galahad, on the other hand, is staring at your dragon with an unreadable expression. It soon settles into a blank, cool mask as he turns on you.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<</if>>
$dragon_name sighs.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
Before either of you can say anything else, $dragon_name steps in, speaking out in $dragon_his tongue, "Please don't be mean to Mordred, ?they just want to make friends. ?They doesn't have a lot of friends, though ?they does have bullies like you..."
Callum throws you a sympathetic look. Galahad is staring at your dragon with an unreadable expression. It soon settles into a blank, cool mask as he turns on you.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<</if>>
$dragon_name sighs.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Before either of you can say anything else, $dragon_name steps in, speaking out in $dragon_his tongue, "Listen here, you bully! Mordred wants to befriend you, though I don't think you deserve ?them as your friend. Especially after the way you treated ?them. Apologize right now, and either give ?them a chance or leave ?them alone."
Galahad is staring at your dragon with an unreadable expression. It soon settles into a blank, cool mask as he turns on you.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"Fine, be Gawain's friend, but I'll keep an eye on you. And I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
"I won't be your friend."
His tone is definitive, but his gaze lingers a moment on you, uncertain, before he finally turns around and sits down by the river.
<<else>>
"I won't be your friend."
It sounds defintive, even more so as he turns his back to you and sits down by the river.
<</if>>
<</if>>
"Hey!" $dragon_name shouts after him, letting out a warm huff of breath as threat. It rustles Galahad's hair, but he ignores $dragon_him. "The bastard didn't apologize." It's followed by an outpour of dragon-tongue expletives which you don't think Cora would be very happy about.
<</if>>
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum looks at you with sad, apologetic blue eyes before going to join Galahad by the river, tail curling protectively around the boy.
<<else>>
Galahad's dragon glances at you with unsure, sad eyes before going to join Galahad by the river, tail curling protectively around the boy.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Sit down next to him. Try to make conversation.|Chapt3GalahadFriend2][$Galahad to $Galahad+2, $Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+2, $gally_river to "friend_good"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Leave. Go down by the river.|Chapt3GalahadFriendOver][$Galahad to $Galahad-4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Leave. Go down by the river. But before you do, you say "I really hoped you could have looked past the rumours and tried to give me a chance."|Chapt3GalahadFriendOver1][$Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div>Oh, you're not giving up just yet! With renewed enthusiasm, you go sit down by the river next to Galahad. The stream flows by with the same strength as your own.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
Your dragon follows you, $dragon_his own rush of eagerness washing over you.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
Your dragon follows you, $dragon_his own rush of eagerness washing over you.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
Your dragon hesitates in disbelief. Sensing your persistence, however, $dragon_he follows you, bolstering you with $dragon_his own confidence.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
Your dragon follows you, gathering their confidence.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
Your dragon follows you, slightly uncertain but encouraged by your own eagerness.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Your dragon hesitates, disbelief clear. Sensing your persistence, however, $dragon_he follows you, encouraging you by pouring into you $dragon_his own confidence.
<</if>>
"What are you doing?" Galahad eyes you suspiciously.
"We don't need to be friends to make conversation," you reply with a smile.
He doesn't further protest, which you take as a good sign. Instead, he goes back to morosely gaze at the river. He reminds you of how inconsolable you once were; bundled up in Morgana's arms, sitting on the sand, watching Accolon's ship disappear throught the mist of Avalon, while she tried to cheer you up with stories.
<<include Chapt3GallyFriendConvo>>You cross your arms, tension growing between your brows.
//Well, this is a disaster,// you mentally send $dragon_name's way. "I think it's better if we left, at least for now."
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//Oh, and it's such a shame,// $dragon_he laments. //His dragon friend seems nice.//
//You could still befriend him later,// you gently encourage, and it seems to lift $dragon_his spirits.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//He's just a tough egg to crack,// your friend replies,//I'm sure you'd get to him eventually, if you really want to.//
//Think so?// You smile up at $dragon_him wryly.
//Why not? And if you don't, his loss.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//We're better off without that bully, anyway,// your friend lets out a small, miffed puff before nudging you comfortingly. "Hey. It's his loss, not yours."
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//Ugh, this went about as well as I would have imagined,// your friend shakes $dragon_his head. //It's for the better to leave him alone.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//Ugh, this went about as well as I would have imagined,// your friend hangs $dragon_his head. //It's for the better to leave him alone.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Your friend responds in a series of dragon expletives that go beyond what can be expressed in human language, bouncing angrily around your mind. //We don't need that bully,// $dragon_name concludes, nudging you with $dragon_his snoot with a stark gentleness.
<</if>>
//Let's go.// You heave yourself up on $dragon_name's back, a sense of defeat weighing down your movements.
As you take off, you see Galahad throw one quick glance over his shoulder at you. Then your dragon swerves, and you leave the boy and his dragon behind.
If your usual spot by the river is taken, you'll just have to move lower along the bank. $dragon_name glides above the tree tops, following the river as it slithers to the right, until you find yourself a shielded strip of land far enough.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon]]This is hopeless, frustrating and quite disappointing, to be honest. The dark swirl of emotions bleeds into your voice as you say, "I had hoped you could look past the rumours and give me a chance. To see that I'm not what they make me out to be."
Galahad doesn't turn to look at you, but his shoulders stiffen, the only sign that your words have had any effect on him.
<<include Chapt3GalahadFriendOver>><<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I don't have the patience to deal with him right now.//
//Fine by me,// $dragon_name agrees.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I don't have the patience to deal with him right now.//
//Fine then,// $dragon_name agrees, gentle. //If only we could befriend them though...//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I don't have the patience to deal with him right now.//
//Oh, I have. I've been looking forward to it. I just really want to chew him out.// A pause. //Verbally I mean. Unless he decides to act up.//
//Please.//
//Fine.// The word reverberates in your mind with a softness that constracts their prior fiercecess.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I don't have the patience to deal with him right now.//
//Exactly! Best to stay away,// $dragon_name promptly agrees.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I don't have the patience to deal with him right now.//
//Exactly! Best to stay away,// $dragon_name promptly agrees.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//We're going down the river away from him. I don't have the patience to deal with him right now.//
//What?// your dragon sounds indignant. //He's a bully! We should show him for how he treated you!!//
//Please, $dragon_name.//
//Fine,// $dragon_he resigns, and while $dragon_he doesn't sound happy, the word is soft.
<</if>>
As $dragon_name swerves you throw Galahad and his dragon companion one last glance before leaving them behind. And meet Galahad's gaze and furrowed brow.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum's expression, however, shines with a timid curiosity.
<<else>>
The dragon, however, watches with light blue eyes devoid of any hostility so plentiful in their companion's own - instead, they seem confused, almost curious.
<</if>>
And then you turn your eyes back on the forest.
If your usual spot by the river is taken, you'll just have to move lower along the bank. $dragon_name glides above the tree tops, following the river as it slithers to the right, until you find yourself a shielded strip of land far enough.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon]]$dragon_name is beyond thrilled when you show up at $dragon_his door, sweets held victoriously high as you slip inside, like a hard-earned trophy.
<<if $dragon_personality == "friendly">><<print $dragon_he.toUpperFirst()>> even offers to share with $dragon_his temporary roommates, but the nicer one out of the two politely declines while the other simply huffs from their place across the chamber.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggresive">><<print $dragon_he.toUpperFirst()>> even sneers at the other two dragons as their snouts flicker, taking in the sweet aroma. It's a terrible idea getting between $dragon_name and $dragon_his dessert.
<</if>>
//The river.// It's all you say through your telepathic link. It's all you need to say, $dragon_name's eyes lighting up in understanding as you grab your harness and head out the door.
The sky is clear, an endless expense of soft blue. The sun warms your cheeks even as wind whips against your face the higher you rise. $dragon_name's thoughts are rustling with excitement at the sweet promise in your pocket, and you allow yourself to finally relax, to let your tension be carried away by the breeze, to let the calm of the sky seep deep into your bones.
You navigate the familiar ocean of green, and before long you've reached your usual place by the river. You can already catch a glimpse of the slithering water, gentle rippling blue capped with shimmering diamonds. As your dragon starts to descend, your stomach tumbling with excitement, the river bank reveals itself to you - and it is not how you expected it to be.
//There's someone down there!// $dragon_name exclaims, echoing your silent observation.
Down by the river, where you and your dragon usually play and lounge and talk, there's another dragon. White scales shinning silver where the sun catches them. They look about the size of your dragon and around the same age.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
It's Callum, whom you met last night at the lodge, the sweet, shy dragon so unlike their rider.
And next to them, Galahad.
<<else>>
You don't recognize the dragon, but you do the blonde boy next to them.
Galahad's here.
<</if>>
Both have their backs turned to you, facing the river unaware of your approach. The boy's arms are raised, and you lean forward with narrowed eyes, trying to deduce what he is trying to accomplish. What looks like melting icicles hover in front of him, only they're laid horizontal, like weapons ready to attack on command. You doubt they'd do more than splash water in your face though. They stop dripping as Galahad flexes his fingers, but they're also changing shape, slowly - before suddenly bursting back into liquid form and cascading down in the river. They were crude imitations of Lancelot's daggers, which were meticulously carved ice, a feat to prove his skill. His arms drop and his shoulders sag, but the dragon gently pushes their snout against him, which seems to encourage the boy, who yet again raises his hands. Rather than attempt the ice daggers again, small droplets of water rise from the river and explode over them like rainfall.
The dragon's maw opens in a delighted laugh as they jump back, and when Galahad spins towards them, he's smiling. //Smiling.// The expression doesn't last long though. The smile is wiped from his face as quickly as sea waves wash away lines in the sand when his gaze falls on your approaching form. It's quickly replaced by an icy glare. Just as well, you're more familiar with his cool distaste than the gentle mien he showed earlier.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//He really hates you, doesn't he?// $dragon_name observes, taking in the frigid glare leveled your way. //He could freeze you with that look. No fun, that one,// $dragon_his pout echoes in your head, their disappointment almost tangible.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//He really hates you, doesn't he?// $dragon_name observes, taking in the frigid glare leveled your way. //That look isn't very friendly, is it?" Maybe we could win him over?// your dragon suggests, $dragon_his own hope seeping into you, chasing away the cold of Galahad's gaze. $dragon_name has always believed in the power of friendship.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//He really hates you, doesn't he? That look is so cold,// $dragon_name observes, taking in the frigid glare leveled your way. //Let's go down there, Mordred! There's a few words I'd like to tell him.// You can already tell from $dragon_his fierceness that bleeds through your connection what kind of choice words $dragon_he has for Galahad.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//He really hates you, doesn't he? That look is so cold,// $dragon_name observes, taking in the frigid glare leveled your way. //So mean,// your dragon pouts, $dragon_his disappointment bleeding through your connection. //Do you think we should just avoid him?//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//He really hates you, doesn't he? That look is so cold,// $dragon_name observes, taking in the frigid glare leveled your way. //I say we just avoid him,// you dragon suggests nervously.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//He really hates you, doesn't he? That look is so cold,// $dragon_name observes, taking in the frigid glare leveled your way. //Let me at him!// your dragon angrily huffs, the heat bleeding through your connection enough to melt away Galahad's icy gaze.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[We will land on the opposite side of the river, just to spite him!|Chapt3GalahadSpite][$defiant to $defiant+2, $gally_river to "spite"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[We're landing next to him. I'm set on winning him over, one way or another.|Chapt3GalahadCharm][$Galahad_ally to $Galahad_ally+3, $persuasion to $persuasion+1, $gally_river to "charm", $Galahad to $Galahad+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[We're landing next to him. I want to befriend him!|Chapt3GalahadFriend][$Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+3, $persuasion to $persuasion+1, $gally_river to "friend", $Galahad to $Galahad+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[We're landing next to him. It's time to confront him about his hostility.|Chapt3GalahadConfront1][$defiant to $defiant+2, $gally_river to "confront"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[We're landing next to him, because that's our place. If anyone leaves, it will be him.|Chapt3GalahadStubborn][$defiant to $defiant+2, $intimidation to $intimidation+1, $gally_river to "stubborn"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[We're going down the river away from him. I'm too afraid of what he might do.|Chapt3GalahadAfraid][$defiant to $defiant-2, $gally_river to "afraid"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[We're going down the river away from him. I don't have the patience to deal with him right now.|Chapt3GalahadNerve][$gally_river to "nerve"]]</div><<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//We're going to land on the other side of the river, just to spite him!//
//Spite him? How?// dragon_name seems genuinely confused by your brillitant strategy.
//With our mere presence,// you clarify.
//Oh.// There's a pause, followed by a bright, //Maybe his dragon will want to play with me.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//We're going to land on the other side of the river, just to spite him!//
//Or,// $dragon_name starts hopefully, //we could attempt befriending them?//
//I'm not befriending that bully,// you resolutely reply.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//We're going to land on the other side of the river, just to spite him!//
//Why not right next to him? I want to chew him out for how he treats you.// A pause. //Verbally I mean. Unless he decides to act up.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//We're going to land on the other side of the river, just to spite him!//
//Maybe we could just go somewhere else then? Avoid any conflict? We don't need to annoy him...// $dragon_name sounds a bit nervous.
//No! We're not relenting!/
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//We're going to land on the other side of the river, just to spite him!//
//I don't think it's a good idea. We should just go somewhere else, avoid conflict. We don't need to annoy him...// $dragon_name protests, but you won't hear it.
//Trust me, I can handle that bully.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//We're going to land on the other side of the river, just to spite him!//
//Oh, why not get closer? Show him for how he treats you!// $dragon_name fiercely counters.
<</if>>
When he realizes your landing trajectory, Galahad's cool gaze narrows.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum's expression, however, shines with a timid delight.
<<else>>
His dragon watches with light blue eyes, devoid of any hostility so plentiful in his rider's own - instead, the dragon seems confused, almost curious.
<</if>>
$dragon_name makes a smooth landing on the opposite side of the river. Just as fluidly, you slip off your dragon's back. Your appearance is not as put together though.
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy" or $hair_type == "curly">>
Flying can sometimes leave your hair in an utter mess, and once you even lost your loosely fastened cloak. Not this time, luckily. You arrange your hair extensively, feeling Galahad's gaze boring into your back.
<<else>>
Flying can sometimes leave you in an utter mess, and once you even lost your loosely fastened cloak. Not this time, luckily. You pat down your clothes extensively, feeling Galahad's gaze boring into your back.
<</if>>
//He's looking at me, isn't he?//
//Yeah,// $dragon_name confirms. //And not very nicely either.//
<div class="choice">[[Turn to glare at him.|Chapt3GalSpiteShy][$confident to $confident-5, $chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Turn to smile smugly at him.|Chapt3GalSpiteShy][$confident to $confident+5, $chapt3_shyness to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ignore him completely.|Chapt3GalSpiteShy][$confident to $confident+5, $chapt3_shyness to 3]]</div><<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//We're going to land right next to him. If anyone leaves, it'll be him!//
//Maybe his dragon wants to play?// $dragon_name asks hopefully.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//We're going to land right next to him. If anyone leaves, it'll be him!//
//Oh, don't you think we could try to befriend them?// $dragon_name asks hopefully.
//I'm not befriending that bully,// you resolutely reply.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//We're going to land right next to him. If anyone leaves, it'll be him!//
//Yeah!// your dragon cheers you on. //Oh, I'll chew him out for how he treats you.// A pause. //Verbally I mean. Unless he decides to act up.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//We're going to land right next to him. If anyone leaves, it'll be him!//
//Maybe we could just go somewhere else then? Avoid any conflict?// $dragon_name sounds a bit nervous.
//No! That's out place and we won't let him take it!//
//Yes...Right!// $dragon_he tries to sound as resolute as you.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//We're going to land right next to him. If anyone leaves, it'll be him!//
//I don't think it's a good idea. We should just go somewhere else, avoid conflict,// $dragon_name protests, but you won't hear it.
//Trust me, I can handle that bully.//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//We're going to land right next to him. If anyone leaves, it'll be him!//
//And I'll show him for treating you that way!//
<</if>>
You could go down the river and away, but it's the principle of it! This is your safe space, and you won't let Galahad steal that from you.
When he realizes your landing trajectory, Galahad's cool gaze narrows.
<<if $met_callum is true>>
Callum's expression, however, shines with a timid delight.
<<else>>
The dragon watches with light blue eyes devoid of any hostility so plentiful in his rider's own - instead, they seem confused, almost curious.
<</if>>
$dragon_name makes a smooth landing next to the pair. The flapping of wings flutters his blonde hair and his pale blue cloak, but the boy doesn't flinch. Just as fluidly, you slip off your dragon's back. Your appearance is not as put together though.
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy" or $hair_type == "curly">>
Flying can sometimes leave your hair in an utter mess, and once you even lost your loosely fastened cloak. Not this time, luckily. You quickly arrange your hair before turning towards Galahad and his dragon.
<<else>>
Flying can sometimes leave you in an utter mess, and once you even lost your loosely fastened cloak. Not this time, luckily. You quickly pat down your clothes before turning towards Galahad and his dragon.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Your motivation isn't dampened, but you feel shyness creeping in.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy][$confident to $confident-5, $chapt3_shyness to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You stride forward, fueled by your confidence.|Chapt3GalStubbornShy][$confident to $confident+5, $chapt3_shyness to 2]]</div><<if $chapt3gallychoice1 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Were you practising water magic?\""|Chapt3GallyCharmConvo1][$chapt3gallychoice1 to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3gallychoice2 is false and $met_callum is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Your dragon friend seems nice.\""|Chapt3GallyCharmConvo2][$chapt3gallychoice2 to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3gallychoice2 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Callum seems very nice.\""|Chapt3GallyCharmConvo2][$chapt3gallychoice2 to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3gallychoice3 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Your friendship with Gawain is very endearing.\""|Chapt3GallyCharmConvo3][$chapt3gallychoice3 to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Silence falls between you.|Chapt3GallyCharmConvo4][$chapt3gallychoice3 to true]]</div>"Were you practising water magic?"
"Yes." You wait for him to elaborate, but the only sounds that follow are those of the warbling birds and the rushing stream.
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
"I'm studying it, too," you say to fill the silence stretching between you, hoping it reaches him and bridges the gap.
<<if $water_gally is true>>
"I know." He glances at you, and your gazes meet. He must read the surprise in your eyes before he quickly turns away, because he adds, "You said so on the first day of the tournament."
"You remembered!"
<<else>>
He throws you a glance over his shoulder, gray eyes ever so guarded. Yet, beneath their icy shield, you can see a glimpse of interest, before he turns away again.
<</if>>
[[Continue|GallyRiverWater1]]
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I've taken an interest, too," you lie.|GallyRiverWater][$honest to $honest-3, $fake_interest_gally to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["That's impressive."|GallyRiverWater]]</div>
<</if>><<if $met_callum is false>>
"Your dragon friend seems nice," you remark.
<<if $defiant < 55 and $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Unlike you," $dragon_name quips in the dragon tongue.
Galahad's brow creases, but he doesn't say anything.
<<elseif $defiant < 55 and $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Unlike you," $dragon_name quips in the dragon tongue.
Galahad's brow creases, but he doesn't say anything.
<<elseif $defiant >= 55>>
"Certainly nicer than you," you quip, tone light and teasing.
Galahad's brow creases, but he doesn't say anything.
<</if>>
"What's your name?" you address the dragon in their tongue.
The white dragon's eyes flit to Galahad before he replies, quietly, head half-bowed in salute. "Callum."
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, enthusiastic nod of the head. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to play?" The words tumble out like a waterfall.
Callum shifts, as if to get up, then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, $dragon_his keenness rippling through your connection. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you. $dragon_name talks animatedly, splashing through the shallows of the river as Callum follow.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, friendly nod of the head. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to leave them to their own affairs and have some fun?"
//Ditching us, huh?// you say through your connection.
//Just making a friend,// $dragon_name quips.
Callum shifts, as if to get up, then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, waiting for Callum to follow. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, friendly nod of the head. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to ditch them and have some fun?"
//Ditching us, huh?// you say through your connection.
//Just making a friend,// $dragon_name quips.
Callum's eyes widen. His gaze shifts to Galahad, then snaps back to your dragon and he moves as if to get up, then hesitates. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, waiting for Callum to follow. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
$dragon_name offers a bashful nod of $dragon_his own. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Do you...would you like to play?"
Callum seems taken by suprise, his eyes widening. He shifts, as if to get up, then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon gets up, slowly, unsure. Callum's eyes return to $dragon_his, and he gives a small nod. $dragon_name lets out a barely inaudible sigh, but you can feel the relief flood through your connection.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
$dragon_name offers a bashful nod of $dragon_his own. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Do you...would you like to play?" The words are quiet, nervous.
Callum seems taken by suprise, his eyes widening. He shifts, as if to get up, then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon gets up, slowly, unsure. Callum's eyes return to $dragon_his, and he gives a small nod. $dragon_name lets out a barely inaudible sigh, but you can feel the relief flood through your connection.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
$dragon_name offers a quick nod, $dragon_his eyes guarded. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk." $dragon_name pauses. "Do you want to play?" It sounds more like a threat than an invitation.
//I just want to see what he's made of,// $dragon_he says through your connection.
//You mean you want to make a friend?// you tease back.
Callum seems taken by suprise, his eyes widening. He shifts, as if to get up, then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon is already on $dragon_his feet, however. Callum's eyes return to $dragon_his, and he gives a small nod.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Callum's very nice," you remark.
<<if $defiant < 55 and $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Unlike you," $dragon_name quips in the dragon tongue.
<<elseif $defiant < 55 and $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Unlike you," $dragon_name quips in the dragon tongue.
<<elseif $defiant >= 55>>
"Certainly nicer than you," you quip, tone light and teasing.
<</if>>
"I should introduce you to my friend. This is $dragon_name." You place your palm on $dragon_his side.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, enthusiastic nod of the head. "Nice to meet you! I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to play?" The words tumble out like a waterfall.
Callum shifts, as if to get up, then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, $dragon_his keenness rippling through your connection. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you. $dragon_name talks animatedly, splashing through the shallows of the river as Callum follow.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, friendly nod of the head. "Nice to meet you. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to leave them to their own affairs and have some fun?"
//Ditching us, huh?// you say through your connection.
//Just making a friend,// $dragon_name quips.
Callum shifts, as if to get up, then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, waiting for Callum to follow. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, friendly nod of the head. "Nice to meet you. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to ditch them and have some fun?"
//Ditching us, huh?// you say through your connection.
//Just making a friend,// $dragon_name quips.
Callum's eyes widen. His gaze shifts to Galahad, then snaps back to your dragon and he moves as if to get up, then hesitates. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, waiting for Callum to follow. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
$dragon_name offers a bashful nod of $dragon_his own. "Nice to meet you. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Do you...would you like to play?"
Callum seems taken by suprise, his eyes widening. He shifts, as if to get up, then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon gets up, slowly, unsure. Callum's eyes return to $dragon_his, and he gives a small nod. $dragon_name lets out a barely inaudible sigh, but you can feel the relief flood through your connection.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
$dragon_name offers a bashful nod of $dragon_his own. "Nice to meet you. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Do you...would you like to play?" The words are quiet, nervous.
Callum seems taken by suprise, his eyes widening. He shifts, as if to get up, then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon gets up, slowly, unsure. Callum's eyes return to $dragon_his, and he gives a small nod. $dragon_name lets out a barely inaudible sigh, but you can feel the relief flood through your connection.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
$dragon_name offers a quick nod, $dragon_his eyes guarded. "I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk." $dragon_name pauses. "Do you want to play?" It sounds more like a threat than an invitation.
//I just want to see what he's made of,// $dragon_he says through your connection.
//You mean you want to make a friend?// you tease back.
Callum seems taken by suprise, his eyes widening. He shifts, as if to get up, then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon is already on $dragon_his feet, however. Callum's eyes return to $dragon_his, and he gives a small nod.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GallyCharmConvo>>The two boys, althought as similar as night and day, are almost inseperable. The softest expressions you've seen on Galahad were directed at Gawain, and his warning to stay away from him still rings loud and clear in your head. He cares about him. One might even say, Gawain is his vulnerability. A good thing to keep in mind, as Morgana would tell you.
"I can see you care a lot about Gawain and want to protect him. It's very endearing."
Galahad just stares blankly at you, gaze quickly flitting over each of your features. As if anything, a crease or taut muscle in your face might give away the intention behind your words. He lets out a heavy, irked breath and looks away.
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
There's the sketch of a smile on his lips. Faint, but it's there, candid and warm.
<<else>>
"Is he at the tournament? It's strange not seeing the two of you together-"
"Yes," he cuts you off, his tone making it clear he wishes to cut off this entire conversation.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GallyCharmConvo>>Silence falls between you, filled by the rush of the river and the faint conversation of your dragons, peppered by laughter. The air doesn't seem as fraught as it was in the beginning, neither does Galahad look as tense. You sit like that for a while, basking in the gentle warmth of the autumn sun, listening to the trill of birds and the occasional rustle of foliage.
Perhaps you did manage to reach Galahad. To change his mind, if only a little bit. And one day, perhaps you'll manage to switch it completely.
Finally, Galahad gets up. "Callum and I should get back to the castle."
"You should stop by one of the stalls and get some sweets if you haven't already. I have, and got treats for both $dragon_name and I," you pat your pocket.
The start of a smile shapes his lips before he catches himself. Ha! Small, but irrefutable proof that he's not made of stone. He calls out to Callum, who looks sad to leave. Seems like $dragon_name might have made a friend.
You get up, too. "I'm glad we talked. Hopefully we can do this again."
His back is turned to you, his palm resting on Callum's back. "Why?"
<div class="choice">[["I told you. I want to mend things."|Chapt3Mend]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I told you. I want to mend things." And perhaps...you did enjoy yourself.|Chapt3Mend][$Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+2]]</div><<if $chapt3gallychoice1 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Were you practising water magic?\""|Chapt3GallyFriendConvo1][$chapt3gallychoice1 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3gallychoice2 is false and $met_callum is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Your dragon friend seems nice.\""|Chapt3GallyFriendConvo2][$chapt3gallychoice2 to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3gallychoice2 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Callum seems very nice.\""|Chapt3GallyFriendConvo2][$chapt3gallychoice2 to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3gallychoice3 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Why are you here and not at the tournament? Or with Gawain?\""|Chapt3GallyFriendConvo3][$chapt3gallychoice3 to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Silence falls between you.|Chapt3GallyFriendConvo4][$chapt3gallychoice3 to true]]</div>"Were you practising water magic?"
"Yes."
You wait for him to elaborate, but the only sounds that follow are those of the warbling birds and the rushing stream.
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
"I'm studying it, too," you say to fill the silence stretching between you, hoping it reaches him and bridges the gap.
<<if $water_gally is true>>
"I know." He glances at you, and your gazes meet. He must read the surprise in your eyes before he quickly turns away, because he adds, "You said so on the first day of the tournament."
"You remembered!"
<<else>>
He throws you a glance over his shoulder, gray eyes ever so guarded. Yet, beneath their icy shield, you can see a glimpse of interest, before he turns away again.
<</if>>
<<else>>
"That's impressive," you say to fill the silence stretching between you. You've never really bothered with learning it, yourself, though you do know quite enough from Morgana.
He throws you a glance over his shoulder, gray eyes ever so guarded. He's frowning, but he looks more confused than angry.
<</if>>
"What exactly were you practising?"
Silence. Then he sighs. It seems as if he's admitted defeat. "I was practising the ice daggers father did at the tournament. Among others."
The mention of Lancelot reminds you of what Robin said this morning, when Morgana inquired about the aftermath of her poison. You wonder if Galahad came here for some peaceful moments, to lift his moods after having to witness his father sick. You consider whether to inquire about his health, when Galahad asks, "How's Sir Accolon?"
The question startles you. You glance at him, but the boy stubbornly fixes the river, face half-turned, jaw tense. Is he afraid to meet your eyes?
"He's recovering," you respond and Galahad nods, still not looking at you.
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry about what happened to Lancelot. How is he?" You genuinely feel bad for him, despite him hurting Accolon.|LancelotGallyConvo][$chapt3convolance to 1, $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How's your father?" You still believe Lancelot deserved it for attacking Accolon. But he did inquire about your father, and you sympathize with Galahad's position.|LancelotGallyConvo][$chapt3convolance to 2, $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["So, is it something you enjoy doing, or just part of your training?" you ask. You don't wish to inquire about Lancelot. He's the one who hurt Accolon, after all.|LancelotGallyConvo][$chapt3convolance to 3]]</div><<if $met_callum is false>>
"Your dragon friend seems nice," you remark.
<<if $defiant < 55 and $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Unlike you," $dragon_name quips in the dragon tongue.
Galahad's brow creases, but he doesn't say anything.
<<elseif $defiant < 55 and $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Unlike you," $dragon_name quips in the dragon tongue.
Galahad's brow creases, but he doesn't say anything.
<<elseif $defiant >= 55>>
"Certainly nicer than you," you quip, tone light and teasing.
Galahad's brow creases, but he doesn't say anything.
<</if>>
"What's your name?" you address the dragon in their tongue.
The white dragon's eyes flit to Galahad before they quietly reply, head half-bowed in salute. "Callum."
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, enthusiastic nod of the head. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to play?" The words tumble out like a waterfall.
Callum shifts as if to get up then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, $dragon_his keenness rippling through your connection. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you. $dragon_name talks animatedly, splashing through the shallows of the river as Callum follow.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, friendly nod of the head. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to leave them to their own affairs and have some fun?"
//Ditching us, huh?// you say through your connection.
//Just making a friend,// $dragon_name quips.
Callum shifts as if to get up then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, waiting for Callum to follow. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, friendly nod of the head. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to ditch them and have some fun?"
//Ditching us, huh?// you say through your connection.
//Just making a friend,// $dragon_name quips.
Callum's eyes widen. Their gaze shifts to Galahad then snaps back to your dragon and they move as if to get up, then hesitate. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, waiting for Callum to follow. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
$dragon_name offers a bashful nod of $dragon_his own. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Do you...would you like to play?"
Callum seems taken by suprise, their eyes widening. They shift as if to get up then hesitate, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon slowly gets up, unsure of what Callum will choose. When the white dragon gives them a small nod, $dragon_name lets out a barely inaudible sigh. You can feel the relief flood through your connection.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
$dragon_name offers a bashful nod of $dragon_his own. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Do you...would you like to play?" The words are quiet, nervous.
Callum seems taken by suprise, their eyes widening. They shift as if to get up then hesitate, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon slowly gets up, unsure of what Callum will choose. When the white dragon gives them a small nod, $dragon_name lets out a barely inaudible sigh. You can feel the relief flood through your connection.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
$dragon_name offers a quick nod, $dragon_his eyes guarded. "I'm $dragon_name. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk." $dragon_name pauses. "Do you want to play?" It sounds more like a threat than an invitation.
//I just want to see what he's made of,// $dragon_he says through your connection.
//You mean you want to make a friend?// you tease back.
Callum seems taken by suprise, their eyes widening. They shift as if to get up then hesitate, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon is already on $dragon_his feet, however. It seems to embolden Callum, who gives them a small nod and follows.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Callum's very nice," you remark.
<<if $defiant < 55 and $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"Unlike you," $dragon_name quips in the dragon tongue.
<<elseif $defiant < 55 and $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Unlike you," $dragon_name quips in the dragon tongue.
<<elseif $defiant >= 55>>
"Certainly nicer than you," you quip, tone light and teasing.
<</if>>
"I should introduce you to my friend. This is $dragon_name." You place your palm on $dragon_his side.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, enthusiastic nod of the head. "Nice to meet you! I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to play?" The words tumble out like a waterfall.
Callum nods and shifts as if to get up then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, $dragon_his keenness rippling through your connection. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you. $dragon_name talks animatedly, splashing through the shallows of the river as Callum follow.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, friendly nod of the head. "Nice to meet you. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to leave them to their own affairs and have some fun?"
//Ditching us, huh?// you say through your connection.
//Just making a friend,// $dragon_name quips.
Callum shifts as if to get up then hesitates, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, waiting for Callum to follow. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
$dragon_name offers a quick, friendly nod of the head. "Nice to meet you. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Want to ditch them and have some fun?"
//Ditching us, huh?// you say through your connection.
//Just making a friend,// $dragon_name quips.
Callum's eyes widen. Their gaze shifts to Galahad then snaps back to your dragon. They move as if to get up then hesitate. Your dragon, however, is already on $dragon_his feet, waiting for Callum to follow. Emboldened, Callum gets up, glancing back at Galahad one more time.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
$dragon_name offers a bashful nod of $dragon_his own. "Nice to meet you. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Do you...would you like to play?"
Callum seems taken by suprise, their eyes widening. They shift as if to get up then hesitate, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon slowly gets up, unsure of what Callum will choose. When the white dragon give them a small nod, $dragon_name lets out a barely inaudible sigh. You can feel the relief flood through your connection.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
$dragon_name offers a bashful nod of $dragon_his own. "Nice to meet you. I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk. Do you...would you like to play?" The words are quiet, nervous.
Callum seems taken by suprise, their eyes widening. They shifts as if to get up then hesitate, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon slowly gets up, unsure of what Callum will choose. When the white dragon gives a small nod, $dragon_name lets out a barely inaudible sigh. You can feel the relief flood through your connection.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
$dragon_name offers a quick nod, $dragon_his eyes guarded. "I saw you around the lodge but we didn't have the chance to talk." $dragon_name pauses. "Do you want to play?" It sounds more like a threat than an invitation.
//I just want to see what he's made of,// $dragon_he says through your connection.
//You mean you want to make a friend?// you tease back.
Callum seems taken by suprise, their eyes widening. They shift as if to get up then hesitate, gaze inadvertly drawn to Galahad. Your dragon is already on $dragon_his feet, however. Emboldened, Callum gives them a small nod and follows.
The boy just sighs as the two dragons move away from you.
Well, that was easy. You wish it were so with Galahad, too.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GallyFriendConvo>>"Why are you here and not at the tournament? Or with Gawain?"
<<if $chapt3gallychoice1 is true>>
"I wanted to spend time with Callum. Gawain's busy attending to his father, anyway."
<<else>>
<<if $chapt3gallychoice2 is false>>
"It's none of your business," he curtly replies. Callum pushes his snoot gently against his arm, however, and the boy relents. "I wanted to spend time with Callum."
<<else>>
He doesn't reply immediately, and you doubt he will when he says, "I wanted to spend time with Callum."
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GallyFriendConvo>>Silence falls between you, filled by the rush of the river and the faint conversation of your dragons, peppered by laughter. The air doesn't seem as fraught as it was in the beginning, neither does Galahad look as tense. You sit like that for a while, basking in the gentle warmth of the autumn sun, listening to the trill of birds and the occasional rustle of foliage. Then, slowly, you slink closer to the river, peering into the clear waters of its shallows. You can feel Galahad's eyes on you. You reach out and scoop out a small, rounded gray rock. The water is cool on your skin, but it feels refreshing.
"I used to collect shells and rocks in Avalon," you say, studying the rock in your hand. The ones in this river are incredibly dull, compared to the ones you found on the beach. Those ones shone like gemstones, and came in as many colors and patterns as them. Some were streaked, some speckled or irregularly spotted. They took all sorts of shapes too - round, perfectly polished by waves, or strangely cut, as if fragments of some artefact lost to the sea. Nimue loved searching for them all.
You glance over your shoulder. "Gawain said you've been to Avalon, too. Have you visited often?"
"A few times."
"Did you pick shells and rocks, too?" It's become a dance of sorts; you make the first move, asking a question, and wait for him to follow your lead.
"Yes." A pause. "With my mother."
You nod, then glance back at the gray, smoothed rock in your palm. It fits snugly inside it.
<div class="choice">[[Give it to Galahad. A token of friendship.|RockGift][$gray_rock to "true", $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give it to Galahad. A token of friendship. And affection, though you don't say that. ❤|RockGift][$gray_rock to "true_ro", $gally_crush to $gally_crush+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[Give it to Galahad. A token of friendship. 💕|RockGift][$gray_rock to "clueless_ro", $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You let it fall back in the river.|RockGift][$gray_rock to "false"]]</div><<if $chapt3_smile_gally == 1>>
<<if $Galahad >= 25>>
You offer him a bright, sunny smile. The corner of his mouth twitches up, brow pinched as if he couldn't quite believe his slight initiative towards a smile himself. But before you can actually see it turn into anything else, Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
You offer him a bright smile, bright enough to melt the ice, you hope. Your friendly gesture is met with confusion, which persists until Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<<else>>
You offer him a bright smile, bright enough to melt the ice, you hope. Your friendly gesture takes him aback, as if it were the last thing he expected from you. He stares, wide eyed and dubious, until Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_smile_gally == 2>>
<<if $Galahad >= 25>>
You offer him a shy, warm smile. The corner of his mouth twitches up, brow pinched as if he couldn't quite believe his slight initiative towards a smile himself. But before you can actually see it turn into anything else, Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
You offer him a shy smile, which you hope chips at the ice, if it can't melt. Your friendly gesture is met with confusion, which persists until Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<<else>>
You offer him a shy smile, which you hope chips at the ice, if it can't melt. Your friendly gesture takes him aback, as if it were the last thing he expected from you. He stares, wide eyed and dubious, until Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_smile_gally == 3>>
<<if $Galahad >= 25>>
You offer him a charming smile, utterly radiant and absolutely phoney. The corner of his mouth twitches up, brow pinched as if he couldn't quite believe his slight initiative towards a smile himself. But before you can actually see it turn into anything else, Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
You offer him a charming smile, utterly radiant and absolutely phoney, hoping it'll melt some of that ice. Your friendly gesture is met with confusion, which persists until Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<<else>>
You offer him a charming smile, utterly radiant and absolutely phoney, hoping it'll melt some of that ice. Your friendly gesture takes him aback, as if it were the last thing he expected from you. He stares, wide eyed and dubious, until Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_smile_gally == 4>>
Lot would hate you even more for being a disrespectful menace in a situation of such regal gravity; that is, if his loathing of you isn't already insurmountable. All propiety and decorum aside, you stick your tongue out at Galahad in a way that befits nursery squabbles. Galahad rolls his eyes at you, in a far more subtle and less insolent gesture than yours.
<<elseif $chapt3_smile_gally == 5>>
The wry tilt of your lips holds nothing genuine or sweet, just contempt. His eyes narrow into sharp gray slits, pinned on you until Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<<elseif $chapt3_smile_gally == 6>>
If he wants to gawk, you'll give him something to look at and paint your face in a mean scowl. His eyes narrow into sharp gray slits, pinned on you until Elena slides a hand over his shoulder, gently stirring him away after Lancelot.
<<elseif $chapt3_smile_gally == 7>>
Your gaze drifts away from him, like water rolling off a duck. Let him stare all he wants, you won't offer any satisfaction of reciprocating.
<</if>>
The rest of the Camelotian party, dragon and human alike, express their gratitude and say their goodbye, before splitting into two groups - one, largest, escorted towards the lavish carriages, while Arthur and his knights mount their dragon companions.
<<if $chapt3_arthur_library is true>>
Back in the library, Arthur confessed to you that he abohors carriages and prefers flying whenever he can, and Elewen is perfectly delighted by it. When you admitted you too tried your best to avoid the horrid contraptions, you shared in a precious moment of solidarity over your common, four-wheeled enemy.
<</if>>
The Corbenic party is next in line, but your gaze keeps shifting up, to the quickly retreating dragons becoming dots against the rose-colored sky.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<<if $chapt3_arthur_library is true>>
It feels like you've just found Arthur, only to lose him all over again. You tell yourself it's absurd - he's promised, eagerly and solemly so, to keep in touch with you. He may be mountains and plains away but he'll be present. And when he can, he'll travel all that distance to see you again. That he promised you, and you'll hold him to his word.
<<else>>
It feels like you've found Arthur only to lose him all over again. Stabbing your heart anew, making it bleed from bottomless wells of pain within you. And perhaps this time you've played your own part in pushing him away, in shunning him, barring him from the wounded heart of yours in a desperate yet fruitless attempt to keep it from hurting harder.
<</if>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
<<if $chapt3_arthur_library is true>>
It feels like you've just found Arthur, only to lose him all over again. You tell yourself it's absurd - he's promised, eagerly and solemly so, to keep in touch with you. He may be mountains and plains away but he'll be present. And when he can, he'll travel all that distance to see you again. That he promised you, but you're not quite sure how much weight you can put on his words. If it's all going to end up in you getting abandoned a second time.
<<else>>
It feels like you've found Arthur only to lose him all over again. Stabbing your heart anew, making it bleed from bottomless wells of pain within you. And perhaps this time you've played your own part in pushing him away, in shunning him, barring him from the wounded heart of yours in a desperate yet fruitless attempt to keep it from hurting harder.
<</if>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "indifference">>
Meeting the man who sired you has proved a weary, fraught affair and you feel somewhat of a relief watching him go now.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate">>
If looks could kill, you're sure yours would have made Arthur plummet down already with the day you're fixing his retreat, blood coursing hot through your veins.
<</if>>
There's a long day ahead of you.
[[End of chapter 3|Chapter4]]<<if $figurine == "yes">>
You head for the library, feeling the weight of the figurine like a reminder of the encounter, seeking - needing - solace from Gareth. Of course, you can't tell him you met your father, but even just sharing with him that you met Arthur is enough. You just want to see what Gareth has to say about his uncle.
<<else>>
You head for the library, seeking - needing - solace from Gareth. Of course, you can't tell him you met your father, but even just sharing with him that you met Arthur is enough. You just want to see what Gareth has to say about his uncle.
<</if>>
When you enter the library, you find Gareth actually studying this time, poring over some thick tome with the tired dilligence of one who knows they have to sludge through just a little bit more work before they can be done with it. That changes when he sees you though and he gleefully pushes away book and notebook. "Mordred! Here to save me?"
You chuckle, failing to be the bearer of the good news he wanted. "Come on, Gareth, aren't you done in an hour?" you say, to which he smiles sheepishly.
You get on the chair opposite him and cleave to the matter you came to discuss. "I met Arthur."
Gareth blinks, somewhat surprised. You've tried your best to school your face into one of unpracticed nonchalance, but you wonder if your heart, hammering anxiously in your chest, gives you away in the quiet of the library.
"This is the first time you're meeting, isn't it?" he asks.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
You nod, and Gareth smiles indulgently. "I can't say I've seen much of him, either. I get the general idea that he's kind..."
"I suppose." You shrug, biting back a bitter remark. Abandoning your child is not kind.
Gareth goes on, pensively: "He definitely tries to be as agreeable as he can. In private he has the same charm as that of a timid kitten. In public he seems capable of getting over the //timid// part well enough, when it's required of him." //Timid// seems to fit well along the lines of what you've seen of Arthur, so far.
<<elseif $reaction == "run">>
You nod, and Gareth smiles indulgently. "I can't say I've seen much of him, either. I get the general idea that he's kind..." He pauses, then goes on pensively: "He definitely tries to be as agreeable as he can. In private he has the same charm as that of a timid kitten. In public he seems capable of getting over the //timid// part well enough, when it's required of him."
<<else>>
You nod, and Gareth smiles indulgently. "I can't say I've seen much of him, either. I get the general idea that he's kind..." He pauses, then goes on pensively: "He definitely tries to be as agreeable as he can. In private he has the same charm as that of a timid kitten. In public he seems capable of getting over the //timid// part well enough, when it's required of him." //Timid// seems to fit well along the lines of what you've seen of Arthur, so far.
<</if>>
"What impression did he leave you?" Gareth turns the question on you.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
You make a discontented, grumbly sound from the back of your throat. You could wax poetic harangues about the emotions Arthur stirs in you, but hold your tongue for now.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
"He does seem agreeable," you say uncertainly, not quite sure what else to say when you feel like your thoughts are one big entangled mess you can't even begin to unravel. There's not much you can actually tell Gareth, either.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
"He does seem agreeable," you agree with a soft smile.
<<elseif $reaction == "run">>
"We haven't interacted enough to tell," you say.
<</if>>
<<if $figurine == "yes">>
"He gave me this." You produce the wood dragon figurine from under your cloak, tracing your index over its wooden scales, over its tiny eyes. "He sculpted it."
Gareth's brown eyes glint with sudden interest. "This is so pretty. Can I see it?" You hand it over and Gareth receives it as if it were a magical relic of the fae. He turns it around in his hands, raptly studying the details.
A short, sharp and demanding rap comes at the door, commanding your attention. Faint dread paints Gareth's features, and you can easily take a guess as to why. He returns the figurine which you conceal back under your cloak, and asks, "Yes?"
<<else>>
A short, sharp and demanding rap comes at the door, commanding your attention. Faint dread paints Gareth's features, and you can easily take a guess as to why.
"Yes?" he asks.
<</if>>
The door opens, and in comes Duke Lot, making an earlier and generous appearance to spare his son from the studies. His dark gaze flits between the two of you, fixing decidedly cool on you. Usually, you try to avoid him as much as you can and he never goes out of his way to seek you just to demean you. But when he does see you, his gaze is harsh and disgusted.
"Mordred, are you interrupting Gareth's studies?" he demands, stepping forward in all his hulking, gloomy glory, looking as if he's been cut out of the side of a cliff: jagged, stony, gray and weather-beaten.
You jump to your feet.
<div class="choice">[["I was just leaving," you say and rush away.|Chapt3Gareth1][$chapt3_defiant to "1", $defiant to $defiant-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Gareth needed a break," you say defiantly.|Chapt3Gareth1][$chapt3_defiant to "2", $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mother told me to bring him another book," you lie.|Chapt3Gareth1][$chapt3_defiant to "3", $honest to $honest-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'm sorry, Lord Lot.\""|Chapt3Gareth1][$chapt3_defiant to "4", $defiant to $defiant-2]]</div><<if $chapt3_defiant == "1">>
"I was just leaving," The words tumble out of your mouth as you scurry away like a mouse.
<<elseif $chapt3_defiant == "2">>
You shrug, a defiant smile on your lips. "Gareth needed a break."
Gareth gives you a warning look, but you ignore him. Lot just stares at you, eyes narrowed. "You are just like your mother. Go now."
Is that supposed to be an insult?
<<elseif $chapt3_defiant == "3">>
You put on an innocent smile. "Mother told me to bring him another book."
Lot stares at you, as if trying to tell if you're honest or not. Finally, he sighs. "Go now."
<<elseif $chapt3_defiant == "4">>
You bow your head. "I'm sorry, Lord Lot."
He looks unimpressed. "Go now."
<</if>>
<<if $tell == "gareth">>
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaLater]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3Castle1]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_gareth_mean == 1>>
You look upon Alina's troubled face. At the way she crosses her arms peutlantly, as if the night couldn't be over soon enough. At the way she glares at any poor thing her gaze falls on, be it a tray of cakes or a laughing Courtier. And it makes your heart sing.
She's been nothing but horrible to you. Why should you spare her any of the sympathy she never afforded to you?
"Then I'm the meanest of them all," you reply with a huff.
Gareth laughs. "Let's just hope she'll leave you alone from now on."
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_mean == 2>>
You look upon Alina's troubled face. At the way she crosses her arms petulantly, as if the night couldn't be over soon enough. At the way she glares at any poor thing her gaze falls on, be it a tray of cakes or a laughing Courtier. You'd be lying if you said you didn't find any gratification in seeing her like this.
Morgana would tell you there's nothing wrong about it. That you deserve to relish the sweet taste vindication. And one things she's definitely right about - there's something intoxicating about it, a poetic sense of justice. But all the same it makes your stomach clench with an ill-defined guilt, a heaviness that drags you down from your vengeful high.
"I don't know, Gareth," you say.
Gareth shakes his head. When he looks at you, he has a faint smile pinned in place. "Let's just hope she'll leave you alone from now on, alright?"
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_mean == 3>>
You look upon Alina's troubled face. At the way she crosses her arms peutlantly, as if the night couldn't be over soon enough. At the way she glares at any poor thing her gaze falls on, be it a tray of cakes or a laughing Courtier.
It's all so exhausting, to be honest. All the hate, all the fights. Having to be her dummy she can batter without consequences when she wishes to take out her furstrations on you.
"I don't fault you," you sigh. "I just wish for her to leave me alone."
Gareth pulls you closer using your chained arms and smiles. "Let's just hope she'll leave you alone from now on, alright?"
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_mean == 4>>
You look upon Alina's troubled face. At the way she crosses her arms peutlantly, as if the night couldn't be over soon enough. At the way she glares at any poor thing her gaze falls on, be it a tray of cakes or a laughing Courtier.
You wished you could have been friends. That she might have extended at least a shred of kindness instead of making you her dummy to take out her frustration on with no consequence.
"I don't fault you," you sigh. "I just wish things were different. That she didn't act the way she does."
Gareth pulls you closer using your chained arms and smiles. "Let's just hope she'll leave you alone from now on, alright?"
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_mean == 5>>
You look upon Alina's troubled face. At the way she crosses her arms peutlantly, as if the night couldn't be over soon enough. At the way she glares at any poor thing her gaze falls on, be it a tray of cakes or a laughing Courtier.
There's no other satisfaction to take from this other than the a sense of justice finally being served. For too long, Alina has taken her frustration out on you without consequences.
"I'm just happy she's facing the consequences of her own actions, and I don't think that makes me mean," you say reasonably.
"Oh, indeed," Gareth agrees, smiling.
<</if>>
You move on, leaving Alina sulking behind. You glide through the hall, bathed in the warm, golden light of candles that gilds everything that it touches - the dewy faces of the most zealous of dancers, the goblets that have been scrubbed to blinding shine, the banners, hanging proud like ripe, luxurious fruits from the dark wooden beams.
On your own, you'd stalk the expense of bone-white flagstone mostly ignored. No one wants to spoil their fun lending attention to the //bastard//, unless its shifty glances accompanied by the susurrus of gossip. The more recent and more sordid the better. Sometimes unease paints their faces, sometimes scorn. Other times it's plain curiosity.
But at the arm of the Duke's first born son - and his only legitimate child in the eyes of many, whatever the documents proclaiming his siring of you might say - you are seen. You are seen, and bask in a shadow of the glowing smiles and deferential nods Gareth receives. People restrain themselves from staring or glaring or whispering, for fear of inadvertently turning such an expression on Gareth. But it's all fair game behind his back.
By now you've almost reached the raised dais where Lot's table presides over the hall. It's mostly deserted, the Duke himself and Lancelot the only ones left seated. Lot lounges back in his high backed chair, as comfortably as such a chair can be; it's always striked you as valuing style over comfort with the ram-rod straightness of its back, crowned by spear-like heads. He's holding s goblet of what you presume to be wine, if the red-filled carafe he's claimed for himself, place handily by his plate, is anything to go by. He regards the crowd from his lofty position with an impassive, detached boredom. A few seats away sulks Lancelot, tan skin retaining a sicky, waxen sheen. Even the golden light does him little favor. But he must be fine if he can sit at the table without excusing himself to the restroom every few minutes. Morgana's poison has left him weakened, and his healers scrambling. Like a puss-filled boil, you've been waiting for all of it to burst open in a massive, ugly scandal, with serious accusasions leveled your mother's way, given how the knight was insisting it was her doing to anyone who'd listen. But it could not be traced back to her with evidence, and things have calmed down since.
Gareth stirs you across, to travel the lenght of the hall back on the other side.
<<if $chapt3_arthur_river == "yes">>
As you move between mingling Courtiers and Knights, you spot Morgana through the crowd. Then a man in rich velvet shifts, revealing her most curious choice of interlocutor. Arthur, who nurses a goblet and looks anywhere but her face as he speaks. You're not surprised he can't meet her gaze; whereas steadfast and calm, it fixes with face with a sort of languid yet piercing intensity. Like that of a cat who's roughed up her prey and left it, dazed, to see its next move, knowing full well she can subdue it with one swift paw whenever she decides.
"Isn't that peculiar," Gareth notes, eyes trained on your parents. "Mother and the King speaking - civilly enough, I'd say."
"Maybe it's a good sign?" you venture as a secret part of you soars on fragile wings of hope.
<<if $Gareth >= 80>>
You wish you could share these thoughts and sentiments with Gareth, like you do everything else. But you swallow it all back, like you did all those times before. The unsaid words go down bitter and hard and land uneasily in the pit of your stomach.
<</if>>
Gareth glances at you, eyes curious at the hopeful edge in your tone. He smiles indulgently. "I'd be nice to think so, yes." You're not quite sure how much he believes his own words or how much he wants to appease you. Or himself.
<<else>>
You pass a merry little group made up of Arthur, Gawain's parents, Galahad's mother - Elena - and a woman you vaguely recall seeing at Elena's arm, sauntering through the stalls at the fair. A friend from Court, or one of her ladies in waiting, you presume.
Farther along you spot Accolon, sitting in a plushly cushioned chair with a drink in hand, his face angled up towards Morgana, who's perched herself up on the armrest. Despite the healing scars and regressing, faint bruises on his face, the man looks better than the Champion Knight - both in complexion and spirits.
<</if>>
You finish your leisure grand tour of the feast hall...and set about an encore walk, stopping at some point to replenish your cups, this time with grape juice. The must prickles your tongue, astringent yet sweet. You then poise yourself at the edge of the dancing ring that has formed between the forefront tables - the ones closest to the dais, which include yours that you've forsaken - and //the others//, cleary delimitating the most power and wealth/heaviest coffers in this room. A visiual reminder of everyone's stations before they leave their table to mingle and dance and, in some cases, blur the lines.
To entertain yourselves, Gareth suggests you watch and rate the dancers skill and etiquette. You spy Lady Hilde and Sir Kay, twirling around with a spring in their step and enthusiasm abound, moving with the quickness and ease of feet of the performers you've seen on stage at the fair. Gareth rates them high for both spirits and prowess.
Then there's Elena du Lac. She's rotated partners after her husband graced her with one dance, swaying together on a slow, melancholy song of tweedling violins and flutes. Then Lancelot graciously allowed Hilde to take his place for a sprier tune as he returned to his seat. Most likely trying not to exert himself. Or perhaps he simply hates dancing. Lady Elena has been sitting out on the dances the nights before in a show of respect while her husband recovered from his ailment. She'd looked demure on her high-backed chair next to Lancelot, and even on the dance floor she seems timid and restrained, as if afraid to spread her wings. She has, however, all the poise and elegance Court dance teachers will try to hammer into your head.
You spend the rest of the feast talking and observing the other revelers, staying until your eyeslids grow heavy and you head for your respective chambers.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3GawainMorningLeave]]
<<else>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3MorningLeave]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_handle_gally == 1>>
This is as good as any an opportunity to befriend Galahad; a relaxed, cozy setting unlike the pavilion at the tournament, where emotions and adrenaline were running high. And with both Gawain and Gareth to help keep thing sailing, you may yet turn the tide of Galahad's heart.
<<if $gally_crush >= 2>>
//In more than one way,// you think as warmth pools in your chest.
<</if>>
"Yes," you reassure your brother, "Truth be told, I'm glad he'll be there too."
<<if $Gareth >= 80 and $gally_river == "friend_good">>
"Oh, are you still set on changing Galahad's mind?" A shadow of a smile plays over his lips. "I'll try helping with that, too."
Your own smile turns mischievous. "That sounds like a plan."
<<elseif $Gareth >= 80 and $gally_river == "friend">>
"Oh, are you still set on changing Galahad's mind?" A shadow of a smile plays over his lips. "I'll try helping with that, too."
Your own smile turns mischievous. "That sounds like a plan."
<<else>>
Gareth's eyes widen, but it soon eases into a strangely proud smile. "Are you by any chance trying to change his mind about you?" When you confirm, his smile widens. "Well, that's ambitious. And I'll support you how I can. But I will tell him off if he makes you uneasy, alright?"
<</if>>
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 2>>
This is as good as any an opportunity to charm Galahad; a relaxed, cozy setting unlike under the pavilion at the tournament, where emotions and adrenaline were running high. And with both Gawain and Gareth to help keep thing sailing, you may yet turn the tide of Galahad's heart.
<<if $gally_crush >= 2>>
//In more than one way, //you think as warmth pools in your chest.
<</if>>
"Yes," you reassure your brother, "Truth be told, I'm glad he'll be there too."
<<if $Gareth >= 80 and $gally_river == "charm_good">>
"Oh, are you still set on changing Galahad's mind?" A shadow of a smile plays over his lips. "I'll try helping with that, too."
Your own smile turns mischievous. "That sounds like a plan."
<<elseif $Gareth >= 80 and $gally_river == "charm">>
"Oh, are you still set on changing Galahad's mind?" A shadow of a smile plays over his lips. "I'll try helping with that, too."
Your own smile turns mischievous. "That sounds like a plan."
<<else>>
Gareth's eyes widen, but it soon eases into a strangely proud smile. "Are you by any chance trying to change his mind about you?" When you confirm, his smile widens. "Well, that's ambitious. And I'll support you how I can. But I will tell him off if he makes you uneasy, alright?"
<</if>>
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 3>>
Gawain looked so eager to be spending time with all of you, and you're equally excited; you won't let Galahad and his frosty demeanor ruin your night. By now, you've grown resilient to everything that's tossed your way. You have no other choice but to be so, lest you break.
"I don't really care. I can handle a bully. I certainly won't let him dampen my fun."
"I'm glad to hear so. But," - Gareth squeezes your forearm - "remember that you've got me too. If it comes to it, I'll put him in his place."
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 4>>
Galahad is Gawain closest, best friend, so if you're to be around Gawain you must let the other in your life, too, like it or not. At least it seems that Gawain is very much aware of Galahad's less than friendly treatment of you being a problem. So far, he's done his best to tide over any uneasy or tense moment, and confided in you that he's sure he can get Galahad to see what he sees in you. Eventually.
And so you reply, "I have to. He's Gawain's best friend."
"Well, yes, but that doesn't mean you must accept Galahad's ire." Gareth squeezes your forearm. "If it comes to it, I'll put him in his place."
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 5>>
It's not ideal, of course it's not. You'd much rather spend the evening just with Gawain and Gareth, without having Galahad there like a stalactite haning over your head: cold and always threatening to drop onto you with a sharp remark. But you'd rather just tolerate his chilly presence than stir the waters. Focus on the warmth and acceptance Gawain regales you with, bask in the protection Gareth extends to you. With them there, you have a shield.
"I'm not pleased, but I don't want to cause conflict," you tell Gareth, pulling at your sleeve.
Gareth squeezes your forearm. "If it comes to it, I'll put him in his place."
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 6>>
It's not ideal, of course it's not. You'd much rather spend the evening just with Gawain and Gareth, without having Galahad there like a stalactite haning over your head: cold and always threatening to drop onto you with a sharp remark. But you're not defenseless. You can parry his words with your own, meet his steely gaze with your own. You'd rather not come to it though, because you don't want to trouble Gawain. If Galahad truly cares about him, perhaps he'll put his joy above his petty animosity.
"I'm not pleased, but I don't want to upset Gawain," you tell Gareth. "Rest assure I won't let Galahad step all over me, however."
Gareth's lips quirk up, strangely proud. "I know you can handle youself. He squeezes your forearm. "But if it comes to it, I can help put him in his place."
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 10>>
You give Gareth your verdict: a small nod your head. It's all the answer he needs. A smile blooms on his face, sweet and easy and looking carved out of Morgana's face.
"Would you and Galahad like to join us in my quarters to play?"
"Yes!" Gawain bounces on his toes, unable to contain his excitement. Galahad doesn't look particularly thrilled, but neither does he protest.
"Shall we go then?" Gareth wipes his mouth with a napkin before getting up to lead the way.
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 11>>
You give Gareth your verdict: a subtle shake of your head. It's all the answer he needs. He commands a sweet, apologetic smile to his face with the ease and quickness you'd summon a flame to your palm, then turns to face Gawain. It's such a small thing, yet so reminiscent of Morgana. You wonder if he's even aware he's doing it. If he's studied her expressions and cultivated them, or if it's only by virtue of being her son.
"I apologize, Gawain. I don't feel quite well tonight, and I was planning on retiring early."
Gawain's smile falls, but he is quick to bring it back as the initial wave of disappointment passes over his face. "Perhaps some other time."
[[Continue|GarethFeastNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 12>>
This is as good as any an opportunity to befriend Galahad; a relaxed, cozy setting unlike under the pavilion at the tournament, where emotions and adrenaline were running high. And with both Gawain and Gareth to help keep thing sailing, you may yet turn the tide of Galahad's heart.
<<if $gally_crush >= 2>>
//In more than one way, //you think as warmth pools in your chest.
<</if>>
You smile and reassure your brother. "Yes. Truth be told, I'm glad he'll be there too."
Gareth's eyes widen, but it soon eases into a strangely proud smile. "Are you by any chance trying to change his mind about you?" When you confirm, his smile widens. "Well, that's ambitious. And I'll support you how I can. But I will tell him off if he makes you uneasy, alright?"
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 13>>
This is as good as any an opportunity to charm Galahad; a relaxed, cozy setting unlike under the pavilion at the tournament, where emotions and adrenaline were running high. And with both Gawain and Gareth to help keep thing sailing, you may yet turn the tide of Galahad's heart.
<<if $gally_crush >= 2>>
//In more than one way, //you think as warmth pools in your chest.
<</if>>
You smile and reassure your brother. "Yes. Truth be told, I'm glad he'll be there too."
Gareth's eyes widen, but it soon eases into a strangely proud smile. "Are you by any chance trying to change his mind about you?" When you confirm, his smile widens. "Well, that's ambitious. And I'll support you how I can. But I will tell him off if he makes you uneasy, alright?"
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 14>>
Gawain looked so eager to be spending time with all of you, and you're equally excited; you won't let Galahad and his frosty demeanor ruin your night. By now, you've grown resilient to everything that's tossed your way. You have no either choice but be so, lest you break.
"I don't really care. I can handle a bully. I certainly won't let him dampen my fun."
"I'm glad to hear so. But," - Gareth squeezes your forearm - "remember that you've got me too. If it comes to it, I'll put him in his place."
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 15>>
It's not ideal, of course it's not. You'd much rather spend the evening just with Gawain and Gareth, without having Galahad there like a stalactite haning over your head: cold and always threatening to drop onto you with a sharp remark. But you'd rather just tolerate his chilly presence than stir the waters. Focus on the warmth and acceptance Gawain regales you with, bask in the protection Gareth extends to you. With them there, you have a shield.
"I'm not pleased, but I don't want to cause conflict," you tell Gareth, pulling at your sleeve.
Gareth squeezes your forearm. "If it comes to it, I'll put him in his place."
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 16>>
It's not ideal, of course it's not. You'd much rather spend the evening just with Gawain and Gareth, without having Galahad there like a stalactite haning over your head: cold and always threatening to drop onto you with a sharp remark. But you're not defenseless. You can parry his words with your own, meet his steely gaze with your own. You'd rather not come to it though, because you don't want to trouble Gawain. If Galahad truly cares about him, perhaps he'll put his joy above his petty animosity.
"I'm not pleased, but I don't want to cause trouble," you tell Gareth. "Rest assure I won't let Galahad step all over me, however."
Gareth's lips quirk up, strangely proud. "I know you can handle youself. He squeezes your forearm. "But if it comes to it, I can help put him in his place."
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 17>>
You'd rather be on your own tonight, and you won't begrudge the boys having some fun. After all, you're used to your own company and can easily find better ways to entertain yourself.
"In fact, I think I'll just stay behind," you tell Gareth. "You three have fun though."
The crease between his brows deepens. "Are you certain?"
You nod, assuring him you'll be content with doing one of your usual prowls around the hall, taking in what the feast has to offer. He graciously relents then, and goes to catch up with Gawain and Galahad.
[[Continue|FeastNightAlone]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_handle_gally == 7>>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
//All,// he says? Something - might be his hatred of you - tells you Gareth does not include you in that statement. Gawain, on the other hand, will most likely want you there, and it leaves you wondering whatever will your brother dearest choose: alienating the King's adopted nephew or enduring your company for one evening.
You cock your head, leaning over the table to meet Gareth's gaze. "Am I welcome too?" you ask innocently - an impression that is quickly corrected by the cheeky smile that curls your lips. It cuts a sharp line of sheer satisfaction into your face, one that only widens as Gareth's own smile withers away.
<<if $eye != "brown">>
His eyes may match the dark, muddy brown of Lot's - but the storm that brews within more closely resembles Morgana's wrathful gaze.
<<else>>
The storm brewing within the dark depths of his gaze more closely resembles Morgana's smoldering, wrathful gaze than Lot's harsh glare.
<</if>>
Gareth's jaw sets, yet his voice keeps steady as he says, "I'd be delighted to have Gawain and Galahad over in my quarters to play." Your exclusion is glaring and intentional.
Gawain's gaze darts between you and your brother as if he fears you'll draw swords and start dueling at any moment. Finally, his eyes settle on Gareth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not coming without Mordred." He squeezes your fingers under the table, the gesture a silent reassurance.
<<else>>
/All,// he says? Something - might be his hatred of you - tells you Gareth does not include you in that statement.Yet you decide to insert yourself in the conversation, to challenge your brother and see how he responds.
You cock your head, leaning over the table to meet Gareth's gaze. "Am I welcome too?" you ask innocently - an impression that is quickly corrected by the cheeky smile that curls your lips. It cuts a sharp line of sheer satisfaction into your face, one that only widens as Gareth's own smile withers away.
<<if $eye != "brown">>
His eyes may match the dark, muddy brown of Lot's - but the storm that brews within more closely resembles Morgana's wrathful gaze.
<<else>>
The storm brewing within the dark depths of his gaze more closely resembles Morgana's smoldering, wrathful gaze than Lot's harsh glare.
<</if>>
Gareth's jaw sets, yet his voice keep steady as he says, "I'd be delighted to have Gawain and Galahad over in my quarters to play." Your exclusion is glaring and intentional.
Gawain's gaze darts between you and your brother as if he fears you'll draw swords and start dueling at any moment. Finally, his eyes settle on Gareth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not coming without Mordred."
Surprise blooms in you, tender as a rosebud.
<</if>>
[[Continue|GawainFeastNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 8>>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
//All,// he says? Something - might be his hatred of you - tells you Gareth does not include you in that statement. Gawain, on the other hand, will most likely want you there, and it leaves you wondering whatever will your brother dearest chose: alienating the King's adopted nephew or enduring your company for one evening.
"Am I invited?" you chime in nonchalantly. Reaching for your goblet unhurriedly, showing that you don't particularly care if he wants you there or not. That you will not beg him for an invitation if he won't extend one. You spare Gareth a glance as you take a sip of your apple juice.
<<if $eye != "brown">>
His eyes may match the dark, muddy brown of Lot's - but the storm that brews within more closely resembles Morgana's wrathful gaze.
<<else>>
The storm brewing within the dark depths of his gaze more closely resembles Morgana's smoldering, wrathful gaze than Lot's harsh glare.
<</if>>
Gareth's jaw sets, yet his voice keeps steady as he says, "I'd be delighted to have Gawain and Galahad over in my quarters to play." Your exclusion is glaring and intentional.
Gawain's gaze darts between you and your brother as if he fears you'll draw swords and start dueling at any moment. Finally, his eyes settle on Gareth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not coming without Mordred." He squeezes your fingers under the table, the gesture a silent reassurance.
<<else>>
//All,// he says? Something - might be his hatred of you - tells you Gareth does not include you in that statement. Still, you decide to insert yourself into the conversation, just to see how Gareth responds.
"Am I invited?" you chime in nonchalantly. Reaching for your goblet unhurriedly, showing that you don't particularly care if he wants you there or not. That you will not beg him for an invitation if he won't extend one. You spare Gareth a glance as you take a sip of your apple juice.
<<if $eye != "brown">>
His eyes may match the dark, muddy brown of Lot's - but the storm that brews within more closely resembles Morgana's wrathful gaze.
<<else>>
The storm brewing within the dark depths of his gaze more closely resembles Morgana's smoldering, wrathful gaze than Lot's harsh glare.
<</if>>
Gareth's jaw sets, yet his voice keeps steady as he says, "I'd be delighted to have Gawain and Galahad over in my quarters to play." Your exclusion is glaring and intentional.
Gawain's gaze darts between you and your brother as if he fears you'll draw swords and start dueling at any moment. Finally, his eyes settle on Gareth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not coming without Mordred."
Surprise blooms in you, tender as a rosebud.
<</if>>
[[Continue|GawainFeastNight]]
<<elseif $chapt3_handle_gally == 9>>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
//All,// he says? Something - might be his hatred of you - tells you Gareth does not include you in that statement. You won't cry over it though, far from it. Spending an evening with Gareth sounds like torture anyway. You'd much rather run laps around the Castle for an entire morning till you collapsed from exhaustion.
"Believe me, Gawain," you insert yourself into the conversation like the thrust of a sword, "his games aren't all that fun."
<<if $eye != "brown">>
Gareth's gaze snaps to you. His eyes may match the dark, muddy brown of Lot's - but the storm that brews within more closely resembles Morgana's wrathful gaze.
<<else>>
Gareth's gaze snaps to you. The storm brewing within the dark depths of his gaze more closely resembles Morgana's smoldering, wrathful gaze than Lot's harsh glare.
<</if>>
Gareth's jaw sets, yet his voice keeps steady as he says, "I'd be delighted to have Gawain and Galahad over in my quarters to play." Your exclusion is glaring and intentional.
Gawain's gaze darts between you and your brother as if he fears you'll draw swords and start dueling at any moment. Finally, his eyes settle on Gareth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not coming without Mordred." He squeezes your fingers under the table, the gesture a silent reassurance.
<<else>>
//All,// he says? Something - might be his hatred of you - tells you Gareth does not include you in that statement. You won't cry over it though, far from it. Spending an evening with Gareth sounds like torture anyway. You'd much rather run laps around the Castle for an entire morning till you collapsed from exhaustion.
"Believe me, Gawain," you insert yourself into the conversation like the thrust of a sword, "his games aren't all that fun."
<<if $eye != "brown">>
Gareth's gaze snaps to you. His eyes may match the dark, muddy brown of Lot's - but the storm that brews within more closely resembles Morgana's wrathful gaze.
<<else>>
Gareth's gaze snaps to you. The storm brewing within the dark depths of his gaze more closely resembles Morgana's smoldering, wrathful gaze than Lot's harsh glare.
<</if>>
Gareth's jaw sets, yet his voice keeps steady as he says, "I'd be delighted to have Gawain and Galahad over in my quarters to play." Your exclusion is glaring and intentional.
Gawain's gaze darts between you and your brother as if he fears you'll draw swords and start dueling at any moment. Finally, his eyes settle on Gareth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not coming without Mordred."
Surprise blooms in you, tender as a rosebud.
<</if>>
[[Continue|GawainFeastNight]]
<</if>>"I share a room with Galahad," Gawain tells you. "It's like having a sleep over."
Most guests are lodging in a well reputed tavern in the wealthy quarter of the town, the one nearest the castle - but the important guests, such as Dukes and their families and the King's entourage, are staying at the castle. You come to a door in the wing overlooking the town, and Gawain eagerly enters and you follow, hovering in the door frame.
Two beds are pushed against opposite walls, and they couldn't be any different - while the bed on the left is neatly made, a night tunic folded on the pillow, the right bed is a cluster of sheets, pillows and clothes, a luggage perched on top of the precarious pile. Gawain reaches under the messy bed, pulling out a lute case, and plucks up a lilac cloak from the chaos.
<<if $lute == "no" or $lute == "unknown">>
"I don't have a cloak," you realize.
"I can let you borrow one of mine," Gawain offers, already rummaging through his luggage. He takes out a cherry red cloak lined with golden embroidery and throws it over your shoulders. It's snug and warm.
"Here you go."
<div class="choice">[[Your face heatens. "Thanks." ❤ |Chapt3GawainChamber1][$chapt3_cloak to "1", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You're so sweet," you say, smiling. You really like Gawain, more than a friend. ❤ |Chapt3GawainChamber1][$chapt3_cloak to "2", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Thank you!\""|Chapt3GawainChamber1][$chapt3_cloak to "3"]]</div>
<<if $Gawain_ro == 0 and $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[Something flutters in your stomach, and you're not sure how to react, so you quickly pull back. "Thanks." 💕 |Chapt3GawainChamber1][$chapt3_cloak to "4", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<<elseif $lute == "yes" and $told_lute is false>>
<div class="choice">[["I don't have a cloak," you realize. You can play the lute too, but haven't told Gawain and won't tell him. You're not in the mood to bring out your instrument anyway.|Chapter3NoLuteChamber]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I play the lute too. Can we go by my chamber to fetch it?" you ask, looking forward to duet.|Chapt3MordredChamber][$told_lute is true]]</div>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3MordredChamber]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_cloak == "1">>
He's standing so close to you, that you're afraid he can feel the heat in your cheeks.
"Thanks," you squeal, almost cringing immediately at the sound.
Gawain meets your gaze, his own cheeks powdered pink as he smiles bashfully.
"No problem. Let me help you with it." He reaches for the clasp, fumbling with it because his gaze keeps flitting to your own.
<<elseif $chapt3_cloak == "2">>
The boy immediately turns pink, looking at you with wide eyes and a bashful smile.
"No problem. Let me help you with it." He reaches for the clasp, fumbling with it because his gaze keeps flitting to your own.
<<elseif $chapt3_cloak == "3">>
"No problem." He pats your shoulders.
<<elseif $chapt3_cloak == "4">>
It's as if your stomach is twisting, but it's not unpleasant at all- it's warm and fuzzy and exciting. Confused, you pull back from Gawain, averting your gaze as you mutter, "Thanks."
The boy looks as confused as you feel, brow furrowed.
<</if>>
"So, where exactly are we going?" you ask as you follow Gawain out of the room.
"I know the perfect place to go," Gawain says in a conspiratorial whisper. "The lodge. I can't wait for you to meet my dragon friend. They share a room with Galahad's and two others."
A sense of dread surges through you as a question appears. //Does the dragon hate you as much as the rider?//
<div class="choice">[["Is Galahad's," you think of the best word you could use, "nice?"|LodgeGawain][$chapt3_call to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is Galahad's dragon as nice as him?" you say sardonically.|LodgeGawain][$chapt3_call to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You keep silent, hoping for the best.|LodgeGawain][$chapt3_call to "3"]]</div>You're first to arrive, and have no choice but to wait. Wondering if you're merely early or if Gawain has lost his way. He may have been distracted by some show or performance, or lost track of time. Whatever the reason, you wait, pulling at a cord of your lace-up to keep your fingers busy.
A figure dashes out of the crowd. Sunflower yellow fills your vision as Gawain comes bolting to you, brandishing a bouquet of flowers as if it were a raised sword. He halts in front of you, teetering forward from the momentum. You make to reach out and stabilize him but he flings out his free arm and regains his footing with a flourish. Making all this look less like awkward fumbling and more like the calculated, showy theatrics of the comedians up on stage. "Sorry for being late! I wanted to get you these." Here he presents you the bouquet of white, pink and yellow daisies - soft with a bold splash of color. That's how you'd describe the boy, too.
His chest rises and falls rapidly, yet a smile splits his flushed face - whether from exertion or something else, you can't quite tell.
"I hope you like them," he says. "When I got to the stall I realized I hadn't actually asked you what flowers you like or if you even liked flowers." He makes a horrified face. "I hope you're not allergic to them!"
You assure him that you do indeed love the flowers and that no, you're not allergic to them, accepting the bouquet with a smile.
"There's something I wanted to tell you - or rather, read you."
<div class="choice">[[Is this a confession? You wait to hear what he has to say, excited.|Chapt3GawainConfessesExcited][$chapt3_gawain_confession to "yes_confident"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Is this a confession? You wait to hear what he has to say, heat flooding your face.|Chapt3GawainConfessesNervous][$chapt3_gawain_confession to "yes_shy"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Oh, has he written something new he wants to share with you? Wait to hear it.|Chapt3GawainConfessesClueless]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Oh, no. Is he confessing? Stop him. You like him, but you'd rather just be friends. At least for now, especially with his imminent leave.|Chapt3GawainConfessesStopLike][$chapt3_gawain_confession to "refuse"]]</div>He's told you coming to Lothia has proven quite inspiring. Has he written something new he'd like to share with you? Then you'd be honored to hear it. You nod, showing him you're listening.
Gawain produces a folded paper from beneath his yellow cape and smooths it open. He grips it with both hands and takes a long breath as if preparing to take a plunge into the sea.
"I wrote you a poem," he says. The pink suffusing his round cheeks has deepened, but his voice is steady as he starts reciting:
//"Your company is fun,
Your smile brings the sun.
I feel like flying when I'm near you,
So I'm asking you...//"
His gaze darts from the paper to you. The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded. His next words leave in one excited, rushed breath: "Do you like me too?"
<div class="choice">[["Yes!"|Chapt3GawainConfessesExcitedReply][$chapt3_gawain_confession to "yes_confident"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your face flames and you can barely find your voice to say yes.|Chapt3GawainConfessesNervousReply][$chapt3_gawain_confession to "yes_shy"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'd rather we just stay friends." You like him, but he's leaving. You're just protecting your heart.|Chapt3GawainConfessesNoReply][$chapt3_gawain_confession to "refuse_hurt"]]</div>Could this be Gawain confessing his feelings to you? You nod, showing that you're listening, and eagerly so.
Gawain produces a folded paper from beneath his yellow cape and smooths it open. He grips it with both hands and takes a long breath as if preparing to take a plunge into the sea. And as butterflies stir in your stomach, you realize he //is// about to take a leap.
"I wrote you a poem," he says. The pink suffusing his round cheeks has deepened, but his voice is steady as he starts reciting:
//"Your company is fun,
Your smile brings the sun.
I feel like flying when I'm near you,
So I'm asking you...//"
His gaze darts from the paper to you. The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded. His next words leave in one excited, rushed breath: "Do you like me too?"
"Yes!" you say, hugging the flowers close to your chest in your excitement. Your wide smile mirroring Gawain's. It feels as if you simply can't stop yourself from smiling, even as your cheeks start to strain. You're an overflowing cup of joy, and you bask in the warmth it sends rippling down your skin.
Gawain beams. "I'm so happy you do! I was concerned you wouldn't reciprocate."
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
"I got something for you, too," you say, reaching inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet.
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting and you shift the bouquet so it rests in the crook of your elbow. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>"Yes!" you say, hugging the flowers close to your chest in your excitement. Your wide smile mirroring Gawain's. It feels as if you simply can't stop yourself from smiling, even as your cheeks start to strain. You're an overflowing cup of joy, and you bask in the warmth it sends rippling down your skin.
Gawain beams. "I'm so happy you do! I was concerned you wouldn't reciprocate."
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
"I got something for you, too," you say, reaching inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet.
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting and you shift the bouquet so it rests in the crook of your elbow. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>Could this be Gawain confessing his feelings to you? You nod even as warmth pools in your cheeks and your pulse quickens, showing that you're listening.
Gawain produces a folded paper from beneath his yellow cape and smooths it open. He grips it with both hands and takes a long breath as if preparing to take a plunge into the sea. And as butterflies stir a frenzy in your stomach, you realize he //is// about to take a leap.
"I wrote you a poem," he says. The pink suffusing his round cheeks has deepened, but his voice is steady as he starts reciting:
//"Your company is fun,
Your smile brings the sun.
I feel like flying when I'm near you,
So I'm asking you...//"
His gaze darts from the paper to you. The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded. His next words leave in one excited, rushed breath: "Do you like me too?"
You hug the flowers close to your chest, half hiding your face into the bouquet. "Yes," you reply. Voice soft and as weak as your knees. "Yes, I do like you too."
Gawain beams. "I'm so happy you do! I was concerned you wouldn't reciprocate."
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_no_tell">>
You reach inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet. "And I got something for you, too."
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting and you shift the bouquet so it rests in the crook of your elbow. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>You hug the flowers close to your chest, half hiding your face into the bouquet. "Yes," you reply. Voice soft and as weak as your knees. "Yes, I do like you too."
Gawain beams. "I'm so happy you do! I was concerned you wouldn't reciprocate."
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_no_tell">>
You reach inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet. "And I got something for you, too."
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting and you shift the bouquet so it rests in the crook of your elbow. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>You hug the flowers tightly, crushing them to your chest. You take a deep breath, inhaling the earthy, fresh scent of daisies. It's true that Gawain stirs within you something more than friendship. But tomorrow he'll be off to Camelot, and who knows when he'll be back. He might soon forget about you, anyway. You'd rather hurt now than raise your hopes only to have them brutally dashed later - even if this means wounding the both of you.
"I'd rather we just stay friends," you say gently. You peek at him from between the flowers, watching the moment his face crumbles. Sharp claws sink deep into your chest as Gawain's radiant smile drops, as do his arms. The little love poem he's wrote hangs loosely in his hand.
"Oh." The single sound holds a world of disappointment. "I see. I'm sorry. I must have-I..." He swallows hard and attempts a smile. It's a pale imitation of his usual ones. "I understand. I'm sorry. Is it fine if I-if I meet you a little bit later?" He doesn't give you time to reply - he sprints off, a dash of sunflower yellow soon swallowed by the crowd.
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
You stand there, bouquet still pressed at your chest. Hiding your face among the daisies as tears stream down your cheeks. Trying to tell yourself it was the right choice. But you hated it. Hated seeing Gawain hurt.
Finally, you lower the flowers and wipe at your tear-streaked face with your sleeve. Well, looks like you're on your own again. You don't know if it's better this way - had Gawain stayed, you're sure he would have tried to put up a happy front. But it wouldn't change the hurt he felt, so perhaps it's for the best that he went away. You wonder if you've lost him completely as a friend, too.
You'll bear the anguish. It's a self-inflicted wound after all. It doesn't mean you have to be alone, though.
You take a deep breath and close your eyes. //$dragon_name?// You reach out to your dragon, like a whisper in the dark. Hoping to be found, to be saved.
When the reply comes, you almost start crying anew. //Mordred?// $dragon_name sounds happy. //Did you meet up with Gawain?//
//Yes.// Your brow furrows. //Did you?//
$dragon_name explains they'd set to meet up with Ariawen before finding you at the fair, and that Gawain had been with them, too before coming to you. //He seemed pretty excited to see you!//
Sadness flashes through you and trickles through to $dragon_name. //Mordred? Are you alright?//
You burst out like a dam, telling them everything, more or less coherently as emotions swarm you like tempestuous waters. $dragon_name listens to it all nonetheless and promises to come find you.
<<else>>
You stand there, bouquet still pressed at your chest, trying to tell yourself you did the right choice. But even as you close your eyes, you can still see Gawain's hurt expression, still hear the strain in his voice.
Well, looks like you're on your own again. You don't know if it's better this way - had Gawain stayed, you're sure he would have tried to put up a happy front. But it wouldn't change the hurt he felt, so perhaps it's for the best that he went away. You wonder if you've lost him completely as a friend, too.
You'll bear the anguish. It's a self-inflicted wound after all. It doesn't mean you have to be alone, though.
You take a deep breath and close your eyes. //$dragon_name?// You reach out to your dragon, like a whisper in the dark. Hoping to be found, to be saved.
The reply comes in higher moods. //Mordred? Did you meet up with Gawain?//
//Yes.// Your brow furrows. //Did you?//
$dragon_name explains they'd set to meet up with Ariawen before finding you at the fair, and that Gawain had been with them, too before coming to you. //He seemed pretty excited to see you!//
Sadness flashes through you and trickles through to $dragon_name. //Mordred? Are you alright?//
You burst out like a dam, telling them everything, more or less coherently as emotions swarm you like tempestuous waters. $dragon_name listens to it all nonetheless and promises to come find you.
<</if>>
By the time $dragon_name arrives, you're somewhat consoled and ready to talk about other, happier matters.
Together, you take in the various performances and talk about what each of you has been up to; for $dragon_name, as it turns out, it's been quite fun. Spending time and eating sweets with Ariawen, who even introduced $dragon_name to other dragon friends of hers.
//What about yours?//
//Mine's been eventful, for sure.// You dive into everything, in order, from the nobles gossiping about your mother at the food stall to Morgana seeking you out.
As you talk, you come upon a magic show, and decide to stop by.
A red-headed sorcerer plays parlor tricks on an elevated platform to a rapt audience. Heavily bejeweled hands present a glass jar with flourish, every motion studied, languid, expansive. //Dramatic//. Like an actor on stage. A brilliant, charming smile stays plastered on his face, but it doesn't look forced. It's fueled by the delight of having dozens of eyes following your every move. The long, billowy sleeves of his purple tunic sway with every move. Their cut is decisively unlike Lothian fashion, but you know the sorcerer to be Lothian. Darius Solomon, the eldest of Alina's siblings.
Something flashes in the jar he brandishes, stirring relentlessly like a caged animal circling its enclosure. Eager to be let out. A fragment of lightning, glimmering a silvery white.
The audience gasps as he allows it float out. But he does not let it run away - it dances in the palm of his hand, flows like water along the length of his arm, across his shoulders, looping over his neck to glide down his other arm and end up in his palm.
The crowd claps, and he bows deep, smile wider. Smugger.
You stay at the fair until it's time to get ready for the feast.
[[At the feast|FeastNight]]//Oh no.// You hug the flowers tightly to your chest, crushing them as realization sets in. Is Gawain about to confess his feelings to you? It should make you happy. You should be elated to know, with certainty, that he feels the same way about you. Yet panic rises in you. You can't let this happen.
Tomorrow Gawain will be off to Camelot, and who knows when he'll be back. He might soon forget about you, anyway. You'd rather hurt now than raise your hopes only to have them brutally dashed later - even if this means wounding the both of you.
"I have something to tell you, too," you pipe in. He stops, hand reaching under his yellow cape. He nods, allowing you to go first, and you plough on, "I just wanted to say that I'm so happy to have you as my //friend//." You put heavy emphasis on the word, hoping it's enough to convey your intention without you actually having to spell out the hurtful words.
Gawain blinks, confused, so you go on, indicating the bouquet, "And I'm so grateful for your //friendly// gift."
Gawain's smile drops completely and his brow creases as it all shifts into place. He pulls his hand away from the cape, balling it loosely at his side. "Yes. I'm happy to have you as my friend, too." He attemps a smile, but it's a pale imitation of his usual radiant ones. He seems to know that, too. He swallows and tries again, this time with more success. Yet the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Should we go? Have a look around together."
As you set off leisurely between the stalls, Gawain lets you know Ariawen has met up with $dragon_name and went on their way. "I told them we'd find them later. So, what do you like best at the fair? Did you see the dragons' fire performance?"
Gawain's cheerful demeanor, strained at first, turns genuine the more you chat about what each of you has seen and enjoyed so far; as it turns out, the fire show ranks second best on his list, only dethroned by a troupe of singing actors. He doesn't mention anything about Alina, and you wonder if word of it has somewhat escaped him or if he'd rather not bring up the hurtful subject, right now. You decided not to say anything for now either.
You take in the various performances and talk about everything and anything. You stumble upon a magic show, and Gawain is quick to tug you in that direction.
A red-headed sorcerer plays parlor tricks on an elevated platform to a rapt audience. Heavily bejeweled hands present a glass jar with flourish, every motion studied, languid, expansive. //Dramatic//. Like an actor on stage. A brilliant, charming smile stays plastered on his face, but it's doesn't look forced. It's fueled by the delight of having dozens of eyes following your every move. The long, billowy sleeves of his purple tunic sway with every move. Their cut is decisively unlike Lothian fashion, but you know the sorcerer to be Lothian. Darius Solomon, the eldest of Alina's siblings.
Something flashes in the jar he brandishes, stirring relentlessly like a caged animal circling its enclosure. Eager to be let out. A fragment of lightning, glimmering a silvery white.
The audience gasps as he allows it float out. But he does not let it run away - it dances in the palm of his hand, flows like water along the length of his arm, across his shoulders, looping over his neck to glide down his other arm and end up in his palm.
The crowd claps, and he bows deep, smile wider. Smugger. Gawain too claps enthusiastically.
Later, you cross paths with your dragon friends, //by accident//. In truth, $dragon_name called out to you to let you know where to find $dragon_him and Ariawen.
[[At the feast|FeastNight]]<<if $gawain_crush_confess == 1>>
This is your chance to tell Gawain, and find out for sure if he reciprocates. You will not let yourself daunted by the distance - after all, that's what letters are made for - or any insecurity. Mind made up, you head for the meeting point.
<<if $Gawain_ro >= 3>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainConfessionBoth]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3MordredConfessesGawain]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $gawain_crush_confess == 4>>
You decide it's for the best not to tell him. Not now. Maybe not ever. Perhaps these feelings will soon fade, anyway. Mind made up, you head for the meeting point.
<<if $Gawain_ro >= 3>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainConfesses]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainFairFriend]]
<</if>>
<</if>>You're first to arrive, and have no choice but to wait. Wondering if you're merely early or if Gawain has lost his way. He may have been distracted by some show or performance, or lost track of time. Whatever the reason, you wait, pulling at a cord of your lace-up to keep your fingers busy.
<div class="choice">[[You're nervous.|Chapt3GawainConfessionNervous][$chapt3_gawain_confession to "yes_shy"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're excited!|Chapt3GawainConfessionConfident][$chapt3_gawain_confession to "yes_confident"]]</div>Could this be Gawain confessing his feelings to you? You nod, showing that you're listening, and eagerly so.
Gawain produces a folded paper from beneath his yellow cape and smooths it open. He grips it with both hands and takes a long breath as if preparing to take a plunge into the sea. And as butterflies stir in your stomach, you realize he //is// about to take a leap.
"I wrote you a poem," he says. The pink suffusing his round cheeks has deepened, but his voice is steady as he starts reciting:
//"Your company is fun,
Your smile brings the sun.
I feel like flying when I'm near you,
So I'm asking you...//"
His gaze darts from the paper to you. The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded. His next words leave in one excited, rushed breath: "Do you like me too?"
"Yes!" you say, hugging the flowers close to your chest in your excitement. Your wide smile mirroring Gawain's. It feels as if you simply can't stop yourself from smiling, even as your cheeks start to strain. You're an overflowing cup of joy, and you bask in the warmth it sends rippling down your skin.
"I was planning on telling you now, actually," you admit, and Gawain laughs lightly and a bit sheepishly.
"And here I was, concerned you wouldn't reciprocate."
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
"I got something for you, too," you say, reaching inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet.
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting and you shift the bouquet so it rests in the crook of your elbow. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>"I have something to tell you too, actually," you pipe in. A fire stoked too high to contain itself for long.
"Oh, then you go on first," Gawain smiles, but it feels a bit hesitant. Almost nervous.
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
You take in a deep breath, inhaling the earthy, fresh scent of the daisies. "I like you, Gawain. I like you very much so, and more than a friend."
You reach inside the pouch on your belt for the bracelet. "And to show you that, I got you this."
His gaze darts between you and the bracelet, then settles back on you. The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded.
"And I wanted to ask you if you feel the same," you barely get to finish before Gawain jumps to reply: "Yes! Yes I do!"
If you've had any doubts about his feelings, they're completely cast aside by the enthusiastic words and the way his whole face shines.
<<else>>
You take in a deep breath, inhaling the earthy, fresh scent of the daisies. "I like you, Gawain. I like you very much so, and more than a friend." The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded as he looks at you, soaking in every word. "And I wanted to ask you if you feel the same," you barely get to finish before Gawain jumps to reply: "Yes! Yes I do!"
<</if>>
He chuckles softly, the sound like chiming bells. "In fact, that's what I wanted to tell you, too." He produces a folded paper from under his yellow cape. "I suppose I don't need this now."
"What's that?"
"A little poem I wrote for you."
Your eyes widen. "I want to hear it!"
He takes in a sharp breath. "Really?" When you nod eagerly, he smooths out the paper, gripping it with both hands. The pink suffusing his face has turned deeper, but he recites the words in a steady voice:
//"Your company is fun,
Your smile brings the sun.
I feel like flying when I'm near you,
So I'm asking you...//"
He looks up. "And here I'd ask you if you felt the same."
"Which we've established I do." At that he chuckles again, delighted.
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
Gawain nods towards the bracelet you're holding. "Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting and you shift the bouquet so it rests in the crook of your elbow. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>He's told you coming to Lothia has proven quite inspiring . Has he written something new he'd like to share with you? Then you'd be honored to hear it and willing to wait to make your confession. You nod, showing him you're listening.
Gawain produces a folded paper from beneath his yellow cape and smooths it open. He grips it with both hands and takes a long breath as if preparing to take a plunge into the sea. And as butterflies stir in your stomach, you realize he //is// about to take a leap.
"I wrote you a poem," he says. The pink suffusing his round cheeks has deepened, but his voice is steady as he starts reciting:
//"Your company is fun,
Your smile brings the sun.
I feel like flying when I'm near you,
So I'm asking you...//"
His gaze darts from the paper to you. The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded. His next words leave in one excited, rushed breath: "Do you like me too?"
"Yes!" you say, hugging the flowers close to your chest in your excitement. Your wide smile mirroring Gawain's. It feels as if you simply can't stop yourself from smiling, even as your cheeks start to strain. You're an overflowing cup of joy, and you bask in the warmth it sends rippling down your skin.
"I was planning on telling you now, actually," you admit, and Gawain laughs lightly and a bit sheepishly.
"And here I was, concerned you wouldn't reciprocate."
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
"I got something for you, too," you say, reaching inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet.
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting and you shift the bouquet so it rests in the crook of your elbow. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>Could this be Gawain confessing his feelings to you? You nod even as warmth pools in your cheeks and your pulse quickens, showing that you're listening.
Gawain produces a folded paper from beneath his yellow cape and smooths it open. He grips it with both hands and takes a long breath as if preparing to take a plunge into the sea. And as butterflies stir a frenzy in your stomach, you realize he //is// about to take a leap.
"I wrote you a poem," he says. The pink suffusing his round cheeks has deepened, but his voice is steady as he starts reciting:
//"Your company is fun,
Your smile brings the sun.
I feel like flying when I'm near you,
So I'm asking you...//"
His gaze darts from the paper to you. The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded. His next words leave in one excited, rushed breath: "Do you like me too?"
You hug the flowers close to your chest, half hiding your face into the bouquet. "Yes," you reply. Voice soft and as weak as your knees. "Yes, I do like you too. I was planning on telling you now, actually," you admit, and Gawain laughs lightly and a bit sheepishly.
"And here I was, concerned you wouldn't reciprocate."
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
"I got something for you, too," you add shyly, reaching inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet.
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting and you shift the bouquet so it rests in the crook of your elbow. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>You don't want to interrupt Gawain but you feel that if you don't tell him know, you'll lose all the courage you managed to summon for this confession. "I have something to tell you, too, actually." Heats pools your cheeks, and you haven't even said the words yet.
"Oh, then you go on first," Gawain smiles, but it feels a bit hesitant. Almost nervous.
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
You hug the bouquet close to your chest, half hiding your face among the flowers. You take in a deep breath, inhaling the earthy, fresh scent of the daisies. "I like you, Gawain. I like you very much so, and more than a friend."
You reach inside the pouch on your belt for the bracelet. "And to show you that, I got you this."
His gaze darts between you and the bracelet, then settles back on you. The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded.
"And I wanted to ask you if you feel the same," you barely get to finish before Gawain jumps to reply: "Yes! Yes I do!"
If you've had any doubts about his feelings, they're completely cast aside by the enthusiastic words and the way his whole face shines.
<<else>>
You hug the bouquet close to your chest, half hiding your face among the flowers. You take in a deep breath, inhaling the earthy, fresh scent of the daisies. "I like you, Gawain. I like you very much so, and more than a friend." The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded as he looks at you, soaking in every word. "And I wanted to ask you if you feel the same," you barely get to finish before Gawain jumps to reply: "Yes! Yes I do!"
<</if>>
He chuckles softly, the sound like chiming bells. "In fact, that's what I wanted to tell you, too." He produces a folded paper from under his yellow cape. "I suppose I don't need this now."
"What's that?"
"A little poem I wrote for you."
Your eyes widen. "I'd love to hear it."
He takes in a sharp breath. "Really?" When you nod eagerly, he smooths out the paper, gripping it with both hands. The pink suffusing his face has turned deeper, but he recites the words in a steady voice:
//"Your company is fun,
Your smile brings the sun.
I feel like flying when I'm near you,
So I'm asking you...//"
He looks up. "And here I'd ask you if you felt the same."
"Which we've established I do." At that he chuckles again, delighted.
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
Gawain nods towards the bracelet you're holding. "Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting and you shift the bouquet so it rests in the crook of your elbow. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>He's told you coming to Lothia has proven quite inspiring . Has he written something new he'd like to share with you? Then you'd be honored to hear it and willing to wait to make your confession. You nod, showing him you're listening.
Gawain produces a folded paper from beneath his yellow cape and smooths it open. He grips it with both hands and takes a long breath as if preparing to take a plunge into the sea. And as butterflies stir a frenzy in your stomach, you realize he //is// about to take a leap.
"I wrote you a poem," he says. The pink suffusing his round cheeks has deepened, but his voice is steady as he starts reciting:
//"Your company is fun,
Your smile brings the sun.
I feel like flying when I'm near you,
So I'm asking you...//"
His gaze darts from the paper to you. The honey brown of his eyes looks gilded. His next words leave in one excited, rushed breath: "Do you like me too?"
You hug the flowers close to your chest, half hiding your face into the bouquet. "Yes," you reply. Voice soft and as weak as your knees. "Yes, I do like you too. I was planning on telling you now, actually," you admit, and Gawain laughs lightly and a bit sheepishly.
"And here I was, concerned you wouldn't reciprocate."
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
"I got something for you, too," you add shyly, reaching inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet.
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting and you shift the bouquet so it rests in the crook of your elbow. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>You're abuzz with ancipation, smoldering like a flame that longs for woods to stoke it so it can bloom into a bonfire. You can't wait for Gawain to come, for you to finally make your feelings know.
A figure dashes out of the crowd. Sunflower yellow fills your vision as Gawain comes bolting to you, brandishing a bouquet of flowers as if it were a raised sword. He halts in front of you, teetering forward from the momentum. You make to reach out and stabilize him but he flings out his free arm and regains his footing with a flourish. Making all this look less like awkward fumbling and more like the calculated, showy theatrics of the comedians up on stage. "Sorry for being late! I wanted to get you these." Here he presents you the bouquet of white, pink and yellow daisies - soft with a bold splash of color. That's how you'd describe the boy, too.
His chest rises and falls rapidly, yet a smile splits his flushed face - whether from exertion or something esle, you can't quite tell.
"I hope you like them," he says. "When I got to the stall I realized I hadn't actually asked you what flowers you like or if you even liked flowers." He makes a horrified face. "I hope you're not allergic to them!"
You assure him that you do indeed love the flowers and that no, you're not allergic to them, accepting the bouquet with a delighted smile.
"There's something I wanted to tell you - or rather, read you."
<div class="choice">[[Is this a confession? You wait to hear what he has to say, excited.|Chapt3GawainConfessionBothExcited1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I have something to tell you, too, actually," you say excitedly.|Chapt3GawainConfessionBothExcited2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Oh, has he written something new he wants to share with you? Wait to hear it.|Chapt3GawainConfessionBothExcited3]]</div>This waiting gives you time to consider your confession to him. Time that stretches on, prolonging the anxiety that brews within, that makes your skin feel as if restless ants teem underneath.
You pull on the cord too hard and the lacing comes undone. You fumble with it as you tie it up again, head swarming with all the ways this could go bad - all the ways he could turn you down. At least you think Gawain would do it gently. He doesn't seem like the kind to laugh in your face.
A figure dashes out of the crowd. Sunflower yellow fills your vision as Gawain comes bolting to you, brandishing a bouquet of flowers as if it were a raised sword. He halts in front of you, teetering forward from the momentum. You make to reach out and stabilize him but he flings out his free arm and regains his footing with a flourish. Making all this look less like awkward fumbling and more like the calculated, showy theatrics of the comedians up on stage. "Sorry for being late! I wanted to get you these." Here he presents you the bouquet of white, pink and yellow daisies - soft with a bold splash of color. That's how you'd describe the boy, too.
His chest rises and falls rapidly, yet a smile splits his flushed face - whether from exertion or something else, you can't quite tell.
"I hope you like them," he says. "When I got to the stall I realized I hadn't actually asked you what flowers you like or if you even liked flowers." He makes a horrified face. "I hope you're not allergic to them!"
You assure him that you do indeed love the flowers and that no, you're not allergic to them, accepting the bouquet with a timid smile.
"There's something I wanted to tell you - or rather, read you."
<div class="choice">[[Is this a confession? You wait to hear what he has to say.|Chapt3GawainConfessionBothNervous1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I have something to tell you, too, actually," you say, wanting to get it out before you lose your courage.|Chapt3GawainConfessionBothNervous2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Oh, has he written something new he wants to share with you? Wait to hear it.|Chapt3GawainConfessionBothNervous3]]</div><<if $chapt3_gawain_dance == 1>>
<div class="choice">[[As you accept his hand, you smile widely.|Chapt3GawainDance1][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As you accept his hand, your heart flutters wildly. ❤|Chapt3GawainDance1][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[As you accept his hand, your heart flutters. 💕|Chapt3GawainDance1][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 3, $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 2>>
<div class="choice">[[As you accept his hand, you smile widely.|Chapt3GawainDance2][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As you accept his hand, your heart flutters wildly. ❤|Chapt3GawainDance2][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[As you accept his hand, your heart flutters. 💕|Chapt3GawainDance2][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 3, $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 3>>
The idea of having eyes on you makes your skin prickle with restlessness.
<div class="choice">[[That's all there is to it.|Chapt3GawainDance3][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[But there's more to it, you think as your heart flutters wildly. ❤|Chapt3GawainDance3][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[But there's more to it, you think as your heart flutters wildly. 💕|Chapt3GawainDance3][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 3, $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 4>>
Embarrassed heat invades your cheeks.
<div class="choice">[[That's all there is to it.|Chapt3GawainDance4][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[But there's more to it, you think as your heart flutters wildly. ❤|Chapt3GawainDance4][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[But there's more to it, you think as your heart flutters wildly. 💕|Chapt3GawainDance4][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 3, $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_gawain_dance == 1>>
You take his hand with a wide smile and Gawain pulls you amongst the dancers. He grasps your other hand in his too, and you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You keep up with ease, and Gawain knows how to adjust his own step to yours so that you spin and twirl as if you were gliding over the dance floor.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 2>>
As you fingers brush against his, butterflies flutter timidly in your stomach, only for the sensation to explode in a whirwind of frantically flapping wings as your hand slides fully into his, fitting as perfectly as a puzzle piece falling into place. He grasps your other hand too in his, and you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You keep up with ease, and Gawain knows how to adjust his own step so that you spin and twirl as if you were gliding over the dance floor.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 3>>
As you fingers brush against his, an odd, butterfly-like fluttering flurries inside you. You've never been nervous about dancing, so why would you feel so now? Perhaps it's merely some absurd fear you'll suddenly become absolutely inept and embarrass yourself in front of Gawain and an entire hall of watching nobles. You brush it aside, giving the boy a wide smile as he grasps your other hand too and you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You keep up with ease, and Gawain knows how to adjust his own step so that you spin and twirl as if you were gliding over the dance floor.
<</if>>
The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughing and dancing and talking with Gawain, till your eyelids grow heavy and you both trudge along to your respective chambers.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3GawainMorningLeave]]
<<else>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3MorningLeave]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_gawain_dance == 1>>
"Alright," you say, taking his hand. "But I must warn you, I may step on your feet."
"Feel free to step as much as you want as long as you dance with me," he chuckles and pulls you amongst the dancers. He grasps your other hand in his too, and you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You fumble the moves, though Gawain doesn't mind; he veers you out of the way when you're about to collide with other dancers and only smiles when you step on his brocade boots, smoothing over any of your missteps by knowing exactly how to spin and twirl and guide you.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 2>>
"Alright," you say. As you fingers brush against his, butterflies flutter timidly in your stomach, only for the sensation to explode in a whirlwind of frantically flapping wings as your hand slides fully into his, fitting as perfectly as a puzzle piece falling into place. "But I must warn you," you continue, voice softer and quieter than you intended, "I may step on your feet."
"Feel free to step as much as you want as long as you dance with me," he chuckles and his words send a ripple of glee from your head to the tips of your toes. He grasps your other hand in his too, and you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You fumble the moves, though Gawain doesn't mind; he veers you out of the way when you're about to collide with other dancers and only smiles when you step on his brocade boots, smoothing over any of your missteps by knowing exactly how to spin and twirl and guide you.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 3>>
"Alright," you say. As you fingers brush against his, a butterfly-like fluttering flurries inside you. You won't deny, you're a bit nervous at the thought of potentially embarrassing yourself in front of Gawain and an entire hall of watching nobles. "But I must warn you," you continue, voice soft, weak, stolen by a faint agitation. "I may step on your feet."
"Feel free to step as much as you want as long as you dance with me," he chuckles and his words send a ripple of glee from your head to the tips of your toes. He grasps your other hand in his too, and you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You fumble the moves, though Gawain doesn't mind; he veers you out of the way when you're about to collide with other dancers and only smiles when you step on his brocade boots, smoothing over any of your missteps by knowing exactly how to spin and twirl and guide you.
<</if>>
The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughing and dancing and talking with Gawain, till your eyelids grow heavy and you both trudge along to your respective chambers.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3GawainMorningLeave]]
<<else>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3MorningLeave]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_gawain_dance == 1>>
You hesitate, gaze sliding from his offered hand to the dancers behind him. Nervousness tightens your stomach and you buite your lip, shaking your head. You can't dance, not with so many people around to watch you. Gawain blinks and follows your gaze behind him, trying to puzzle it together.
"Are you nervous?" he asks, a little bit wary himself - is he afraid you'll turn him down?
"Too many people," you clarify.
Gawain scrunches up his nose in thought; then his whole face lights up as he hatches a plan he keeps to himself. "Follow me."
This time you do take his hand and let him guide you across the feast hall, out the doors and into the empty hall beyond, where the music reaches you muffled and distant.
"We can dance here," he says, and you laugh. You can't help the merry, disbelieving sound that escapes you and soars to the ceiling, light and bright like bubbles rising in a champagne glass. There's something so sweet about Gawain, about the way he triumphantly smiles at you. How instead of complaining or sulking, he simply, happily accomodated you.
You agree to dance then, and he takes your hands in his. You both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music that trickles throug the open doors. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhymth, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You keep up with ease, and Gawain knows how to adjust his own step so that you spin and twirl as if you were gliding over your own little floor dance of two. Whirling around in your own world, like two figurines in a music box.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 2>>
You hesitate, gaze sliding from his offered hand to the dancers behind him. Nervousness tightens your stomach and you buite your lip, shaking your head. You can't dance, not with so many people around to watch you. Not with Gawain, who makes you restless with an agitation that is not entirely unpleasant.
Gawain blinks and follows your gaze behind him, trying to puzzle it together. "Are you nervous?" he asks, a little bit wary himself - is he afraid you'll turn him down?
"Too many people," you clarify.
Gawain scrunches up his nose in thought; then his whole face lights up as he hatches a plan he keeps to himself. "Follow me." He extends his hand against and this time you do take it. As you fingers brush against his, butterflies flutter timidly in your stomach, only for the sensation to explode in a whirwind of frantically flapping wings as his hand closes around yours. You let him guide you across the feast hall, out the doors and into the empty hall beyond, where the music reaches you muffled and distant.
"We can dance here," he says, and you laugh. You can't help the merry, disbelieving sound that escapes you and soars to the ceiling, light and bright like bubbles rising in a champagne glass. There's something so sweet, so charming about Gawain, about the way he triumphantly smiles at you. How instead of complaining or sulking, he simply, happily accomodated you.
You agree to dance then, and he takes your hands in his. You both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music that trickles throug the open doors. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhymth, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You keep up with ease, and Gawain knows how to adjust his own step so that you spin and twirl as if you were gliding over your own little floor dance of two. Whirling around in your own world, like two figurines in a music box.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 3>>
You hesitate, gaze sliding from his offered hand to the dancers behind him. Nervousness tightens your stomach and you bite your lip, shaking your head. You can't dance, not with so many people around to watch you.
Gawain blinks and follows your gaze behind him, trying to puzzle it together. "Are you nervous?" he asks, a little bit wary himself - is he afraid you'll turn him down?
"Too many people," you clarify.
Gawain scrunches up his nose in thought; then his whole face lights up as he hatches a plan he keeps to himself. "Follow me."
He extends his hand again and this time you do take it. As you fingers brush against his, your agitation spikes to new heights, sending shivers up your arm. Bewildered, you remark it's not entirely unpleasant. You let him guide you across the feast hall, out the doors and into the empty hall beyond, where the music reaches you muffled and distant.
"We can dance here," he says, and you laugh. You can't help the merry, disbelieving sound that escapes you and soars to the ceiling, light and bright like bubbles rising in a champagne glass. There's something so sweet, so charming about Gawain, about the way he triumphantly smiles at you. How instead of complaining or sulking, he simply, happily accomodated you.
You agree to dance then, and he takes your hands in his. You both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music that trickles throug the open doors. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You keep up with ease, and Gawain knows how to adjust his own step so that you spin and twirl as if you were gliding over your own little floor dance of two. Whirling around in your own world, like two figurines in a music box.
<</if>>
The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughing and dancing and talking with Gawain, till your eyelids grow heavy and you both trudge along to your respective chambers.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3GawainMorningLeave]]
<<else>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3MorningLeave]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_gawain_dance == 1>>
You hesitate, cradling one hand at your chest as if it were hurt. Wishing to extend it and accept Gawain's invitation, yet held back by slimy insecurity, coiling over your muscles to freeze you in place. The boy's smile falters and his arm falls altogether, returning limply to his side as he steps forward. "Are you alright?"
"It's just..." you keep your voice quiet, as if you're about to impart some horrible secret about yourself. "I'm an awful dancer."
"Oh!" Gawain looks almost relieved, which you're not quite sure assuages you or not. "But you //do// want to dance with me?"
"Well, I'd like to, but I'll most likely step on your feet."
"Step on my feet as much as you want as long as you dance with me," Gawain says with an easy smile that has you reluctantly accepting.
He takes your hands and pulls you amidst the dancers, where you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You fumble the moves, though Gawain doesn't mind; he veers you out of the way when you're about to collide with other dancers and only smiles when you step on his brocade boots, smoothing over any of your misteps by knowing exactly how to spin and twirl and guide you.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 2>>
You hesitate, cradling one hand at your chest as if it were hurt. Wishing to extend it and accept Gawain's invitation, yet held back by slimy insecurity, coiling over your muscles to freeze you in place. You can't dance, not when you could so horrbily and utterly embarrass yourself in front of him by stepping all over his pretty brocade boots. The boy's smile falters and his arm falls altogether, returning limply to his side as he steps forward. "Are you alright?"
"It's just..." you keep your voice quiet, as if you're about to impart some horrible secret about yourself. "I'm an awful dancer."
"Oh!" Gawain looks almost relieved, which you're not quite sure assuages you or not. "But you //do// want to dance with me?"
"Well, I'd like to, but I'll most likely step on your feet."
"Step on my feet as much as you want as long as you dance with me," Gawain says with an easy smile. Your stomach does an elaborate back-flip at the sight and words, and you slowly extend your hand, nervous yet bubbling with a sudden anticipation.
Gawain takes your hands, and it sends a ripple of goosebumps up your arms. He pulls you amidst the dancers, where you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You fumble the steps, though Gawain doesn't mind; he veers you out of the way when you're about to collide with other dancers and only smiles when you step on his brocade boots, smoothing over any of your missteps by knowing exactly how to spin and twirl and guide you.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 3>>
You hesitate, cradling one hand at your chest as if it were hurt. Wishing to extend it and accept Gawain's invitation, yet held back by slimy insecurity, coiling over your muscles to freeze you in place. You can't dance, not when you could so horrbily and utterly embarrass yourself in front of him by stepping all over his pretty brocade boots. The boy's smile falter and his arm falls altogether, returning limply to his side as he steps forward. "Are you alright?"
"It's just..." you keep your voice quiet, as if you're about to impart some horrible secret about yourself. "I'm an awful dancer."
"Oh!" Gawain looks almost relieved, which you're not quite sure assuages you or not. "But you //do// want to dance with me?"
"Well, I'd like to, but I'll most likely step on your feet."
"Step on my feet as much as you want as long as you dance with me," Gawain says with an easy smile.
You extend your hand hesitantly. As you fingers brush against his, your agitation spikes to new heights, sending shivers up your arm. Bewildered, you remark it's not entirely unpleasant.
He pulls you amidst the dancers, where you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You fumble the moves, though Gawain doesn't mind; he veers you out of the way when you're about to collide with other dancers and only smiles when you step on his brocade boots, smoothing over any of your missteps by knowing exactly how to spin and twirl and guide you.
<</if>>
The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughing and dancing and talking with Gawain, till your eyelids grow heavy and you both trudge along to your respective chambers.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3GawainMorningLeave]]
<<else>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3MorningLeave]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_gawain_dance == 1>>
You take his hand with a wide smile and Gawain pulls you amongst the dancers. He places his other hand on your waist, and you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You keep up with ease, and Gawain knows how to adjust his own step so that you spin and twirl as if you were gliding over the dance floor.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 2>>
"Alright," you say, taking his hand. "But I must warn you, I may step on your feet."
"Step as much as you want as long as you dance with me," he says and pulls you amongst the dancers. He places his other hand on your waist, and you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You fumble the moves, though Gawain doesn't mind; he veers you out of the way when you're about to collide with other dancers and only smiles when you step on his brocade boots, smoothing over any of your missteps by knowing exactly how to spin and twirl and guide you.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 3>>
You hesitate, gaze sliding from his offered hand to the dancers behind him. Nervousness tightens your stomach and you buite your lip, shaking your head. You can't dance, not with so many people around to watch you. Gawain blinks and follows your gaze behind him, trying to puzzle it together.
"Are you nervous?" he asks, a little bit wary himself - is he afraid you'll turn him down?
"Too many people," you clarify.
Gawain scrunches up his nose in thought; then his whole face lights up as he hatches a plan he keeps to himself. "Follow me."
This time you do take his hand and let him guide you across the feast hall, out the doors and into the empty hall beyond, where the music reaches you muffled and distant.
"We can dance here," he says, and you laugh. You can't help the merry, disbelieving sound that escapes you and soars to the ceiling, light and bright like bubbles rising in a champagne glass. There's something so sweet, so charming about Gawain, about the way he triumphantly smiles at you. How instead of complaining or sulking, he simply, happily accomodated you.
You agree to dance then, and he places his other hand on your waist. You both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music that trickles throug the open doors. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You keep up with ease, and Gawain knows how to adjust his own step so that you spin and twirl as if you were gliding over your own little floor dance of two. Whirling around in your own world, like two figurines in a music box.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_dance == 4>>
You hesitate, cradling one hand at your chest as if it were hurt. Wishing to extend it and accept Gawain's invitation, yet held back by slimy insecurity, coiling over your muscles to freeze you in place. The boy's smile falters and his arm falls altogether, returning limply to his side as he steps forward. "Are you alright?"
"It's just..." you keep your voice quiet, as if you're about to impart some horrible secret about yourself. "I'm an awful dancer."
"Oh!" Gawain looks almost relieved, which you're not quite sure assuages you or not. "But you //do// want to dance with me?"
"Well, I'd like to, but I'll most likely step on your feet."
"Step on my feet as much as you want," Gawain says, sliding his hands into yours, voice as gentle as his fingers, "as long as you dance with me." You simply cannot not give in at that sweet smile and, cheeks blazing, you nod and let Gawain pull you amongst the dancers.
He places his other hand on your waist, and you both spin enthusiastically to the upbeat, cheerful music. Gawain's whole body seems to be attuned to the rhythm, moving as if it flowed through him, singing directly to his limbs, guiding their fluid motions. You fumble the steps, though Gawain doesn't mind; he veers you out of the way when you're about to collide with other dancers and only smiles when you step on his brocade boots, smoothing over any of your missteps by knowing exactly how to spin and twirl and guide you.
<</if>>
The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughing and dancing and talking with Gawain, till your eyelids grow heavy and you both trudge along to your respective chambers.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3GawainMorningLeave]]
<<else>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3MorningLeave]]
<</if>><<if $morgana_gawain_talk == 5>>
Morgana's subtly encouraged you to let Gawain know the way you feel, to overcome the gapping distance that will soon come between you and whatever any insecurities that may lurk deep inside you. But can you really bring yourself to the task?
<div class="choice">[[Tell him. This is your chance before he leaves.|Chapt3GawainConfession][$gawain_crush_confess to 1, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Tell him. This is your chance before he leaves. You will also gift him a token of your affection.|Chapt3GawainToken][$chapt3_bracelet to "yes_tell", $gawain_crush_confess to 2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't tell him, but you will give him a token of your friendship. A bracelet.|Chapt3GawainToken][$chapt3_bracelet to "yes_no_tell", $gawain_crush_confess to 3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't tell him.|Chapt3GawainConfession][$gawain_crush_confess to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_crush == 1>>
Accolon has encouraged you to tell Gawain how you feel, to overcome the gapping distance that will soon come between you and whatever any insecurities that may lurk deep inside you. But can you really bring yourself to the task?
<div class="choice">[[Tell him. This is your chance before he leaves.|Chapt3GawainConfession][$gawain_crush_confess to 1, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Tell him. This is your chance before he leaves. You will also gift him a token of your affection.|Chapt3GawainToken][$chapt3_bracelet to "yes_tell", $gawain_crush_confess to 2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't tell him, but you will give him a token of your friendship. A bracelet.|Chapt3GawainToken][$chapt3_bracelet to "yes_no_tell", $gawain_crush_confess to 3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't tell him.|Chapt3GawainConfession][$gawain_crush_confess to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $gawain_crush >= 3>>
As you head towards the place you convened to meet at with Gawain, warmth floods your chest. He makes you feel happy. Makes you feel //wanted//.
And it's all more than just friendship.
<div class="choice">[[Tell him. This is your chance before he leaves.|Chapt3GawainConfession][$gawain_crush_confess to 1, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Tell him. This is your chance before he leaves. You will also gift him a token of your affection.|Chapt3GawainToken][$chapt3_bracelet to "yes_tell", $gawain_crush_confess to 2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't tell him, but you will give him a token of your friendship. A bracelet.|Chapt3GawainToken][$chapt3_bracelet to "yes_no_tell", $gawain_crush_confess to 3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't tell him.|Chapt3GawainConfession][$gawain_crush_confess to 4]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You make your way to the place you've arranged to meet.|Chapt3GawainFairFriend]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'll give Gawain a token of friendship before he leaves.|Chapt3GawainToken][$chapt3_bracelet to "friend"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You sort of like Gawain more than a friend, but won't tell him. ❤|Chapt3GawainConfession][$gawain_crush_confess to 4, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You sort of like Gawain more than a friend, but won't tell him. You will give him a token of your friendship though. A bracelet. ❤|Chapt3GawainToken][$chapt3_bracelet to "yes_no_tell", $gawain_crush_confess to 3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Gawain more than a friend, and you will tell him so! ❤|Chapt3GawainConfession][$gawain_crush_confess to 1, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Gawain more than a friend, and you will tell him so, by gifting him a bracelet as a token of your affection. ❤|Chapt3GawainToken][$chapt3_bracelet to "yes_tell", $gawain_crush_confess to 2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[Gawain's leaving tomorrow, but you wish to give him a token of your friendship.💕|Chapt3GawainToken][$chapt3_bracelet to "friend", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<</if>>You're first to arrive, and have no choice but to wait. Wondering if you're merely early or if Gawain has lost his way. He may have been distracted by some show or performance, or lost track of time. Whatever the reason, you wait, pulling at a cord of your lace-up to keep your fingers busy.
A figure dashes out of the crowd. Sunflower yellow fills your vision as Gawain comes bolting to you, brandishing a paper bag as if it were a raised sword. He halts in front of you, teetering forward from the momentum. You make to reach out and stabilize him but he flings out his free arm and regains his footing with a flourish. Making all this look less like awkward fumbling and more like the calculated, showy theatrics of the comedians up on stage. "Sorry for being late! I brought sweets. Hope these will excuse me." His chest rises and falls rapidly, yet a grin splits his face, flushed with exertion.
You've already eaten through a generous bag of treats, but you're not about to refuse even more, so you graciously excuse the boy.
<<if $gawain_crush >= 2>>
It's hard to say no to someone as sweet as him, anyway.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "friend" and $gawain_oblivious >= 2>>
"I got something for you, too," you say, reaching inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet.
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. It stirs a strange fluttering feeling in your stomach. "Thank you. I love it."
<<elseif $chapt3_bracelet == "friend">>
"I got something for you, too," you say, reaching inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet.
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. "Thank you. I love it."
<<elseif $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_no_tell">>
"I got something for you, too," you say, reaching inside the pouch at your belt for the bracelet.
"Oh, it's so pretty. Can you help me put it on?" He thrusts his arm out in waiting. You fasten the bracelet around his delicate, thin wrist and he holds up his hand, marveling at the shiny beads. His eyes glimmer just as brightly in the sun. The sight stirs the butterflies in your stomach. "Thank you. I love it."
<</if>>
As you set off leisurely between the stalls, Gawain lets you know Ariawen has met up with $dragon_name and went on their way. "I told them we'd find them later. So, what do you like best at the fair? Did you see the dragons' fire performance?"
You chat easily about what each of you has seen and enjoyed so far; as it turns out, the fire show ranks second best on his list, only dethroned by a troupe of singing actors. He doesn't mention anything about Alina, and you wonder if word of it has somewhat escaped him or if he'd rather not bring up the hurtful subject, right now. You decided not to say anything for now either.
You take in the various performances and talk about everything and anything. You stumble upon a magic show, and Gawain is quick to tug you in that direction.
A red-headed sorcerer plays parlor tricks on an elevated platform to a rapt audience. Heavily bejeweled hands present a glass jar with flourish, every motion studied, languid, expansive. //Dramatic//. Like an actor on stage. A brilliant, charming smile stays plastered on his face, but it doesn't look forced. It's fueled by the delight of having dozens of eyes following your every move. The long, billowy sleeves of his purple tunic sway with every move. Their cut is decisively unlike Lothian fashion, but you know the sorcerer to be Lothian. Darius Solomon, the eldest of Alina's siblings.
Something flashes in the jar he brandishes, stirring relentlessly like a caged animal circling its enclosure. Eager to be let out. A fragment of lightning, glimmering a silvery white.
The audience gasps as he allows it float out. But he does not let it run away - it dances in the palm of his hand, flows like water along the lenght of his arm, across his shoulders, looping over his neck to glide down his other arm and end up in his palm.
The crowd claps, and he bows deep, smile wider. Smugger. Gawain too claps enthusiastically.
Later, you cross paths with your dragon friends, //by accident//. In truth, $dragon_name called out to you to let you know where to find $dragon_him and Ariawen.
[[At the feast|FeastNight]]<<if $chapt3_outlet == "1">>
It's just the way you are. Magic is easy to channel, but hard to control.
"I've read about it. How magic is tied to emotions. Could you summon as much fire as a big dragon?" he asks.
"I don't think so." You smile wryly. Not yet. "But mother can."
<<elseif $chapt3_outlet == "2">>
It's powerful, but wild.
"I've read about it. How magic is tied to emotions. Could you summon a as much fire as a big dragon?" he asks.
"I don't think so." You smile wryly. Not yet. "But mother can."
<<elseif $chapt3_outlet == "3">>
The door of the room sways slightly as you realize your emotions are once again spilling out.
"I've read about it. How magic is tied to emotions. Could you summon a as much fire as a big dragon?" he asks.
"I don't think so." You smile wryly. Not yet. "But mother can."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>>You bid the dragons goodnight and start heading back towards the castle. You still have a tournament day ahead of you.
As you walk towards the feast, you hear Morgana's voice echo across the hall, in a mellow, even cadence.
"I'm so sorry, Lady Elena. I promise I'll have a stern talk with the cooks and make sure such a thing doesn't occur again. It's lucky no one else was affected, though. I assure you the healer will have a potion to relieve Sir Lancelot's pain in no time."
You round the corner to a peculiar scene- Morgana, with a grave face as she talks to Lady Elena, her arm around Galahad. The red-haired woman bows her head graciously to Morgana whereas the boy, arms crossed, is glaring at the flagstones as if they were the one to personally cause whatever befell Lancelot.
Kay and his wife are standing near them, the woman leaning against her husband, looking tired, a hand over her rounded belly.
<div class="choice">[[Continue on.|Chapt3Hall1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hide behind the corner.|Chapt3Hall2]]</div><<if $chapt3_gawain_kiss == 1>>
Your skin tingles, yet it's not your fire teeming underneath that makes it feels so. It's excitement and anticipation, which you concentrate in your response, "Yes!"
You've read books with kisses. The furtive ones of secret lovers, the astounding ones that wake up someone from a curse, the soft ones shared at a wedding ceremony under a canopy of flowers. Heroic kisses as the couple rides into the sunset. It's a brush of lips - and you've heard sometimes tongues are involved. The books make it seem to easy yet so difficult sometimes.
So you do what feels right, which is pucker your lips, close your eyes and lean in. Your furrowed lips meet halfway, soft and wet. It feels like spring is here. Buds of joy and jubilation blossom in your chest, filling you with a heady perfume that transports you far from the chilly morning in this shadowed castle, to a sunny garden in bloom, laying in a bed of flowers.
You stand there a while longer, staring at each other in pleasant silence, brimming with happiness. When you part to join your respective parties, you do so with heavy hearts, clinging to every brush of fingers as you hand slides out of his, before you have to pull completely away.
[[Continue|Chapt3FieldLeave]]
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_kiss == 2>>
You nod slowly yet deliberately as goosebumps lick up your arms. Your very first kiss. It's a thought that's both exciting and frightening. You've read books with kisses. The furtive ones of secret lovers, the astounding ones that wake up someone from a curse, the soft ones shared at a wedding ceremony under a canopy of flowers. Heroic kisses as the couple rides into the sunset. It's a brush of lips - and you've heard sometimes tongues are involved. You're not quite sure what you're supposed to do, how you're supposed to mould your mouth. So you take Gawain's lead, puckering your lips the same way he does, close your eyes and lean in.
Your furrowed lips meet halfway, soft and wet. It feels like spring is here. Buds of joy and jubilation blossom in your chest, filling you with a heady perfume that transports you far from the chilly morning in this shadowed castle, to a sunny garden in bloom, laying in a bed of flowers.
You stand there a while longer, staring at each other in pleasant silence, brimming with happiness. When you part to join your respective parties, you do so with heavy hearts, clinging to every brush of fingers as you hand slides out of his, before you have to pull completely away.
[[Continue|Chapt3FieldLeave]]
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_kiss == 3>>
Of all the things that could have come out of Gawain's mouth, the suggestion to do something else with it is one that takes you aback. "On the lips?" you say, which on one hand sounds like an important clarification to make but still stupid all the same.
Gawain nods in confirmation, and in reply your lips form a small 'o' which may not be very kissable, but thoroughly surprised.
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes!\""|Chapt3GawainKiss1][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod, nervous yet excited. Your first kiss.|Chapt3GawainKiss1][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." You've never really understood the appeal. You'd be fine with a kiss on the cheek though.|Chapt3GawainKiss1][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." It's a bit to quick, but you'd love a peck on the cheek.|Chapt3GawainKiss1][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_kiss == 4>>
Your nose scrunches up immediately at the suggestion, as if Gawain had presented you with a sweet that's been forgotten under his mattress for weeks that he insists it's still tasty.
"I don't know..." You've read books with kisses. The furtive ones of secret lovers, the astounding ones that wake up someone from a curse, the soft ones shared at a wedding ceremony under a canopy of flowers. Heroic kisses as the couple rides into the sunset. Yet you've never really understood what people liked so much about them. They're simply gnashing lips - and probably teeth too. You've heard sometimes tongues are involved too.
Gawain's face begins to crumble, but you can see he's trying to hold it together, to hide his growing worry.
"I've never understood the allure of it," you explain. "Why anyone would do it, really, but I suppose if it makes them happy."
"I see," Gawain nods and as understanding sets in, his smile returns in force. "We don't have to do it then."
"You can give me a peck on the cheek though. I'd like that."
By now, Gawain's beaming. His happiness is infectious. Buds of joy blossom at the mere sight of his glowing smile. He leans in and kisses your cheek, soft lips lingering on the patch of heated skin.
You stand there a while longer, staring at each other in pleasant silence, brimming with happiness. When you part to join your respective parties, you do so with heavy hearts, clinging to every brush of fingers as you hand slides out of his, before you have to pull completely away.
[[Continue|Chapt3FieldLeave]]
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_kiss == 5>>
"I don't know..." You've read books with kisses. The furtive ones of secret lovers, the astounding ones that wake up someone from a curse, the soft ones shared at a wedding ceremony under a canopy of flowers. Heroic kisses as the couple rides into the sunset. But you don't feel ready to share your own kiss, and whatever that entails. A graze of lips - and you've heard sometimes tongues are involved.
"I just think it's too soon," you explain. "It'd be my first kiss, and I'm kind of nervous."
"I see," Gawain nods and as understanding sets in, his smile returns in force. "We don't have to do it then."
"You can give me a peck on the cheek though. I'd like that."
By now, Gawain's beaming. He leans in and kisses your cheek, soft lips lingering on the patch of heated skin. Buds of joy blossom and unfurl their magnificent petals.
You stand there a while longer, staring at each other in pleasant silence, brimming with happiness. When you part to join your respective parties, you do so with heavy hearts, clinging to every brush of fingers as you hand slides out of his, before you have to pull completely away.
[[Continue|Chapt3FieldLeave]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_gawain_kiss == 1>>
Your skin tingles, yet it's not your fire teeming underneath that makes it feels so. It's excitement and anticipation, which you concentrate in your response, "Yes!"
You've read books with kisses. The furtive ones of secret lovers, the astounding ones that wake up someone from a curse, the soft ones shared at a wedding ceremony under a canopy of flowers. Heroic kisses as the couple rides into the sunset. It's a brush of lips - and you've heard sometimes tongues are involved. The books make it seem to easy yet so difficult sometimes.
So you do what feels right, which is pucker your lips, close your eyes and lean in. Your furrowed lips meet halfway, soft and wet. It feels like spring is here. Buds of joy and jubilation blossom in your chest, filling you with a heady perfume that transports you far from the chilly morning in this shadowed castle, to a sunny garden in bloom, laying in a bed of flowers.
You stand there a while longer, staring at each other in pleasant silence, brimming with happiness. When you part to join your respective parties, you do so with heavy hearts, clinging to every brush of fingers as you hand slides out of his, before you have to pull completely away.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_kiss == 2>>
You nod slowly yet deliberately as goosebumps lick up your arms. Your very first kiss. It's a thought that's both exciting and frightening. You've read books with kisses. The furtive ones of secret lovers, the astounding ones that wake up someone from a curse, the soft ones shared at a wedding ceremony under a canopy of flowers. Heroic kisses as the couple rides into the sunset. It's a brush of lips - and you've heard sometimes tongues are involved. You're not quite sure what you're supposed to do, how you're supposed to mould your mouth. So you take Gawain's lead, puckering your lips the same way he does, close your eyes and lean in.
Your furrowed lips meet halfway, soft and wet. It feels like spring is here. Buds of joy and jubilation blossom in your chest, filling you with a heady perfume that transports you far from the chilly morning in this shadowed castle, to a sunny garden in bloom, laying in a bed of flowers.
You stand there a while longer, staring at each other in pleasant silence, brimming with happiness. When you part to join your respective parties, you do so with heavy hearts, clinging to every brush of fingers as you hand slides out of his, before you have to pull completely away.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_kiss == 4>>
Your nose scrunches up immediately at the suggestion, as if Gawain had presented you with a sweet that's been forgotten under his mattress for weeks that he insists it's still tasty.
"I don't know..." You've read books with kisses. The furtive ones of secret lovers, the astounding ones that wake up someone from a curse, the soft ones shared at a wedding ceremony under a canopy of flowers. Heroic kisses as the couple rides into the sunset. Yet you've never really understood what people liked so much about them. They're simply gnashing lips - and probably teeth too. You've heard sometimes tongues are involved too.
Gawain's face begins to crumble, but you can see he's trying to hold it together, to hide his growing worry.
"I've never understood the allure of it," you explain. "Why anyone would do it, really, but I suppose if it makes them happy."
"I see," Gawain nods and as understanding sets in, his smile returns in force. "We don't have to do it then."
"You can give me a peck on the cheek though. I'd like that."
By now, Gawain's beaming. His happiness is infectious. Buds of joy blossom at the mere sight of his glowing smile. He leans in and kisses your cheek, soft lips lingering on the patch of heated skin.
You stand there a while longer, staring at each other in pleasant silence, brimming with happiness. When you part to join your respective parties, you do so with heavy hearts, clinging to every brush of fingers as you hand slides out of his, before you have to pull completely away.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_kiss == 5>>
"I don't know..." You've read books with kisses. The furtive ones of secret lovers, the astounding ones that wake up someone from a curse, the soft ones shared at a wedding ceremony under a canopy of flowers. Heroic kisses as the couple rides into the sunset. But you don't feel ready to share your own kiss, and whatever that entails. A graze of lips - and you've heard sometimes tongues are involved.
"I just think it's too soon," you explain. "It'd be my first kiss, and I'm kind of nervous."
"I see," Gawain nods and as understanding sets in, his smile returns in force. "We don't have to do it then."
"You can give me a peck on the cheek though. I'd like that."
By now, Gawain's beaming. He leans in and kisses your cheek, soft lips lingering on the patch of heated skin. Buds of joy blossom and unfurl their magnificent petals.
You stand there a while longer, staring at each other in pleasant silence, brimming with happiness. When you part to join your respective parties, you do so with heavy hearts, clinging to every brush of fingers as you hand slides out of his, before you have to pull completely away.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3FieldLeave]]<<if $magictrick == "nocautious">>
"But before that," Gawain quickly adds, excitement welling up in his eyes. "When we met, you said you couldn't show me a magic trick because there were too many people. Can you please - //please// - show me now?" He almost begs of you, twining his hands, giving you a look that rivals that of any puppy or baby dragon.
Can you really say no to that face?
<div class="choice">[["Fine, fine." You chuckle.|Chapt3LodgeTrick][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course," you say, his adorable expression filling you with a pleasant warmth. ❤ |Chapt3LodgeTrick][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "2", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'd really rather not. Sorry," you say apologetically.|Chapt3LodgeTrick1][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "3", $affable to $affable+2]]</div>
<<if $Gawain_ro == 0>><div class="choice">[["Sure," you say, ignoring the strange way he makes your stomach feel. As if a pack of wild dragons were set loose in it. 💕 |Chapt3LodgeTrick][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "4", $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["No," you say flatly.|Chapt3LodgeTrick1][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "5", $affable to $affable-2]]</div>
<<elseif $magictrick == "nogentle">>
"But before that," Gawain quickly adds, excitement welling up in his eyes. Can you please - //please// - show me a magic trick?" He almost begs of you, twining his hands, giving you a look that rivals that of any puppy or baby dragon.
Can you really say no to that face?
<div class="choice">[["Fine, fine." You chuckle.|Chapt3LodgeTrick][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course," you say, his adorable expression filling you with a pleasant warmth. ❤ |Chapt3LodgeTrick][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "2", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'd really rather not. Sorry," you say apologetically.|Chapt3LodgeTrick1][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "3", $affable to $affable+2]]</div>
<<if $Gawain_ro == 0>><div class="choice">[["Sure," you say, ignoring the strange way he makes your stomach feel. As if a pack of wild dragons were set loose in it. 💕 |Chapt3LodgeTrick][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "4", $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["No," you say flatly.|Chapt3LodgeTrick1][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "5", $affable to $affable-2]]</div>
<<elseif $magictrick == "no">>
"But before that," Gawain quickly adds, excitement welling up in his eyes. Can you please - //please// - show me a magic trick?" He almost begs of you, twining his hands, giving you a look that rivals that of any puppy or baby dragon.
Can you really say no to that face?
<div class="choice">[["Fine, fine." You chuckle.|Chapt3LodgeTrick][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course," you say, his adorable expression filling you with a pleasant warmth. ❤ |Chapt3LodgeTrick][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "2", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'd really rather not. Sorry," you say apologetically.|Chapt3LodgeTrick1][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "3", $affable to $affable+2]]</div>
<<if $Gawain_ro == 0>><div class="choice">[["Sure," you say, ignoring the strange way he makes your stomach feel. As if a pack of wild dragons were set loose in it. 💕 |Chapt3LodgeTrick][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "4", $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["No," you say flatly.|Chapt3LodgeTrick1][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "5", $affable to $affable-2]]</div>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainHall]]
<</if>>When you woke up the sky was gray and bloodless, the scenery muted like a pencil sketch, dimly illuminated by the sun that had yet to make its appearance over the horizon. You felt as weak and faint as the light, and fairly woozy, the way you imagine adults might feel the morning after drinking a couple too many glasses of wine.
The tournament and all the festivities attached may be over, but here comes the tedious part of it: the day everyone departs for home. Which, for you and your family translates to standing on the field and waving and bidding goodbyes from morning to evening.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope" or $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
A certain someone wanted to make their farewell private, however.
The King has requested your presence this morning, but in no official manner. Far from it; the note had been hastily slipped under your door and followed by a quick rap.
<<if $chapt3_arthur_river == "no">>
The invitation was short and to the point, asking to meet you in the library, and punctuated by a //please// that oozed desperation.
<div class="choice">[[You accepted. You want to keep in touch.|MeetArthurLibrary1][$Arthur to $Arthur+5, $chapt3_arthur_library to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You didn't go. You don't want to keep in touch.|Chapt3LibraryArthur1][$Arthur to $Arthur-5, $chapt3_arthur_library to false]]</div>
<<else>>
<<silently>><<set $chapt3_arthur_library to true>><</silently>>
The invitation was short and to the point, asking to meet you in the library. And so you did, hurrying through dressing up and sprinting down the busy halls to meet him. You discussed details of your correspondence before Arthur hesitantly opened up his arms, waiting for you to come into the hug yourself. You did, holding him for a few soft, fuzzy moments.
You plod along the hall, weaving pleasant yet hopeless dreams of crawling back into your bed and curling under the sheets. Morgana said you'd be able to sleep in tomorrow, but tomorrow seems so far away when you've got such a long day ahead.
There's flurry of motion at the periphery of your sleep-heavy vision. Gawain, clad in strawberry pink, scuttles along the wall like some oversized adorable mouse, trying his best to keep out of the way of nobles and servants. When he finds an opening he hastens along, boots pattering sharply against the dark wood panelling, and stutters to a halt in front of you.
"I've been looking for you!" he says as way of greeting and proffers a hand. You take it immediately, your hands fitting into each other like matching puzzle pieces. "I got up early and made my baggage last night, just so I could find you now, which really surprised Galahad because he usually has to keep proddig me to make it." He talks quick and breathless, words racing to get out.
A smile blooms on your lips, wide and warm. Such power you have to muster Gawain into packing early and speedy just to meet you. He asks to talk, and pulls you on a side, less circulated hall, huddling in the alcove offered by a wooden painted door, enveloped in his flower perfurme. //Lily of the valley.// Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like the boy himself.
Gawain looks at you expectantly. The black of his pupils almost engulfs the brown of his eyes, reducing it to a thin circle like a golden ring. He bounces on his heels once, twice, and on the third bob up he opens his mouth and expels a breathless question: "Can I kiss you?" Even in your shadowed nook, you can see the flush on his cheeks.
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes!\""|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod, nervous yet excited. Your first kiss.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["On the lips?" you say, befuddled.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." You've never really understood the appeal. You'd be fine with a kiss on the cheek though.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." It's a bit to quick, but you'd love a peck on the cheek.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 5]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
You plod along the hall, weaving pleasant yet hopeless dreams of crawling back into your bed and curling under the sheets. Morgana said you'd be able to sleep in tomorrow, but tomorrow seems so far away when you've got such a long day ahead.
There's flurry of motion at the periphery of your sleep-heavy vision. Gawain, clad in strawberry pink, scuttles along the wall like some oversized adorable mouse, trying his best to keep out of the way of nobles and servants. When he finds an opening he hastens along, boots pattering sharply against the dark wood panelling, and stutters to a halt in front of you.
"I've been looking for you!" he says as way of greeting and proffers a hand. You take it immediately, your hands fitting into each other like matching puzzle pieces. "I got up early and made my baggage last night, just so I could find you now, which really surprised Galahad because he usually has to keep prodding me to make it." He talks quick and breathless, words racing to get out.
A smile blooms on your lips, wide and warm. Such power you have to muster Gawain into packing early and speedy just to meet you. He asks to talk, and pulls you on a side, less circulated hall, huddling in the alcove offered by a wooden painted door, enveloped in his flower perfurme. //Lily of the valley.// Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like the boy himself.
Gawain looks at you expectantly. The black of his pupils almost engulfs the brown of his eyes, reducing it to a thin circle like a golden ring. He bounces on his heels once, twice, and on the third bob up he opens his mouth and expels a breathless question: "Can I kiss you?" Even in your shadowed nook, you can see the flush on his cheeks.
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes!\""|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod, nervous yet excited. Your first kiss.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["On the lips?" you say, befuddled.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." You've never really understood the appeal. You'd be fine with a kiss on the cheek though.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." It's a bit to quick, but you'd love a peck on the cheek.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 5]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3choice1 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Who taught you how to play?\""|GawainQuestion1][$chapt3choice1 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3choice2 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"How many songs do you know?\""|GawainQuestion2][$chapt3choice2 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3choice3 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"What's Arthur like as an adoptive uncle?\""|GawainQuestion3][$chapt3choice3 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3choice4 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Do you like Camelot?\""|GawainQuestion4][$chapt3choice4 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3choice5 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"You must know Merlin. What's he like?\""|GawainQuestion5][$chapt3choice5 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt3choice6 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"What's Galahad like with you?\""|GawainQuestions6][$chapt3choice6 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $magictrick == "yes">><div class="choice">[["We should go back," Gawain says.|Chapt3GawainHall]]</div>
<<else>><div class="choice">[["We should go back," Gawain says.|Chapt3GawainLodgeCont]]</div><</if>><<silently>><<set $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to true>><</silently>>
"Let's go then!" Gawain bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. "Have a look around the fair together." He holds out his hand to you, palm up. An invitation. "If you want to," he says, smile bashful now.
As you slide your hand in his, a ripple of goosebumps travels up your arms. You both stare at your joined hands before your gazes lock too. The joy on his face makes you feel light, as if you were gliding through the clouds.
As you set off leisurely between the stalls, hand in hand, Gawain lets you know Ariawen has met up with $dragon_name and went on their way. "I told them we'd find them later. So, what do you like best at the fair? Did you see the dragons' fire performance?"
You chat easily about what each of you has seen and enjoyed so far; as it turns out, the fire show ranks second best on his list, only dethroned by a troupe of singing actors. He doesn't mention anything about Alina, and you wonder if word of it has somewhat escaped him or if he'd rather not bring up the hurtful subject, right now. You decided not to say anything for now either.
As you pass through, people stare at you and your twined hands. At your bright smiles and the closeness between you; and they whisper behind their palms and cups, but you ignore them. You take in the performances and talk about everything and anything. You stumble upon a magic show, and Gawain is quick to tug you in that direction.
A red-headed sorcerer plays parlor tricks on an elevated platform to a rapt audience. Heavily bejeweled hands present a glass jar with flourish, every motion studied, languid, expansive. //Dramatic//. Like an actor on stage. A brilliant, charming smile stays plastered on his face, but it doesn't look forced. It's fueled by the delight of having dozens of eyes following your every move. The long, billowy sleeves of his purple tunic sway with every move. Their cut is decisively unlike Lothian fashion, but you know the sorcerer to be Lothian. Darius Solomon, the eldest of Alina's siblings.
Something flashes in the jar he brandishes, stirring relentlessly like a caged animal circling its enclosure. Eager to be let out. A fragment of lightning, glimmering a silvery white.
The audience gasps as he allows it float out. But he does not let it run away - it dances in the palm of his hand, flows like water along the length of his arm, across his shoulders, looping over his neck to glide down his other arm and end up in his palm.
The crowd claps, and he bows deep, smile wider. Smugger. Gawain too claps against the back of your palm, refusing to let go of your hand. Your palm's sweaty and your knuckles are starting to ache, but you don't care.
Later, you cross paths with your dragon friends, //by accident//. In truth, $dragon_name called out to you to let you know where to find $dragon_him and Ariawen.
You're flooded by $dragon_name's surprise and excitement at seeing your proximity upon your arrival; Ariawen, on the other side, looks at Gawain knowingly, maw open in a wide grin.
[[At the feast|FeastNight]]You take a short detour to the stalls laid out with jewelry and clothing and a variety of other souvenirs: canvases of Lothian scenery, ceramic plates and vases painted with traditional floral motifs and small wooden flutes. A noble is just purchasing one of the latter. And promptly regrets it as they hand it to their child who, inhaling deeply, puffs out on it a horrible, screeching wheezing. You stiffle a laugh as you quicken to the next stall.
This one sells mostly jewelry, and you stand at the corner, out of the way of a pair that's trying out chokers while the vendor keeps up a mirror and a polite smile. Lothian accessories fit in quite well with Gawain's bright, colorful style, so you find yourself overwhelmed by the wide range of options you're given.
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
It doesn't help that so much hangs in the balance too. Whatever you chose, you intend for it to be something that Gawain will wish to wear. Something that will remind him of you whenever his gaze falls on it, something to represent your affection, to go along with your confession.
<<elseif $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_no_tell">>
It doesn't help that so much hangs in the balance too. Whatever you chose, you intend for it to be something that Gawain will wish to wear. Something that will remind him of you whenever his gaze falls on it.
<</if>>
Rows upon rows of beaded bracelets wink at you from the counter and you survey them until you start to get dizzy. You settle on one of the brightest, loudest ones and pass your coins to the vendor, still holding up the silver mirror and his smile. You wonder what strains more - his arm or his cheeks.
Token acquired, you set out to find Gawain. The night prior, you've agreed to meet next to the arena, close to 12 o'clock. You don't have a clock to check, but the sun's position high in the sky lets you know it's about time.
<<if $gawain_crush_confess == 2>>
<<if $Gawain_ro >= 3>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainConfessionBoth]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3MordredConfessesGawain]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $gawain_crush_confess == 3>>
<<if $Gawain_ro >= 3>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainConfesses]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainFairFriend]]
<</if>>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainFairFriend]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_outlet == "1">>
It's just the way you are. Magic is easy to channel, but hard to control.
"I've read about it. How magic is tied to emotions. Could you summon a sea storm?" he asks.
"I don't think so." You smile wryly. "But mother can."
<<elseif $chapt3_outlet == "2">>
It's powerful, but wild.
"I've read about it. How magic is tied to emotions. Could you summon a sea storm?" he asks.
"I don't think so." You smile wryly. "But mother can."
<<elseif $chapt3_outlet == "3">>
The door of the room sways slightly as you realize your emotions are once again spilling out.
"I've read about it. How magic is tied to emotions. Could you summon a sea storm?" he asks.
"I don't think so." You smile wryly. "But mother can."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>><<if $chapt3_outlet == "1">>
It's just the way you are. Magic is easy to channel, but hard to control.
"I've read about it. How magic is tied to emotions. Could you summon a storm?" he asks.
"I don't think so." You smile wryly. "But mother can."
<<elseif $chapt3_outlet == "2">>
It's powerful, but wild.
"I've read about it. How magic is tied to emotions. Could you summon a storm?" he asks.
"I don't think so." You smile wryly. "But mother can."
<<elseif $chapt3_outlet == "3">>
The door of the room sways slightly as you realize your emotions are once again spilling out.
"I've read about it. How magic is tied to emotions. Could you summon a storm?" he asks.
"I don't think so." You smile wryly. "But mother can."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>><<silently>>
<<set $chapt3_told_morgana_gender to true>>
<</silently>>
"There's something I wanted to talk to you about something," you say as you absent-mindedly rub index and thumb, sending a shower of sweetbread crumbs to the ground. "I've been thinking, and I feel like being seen as a boy feels...wrong." Like an ill-fitting glove, tight and limitating and awkward.
Morgana looks at you with an open, patient expression, to show you've arrested her whole attention. "What would feel right then?"
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say. "Not right now."|Chapt3GenderTalkBoyWrong][$chapt3_boy_wrong to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe...daughter?" you say, trying out the word.|Chapt3GenderTalkBoyWrong][$chapt3_boy_wrong to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Child," you say. "Just child."|Chapt3GenderTalkBoyWrong][$chapt3_boy_wrong to 3]]</div><<silently>>
<<set $chapt3_told_morgana_gender to true>>
<</silently>>
"There's something I wanted to talk to you about something," you say as you absent-mindedly rub index and thumb, sending a shower of sweetbread crumbs to the ground. "I've been thinking, and I feel like being seen as a girl feels...wrong." Like an ill-fitting glove, tight and limitating and awkward.
Morgana looks at you with an open, patient expression, to show you've arrested her whole attention. "What would feel right then?"
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say. "Not right now."|Chapt3GenderTalkGirlWrong][$chapt3_girl_wrong to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe...son?" you say, trying out the word.|Chapt3GenderTalkGirlWrong][$chapt3_girl_wrong to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Child," you say. "Just child."|Chapt3GenderTalkGirlWrong][$chapt3_girl_wrong to 3]]</div><<if $chapt3_boy_wrong == 1>>
"I don't know," you say, a bit helplessly. You feel as if you're in the middle of the ocean, not knowing which way to swim, only that you can't keep on wading the water in place; so you will let yourself float and see where it takes you. "I don't know right now."
Morgana smiles. "You don't have to fret, darling. You'll figure it out. For now, are you fine with people using he and him for you? Perhaps you'd like something that sounds more neutral."
<div class="choice">[[He, him is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[She, her, actually.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_boy_wrong == 2>>
"Maybe...girl?" you say, testing out the word, how well it rolls off the tongue and rings in your ears, the way it makes you feel deep in your chest. Something small and delicate unfurls its wings and flutters hopefully within.
Morgana smiles softly. "And would you like people to start using she and her for you, then?"
<div class="choice">[[She, her sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He, him is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_boy_wrong == 3>>
"Child," you say, attentive to how well it rolls off the tongue and rings in your ears, the way it makes you feel deep in your chest. "Just child."
Morgana smiles. "For now, are you fine with people using ?they and ?them for you? Or you'd like something that sounds more neutral?"
<div class="choice">[[She, her, actually.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He, him is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_girl_wrong == 1>>
"I don't know," you say, a bit helplessly. You feel as if you're in the middle of the ocean, not knowing which way to swim, only that you can't keep on wading the water in place; so you will let yourself float and see where it takes you. "I don't know right now."
Morgana smiles. "You don't have to fret, darling. You'll figure it out. For now, are you fine with people using she and her for you? Perhaps you'd like something that sounds more neutral."
<div class="choice">[[She, her is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He, him, actually.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_girl_wrong == 2>>
"Maybe...boy?" you say, testing out the word, how well it rolls off the tongue and rings in your ears, the way it makes you feel deep in your chest. Something small and delicate unfurls its wings and flutters hopefully within.
Morgana smiles softly. "And would you like people to start using he and him for you, then?"
<div class="choice">[[She, her is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He, him sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_girl_wrong == 3>>
"Child," you say, attentive to how well it rolls off the tongue and rings in your ears, the way it makes you feel deep in your chest. "Just child."
Morgana smiles. "For now, are you fine with people using ?they and ?them for you? Or you'd like something that sounds more neutral?"
<div class="choice">[[She, her is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He, him is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<</if>>"Alright then," Morgana nods.
<<include Chapt3MorganaFireShow>><<if $chapt3_glowy_scales==1>>
“I failed to notice how glittery you look today. Did you do something to your scales?”
<<if $dragon_type=="bold">>
“Thank you for finally taking notice,” they say, with no small amount of smugness. “It’s this cream Cora gave me, it makes the scales glow. I think it looks great if I can say so myself.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="shy">>
“Thank you. I mean, you did have a lot on your mind so I don't blame you for not noticing. It’s this cream Cora gave me, to make my scales more glowy. I think it looks nice. I hope it looks nice. I initially put on a little bit, but it didn't seem like it was doing anything, so I smeared on some more. And then when I went out into the sunlight, I was glowing so much. I was scared I went too far - "
“It looks great, $dragon_name,” you reassure them.
“Thank you,” they say again, pacified now.
<<elseif $dragon_type=="friendly">>
“Thank you, thank you,” they croon. “Cora gave me this cream to make my scales more glowy and it's so great. Look how glittery I am! I love it so much. I feel like a walking, talking gemstone.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="fierce">>
“Thank you for noticing. If people are gonna talk about us, might as well give them something better to talk about,” they say, with no small amount of smugness. “It’s this cream Cora gave me this cream to make my scales glowy. And I think I may have put on so much that now I look like a walking, talking gemstone. But at least it catches the eye.”
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_glowy_scales==2>>
“I failed to notice how cute you look today - well more than usual. Did you do something to your scales?”
<<if $dragon_type=="bold">>
“Thank you for finally taking notice,” they say, with no small amount of smugness. “It’s this cream Cora gave me, it makes the scales glow. I think it looks great if I can say so myself.”
$dragon_name huffs, blowing warm air into your face. “Well, I’ve been waiting for you to //finally// notice.” Then, softer, they add: “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="shy">>
“Thank you. I mean, you did have a lot on your mind so I don't blame you for not noticing. But I’m glad you did. You look cute too. Well, you always do,” they add, softer.
Your smile turns wry. “Even after a workout when I smell like months old unwashed linen?”
Their nose crinkles the slightest bit, but they still say, “Even then.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="friendly">>
“Thank you, thank you,” they croon. “I do feel very cute!”
“I can feel that too.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="fierce">>
“You failed to notice me shinning like a beacon?” they ask, though there’s no real heat beneath the words, just teasing amusement.
“A cute beacon,” you correct.
$dragon_name huffs a laugh, blowing warm air into your face.
<</if>>
You make no attempt to conceal the feeling that blooms in your chest, warm and gentle. On contrary, you let it unravel, let it extend, vines reaching out to $dragon_name’s mind to intertwine with their own thoughts. Let them burrow inside their heart too, see if they find a way to take seed.
You keep your mind open, heart in your throat, waiting for their response.
What you feel from them is only half-defined, a form whose shape is constantly changing, remolding, trying to find its truest form. There is a sense of curiosity, a thrum of excitement; and beneath it all, a sliver of surprise, an unspoken question, left hovering between you two, full of possibility and promise.
This is not the first time you’ve let this sort of feeling leave your chest and make their way to theirs; not the first time you’ve sensed this response in them. There’s been...moments. Curious, small, brief, gentle moments. Emotions that touched upon your mind as daintily as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Little sparks, ignited but for a moment, leaving a faint, lingering glow in their wake, like the afterimage you see behind your lids after staring into open flame.
There is something in moments of silence, like the one right before you. Something in the sweet smile you’re giving them now, something in the gentle way their tail wraps around your ankle.
You've never really talked about it. Never really allowed yourself to explore whatever //it// may be, and neither will you do so now. You bask in the feeling, but do not question //it//, whatever it is, at least for now. It doesn’t seem like the right moment for it.
<<if $dragon_type=="bold">>
Instead, $dragon_name says: “It’s this cream Cora gave me, it makes the scales glow. Very cute indeed.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="shy">>
Instead, $dragon_name says: “It’s this cream Cora gave me, to make my scales more glowy. I think it looks nice. I hope it looks nice. I initially put on a little bit, but it didn't seem like it was doing anything, so I smeared on some more. And then when I went out into the sunlight, I was glowing so much. I was scared I went too far - "
“It looks great, $dragon_name,” you reassure them.
“Thank you,” they say again, pacified now.
<<elseif $dragon_type=="friendly">>
Instead, $dragon_name says: “Cora gave me this cream to make my scales more glowy and it's so great. Look how glittery I am! I love it so much. I feel like a walking, talking gemstone.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="fierce">>
Instead, $dragon_name says: “It’s this cream Cora gave me to make my scales glowy. And I think I may have put on so much that now I look like a walking, talking gemstone. But at least it catches the eye. If people are gonna talk about us,” they add, no small amount of smugness in their voice, “might as well give them something better to talk about.”
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_glowy_scales==3>>
“I failed to notice how cute you look today - well more than usual. Did you do something to your scales?”
<<if $dragon_type=="bold">>
$dragon_name huffs, blowing warm air into your face. “Well, I’ve been waiting for you to //finally// notice.” Then, softer, they add: “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="shy">>
“Thank you. I mean, you did have a lot on your mind so I don't blame you for not noticing. But I’m glad you did. You look cute too. Well, you always do,” they add, softer.
Your smile turns wry. “Even after a workout when I smell like months old unwashed linen?”
Their nose crinkles the slightest bit, but they still say, “Even then.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="friendly">>
“Thank you, thank you,” they croon. “I do feel very cute!”
“I can feel that too.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="fierce">>
“You failed to notice me shinning like a beacon?” they ask, though there’s no real heat beneath the words, just teasing amusement.
“A cute beacon,” you correct.
$dragon_name huffs a laugh, blowing warm air into your face.
<</if>>
You burrow deep inside the feeling that blooms in your chest, warm and gentle and delicate, shield it so that it won’t slip through the cracks, even as its vines strain to break out and extend to $dragon_name, to twine with their own mind, to bud in their own chest.
And yet it seems you cannot contain it all. You feel a change in your friend, in the air - there’s a hitch, a shift. A thrum of excitement, a quip of curiosity; and beneath it all a sliver of surprise, an unspoken question.
In response, you only push the feeling deeper inside. This is not the first time you’ve buried your emotions, not the first time they’ve slipped out regardless of your best efforts. Neither is it the first time you’ve sensed this response from them. There’s been...moments.Curious, small, brief, gentle moments. Emotions that touched upon your mind as daintily as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Little sparks, ignited but for a moment, leaving a faint, lingering glow in their wake, like the afterimage you see behind your lids after staring into open flame.
There is something in moments of silence, like the one right before you. Something in the sweet smile you’re giving them now, something in the gentle way their tail wraps around your ankle.
You bask in the tenderness of the moment, but do not question what you feel, whatever it is, at least not for now. It doesn’t seem like the right moment for it. You don’t know when that moment will be, if ever.
<<elseif $chapt3_glowy_scales==4>>
“I failed to notice how cute you look today - well more than usual. Did you do something to your scales?”
<<if $dragon_type=="bold">>
$dragon_name huffs, blowing warm air into your face. “Well, I’ve been waiting for you to //finally// notice.” Then, softer, they add: “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="shy">>
“Thank you. I mean, you did have a lot on your mind so I don't blame you for not noticing. But I’m glad you did. You look cute too. Well, you always do,” they add, softer.
Your smile turns wry. “Even after a workout when I smell like months old unwashed linen?”
Their nose crinkles the slightest bit, but they still say, “Even then.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="friendly">>
“Thank you, thank you,” they croon. “I do feel very cute!”
“I can feel that too.”
<<elseif $dragon_type=="fierce">>
“You failed to notice me shinning like a beacon?” they ask, though there’s no real heat beneath the words, just teasing amusement.
“A cute beacon,” you correct.
$dragon_name huffs a laugh, blowing warm air into your face.
<</if>>
A wave of affection comes over you anew. You let it unspool in your chest, warm and gentle and precious, let it seep into them, so you may share the moment.
There’s a shift in the air, in your friend. A vague sense of curious hope, a question forming whose shape you cannot quite make out, cannot quite grasp yet. It’s gone as quick as it came, leaving ripples in your mind like a pebble skipping over water. You feel its weight as it sinks, but its lost to the murky bottom before you can catch it.
This isn’t the first time it’s happened; these emotions you can’t quite define, brushing past you like a breeze whose direction you can’t discern, touching on your thoughts as lightly and flittingly as a butterfly’s wings.
Perhaps you’ll ask at some point, follow the thread of this feeling to see where it takes you. But for now, you feel content to simply lay by your friend’s side.
<</if>>
You sit in comfortable silence for a while longer, tucked beneath $dragon_name’s wing, shielded from the world, from your life, from all your troubles. Finally, reluctantly, you have to return to the castle, and all the excitement and complications that expect you.
[[Continue|Chapt3Castle]]<<if $betray == "confusion">>
You hug yourself, feeling your chest constrict again, mistrust coiling against it. "I'd…I'd rather not," you say quietly.
"Mordred, I know you're upset…I know Morgana and I may go the wrong way about some things, but we're only doing it to protect you."
You pull at your sleeve, brow furrowed. It feels like you've heard these words so much these days - //protecting you//.
"Perhaps," you sigh, tossing your gaze towards the sunny sky you can see through the window. "But I think I'm entitled to know the prophecy on which some people formed their opinion on me. A prophecy that foretells that I bring ruin."
<<elseif $betray == "betrayed">>
You hug yourself, feeling your chest constrict again, mistrust coiling against it. "I'd…I'd rather not," you say quietly.
"Mordred…" Accolon knows what's gnawing at you. "I know you're upset…I know Morgana and I may go the wrong way about some things, but we're only doing it to protect you."
You pull at your sleeve, brow furrowed. It feels like you've heard these words so much these days - //protecting you//.
"Perhaps," you huff out, tossing your gaze towards the sunny sky you can see through the window. "But I think I'm entitled to know the prophecy on which some people formed their opinion on me. A prophecy that foretells that I bring ruin."
<</if>>
<<if $stay == "behind">>
I should know about a prophecy that tries to dictate my actions, like Morgana tries."
Your words are cutting, and you can see on Accolon's face that it stung.
<</if>>
The man looks at you sorrowfully. "I thought it a cruel thing to tell you the prophecy. You need not carry the burden of it."
<div class="choice">[["I understand." And you forgive them.|Chapt3GoTalk2][$betray to "forgive", $Morgana to $Morgana+5, $Accolon to $Accolon+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It still hurts...but I'll forgive you, eventually."|Chapt3GoTalk2][$betray to "willforgive"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod. You understand, but it'll leave a scar. |Chapt3GoTalk2][$betray to "notforgive", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div><<if $chapt3_boy == "3">>
You roll your eyes, a frustrated sigh escaping you.
<<elseif $chapt3_boy == "4">>
You head towards him, relieved.
<<elseif $chapt3_boy == "5">>
Your mouth twists in disappointment for just a moment.
<</if>>
<<if $Gawain >= 58>>
You plop down next to Gawain on the bench, and the boy turns to you with his usual bright smile.
"Alone?" you ask.
"Yes," the boy exhales, sagging his shoulders. "Galahad is in a sour mood." //Isn't he always?// you think but keep the comment to yourself. A frown pinches his brow, but it smooths as quickly as it appeared, replaced by genuine joy as he looks over at you. "I'm happy you came to me. In fact, I would have come to you but you weren't here when I arrived." He bites his lip, concern shadowing his expression again, his temperament changing as rapidly as a sun appearing and disappearing behind clouds. "Are you..." he hesitates, as if not sure of the word to use, before starting on an outpour of questions. "Are you fine? Is Accolon fine? You disappeared after the tournament and I didn't know if you wanted to be alone or not and I was worried about you." He stops, taking in a long breath.
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine and so is Accolon." You give him a weak smile, touched that he was worried.|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He was worried about you? You're about to cry.|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "2", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Accolon's recovering well, but I'm not quite fine."|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Blink in confusion. Did he just say he was worried about you?|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["We're both fine," you say politely, but that's all the conversation you're willing to make.|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What do you care about it?" you say, coldly. You're not in the mood to make conversation, and you don't need anyone's pity.|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "6"]]</div>
<<elseif $Gawain >= 50>>
You plop down on the bench next to the boy, who offers you a chirped "Hi!" There's something strained about his usual cheerful expression, however. It must be an uncomfortable position he's in. His uncle's closest friend mercilessly beat your father - the King didn't stop his own Champion Knight, strike after strike.
The boy wrings his hands, looking at a loss of words, until he opens his mouth an abundance of them pour out: "Are you alright? How is Sir Accolon? I haven't seen you at the tournament after that and I was wondering how you were holding up."
Oh. So the furrow between his brows is concern.
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine and so is Accolon." You give him a weak smile, touched that he was worried.|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He was worried about you? You're about to cry.|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "2", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Accolon's recovering well, but I'm not quite fine."|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Blink in confusion. Did he just say he was worried about you?|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["We're both fine," you say politely, but that's all the conversation you're willing to make.|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What do you care about it?" you say, coldly. You're not in the mood to make conversation, and you don't need anyone's pity.|GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "6"]]</div>
<<else>>
You plop down on the bench next to the boy, but he doesn't acknowledge you beyond a chirped "Hi!", choosing instead to focus on the band performing, fingers tapping against the bench in rhythm with the music.
[[Continue|Chapt3NoLeave]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_fine == "1">>
Gawain's beam returns, bright and warm. "I'm glad."
<<elseif $chapt3_fine == "2">>
His genuine concern is a sentiment you don't often expect extended towards you, and only know you realize just how much you crave it, how much you need it. You collect each scrap of affection, from the few people in Lothia willing to offer it and bask in its comfort, in the warmth it kindles in you. You feel tears gather in your eyes.
Gawain's eyes go wide, words spilling out in a panicked rush. "Are you crying? Please don't cry! Did I say something wrong?"
"No, no." You shake your head, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. "I'm just..." Overwhelmed? Overjoyed? "People don't usually worry about me," you say quietly.
Gawain frowns sympathetically. "I'm sure they do!" he says encouragingly. "Why wouldn't they?"
<<elseif $chapt3_fine == "3">>
Today has been hard on you, concern for Accolon draining you and leaving you weary.
"Oh." Gawain makes a small discontent sound, then beams. "I can try to cheer you up!"
You smile faintly. "That's very sweet of you."
<<elseif $chapt3_fine == "4">>
You stare at him, blinking slowly, his words echoing around your head but like a bird flying around a room without finding a place to perch, the words don't seem to sink in. People don't worry about you. Whenever pain befalls you, it's always punishment for you being a bastard, you heard them whisper. It's what you deserve. There's few people in Lothia who offer you sympathy.
And yet here is this boy, gazing at you with kind, worried eyes. Offering something so foreign, that you don't even know how to respond.
"You're worried about me?" you finally ask, still dazed.
"Of course I am!" he says earnestly.
You smile faintly. "Thank you. I'm fine…I think. Accolon is recovering well."
<<elseif $chapt3_fine == "5">>
Heat rushes your cheeks, your stomach fluttering suddenly like a dragon taking flight. It's such a warm, comforting feeling that he kindles in you…
"I'm fine," you say, smiling bashfully. "Accolon is recovering well."
"I'm glad." He beams, and you can't help but smile too, staring into his beautiful, kind brown eyes.
<<elseif $chapt3_fine == "6">>
Your stomach flutters like a dragon taking flight. You must be really famished. Ignoring the sensation, you instead smile warmly at him. "I'm fine. Accolon is recovering well."
<</if>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table, a mischievous grin on his lips. "I know what'll cheer you up! Remember I told you I play the lute? Do you want to sneak out so I could play to you?"
<<if $lute == "yes" and $told_lute is true>>
He adds, "We could duet!"
<<else>>
He adds, "I could even teach you a tune!"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Let's go!" You have to tell Morgana first.|Chapt3TellBeforeLeave][$sneak to "ask", $Gawain to $Gawain+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant-1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Let's go!" You'll tell Morgana you're retiring for the night.|Chapt3LieBeforeLeave][$sneak to "lie", $Gawain to $Gawain+2, $met_callum to true, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Let's go!" You're not telling Morgana.|Chapt3NoBeforeLeave][$sneak to "no", $Gawain to $Gawain+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sorry, I'm really tired."|Chapt3NoLeave][$sneak to "dontgopolite"]]</div><<if $chapt3_boy == "1">>
<<if $Gawain_crush >= 2>>
You make your way to Gawain with hasty steps, a smile blooming on your lips as does warmth in you chest, gentle like an opening rose bud.
<<else>>
You hasten your steps, a smile tugging at your lips.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_boy == "2">>
<<if $Gawain_crush >= 2>>
Your mouth twists in disappointment for just a moment before it melts into a smile. Warmth blooms in your chest, gentle like an opening rose bud.
<<else>>
Your mouth twists in disappointment for just a moment, before a smile curls your lips.
<</if>>
<</if>>
You plop down next to Gawain on the bench, and the boy turns to you with his usual bright smile.
"Alone?" you ask, returning the smile.
"Yes," the boy exhales, sagging his shoulders. "Galahad is in a sour mood." //Isn't he always?// you think but keep the comment to yourself. A frown pinches his brow, but it smooths as quickly as it appeared, replaced by genuine joy as he looks over at you. "I'm happy you came to me. In fact, I would have come to you but you weren't here when I arrived." He bites his lip, concern shadowing his expression again, his temperament changing as rapidly as a sun appearing and disappearing behind clouds. "Are you..." he hesitates, as if not sure of the word to use, before starting on an outpour of questions. "Are you fine? Is Accolon fine? You disappeared after the tournament and I didn't know if you wanted to be alone or not and I was worried about you." He stops, taking in a long breath.
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine and so is Accolon." You give him a weak smile, touched that he was worried.|Chapt3GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He was worried about you? You're about to cry.|Chapt3GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "2", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Accolon's recovering well, but I'm not quite fine."|Chapt3GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Blink in confusion. Did he just say he was worried about you?|Chapt3GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Flush, your stomach fluttering. He was worried about you? ❤ |Chapt3GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "5", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+5]]</div>
<<if $Gawain_ro == 0 and $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[He was worried about you? Your stomach flutters. It's a strange reaction, but you ignore it. 💕 |Chapt3GoGawain1][$chapt3_fine to "6", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>It's been brewing like a potion and now it overspills, words tumbling out of your mouth. "I feel so conflicted about the prophecy, and the fact that you and Morgana decided to keep it secret from me." You feel embers of hurt - heated yet not quite a fire yet.
"Mordred, I know you're upset...I know Morgana and I may go the wrong way about some things, but we're only doing it to protect you."
You pull at your sleeve, brow furrowed. It feels like you've heard these words so much these days - //protecting you//.
"Perhaps," you sigh, tossing your gaze towards the sunny sky you can see through the window. "But I think I'm entitled to know the prophecy on which some people formed their opinion on me. A prophecy that foretells that I bring ruin."
<<if $stay == "behind">>
I should know about a prophecy that tries to dictate my actions, like Morgana tries."
Your words are cutting, and you can see on Accolon's face that it stung.
<</if>>
The man looks at you sorrowfully. "I thought it a cruel thing to tell you the prophecy. You need not carry the burden of it."
<div class="choice">[["I understand." And you forgive them.|Chapt3GoTalk1][$betray to "forgive", $Morgana to $Morgana+5, $Accolon to $Accolon+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It still hurts...but I'll forgive you, eventually."|Chapt3GoTalk1][$betray to "willforgive"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod. You understand, but it'll leave a scar. |Chapt3GoTalk1][$betray to "notforgive", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div><<if $betray == "forgive">>
Can you really blame them? What would you have done in their stead? It's a heavy thing to tell a child, but you'd like to think you're mature enough.
You sigh, letting all tension wash away, smiling feebly. "I understand."
<<elseif $betray == "willforgive">>
You shake your head. The deception is not easily forgiven, even though you understand the secrecy. "It still hurts…but I'll forgive you, eventually."
<<elseif $betray == "notforgive">>
Lies cut deep, like blades, and you can only wonder whatever else they keep away in pretense of protection. You simply nod.
<</if>>
"Now," the man begins, uncertainly, smiling faintly. "Shall we go?"
<div class="choice">[[You nod, smiling.|Chapt3TournamentAccolon][$chapt3_accolon_prophecy to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head.|Chapt3TournamentAlone][$chapt3_accolon_prophecy to "2"]]</div><<if $betray == "forgive">>
Can you really blame them? What would you have done in their stead? It's a heavy thing to tell a child, but you'd like to think you're mature enough.
You sigh, letting all tension wash away, smiling feebly. "I understand."
<<elseif $betray == "willforgive">>
You shake your head. The deception is not easily forgiven, even though you understand the secrecy. "It still hurts…but I'll forgive you, eventually."
<<elseif $betray == "notforgive">>
Lies cut deep, like blades, and you can only wonder whatever else they keep away in pretense of protection. You simply nod.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3TournamentAlone]]It's been brewing like a potion and now it overspills, words tumbling out of your mouth. "I feel so betrayed about the fact that you and Morgana decided to keep the prophecy secret from me."
"Mordred, I know you're upset…I know Morgana and I may go the wrong way about some things, but we're only doing it to protect you."
You pull at your sleeve, brow furrowed. It feels like you've heard these words so much these days - //protecting you//.
"Perhaps," you huff out, tossing your gaze towards the sunny sky you can see through the window. "But I think I'm entitled to know the prophecy on which some people formed their opinion on me. A prophecy that foretells that I bring ruin."
<<if $stay == "behind">>
I should know about a prophecy that tries to dictate my actions, like Morgana tries."
Your words are cutting, and you can see on Accolon's face that it stung.
<</if>>
The man looks at you sorrowfully. "I thought it a cruel thing to tell you the prophecy. You need not carry the burden of it."
<div class="choice">[["I understand." And you forgive them.|Chapt3GoTalk1][$betray to "forgive", $Morgana to $Morgana+5, $Accolon to $Accolon+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It still hurts...but I'll forgive you, eventually."|Chapt3GoTalk1][$betray to "willforgive"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod. You understand, but it'll leave a scar. |Chapt3GoTalk1][$betray to "notforgive", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>"I'd love that," you smile, but it quickly falters. "Won't it be too tiring for you?"
"No, no, it's fine," he assures you. "As long as you're willing to slow your step for me."
"Of course!" you say promptly, offended by any suggestion otherwise.
"Good," he smiles, patting your hand. "I'll see you down at the entrance hall in a few minutes."
[[Continue|Chapt3TournamentAccolon]]<<if $chapt3_thanks == "1">>
Just before Sir Kay and his wife can take a step forward, you quickly put yourself in front of them, a grateful smile easing onto your face. "Thank you for letting Gawain play with me," you say, throwing the boy a quick smile.
"Why of course," Gawain's mother sounds rather disbelieving, as if it wasn't such an unexpected thing of them to do. For you, it is. She seems to come to the same conclusion, her gaze softening as she adds, "I'm happy you found a friend in Gawain."
"And you can play tomorrow too," Kay smiles encouragingly at you.
As you step back to allow them to leave, you catch Galahad's conflicted, unreadable expression before he quickly looks away.
The adults bid each other goodnight. Gawain smiles at you before he rushes to catch his mother's extended hand. Galahad avoids your eye, the frown persisting, like storm clouds.
<<else>>
The adults bid each other goodnight. Gawain smiles at you before he rushes to catch his mother's extended hand. Galahad avoids your eye, the frown persisting, like storm clouds.
<</if>>
You find yourself alone in the corridor with Morgana, silence punctured by the slowly fading steps. A question hangs heavily between you two, though you wonder, need you even ask? Lancelot falls mysteriously ill after leaving Accolon in agony and now he's the one suffering in well deserved retribution.
<div class="choice">[["You did this, didn't you?" you whisper, already knowing the answer.|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is that what really happened? Food sickness or something else?" You look at her pointedly.|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Serves Lancelot right for what he did to Accolon. Was it you, or did fate smile upon us?\""|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You already know Morgana did this. No need to linger. You're heading to bed.|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Lancelot deserved worse for what he did to Accolon.\""|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's just a harmless enough poison, you didn't..." you say nervously.|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "6"]]</div><<if $chapt3_poison == "1">>
Morgana gazes at you, the compassionate mask from before discarded. The corner of her mouth tugs up. "Revenge really is sweet."
<<if $sneak == "lie">>
She considers you for a moment. "I thought you were supposed to retire for the night."
Ah, you did say that. "Change of plans," you respond and she shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips, and her tone is gentle. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Now, I believe you should really go to bed."
<<elseif $sneak == "no">>
She considers you for a moment. "I thought you'd be still at the feast or retiring." She shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Now, I believe you should really go to bed."
<<else>>
There's a pause as she considers you, and when she next speaks her voice is gentle. "You should go to bed."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_poison == "2">>
"Retribution," Morgana simply says, something fiery in her eyes as she meets your gaze steadfastly.
<<if $sneak == "lie">>
She considers you for a moment. "I thought you were supposed to retire for the night."
Ah, you did say that. "Change of plans," you respond and she shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips, and her tone is gentle. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Now, I believe you should really go to bed."
<<elseif $sneak == "no">>
She considers you for a moment. "I thought you'd be still at the feast or retiring." She shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Now, I believe you should really go to bed."
<<else>>
There's a pause as she considers you, and when she next speaks her voice is gentle. "You should go to bed."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_poison == "3">>
Morgana breaks into a harsh laugh. "I don't like leaving things into the hands of fate, Mordred." Her expression darkens. "Fate has never been on my side."
<<if $sneak == "lie">>
She considers you for a moment. "I thought you were supposed to retire for the night."
Ah, you did say that. "Change of plans," you respond and she shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips, and her tone is gentle. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Now, I believe you should really go to bed."
<<elseif $sneak == "no">>
She considers you for a moment. "I thought you'd be still at the feast or retiring." She shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Now, I believe you should really go to bed."
<<else>>
There's a pause as she considers you, and when she next speaks her voice is gentle. "You should go to bed."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_poison == "4">>
<<if $sneak == "lie">>
"Goodnight," you curtly say but Morgana stops you before you can leave.
"I thought you were supposed to retire for the night."
Ah, you did say that. "Change of plans," you respond and she shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips, and her tone is gentle. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Goodnight, dear."
<<elseif $sneak == "no">>
"Goodnight," you curtly say, but Morgana stops you before you can leave.
"I thought you'd be still at the feast or retiring." She shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Goodnight, dear."
<<else>>
"Goodnight," you curtly say and hear Morgana echo it gently.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_poison == "5">>
Morgana's lips quirk in a cruel smile. "Oh, yes, but I assure you, the suffering he'll endure is not one to underestimate."
<<if $sneak == "lie">>
She considers you for a moment. "I thought you were supposed to retire for the night."
Ah, you did say that. "Change of plans," you respond and she shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips, and her tone is gentle. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Now, I believe you should really go to bed."
<<elseif $sneak == "no">>
She considers you for a moment. "I thought you'd be still at the feast or retiring." She shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Now, I believe you should really go to bed."
<<else>>
There's a pause as she considers you, and when she next speaks her voice is gentle. "You should go to bed."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_poison == "6">>
"It was just a harmless enough poison, right?" you ask, nervousness bubbling inside you. "You didn't...you know..." you let the sentence float in the air, made clear in your meaningful stare.
Morgana scoffs lightly. "Of course not. I have more sense than Lancelot."
<<if $sneak == "lie">>
She considers you for a moment. "I thought you were supposed to retire for the night."
Ah, you did say that. "Change of plans," you respond and she shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips, and her tone is gentle. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Now, I believe you should really go to bed."
<<elseif $sneak == "no">>
She considers you for a moment. "I thought you'd be still at the feast or retiring." She shakes her head. Yet, there's a shadow of a smile on her lips. "Gawain seems like a sweet boy. Now, I believe you should really go to bed."
<<else>>
There's a pause as she considers you, and when she next speaks her voice is gentle. "You should go to bed."
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3CheckAccolon]]"What happened?" Gawain asks, concern slipping into his tone as he hastens forward.
They all turn towards the boy, and relief floods Galahad's face at the sight of his friend- until he spots you, and he frowns. Fortunately, he keeps silent.
"Sir Lancelot is feeling sick from the food, but he'll be fine," Kay gently informs Gawain.
"Perhaps he also indulged in the wine," Morgana offers, in that deceptively sweetly tone of hers- as sweet and dangerous as poisoned wine. Which, come to think of it, could be the cause of Lancelot's affliction. "It's imported from Astolat and very fine, yet so intoxicating. And he seemed so tense tonight, I'm sure he wanted something to...wash that tension away."
Elena keeps surprisingly calm after Morgana's words implying that Lancelot's drunk himself sick. "I have to go be by my husband's side." She glances at Galahad. "And you should retire to bed, now that Gawain's here too."
<div class="choice">[[Wait! You want to thank Gawain's parents for letting him play with you.|Chapt3Hall1.1][$chapt3_thanks to "1", $Galahad to $Galahad+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You bid them goodnight.|Chapt3Hall1.1][$chapt3_thanks to "2"]]</div><<if $chapt3_cue == "1">>
As quietly as you can, you run down the hall, your head racing. Lancelot falls mysteriously ill after leaving Accolon in agony- and now he's the one suffering in well deserved retribution. There's only one explanation, only one person who could serve this reckoning - Morgana. You know her ways so well.
[[The next morning|Chapt3CheckAccolon]]
<<elseif $chapt3_cue == "2">>
The adults bid each other goodnight. As they pass by the corner, Gawain waves in your direction- luckily, Galahad's stormy gaze is directed at the flagstones.
You find yourself alone in the corridor with Morgana, silence punctured by the slowly fading steps. A question hangs heavily between you two, though you wonder - need you even ask? Lancelot falls mysteriously ill after leaving Accolon in agony- and now he's the one suffering in well deserved retribution.
<div class="choice">[["You did this, didn't you?" you whisper, already knowing the answer.|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is that what really happened? Food sickness or something else?" You look at her pointedly.|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Serves Lancelot right for what he did to Accolon. Was it you, or did fate smile upon us?"|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You already know Morgana did this. No need to linger. You're heading to bed.|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Lancelot deserved worse for what he did to Accolon."|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's just a harmless enough poison, you didn't..." you say nervously.|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "6"]]</div>
<</if>>Gawain glances at you confused, but you offer him a weak smile, whispering to him to go ahead. The boy look conflicted, but a woman's voice draws his attention.
"Gawain?"
"What happened? The boy asks, his steps hastening.
"Sir Lancelot is feeling sick from the food, but he'll be fine," Kay gently informs Gawain.
"Perhaps he also indulged in the wine," Morgana offers, in that deceptively sweetly tone of hers- as sweet and dangerous as poisoned wine. Which, come to think of it, could be the cause of Lancelot's affliction. "It's imported from Astolat and very fine, yet so intoxicating. And he seemed so tense tonight, I'm sure he wanted something to…wash that tension away."
Elena keeps surprisingly calm after Morgana's words implying that Lancelot's drunk himself sick. "I have to go be by my husband's side. And you should retire to bed, now that Gawain's here too."
<div class="choice">[[You take this as your cue to run to your room before anyone sees you.|Chapt3Hall2.1][$chapt3_cue to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You wait for them to leave to approach Morgana.|Chapt3Hall2.1][$chapt3_cue to "2"]]</div><<if $chapt3_snap == "1">>
The wind rings in your ears, wails of wraith singing to the rhythm of your fury. "Now you want to talk?" you shout to make yourself heard over the gale.
Arthur retreats even more. He raises his hand against the wind, but keeps his gaze on you. You see the pain in his eyes, but you have no pity. He has no right to talk to you.
<<elseif $chapt3_snap == "2">>
You let out a hollow laugh. "Go on, talk."
<<elseif $chapt3_snap == "3">>
You shake your head. No. You won't hear a word from him. "I don't want to talk."
"Hear me out," he begs.
<</if>>
"I just wanted to see you." Arthur's eyes roam over your features, with wonder and a sort of tenderness. "I...always wondered what you grew up to be like," he adds in a whisper, more to himself than you.
You only just now notice he's holding something. He starts turning it in his hands, the fingers restless just like his gaze, drinking you in. "You look just like Morgana." He inhales a sharp breath. You can't quite tell what the expression in his eyes means - hope, regret and fear making a dangerous concotion, leaving you wondering whether the remark is meant for good or not.
He notices you looking at his hands, and he holds a hand out to show you a small, wooden dragon figurine. "For you. I sculpted it. I wanted to give you something." He smiles, that soft and hopeful smile. Ignoring all the years of silence, extending a peace offering in the form of a wooden dragon figurine.
<div class="choice">[[You storm down the stairs and knock it out of his hands.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "yeet", $chapt3_take_figurine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, but just to appease him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "appease", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div><<silently>><<set $Galahad to $Galahad+1>><</silently>>
<<if $Gawain >= 50>>
As you make your way through the pavilion, your gaze trails over Gawain's worried one. He gives you an encouraging smile, but it's faint.
<</if>>
You rush to the healers' pavilion, set next to the one where knights get ready to fight. Beds and bassins of water are arranged around the pavilion, along with tables covered by bottles of differently colored liquids and herbs, both dried and freshly picked, all ingredients needed for healing spells. Some of the beds are already occupied, the injured knights ranging from sleeping ones to irritated ones, their wounds alike covering the slightest scratch to large slashes and broken bones. You see knights with bored expression, kept from the excitement, knights with faces contorted from pain, and a poor man whose whole face is covered in bandages. Indeed, injuries are rather common. But it still doesn't change that most of the people here were injured by accident- whereas Lancelot had the intent to wound.
The guards put Accolon on one of the empty beds and start taking off his armor, leaving him in his undergarments. Robin starts inspecting him, looking over his wounds - the obvious bruises, staining his light skin red, the slashes the sword cut in the flesh, gaping and bleeding. They touch his torso, and Accolon grimaces, biting back a groan.
"Broken ribs," Robin whispers under their breath, brows furrowed in sympathy. They look up at you. "I have to identify the wounds first, so I know what I'm healing." You feel there's a lesson to be learned here.
<<if $water_gally is true>>
<div class="choice">[[You've been studying Goddess magic under Morgana, but Robin has been landing a helping hand too.|Chapt3Heal1][$water_magic to $water_magic+10, $chapt3_heal to "1", $water_study to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You study a bit of Goddess magic, recognizing the benefits of it, and both Morgana and Robin have helped you.|Chapt3Heal1][$water_magic to $water_magic+5, $chapt3_heal to "2", $water_study to "sometimes"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You've been studying Goddess magic under Morgana, but Robin has been lending a helping hand too.|Chapt3Heal1][$water_magic to $water_magic+10, $chapt3_heal to "1", $water_study to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You study a bit of Goddess magic, recognizing the benefits of it, and both Morgana and Robin have helped you.|Chapt3Heal1][$water_magic to $water_magic+5, $chapt3_heal to "2", $water_study to "sometimes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You and Morgana always have a back and forth between learning Goddess magic - she insists you do, but you always counter there's no need.|Chapt3Heal1][$chapt3_heal to "3", $water_study to "no"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_heal == "1">>
You nod earnestly. You've heard this before in one of your lessons in the healing properties of Goddess magic. Knowing what you should be healing is a very important step- you can't just blindly throw yourself at it. Concentrating on the wound helps in making the process faster, by pouring all needed power where it should. The Goddess may bestow power, but the user must guide it. It's not quite as easy as muttering a prayer and having it be done. It takes practice.
<<elseif $chapt3_heal == "2">>
You listen earnestly. The words are vaguely familiar from one of your lessons in the healing properties of water magic. The Goddess may bestow power, but the user must guide it. It's not quite as easy as muttering a prayer and having it be done. It takes practice.
<<elseif $chapt3_heal == "3">>
Everyone just loves turning things into lessons for you, don't they? Morgana keeps trying this tactic and it doesn't work. You already have Le Fay and Pendragon magic, why would you dabble in Goddess magic too? What you can do is more accessible to you, the power at the tips of your fingers, no begging to some elusive Goddess to grant her powers. You're in control of your own magic.
<</if>>
"Lancelot did a lot of damage," Robin assesses, their lips a firm, sober line. "It honestly looked like a malicious attack, not a friendly match."
It certainly did, you agree. A vicious attack with a vengeful intent, for what, you don't know but guessing shouldn't be that hard.
After all, Lancelot hates you.
Accolon groans again, agonized.
<div class="choice">[[Take his hand.|Chapt3Heal2][$chapt3_hand to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Approach him and give him a sympathetic smile.|Chapt3Heal2][$chapt3_hand to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're rooted to the spot, beside the bed. It's painful to see him like this.|Chapt3Heal2][$chapt3_hand to "3"]]</div><<if $chapt3_hand == "1">>
You take a step forward and take his calloused hand into your own, mustering a reassuring smile for the man. He replies with a faint curl of his bloodied lips.
<<elseif $chapt3_hand == "2">>
You muster a reassuring smile for the man. He replies with a faint curl of his bloodied lips.
<<elseif $chapt3_hand == "3">>
You're fixed in place by thick roots of anguish. It's painful watching the man like this, and your fingers flex on your cloak as your whole frame tenses.
<</if>>
Robin turns to the basin of water. You see their lips moving, but all you can hear is a hiss akin to a breeze, hushed words unintelligible to your ears. The lines of worry on their face have smoothed to serenity and cupping their hands, they sink them in the water and as they raise them again, not one drop spills between their fingers. Slowly, deliberately, they move their cupped hands over Accolon's wounds and let water drip down on them, washing away the blood and making the man take in a sharp breath. Then, after dousing all the wounds in water, Robin moves their hands slowly over them, their lips again moving quickly in a hushed prayer, their eyes tightly shut as they concentrate, calling onto the Goddess's favor.
Magic shimmers in the air and makes your hair stand on end, a familiar sensation. You can see it start taking effect- slashes beginning to close, bruises fading. Finally, Robin opens their eyes and smiles softly. "Ready."
Accolon sighs and smiles back. "Thank you."
The healer tugs at their blond braid. "I'm disappointed in Lancelot." They quirk an eyebrow. "I saw you two talking. He didn't look too pleased. Whatever qualms you may have, it wasn't in the spirit of the competition. I hate knights who think the tournament is an opportunity to fight out their arguments." They tilt their head. "Not everyone here was injured by accident. Now, I think you should be taking a break for today. Tomorrow you can compete again, but don't push yourself. I'll be heading back to my post."
And with a wave, they leave you and Accolon alone.
"What was the fight about?" you ask, although conjectures are already weaving in your mind.
<<if $warning == "yes">>
"Lancelot said it was a warning. What did he mean?"
<</if>>
Accolon beckons you closer, these words only for your ears, so you lean in. "Last night, after your meeting with Arthur…He confided in Lancelot, his best friend. And Lancelot didn't have a very good opinion of Arthur's decision to see you. He told me to keep you away from him."
"So he injured you?" Your voice raises, aggravated, but Accolon hushes you, glancing around.
<<if $stay == "furious">>
Your blood starts to boil again. Lancelot likes to makes decisions for Arthur, like Morgana does for you. They step in as if it's up to them, with no regard towards what //you// want.
You hear a clatter, and water slosh. The basin of water is shaking on the table next to the bed.
"Mordred," Accolon's calm voice draws your attention and the basin settles.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
Why is everyone trying to keep you and Arthur apart? He wants to be your father, yet everyone rebukes him, and they pull you away, and all you want is to get to know the man whose blood you have. If Morgana's warning hasn't scared him off, did Lancelot's words? Whatever lies did he employ to convince him to stay away from you?
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
Sadness wells up in you. Lancelot isn't willing to give you a chance, like Morgana won't give Arthur. They're all pulling you apart, claiming to protect you yet hurting you in the process.
You hear a clatter. The basin of water is shaking, threating to spill water, and so do your eyes.
"Mordred," Accolon's calm voice draws your attention and the basin settles.
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
Perhaps it's best if you stay away from Arthur. He already seems hesitant about being your father, so what use is it getting your heart broken again by a father who won't be there for you.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
Hopefully Arthur will listen to Lancelot, if Morgana's words didn't convince him to stay away from you. You don't want anything to do with him.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
Hopefully Arthur will listen to Lancelot, if Morgana's words didn't convince him to stay away from you. You don't want anything to do with him.
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
Let Arthur do whatever he wants, and if it is staying away, just as well. Whatever Lancelot or Morgana say, it's Arthur's decision to make.
<</if>>
"Go back to the castle," he says. "I'll lay a bit here before making my way back."
<div class="choice">[[Tears threaten to spill. "It's all my fault. If I hadn't met Arthur in the lodge-"|Chapt3Fault][$chapt3_fault to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Are you sure?" you say, worried.|Chapt3Fault][$chapt3_fault to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Fine." You hesitate to leave him, but relent.|Chapt3Fault][$chapt3_fault to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you say, leaving. You should let him rest, after all.|Chapt3Fault][$chapt3_fault to "4"]]</div><<if $chapt3_lodge_father == "1">>
"Then do it!" You lean forward, propelled by the same desire. "Be my father!"
Arthur cups your face and you lean into his touch, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want to. I want to be your father. But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "2">>
"Please," you say pleadingly, "I just want you to be my father."
Arthur cups your face and you lean into his touch, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want to. I want to be your father. But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "3">>
He couldn't even hug you in public, how will he be better?
"But can you?" you ask, disheartened by the gesture that could have meant so much.
Arthur cups your face and you lean into his touch, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want to. I want to be your father. But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "4">>
Arthur cups your face and you lean into his touch, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "I want to. I want to be your father. But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_father == "5">>
A pang of pain claws at your chest, hopeless sadness dripping off your words, "I used to want that too, but I'm not so sure anymore."
Arthur cups your face, his hands warm and calloused. His gaze is hazy with tears. "Please, just give me a chance." It's a desperate plea. "I want to be your father. But I can only do so behind closed doors. I can't...I can't tell the people who you are, and Morgana would never let me be with you, Mordred."
<</if>>
"Why? If mother saw you cared, we could convince her to forgive you!" You say, hopeful, your own eyes stinging with tears.
"She loathes me, and for good reasons. I thought you'd loathe me, too. Merlin said Morgana is turning you against me. He told me to stay away from you, as you'll only bring me destruction, like the prophecy foretells."
"Prophecy?" you echo, frowning. Latching onto the word that settles uneasily in the pit of your stomach like a boulder, word he's mentioned so nonchalantly, as if it were something you should be aware of. It's the first time you've heard of a prophecy that involves you - lest one that involves you being the destruction of anything.
"The prophecy Merlin made when you were born," Arthur explains.
The words hit you like a wave that sweeps you off your feet. No one told you anything of a prophecy. Not Morgana, not Accolon, not Junia. You are to take the throne as your birth right, so what is this prophecy of destruction?
"You didn't know," Arthur concludes with the grim air of one who's made a mess and must now reckon with it.
The tent flap flies open, and Accolon bursts in. "Mordred!" he exclaims in relief upon seeing you. Which would register as a surprise, since Morgana's never had any reservations about you wandering the castle grounds at your liberty; but you're in a state where such little things don't truly register. Accolon's gaze slides over to Arthur next to you and something shifts in his demeanor. He seems almost wary.
"Morgana and I were worried when you disappeared from the feast," Accolon says and proffers a hand. "I think it's better to return now."
You get up but hesitate, glancing back at Arthur. You were interrupted - there are things left unsaid, and a lot more questions than when you came in that you crave answers to - but Arthur silently encourages you to go. Perhaps it's for the best given your mother's temper, which you're sure he's trying to avoid. Accolon puts a protective hand over your shoulder - Arthur's gaze falls on it and beholds it as if it were laid on a sword. There's apprehension in his face, but also pain as if the blade had already lanced him through.
Just as you're about to exit, Arthur calls out. "Thank you, Accolon. For being there for Mordred."
Accolon pauses, one foot out the tent already. For an uncertain moment he doesn't react, and you can't quite fathom the sentiment that passes his features. Then he angles his head back to Arthur and offers him but a gracious smile before guiding you out into the hall. Arthur doesn't follow.
As you leave Elewen's tent, the crisp, chill night air slaps you in the face. You barely pay any attention to the way it bites into your exposed skin and seeps under your clothes. As you cross the field, your mind is buzzing with what Arthur told you. Loudest of all is the prophecy he so carelessly mentioned. The prophecy you have never heard before.
<div class="choice">[[Confront Accolon about it.|Chapt3ConfrontAccolon][$confront to "accolon"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait to confront Morgana about it.|Chapt3ConfrontMorgana][$confront to "morgana"]]</div><<if $chapt3_injury == "1">>
All the wrath and fear that twisted your stomach as you watched helplessly from the side as the King's Champion battered your knight is about to be unleashed. No, you realize as the explosive concontion of feelings baubles, about to spill, he hurt your father.
You throw yourself in front of Lancelot, glowering at him, yet the man doesn't look impressed by your display, growling, "Get out of my way."
"You took it too far!" you yell, your words filled with raw fury and anguish. Your fists clench as you raise them, as if you could take on the man.
In response, Lancelot sneers down at you. "It was a warning."
A warning. Is that all he and his son know to do? Act all cold and cruel yet pretend to be so noble, as if you're some kind of monster they're protecting people from. But you see the truth. You see them for what they are - bullies.
A drown out, suffering groan from the ring snaps your attention from Lancelot's steely gaze and you rush to Accolon. Morgana has flung herself to his side, gingerly cupping his face, not quite knowing where to place her fingers lest it hurt him, looking agonized as if she too were wounded. Accolon makes for a harrowing image. Bright red tendrils slick his ginger hair and lick down his forehead; blood coats his broken nose and split lips.
"Morgana," he whispers, trying to smile but only succedding in wincing.
Morgana's panic only flares. "How badly hurt is he? There's blood and bruises, and the armor..."
"Lady Morgana, it's hardly appropriate for the hostess to leave the booth," Robin, the healer, mutters, their calm a stark contrast to Morgana's frantic manner. They put a hand over her shaking ones. "I'll take care of Accolon, you return to your seat. Please," they entreat. Calm yet firm, no doubt accustomed by now to handling such situations. Morgana holds their gaze, as if searching for something within it - a reassurance, a promise - before nodding and reluctantly getting up. She moves back to allow the guards to move Accolon onto the stretcher and watches with a pained expression as he's rushed off. You follow the healer, sprinting to keep up with Robin's large steps.
As you pass Galahad, a horrified kind of astonishment paints his features as his eyes land on Accolon, bloody and gritting his teeth in pain. He snaps his gaze away, as if the sight was too much to bear. And a twisted, bitter satisfaction bites into you at that moment. You hope that he memorizes that image, that he recognizes his father's act for what is is - senseless violence - and that it makes him //squirm//, just like you've squirmed watching it unfold.
<<elseif $chapt3_injury == "4">>
You rush to your fallen knight, ignoring Lancelot, Accolon's wellbeing the only thing on your mind, worry like a claw holding your chest in a vice grip. Tightening as you approach Accolon and take in the awful state he has been brought to. Battered, bloodied, armor dent.
"Accolon!" Morgana has leapt from the royal stand, holding her cobalt skirt up so she can run, concern twisting her expression. No. It's more intense than concern. It's pain, it's fear. She flings herself on the ground, cupping his face gingerly. There are bright red tendrils slicking his ginger hair and licking down his forehead; blood coats his broken nose and split lips.
"Morgana," he whispers, trying to smile but only succedding in wincing.
Morgana's panic only flares. "How badly hurt is he? There's blood and bruises, and the armor..."
"Lady Morgana, it's hardly appropriate for the hostess to leave the booth," Robin, the healer, mutters, their calm a stark contrast to Morgana's frantic manner. They put a hand over her shaking ones. "I'll take care of Accolon, you return to your seat. Please," they entreat. Calm yet firm, no doubt accustomed by now to handling such situations. Morgana holds their gaze, as if searching for something within it - a reassurance, a promise - before nodding and reluctantly getting up. She moves back to allow the guards to move Accolon onto the stretcher and watches with a pained expression as he's rushed off. You follow the healer, sprinting to keep up with Robin's large steps.
As you pass through the pavilion you catch sight of Galahad, a horrified kind of astonishment paints his features as his eyes land on Accolon, bloody and gritting his teeth in pain. He snaps his gaze away, as if the sight was too much to bear. And a twisted, bitter satisfaction bites into you at that moment. You hope that he memorizes that image, that he recognizes his father's act for what is is - senseless violence - and that it makes him //squirm//, just like you've squirmed watching it unfold.
<<elseif $chapt3_injury == "5">>
You throw yourself in Lancelot's way, glowering at him, putting behind your expression all the fury, anguish and worry that you feel. "Such a noble knight," you spit out. The knight snarls, but you don't wait for a response, running to your father.
"Accolon!" Morgana has leapt from the royal stand, holding her cobalt skirt up so she can run, concern twisting her expression. No. It's more intense than concern. It's pain, it's fear. She flings herself on the ground, cupping his face gingerly. There are bright red tendrils slicking his ginger hair and licking down his forehead; blood coats his broken nose and split lips.
"Morgana," he whispers, trying to smile but only succeeding in wincing.
Morgana's panic only flares. "How badly hurt is he? There's blood and bruises, and the armor..."
"Lady Morgana, it's hardly appropriate for the hostess to leave the booth," Robin, the healer, mutters, their calm a stark contrast to Morgana's frantic manner. They put a hand over her shaking ones. "I'll take care of Accolon, you return to your seat. Please," they entreat. Calm yet firm, no doubt accustomed by now to handling such situations. Morgana holds their gaze, as if searching for something within it - a reassurance, a promise - before nodding and reluctantly getting up. She moves back to allow the guards to move Accolon onto the stretcher and watches with a pained expression as he's rushed off. You follow the healer, sprinting to keep up with Robin's large steps.
As you pass through the pavilion you catch sight of Galahad, a horrified kind of astonishment paints his features as his eyes land on Accolon, bloody and gritting his teeth in pain. He snaps his gaze away, as if the sight was too much to bear. And a twisted, bitter satisfaction bites into you at that moment. You hope that he memorizes that image, that he recognizes his father's act for what is is - senseless violence - and that it makes him //squirm//, just like you've squirmed watching it unfold.
<<elseif $chapt3_injury == "6">>
Doing anything too rash will lend you in more trouble - show the public what Lancelot wants, but you can't let him escape unpunished, either. No one will suspect anything if, as you run by the knight, you give him a push from behind, just enough to make hims stumble. As so, putting all your fury and anguish in it, you send a squall at his back as you run to Accolon. You hear the clang of metal as the knight falls to his knees.
"Accolon!" Morgana has leapt from the royal stand, holding her cobalt skirt up so she can run, concern twisting her expression. No. It's more intense than concern. It's pain, it's fear. She flings herself on the ground, cupping his face gingerly. There are bright red tendrils slicking his ginger hair and licking down his forehead; blood coats his broken nose and split lips.
"Morgana," he whispers, trying to smile but only succedding in wincing.
Morgana's panic only flares. "How badly hurt is he? There's blood and bruises, and the armor..."
"Lady Morgana, it's hardly appropriate for the hostess to leave the booth," Robin, the healer, mutters, their calm a stark contrast to Morgana's frantic manner. They put a hand over her shaking ones. "I'll take care of Accolon, you return to your seat. Please," they entreat. Calm yet firm, no doubt accustomed by now to handling such situations. Morgana holds their gaze, as if searching for something within it - a reassurance, a promise - before nodding and reluctantly getting up. She moves back to allow the guards to move Accolon onto the stretcher and watches with a pained expression as he's rushed off. You follow the healer, sprinting to keep up with Robin's large steps.
As you pass Galahad, a horrified kind of astonishment paints his features as his eyes land on Accolon, bloody and gritting his teeth in pain. He snaps his gaze away, as if the sight was too much to bear. And a twisted, bitter satisfaction bites into you at that moment. You hope that he memorizes that image, that he recognizes his father's act for what is is - senseless violence - and that it makes him //squirm//, just like you've squirmed watching it unfold.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3Heal]]<<if $chapt3_control == "1">>
As Morgana always says, the Le Fay powers are attuned to your emotions, their intensity landing your magic more might. Why control such power? All you need is channel your emotions and let them pour outside, and the elements will bend to your very will.
<<elseif $chapt3_control == "2">>
You stuff them, hide them away from prying eyes, stack them like a dragon might horde its treasure. Except your treasure trove has the potential to explode, to give your powers the push to unleash and wreak havoc. And that's exactly what happens now.
<</if>>
Raising your arms and pushing towards the knight, you propel a squall at him, your bitter words traveling with the wind, "You took it too far!"
The knight's head snaps in your direction, just in time for the blast to catch him like a slap- that is, if the slap was that of a mighty dragon wing- making him stumble backwards and stealing his breath away, gulping for air as he falls to his knees.
"Father!" Galahad's scared voice pierces through the thundering in your ears, and you see the boy running to assist his fallen father, a rare glimmer of emotion other than aloof indifference. Worry. So much like your own. Lancelot pushes himself in a sitting position, offering Galahad a weak, wry tug of the lips.
But it quickly turns to rage as, having made sure his father is fine, he glares at you. You don't have time to process the staggering hate sent your way, however, as a drawn out, suffering groan hastens your step to Accolon. Morgana has flung herself to his side, gingerly cupping his face, not quite knowing where to place her fingers lest it hurt him, looking agonized as if she too were wounded. Accolon makes for a harrowing image. Bright red tendrils slick his ginger hair and lick down his forehead; blood coats his broken nose and split lips.
"Morgana," he whispers, trying to smile but only succeeding in wincing.
Morgana's panic only flares. "How badly hurt is he? There's blood and bruises, and the armor..."
"Lady Morgana, it's hardly appropriate for the hostess to leave the booth," Robin, the healer, mutters, their calm a stark contrast to Morgana's frantic manner. They put a hand over her shaking ones. "I'll take care of Accolon, you return to your seat. Please," they entreat. Calm yet firm, no doubt accustomed by now to handling such situations. Morgana holds their gaze, as if searching for something within it - a reassurance, a promise - before nodding and reluctantly getting up. She moves back to allow the guards to move Accolon onto the stretcher and watches with a pained expression as he's rushed off. You follow the healer, sprinting to keep up with Robin's large steps.
As you pass Galahad, a horrified kind of astonishment paints his features as his eyes land on Accolon, bloody and gritting his teeth in pain. He snaps his gaze away, as if the sight was too much to bear. And a twisted, bitter satisfaction bites into you at that moment. You hope that he memorizes that image, that he recognizes his father's act for what is is - senseless violence - and that it makes him //squirm//, just like you've squirmed watching it unfold.
[[Continue|Chapt3Heal]]The wind around you has picked up- mere seconds ago, it was calm, and now it flutters your cloak and raises the dust of the ring, responding to the storm of rage and anguish inside you. No spell under Morgana's training feels quite as powerful as when you let your emotions reign over your magic. Raw feelings guiding raw magic.
<div class="choice">[[You're always open about your emotions, anyway- why not let them dictate your magic, too?|Chapt3Injured1.1][$emotional to $emotional+10, $chapt3_control to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You always control your emotions, what slips past and what you bottle up. But when shaken, the bottle explodes.|Chapt3Injured1.1][$emotional to $emotional-10, $chapt3_control to "2"]]</div><<if $chapt3_control == "1">>
As Morgana always says, the Le Fay powers are attuned to your emotions, their intensity landing your magic more might. Why control such power? All you need is channel your emotions and let them pour outside, and the elements will bend to your very will.
<<elseif $chapt3_control == "2">>
You stuff them, hide them away from prying eyes, stack them like a dragon might horde its treasure. Except your treasure trove has the potential to explode, to give your powers the push to unleash and wreak havoc. And that's exactly what happens now.
<</if>>
Raising your arms, you watch as the water does the same, to the gasps of people. You pull back your arms and aim at Lancelot, willing the water to follow your motion, rushing to Lancelot like a wave over a ship on a stormy sea, as you yell, "You took it too far!"
The knight's head snaps in your direction, just in time for the wave to crash over him, making him stumble backwards, soaked, falling to his knees as he coughs out water.
"Father!" Galahad's scared voice pierces through the thundering in your ears, and you see the boy running to assist his fallen father, a rare glimmer of emotion other than aloof indifference. Worry. So much like your own. Lancelot pushes himself in a sitting position, offering Galahad a weak, wry tug of the lips.
But it quickly turns to rage as, having made sure his father is fine, he glares at you. You don't have time to process the staggering hate sent your way, however, as a drawn out, suffering groan hastens your step to Accolon. Morgana has flung herself to his side, gingerly cupping his face, not quite knowing where to place her fingers lest it hurt him, looking agonized as if she too were wounded. Accolon makes for a harrowing image. Bright red tendrils slick his ginger hair and lick down his forehead; blood coats his broken nose and split lips.
"Morgana," he whispers, trying to smile but only succeeding in wincing.
Morgana's panic only flares. "How badly hurt is he? There's blood and bruises, and the armor..."
"Lady Morgana, it's hardly appropriate for the hostess to leave the booth," Robin, the healer, mutters, their calm a stark contrast to Morgana's frantic manner. They put a hand over her shaking ones. "I'll take care of Accolon, you return to your seat. Please," they entreat. Calm yet firm, no doubt accustomed by now to handling such situations. Morgana holds their gaze, as if searching for something within it - a reassurance, a promise - before nodding and reluctantly getting up. She moves back to allow the guards to move Accolon onto the stretcher and watches with a pained expression as he's rushed off. You follow the healer, sprinting to keep up with Robin's large steps.
As you pass Galahad, a horrified kind of astonishment paints his features as his eyes land on Accolon, bloody and gritting his teeth in pain. He snaps his gaze away, as if the sight was too much to bear. And a twisted, bitter satisfaction bites into you at that moment. You hope that he memorizes that image, that he recognizes his father's act for what is is - senseless violence - and that it makes him //squirm//, just like you've squirmed watching it unfold.
[[Continue|Chapt3Heal]]You feel the water in the basin of the middle of the ring. You feel the angry waves raising and splashing over the edge, echoing the stormy sea that is your rage an anguish. No spell under Morgana's training feels quite as powerful as when you let your emotions reign over your magic. Raw feelings guiding raw magic.
<div class="choice">[[You're always open about your emotions, anyway- why not let them dictate your magic, too?|Chapt3Injured2.1][$emotional to $emotional+10, $chapt3_control to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You always control your emotions, what slips past and what you bottle up. But when shaken, the bottle explodes.|Chapt3Injured2.1][$emotional to $emotional-10, $chapt3_control to "2"]]</div><<if $chapt3_control == "1">>
As Morgana always says, the Le Fay powers are attuned to your emotions, their intensity landing your magic more might. Why control such power? All you need is channel your emotions and let them pour outside, and the elements will bend to your very will.
<<elseif $chapt3_control == "2">>
You stuff them, hide them away from prying eyes, stack them like a dragon might horde its treasure. Except your treasure trove has the potential to explode, to give your powers the push to unleash and wreak havoc. And that's exactly what happens now.
<</if>>
"You took it too far!" you shout as flames spring out of your palms and gasps ripple through the crowd.
Lancelot snaps his head to you, his eyes bugging out when he sees the angry wave of fire hurtling his way. He throws himself to the ground with a loud thud just in time to avoid the attack. The flames fall on the ground, and someone summons the water from the center basin to extinguish it.
"Father!" Galahad's scared voice pierces through the thundering in your ears, and you see the boy running to assist his fallen father, a rare glimmer of emotion other than aloof indifference. Worry. So much like your own. Lancelot pushes himself in a sitting position, offering Galahad a weak, wry tug of the lips.
But it quickly turns to rage as, having made sure his father is fine, he glares at you. You don't have time to process the staggering hate sent your way, however, as a drawn out, suffering groan hastens your step to Accolon. Morgana has flung herself to his side, gingerly cupping his face, not quite knowing where to place her fingers lest it hurt him, looking agonized as if she too were wounded. Accolon makes for a harrowing image. Bright red tendrils slick his ginger hair and lick down his forehead; blood coats his broken nose and split lips.
"Morgana," he whispers, trying to smile but only succeeding in wincing.
Morgana's panic only flares. "How badly hurt is he? There's blood and bruises, and the armor..."
"Lady Morgana, it's hardly appropriate for the hostess to leave the booth," Robin, the healer, mutters, their calm a stark contrast to Morgana's frantic manner. They put a hand over her shaking ones. "I'll take care of Accolon, you return to your seat. Please," they entreat. Calm yet firm, no doubt accustomed by now to handling such situations. Morgana holds their gaze, as if searching for something within it - a reassurance, a promise - before nodding and reluctantly getting up. She moves back to allow the guards to move Accolon onto the stretcher and watches with a pained expression as he's rushed off. You follow the healer, sprinting to keep up with Robin's large steps.
As you pass Galahad, a horrified kind of astonishment paints his features as his eyes land on Accolon, bloody and gritting his teeth in pain. He snaps his gaze away, as if the sight was too much to bear. And a twisted, bitter satisfaction bites into you at that moment. You hope that he memorizes that image, that he recognizes his father's act for what is is - senseless violence - and that it makes him //squirm//, just like you've squirmed watching it unfold.
[[Continue|Chapt3Heal]]Your palms blaze with heat, your veins alight with red hot fury and anguish as you raise your arms. No spell under Morgana's training feels quite as powerful as when you let your emotions reign over your magic. Raw feelings guiding raw magic.
<div class="choice">[[You're always open about your emotions, anyway- why not let them dictate your magic, too?|Chapt3Injured3.1][$emotional to $emotional+10, $chapt3_control to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You always control your emotions, what slips past and what you bottle up. But when shaken, the bottle explodes.|Chapt3Injured3.1][$emotional to $emotional-10, $chapt3_control to "2"]]</div>Now the sky blazes a fiery orange, clouds bleeding rosy pink and you're standing next to your mother under its bloody dome, seeing off the first party to leave - the Camelotian one. Lot stands straight and dour, hands clasped firmly behind his back like a General facing his army before a battle whose odds promise to claim many of his soliders. Morgana looks resplendent and warm in her coat of emerald green, lined with fur. Gareth, in his green cape and knee-high boots takes more after Morgana in poise and affable smile.
You share a lingering, secretive smile with Arthur before he steps back to make space for Sir Kay and his family.
<<if $Gawain >= 60>>
<<if $Gawain_crush >= 3>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back and you're sure he must feel the way your heart races in your chest as if it wanted to burst right out and join him, a piece of you to take on his journey back home, a piece of you that you feel belongs to him now. You inhale deeply, eyes fluttering close as you bask in this comforting embrace and his flowery scent. Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like Gawain himself. //Lily of the valley.//
He pulls back, leaving you cold and exposed and vulnerable, a desolate abyss gapping between you. Yet his perfume clings to you, and it somewhat soothes you.
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back with all your might, and you're sure he must feel the way your heart races, struggling with the pain of him leaving. You inhale deeply, basking in the comforting embrace and his flowery scent. Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like Gawain himself. //Lily of the valley.//
He pulls back, leaving you cold and exposed and vulnerable, a desolate abyss gapping between you. Yet his perfume clings to you, and it somewhat soothes you.
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 4>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back with all your might, basking in the comforting embrace and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. Your chest pangs as he pulls back.
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back, enveloped in his arms and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. You won't lie, you're sad to see him go; he's been a breath of fresh air.
<<else>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back, enveloped in his arms and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself.
<</if>>
<<elseif $Gawain >= 55>>
<<if $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a quick parting hug, promising to write. As he pulls back his flower perfume lingers - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. You won't lie, you're sad to see him go; he's been a breath of fresh air.
<<else>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a quick parting hug, promising to write. As he pulls back his flower perfume lingers - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself.
<</if>>
<<else>>
Gawain inclines his head, a genial smile pinned in place as he echoes the goodbye uttered by his parents.
<</if>>
Next up in line is the du Lac family. Lancelot's farewell is textbook courteous and perfectly cold, while Elena speaks hers demurely.
<<if $Galahad >= 25>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. The frost reserved for you has thawed, giving away to an emotion you can't fathom. He seems inquisitive. He's looked at you before as if you were a puzzle, one that particuarly vexed him, but now there's some new sentiment, one that looks almost like regret.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 20>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. The frost reserved for you has mostly thawed, giving away to confusion. He's looked at you before as if you were a puzzle, one that particuarly vexed him.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. It's not as chill as you expected, and not that sharp either. It seems mostly guarded, peeking at you from over a metaphorical shield.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 10>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens the look he gives you isn't as chill as you expected, but still sharp and guarded.
<<else>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, but when he straightens he treats you with the usual biting glare you've come to expect.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You smile brightly at Galahad.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 1, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_friend to $gally_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile shyly at Galahad.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 2, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_friend to $gally_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give him a fake, charming smile.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 3, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_ally to $gally_ally+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stick your tongue out at him.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile sardonically.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Scowl.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 6, $Galahad to $Galahad-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ignore him.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 7]]</div>You plod along the hall, weaving pleasant yet hopeless dreams of crawling back into your bed and curling under the sheets. Morgana said you'd be able to sleep in tomorrow, but tomorrow seems so far away when you've got such a long day ahead.
There's flurry of motion at the periphery of your sleep-heavy vision. Gawain, clad in strawberry pink, scuttles along the wall like some oversized adorable mouse, trying his best to keep out of the way of nobles and servants. When he finds an opening he hastens along, boots pattering sharply against the dark wood panelling, and stutters to a halt in front of you.
"I've been looking for you!" he says as way of greeting and proffers a hand. You take it immediately, your hands fitting into each other like matching puzzle pieces. "I got up early and made my baggage last night, just so I could find you now, which really surprised Galahad because he usually has to keep prodding me to make it." He talks quick and breathless, words racing to get out.
A smile blooms on your lips, wide and warm. Such power you have to muster Gawain into packing early and speedy just to meet you. He asks to talk, and pulls you on a side, less circulated hall, huddling in the alcove offered by a wooden painted door, enveloped in his flower perfume. //Lily of the valley.// Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like the boy himself.
Gawain looks at you expectantly. The black of his pupils almost engulfs the brown of his eyes, reducing it to a thin circle like a golden ring. He bounces on his heels once, twice, and on the third bob up he opens his mouth and expels a breathless question: "Can I kiss you?" Even in your shadowed nook, you can see the flush on his cheeks.
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes!\""|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod, nervous yet excited. Your first kiss.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["On the lips?" you say, befuddled.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." You've never really understood the appeal. You'd be fine with a kiss on the cheek though.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." It's a bit to quick, but you'd love a peck on the cheek.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 5]]</div><<if $chapt3_isolde2 == "1">>
<<if $trial == "race">>
"I'm most excited about dragon racing."
<<elseif $trial == "sword">>
"I'm most excited about sword fighting."
<<elseif $trial == "jousting">>
"I'm most excited about jousting."
<<elseif $trial == "archery">>
"I'm most excited about archery."
<<elseif $trial == "hand">>
"I'm most excited about hand to hand combat."
<<elseif $trial == "combat">>
"I'm most excited about combat."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_isolde2 == "2">>
Her smile falters and she directs her gaze forward, expression clouded by a conflicted emotion. "Yes, duty," she whispers, as light as a stray breeze in an otherwise still forest, a murmur you almost miss. It's quickly dispelled by a practiced smile as she turns to you. "I understand."
<</if>>
You've arrived at the knights' pavilion when the girl turns to you, "It was fun talking to you, Mordred. Enjoy the sweets!"
She heads for the pavilion, weaving through the chaos like a needle in a confident hand.
<<if $eavesdrop == "no">>
You watch as she makes her way to a boy you recognize - Tristan, a squire from Astolat. She hands him the sweets and he smiles, saying something to her, and that's when the crowd moves, obscuring your view.
<<else>>
You watch as she makes her way to Tristan, handing him the sweets. The boy smiles and says something to her, and that's when the crowd moves, obscuring your view.
<</if>>
Sweets acquired, you direct your step towards the dragon lodge, moving briskly through the crowd.
[[Continue|Chapt3GalahadRiver]]"I saw Arthur."
Morgana freezes. The garment falls from her hands in a rustle of silk like a surprised gasp, and she turns to you with a perplexed expression. Then, stunned senses kicking back in, she strides the short distance to you and kneels in front of the bed. She grips your hands - loose enough as to not hurt, but tight enough to let you know this is serious. "You...saw him?" Her voice is confused, her brow knotted.
"In the inner courtyard. He recognized me, but I ran."
"It's for the best you avoid him, Mordred."
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
"I hate him! I don't want anything to do with him."
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
"What if he wants to meet me?"
"I doubt it."
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
"I want to meet him…but what will he think of me?"
"You don't want to."
<</if>>
Morgana gets up, running a palm over her face, the other planted on her waist as she takes a few moments to contemplate, or calm herself down. It's hard to tell with her face screwed up in an inscrutable, absorbed expression. Then her chest rises high and falls with a drawn-out sigh. She moves towards the clothes carefully put aside on a chair and brings them over to you, prompting you to choose an outfit for the night.
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "feminine", $outfit to "dress"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "masculine", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you love dresses.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "malefeminine", $outfit to "dress"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "femalemasculine", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you love dresses. You want to be like the girls.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "mtf", $outfit to "dress"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them. You want to be like the boys.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "ftm", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you love dresses. You've always felt strange about doing what's expected of you just because you're a boy, but following what's expected of a girl doesn't feel right either.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "dress"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them. You've always felt strange about doing what's expected of you just because you're a girl, but following what's expected of a boy doesn't feel right either.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's what girls usually wear and you love them, but you've always felt strange about the fact that it's expect of you. You'd rather wear what you like, and not be told you should be something.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "dress"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's what boys usually wear and you love them, but you've always felt strange about the fact that it's expect of you. You'd rather wear what you like, and not be told you should be something.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div><</if>>Your brow furrows, a prickle of resentment stirring inside you. "I met Arthur."
Morgana freezes. The garment falls from her hands in a rustle of silk like a surprised gasp, and she turns to you with a perplexed expression. Then, stunned senses kicking back in, she strides the short distance to you and kneels in front of the bed. She grips your hands - loose enough as to not hurt, but tight enough to let you know this is serious. "You...met him?" Her voice is confused, her brow knotted. "He came to you...behind my back?"
"He was looking for me in the inner yard as I was heading for the lodge," you say. "He said he wanted to see me."
Morgana scoffs, the expression on her face so violently mad that you lean back, "Oh, so now he wants to see you? Now, just because he so happens to be in Lothia?" Her grip on your fingers tenses, and it smarts. She sees your grimace and immediately loosens it, caressesing the back of your hand with her thumb. "Oh, Mordred. Are you well?"
Hot red anger lances you like a flaming sword. "I'm furious! How dare he!"
She cups your face and hushes you down gently. "I know, my dear."
<<if $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
"He even tried to give me a wood dragon he sculpted."
Morgana pauses, and you go on, "I didn't take it. I couldn't."
<<else>>
"He even tried to give me a stupid wood dragon he sculpted!"
Morgana pauses, and you go on, "I don't want it. I don't want anything from him."
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
"He even gave me a stupid wood dragon he sculpted! As if that helps!"
Morgana pauses, but you go on, moving to reveal said sculpture inside your bedside table. "I don't want it. I don't want anything from him."
<</if>>
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "So that's what he's trying to do. Make you believe he really cares about anything. He never cared until now, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for the absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
Morgana gets up, running a palm over her face, the other planted on her waist as she takes a few moments to contemplate, or calm herself down. It's hard to tell with her face screwed up in an inscrutable, absorbed expression. Then her chest rises high and falls with a drawn-out sigh. She moves towards the clothes carefully put aside on a chair and brings them over to you, prompting you to choose an outfit for the night.
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "feminine", $outfit to "dress"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "masculine", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you've love dresses.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "malefeminine", $outfit to "dress"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "femalemasculine", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you've love dresses. You want to be like the girls.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "mtf", $outfit to "dress"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them. You want to be like the boys.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "ftm", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you've love dresses. You've always felt strange about doing what's expected of you just because you're a boy, but following what's expected of a girl doesn't feel right either.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "dress"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them. You've always felt strange about doing what's expected of you just because you're a girl, but following what's expected of a boy doesn't feel right either.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's what girls usually wear and you love them, but you've always felt strange about the fact that it's expect of you. You'd rather wear what you like, and not be told you should be something.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "dress"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's what boys usually wear and you love them, but you've always felt strange about the fact that it's expect of you. You'd rather wear what you like, and not be told you should be something.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div><</if>><<if $chapt3_hope == "1">>
Seeing the hope slip from your features, Morgana frowns sympathetically. "Mordred, don't be sad. He's never been a father to you, but Accolon has."
<<elseif $chapt3_hope == "2">>
Seeing the glimmer of hope in your face, Morgana frown sympathetically, "Mordred, he doesn't care. He's never been a father to you, but Accolon has."
<<elseif $chapt3_hope == "3">>
The hope slips from you, replaced by anguish.
<<elseif $chapt3_hope == "4">>
Hope persists, a stubborn flame in the wind.
<</if>>
Morgana gets up, running a hand over her face, the other planted on her waist as she takes a few moments to contemplate, or calm herself down. It's hard to tell with her face screwed up in an inscrutable, absorbed expression. Then her chest rises high and falls with a drawn-out sigh. She moves towards the clothes carefully put aside on a chair and brings them over to you, prompting you to choose an outfit for the night.
<<if $gender == "female">>
<div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "feminine", $outfit to "dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "femalemasculine", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them. You want to be like the boys.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "ftm", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's not what girls usually wear, but you love them. You've always felt strange about doing what's expected of you just because you're a girl, but following what's expected of a boy doesn't feel right either.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's what girls usually wear and you love them, but you've always felt strange about the fact that it's expected of you. You'd rather wear what you like, and not be told you should be something.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "dress"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "masculine", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you love dresses.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "malefeminine", $outfit to "dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you love dresses. You want to be like the girls.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "mtf", $outfit to "dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose a pretty dress. It's not what boys usually wear, but you love dresses. You've always felt strange about doing what's expected of you just because you're a boy, but following what's expected of a girl doesn't feel right either.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You choose an elegant tunic and breeches. It's what boys usually wear and you love them, but you've always felt strange about the fact that it's expected of you. You'd rather wear what you like, and not be told you should be something.|Chapt3Dress][$clothes to "nb", $outfit to "breeches"]]</div>
<</if>>You hesitate. "I met Arthur."
Morgana freezes. The garment falls from her hands in a rustle of silk like a surprised gasp, and she turns to you with a perplexed expression. Then, stunned senses kicking back in, she strides the short distance to you and kneels in front of the bed. She grips your hands - loose enough as to not hurt, but tight enough to let you know this is serious. "You...met him?" Her voice is confused, her brow knotted. "He came to you...behind my back?"
"He was looking for me in the inner yard as I was heading for the lodge." You say. "He said he wanted to see me."
Morgana scoffs, the expression on her face so violently mad that you lean back, "Oh, so now he wants to see you? Now, just because he so happens to be in Lothia?" Her grip on your fingers tenses, and it smarts. She sees your grimace and immediately loosens it, caressesing the back of your hand with her thumb. "Oh, Mordred. Are you well?" She searches your face.
"I'm...overwhelmed." You bite your lip, trying and failing to untangle all the things you feel. "He seemed to want to make things right. He looked happy to see me. But - then why did he abandon me?"
Morgana cups your face, speaking such gently an answer so cruel. "Because he doesn't care about you, Mordred."
<<if $figurine == "no">>
"He tried to give me a wood dragon he sculpted," you say, remembering the way his restless fingers shifted over the painstakingly carved scales. "But I didn't take it."
<<include Chapt3LaterShow1>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<div class="choice">[[Show her the dragon figurine.|Chapt3LaterShow1][$chapt3_show to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't show her the dragon figurine. What if she doesn't let you keep it?|Chapt3LaterShow1][$chapt3_show to "2", $show_morgana to "no"]]</div>
<</if>>You sketch a smile. "I met Arthur."
Morgana freezes. The garment falls from her hands in a rustle of silk like a surprised gasp, and she turns to you with a perplexed expression. Then, stunned senses kicking back in, she strides the short distance to you and kneels in front of the bed. She grips your hands - loose enough as to not hurt, but tight enough to let you know this is serious. "You...met him?" Her voice is confused, her brow knotted. "He came to you...behind my back?"
"He was looking for me in the inner yard as I was heading for the lodge," you say. "He said he wanted to see me."
Morgana scoffs, the expression on her face so violently mad that you lean back, "Oh, so now he wants to see you? Now, just because he so happens to be in Lothia?" Her grip on your fingers tenses, and it smarts. She sees your grimace and immediately loosens it, caressesing the back of your hand with her thumb. "Oh, Mordred. Are you well?"
"I'm.." you search for a word, but none seem to be able to fit the light and warmth that you feel, that you can barely contain yourself. So you settle for a simple: "happy," and let your smile convey the rest. "He seemed to want to make things right. He was happy to see me."
Morgana cups your face, regarding you strangely, as if you were blazing with fever but insisted it was merely a hot flash. "Really?"
<<if $figurine == "no">>
"He tried to give me a wood dragon he sculpted," you say,
remembering the way his restless fingers shifted over the painstakingly carved scales. "But I didn't take it."
<<include Chapt3LaterShow>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<div class="choice">[[Show her the dragon figurine.|Chapt3LaterShow][$chapt3_show to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't show her the dragon figurine. What if she doesn't let you keep it?|Chapt3LaterShow][$chapt3_show to "2", $show_morgana to "no"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_show == "1">>
"He gave me a wood dragon he sculpted." You point to the figurine on your bedside table, the token of affection inspiring hope. "It means he cares."
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "So that's what he's trying to do. Make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<<elseif $chapt3_show == "2">>
You hid the figurine in a cabinet before Morgana came. Seeing how angry she is at Arthur, you doubt she'd be thrilled about the gift.
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "All he's doing is trying to make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<<else>>
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "So that's what he's trying to do. Make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["So he doesn't care?" Your face crumbles. You feel anguish rise.|Chapt3Later3.1][$chapt3_hope to "1", $opinion_arthur to "anguish"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But...what if he does care?" You hold onto hope.|Chapt3Later3.1][$chapt3_hope to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So he doesn't care? You feel anguish rise, but don't say anything.|Chapt3Later3.1][$chapt3_hope to "3", $opinion_arthur to "anguish"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[But what if he does care? You hold onto hope, but don't say anything.|Chapt3Later3.1][$chapt3_hope to "4"]]</div><<if $chapt3_show == "1">>
"He gave me a wood dragon he sculpted." You point to the figurine on your bedside table. "Does this mean he cares?"
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "So that's what he's trying to do. Make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<<elseif $chapt3_show == "2">>
You hid the figurine in a cabinet before Morgana came. Seeing how angry she is at Arthur, you doubt she'd be thrilled about the gift.
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "All he's doing is trying to make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<<else>>
Morgana shakes her head, her voice quiet. That dangerous quiet before the wind picks up. "So that's what he's trying to do. Make you believe he actually cares. He never cared, and now he wants to be a father? He's just trying to manipulate you, Mordred." She laughs mirthlessly. "Oh, Merlin must have frightened him. And now he thinks that if he does one act of kindness, he'll be forgiven for his absence? He just wants you to think he cares."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["So he doesn't care?" Your face crumbles. You feel anguish rise.|Chapt3Later3.1][$chapt3_hope to "1", $opinion_arthur to "anguish"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But...what if he does care?" You hold onto hope.|Chapt3Later3.1][$chapt3_hope to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So he doesn't care? You feel anguish rise, but don't say anything.|Chapt3Later3.1][$chapt3_hope to "3", $opinion_arthur to "anguish"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[But what if he does care? You hold onto hope, but don't say anything.|Chapt3Later3.1][$chapt3_hope to "4"]]</div><<if $chapt3_arthur_library is true>>
You accepted and Morgana made no protest so you hurried through dressing up and sprinted down the busy halls to meet him. You discussed details of your correspondence before Arthur hesitantly opened up his arms, waiting for you to come into the hug yourself. You did, holding him for a few soft, fuzzy moments.
Now the sky blazes a fiery orange, clouds bleeding rosy pink and you're standing next to your mother under its bloody dome, seeing off the first party to leave - the Camelotian one. Lot stands straight and dour, hands clasped firmly behind his back like a General facing his army before a battle whose odds promise to claim many of his soliders. Morgana looks resplendent and warm in her coat of emerald green, lined with fur. Gareth, in his green cape and knee-high boots takes more after Morgana in poise and affable smile.
You share a lingering, secretive smile with Arthur before he steps back to make space for Sir Kay and his family.
<<else>>
Morgana waited for your input, watching your face with her own betraying no emotion. When you grimly shook your head she simply nodded and took the note from you, feeding it to the fire in the hearth to ensure no one else would come upon it.
Now the sky blazes a fiery orange, clouds bleeding rosy pink and you're standing next to your mother under its bloody dome, seeing off the first party to leave - the Camelotian one. Lot stands straight and dour, hands clasped firmly behind his back like a General facing his army before a battle whose odds promise to claim many of his soliders. Morgana looks resplendent and warm in her coat of emerald green, lined with fur. Gareth, in his green cape and knee-high boots takes more after Morgana in poise and affable smile.
Arthur throws you a plaintive look before he steps back to make space for Sir Kay and his family.
<</if>>
<<if $Gawain >= 60>>
<<if $Gawain_crush >= 3>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back and you're sure he must feel the way your heart races in your chest as if it wanted to burst right out and join him, a piece of you to take on his journey back home, a piece of you that you feel belongs to him now. You inhale deeply, eyes fluttering close as you bask in this comforting embrace and his flowery scent. Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like Gawain himself. //Lily of the valley.//
He pulls back, leaving you cold and exposed and vulnerable, a desolate abyss gapping between you. Yet his perfume clings to you, and it somewhat soothes you.
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back with all your might, and you're sure he must feel the way your heart races, struggling with the pain of him leaving. You inhale deeply, basking in the comforting embrace and his flowery scent. Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like Gawain himself. //Lily of the valley.//
He pulls back, leaving you cold and exposed and vulnerable, a desolate abyss gapping between you. Yet his perfume clings to you, and it somewhat soothes you.
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 4>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back with all your might, basking in the comforting embrace and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. Your chest pangs as he pulls back.
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back, enveloped in his arms and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. You won't lie, you're sad to see him go; he's been a breath of fresh air.
<<else>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back, enveloped in his arms and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself.
<</if>>
<<elseif $Gawain >= 55>>
<<if $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a quick parting hug, promising to write. As he pulls back his flower perfume lingers - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. You won't lie, you're sad to see him go; he's been a breath of fresh air.
<<else>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a quick parting hug, promising to write. As he pulls back his flower perfume lingers - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself.
<</if>>
<<else>>
Gawain inclines his head, a genial smile pinned in place as he echoes the goodbye uttered by his parents.
<</if>>
Next up in line is the du Lac family. Lancelot's farewell is textbook courteous and perfectly cold, while Elena speaks hers demurely.
<<if $Galahad >= 25>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. The frost reserved for you has thawed, giving away to an emotion you can't fathom. He seems inquisitive. He's looked at you before as if you were a puzzle, one that particuarly vexed him, but now there's some new sentiment, one that looks almost like regret.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 20>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. The frost reserved for you has mostly thawed, giving away to confusion. He's looked at you before as if you were a puzzle, one that particuarly vexed him.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. It's not as chill as you expected, and not that sharp either. It seems mostly guarded, peeking at you from over a metaphorical shield.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 10>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens the look he gives you isn't as chill as you expected, but still sharp and guarded.
<<else>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, but when he straightens he treats you with the usual biting glare you've come to expect.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You smile brightly at Galahad.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 1, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_friend to $gally_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile shyly at Galahad.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 2, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_friend to $gally_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give him a fake, charming smile.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 3, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_ally to $gally_ally+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stick your tongue out at him.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile sardonically.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Scowl.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 6, $Galahad to $Galahad-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ignore him.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 7]]</div><<if $chapt3_arthur_library is true>>
You accepted and Morgana made no protest so you hurried through dressing up and sprinted down the busy halls to meet him. You discussed details of your correspondence before Arthur hesitantly opened up his arms, waiting for you to come into the hug yourself. You did, holding him for a few soft, fuzzy moments.
<<else>>
Morgana waited for your input, watching your face with her own betraying no emotion. When you grimly shook your head she simply nodded and took the note from you, feeding it to the fire in the hearth to ensure no one else would come upon it.
<</if>>
You plod along the hall, weaving pleasant yet hopeless dreams of crawling back into your bed and curling under the sheets. Morgana said you'd be able to sleep in tomorrow, but tomorrow seems so far away when you've got such a long day ahead.
There's flurry of motion at the periphery of your sleep-heavy vision. Gawain, clad in strawberry pink, scuttles along the wall like some oversized adorable mouse, trying his best to keep out of the way of nobles and servants. When he finds an opening he hastens along, boots pattering sharply against the dark wood panelling, and stutters to a halt in front of you.
"I've been looking for you!" he says as way of greeting and proffers a hand. You take it immediately, your hands fitting into each other like matching puzzle pieces. "I got up early and made my baggage last night, just so I could find you now, which really surprised Galahad because he usually has to keep prodding me to make it." He talks quick and breathless, words racing to get out.
A smile blooms on your lips, wide and warm. Such power you have to muster Gawain into packing early and speedy just to meet you. He asks to talk, and pulls you on a side, less circulated hall, huddling in the alcove offered by a wooden painted door, enveloped in his flower perfume. //Lily of the valley.// Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like the boy himself.
Gawain looks at you expectantly. The black of his pupils almost engulfs the brown of his eyes, reducing it to a thin circle like a golden ring. He bounces on his heels once, twice, and on the third bob up he opens his mouth and expels a breathless question: "Can I kiss you?" Even in your shadowed nook, you can see the flush on his cheeks.
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes!\""|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod, nervous yet excited. Your first kiss.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["On the lips?" you say, befuddled.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." You've never really understood the appeal. You'd be fine with a kiss on the cheek though.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." It's a bit to quick, but you'd love a peck on the cheek.|Chapt3GawainKiss][$chapt3_gawain_kiss to 5]]</div>"I should tell my mother," you say.
"Oh, right. I already told mine I might go away with you."
"And she allowed you?"
"Of course! Why wouldn't she?"
Indeed, why wouldn't she? In Avalon, you often played with the children your age. But parents in Lothia both fear and despise you, a combination most poisonous. And so they'd take their children away from you if they dared play with you, urgently whispering warnings about //the bastard//. Children would come to you, as nervous as a woodland animal encountering a human, and tell you they can't play with you; and some of them would spout the hateful words they heard from their parents.
"I'll meet you outside," Gawain skips away through the crowd.
You direct your steps to the table where your mother is seated, between Lot and Arthur. She looks calmer than you expected, almost serene, leaning back in her high-backed seat, goblet in hand, her gaze scanning over the hall with mild interest. Everyone else at the table seems entangled in a web of animosity, dark clouds cast over them nimbly avoiding Morgana.
Trouble is etched tautly on Arthur's brow, fists clenched on the table. Lot's gaze is adrift, lost like a ship at sea- you imagine Morgana must have had some words with him about his sadistic glee at the tournament. And then there's Arthur's knightly entourage, with the Champion himself seated next to the king, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but there, jaw clenched hard as he stabs at his food, as if the dish itself has offended him and he's reclaiming honor in a duel.
Next to him is a red haired woman, leaning forward in her seat to converse with the woman opposite her who, you realize as you catch a glimpse of her fingers intertwined with Kay's, is Gawain's mother.
<<if $morgana_talk == "ok">>
As you get closer, Morgana meets your eyes and a smile flutters on her lips. She excuses herself and joins you away from prying ears.
"What is it, dear?" she asks softly.
"I'd like to retire for the night," you lie.
<<if $honest >= 50>>
Her sharp eyes consider you for a moment, and you fear your deception has been found- but instead she sighs, a gentle smile curling her lips. "Goodnight, dear."
<<else>>
A gentle smile curls her lips. "Goodnight, dear."
<</if>>
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "mad">>
As you get closer, Morgana meets your eyes and wary hope sparks in her eyes. She excuses herself and joins you away from prying ears.
"What is it, dear?" she asks softly.
"I want to retire for the night," you lie, not quite meeting her eye, still mad at her after the fight in her study.
<<if $honest >= 50>>
Her sharp eyes consider you for a moment, and you fear your deception has been found- but instead she sighs, a gentle smile curling her lips. "Goodnight, dear."
<<else>>
A gentle smile curls her lips. "Goodnight, dear."
<</if>>
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "cry">>
As you get closer, Morgana meets your eyes and wary hope sparks in her eyes. She excuses herself and joins you away from prying ears.
"What is it, dear?" she asks softly.
"I want to retire for the night," you lie, not quite meeting her eye, still upset after the fight in her study.
<<if $honest >= 50>>
Her sharp eyes consider you for a moment, and you fear your deception has been found- but instead she sighs, a gentle smile curling her lips. "Goodnight, dear."
<<else>>
A gentle smile curls her lips. "Goodnight, dear."
<</if>>
<</if>>
You find Gawain in the empty hallway, leisurely strolling around. You fall into step with him, heading for his guest chamber.
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainChamber]]<<if $chapt3_lodgetrick == "1">>
You shake your head, laughing. "Fine, fine," you relent.
"Thank you!" He exclaims, bouncing on the spot.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodgetrick == "2">>
You smile to yourself, letting the pleasant feeling wash over you, reveling in it. "Of course."
"Thank you!" He exclaims, bouncing on the spot.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodgetrick == "4">>
It's strange, yet not unpleasant.
"Thank you!" He exclaims, bouncing on the spot.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'll summon a wind and make your capes fly.|Chapt3LodgeTrick2][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'll create a spark of fire.|Chapt3LodgeTrick2][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'll create a spark of fire...and maybe play a bit with it, to impress him.|Chapt3LodgeTrick2][$chapt3_lodgetrick to "3", $impulsive to $impulsive+2]]</div><<if $chapt3_lodgetrick == "3">>
You give him an apologetic look. "I'd really rather not," you say remorsefully. "Sorry."
Gawain looks deflated, and it stings.
"Please don't be upset with me," you say, urgency slipping into your voice.
"No, no, it's fine," he summons a smile.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodgetrick == "5">>
You cross your arms. How many times do you have to tell him before he understands?
Gawain pouts, deflated.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainHall]]<<if $chapt3_lodgetrick == "1">>
It's easy enough to hold out your hands and will a mounting breeze to appear, making Ariawen raise her snoot curiously. You slowly, fluidly move your hands, guiding the wind to pick up Gawain's cloak. The boy gasps, eyes wide with delight as he watches the cloak ride the wind like a green dragon. Callum watches, enchanted, and Keri nudges a dozing Otto.
You finally let the wind disappear, making the cloak fall over Gawain, who pulls it up, laughing.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodgetrick == "2">>
You hold out your hand, and Gawain watches the motion with rapt interest. With ease, you summon a spark of fire to your palm, a tingling sensation traveling over your skin as a small flame appears. The boy gasps, his brown eyes glowing like coals. Ariawen and Callum are watching too, enchanted.
You keep the flame for a few moments more before closing your palm and making it disappear.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodgetrick == "3">>
Morgana says you're a lot better at controlling your fire powers now, so there's no harm in playing with fire!
You hold out your hand, and Gawain watches the motion with rapt interest. With ease, you summon a spark of fire to your palm, a tingling sensation traveling over your skin as a small flame appears. The boy gasps, his brown eyes glowing like coals. Ariawen and Callum are watching too, enchanted.
A playful smile tugs at your lips as you channel more power, making the flame bigger. Then, twisting your hand, you will the flame to slither from your palm to the back of your hand, making it dance as you wiggle your fingers.
You've tried this trick before - once you wiggled just a tiny bit too much and a spark jumped onto the carpet. You put the fire out immediately though. The carpet was ugly, anyway.
You suddenly twist again and closing your hand, the fire disappears.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainHall]]<<if $chapt3_awe == "1">>
Galahad glances at you, his gray gaze cool. "Yes."
<<elseif $chapt3_awe == "2">>
Galahad glances at you, his gray gaze cool. His brow furrows slightly. "Yes." A pause. "And yes, I do enjoy it."
<<elseif $chapt3_awe == "3">>
Galahad returns your smile with a cool gaze. "Yes."
"You agree it's impressive?"
He turns his gaze on his father, a sliver of awe slipping through the icy facade. "Yes."
<<elseif $chapt3_awe == "4">>
Gawain nods.
<<elseif $chapt3_awe == "5">>
Galahad glares daggers at you, and Gawain looks concerned, immediately jumping to his friend's defense. "Galahad is just...just..."
"Hates me?" you supply, holding the boy's gray gaze, alight with hate.
While Gawain looks between you two, helpless, Ariawen jumps in to offer him aid. “Of course not! Isn’t it right?” To urge an answer out of the boy, they playfully slap their tail against his back - with a bit more force than intended, you assume, enough to unbalance him and draw a smirk from you.
“Oops,” Ariawen says, tail hastily wrapping round Galahad’s wrist to stabilize him.
<<elseif $chapt3_awe == "6">>
Gawain looks disappointed by your answer.
<<elseif $chapt3_awe == "7">>
Gawain's eyes widen, and even Galahad glances at you, his gray gaze cool.
<<elseif $chapt3_awe == "8">>
Gawain's eyes widen, and even Galahad glances at you, his gray gaze cool.
<</if>>
"Aren't you learning Goddess magic too?" you inquire of Gawain. "Since you're so fond of magic."
Gawain smiles sheepishly, "I'm not the best at concentrating to do magic. But it's fine, I like seeing other people do magic."
Ariawen snorts. “Water magic is no match to a dragon’s fire though!” They take a pouncing stance, neck low, back curled, tail held taut in the air, legs wide. “I just take a deep breath and then poof - “ they make to demonstrate, though spare the pavilion from chaos by merely exhaling a circle of smoke and nothing more - “and the ice knives melt in the air! They don’t even get the chance to touch me.”
Both Callum and Gawain laugh as the dragon continues to sway on the spot, as if awaiting the onrushing ice knives they claim to avoid. What surprises you, however, is to hear Galahad join in too.
It’s a brief chuckle, but it rings with genuine joy. “Is that why you got pelted by my father’s ice last training session?”
Ariawen throws a dramatically alarmed glance your way before turning onto the boy. “That’s not fair, I was - well - I was distracted. Yes, that’s it.”
You continue watching the trial, Gawain enthusing over moves, Galahad silent. The trial is finally finished half an hour later, with considerably fewer knights left in the competition, Accolon among them. He returns, grinning. A gauntleted hand lands on Accolon's armored shoulder with a loud clang, followed by a friendly, "You fought well, Sir Accolon."
"Thank you, Sir Kay," Accolon replies, "as did you."
Kay's beam is as sunny and joyous as his son's and doesn't dim as he notices you. "And such a fine squire you have, Sir Accolon."
You hear a scoff, and turn your head to see Sir Lancelot approaching, sheathing his sword. He doesn't look at you. Accolon ignores him, addressing Kay. "A mighty squire you have yourself. And you too, Sir Lancelot," he adds, nicer than Lancelot's attitude warrants. "You must be proud to have a son that resembles you so." You're not sure if it's a compliment or not.
Lancelot's lips curl into a sharp smile. "Come, Galahad." And with that they're gone, lost within the crowd of armor and banners.
"Ignore him," Kay whispers to Accolon, smiling apologetically. "I'm afraid Lancelot takes certain things too seriously." He gives Accolon a meaningful look, and the man nods.
"I'm happy you don't." Accolon smiles, then turns to you. "Mordred, come help me." As you leave, he says, fondly, "I'm happy to see you make friends."
[[Continue|Chapt3Magic1]]The next trial is archery, which Accolon and Sera didn't sign up for, so you get to watch together from the pavilion as knights and dragons alike try to hit their marks all while flying, the former with arrows and the latter with their fire. The trial is followed by dragon jousting. Knights are paired against each other based off the size of their draconic companion's size. Accolon and Sera enter the medium category, and you help adjust the former's armor while $dragon_name checks Sera's, who's explaining to you both their strategy for the upcoming trial. Accolon mounts, strapping in his safety harness, and you hand him the jousting lance, painted a soft green that matches Sera's eyes. You send a mental cheer on to the dragon and they flash you a smile.
<<if $Gawain >= 50>>
Gawain bounds his way to you, Ariawen hot on his heels. "My father and Bridget are skipping this one."
As Sera walks into the ring, so does their opponent. Accolon's visor is still raised, and his gaze locks with Morgana's in the stand. She smiles and gets up to a ripple of gasps, whispers rustling through the arena like wind through the forest. She approaches the rail of the stand and beckons the knight to her. Sera humours the couple and draws close to Morgana, who takes off her purple scarf and wraps it round Accolon's lance with deft motions. Behind your mother, Lot is gripping the armrests of his chair, both his knuckles and the wood looking about ready to splinter with the strength. Showing such favor is considered romantic, and should certainly not be done by a married woman, like Morgana, to her lover. It's yet another stab to Lot's dignity, a bleeding wound Morgana keeps open and pouring salt into.
You glance at Gawain. The boy is chewing on his lip, and you wait for him to say something, but he doesn't. By his side, Ariawen watches on utterly unbothered.
<<else>>
As Sera walks into the ring, so does their opponent. Accolon's visor is still raised, and his gaze locks with Morgana's in the stand. She smiles and gets up to a ripple of gasps, whispers rustling through the arena like wind through the forest. She approaches the rail of the stand and beckons the knight to her. Sera humours the couple and draws close to Morgana, who takes off her purple scarf and wraps it around Accolon's lance with deft motions. Behind your mother, Lot is gripping the armrests of his chair, both his knuckles and the wood looking about ready to splinter with the strength. Showing such favor is considered romantic, and should certainly not be done by a married woman, like Morgana, to her lover. It's yet another stab to Lot's dignity, a bleeding wound Morgana keeps open and pours salt into.
<</if>>
The jousting begins, lances and dragons colliding. Accolon and Sera win this round, and he returns battered - having taken the brunt of the clash - but smiling.
<div class="choice">[[Return his smile. It's a wonder the man can still be so bright after that battering.|Chapt3Tournament3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Return the smile. You admire Accolon. You wish you'll be just as good a knight as him.|Chapt3Tournament3]]</div>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Return the smile. You admire Accolon, and wish you'll be just as good a knight as him. You've noticed you've always been drawn towards male role models, be it brave knights or dashing adventurers in your storybooks.|Chapt3Tournament3][$role_model to "male", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>><<if $chapt3_ariawen_question == 1>>
“Yes; I both pray to her and learn how to heal through her power.”
“That’s nice,” Ariawen says with a smile. “Oh! I bet you’ll be so amazing to watch in the tournament once you’re a knight, too. Throwing fireballs and cracking the ground and all that.”
<<elseif $chapt3_ariawen_question == 2>>
“I pray to her, yes, and I’m learning a little bit of healing, too.”
“That’s nice,” Ariawen says with a smile. “Oh! I bet you’ll be so amazing to watch in the tournament once you’re a knight, too. Throwing fireballs and cracking the ground and all that.”
<<elseif $chapt3_ariawen_question == 3>>
"No, I already have my elemental magic; and healing can be done through other means, too.”
“A-ha,” Ariawen bobs their head up and down. “That makes sense. Oh! I bet you’ll be so amazing to watch in the tournament once you’re a knight, too. Throwing fireballs and cracking the ground and all that.”
<</if>>
Ariawen chatters on, pointing out knights they know and offering commentary to the fighting, cheering and gasping when strikes hit or miss.
The trial is finally finished half an hour later, with considerably fewer knights left in the competition, Accolon among them. He returns, grinning. A gauntleted hand lands on Accolon's armored shoulder with a loud clang, followed by a friendly, "You fought well, Sir Accolon."
"Thank you, Sir Kay," Accolon replies, "as did you."
Kay's beam is as sunny and joyous as his son's and doesn't dim as he notices you. "And such a fine squire you have, Sir Accolon."
"A mighty squire you have yourself. As does Sir Bridget," he adds, turning to smile to Ariawen.
The dragon squeals out a thanks before taking off after Kay, headed back to their own knight.
"Mordred," Accolon says, "come help me." As you leave, he says, fondly, "I'm happy to see you make friends."
[[Continue|Chapt3Magic1]]<<if $go == "build">>
Arthur wants to see you; there's a fluttering of hope in your stomach. You bite back a smile as you make your way to the exit, sprinting down the desolate corridors. By the time you burst out of the castle you're breathless, doubling over as you take in gulps of the chill night air.
<<elseif $go == "answers">>
You have so many questions, you can't even think of approaching any semblance of a relationship with Arthur before he can give you answers for his absence. You hastily head for the exit, stealing away into the chilly night.
<<elseif $go == "fury">>
Whatever bridges he wants to build with you, you want to set on fire, fueled by the rage burning inside you, kindled by no other than him. You head out, marching through the desolate, quiet corridors and into the chilly night.
<</if>>
The tents and booths of the tournament fair look strange in the moonlight; you pick your way through them quickly, breathless, as if through a field of dormant beasts. Every now and then, a gust of wind whistles through, turning your skin to gooseflesh, carrying the distant laughter of dragons and beat of drums - as if from a different world entirely, one not so still and lonely.
Across the plain, the dragons are holding their own feast under the open sky. It works out a patch of light - warm, fuzzy, inviting - out of the cold night. Tongues of fire reaching high above the crowd, willed by a performer to morph into shapes - figures, landscapes, skillfully manipulated with magic to tell a story, the draconic way.
<div class="choice">[[Reach out to your dragon friend to tell them where you’re going.|Chapt3DragonNameNoResponse][$chapt3_call_dragon_reason to "tell"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Reach out to your dragon friend to ask them to accompany you. You need their support.|Chapt3DragonNameNoResponse][$chapt3_call_dragon_reason to "support"]]</div><<if $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "1">>
Your heart is about to burst with joy. A simple word, yet it means so much to you.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "2">>
Your voice is filled with poison. "You don't get to call me that after abandoning me."
Arthur looks abashed, "Indeed, I don't have the right to call myself father."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "3">>
Your heart is about to burst with joy. A simple word, yet it means so much to you. But while the sentiment behind it is the one you enjoy, the word itself feels wrong, as if it doesn't quite represent you. Perhaps...son?
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "4">>
Your heart is about to burst with joy. A simple word, yet it means so much to you. But while the sentiment behind it is the one you enjoy, the word itself feels wrong, as if it doesn't quite represent you. Perhaps...daughter?
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "5">>
Your heart is about to burst with joy. A simple word, yet it means so much to you. But while the sentiment behind it is the one you enjoy, the word itself feels wrong, as if it doesn't quite represent you. Perhaps...child?
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "6">>
Your voice is filled with poison. "You don't get to call me that after abandoning me." Not only that, but the word feels wrong. It doesn't represent you. Perhaps son?
Arthur looks abashed, "Indeed, I don't have the right to call myself father."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "7">>
Your voice is filled with poison. "You don't get to call me that after abandoning me." Not only that, but the word feels wrong. It doesn't represent you. Perhaps daughter?
Arthur looks abashed, "Indeed, I don't have the right to call myself father."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "8">>
Your voice is filled with poison. "You don't get to call me that after abandoning me." Not only that, but the word feels wrong. It doesn't represent you. Perhaps child?
Arthur looks abashed, "Indeed, I don't have the right to call myself father."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "9">>
It's just a word, it means nothing more than just blood that binds you, for he has never acted like one.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "10">>
It's just a word, it means nothing more than just blood that binds you, for he has never acted like one. But the word feels wrong for another reason. It doesn't represent you. Perhaps son?
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "11">>
It's just a word, it means nothing more than just blood that binds you, for he has never acted like one. But the word feels wrong for another reason. It doesn't represent you. Perhaps daughter?
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "12">>
It's just a word, it means nothing more than just blood that binds you, for he has never acted like one. But the word feels wrong for another reason. It doesn't represent you. Perhaps child?
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "13">>
The word makes you feel hopeful that he cares.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "14">>
The word makes you feel hopeful that he cares. But while the sentiment behind it is the one you enjoy, the word itself feels wrong, as if it doesn't quite represent you. Perhaps...son?
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "15">>
The word makes you feel hopeful that he cares. But while the sentiment behind it is the one you enjoy, the word itself feels wrong, as if it doesn't quite represent you. Perhaps...daughter?
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_arthur == "16">>
The word makes you feel hopeful that he cares. But while the sentiment behind it is the one you enjoy, the word itself feels wrong, as if it doesn't quite represent you. Perhaps...child?
<</if>>
Where to start? Your mind swirled with questions ever since you met yesterday.
But there's one thing you want to know most. One question that's been plaguing you, torturing you, feeding your anguish, giving strength to Morgana's words...
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
[[Continue|Chapt3MeetArthurHope]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
[[Continue|Chapt3MeetArthurConfused]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
[[Continue|Chapt3MeetArthurAnguish]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
[[Continue|Chapt3MeetArthurAwful]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_lodge_elewen == "1">>
The dragon seems delighted.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_elewen == "3">>
The dragon seems delighted, none the wiser there's nothing sincere in the sweet curve of your mouth.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_elewen == "4">>
You reach out a hand, carefully placing it atop of their snoot. It is perhaps an overly familiar gesture for you to make on a first meeting, to an older dragon nonetheless, but Elewen doesn't seem bothered in the least. On the contrary, they readily push against your hand as relief and something softer, warmer, blooms in your chest.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_elewen == "5">>
Perhaps it's an overly familiar gesture for you to make on a first meeting, to an older dragon nonetheless, but you throw your arms around Elewen's snoot. Elewen doesn't seem bothered in the least. On the contrary, they snuggle against you, making a soft, purr-like sigh of contentment.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_elewen == "6">>
Elewen hangs their head in plaintive shame. For such a big dragon, they have such a small presence: as if they've found a way against the laws of nature by which to fold into themself like a scared little hedgehog. "I let Arthur decide for himself...I didn't want for him to force himself into doing something that I know to be so difficult." Their crimson gaze flickers to yours, watery. "I'm just sorry you've both had to suffer - and if you've ever wondered if he's suffered over you, Mordred, know that I've felt his pain."
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_elewen == "7">>
In the hissing language, your words come out even harsher, and Elewen hangs their head, dejected. For such a big dragon, they have such a small presence: as if they've found a way against the laws of nature by which to fold into themself like a scared little hedgehog. "I know you ache, Mordred," they say and sound very much in pain themself. "And so does Arthur - I've felt his suffering. It's been difficult for the both of you."
You just snort vexedly, tired of cheap excuses and empty justifications. Arthur had a choice, and it was to abandon you.
<</if>>
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"Yesterday," Arthur says, reaching into his cloak. "You ran away before I could say anything." He smiles remorsefully. "You look just like Morgana." The mix of sadness, fondness and confusion in his eyes is a dangerous concoction, and you don't know whether the comparison is a compliment. "I wanted to give you this." He extends you a wooden dragon figurine, smiling gently. "I sculpted it myself."
<div class="choice">[[Take it happily.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "yes", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it and hug him.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "yes", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously, but touched.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "yes", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it just to appease him.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "yes", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, not sure how to feel about it.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "yes", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't take it. You don't want anything from him.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "no", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't take it. "A toy won't make up for your absence."|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "no", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't take it. "Thank you so much," you say sardonically.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "no", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "8"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Throw it against the wall.|Chapt3MeetArthur3][$figurine to "no", $chapt3_lodge_figurine to "9"]]</div>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3MeetArthur3]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_lodge_figurine == "1">>
A gift! A tenderly, hand crafted gift! For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, to now find out that not only has he thought of you, he's thought of you lovingly enough to sculpt something so beautiful, just for you. A token of affection, a promise of more to come.
You beam at him as you take it, incandescent with joy. "Thank you!"
His own smile becomes brighter.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_figurine == "2">>
A gift! A tenderly, hand crafted gift! For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, to now find out that not only has he thought of you, he's thought of you lovingly enough to sculpt something so beautiful, just for you. A token of affection, a promise of more to come.
You take it then, propelled by a sudden need, almost violent in its intensity - a desperate, frantic, agonizing yearning you've nursed for years - you throw your arms around him. Arthur hugs you back, squeezing you tight. "Thank you," you mutter into his tunic.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_figurine == "3">>
He's brought you a gift - a tenderly, hand crafted gift. For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, to now find out that not only has he thought of you, he's thought of you lovingly enough to sculpt something so beautiful, just for you. It seems like an auspicious beginning, a promise of more to come - but will he keep to it or break your heart all over again?
As you take the figurine, joy simmers under the surface, guarded and subdued, afraid to blaze into something bigger, brighter only to be mercilessly snuffed out later. "Thank you."
His smile widens.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_figurine == "4">>
You accepting this gift - this affectionately, hand crafted gift of his - seems to mean a lot to Arthur, so you decide to take it as an appeasement, if nothing else. "Thank you," you say graciously and his smile widens.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_figurine == "5">>
A part of you yearns for it - to reach out and accept the figurine and all that it implies. For so many years you've been left wondering about this man whose eyes and blood you share, this shadow over you, this nebula, and now he waltzes into your life with this token of affection, this symbol that despite abandoning you, he did not forget about you. An intoxicating promise of more, of getting everything you've longed for. Yet something holds you back, a bitter uncertainty. Can this truly be enough? Can you accept both the figurine and all that it entails?
For now, you accept the gift. Arthur gives you a hopeful smile.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_figurine == "6">>
A gift? After years of abandonment, years of living under the shadow of a man whose blood and eyes you share but that you've never met yourself, never heard from, not a written line - he has the audacity to waltz into your life with a pathetic gift and dumb gentle smile and pitifully - almost insultingly - misplaced hope. He has no right.
You cross your arms and shake your head, making your refusal abundantly clear.
Arthur's smile falters.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_figurine == "7">>
Your tone is sharp, a knife in his heart as his smile falters.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_figurine == "8">>
A gift? After years of abandonment, years of living under the shadow of a man whose blood and eyes you share but that you've never met yourself, never heard from, not a written line - he has the audacity to waltz into your life with a pathetic gift and dumb gentle smile and pitifully - almost insultingly - misplaced hope. He has no right.
You roll your eyes and make no move to take the gift.
Arthur's smile falters.
<<elseif $chapt3_lodge_figurine == "9">>
You summon all your wrath into the throw of your arm and knock away the offending object. Arthur's smile falters, falling to pieces before your eyes just like your bruised heart has broken again and again over the years every time you heard of the man who abandoned you, forsaken you. That now thinks he can just waltz into your life with a pathetic figurine as appeasement.
<</if>>
Arthur looks at you, his expression wary, but resolute as he says, "Ask me anything you want, Mordred." You can tell he's making an effort- that it's not easy, it won't be, for either of you. "You're my $child; you deserve answers."
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Hearing him call you daughter fills you with joy.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$Arthur to $Arthur+5, $chapt3_lodge_arthur to "1"]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Hearing him call you son fills you with joy.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$Arthur to $Arthur+5, $chapt3_lodge_arthur to "1"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[["\"Don't call me your daughter.\""|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "2"]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[["\"Don't call me your son.\""|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "2"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Hearing him call you daughter makes you happy, but something about the term makes you uneasy, and it has nothing to do with how you feel about him as a father.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "3", $Arthur to $Arthur+5, $child_title to "ftm", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Hearing him call you son makes you happy, but something about the term makes you uneasy, and it has nothing to do with how you feel about him as a father.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "4", $Arthur to $Arthur+5, $child_title to "mtf", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Hearing him call you daughter makes you happy, but something about the term makes you uneasy, and it has nothing to do with how you feel about him as a father. Can't you just be child?|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "5", $Arthur to $Arthur+5, $child_title to "nb", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Hearing him call you son makes you happy, but something about the term makes you uneasy, and it has nothing to do with how you feel about him as a father. Can't you just be child?|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "5", $Arthur to $Arthur+5, $child_title to "nb", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[["Don't call me daughter." There's something wrong about the word, beside the fact he doesn't deserve to call himself your father.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "6", $child_title to "ftm", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[["Don't call me son." There's something wrong about the word, beside the fact he doesn't deserve to call himself your father.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "7", $child_title to "mtf", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[["Don't call me daughter." There's something wrong about the word, beside the fact he doesn't deserve to call himself your father. Can't you just be child?|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "8", $child_title to "nb", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[["Don't call me son." There's something wrong about the word, beside the fact he doesn't deserve to call himself your father. Can't you just be child?|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "8", $child_title to "nb", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Well, you are his daughter, even though he hasn't been a father.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "9"]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Well, you are his son, even though he hasn't been a father.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "9"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Well, you are his daughter, even though he hasn't been a father, but being called a daughter feels wrong.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "10", $child_title to "ftm", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Well, you are his son, even though he hasn't been a father, but being called a son feels wrong.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "11", $child_title to "mtf", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Well, you are his daughter, even though he hasn't been a father, but being called a daughter feels wrong. Can't you just be child?|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "12", $child_title to "nb", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Well, you are his son, even though he hasn't been a father, but being called a son feels wrong. Can't you just be child?|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "12", $child_title to "nb", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You feel hope as he calls you daughter.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "13"]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You feel hope as he calls you son.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "13"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You feel hope as he calls you daughter, but something about the term makes you uneasy, and it has nothing to do with how you feel about him as a father.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "14", $child_title to "ftm", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You feel hope as he calls you son, but something about the term makes you uneasy, and it has nothing to do with how you feel about him as a father.|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "15", $child_title to "mtf", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[You feel hope as he calls you daughter, but something about the term makes you uneasy, and it has nothing to do with how you feel about him as a father. Can't you just be child?|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "16", $child_title to "nb", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div>
<<elseif $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[You feel hope as he calls you son, but something about the term makes you uneasy, and it has nothing to do with how you feel about him as a father. Can't you just be child?|Chapt3MeetArthur1][$chapt3_lodge_arthur to "16", $child_title to "nb", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>"Why? Why did you abandon me? Why did you never reach out?" //Why//, that is the refrain you could endlessly repeat, so far a prayer without an answer that could truly satisfy it. Sometimes you wonder if that will ever be possible. But you know and understand your mother’s side; now he has a chance to give his, and you so desperately want - need - to hear it.
Arthur crumbles completely - he meets your gaze, pained, as if you were holding a blade over his neck, not questions long overdue answers.
"Why..." he echoes, sounding just as lost. "I wonder that myself too. I guess I was a fool." His tone is raw, one moment away from choking on his own words. "I was a fool for so many years, Mordred, and I still am." He reaches out a hand towards you but lets it fall. "I was afraid I'd see all my mistakes in your eyes. I couldn't face you, Mordred. Facing you means admitting to myself I wronged you. Admitting to myself that...that..." He pauses. "I don't know what Morgana told you about how...you were conceived."
You'd laugh if your throat wasn't constricted with emotion. Is he trying to tell you how babies are made? "You two laid together," you manage.
Arthur nods, "I'm ashamed of it."
Morgana told you that it was not right for siblings to lay together - that it had been a mistake, that neither of them had known. However, she said you shouldn't suffer for their mistake. And sometimes, you'd wondered - was this what kept him away all these years? Yet, if Morgana could love you in spite of it, why couldn't he?
"Are you ashamed of me?"
"I don't want to be ashamed of you!" His voice snags on the words, thorns in his throat. You can't help but notice the choice of words. He doesn't want to, but doesn't assure you he isn't. "I want to be a father to you, but it's not that easy.” He takes a shuddering breath, and the sad pale impression of a smile settles on his lips. “I've longed to be your father. Play with you. Train with you. Help you with your Pendragon powers. Do all the things a parent is supposed to do."
<<if $hug == "hug">>
"If you want to be my father, then why didn't you hug me back? Why did you reject me?" The memory circles through your mind to a frantic echo of your mother’s words, //he doesn't care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care//.
And yet it’s his face that crumples, his brows that furrow deeply over his pained eyes - your eyes, your mother’s eyes, your grandmother’s eyes. "I was scared of what the people would think," he says quietly. "But I want to do better."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Then do it! Be my father!\""|Chapt3Anguish][$chapt3_lodge_father to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Please, I just want you to be my father.\""|Chapt3Anguish][$chapt3_lodge_father to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stay quiet. You want him to be your father, but you can't force him.|Chapt3Anguish][$chapt3_lodge_father to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I don't want that.\""|Chapt3Anguish][$chapt3_lodge_father to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I used to want that too, but I'm not so sure anymore.\""|Chapt3Anguish][$chapt3_lodge_father to "6"]]</div>
<<if $hug == "hug">><div class="choice">[["But can you?" you ask, sad.|Chapt3Anguish][$chapt3_lodge_father to "3"]]</div><</if>>"Why? Why did you abandon me? Why did you never reach out?" //Why//, that is the refrain you could endlessly repeat, so far a prayer without an answer that could truly satisfy. You don’t know if that will ever be possible. But you know and understand your mother’s side; now he has a chance to give his, if he so desperately wants to. Let him defend himself, if he even can.
Arthur crumbles completely - he meets your gaze, pained, as if you were holding a blade over his neck, not questions long overdue answers.
"Why..." he echoes, sounding just as lost. "I wonder that myself too. I guess I was a fool." His tone is raw, one moment away from choking on his own words. "I was a fool for so many years, Mordred, and I still am." He reaches out a hand towards you but lets it fall. "I was afraid I'd see all my mistakes in your eyes. I couldn't face you, Mordred. Facing you means admitting to myself I wronged you. Admitting to myself that...that..." He pauses. "I don't know what Morgana told you about how...you were conceived."
You'd laugh if your throat wasn't constricted with emotion. Is he trying to tell you how babies are made? "You two laid together," you manage.
Arthur nods, "I'm ashamed of it."
Morgana told you that it was not right for siblings to lay together - that it had been a mistake, that neither of them had known. However, she said you shouldn't suffer for their mistake. And sometimes, you'd wondered - was this what kept him away all these years? Yet, if Morgana could love you in spite of it, why couldn't he?
"Are you ashamed of me?"
"I don't want to be ashamed of you!" His voice snags on the words, thorns in his throat. You can't help but notice the choice of words. He doesn't want to, but doesn't assure you he isn't. "I want to be a father to you, but it's not that easy.” He takes a shuddering breath, and the sad pale impression of a smile settles on his lips. “I've longed to be your father. Play with you. Train with you. Help you with your Pendragon powers. Do all the things a parent is supposed to do."
<<if $hug == "hug">>
"If you want to be my father, then why didn't you hug me back? Why did you reject me?" The memory circles through your mind to a frantic echo of your mother’s words, //he doesn't care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care//.
And yet it’s his face that crumples, his brows that furrow deeply over his pained eyes - your eyes, your mother’s eyes, your grandmother’s eyes. "I was scared of what the people would think," he says quietly. "But I want to do better."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Stay quiet. You don't want him to be your father.|Chapt3Awful][$chapt3_lodge_father to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I don't need you to be my father!\""|Chapt3Awful][$chapt3_lodge_father to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want that too, but you can't bring yourself to admit it.|Chapt3Awful][$chapt3_lodge_father to "3", $opinion_arthur == "confused"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Really? Will you try, for me?" The hopefulness is your voice surprises both of you.|Chapt3Awful][$chapt3_lodge_father to "4", $opinion_arthur == "confused"]]</div>"Why? Why did you abandon me? Why did you never reach out?" //Why//, that is the refrain you could endlessly repeat, so far a prayer without an answer that could truly satisfy it. Sometimes you wonder if that will ever be possible. But you know and understand your mother’s side; now he has a chance to give his, and you so desperately want - need - to hear it. Let him show you that he really care, let him offer an explanation for his absence that is not as cruel as Morgana’s. Then you’ll decide if you can forgive him.
Arthur crumbles completely - he meets your gaze, pained, as if you were holding a blade over his neck, not questions long overdue answers.
"Why..." he echoes, sounding just as lost. "I wonder that myself too. I guess I was a fool." His tone is raw, one moment away from choking on his own words. "I was a fool for so many years, Mordred, and I still am." He reaches out a hand towards you but lets it fall. "I was afraid I'd see all my mistakes in your eyes. I couldn't face you, Mordred. Facing you means admitting to myself I wronged you. Admitting to myself that...that..." He pauses. "I don't know what Morgana told you about how...you were conceived."
You'd laugh if your throat wasn't constricted with emotion. Is he trying to tell you how babies are made? "You two laid together," you manage.
Arthur nods, "I'm ashamed of it."
Morgana told you that it was not right for siblings to lay together - that it had been a mistake, that neither of them had known. However, she said you shouldn't suffer for their mistake. And sometimes, you'd wondered - was this what kept him away all these years? Yet, if Morgana could love you in spite of it, why couldn't he?
"Are you ashamed of me?"
"I don't want to be ashamed of you!" His voice snags on the words, thorns in his throat. You can't help but notice the choice of words. He doesn't want to, but doesn't assure you he isn't. "I want to be a father to you, but it's not that easy.” He takes a shuddering breath, and the sad pale impression of a smile settles on his lips. “I've longed to be your father. Play with you. Train with you. Help you with your Pendragon powers. Do all the things a parent is supposed to do."
<<if $hug == "hug">>
"If you want to be my father, then why didn't you hug me back? Why did you reject me?" The memory circles through your mind to a frantic echo of your mother’s words, //he doesn't care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care//.
And yet it’s his face that crumples, his brows that furrow deeply over his pained eyes - your eyes, your mother’s eyes, your grandmother’s eyes. "I was scared of what the people would think," he says quietly. "But I want to do better."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Then do it! Be my father!\""|Chapt3Confused][$chapt3_lodge_father to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Please, I just want you to be my father.\""|Chapt3Confused][$chapt3_lodge_father to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stay quiet. You want him to be your father, but you can't force him.|Chapt3Confused][$chapt3_lodge_father to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I don't want that.\""|Chapt3Confused][$chapt3_lodge_father to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I used to want that too, but I'm not so sure anymore.\""|Chapt3Confused][$chapt3_lodge_father to "6"]]</div>
<<if $hug == "hug">><div class="choice">[["But can you?" you ask, sad.|Chapt3Confused][$chapt3_lodge_father to "3"]]</div><</if>>"Why? Why did you abandon me? Why did you never reach out?" //Why//, that is the refrain you could endlessly repeat, so far a prayer without an answer. But you know and understand your mother’s side; now he has a chance to give his, and you so desperately want - need - to hear it. You long to believe that he really cares; you crave a good excuse, one that can wipe away years of absence - or blur them, at least, you want anything that he can give, as long as it brings a smidge of hope.
Arthur crumbles completely - he meets your gaze, pained, as if you were holding a blade over his neck, not questions long overdue answers.
"Why..." he echoes, sounding just as lost. "I wonder that myself too. I guess I was a fool." His tone is raw, one moment away from choking on his own words. "I was a fool for so many years, Mordred, and I still am." He reaches out a hand towards you but lets it fall. "I was afraid I'd see all my mistakes in your eyes. I couldn't face you, Mordred. Facing you means admitting to myself I wronged you. Admitting to myself that...that..." He pauses. "I don't know what Morgana told you about how...you were conceived."
You'd laugh if your throat wasn't constricted with emotion. Is he trying to tell you how babies are made? "You two laid together," you manage.
Arthur nods, "I'm ashamed of it."
Morgana told you that it was not right for siblings to lay together - that it had been a mistake, that neither of them had known. However, she said you shouldn't suffer for their mistake. And sometimes, you'd wondered - was this what kept him away all these years? Yet, if Morgana could love you in spite of it, why couldn't he?
"Are you ashamed of me?"
"I don't want to be ashamed of you!" His voice snags on the words, thorns in his throat. You can't help but notice the choice of words. He doesn't want to, but doesn't assure you he isn't. "I want to be a father to you, but it's not that easy.” He takes a shuddering breath, and the sad pale impression of a smile settles on his lips. “I've longed to be your father. Play with you. Train with you. Help you with your Pendragon powers. Do all the things a parent is supposed to do."
<<if $hug == "hug">>
"If you want to be my father, then why didn't you hug me back? Why did you reject me?" The memory circles through your mind to a frantic echo of your mother’s words, //he doesn't care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care//.
And yet it’s his face that crumples, his brows that furrow deeply over his pained eyes - your eyes, your mother’s eyes, your grandmother’s eyes. "I was scared of what the people would think," he says quietly. "But I want to do better."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Then do it! Be my father!\""|Chapt3Hope][$chapt3_lodge_father to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Please, I just want you to be my father.\""|Chapt3Hope][$chapt3_lodge_father to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stay quiet. You want him to be your father, but you can't force him.|Chapt3Hope][$chapt3_lodge_father to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I used to want that too, but I'm not so sure anymore.\""|Chapt3Hope][$chapt3_lodge_father to "5"]]</div>
<<if $hug == "hug">><div class="choice">[["But can you?" you ask, sad.|Chapt3Hope][$chapt3_lodge_father to "3"]]</div><</if>><<if $chapt3_meet_callum == 1>>
You give Callum a friendly nod, then cast your gaze over the three welcoming faces in front of you before settling on the only aloof, frowning one. You wait for Galahad to meet your eye then smile, sweet as honey, as his frown deepens. “You must be so happy to have such nice and lovely friends, Galahad.”
The boy’s eyes narrow but he says nothing. Gawain, however, stands on his tiptoes to loop an arm around his neck and beams. “And we’re happy to be his friends! He is quite nice and lovely himself.” As if able to hear your doubtful thoughts, he hastily adds, “You’ll see, once you get to know him better.”
By the way Galahad’s mouth twists, you doubt //he// wishes to be around enough to see that.
<<elseif $chapt3_meet_callum == 2>>
You give Callum a friendly nod, then cast your gaze over the three welcoming faces in front of you before settling on the only aloof, frowning one. You wait for Galahad to meet your eye then curtly ask, “How come all your friends are so much nicer than you, Galahad?”
The boy’s brows go up to his hairline before coming down lower than before. He looks away, scowling at the ground.
Seeing as Galahad won’t say anything in his own defense, Gawain jumps in to make excuses for him. Standing on his tiptoes, he loops an arm around his neck. “Don’t mind Galahad, he’s just…” He whirls his hand in the air in an attempt to summon the right word, “a bit quiet?. You’ll see, he’s great once you get to know him better.”
By the way Galahad’s mouth twists, you both have your doubts about that.
<<elseif $chapt3_meet_callum == 3>>
It’s a pleasant surprise for sure, and you can’t help but offer Callum a big, genuine smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
The dragon makes a small, timid, content hum in response. Next to him, Galahad merely sizes you up, measuring your words and expression as if you were trying to sell him on a fish he’s unsure is rotten or not.
<<elseif $chapt3_meet_callum == 4>>
It’s certainly a nice change of pace, keeping up with the trend of unexpected friendliness Gawain started yesterday; but you cannot forget this is Galahad’s partner you’re talking about, and they’ve yet to speak more than a couple words to you. You have no idea what truly goes through their head. Hopefully, no thoughts as rotten as those that dictate Galahad’s hostile treatment of you.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” you say with a polite smile, and Callum nods in return, just as cordial.
Next to him, Galahad simply continues to glare at you askew, sizing you up with the certainty that he’ll find nothing good.
<<elseif $chapt3_meet_callum == 5>>
You cast your gaze over the three welcoming faces in front of you before settling on the only aloof, frowning one. You wait for Galahad to meet your eye then curtly ask, “How come all your friends are so much nicer than you, Galahad?”
The boy’s brows go up to his hairline before coming down lower than before. “You’re not much nicer yourself.”
“Excuse me?”
“Callum greeted you, and you completely ignored them.”
The corner of your mouth twitches. “I was just taken by surprise.” You turn to Callum. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The dragon says nothing, only offers you a timid nod, not even meeting your eye.
“Well!” Gawain jumps in, eager to smooth over the moment. “We’re all properly introduced now!”
<</if>>>>
<<if $trial == "combat">>
You settle next to Gawain, who thrusts his chin out towards the flurry out on the ring. "You said this is your favorite trial, right?"
You nod.
“That’s great for you,” Ariawen says. “I’m really excited for the dragon racing and that’s the last of the trials for the day! But at least the obstacle course is midway. That’s going to be fun too.”
Gawain chuckles then turns back to you. "I saw Accolon! He's really good." He bounces up and down. "My father fights with a longsword, too."
<<else>>
Gawain smiles. "I saw Accolon! He's really good." He bounces up and down. "My father fights with a longsword, too."
<</if>>
You watch the fighting knights, your eye caught by the dragon crested armors of the Camelotian knights, the gilded embossing shining as if they carried a piece of the sun across their chests. One knight in particular captures your attention, holding it tight in their gauntlet’s vice-like grip. They wield a sword in one hand, its hilt gilded, ruby winking from the pommel, the design simple but elegant; their other hand is ungloved. Already lost in the frenzy, you reckon, or perhaps a peculiar choice - at least that’s what you make of it until you see their fingers flexing, summoning water from the basin placed in the middle of the ring. The water rises with the motion, separating into blobs that hover in the air, shaping themselves into throwing knives that then pour down on his enemy.
"That's Lancelot," Gawain tells you. "Awesome, right? Galahad is learning how to do this too."
<div class="choice">[["Really?" You lean forward to look at Galahad, awed.|Chapt3Magic][$chapt3_awe to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Really?" You lean forward to look at Galahad, smiling genuinely. You want to learn more about him. "Do you enjoy it?"|Chapt3Magic][$chapt3_awe to "2", $affable to $affable+5, $Galahad to $Galahad+2, $Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Really?" You lean forward to look at Galahad, smiling charmingly. "That's impressive." They say flattery can get you far.|Chapt3Magic][$chapt3_awe to "3", $Galahad_ally to $Galahad_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Really? Good for him," you say neutrally.|Chapt3Magic][$chapt3_awe to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is he learning to be nicer, too?" You lean forward to glare at Galahad.|Chapt3Magic][$chapt3_awe to "5", $defiant to $defiant+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't think it's that impressive." You shrug.|Chapt3Magic][$chapt3_awe to "6", $defiant to $defiant+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm learning Goddess magic, too." Perhaps you can bond with him over it. You'd like to know him better.|Chapt3Magic][$chapt3_awe to "7", $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+2, $persuasion to $persuasion+2, $water_gally to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm learning Goddess magic, too. Guess we have something in common." You'd like to win him over, and perhaps bonding over something will help.|Chapt3Magic][$chapt3_awe to "8", $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $Galahad_ally to $Galahad_ally+2, $persuasion to $persuasion+2, $water_gally to true]]</div>"I told you. I want to mend things."
He doesn't turn around. He doesn't react at all, frozen like a statue. Then, he throws you one last, quick glance over his shoulder. It's a short glimpse, just a split moment, but it's enough to catch the vulnerability that has seeped into his expression. He heaves himself up on Callum and prompts him to fly off. You hear the dragon call out to you in farewell, his voice lost in the flapping of wings.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon1]]<<if $control == "control">>
She keeps talking about how Merlin is pulling Arthur's string, like a puppet- and yet, what is she doing to you? Isn't it all the same, even if it's out of concern for you?
"So, you're just going to control me like you claim Merlin controls Arthur?"
Morgana looks as if you've just slapped her across the face. She stares at a loss of words, horrified.
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
She doesn't trust Arthur, but you do. You understand if she can't put her faith in Arthur just yet, but why won't she trust you?
"I trust Arthur, and you should trust me."
Morgana clenches her fists. "You shouldn't trust him. You don't know-" she starts but you cut her off.
"So you don't trust me."
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
If only she trusted Arthur like you do.
"I just really wish you could trust Arthur."
"But I can't, and you shouldn't trust him either."
"Yet I do."
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
You cross your arms. If she won't listen to you, you won't listen to her. "Well, be sure that I'll stop listening to you."
Morgana looks as if you've just slapped her across the face.
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
You burst into tears, Morgana's refusal to listen to you and her distrust of Arthur overwhelming you. Morgana reaches to you but you pull away, running to the door. She calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
There's no reasoning with her. So you won't try to, not until she's willing to listen to you. "I'm not talking to you until you start listening to me."
Morgana looks as if you've just slapped her across the face.
Briskly, you get up and head for the door. Morgana calls after you, but you slam the door behind you, the sound resonating in the stairway.
<</if>>
[[Continue|MorganaPOV2]]You lead the way to your chamber in the opposite wing of the castle to fetch your own lute. It's a quick stop as you rush to grab your case and cloak while Gawain scans your bedroom with wide eyes.
<<if $figurine == "yes" and $show_morgana == "yes">>
"Oh!" The boy's gaze falls on the dragon figurine on your bedside table, and he steps forward, marveling at it. "It looks so beautiful!" He picks it up to inspect it better then glances at you. "Is it from Arthur?"
You freeze, arm midair reaching for your cloak, at the question.
<div class="choice">[["How did you know?" you ask, genuinely surprised.|Chapt3MordredChamber1][$chapt3_didyouknow to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you simply say, not wanting to elaborate.|Chapt3MordredChamber1][$chapt3_didyouknow to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes! A gift for our first meeting." You beam.|Chapt3MordredChamber1][$chapt3_didyouknow to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you say, panicking.|Chapt3MordredChamber1][$chapt3_didyouknow to "4"]]</div>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3MordredChamber1]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_didyouknow == "1">>
Your arm resumes its motion and you pull your cloak towards you, hugging it at your chest as you consider Gawain curiously, wondering how he immediately recognized the man's craft. "How did you know?"
Gawain smiles at you, "It looks as detailed as his other sculptures. And he //loves// sculpting dragons," he emphasizes the word, putting down the figurine. He spreads out his hands. "His study in Camelot is filled with sculptures, and most of them are dragons." His eyes glimmer. "He once gave me a bard, playing a lute, as a gift."
<<elseif $chapt3_didyouknow == "2">>
You pull the cloak with a lot more force than necessary, looking away as you simply say, "Yes."
Gawain nods, turning to smile at you, not minding your curt tone. "Arthur's study in Camelot is filled with sculptures, and most of them are dragons." His eyes glimmer. "He once gave me a bard, playing a lute, as a gift."
<<elseif $chapt3_didyouknow == "3">>
You pull the cloak, a radiant smile spreading on your face as the memory fills you with joy. "Yes! A gift for out first meeting."
Gawain turns to you, smiling brightly. "I knew it! He once gave me a bard, playing a lute, as a gift. His study in Camelot is filled with sculptures, and most of them are dragons."
<<elseif $chapt3_didyouknow == "4">>
You startle, wondering how the boy could know. "No," the word tumbles out of your mouth as you pull your cloak.
"Huh," the boy says baffled, and continues staring intently at the sculpture as if it would reveal it's crafter. Finally, he puts it down and turns to you. "I really thought it was one of Arthur's. His study in Camelot is filled with sculptures, and most of them are dragons." His eyes glimmer. "He once gave me a bard, playing a lute, as a gift."
<</if>>
You clasp on your cloak and Gawain eagerly heads out.
"I know the perfect place to go," Gawain says in a conspiratorial whisper. "The lodge. I can't wait for you to meet my dragon friend. They share a room with Galahad's and two others."
A sense of dread surges through you as a question appears. //Does the dragon hate you as much as the rider?//
<div class="choice">[["Is Galahad's," you think of the best word you could use, "nice?"|LodgeGawain][$chapt3_call to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is Galahad's dragon as nice as him?" you say sardonically.|LodgeGawain][$chapt3_call to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You keep silent, hoping for the best.|LodgeGawain][$chapt3_call to "3"]]</div>You're abuzz with ancipation, smoldering like a flame that longs for woods to stoke it so it can bloom into a bonfire. You can't wait for Gawain to come, for you to finally make your feelings know.
A figure dashes out of the crowd. Sunflower yellow fills your vision as Gawain comes bolting to you, brandishing a paper bag as if it were a raised sword. He halts in front of you, teetering forward from the momentum. You make to reach out and stabilize him but he flings out his free arm and regains his footing with a flourish. Making all this look less like awkward fumbling and more like the calculated, showy theatrics of the comedians up on stage. "Sorry for being late! I brought sweets. Hope these will excuse me." His chest rises and falls rapidly, yet a grin splits his face, flushed with exertion.
You've already eaten through a generous bag of treats, but you're not about to refuse even more, so you graciously excuse the boy. It's hard to say no to someone as sweet as him, anyway.
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
You take in a deep breath, inhaling the crisp autumn air, carrying a whiff of frying oil. "I like you, Gawain. I like you very much so, and more than a friend."
You reach inside the pouch on your belt for the bracelet. "And to show you that, I got you this."
His surprised gaze darts between you and the bracelet, then settles back on you.
"And I wanted to ask you if you feel the same."
"I...I didn't expect you'd like me //this way//," Gawain says, which is not quite the reply you've hoped for. But he's smiling, and not yet letting you down. Though perhaps he's slowly working towards a gentle refusal. Your stomach tightens.
He considers you silently, cheeks powdered pink and teeth biting into his bottom lip. "But...I like you too." He smiles wider now and it lights up his whole face, making the honey brown of his eyes look gilded.
<<else>>
You take in a deep breath, inhaling the crisp autumn air, carrying a whiff of frying oil. "I like you, Gawain. I like you very much so, and more than a friend. And I wanted to ask you if you feel the same."
Gawain looks at you with wide, surprised eyes."I...I didn't expect you'd like me //this way//," he says, which is not quite the reply you've hoped for. But he's smiling, and not yet letting you down. Though perhaps he's slowly working towards a gentle refusal. Your stomach tightens.
He considers you silently, cheeks powdered pink and teeth biting into his bottom lip. "But...I like you too." He smiles wider now and it lights up his whole face, making the honey brown of his eyes look gilded.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>You're first to arrive, and have no choice but to wait. Wondering if you're merely early or if Gawain has lost his way. He may have been distracted by some show or performance, or lost track of time. Whatever the reason, you wait, pulling at a cord of your lace-up to keep your fingers busy.
<div class="choice">[[You're nervous.|Chapt3MordredConfessesNervous][$chapt3_gawain_confession to "yes_shy"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're excited!|Chapt3MordredConfessesConfident][$chapt3_gawain_confession to "yes_confident"]]</div>This waiting gives you time to consider your confession to him. Time that stretches on, prolonging the anxiety that brews within, that makes your skin feel as if restless ants teem underneath.
You pull on the cord too hard and the lacing comes undone. You fumble with it as you tie it up again, head swarming with all the ways this could go bad - all the ways he could turn you down. At least you think Gawain would do it gently. He doesn't seem like the kind to laugh in your face.
A figure dashes out of the crowd. Sunflower yellow fills your vision as Gawain comes bolting to you, brandishing a paper bag as if it were a raised sword. He halts in front of you, teetering forward from the momentum. You make to reach out and stabilize him but he flings out his free arm and regains his footing with a flourish. Making all this look less like awkward fumbling and more like the calculated, showy theatrics of the comedians up on stage. "Sorry for being late! I brought sweets. Hope these will excuse me." His chest rises and falls rapidly, yet a grin splits his face, flushed with exertion.
You've already eaten through a generous bag of treats, but you're not about to refuse even more, so you graciously excuse the boy. It's hard to say no to someone as sweet as him, anyway.
<<if $chapt3_bracelet == "yes_tell">>
Your face heats and your pulse quickens before even uttering the words. You take in a deep breath, inhaling the crisp autumn air, carrying a whiff of frying oil. "I like you, Gawain. I like you very much so, and more than a friend."
You reach inside the pouch on your belt for the bracelet. "And to show you that, I got you this."
His surprised gaze darts between you and the bracelet, then settles back on you.
"And I wanted to ask you if you feel the same."
"I...I didn't expect you'd like me //this way//," Gawain says, which is not quite the reply you've hoped for. But he's smiling, and not yet letting you down. Though perhaps he's slowly working towards a gentle refusal. Your stomach tightens.
He considers you silently, cheeks powdered pink and teeth biting into his bottom lip. "But...I like you too." He smiles wider now and it lights up his whole face, making the honey brown of his eyes look gilded.
<<else>>
Your face heats and your pulse quickens before even uttering the words. You take in a deep breath, inhaling the crisp autumn air, carrying a whiff of frying oil. "I like you, Gawain. I like you very much so, and more than a friend. And I wanted to ask you if you feel the same."
Gawain looks at you with wide, surprised eyes."I...I didn't expect you'd like me //this way//," he says, which is not quite the reply you've hoped for. But he's smiling, and not yet letting you down. Though perhaps he's slowly working towards a gentle refusal. Your stomach tightens.
He considers you silently, cheeks powdered pink and teeth biting into his bottom lip. "But...I like you too." He smiles wider now and it lights up his whole face, making the honey brown of his eyes look gilded.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainSweetheartsFair>>"So," Morgana asks as you set off through the crowd towards the food stalls, "what were you up to? Seen anything interesting? Did you eat anything?"
You assure her that you've both eaten and taken in what the fair has to offer in terms of entertainment. "Though I haven't seen the dragons' fire show yet," you say, craning your neck in search of flames coloring the sky. Morgana promises to take you to them after your quest for sweets is done.
"I've heard you've had an unpleasant encounter earlier," she says carefully. "And that Arthur intervened."
Ah. That. You recount the incident, starting with Alina rearing her ugly head to Arthur swooping in to save the day and his promise to have a talk with her mothers.
"Oh, so now he //could// stand up? Hasn't //frozen up//, like he did at the tournament?" she seethes.
"He told me that too - that he froze up, but he said he intends to do better now."
<<if $fire == "yes">>
"I see he's full of nice promises lately. Well, for our sakes, let's hope he intends to keep those promises. I'm terribly curious if he'll have any success with the Solomons, though. That Alina girl is something awful. It's almost as if she wanted you to hurt her," Morgana continues, still swaddled in her simmering anger. "Testing your patience like that. Does she wish to end up like that Nicol boy? But if I bring it up to her mothers, apparently I'm //threatening// them."
<<if $fire_feel == "regret">>
Nicol. The Duke's son, the boy's whose face you burned. You've caught word that all sorcerers who tried to heal the scar failed; and now his face is forever marked by your $fire_reason.
You hadn't meant to do it, but that changes nothing. The memory sends a sharp surge of pain through you and your step slows till you almost halt completely. Morgana turns to you, brow furrowing in confusion then concern as she takes in your expression. She stops altogether and leans down to cup your face. "Oh darling. I told you, you don't have to blame yourself for that incident. That boy deserved it." Her voice is tender, constracting with the harsh sentiment behind her words.
You try to shake your head, but Morgana gently keeps it in place, making you meet her gaze. "Your powers acted out," she says, taking a different approach to comfort you. "Things like this happen to young sorcerers." Then she smiles and straigthens. "Let's go get those sweets."
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaFairFire]]
<<else>>
Nicol. The Duke's son, the boy's whose face you burned. You've caught word that all sorcerers who tried to heal the scar failed; and now his face is forever marked by your $fire_reason.
You hope it serves him - and everyone who looks upon his face - as a reminder of what you're capable if push comes to shove.
Something in your expression makes Morgana smile sharply. "And I wouldn't blame you, if it happened."
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaFairFire]]
<</if>>
<<else>>
"I see he's full of nice promises lately. Well, for our sakes, let's hope he intends to keep those promises. I'm terribly curious if he'll have any success with the Solomons, though. That Alina girl is something awful. It's almost as if she wanted you to hurt her," Morgana continues, still swaddled in her simmering anger. "Testing your patience like that. What if your powers act up in response to your emotions? But if I bring it up to her mothers, apparently I'm //threatening// them. As if they're not sorcerers too."
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to hurt her." You frown. You don't want to perpetuate her violence.|Chapt3MorganaFairFire][$hurt_alina to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sometimes I really wish to do it," you confess. But it'd make things worse for you and Morgana.|Chapt3MorganaFairFire][$hurt_alina to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sometimes I really wish to do it," you confess. But it'd only perpetuate the cycle of violence. You can't give in to your anger.|Chapt3MorganaFairFire][$hurt_alina to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $hurt_alina == 1>>
Your brow furrows so deeply you feel dull tension build behind your temple. "I don't want to hurt her." It'd just perpetuate the cycle of violence; no, it'd make it //worse.// You'd be playing with literal fire. And all you want to do is douse the one's that already lit, and put an end to this conflict.
"Oh darling," Morgana looks at you as if you've just said something incredibly naive that she can't fault you for. "I wouldn't blame if you wanted to."
"But I don't," you say categorically. "I don't want to answer fire with fire."
"Sometimes only fire can match fire," Morgana counters, so you keep at the elemental metaphors:
"It'd rather match it with water. And put the fire out."
Morgana just shakes her head, smiling ruefully.
<<elseif $hurt_alina == 2>>
"Sometimes I really wish to do it," you confess, voice quiet. Like a low fire, small and tame yet sizzling and hot nonetheless. Waiting. Ready to lash out at any moment.
"And I wouldn't blame you for it," Morgana says, stroking your cheek with her knuckles. The tenderness of it constracting starkly with the vicious sentiment behind the words.
You shake your head, dispelling the thought of it. "It'd only make things worse for us, though."
Morgana scoffs, but doesn't contradict you.
<<elseif $hurt_alina == 3>>
"Sometimes I really wish to do it," you confess, voice quiet. Almost as if you were afraid to put that wicked, twisted feeling into words, lest it takes control over you.
"And I wouldn't blame you for it," Morgana says, stroking your cheek with her knuckles. The tenderness of it constracting starkly with the vicious sentiment behind the words.
"But I wouldn't want to hurt her," you insist. Morgana shrugs, indicating it doesn't change a thing she said.
<</if>>
<<if $fire_feel == "regret" or $hurt_alina == 1 or $hurt_alina == 3>>
Morgana navigates the crowd smoothly, taking your hand in hers to make sure you don't get lost when you arrive into the food area, packed more densely now then when you first arrived. She makes good on the promise of sweets, lavishing upon you an assortment of desserts, gathered from different stalls; when you're finally done, you leave with a heavy paper bag, which you're already dutifully working away at alleviating.
Your mood, soured by the previous discussion, starts to sweeten again as you munch on a gem-filled pastry.
<<else>>
Morgana navigates the crowd smoothly, taking your hand in hers to make sure you don't get lost when you arrive into the food area, packed more densely now then when you first arrived. She makes good on the promise of sweets, lavishing upon you an assortment of desserts, gathered from different stalls; when you're finally done, you leave with a heavy paper bag, which you're already dutifully working away at alleviating.
<</if>>
Morgana's thoughts seem to still be dwelling on Alina as she says, "While I still think she's an absolute menace to you, I can see where she's coming from." She tears a piece of sweetbread, gaze ahead at a Lothian dancing troupe, stomping their feet on the wooden stage in tune with the music and twirling in a swirl of color. "Watching all her siblings be celebrated as sorcerers and train with the family at the Weather Tower. It builds tension and resentment."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
She looks at you, smiling. "I'm just glad you and Gareth don't have any such issues." Yet you know Gareth to have complicated feelings on the matter of magic - he simply prefers to shield you from them. No matter how much you ask him to let you shoulder his burderns the way he does for you.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 40>>
She looks at you, smiling. "I'm just glad you and Gareth don't have any such issues." Yet you suspect Gareth to have complicated feelings on the matter of magic - he simply prefers to keep such thoughts to himself.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
She looks at you, sighing. "I just wish I could say things are better between you and Gareth."
"We just don't really care for each other. Magic or not." This does not seem to make it better for her.
<<else>>
She looks at you, sighing. "I just wish I could say things are better between you and Gareth."
"We simply can't stand each other, magic or not." This does not seem to appease her.
<</if>>
"Speaking of sorcerers," Morgana changes the subject lightly, "I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Merlin didn't show his weasely self at the tournament. I would have expected for him to want to get a glimpse at you. Though I suppose he must keep the pretense of the Royal Sorcerer who cares and must attend to the Queen," she mocks, fishing a toffee out of the bag. "Perhaps it's for the best he didn't come. Spared me a headache." She pops the treat into her mouth and chews slowly. "And to think that once Merlin asked me to be his apprentice. Coming all the way to Avalon just to pose the question, making it sound like it was such a boon."
"You mean that time you pushed him against the wall with a gust of wind?" you ask. She's recounted the event to you before, how all her fury and anguish had built up and exploded in a gale that took the man by utter surprise. She's relished in the memory when she first told you, as she does now, lips tilted cruelly. "Oh, the look of shock on his face! To be so overwhelmed by a thirteen year old girl. He soon left to lick his wounded ego. Anyway. Let's talk of more enjoyable things."
<<if $Gawain_friend >= 4>>
She goes on, "Such as your own ventures over the last days. I've noticed you made a friend in Gawain. Accolon told me he seems like a sweet boy." She smiles, but it falters slightly, uncertain. "I didn't think you'd want to befriend him." The implication is left unsaid but not lost upon you. She didn't think you'd want to befriend the boy Arthur has showered with attention while ignoring you.
<<if $gawain_envy >= 2>>
It stings a bit, as much as Gawain may have grown on you. It stings, which makes things quite confusing at times. But you're willing to push past any shadow of resentment to embrace the opportunity of actually making a friend.
<<if $gawain_crush >= 3>>
And perhaps more than a friend...
<</if>>
<</if>>
"Well," you say, "he's as Accolon said; very sweet. And fun." You rub your palms, raining pastry flakes onto the ground. "And doesn't mind my reputation."
<<if $told_accolon_gawain is true>>
"And he's just a friend?" Morgana's tone and smile are innocent enough, but they don't fool you. You squint your eyes at her.
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you say definitively. You'd rather not talk about it.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you say too hastily, heat creeping up your neck.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, I really like him," you say honestly. "Any tips on how I could tell him?" Doesn't hurt to ask.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, I kind of like him," you say, nervous. "But I don't know how to tell him. Any tips on how I could tell him?"|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like him. Really like him. But that's all. I'm not telling him." You don't plan on telling him. He's leaving tomorrow anyway.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $told_accolon_gawain is false and $gawain_crush >= 3>>
<div class="choice">[[You like him more than a friend, but you won't tell her.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I actually really like him. More than a friend," you say honestly. "Any tips on how I could tell him?" Doesn't hurt to ask.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, I kind of like him. More than a friend," you say, nervous. "But I don't know how to tell him. Any tips on how I could tell him?"|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like him. More than a friend. But that's all." You don't plan on telling him. He's leaving tomorrow anyway.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][ $morgana_gawain_talk to 5]]</div>
<<else>>
You add, "I hope he'll want to correspond."
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>
<</if>>
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
She goes on, "I heard Gawain's been approaching you. He's been excited to meet you, apparently."
"Gawain's alright. He can be fun to be around. At least he's nice to me," you say, and Morgana smiles kindly.
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>
<<elseif $Gawain_ally >= 2>>
"I heard Gawain's been approaching you. He's been excited to meet you, apparently."
"Gawain's alright, I suppose. I'm just being polite to him," you say and Morgana hums approvingly.
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>
<<elseif $Gawain < 50>>
"I heard Gawain's been trying to approach you. He's been excited to meet you, apparently."
You grimace, making a small, exasperated sound. "I'm not interested in his company."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully. "I can't blame you. But it might be helpful to at least keep a pretense of nicety. Just something to think about."
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>
<<else>>
"I heard Gawain's been trying approaching you. He's been excited to meet you, apparently."
"Yeah," you shrug. "I'm not all that interested in him."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully. "I can't blame you. But it might be helpful to at least keep a pretense of nicety. Just something to think about."
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>
<</if>>Oh, she's playing dirty, trying to lull you in with such sweet promises. But it's not working, not now.
You bring the tip of your boot hard against the earth. "No," you shake your head. "I need some space." You meet her gaze to impress the firmness of your decision upon her. "Please, mom." It's a plea, both frustrated and tired, for her to understand.
Her smile drops, and so does the temperature. A subtle yet distinctly cool breeze sweeps around you - through the chasm between you. "Of course," she says, for a change allowing you what you want without any fuss. You can tell it's not easy for her, though; she summons a faint smile, but it doesn't hide the hurt in her eyes. "You go on ahead, then."
And you do, weaving through the crowd. On the way to the food stalls to get sweets on your own.
<<include Chapt3FairAlone>>Oh, she's playing dirty. Her smile has now turned sweeter, sweet like honey laid out to trap unsuspecting flies. It's shrewd, the smile of one who knows they're about to get their way.
And it's absolutely working. "Fine, but I want a big bag of treats," you yield, lulled in by the tasty bribe. Flies and honey, moths and light, you and sweets, it's all the same saying.
Morgana nods, smile more smug than sweet now. Yet her eyes gleam with amusement, and not that cruel delight so at home in her gaze, but authentic happiness. "Let's go."
<<include Chapt3MorganaAlreadyAtFair>>There's a loud whooshing, followed by a cloud of fire exploding high over a gasping, applauding crowd. You've found the dragons' fire show.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You spare Morgana one excited glance before you hasten your step towards the spectacle. She follows in a sway of gauzy purple.
<<else>>
"Can we?" you ask, voice teeming with barely contained excitement, and she nods, knowing exactly what you're talking about.
<</if>>
Once you've reached the densely packed crowd, Morgana twirls her fingers, stirring a wind that startles the audience into glancing behind; when their gazes fall on Morgana Le Fay, they're swift to make way for the two of you, parting as if on command. You do not mistake it for respect - whatever respect there is for her is begrudgingly given, imposed by her title. No, what makes the crowd move is fear. But there is one fearless - and perhaps not quite inspired - noble who makes a remark as you pass. He didn't dare to speak loudly, but didn't bother to whisper either as he strung a series of unkind adjectives and attached them to your mother's name. One flick of the wrist later, that noble's toffees are scattered to the ground and he's swearing profusely. With that minor interference, you reach the front of the crowd.
There's a cordon circling the performance, to clearly determine just how close it is safe to approach. The dragons are, obviously, masters of their craft, so the issue of accidents doesn't rest on them, but foolish humans. Especially foolish, //drunk// humans.
There are three dragons peformers, none of them exceeding by much the height of what would be considered a tall human. Two of them have horns sprouting out of their heads, lushly decorated by gemstones that wink in the bright sun and golden or silver chains that weave into elaborate designs in the space between their horns, dangling down to frame their scaled faces. The third dragon has a swirling motif of red roses painted over their white scales and golden bracelets atop their taloned feet.
<<if $chapt3_arthur_river != "no">>
Each of the dragons exhales fire, and gives it shape, the three of them working together to tell a story as vivid as if there was a theatre play unfolding before your eyes. They don't need any narration - everything is told through the forms that dance in the air in blazing shades of orange and red and yellow. It's a story of adventure and friendship blooming between a dragon and a human. Flying together over rivers of flames, celebrating their victories around bonfires, sleeping snuggled together under the starry sky.
<<else>>
Fire storytelling is a custom of the dragons, an integral aspect of their culture, a particularity of their magic: willing figures and scenery out of flames, sometimes to accompany the speaker's words, other times to tell the story all on their own.
You've attempted it before, of course you have. The first time Morgana and Accolon took you to see such a performance was in Avalon. You were entranced and couldn't stop thinking and talking about it for days. You've tried to recreate what you've seen, to results beyond disappointing - hazardous even. You've managed to set the curtain on fire and Morgana had to douse it with water. You weren't deterred by your failure though. You've made an attempt yet again in Lothia, taking all the necessary precations, including doing it near the river. The outcome was less dangerous but not much less pathetic. Luckily, only $dragon_name was there to witness it, and $dragon_he will tease you about it every now and then; $dragon_his own attempts are more successful as well, a fact $dragon_he likes to remind you. You can't blame $dragon_him for it, though. You were filled with pride for $dragon_name as you watched the fire take shape, however rough and flickering.
Each of the dragons exhales fire, and gives it shape, the three of them working together to tell a story as vivid as if there was a theatre play unfolding before your eyes. They don't need any narration - everything is told through the forms that dance in the air in blazing shades of orange and red and yellow. It's a story of adventure and friendship blooming between a dragon and a human. Flying together over rivers of flames, celebrating their victories around bonfires, sleeping snuggled together under the starry sky.
<</if>>
You watch it all bewitched, forgetting even about the remainder of your sweets. The end of the story marks a break for the dragons, too, who bow extensively to the thunderous applause before departing to get some refreshments, to return for their next story with renewed energy.
<<if $told_morgana_gawain == "yes">>
Morgana too takes her leave, letting you go find Gawain. She gives you a mischevious smile and meaningful look as she says, "Remember what I told you. A token of affection is always welcome."
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainFair]]
<<elseif $Gawain >= 58 and $Gawain_friend >= 3 >>
Morgana too takes her leave, letting you go find Gawain and $dragon_name.
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainFair]]
<<else>>
Morgana too takes her leave, letting you go find $dragon_name.
<<include Chapt3DragonNameFair>>
<</if>><<silently>>
<<set $chapt3_told_morgana_gender to true>>
<</silently>>
<<if $chapt3_child_title == "2">>
Morgana considers a toffee, then lets her gaze slide to you. "Accolon mentioned you've had a talk with him. Regarding how you feel about being considered a girl."
You hurriedly swallow a piece of sweetbread, half-chewed. "Yes. It feels wrong somehow." You hesitate. "Don't ask me what would feel //right//, though."
Morgana chuckles softly. "I won't. And you don't have to fret, darling. You'll figure it out. For now, are you fine with people using she and her for you? Perhaps you'd like something that sounds more neutral."
<div class="choice">[[She, her is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He, him, actually.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_child_title == "5">>
Morgana considers a toffee, then lets her gaze slide to you. "Accolon mentioned you've had a talk with him. Regarding how you feel about being considered a boy."
You hurriedly swallow a piece of sweetbread, half-chewed. "Yes. It feels wrong somehow." You hesitate. "Don't ask me what would feel //right//, though."
Morgana chuckles softly. "I won't. And you don't have to fret, darling. You'll figure it out. For now, are you fine with people using he and him for you? Perhaps you'd like something that sounds more neutral."
<div class="choice">[[He, him is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[She, her, actually.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_child_title == "8">>
Morgana considers a toffee, then lets her gaze slide to you. "Accolon mentioned you've had a talk with him. Regarding how you feel about being considered $gender."
You hurriedly swallow a piece of sweetbread, half-chewed. "Yes. It feels wrong somehow." You hesitate. "I'd rather just be...Me. Not a girl, not a boy."
Morgana smiles. "For now, are you fine with people using ?they and ?them for you? Or you'd like something that sounds more neutral?"
<div class="choice">[[She, her is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He, him is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_child_title == "3">>
Morgana considers a toffee, then lets her gaze slide to you. "Accolon mentioned you've had a talk with him. Regarding how you feel about being considered a girl."
You hurriedly swallow a piece of sweetbread, half-chewed. "Yes. It feels wrong. Son..." you hesitate as something flutters in your stomach. "That seems to fit better."
Morgana smiles softly. "And would you like people to start using he and him for you, then?"
<div class="choice">[[She, her is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He, him sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_child_title == "6">>
Morgana considers a toffee, then lets her gaze slide to you. "Accolon mentioned you've had a talk with him. Regarding how you feel about being considered a boy."
You hurriedly swallow a piece of sweetbread, half-chewed. "Yes. It feels wrong. Daughter..." you hesitate as something flutters in your stomach. "That seems to fit better."
Morgana smiles softly. "And would you like people to start using she and her for you, then?"
<div class="choice">[[She, her sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 1, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They, them sounds good.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 2, $child to "child"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He, him is fine.|Chapt3GenerTalk1][$pgen to 0, $child to "child"]]</div>
<</if>>Morgana has come to help you get ready for the feast before doing so herself. As soon as she came she started rummaging through your wardrobe, running her fingers over gossamer gauze and embroided velvet and dyed linen, humming to herself ever so often in melodious approval or tutting disappointment. You sit on the bed, dangling your feet off the edge, elbows propped on your thighs and chin in palms, watching her put aside a choice of your finest attires for you to select from.
"How has your day been, darling?" she asks, not looking away from the garment she's currently judging; she shakes her head, decreeing it unfit, and picks up another contender.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
<<include Chapt3Later1>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<<include Chapt3Later2>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
<<include Chapt3Later3>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<<include Chapt3Later4>>
<</if>>Sprinting through the corridors, you head for the great hall. Morgana is there, as you expected, among a thong of servants that stand at the ready as she uses her magic to put up the decorations- banners of all the houses of the knights that came, and garlands of fresh flowers. She does it with ease and elegance, moving her arms in measured arcs. Further down the hall, a couple of small dragons are helping as well, their swift flying allowing them to be the best at this sort of decorating.
<div class="choice">[[Wait for her to take a break.|Chapt3Break][$chapt3_break to "1", $impulsive to $impulsive-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Run to her.|Chapt3Break][$chapt3_break to "2", $impulsive to $impulsive+2]]</div>//Morgana's POV//
Morgana is furious.
People told her she was out of control when she gave in to her emotions. That her magic became unpredictable and mercurial, a danger to herself and others. What they concealed beneath their judgemental, disgusted faces was their fear.
Magic coursed through her veins, electrified her every sense; the air itself shimmered around her frame, thrumming with the power that couldn't be contained within her body. The wind howled with her anguish in her ears, the rivers frothed with her anger, the earth cracked ever so slightly with every determined step.
Angered, she is powerful.
Arthur didn't heed her warning to stay away from Mordred. She knew Arthur would try to meet ?them behind her back, and yet she has been so careless, relying on his cowardice.
<<if $stay == "furious">>
Just like she went behind Mordred's back, Morgana thinks. But she's doing it for ?their own good! Arthur will hurt Mordred, like he hurt her.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
But Mordred's defiance made up enough for his cowardice, Morgana thinks. So resolute on seeing the man who hurt both of them.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
Mordred's pleads haunt her, but she pushes them away. It's for ?their own good. Arthur will hurt Mordred, like he hurt her.
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
Mordred seemed hesitant. Confused. Morgana is ready to make that decision for ?them. Arthur will hurt Mordred, like he hurt her.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
Mordred doesn't want to see him, so why does he keep pushing?
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
Mordred doesn't want him to be ?their father, and just as well. He'd only hurt Mordred, like he hurt her.
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
Mordred didn't try to stop Morgana. ?They doesn't want to see Arthur.
<<elseif $stay == "sayangryaway">>
Arthur has kindled a dangerous hope in Mordred, it seemed. Dangerous, for he was sure to snuff it out and hurt them.
<<elseif $stay == "angryaway">>
Mordred looked troubled. Confused. Arthur's presence is only hurting them more.
<</if>>
Light filters a dim red through the tent's dyed canvas, limning a lonely silhouette. When Arthur looks up and sees her, he flinches. As he should.
He steps back, head snapping wildly around, looking for an escape - but she won't let him run from the consequences of his action like he always does.
"Arthur!" The word slices through the wailing of the wind. The tent flap billows behind him.
Her heated voice is almost drown out by her own gale. "I told you to stay away from Mordred."
In a rare moment of defiance, poorly chosen, Arthur stands up for himself: "I wanted to meet my child, Morgana!"
She bursts out with laughter - a sound so brash and harsh it blends with the rushing wind. "Now ?they's your child? Where were you all these years? Cowering in your castle with Merlin telling you what a good choice you've made! Spare me this sudden father instinct, Arthur, it's a mere whim. If you cared, you would have come to see ?them long ago."
Arthur flinches at the words. "It was a hard decision to make, Morgana!" He spreads out his arms, throwing the blame to the wind, to the world, to anyone but himself, making it out to be something out of his control. "Can't you see my point of view?"
Morgana scoffs. "Oh, but I do, Arthur. I know so well how much you fear a stupid prophecy, which you had no right to reveal to Mordred. Why stuff ?their head with the foolish words of that deceitful sorcerer?"
"There's truth to prophecies!" He repeats the same words Merlin has carved into his skull. Arthur can't think for himself and so he relies on what he's being told, never stopping to think the lies he is spun, never questioning the intentions of that man. "Merlin is just trying to protect me."
"And I'm protecting my child, too, Arthur, from a father that can't love ?them and will only disappoint ?them."
"I want to be a father to ?them!" There's fire in his words, but Morgana knows all it takes is a drop of water to snuff it out. "I know I've wronged ?them, but I can be better."
"Will you claim ?them as your child?"
Arthur falters. As she expected, his will is nothing but a small, pathetic ember. "You know I can't do this," he says quietly, admitting defeat without even trying.
Morgana's lips twist in a cruel smile. "Why, Arthur?"
His face screws up, as if in pain. "?They's an incestuous bastard! It was amoral what we did!"
"There it is, Arthur! You're disgusted by ?them! The only one keeping you from being a father is yourself." Anger simmers in her, his fading fire fanning hers. "You want to be a father, you have to take the fall for your child. Take a chance. You can't expect to act all fatherly when no one looks and forsake ?them the moment someone sees you. That's not love. You're a coward, and you deserve everything your actions are throwing your way."
"Please," Arthur begs, stepping forward. "I want to make things better!" All he has is helpless hope, words snatched by the wind that Morgana puts no weight on. He wants to make things better, yet he doesn't do anything to right them.
"Give me back my title and castle, then." Morgana extends him some help, the same demand she made all those years ago. "You can start from there."
"But you're Lady of Lothia!" As if she ever asked for this role. As if she ever wanted to be Lot's wife. "I can't just strip the current family of their title!"
Morgana laughs, "Like Uther stripped me of my title, you mean?" Arthur jolts, the jab like an arrow. Oh, Morgana is about to fill him with arrows like a target.
Arthur doesn't seem to understand what it means to her, holding on to it as all that her family left her. Anyone else with a claim over the same blood, the same land, had either been murdered or chased off the Continent. She can't let the Le Fay legacy be claimed by imposters. He has to right Uther's wrongs. But there is someone holding him back. Someone that hates her.
"Merlin told you not to, didn't he? He wants me to have no power, no vengeance, no justice." Arthur doesn't say anything, his silence a sufficient response. "The only reason Merlin hasn't tried to hurt Mordred is because ?they's the only heir, and he doesn't want the Pendragon line to end. But he's trying to reverse the curse, and if he succeeds, he won't hold back against Mordred."
"How did you know he's trying to undo it?" Arthur asks, baffled.
"I found out when I attended that lovely, arranged wedding of yours. You were so joyful. Is your wife as excited about the union?" She tilts her head, a sardonic smile on her lips. Cruel, like the words she utters. "Merlin chooses everything for you. Can't you see how he plays you? He's ruling through you. Are you even king? Is Mordred even stealing the throne from you-" her smile widens and voice rises with the wind "-or Merlin? You know why Merlin hates me? Because I can think for myself, something you're not capable of. You can't even make your own decisions, not without a push." To demonstrate, she sends forward a squall that topples him backwards. His panicked finger grapple for purchase in the fabric of the flap door as he fights to regain his balance. "Think, Arthur!" Her voice breaks, splintered by pain and wrath alike. "You've been absent for years, and now you want to act like a father? Does Merlin even know? You want to be a father, claim Mordred. Otherwise, don't even bother."
There's a flurry of movement from around the tent and Arthur disappears from view, eclipsed by the huge figure of Elewen, their back curled up, tail taut, fangs barred and glinting in the light, inches away from Morgana's face.
Their throat thrums with a low growl as they grit out, "Back away, Lady Morgana."
Morgana doesn't budge. She meets their crimson stare steadfastly, and thrusts her chin up ever so slightly.
The dragon steps back, turning to check on their companion. Arthur touches their snout gently, leaning his forehead against theirs in reassurance.
A strange feeling creeps up on Morgana, starting from somewhere in the pit of her stomach, clawing its way up her abdomen, sliming up her throat. She can see, with a nauseating kind of clarity all their similarities. She'd had the same sort of dizziness that first night they met; she'd always wondered how he could have missed it but then, he'd never known their mother like she did. He couldn't see, as clearly as Morgana, all the little things that could be mapped out between their faces. Not just the $eye eyes; but so much more, some easy to overlook if you did not know what to look for, others as obvious as a slap in the face.
She could also separate that which belonged to Uther, though it was not as sickening a likeness, perhaps because she'd never seen Arthur's face twist in as cruel and mocking an expression as that monster's did.
And how easily she can also superimpose, without even willing herself to do so, the image of Mordred and $dragon_name over that of Arthur and Elewen. How many times had she seen them in that same position, heads tenderly bent to each other?
<<if $dragon_eyes == "red" and $scales == "purple">>
The similarity of the two dragons is quite uncanny.
<<elseif $dragon_eyes == "red" and $scales == "purple" and $hair == "brown">>
The likenesses of the two dragons - of father and child - it only works to blur the lines between the two images.
<</if>>
And in these disquieting moments, she wishes everything could be so much easier, that Arthur had made better choices. She wishes that Merlin were rotting along with Uther's corpse.
Arthur looks at her. All of her arrows have hit their mark and now he's crumbling. Morgana waits for his response, a glimmer of hope that he'll finally make a decision for himself, forsaking Merlin. "I can't claim ?them."
She shakes her head. She's so numbed to disappointment, it just dully registers. "As expected. Stay away from ?them then." She spins around, leaving Arthur to his decisions which in turn forge her own.
"Morgana!" he calls out. In his voice she hears the embers of the fire that fueled him at the start. "You keep telling me Merlin is controlling me, but what about you and Mordred, teaching ?them to hate me and help your revenge? Is this what Mordred wants?"
She falters but doesn't turn around. Eyes fixed on the castle ahead, standing out pristine white in the sea of darkness around it. There's a faint glow of light in Mordred's window. Accolon must be tucking ?them in, whispering words of comfort, offering a gentle explanation to all that transpired.
So many nights they'd both had to do that when Mordred couldn't fathom how the Court could loathe them like it did, why a father could abandon his child, why as heartless a sorcerer as Merlin would ruin their family. She'd kiss ?their brow and soothe ?them; she'd cup ?their cheeks and promise that one day, all will be avenged.
For how else could they mend their wounds, without treating the rot first?
And Arthur is part of that rot. He didn't start it - but he does nothing to stop it. She's always made that clear to Mordred. Until he changes, they're both better off without him in their life.
Perhaps Mordred is too young to understand all that is happening and how deep it runs. But Morgana knows it all too well - and together, they will make things right.
She steels herself and leaves without another word to Arthur.
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaPOV1]]Morgana finds Accolon waiting for her in their bedchamber, in the armchair beside the fireplace. He approaches her when she enters, a tender smile on his lips that always works to mellow her temper. She eases over a smile of her own, gentle but tired. She tosses her cloak on the armchair and throws herself on the bed, still wearing her feast dress. Accolon sits next to her, brushing her $hair hair out of her face, asking, "How did it go?"
Morgana scoffs, "As well as it can go with Arthur." She closes her eyes, enjoying the light touch, the bitterness slowly draining out of her. "He won't claim Mordred, he won't stop listening to Merlin." Her voice is quiet, defeated, but the embers of her fury are still there, and the longer she thinks of Arthur, the more they're stoked. "He wants to be a father on his own terms, no regard to Mordred." She clenches the bedsheet, opening her eyes. "Not realizing Mordred already has a father, and that's you." The fire hisses and spits in the fireplace, and Accolon hushes her, well aware she's the one stirring the flames.
"You're getting angry again." He speaks softly, running a calloused hand over her cheek. She leans her head into it, relishing in the tenderness he so lavishly lays upon her.
When the fire settles down, she asks, "How's Mordred?"
"I tucked ?them in. You should talk to ?them tomorrow about the prophecy."
Morgana didn't want to tell ?them yet. She didn't want yet another one controlled by the words of Merlin.
Restless again, Morgana gets up, heading to the window. Accolon follows and wraps his arms around her, holding her tight against his chest. She leans against him, melting into his arms, tension washing away as he kisses her neck. She quickly forgets about Arthur, her thoughts turning to pleasant ones.
[[Continue|Chapt3Tournament4]]<<if $chapt3_prepare == "1">>
"She did everything?" you echo, admiration clear in your voice. "It's marvelous."
<<if $morgana_talk == "mad" or $morgana_talk == "cry">>
It soon fades however, swiftly replaced by the bitter memory of yesterday's fight with her. Accolon notes your sudden shift in mood, as clear as clouds stealing sunshine.
"Mordred..." His tone of voice tells you he caught up on the source of your conflict, too, as perceptive of your emotions as ever. You think he's going to add something else but instead, with a slightly strained joy, he suggests, "Shall we get something sweet?" He beckons you towards the stalls, alluring aromas wafting through the air from their equally alluring displays.
<<else>>
"Come, let's get something sweet," Accolon beckons you towards the stalls, alluring aromas wafting through the air from their equally alluring displays.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_prepare == "2">>
You grunt noncommittally, crossing your arms. She organized a tournament, nothing less was expected of the Duke's wife.
<<if $morgana_talk == "mad" or $morgana_talk == "cry">>
The fight from yesterday is still raw, and you'd rather not dwell on it right now.
"Mordred..." His tone of voice tells you he caught up on the source of your conflict, too, as perceptive of your emotions as ever. You think he's going to add something else but instead, with a slightly strained joy, he suggests, "Shall we get something sweet?" He beckons you towards the stalls, alluring aromas wafting through the air from their equally alluring displays.
<<else>>
"Come, let's get something sweet," Accolon beckons you towards the stalls, alluring aromas wafting through the air from their equally alluring displays.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_prepare == "3">>
You don't say anything, the smile curving your lips the sign of your silent appreciation.
<<if $morgana_talk == "mad" or $morgana_talk == "cry">>
It soon fades however, swiftly replaced by the bitter memory of yesterday's fight with her. Accolon notes your sudden shift in mood, as clear as clouds stealing sunshine.
"Mordred…" His tone of voice tells you he caught up on the source of your conflict, too, as perceptive of your emotions as ever. You think he's going to add something else but instead, with a slightly strained joy, he suggests, "Shall we get something sweet?" He beckons you towards the stalls, alluring aromas wafting through the air from their equally alluring displays.
<<else>>
"Come, let's get something sweet," Accolon beckons you towards the stalls, alluring aromas wafting through the air from their equally alluring displays.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_prepare == "4">>
"It's nice," you say, fighting to keep a neutral tone. Some of the admiration still slips through and it doesn't go unnoticed by Accolon if his knowing look is anything to go by.
<<if $morgana_talk == "mad" or $morgana_talk == "cry">>
The pang of hurt that passes your face like a dark cloud doesn't escape his attention, either.
"Mordred..." His tone of voice tells you he caught up on the source of your conflict, too, as perceptive of your emotions as ever. You think he's going to add something else but instead, with a slightly strained joy, he suggests, "Shall we get something sweet?" He beckons you towards the stalls, alluring aromas wafting through the air from their equally alluring displays.
<<else>>
"Come, let's get something sweet," Accolon beckons you towards the stalls, alluring aromas wafting through the air from their equally alluring displays.
<</if>>
<</if>>
"What would you like?" The knight asks as your gaze darts to take everything in, a new delicious looking treat catching your eye as soon as you glimpse another, your nose intoxicated by the smells.
<div class="choice">[[Sweet bread.|Chapt3TournamentSweets][$chapt3_sweets to "bread"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Apple pie.|Chapt3TournamentSweets][$chapt3_sweets to "apple"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Toffee.|Chapt3TournamentSweets][$chapt3_sweets to "toffee"]]</div><<if $morgana_teach1 == 2>>
"And do you have to be as bad as them?" What the Duke has done is horrible, and you won't deny the role he's played in your family's downfall - in your family's and Court's murder. So Morgana's stricken back, like a hurting wounded animal clawing at anyone who dares approach them. Where will this lead? Does it mean the Duke's own family is entitled to seek vengeance from you, for his murder? Eye for an eye, Morgana might say. But if it comes to eye for an eye for an eye? Does it ever end? It keeps rolling like a boulder down an endless hill, gaining speed with no intention of ever stopping, destroying everything in its path.
Morgana sneers. "I have to be even worse. It's retribution, Mordred. You'll understand one day."
You've left behind the dragons' lodge, rising all high and mighty stone, arriving at the edge of the fair. Soon, you're swallowed up by the colorful crowd, but Morgana navigates it smoothly, taking your hand in hers to make sure you don't get lost. She leads you straight to the food area, to make good on the promise of sweets. She lavishes upon you an assortment of desserts, gathered from different stalls; when you're finally done, you leave with a heavy paper bag, which you're already dutifully working away at alleviating.
Your mood, soured by the previous discussion, starts to sweeten again as you munch on a jam-filled pastry.
<<elseif $morgana_teach1 == 5>>
Frustration rises in you like the tide, engulfing you in a feeling like ants swarming under your skin. Restless, angry, yet moving aimlessly. This isn't going anywhere. "Fine, whatever." //Have it your way.//
Morgana stares at you. "You'll understand someday, Mordred. Everything I do I do for our family, and the justice we've been robbed of."
You've left behind the dragons' lodge, rising all high and mighty stone, arriving at the edge of the fair. Soon, you're swallowed up by the colorful crowd, but Morgana navigates it smoothly, taking your hand in hers to make sure you don't get lost. She leads you straight to the food area, to make good on the promise of sweets. She lavishes upon you an assortment of desserts, gathered from different stalls; when you're finally done, you leave with a heavy paper bag, which you're already dutifully working away at alleviating.
Your mood, soured by the previous discussion, starts to sweeten again as you munch on a jam-filled pastry.
<<else>>
You've left behind the dragons' lodge, rising all high and mighty stone, arriving at the edge of the fair. Soon, you're swallowed up by the colorful crowd, but Morgana navigates it smoothly, taking your hand in hers to make sure you don't get lost. She leads you straight to the food area, to make good on the promise of sweets. She lavishes upon you an assortment of desserts, gathered from different stalls; when you're finally done, you leave with a heavy paper bag, which you're already dutifully working away at alleviating.
<</if>>
Morgana's thoughts seem to be still dwelling on magic and tutoring as she says, "And to think that once Merlin asked me to be his apprentice." She tears a piece of sweetbread, gaze ahead at a Lothian dancing troupe, stomping their feet on the wood in tune with the music and twirling in a swirl of color. "Coming all the way to Avalon just to pose the question, making it sound like it was such a boon."
"You mean that time you pushed him against the wall with a gust of wind?" you ask. She's recounted the event to you before, how all her fury and anguish had built up and exploded in a gale that utterly took the man by surprise. She's relished in the memory when she first told you, as she does now, lips tilted cruelly.
"Oh, the look of shock on his face! To be so overwhelmed by a thirteen year old girl. He soon left to lick his wounded ego." She goes on to remark upon his absence at the tournament, which had come as somewhat of a surprise; she'd expected for him to take any excuse to get a glimpse at you. "But he must keep the pretense of the Royal Sorcerer who cares and must attend to the Queen," she mocks, fishing a toffee out of the bag. "Perhaps it's for the best he didn't come. Spared me a headache." She pops the treat into her mouth and chews slowly. "But let's talk of more enjoyable things."
<<if $Gawain_friend >= 4>>
She goes on, "Such as your own ventures over the last days. I've noticed you made a friend in Gawain. Accolon told me he seems like a sweet boy." She smiles, but it falters slightly, uncertain. "I didn't think you'd want to befriend him." The implication is left unsaid but not lost upon you. She didn't think you'd want to befriend the boy Arthur has showered with attention while ignoring you.
<<if $gawain_envy >= 2>>
It stings a bit, as much as Gawain may have grown on you. It stings, which makes things quite confusing at times. But you're willing to push past any shadow of resentment to embrace the opportunity of actually making a friend.
<<if $gawain_crush >= 3>>
And perhaps more than a friend...
<</if>>
<</if>>
"Well," you say, "he's as Accolon said; very sweet. And fun." You rub your palms, raining pastry flakes onto the ground. "And doesn't mind my reputation."
<<if $told_accolon_gawain is true>>
"And he's just a friend?" Morgana's tone and smile are innocent enough, but they don't fool you. You squint your eyes at her.
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you say definitively. You'd rather not talk about it.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you say too hastily, heat creeping up your neck.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, I really like him," you say honestly. "Any tips on how I could tell him?" Doesn't hurt to ask.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, I kind of like him," you say, nervous. "But I don't know how to tell him. Any tips on how I could tell him?"|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like him. Really like him. But that's all. I'm not telling him." You don't plan on telling him. He's leaving tomorrow anyway.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $told_accolon_gawain is false and $gawain_crush >= 3>>
<div class="choice">[[You like him more than a friend, but you won't tell her.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I actually really like him. More than a friend," you say honestly. "Any tips on how I could tell him?" Doesn't hurt to ask.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, I kind of like him. More than a friend," you say, nervous. "But I don't know how to tell him. Any tips on how I could tell him?"|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][$morgana_gawain_talk to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like him. More than a friend. But that's all." You don't plan on telling him. He's leaving tomorrow anyway.|Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain1][ $morgana_gawain_talk to 5]]</div>
<<else>>
You add, "I hope he'll want to correspond."
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>
<</if>>
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
She goes on, "I heard Gawain's been approaching you. He's been excited to meet you, apparently."
"Gawain's alright. He can be fun to be around. At least he's nice to me," you say, and Morgana smiles kindly.
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>
<<elseif $Gawain_ally >= 2>>
"I heard Gawain's been approaching you. He's been excited to meet you, apparently."
"Gawain's alright, I suppose. I'm just being polite to him," you say and Morgana hums approvingly.
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>
<<elseif $Gawain < 50>>
"I heard Gawain's been trying to approach you. He's been excited to meet you, apparently."
You grimace, making a small, exasperated sound. "I'm not interested in his company."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully. "I can't blame you. But it might be helpful to at least keep a pretense of nicety. Just something to think about."
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>
<<else>>
"I heard Gawain's been trying approaching you. He's been excited to meet you, apparently."
"Yeah," you shrug. "I'm not all that interested in him."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully. "I can't blame you. But it might be helpful to at least keep a pretense of nicety. Just something to think about."
<<include Chapt3ArthurMorganaFairGawain>>
<</if>><<if $morgana_teach1 == 1>>
Your eyes widen with sudden excitement, and you put on your best beseeching tone. "Can you teach me too?"
The corner of her mouth tugs up in a crooked smirk. "One day, yes."
"One day...Perhaps that day could be next week?"
She laughs. "I'll think about it. It's good to know I have such an eager student, though," she says as she reaches out to briefly stroke your cheek with her knuckles.
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaTalkArriveFair]]
<<elseif $morgana_teach1 == 2>>
You frown, remembering the way the Duke shrieked and scrambled to get away from the serpent that was, in his eyes, very much real and dangerous. Morgana never expressed remorse over the incident. Or his poisoning.
"That was cruel," you say, your tone accusatory as you meet her gaze. She frowns too, her eyes smoldering darkly.
"That man was perfectly happy seizing a role that was not his to claim, by spilling the blood of our family. He deserved that. He deserved everything that happened to him."
<div class="choice">[["\"And do you have to be as bad as them?\""|Chapt3MorganaTalkArriveFair][$morgana_teach1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Fine, whatever.\""|Chapt3MorganaTalkArriveFair][$morgana_teach1 to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_teach1 == 3>>
You remembering the way the Duke shrieked and scrambled to get away from the serpent that was, in his eyes, very much real and dangerous. Morgana never expressed remorse over the incident. Or his poisoning. "Hmm," you hum non-committally. You know that if you're to voice your opinion, she'll only launch into a vengeful tirade of how she was perfectly justified in everything she's done to the man. So you keep silent and neutral.
"I'll teach you at least a bit of transfiguration at some point," she promises. "It could turn out to be helpful."
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaTalkArriveFair]]
<<elseif $morgana_teach1 == 4>>
You remember the glittering of scales in the candle light, the way it moved of its own accord with the same fluid slithering you've seen real snakes do. It had fooled the Duke completely. "It was impressive."
Morgana smiles, self-satisfied. "Thank you. I could teach you how to do it, too, and so much more."
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaTalkArriveFair]]
<<elseif $morgana_teach1 == 5>>
You remember the glittering of scales in the candle light, the way it moved of its own accord with the same fluid slithering you've seen real snakes do. You remember, as well, the way the Duke shrieked and scrambled to get away from the serpent that was, in his eyes, very much real and dangerous. Morgana never expressed remorse over the incident. Or his poisoning.. "It was impressive," you say, measured. "And cruel, too."
She frowns too, her eyes smoldering darkly. "That man was perfectly happy seizing a role that was not his to claim, by spilling the blood of our family. He deserved that. He deserved everything that happened to him."
<div class="choice">[["\"And do you have to be as bad as them?\""|Chapt3MorganaTalkArriveFair][$morgana_teach1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Fine, whatever.\""|Chapt3MorganaTalkArriveFair][$morgana_teach1 to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_teach1 == 6>>
You remember the glittering of scales in the candle light, the way it moved of its own accord with the same fluid slithering you've seen real snakes do. You remember, as well, the way the Duke shrieked and scrambled to get away from the serpent that was, in his eyes, very much real and dangerous. Morgana never expressed remorse over the incident. Or his poisoning. "It was impressive," you say. //And cruel//, you wish you could add. But you know that if you're to voice your opinion, she'll only launch into a vengeful tirade of how she was perfectly justified in everything she's done to the man. So you keep silent and neutral.
"I'll teach you at least a bit of transfiguration at some point," she promises. "It could turn out to be helpful."
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaTalkArriveFair]]
<<elseif $morgana_teach1 == 7>>
You remember the glittering of scales in the candle light, the way it moved of its own accord with the same fluid slithering you've seen real snakes do. "It was impressive," you say, "and totally deserved." It was quite a poetic thing, to have him scared by the very symbol he stole away from your family; to have him writhe in fear on the very flagstones that were stained with your family's blood. He had it coming, and there's a vengeful satisfaction that spreads hot through your veins every time you play the image in your head.
Morgana smiles, all sharp and no sweetness. "Exactly. I could teach you how to do it too, someday."
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaTalkArriveFair]]
<</if>>When you woke up the sky was gray and bloodless, the scenery muted like a pencil sketch, dimly illuminated by the sun that had yet to make its appearance over the horizon. You felt as weak and faint as the light, and fairly woozy, the way you imagine adults might feel the morning after drinking a couple too many glasses of wine.
The tournament and all the festivities attached may be over, but here comes the tedious part of it: the day everyone departs for home. Which, for you and your family translates to standing on the field and waving and bidding goodbies from morning to evening.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope" or $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
A certain someone wanted to make their farewell private, however.
The King has requested your presence this morning, but in no official manner. Far from it; the note had been hastily slipped under your door and followed by a quick rap.
<<if $chapt3_arthur_river == "no">>
The invitation was short and to the point, asking to meet you in the library, and punctuated by a //please// that oozed desperation.
<div class="choice">[[You accepted. You want to keep in touch.|MeetArthurLibrary][$Arthur to $Arthur+5, $chapt3_arthur_library to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You didn't go. You don't want to keep in touch.|Chapt3LibraryArthur][$Arthur to $Arthur-5, $chapt3_arthur_library to false]]</div>
<<else>>
<<silently>><<set $chapt3_arthur_library to true>><</silently>>
The invitation was short and to the point, asking to meet you in the library. And so you did, hurrying through dressing up and sprinting down the busy halls to meet him. You discussed details of your correspondence before Arthur hesitantly opened up his arms, waiting for you to come into the hug yourself. You did, holding him for a few soft, fuzzy moments.
Now the sky blazes a fiery orange, clouds bleeding rosy pink and you're standing next to your mother under its bloody dome, seeing off the first party to leave - the Camelotian one. Lot stands straight and dour, hands clasped firmly behind his back like a General facing his army before a battle whose odds promise to claim many of his soliders. Morgana looks resplendent and warm in her coat of emerald green, lined with fur. Gareth, in his green cape and knee-high boots takes more after Morgana in poise and affable smile.
You share a lingering, secretive smile with Arthur before he steps back to make space for Sir Kay and his family.
<<if $Gawain >= 60>>
<<if $Gawain_crush >= 3>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back and you're sure he must feel the way your heart races in your chest as if it wanted to burst right out and join him, a piece of you to take on his journey back home, a piece of you that you feel belongs to him now. You inhale deeply, eyes fluttering close as you bask in this comforting embrace and his flowery scent. Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like Gawain himself. //Lily of the valley.//
He pulls back, leaving you cold and exposed and vulnerable, a desolate abyss gapping between you. Yet his perfume clings to you, and it somewhat soothes you.
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back with all your might, and you're sure he must feel the way your heart races, struggling with the pain of him leaving. You inhale deeply, basking in the comforting embrace and his flowery scent. Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like Gawain himself. //Lily of the valley.//
He pulls back, leaving you cold and exposed and vulnerable, a desolate abyss gapping between you. Yet his perfume clings to you, and it somewhat soothes you.
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 4>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back with all your might, basking in the comforting embrace and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. Your chest pangs as he pulls back.
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back, enveloped in his arms and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. You won't lie, you're sad to see him go; he's been a breath of fresh air.
<<else>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back, enveloped in his arms and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself.
<</if>>
<<elseif $Gawain >= 55>>
<<if $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a quick parting hug, promising to write. As he pulls back his flower perfume lingers - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. You won't lie, you're sad to see him go; he's been a breath of fresh air.
<<else>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a quick parting hug, promising to write. As he pulls back his flower perfume lingers - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself.
<</if>>
<<else>>
Gawain inclines his head, a genial smile pinned in place as he echoes the goodbye uttered by his parents.
<</if>>
Next up in line is the du Lac family. Lancelot's farewell is textbook courteous and perfectly cold, while Elena speaks hers demurely.
<<if $Galahad >= 25>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. The frost reserved for you has thawed, giving away to an emotion you can't fathom. He seems inquisitive. He's looked at you before as if you were a puzzle, one that particuarly vexed him, but now there's some new sentiment, one that looks almost like regret.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 20>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. The frost reserved for you has mostly thawed, giving away to confusion. He's looked at you before as if you were a puzzle, one that particuarly vexed him.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. It's not as chill as you expected, and not that sharp either. It seems mostly guarded, peeking at you from over a metaphorical shield.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 10>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens the look he gives you isn't as chill as you expected, but still sharp and guarded.
<<else>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, but when he straightens he treats you with the usual biting glare you've come to expect.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You smile brightly at Galahad.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 1, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_friend to $gally_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile shyly at Galahad.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 2, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_friend to $gally_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give him a fake, charming smile.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 3, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_ally to $gally_ally+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stick your tongue out at him.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile sardonically.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Scowl.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 6, $Galahad to $Galahad-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ignore him.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 7]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
Now the sky blazes a fiery orange, clouds bleeding rosy pink and you're standing next to your mother under its bloody dome, seeing off the first party to leave - the Camelotian one. Lot stands straight and dour, hands clasped firmly behind his back like a General facing his army before a battle whose odds promise to claim many of his soliders. Morgana looks resplendent and warm in her coat of emerald green, lined with fur. Gareth, in his green cape and knee-high boots takes more after Morgana in poise and affable smile.
Arthur throws you a plaintive look before he steps back to make space for Sir Kay and his family.
<<if $Gawain >= 60>>
<<if $Gawain_crush >= 3>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back and you're sure he must feel the way your heart races in your chest as if it wanted to burst right out and join him, a piece of you to take on his journey back home, a piece of you that you feel belongs to him now. You inhale deeply, eyes fluttering close as you bask in this comforting embrace and his flowery scent. Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like Gawain himself. //Lily of the valley.//
He pulls back, leaving you cold and exposed and vulnerable, a desolate abyss gapping between you. Yet his perfume clings to you, and it somewhat soothes you.
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back with all your might, and you're sure he must feel the way your heart races, struggling with the pain of him leaving. You inhale deeply, basking in the comforting embrace and his flowery scent. Light and fresh and sweet like spring - like Gawain himself. //Lily of the valley.//
He pulls back, leaving you cold and exposed and vulnerable, a desolate abyss gapping between you. Yet his perfume clings to you, and it somewhat soothes you.
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 4>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back with all your might, basking in the comforting embrace and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. Your chest pangs as he pulls back.
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back, enveloped in his arms and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. You won't lie, you're sad to see him go; he's been a breath of fresh air.
<<else>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a parting hug, squeezing you tightly as if you were a beloved plush and promising to write. You squeeze him back, enveloped in his arms and his flowery scent - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself.
<</if>>
<<elseif $Gawain >= 55>>
<<if $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a quick parting hug, promising to write. As he pulls back his flower perfume lingers - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself. You won't lie, you're sad to see him go; he's been a breath of fresh air.
<<else>>
Gawain jumps forward to give you a quick parting hug, promising to write. As he pulls back his flower perfume lingers - lily of the valley, light and fresh and sweet like spring and the boy himself.
<</if>>
<<else>>
Gawain inclines his head, a genial smile pinned in place as he echoes the goodbye uttered by his parents.
<</if>>
Next up in line is the du Lac family. Lancelot's farewell is textbook courteous and perfectly cold, while Elena speaks hers demurely.
<<if $Galahad >= 25>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. The frost reserved for you has thawed, giving away to an emotion you can't fathom. He seems inquisitive. He's looked at you before as if you were a puzzle, one that particuarly vexed him, but now there's some new sentiment, one that looks almost like regret.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 20>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. The frost reserved for you has mostly thawed, giving away to confusion. He's looked at you before as if you were a puzzle, one that particuarly vexed him.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens his gaze falls on you. It's not as chill as you expected, and not that sharp either. It seems mostly guarded, peeking at you from over a metaphorical shield.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 10>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, and when he straightens the look he gives you isn't as chill as you expected, but still sharp and guarded.
<<else>>
Galahad bows his head ceremoniously, but when he straightens he treats you with the usual biting glare you've come to expect.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You smile brightly at Galahad.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 1, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_friend to $gally_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile shyly at Galahad.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 2, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_friend to $gally_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give him a fake, charming smile.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 3, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $gally_ally to $gally_ally+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stick your tongue out at him.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile sardonically.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Scowl.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 6, $Galahad to $Galahad-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ignore him.|Chapt3GallyLeaveSmile][$chapt3_smile_gally to 7]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_lute == "1">>
You mirror his enthusiastic smile. It seems to be something that he's really passionate about. Though you might say he seems excited about everything and anything. "That's amazing!"
"I could play to you!" he offers.
<<elseif $chapt3_lute == "2">>
You smile warmly, "Will you play for me later?" It seems to be something that he's really passionate about, and you'd love to hear him play.
And by his elated expression, you're convinced he'd love to show you. "Of course!"
<<elseif $chapt3_lute == "3">>
You smile sweetly, leaning toward him. "Will you play for me later?"
He smiles, cheeks tinted pink. "Of course," he says, somewhat more timid now yet eager all the same.
<<elseif $chapt3_lute == "4">>
You smile bashfully as heat rushes to your cheeks. "Will you play for me later?"
He smiles, cheeks tinted pink. "Of course," he says, somewhat more timid now yet eager all the same.
<<elseif $chapt3_lute == "5">>
"I know how to play too," you say, and Gawain looks elated by the news. Even more so as you continue, "We could duet."
"Yes!" he readily accepts the proposal. "That sounds great."
<<elseif $chapt3_lute == "6">>
"I know how to play too," you say, and Gawain looks elated by the news. Even more so as you continue, voice sweet as honey, "We could duet."
He smiles, cheeks tinted pink. "Yes" he readily accepts the proposal. "That sounds great."
<<elseif $chapt3_lute == "7">>
"That's nice," you say because it's the polite thing to say when
someone shares something they're so passionate about, and Gawain smiles.
<<elseif $chapt3_lute == "8">>
"Why should I care?" you ask impassively. You didn't ask; you don't have any interest in learning more about him.
Gawain's face crumbles.
<<elseif $chapt3_lute == "9">>
You smile warmly. It seems to be something that he's really passionate about, and you'd love for him to share it with you. "Will you play for me later?"
And by his elated expression, you're convinced he'd love to show you. "Of course!"
<<elseif $chapt3_lute == "10">>
"I know how to play too," you say, and Gawain looks elated by the news. Even more so as you continue, "We could duet."
"Yes!" he readily accepts the proposal. "That sounds great."
<</if>>
As the dance dwindles and people start to retire to their chambers, even Gawain seems drained of energy to talk. He's leaned his head on the table over his folded arms. Gareth left for bed earlier, and you're considering doing the same soon.
"Galahad," he whines, kicking his feet under the table. "I'm sleepy. Let's go."
Galahad gives him a gentle smile, the softest expression you've seen on his face so far. "You go ahead and I'll catch up." The boy listens and trudges out of the hall.
You get up to make your exit, but a figure looms over you, and you look up to see Galahad eyeing you menacingly. This close, his eyes shine violet in the candles. But most important, there's a warning in them.
"Keep away from Gawain," he warns you.
<div class="choice">[["\"Or what?\""|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "1", $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just want to be friends," you say quietly.|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "2", $confident to $confident-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just want to be friends," you say quietly, but you want more. ❤ |Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "3", $confident to $confident-2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just want to be friends," you say confidently, heat in your cheeks thinking of Gawain. ❤ |Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "4", $confident to $confident+2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["I just want to be friends," you say confidently as your stomach flutters strangely. 💕|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "12", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+1, $confident to $confident+2]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["I just want to be friends," you say shyly as your stomach flutters strangely. 💕|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "13", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+1, $confident to $confident-2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I just want to be friends," you say confidently.|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "5", $confident to $confident+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why don't you try to be nicer like Gawain?" you say calmly.|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "6", $confident to $confident+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Why are his eyes so beautiful? Here you are, marveling at him while he's threatening you. ❤ |Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "7", $gally_crush to $gally_crush+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+2]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[His eyes distract you. Why are they so beautiful? 💕 |Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "7", $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Get out of my way.\""|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "8", $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Fine by me.\""|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "9"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"If you didn't notice, he was talking to me, I have no interest to be his friend.\""|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "10"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Burst out crying.|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "11", $crybaby to $crybaby+1, $cry_gally to $cry_gally+1, $emotional to $emotional+5, $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You enjoy Gawain's company, but you'll lie to get Galahad off your back. "If you didn't notice, he was talking to me, I have no interest to be his friend."|Chapt3Warn][$chapt3_warn to "14"]]</div><<if $morgana_talk == "ok">>
You see no problem with going without telling her.
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "mad">>
You're still mad at her after the fight in her study.
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "cry">>
You're still upset after the fight in her study.
<</if>>
As you leave with Gawain, you look towards the table where your mother is seated, between Lot and Arthur. She looks calmer than you expected, almost serene, leaning back in her high-backed seat, goblet in hand, her gaze scanning over the hall with mild interest. Everyone else at the table seems entangled in a web of animosity, dark clouds cast over them nimbly avoiding Morgana.
Trouble is etched tautly on Arthur's brow, fists clenched on the table. Lot's gaze is adrift, lost like a ship at sea- you imagine Morgana must have had some words with him about his sadistic glee at the tournament. And then there's Arthur's knightly entourage, with the Champion himself seated next to the king, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but there, jaw clenched hard as he stabs at his food, as if the dish itself has offended him and he's reclaiming honor in a duel.
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainChamber]]<<silently>><<set $eavesdrop to "yes">><</silently>>
<<if $sneak == "dontgo">>
The boy deflates, his cheer fading. He stays with you for a little longer in sullen silence before he decides to leave.
<<elseif $sneak == "dontgopolite">>
The boy smiles faintly at you. "Oh, then another time."
<</if>>
When you finish with your food, you decide to take a stroll around the hall, having nothing better to do than people watch. When people keep away from you, there's nothing left to do but watch. It can be a helpful activity. There's much to be learned from observing people.
You catch glimpses of conversations, weaved with boisterous laughter and outraged outbursts.
<<if $attack == "water">>
You're skirting the edge of the feast when your attention is caught by the mention of your name.
"Did you see what Mordred did?" A girl with brown hair, who looks to be about five years your senior, addresses a group of three who seem to be around her age.
You quickly hide behind the nearby pillar, taking advantage of its shelter to see where the conversation leads, curiosity piqued. The girl sounds awed rather than terrified, which certainly spices the regular rumors you hear about yourself. You risk to peek from behind the pillar, as they all seem focused on the girl who, on second look, you realize is Bronwyn, and the boy next to her, Percival, part of Arthur's company- squires, like you.
"?They just..." The girl raises a hand before swiftly drawing a downward arch. "Dumped water on Lancelot. Like that. As if it was nothing." She throws out her arms, eyes wide with disbelief. "I haven't seen Galahad do that, and he's training in water magic with Lancelot."
"Probably because it's not from the Lady of the Lake," the blonde boy next to her offers. "?They is a Le Fay. They have magic and stuff." He was next to her when they greeted Lot at the opening of the tournament, too.
<<if $fire == "yes">>
He leans in, expression darkening. "Don't you know ?they burned half of that kid's face when ?they was only seven?"
Bronwyn shudders.
<</if>>
"By the way, that knight Lancelot beat isn't here, is he?" The boy continues nonchalantly. "He must be in bad shape."
<<elseif $attack == "fire">>
You're skirting the edge of the feast when your attention is caught by the mention of your name.
"Did you see what Mordred did?" A girl with brown hair, who looks to be about five years your senior, addresses a group of three who seem to be around her age.
You quickly hide behind the nearby pillar, taking advantage of its shelter to see where the conversation leads, curiosity piqued. The girl sounds awed rather than terrified, which certainly spices the regular rumors you hear about yourself. You risk to peek from behind the pillar, as they all seem focused on the girl who, on second look, you realize is Bronwyn, and the boy next to her, Percival, part of Arthur's company - squires, like you.
"?They just..." The girl pulls her arm back before tracing a quick arch forward. "Launched fire at Lancelot. Like that. As if it was nothing." She throws out her arms, eyes wide with disbelief.
"?They is a Le Fay," Percival says. "They have a talent for elemental magic and stuff." He was next to her when they greeted Lot at the opening of the tournament, too.
<<if $fire == "yes">>
He leans in, expression darkening. "Don't you know ?they burned half of that kid's face when ?they was only seven?"
The girl shudders.
<</if>>
"By the way, that knight Lancelot beat isn't here, is he?" The boy continues nonchalantly. "He must be in bad shape."
<<else>>
You're skirting the edge of the feast when your attention is caught by a remark.
"That knight Lancelot beat isn't here. He must be in bad shape," A blonde boy, who looks to be about five years your senior, addresses a group of three who seem to be around his age.
You quickly hide behind the nearby pillar, taking advantage of its shelter to see where the conversation leads, curiosity piqued. You risk to peek from behind the pillar, as they all seem focused on the boy who, on second look, you realize is Percival and the brown-haired girl next to him, Bronwyn, part of Arthur's company - squires, like you.
<</if>>
"It was a little bit too much, wasn't it?" A girl with delicate features scrunched up in worry says. You recognize her- she's Isolde, the oldest daughter of the Duke of Astolat. And the other boy is familiar too, from the tournament pavilion - Tristan, a fellow squire from Astolat.
Bronwyn shrugs. "I've seen Lancelot fight before, and he had a purpose this time. It's a warning."
"A warning?" Tristan asks, confused. "Why?"
The girl sips her drink with relish, building tension. "He's Morgana's lover, isn't he? And everyone knows Morgana hates Arthur. I've been thinking about it, and," she leans in, as if imparting a secret, "what if they were plotting something, and Lancelot got wind of it? I mean, have you seen how scared Arthur looks sitting next to Morgana? Who even arranged the seats?"
"Morgana, of course, as the Lady of the castle," the Astolat girl readily replies. "Which wouldn't be a peculiar arrangement as they're siblings, but everyone knows there's tension between them."
"Tension?" Percival repeats, as if the girl just confused rain for a storm. "Morgana wants revenge!"
"It was cruel, though," Isolde says, drumming her fingers on her cup. "What Lancelot did to Accolon."
There's a lull in the conversation as unease falls between the group. Tristan pipes up to support her, "I heard Accolon is a kind man."
"Who fucks his Duke's wife," Percival snorts.
Tristan just frowns at his cup.
"Still," Isolde says, thrusting her chin out, more confident now. "It was not an honorable display of a knight."
"Your sweet Tristan would never do something like this, would he?" Percival winks at the girl.
Isolde blinks, her cheeks pink. As they start to bicker about their own intrigues, you take your leave.
[[Continue|LotTable]]<<if $morgana_wood2 == 1>>
"Yes, let's go!" You're reminded of the multitude of stalls, of rows upon rows of cakes and biscuits and pastries and the mouth-watering aromas that swarmed you. "Can we get some sweets too?"
Morgana chuckles. "Of course, anything you want. I'm craving something sweet myself, actually."
<<include Chapt3MorganaAlreadyAtFair>>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 2>>
Betrayal over them not disclosing the prophecy to you still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind; it's an open wound you're still tending to. You're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3MorganaFairYes][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Mom, I just need some space. Please.\""|Chapt3MorganaFairNo][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 3>>
Betrayal over them not disclosing the prophecy to you still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind, joined by the hurt inflicted by her choice to talk with Arthur behind your back; it all amounts to an open wound you're still tending to. And even though she's changed her stance, you're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3MorganaFairYes][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Mom, I just need some space. Please.\""|Chapt3MorganaFairNo][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 4>>
Betrayal over her choice to talk with Arthur behind your back still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind; it's an open wound you're still tending to. And even though she's changed her stance, you're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3MorganaFairYes][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Mom, I just need some space. Please.\""|Chapt3MorganaFairNo][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_wood2 == 1>>
"Yes, let's go!" You're reminded of the multitude of stalls, of rows upon rows of cakes and biscuits and pastries and the mouth-watering aromas that swarmed you. "Can we get some sweets too?"
Morgana chuckles. "Of course, anything you want. I'm craving something sweet myself, actually."
<<include Chapt3MorganaAlreadyAtFair>>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 2>>
Betrayal over them not disclosing the prophecy to you still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind; it's an open wound you're still tending to. You're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3MorganaFairYes][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Mom, I just need some space. Please.\""|Chapt3MorganaFairNo][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 3>>
Betrayal over them not disclosing the prophecy to you still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind, joined by the hurt inflicted by her choice to disregard your desires and talk with Arthur behind your back; it all amounts to an open wound you're still tending to. And even though she's changed her stance, you're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3MorganaFairYes][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Mom, I just need some space. Please.\""|Chapt3MorganaFairNo][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 4>>
Betrayal over her choice to talk with Arthur behind your back and disregard your desire to connect with him still hangs like a dark cloud over your mind; it's an open wound you're still tending to. And even though she's changed her stance, you're not sure if you have the disposition right now for what she asks of you. "I don't know..."
"Come on, Mordred," she cajoles you, "I'd like to make it up to you. Have a little bit of fun, after all this gloom." When you still hesitate, prodding at cracked dirt and leaves with the tip of your boot, she adds, "I'll treat you to some sweets. A little bit of everything. Toffees, pastries, sweetbread. Anything you wish."
<div class="choice">[["Fine," you relent, keeping a small smile at bay.|Chapt3MorganaFairYes][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Mom, I just need some space. Please.\""|Chapt3MorganaFairNo][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_wood2 == 1>>
Just yesterday, mother was so stubbornly rooted against you being around Arthur, that you were convinced there was little hope to convince her; or at the very least, little hope to convince her easily. This change of heart has taken you by surprise - the same surprise a lost man has when he stumbles out of the thick of the forest to encouter friendly travelers, with wine for his parched throat and food for his rumbling stomach. So you feel yourself soothed and seen and understood.
"Thank you," you say, each word emphasized. "Thank you for finally understanding." She just smiles softly in response.
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 2>>
Just yesterday, it had felt as if you were banging your naked fists against the locked gates of a castle with no hopes of getting in. She was stubbornly unmoving to your plea but now it seems she's had a sudden change of heart. And while you're happy that your fighting is over, you can't help but feel a whiff of bitterness at even having to have fought so hard over a matter that should have been easily resolved. You have every right to want to know the man who sired you.
"I'm glad you finally decided to listen to me," you say because you are. But there's a tinge of exasperation in your tone, too, that you don't bother hiding.
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 3>>
This development gladdens you, but doubt cast its shadow over it; Morgana has been adamant about staying away from Arthur, yet she's suddenly changed her mind. You'd like to think that what prompted this change is her finally accepting your choice, but dark tendrils of suspicion coil around your mind, making you wonder if her reason is yet more dubious.
"Why are you doing this?" you demand of her. Searching her face for a telltale to confirm your conjecture, but you come up empty. "You don't hope to spy on Arthur through me or something, do you?"
"Oh? I didn't know your correspondence would consist of secrets of the crown," she notes lightly. "But no," she answers your question.
Morgana goes on, "I'm doing this for you, not Arthur."
<<elseif $morgana_wood2 == 4>>
"You want this, don't you?" she asks, and you nod earnestly. You want it with all of your heart. Wounded as it may be yet still soaring with optimism. "Then yes."
"Why?" you push, not quite believing the sudden change in her. Though perhaps you shouldn't prod, lest she decides against.
"I'm doing this for you, not Arthur."
<</if>>
"Now," she adjusts her puffy sleeve which gathers at the wrist. Her dress is a vision of gauzy deep purple and lush embroidery. "I think it's time to reap the fruits of my labor and enjoy the fair. Will you join me?" She smiles, and you know it's genuine by the way it crinkles the corners of her eyes. It's so much different than all those sweet ones she fakes.
<<if $betray == "notforgive" or $betray == "willforgive">>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3NoMorganaFair1][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Your fight regarding the prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3NoMorganaFair1][$morgana_wood2 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Your fight regarding the prophecy still hangs heavy in your mind...as well as her choice to go behind your back and talk to Arthur. Betrayal still stings.|Chapt3NoMorganaFair1][$morgana_wood2 to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, let's go! Can we get some sweets too?\""|Chapt3NoMorganaFair1][$morgana_wood2 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." Her choice to go behind your back and talk to Arthur still hangs heavy on your mind. Betrayal still stings. Even if she did right by you eventually.|Chapt3NoMorganaFair1][$morgana_wood2 to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<if $stay == "furious">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you, going behind your back to warn Arthur.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
Your dragon agrees that Morgana only wants the best, but maybe doesn't know what's best for you.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Arthur's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Arthur's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
Your dragon agrees it's Arthur's decision to approach you.
<</if>>
//The prophecy...// You can sense $dragon_name's overwhelmed feelings, the doubt over the accuracy of the words. //It doesn't really mean anything, does it? Undoing is just change, right?//
<<if $prophecy == "rule">>
//Yes! My rule will bring change.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "good">>
//Yes!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid">>
//Prophecies are stupid.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "plan">>
//Right!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
//I want to see it burn.//
//That's alarming.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "hate">>
//Yes...but Arthur believes him, and is afraid of me.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "wrong">>
//Prophecies are unpredictable.//
<</if>>
//I heard a commotion last night, outside the lodge. A dragon rushed out. When I looked, it was Elewen.//
//Do you think she jumped to Arthur's defense?//
Whatever did Morgana do?
//Yes. It sounded like a fight.//
A knock on your door startles you, and you hastily tell your dragon you'll talk later.
"Yes?" you asks.
Morgana's head peeks inside. Her eyes are red and puffy, telltales of shed tears, yet her expression is one of utter composure, any desperation she had displayed in the ring when Accolon was injured, wiped away now. Her tone is somber, putting a knot in your throat, as she says, "I want to talk to you, Mordred. Come to my study."
<div class="choice">[["Yes, mother," you readily follow her.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "readily"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What about?" You cross your arms.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do I have to?" you ask warily.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "wary"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How's Accolon?" you ask, worried.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "worry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nod eagerly. "Yes! I have lots of questions."|Chapt3Study][$brief to "eagerly"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go reluctantly.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "reluctantly"]]</div><<if $tellprophecy == "yes">>
Accolon smiles sadly. "She has to know, Mordred," he reasons. You don't like it at all, but you know there's no arguing with him when he gets like this: when he wears that little sheepish smile, before saying some excuse about parenting and the likes.
You follow him to the base of the hill. Morgana's climbing down from the Castle, her cloak swaying in the wind, apparently forsaking waiting to look for you. She picks up her pace when she sees you.
<<elseif $tellprophecy == "no">>
You follow him, and at the base of the hill you see Morgana climbing down, her cloak swaying in the wind, apparently forsaking waiting to look for you. She picks up her pace when she sees you.
<</if>>
"Mordred! Where have you been?"
"?They've been with Arthur, at the lodge," Accolon answers for you.
Shock colors Morgana's face. "What?" The word is quiet, barely audible over the rising wind. Her gaze darts to you, the intensity of it making you flinch. "What did he say to you? What does he want? Does he never listen?" These questions seem no longer addressed to you, but flung with poison at the night air as she gazes to the lodge. "I told him to stay away from you."
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<div class="choice">[["You did what? Behind my back?" you say furiously.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "furious", $defiant to $defiant+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you ever ask me what I want? I don't want him to stay away!" you burst out.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "stop", $defiant to $defiat+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But I don't want him to stay away. Please, give him a chance," you plead.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "chance", $defiant to $defiant-2, $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to know Arthur, but maybe Morgana is right. She's just looking out for you.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "maybe", $defiant to $defiant-3]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
<div class="choice">[["You did what? Behind my back?" you say furiously.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "furious", $defiant to $defiant+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you ever ask me what I want? I don't want him to stay away!" you burst out.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "stop", $defiant to $defiat+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But I don't want him to stay away. Please, give him a chance," you plead.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "chance", $defiant to $defiant-2, $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to know Arthur, but maybe Morgana is right. She's just looking out for you.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "maybe", $defiant to $defiant-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't mind if he stays away.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "no"]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
<div class="choice">[["You did what? Behind my back?" you say furiously.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "furious", $defiant to $defiant+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you ever ask me what I want? I don't want him to stay away!" you burst out.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "stop", $defiant to $defiat+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But I don't want him to stay away. Please, give him a chance," you plead.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "chance", $defiant to $defiant-2, $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to know Arthur, but maybe Morgana is right. She's just looking out for you.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "maybe", $defiant to $defiant-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't mind if he stays away.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"What if I don't want him to stay away?\""|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "sayangryaway"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't say anything, but you're not sure you want him to stay away. Underneath all the rage, there's hurt.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "angryaway"]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[["You did what? Behind my back?" you say furiously.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "furious", $defiant to $defiant+2, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He doesn't listen to anyone." You roll your eyes.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "listen", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Tell him again then!" you burst out, angry at Arthur.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "away", $calm to $calm-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't mind if he stays away.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"What if I don't want him to stay away?\""|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "sayangryaway"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't say anything, but you're not sure you want him to stay away. Underneath all the rage, there's hurt.|ConfrontTournament][$stay to "angryaway"]]</div>
<</if>>You shake your head disbelievingly, retreating slowly, horrified, as the words sink in. Ruin Camelot. The very kingdom you will rule, the very kingdom you'll lead...right into ruin. "No, no!" Your voice is desperate, the wind around you howling. "But I'm supposed to rule Camelot, not destroy it!"
Your foot catches the taut rope fixing in place one of the pavilions and you lose balance. Accolon reaches out a hand in time to steady you and grips your shoulders firmly as he searches for your gaze. "Mordred. Listen to me. Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction." You barely hear his voice over the violent flapping of the pavilions in the wind.
"Then why does Arthur think so?"
"Because that's what Merlin believes, what Merlin convinced him." His hands slide up to cup your face and he smiles. "But don't let a prophecy dictate your path, Mordred."
<div class="choice">[[His touch is comforting.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull back, confused.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "2", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull back. You feel betrayed they haven't told you of it.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "3", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>You cling to that hope desperately. You don't want to bring doom and destruction! You don't want to be what they expect you to be.
"Undoing? What if it isn't ruin? What if it's just a change? A good one?"
"Exactly!" Accolon responds, strengthening your words. He grips your shoulders. "Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
"Then why does Arthur think so?"
"Because that's what Merlin believes, what Merlin convinced him." His hands slide up to cup your face and he smiles. "But don't let a prophecy dictate your path, Mordred."
<div class="choice">[[His touch is comforting.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as his words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, confused.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "5", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as his words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, betrayed.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "6", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>"Prophecies are stupid," you laugh, the sound harsh like the wind. "Is this what Arthur is so scared of? Vague words of a fool?"
Accolon smiles wryly. "Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
<div class="choice">[[Just as you thought. |Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just as you thought. Still, it's confusing. Why didn't they tell you?|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "5", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just as you thought. Still, you feel betrayed. Why didn't they tell you?|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "6", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>Morgana yearns for revenge- what if it comes in the form of you destroying Camelot? The very kingdom she hopes to conquer, the very kingdom that hates her. Will you have to ravish it to get on the throne, and sit on the throne among ruins of a kingdom? Is this what she wants?
"Is this what mother wants me to do? Ruin Camelot?" The wind howls.
Accolons grips your shoulders. "No! Morgana wants you to conquer it, show them you can rule, not ruin it. Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
<div class="choice">[[You nod.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You pull back. It's confusing.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "8", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You pull back, betrayed.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "9", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>Let this prophecy be a harbinger of the ruin you'll rain down on the Kingdom that loathes you, watching them burn in the flames of your wrath, that all they seem to do is keep fanning, from embers to fire. You hold no love for a kingdom that has no problem punishing you for being a bastard, something out of your control.
"I'll gladly embrace the prophecy!" You scream, your words bitter, venomous, throwing your arms up, the wind angry.
"Mordred!"Accolon grips your shoulders firmly. "Is this really what you want? Let anger consume you? You'll show them they've wronged you, but not like this." His eyes gleam with recognition. Is this what he sees in Morgana too? That burning hate. That loathe. You want to make them suffer. "Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
<div class="choice">[["But I want destruction," you protest but accept his comfort.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "10"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull back. You're still confused about this prophecy.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "11", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull back, betrayed. They omitted it.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "12", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>Tears sting your eyes, and you're not sure if they're caused by the biting wind howling through the pavilions, or your turmoil. You gulp them back, your voice quiet. "Is this why Arthur doesn't love me?"
Accolon's face softens as he grips your shoulders. "I think he loves you, in his own way. The best he can." Accolon smiles. "Prophecy aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
"Then why does Arthur think so?"
"Because that's what Merlin believes, what Merlin convinced him." His hands slide up to cup your face and he smiles. "But don't let a prophecy dictate your path, Mordred."
<div class="choice">[[The touch is comforting.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "13"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as his words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, confused.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "14", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as his words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, betrayed.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "15", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>The wind resonates with you, howling in anguish at this fate thrown your way, this prophecy you don't want.
"What if the prophecy is wrong? I don't want to be the ruin of anything!"
Accolon grips your shoulders. "Mordred, listen. Prophecies aren't absolute. They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction." You barely hear his voice over the violent flapping of the pavilions in the wind.
"Then why does Arthur think so?"
"Because that's what Merlin believes, what Merlin convinced him." His hands slide up to cup your face and he smiles. "But don't let a prophecy dictate your path, Mordred."
<div class="choice">[[The touch is comforting.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "16"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as his words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, confused.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "17", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As comforting as his words may be, you realize they've been lying to you about it. You pull back, betrayed.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "18", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div>Prophecies become true one way or another, but they're vague enough to leave space for different courses.
"Prophecies aren't absolute. I'll prove them wrong," you say calmly and resolutely.
"Exactly!" Accolon encourages you. "They're unreliable, and never turn out how you expect them to. Undoing mustn't mean destruction."
<div class="choice">[[Smile at him.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "ok", $chapt3_betrayal to "19"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're confused why they didn't tell you though.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "confusion", $chapt3_betrayal to "20", $Morgana to $Morgana-5, $Accolon to $Accolon-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're betrayed they didn't tell you.|Chapt3ProphecyComfort][$betray to "betrayed", $chapt3_betrayal to "21", $Morgana to $Morgana-10, $Accolon to $Accolon-10]]</div><<if $chapt3_betrayal == "1">>
His brown gaze has a calming effect on you, the wind mellowing down to a cool breeze, using his smile as an anchor in the sea of your turmoil.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "2">>
You pull, stumbling back, and Accolon stares at you, hurt but knowingly, allowing you the space you need. Your thoughts are a mess, the prophecy and the realization that they've been omitting it all this time swirling in your head. You can't even think over the wind thundering in your ears!
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "3">>
You pull back, stumbling back, and Accolon stares at you, hurt but knowingly. His touch brings you no comfort, as the thought that they've been omitting this prophecy makes your chest pang with betrayal, cutting like the wind blowing.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "4">>
His brown gaze calms you, his confident words giving you hope. You smile at him.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "5">>
You pull back, needing space. It's so confusing. Your head is spinning. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "6">>
You pull back, needing space. They knew the prophecy, but didn't tell you. Your head is spinning. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "7">>
Merlin is crazy. Not that you didn't know that.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "8">>
Merlin is crazy. Nothing new. But they omitted this from you, and you don't know why.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "9">>
Merlin is crazy. Nothing new. But they omitted this from you, and you feel betrayed.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "10">>
Accolon shakes his head, pained. "You're just hurting now, Mordred." He caresses your cheek and you lean into the touch even as fury rushes through your veins.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "11">>
You pull back, your head swirling. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "12">>
You pull back, betrayed. They've lied to you. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "13">>
The words are drown out by the howling wind, but Accolon heard them, his gaze knowing.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "14">>
You pull back, your head swirling. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "15">>
You pull back, betrayed. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "16">>
His brown gaze calms you, his confident words giving you hope. You smile at him.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "17">>
You pull back, needing space. It's so confusing. Your head is spinning. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "18">>
You pull back, needing space. They knew the prophecy, but didn't tell you. Your head is spinning. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "19">>
His brown gaze calms you, his confident words giving you hope. You smile at him.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "20">>
You pull back, needing space. It's so confusing. Your head is spinning. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "21">>
You pull back, needing space. They knew the prophecy, but didn't tell you. Your head is spinning. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "22">>
He smiles back.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "23">>
It's so confusing. You don't know whether to be mad or not that they omitted it.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "24">>
They knew the prophecy, but didn't tell you.
<</if>>
"Why didn't you or mother tell me? When were you planning on telling me there's a prophecy?"
"Morgana didn't want to tell you, didn't want to burden with a prophecy that Merlin has blown out of such proportions as to make Arthur fear you. She doesn't believe in prophecies being absolute, and she knows there are so many other things it can be other than the doom the sorcerer predicts, to fit his narrative, to make you and Morgana always the bad ones. She wanted to wait till you're older. She didn't want it to influence you. Come, Morgana's waiting for us."
<div class="choice">[[Go.|Chapt3PropehcyMorgana][$tellprophecy to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Wait. Please. Don't tell mother."|Chapt3PropehcyMorgana][$tellprophecy to "yes"]]</div><<if $chapt3_betrayal == "1">>
Her $eye gaze is soothing and you find some balance in your turmoil.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "2">>
You pull, stumbling back, and Morgana looks hurt, but Accolon puts a hand on her, knowingly. Your thoughts are a mess, the prophecy and the realization that they've been omitting it all this time swirling in your head. You can't even think over the wind thundering in your ears!
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "3">>
You pull, stumbling back, and Morgana looks hurt, but Accolon puts a hand on her, knowingly. His touch brings you no comfort, as the thought that they've been omitting this prophecy makes your chest pang with betrayal, cutting like the wind blowing.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "4">>
You feel soothed.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "5">>
You pull back, needing space. It's so confusing. Your head is spinning. Morgana looks hurt, but Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "6">>
You pull back, needing space. They knew the prophecy, but didn't tell you. Your head is spinning. Morgana looks hurt, but Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "7">>
Merlin is crazy. Not that you didn't know that.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "8">>
Merlin is crazy. Nothing new. But they omitted this from you, and you don't know why.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "9">>
Merlin is crazy. Nothing new. But they omitted this from you, and you feel betrayed.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "10">>
You nod, comforted.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "11">>
You pull back, your head swirling. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "12">>
You pull back, betrayed. They've lied to you. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "13">>
The words are drown out by the howling wind, but they heard them.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "14">>
You pull back, your head swirling. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "15">>
You pull back, betrayed. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "16">>
Her $eye gaze calms you.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "17">>
You pull back, needing space. It's so confusing. Your head is spinning. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "18">>
You pull back, needing space. They knew the prophecy, but didn't tell you. Your head is spinning. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "19">>
His brown gaze calms you, his confident words giving you hope. You smile at him.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "20">>
You pull back, needing space. It's so confusing. Your head is spinning. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "21">>
You pull back, needing space. They knew the prophecy, but didn't tell you. Your head is spinning. Accolon looks at you knowingly.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "22">>
He smiles back.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "23">>
It's so confusing. You don't know whether to be mad or not that they omitted it.
<<elseif $chapt3_betrayal == "24">>
They knew the prophecy, but didn't tell you.
<</if>>
"Accolon, take Mordred to ?their chamber."
<<if $stay == "furious">>
"Where are you going?" you demand.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"No!" You put yourself in front of her, frowning. "Stop going behind my back!"
"This is between me and Arthur, Mordred." She walks around you.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"No!" You put yourself in front of her. "You'll scare him off!"
"If he loves you as much as he claims, he won't back down," Morgana says and walks around you.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"No!" You tug at her cloak. "Please."
She smiles gently, pulling her cloak. "I'm protecting you."
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
You reluctantly follow Accolon. You'll let Morgana handle this. She knows best.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"Good luck making him listen," you say sardonically.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"Tell him to stay away."
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
You follow Accolon.
<<elseif $stay == "sayangryaway">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"But-" you make to protest, but Morgana cuts you off, a gentle smile cracking her stern facade. "I'm doing this to protect you."
<<elseif $stay == "angryaway">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
You let Accolon guide you away.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaPOV]]Plucking your courage, you sprint through the crowd and throw your arms around Arthur, surprising the man. You wait for him to wrap his arms around you, but he doesn't. You look up at him, and what you see in his eyes is hesitation and fear, furtive glances at the crowd around you. He looks ready to flee, like a scared animal that a predator pounced on. He puts his hands on your shoulders and gives you a faint smile. Faint, as the flame of hope in you flickers.
<div class="choice">[[Tears threaten to spill, and you let them.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "7", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Tears threaten to spill, but you fight them back.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "8"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Storm off furious.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "9"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Storm off crying.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "10", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just took him by surprise.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "11"]]</div><<if $chapt3_race_hug == "1">>
You watch as he squeezes the boy in his arms, and wish you could do the same. But there's too many people around, too many eyes.
"Mordred!" Accolon has finally landed, and calls you.
You sprint to him.
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "2">>
You watch as he squeezes the boy in his arms, and jealousy spreads through you, electrifying each of your nerve, sharp and hot and stinging. You clench your fists.
"Mordred!" Accolon has finally landed, and calls you.
You sprint to him, putting aside all thoughts of Arthur and the boy he loves more than you.
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "3">>
It's endearing. Perhaps...if he has so much love to give Gawain, he can't be as bad as Morgana says. You cradle that hope close to your chest, letting it unfurl shyly and warm in your chest as you hear Accolon call after you.
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "4">>
look for Accolon in the crowd, ignoring the display. You don't need Arthur's attention. You don't need his love.
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "5">>
Accolon finally lands, and you sprint to him, throwing your arms around the man, who laughs wholeheartedly as he hugs you back.
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "6">>
You make your way through to the front of the crowd and catching Arthur's gaze, smile at him. He smiles back, gently.
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "7">>
Tears sting your eyes and your vision is hazy, Arthur's faint smile turning to worry as he realizes you're about to cry.
"Mordred…" he begins softly as the tears roll down your cheeks. People are whispering, and his gaze is growing desperate.
You thought he cared, but you were a fool to believe so. Gawain hovers near, confused.
"Mordred!" Accolon has finally landed, and calls you.
"Go on," Arthur whispers, "We'll talk at the feast."
You run away, your vision misty, until you suddenly collide into something - someone - and arms wrap around you. "Mordred?" Accolon sounds concerned as he leans down and wipes away your tears. "Don't cry. Whoever bullied you, it's not worth your tears."
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "8">>
You gulp heavily past the knot in your throat, the taste sour. Your eyes sting but you blink the tears away. Arthur's faint smile turns to worry.
"Mordred!" Accolon has finally landed, and calls you.
"Go on," Arthur whispers, "We'll talk at the feast."
You run away, your vision misty, until you suddenly collide into something - someone -, arms wrapping around you. "Mordred?" Accolon sounds concerned as he leans down and wipes away your tears. "Don't cry. Whoever bullied you, it's not worth your tears."
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "9">>
Fury overwhelms you, and you frown. How can he care, when he won't even return a hug? You pull back, hurt flashing over his feature, and sprint away.
You suddenly collide into someone, arms wrapping around you. "Mordred?" Accolon sounds concerned. "Whoever bullied you, it's not worth it."
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "10">>
Tears sting your eyes, and you pull back, sprinting away.
You suddenly collide into something, and arms wrap around you. "Mordred?" Accolon sounds concerned as he leans down and wipes away your tears. "Don't cry. Whoever bullied you, it's not worth your tears."
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "11">>
You smile back waveringly, figuring you must have taken him by surprise.
"Mordred!" Accolon has finally landed, and calls you.
"Go on," Arthur whispers, "We'll talk at the feast."
You run to Accolon, who hugs you happily, squeezing you.
<<elseif $chapt3_race_hug == "12">>
You make your way through to the front of the crowd and catching Arthur's gaze, smile at him. He smiles back, gently.
There's a flash of yellow wings that draws your attention away. Accolon has finally landed, and you sprint to him, throwing your arms around the man, who laughs wholeheartedly as he hugs you back.
<</if>>
[[Continue|FeastDay2]]You both fall silent, letting the rush of the river and the buzz of insects fill the air. A bee circles you, whirring loudly in your ear before deciding you're not a flower and so hold little interest for it. At the edge of your mind you can feel more than hear your dragon's musing thoughts, still turned on Merlin and the prophecy, like smoldering fire in the hearth.
"I'm thirsty."
You move away from $dragon_name, and lean over the bank of the river. Cupping your palms, you bring the cool, refreshing water to your mouth, while the dragon carelessly laps away next to you, splashing your cloak and cheek. You laugh, wiping at your face, but $dragon_name merely glances at you, mouth gaping in a silly, amused grin.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
$dragon_name settles back on their hind legs, tilting their head back, eyes set on the remaining treats. "Do you think I can pull it over with my tail?" they ask, scaly tips inching closer to the paper bag.
"Maybe. Or maybe we'll have to eat them off the ground."
"Hmm." Their eyes squint in concentration, tip now curled around a corner of the bag. "I'll pull."
"$dragon_name!" But your friend's plan is already sprung into motion. And it seems to work quite well...until the bag get stuck on a small rock. You help the treats make the rest of the journey, chuckling.
<<else>>
"Oooh, we still have treats," $dragon_name remarks, tilting back their head. They flop on their back and reach out their neck until their teeth catch onto a corner of the bag, and pull.
<</if>>
"I've been talking to this dragon from Camelot," they say, munching on sweetbread. "Ariawen. Gawain's their squire."
<<if $met_callum is true>>
"Oh, I've met them when I sneaked off with Gawain."
"Sneaked off?"
You recount last night's events to $dragon_name, Gawain's endearing worry for you, his invitation, the four dragons you met.
<<else>>
"Oh? What are they like?"
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">>
"Extremely friendly. We played together till we exhausted ourselves."
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"Extremely friendly and overly energetic...But I like them. Ariawen's been really sweet."
<</if>>
$dragon_name's tongue flashes out, licking clean the crumbs off their snout.
<</if>>
<<if $gawain_crush >= 5>>
You wonder what Gawain is up to. The tournament is still not over so you reckon he must be helping his father. Perhaps he too is wondering about you while fastening his dad's armor and passing him his weapons. Looking for your face in the crowd.
You wonder if his heart skips a bit too, thinking of you.
<div class="choice">[["I like him," you blurt out, flustered.|Chapt3RiverDragon2][$chapt3_crush to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like him," you grin.|Chapt3RiverDragon2][$chapt3_crush to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 5 and $oblivious_crush == "yes">>
You wonder what Gawain is up to. The tournament is still not over so you reckon he must be helping his father. You wonder if he's thinking of you. Looking for your face in the crowd. You sigh wistfully.
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
"That sigh, what are you thinking of?"
You shrug, laying back on the grass. Above you, pristine white clouds pass over idly, like sheeps across a hillside. "Gawain."
Your stomach twists, but it's not necessarily uncomfortable. It's an odd sensation, but you don't feel nauseous. It sends tingles from your spine all the way to your fingertips, warm and not completely unlike your fire. Maybe you're just coming down with some stomach bug, and Morgana might have some medicine for it. Or perhaps it's merely nervousness about possibly losing your newly acquired friend. After all, even the Lothian kids brave enough to approach you would just abandon you, without notice, after a while. <<if $gawain_envy > 0>>
Or, perhaps, it's that insidious sense of envy, of knowing he's holding Arthur's affection and attention when you did not.
<</if>>
You let it flood $dragon_name, posing a mental request for a second opinion.
"Maybe it's just anxiety," $dragon_name says. "Making friends can be scary."
<<if $dragon_name == "friendly">>
Their tail flicks, mouth gaping in a smug smile. "Not for me though."
You roll your eyes, but reckon $dragon_he might be right.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "fearful">>
//Very// scary," $dragon_he shudders.
<</if>>
You stay with $dragon_name by the river bank well into the afternoon before returning to the castle.
[[Continue|Chapt3TournamentParty]]
<<else>>
You stay with $dragon_name by the river bank well into the afternoon before returning to the castle.
[[The next day|Chapt3TournamentParty]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_crush == 1>>
"Speaking of Gawain..." You wring your cloak between your fingers. "I think I may like him."
"Mordred! Really? Have you told him?"
"Weeeelll..."
"I think you should just spill it, Mordred. He's been nothing but sweet to you, right?"
<<elseif $chapt3_crush == 2>>
"Speaking of Gawain..." your face splits in a grin, "I like him."
"Like, like?"
"Yeah, $dragon_name. I like like him."
"Like really like like him?"
"Really like like him," you nod definitively. "All the likes."
"I think you should tell him, Mordred. He's been nothing but sweet to you, right?"
<</if>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"You mean like you totally told Elric you liked him?" you cross your arms.
If dragons could flush, you're sure your friend would be blazing right now; instead, $dragon_he snaps $dragon_his tail. "That's...It doesn't change the facts that it's good advice!"
You laugh, but you're not so quick to dismiss $dragon_his words.
<</if>>
"He's been really sweet," you agree, smiling.
"Tell me more about him and what you've been up to." Your dragon draws closer, all ears.
"Fine, but you'll tell me what you and Ariawen got up to as well."
You stay with $dragon_name by the river bank well into the afternoon before returning to the castle.
[[The next day|Chapt3TournamentParty]]You cast your gaze away, hugging your legs to your chest. The words of the prophecy echo around in your head, digging a hole in your stomach, a pit filled with unease. You rest your forehead on your knees, making yourself as small as possible.
"I don't want to talk about it," you murmur, barely heard over the rushing waters. Still, you let the memories of this morning's conversation with Accolon trickle through your connection. In reply, your friend floods you with a soothing warmth.
$dragon_name lightly presses their nose against your side. "Then let's talk of nicer things."
<<include Chapt3RiverDragon1>>You play with the tuft end of your tunic's laces, gaze fixed hazily on the river. It glistens like diamonds in the sun, but your minds paints over it lurid pictures of disaster.
What does a ruined kingdom look like? Are the castle walls crumbling and charred from dragon fire? Or is it people roaming the streets, unhappy under a new regime?
You could almost make out their screams in the rushing of the water.
"Do you really think I'd be capable of that? Ruining Camelot?" Your voice is small, dwarfed by the gravity of your words. Swallowed in the growing rustling of the trees, a tumult to mirror the one in yourself.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Well, if you put your mind to it..."
You turn on them a pained look, and $dragon_name mollifies, abashed. "Of course not, Mordred."
<<else>>
"Of course not!" $dragon_name rushes to comfort you. "It's just a prophecy, it could mean anything, right?"
"That's what my parents say."
<</if>>
Your laugh is caustic. "It could be anything, I suppose. Blood and smoke and destruction. Or maybe I'd be such a lousy leader I'd sink the economy."
"Or maybe it's completely blown out of proportions. Didn't your mother say that Merlin hates you?"
"I suppose."
"Hey," they nudge you softly. "Merlin can't dictate what you do."
<<include Chapt3RiverDragon1>>"Fuck the prophecy!" You throw your hands up to the sky. A few birds shoot out of the foliage, startled.
A strange feeling of power and illicit delight follows the proclamation. It feels liberating to denounce such a dreary prophecy, one that Merlin thinks he can swaddle you in. Trying to use such obscure and loose phrasing to dictate your fate as if you were his marionette. For too long he's been dictating the steps of the Le Fay, but you will break the line. And then there's the feeling of having crossed a line, deliberately so no less. You just used an unseemly word after all, one your mother would not tolerate you uttering in her presence. Last time it slipped, you were rewarded with a stern lecture and a warning. Speaking it now feels oddly empowering, like casting a curse might feel. Binding the fate of the accursed to your fervent words. Sealing Merlin's destiny the same way he's trying to write yours.
Fuck the prophecy, and fuck Merlin too.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Yeah, fuck it!" your dragon joins in your rebellion, stretching their neck to the skies.
<<else>>
"Mordred! That's a bad word," they tease, nudging your side.
"Yeah, and I will say it again, and louder: Fuck it!"
<</if>>
You both laugh. You will not let Merlin control you, through any means. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
<<include Chapt3RiverDragon1>>"I think it's proof I'll take the throne one day. Maybe for Merlin, me doing so would spell ruin, but it's a matter of perspective, you know? Because he doesn't really like mother or I."
"Oh, it could be possible," your friend agrees, letting out a low, thoughtful growl. "Who would question him, after all?"
"Exactly. And now he's got himself a villain."
<<include Chapt3RiverDragon1>>"It's a stupid thing, really," you shrug, idly playing with the tuft of your tunic's neckline lace. "What if Merlin lied to fit his narrative or whatever?" You speak casually, but there's an exasperated undertone to your words. It's like Merlin can't give your family a break. "Isn't this what mom has always told me? That he's leading a smear campaign on us." You wave your hand flippantly, dispelling any gravity the prophecy may hold.
"Oh, it could be possible," your friend agrees, letting out a low, thoughtful growl. "Who would question him, after all?"
"Exactly. And now he's got himself a villain."
<<include Chapt3RiverDragon1>>"I think it's proof I'll take my revenge one day," you say, a dangerous smirk tuging at your lips. "Retribution for the Le Fay, and Merlin doesn't like it, because he knows he's one of the people responsible."
"Oh, make himself a victim, and you the villain?" your friend hums a thoughtful, low growl.
<<include Chapt3RiverDragon1>><<if $chapt3_discuss == "1">>
Your blood boils as you remember how he battered Accolon with relentless, angry strikes. "He deserved it!" you say ferociously.
"He deserved even worse."
<<elseif $chapt3_discuss == "2">>
Your blood boils as you remember how he battered Accolon with relentless, angry strikes. "I would have attacked hm with more force, but I didn't want to draw attention."
<<elseif $chapt3_discuss == "3">>
You realize it was a rash decision, but you couldn't let Lancelot walk away unpunished, not after what he did to Accolon. You tried to be subtle, but someone could have caught on. "It was impulsive of me."
"No, it was rather cautious."
<<elseif $chapt3_discuss == "4">>
A surge of pride runs through you and you smile.
Morgana's smile turns softer.
<</if>>
She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms and tilting her head back, her gaze roaming over the dried herbs hung from the ceiling beams. Though you doubt she's seeking a particular plant, but rather a memory. "It reminds me of a particular event that I'm sure Lancelot lists as one of the reasons he hates me." A mirthless chuckle escapes her. "I attacked him, too, though not as subtly as you."
[[Continue|Chapt3AttackLance]]<<if $stay == "furious">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you, going behind your back to warn Arthur
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Morgana's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
You dragon suggest listening to Morgana, but also making your own decision.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Arthur's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
Indignation flares up in your dragon at Arthur's refusal to listen to you.
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
Your dragon agrees it's Arthur's decision to approach you.
<</if>>
//The prophecy...// You can sense $dragon_name's overwhelmed feelings, the doubt over the accuracy of the words. //It doesn't really mean anything, does it? Undoing is just change, right?//
<<if $prophecy == "rule">>
//Yes! My rule will bring change.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "good">>
//Yes!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid">>
//Prophecies are stupid.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "plan">>
//Right!//
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
//I want to see it burn.//
//That's alarming.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "hate">>
//Yes...but Arthur believes him, and is afraid of me.//
<<elseif $prophecy == "wrong">>
//Prophecies are unpredictable.//
<</if>>
//I heard a commotion last night, outside the lodge. A dragon rushed out. When I looked, it was Elewen.//
//Do you think she jumped to Arthur's defense?//
Whatever did Morgana do?
//Yes. It sounded like a fight.//
A knock on your door startles you, and you hastily tell your dragon you'll talk later.
"Yes?" you asks.
Morgana's head peeks inside. Her eyes are red and puffy, telltales of shed tears, yet her expression is one of utter composure, any desperation she had displayed in the ring, when Accolon was injured, wiped away now. Her tone is somber, putting a knot in your throat, as she says, "I want to talk to you, Mordred. Come to my study."
<div class="choice">[["Yes, mother," you readily follow her.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "readily"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What about?" You cross your arms.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do I have to?" you ask warily.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "wary"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How's Accolon?" you ask, worried.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "worry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nod eagerly. "Yes! I have lots of questions."|Chapt3Study][$brief to "eagerly"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go reluctantly.|Chapt3Study][$brief to "reluctantly"]]</div><<if $chapt3_stress == "1">>
Your shoulders hunch with the weight of these past few days, a whirlwind of emotions that left you exhausted. The man gives you a knowing look.
<<elseif $chapt3_stress == "2">>
You push down your fatigue along with the whirlwind of emotions these past few days conjured. The man gives you an uncertain look.
<</if>>
"I was thinking that, since I cannot compete today, we could instead attend the festival. You heard Robin, I can take a walk, so we could take a look around the stalls and watch the trials. What do you think?" His brown eyes sparkle with glee.
"I'd love that," you smile, but it quickly falters. "Won't it be too tiring for you?"
"No, no, it's fine," he assures you. "As long as you're willing to slow your step for me."
"Of course!" you say promptly, offended by any suggestion otherwise.
"Good," he smiles, patting your hand. "I'll see you down at the entrance hall in a few minutes."
[[Continue|Chapt3TournamentAccolon]]<<if $chapt3_stress == "1">>
Your shoulders hunch with the weight of these past few days, a whirlwind of emotions that left you exhausted. The man gives you a knowing look.
<<elseif $chapt3_stress == "2">>
You push down your fatigue along with the whirlwind of emotions these past few days conjured. The man gives you an uncertain look.
<</if>>
"I was thinking that, since I cannot compete today, we could instead attend the festival. You heard Robin, I can take a walk, so we could take a look around the stalls and watch the trials. What do you think?" His brown eyes sparkle with glee.
<div class="choice">[["I'd love that."|Chapt3GoTournament][$accolon_scene to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know...I'd like to talk some things out before we go."|Chapt3GoTalk][$accolon_scene to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'd...I'd rather not."|Chapt3GoAlone][$accolon_scene to "3"]]</div><<if $chapt3_stress == "1">>
Your shoulders hunch with the weight of these past few days, a whirlwind of emotions that left you exhausted. The man gives you a knowing look.
<<elseif $chapt3_stress == "2">>
You push down your fatigue along with the whirlwind of emotions these past few days conjured. The man gives you an uncertain look.
<</if>>
"I was thinking that, since I cannot compete today, we could instead attend the festival. You heard Robin, I can take a walk, so we could take a look around the stalls and watch the trials. What do you think?" His brown eyes sparkle with glee.
<div class="choice">[["I'd love that."|Chapt3GoTournament][$accolon_scene to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know...I'd like to talk some things out before we go."|Chapt3GoTalk4][$accolon_scene to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'd...I'd rather not."|Chapt3GoAlone][$accolon_scene to "3"]]</div><<if $chapt3_mirror == "1">>
It's feeble, yet it makes Morgana beam. She squeezes your shoulder affectionately as she steps away from the mirror, then moves to the bed to offer Accolon a kiss. Robin pointedly faces the door, running their fingers over the crisscross of their braid.
<<elseif $chapt3_mirror == "2">>
Pain flashes over her expression, her smile turning to a hard line. She moves past you to the bed to give Accolon a kiss. Robin pointedly faces the door, running their fingers over the crisscross of their braid.
<<elseif $chapt3_mirror == "3">>
You hear her sigh softly as she moves past you to give Accolon a kiss. Robin pointedly faces the door, running their fingers over the crisscross of their braid.
<</if>>
<<if $betray == "ok">>
[[Continue|Chapt3BedOk]]
<<elseif $betray == "confusion">>
[[Continue|Chapt3BedConfused]]
<<elseif $betray == "betrayed">>
[[Continue|Chapt3BedBetrayed]]
<</if>><<if $brief == "readily">>
Morgana gives you a faint, relieved smile.
<<elseif $brief == "defiant">>
Morgana arches an eyebrow. "What about?" she repeats, sardonically. "I believe there are quite a lot of things to talk about."
<<elseif $brief == "wary">>
Morgana's grip on the door handle tightens. "Yes," she curtly says.
<<elseif $brief == "worry">>
Her shoulders slouch in relief, a brief moment of vulnerability. "Better. Now come."
<<elseif $brief == "eagerly">>
Morgana gives you a faint, relieved smile.
<<elseif $brief == "reluctantly">>
Morgana gives you a faint, relieved smile.
<</if>>
Your mother's study is at the top of one of the castle's towers. Secluded, as she requested from Lot when she arrived at his court, a request he happily granted at the time, intoxicated by the young girl's false affection, a ploy she used to get everything she wanted from him. Morgana told you he used to look at her in adoration - at the sweet, vulnerable facade she put on like a mask to hide her true intentions. A fool, she hissed, for believing she could love a man who aided Uther. Accolon always saw there was more to her. A fire in her $eye eyes that clashed with the mellowness of her smiles.
You climb the winding stairs of the tower, small crevices in the stone wall showing the field bellow, where the crowd is dwindling, moving to the castle to rest before the feast tonight.
Upon Morgana's return to Lothia with you from Avalon, the study was abandoned and neglected, filled with cobwebs and dust covering every surface like snow in winter. No one wanted to step in the place where she conducted what they called dark magic, so she immediately claimed back the tower, returning it to its glory, shelves and cabinets holding bottles, books and utensils.
You arrive to a landing in front of a wooden door. There's a lock, but Morgana doesn't bother with a key that can be stolen or lost when magic is much more reliable. She mutters a spell and the door swings open. You step into the round room, bathed in light from the wide, glass-paneled windows, your feet treading a familiar mosaic of serpents, slithering across the floor in bright colors. It's a very unique choice of tiling for the Continent - which usually consists of simple stone or wood - that reflects the Avalonian fashion, and by extend Tintalian, that borrowed from it.
A wooden table stretches in the middle of the room, covered with opened tomes, ink jars, feathery quills and glass and wooden utensils. Morgana takes a seat in the high back chair behind the table, and beckons to the chair opposite her, your usual place during your magic lessons.
<<if $brief == "readily">>
You take the seat and patiently wait for Morgana to talk, watching her expectantly.
<<elseif $brief == "defiant">>
You take the seat, leaning back and crossing your arms, eyebrow quirked.
<<elseif $brief == "wary">>
You take the seat, watching her nervously.
<<elseif $brief == "worry">>
You take the seat, leaning over the table as you say frantically, "Accolon-"
<<elseif $brief == "eagerly">>
You take the seat, leaning over the table, opening your mouth to start with your barrage of questions.
<<elseif $brief == "reluctantly">>
You take the seat warily, waiting for her to talk.
<</if>>
"Accolon is feeling a lot better thanks to Robin," your mother says, flashing a soft smile. "He's in our chamber now, resting. He insists on competing in jousting tomorrow. He can be so stubborn." She chuckles, but once the cheerful sound subsides, quiet settles between you, somber and heavy, questions and answers hovering between you.
Morgana props her elbow on the desk and leans her chin in her palm. "I want to make Lancelot pay for what he did." The words are calm, as is her expression - but there's a sharpness to them that makes them dangerous.
<<if $attack == "wind" or $attack == "water" or $attack == "fire">>
[[Continue|Chapt3StudyWindWater]]
<<elseif $attack == "subtle">>
[[Continue|Chapt3StudySubtle]]
<<else>>
"I wish I could have attacked Lancelot right there, but I was too worried about Accolon," Morgana admits. "I wanted to bring him to his knees. It wouldn't be the first time I attacked him."
She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms and tilting her head back, her gaze roaming over the dried herbs hung from the ceiling beams. Though you doubt she's seeking a particular plant, but rather a memory. "I'm sure Lancelot lists it as one of the reasons he hates me." A mirthless chuckle escapes her.
[[Continue|Chapt3AttackLance]]
<</if>><<silently>><<set $chapt1_3_arthur to "anguish">><</silently>>
Morgana leans back in her chair. "I also wanted to talk to you about Arthur. I confronted him last night, in front of the lodge."
<div class="choice">[["You mean attacked him?" you ask defiantly. "My dragon heard a fight."|Chapt3Anguish1][$defiant to $defiant+3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I hope you didn't scare him off," you say quietly.|Chapt3Anguish1][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "2"]]</div>
<<if $stay == "furious" or $stay == "stop">><div class="choice">[["\"Yes, confronted him despite me telling you not to. Because you never listen to me.\""|Chapt3Anguish1][$defiant to $defiant+3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "3"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $stay == "chance">><div class="choice">[["I asked you not to," you say desperately.|Chapt3Anguish1][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "4"]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"" + $dragon_name + " said " + $dragon_he + " heard a fight. What happened?\""|Chapt3Anguish1][$chapt3_study_arthur to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you tell him to stay away?" It's for the best, if he's only going to hurt you.|Chapt3Anguish1][$chapt3_study_arthur to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're too hurt and angry at him. "Did you tell him to stay away?"|Chapt3Anguish1][$chapt3_study_arthur to "7"]]</div><<silently>><<set $chapt1_3_arthur to "awful">><</silently>>
Morgana leans back in her chair. "I also wanted to talk to you about Arthur. I confronted him last night, in front of the lodge."
<div class="choice">[["My dragon heard a fight. What happened?"|Chapt3StudyAwful1][$chapt3_study_arthur to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you tell him to stay away?" It's for the best, if he's only going to hurt you.|Chapt3StudyAwful1][$chapt3_study_arthur to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're too hurt and angry at him. "Did you tell him to stay away?"|Chapt3StudyAwful1][$chapt3_study_arthur to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I hope you told him to stay away from me."|Chapt3StudyAwful1][$chapt3_study_arthur to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you scare him away?" You hope Morgana didn't. A part of you still hopes he'll try.|Chapt3StudyAwful1][$chapt3_study_arthur to "5"]]</div><<if $chapt3_study_arthur == "1">>
Morgana looks surprised. "I merely gave Arthur a nudge," she explains. "And when push came to shove, he caved, like I expected."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "2">>
His abandonment hurt, and even though you ache to give him a chance, it'll only hurt you more.
"Did you tell him to stay away?"
"Yes," Morgana says gently.
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "3">>
He chose to abandon you, and now wants to make amends? Hurt you and now expects everything to be better?
"Did you tell him to stay away?"
"Yes," Morgana says gently.
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "4">>
You're tired of Arthur trying to be a father. He hasn't been until now, he doesn't have to start now.
"I hope you told him to stay away from me."
"I did," Morgana smiles.
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "5">>
Morgana would think it foolish of you, but despite your open, bleeding wound, you still wish he'd try to reach out to you again, even though you've been putting up a fiery wall. Because behind it, you just really wished he'd wanted you.
"Did you scare him off?" you ask, bitter.
"I told him to stay away," is her gentle response, as if she's doing you a favor.
<</if>>
Morgana smooths her skirt as she continues, "I confronted Arthur to ask him, once again like I did all those years ago when you were born, to make reparations. To claim you, give us back the Le Fay title and Tintal. But Merlin's words are so rooted in his mind, that he refused. He wants to be your father but won't stand up for you, Mordred, won't even make amends to what he did to us." Her words are mocking.
<div class="choice">[["I hate him. I'll take our revenge on him."|Chapt3StudyAwful2][$opinion_arthur to "hate", $say to "revenge"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I hate him. I don't want to have anything to do with him."|Chapt3StudyAwful2][$opinion_arthur to "hate", $say to "loathe"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hate is so tiring. It's turning to indifference. "I don't care about him."|Chapt3StudyAwful2][$opinion_arthur to "indifference", $say to "indifference"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're starting to pity Arthur. Not that you want to have anything to do with him. "I pity him."|Chapt3StudyAwful2][$opinion_arthur to "indifference", $say to "pity"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly. You don't care for Arthur.|Chapt3StudyAwful2][$opinion_arthur to "indifference", $say to "behind"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly. You hate Arthur.|Chapt3StudyAwful2][$opinion_arthur to "hate", $say to "behind1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly. You're starting to pity Arthur.|Chapt3StudyAwful2][$opinion_arthur to "indifference", $say to "behind2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You hate him for abandoning you, yet a part of you still yearns for his affection, and it hurts. "I wish he could do better."|Chapt3StudyAwful2][$opinion_arthur to "anguish", $say to "angst"]]</div><<if $say == "revenge">>
Blood thunders in your ears as your fury flames. "I hate him. I'll take out revenge on him."
"You will," Morgana says resolutely.
<<elseif $say == "loathe">>
Blood thunders in your ears as your fury flames. "I hate him. I don't want to have anything to do with him."
<<elseif $say == "indifference">>
Hate is so tiring. It consumes you, and as its flames fade, it cools down to indifference. "I don't care about him."
<<elseif $say == "pity">>
Everyone's controlling him- his advisor, his best friend. "I pity him."
Morgana scoffs.
<<elseif $say == "behind">>
Your choices may align, but you didn't ask her to tell him to back off.
"I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly.
"And I want to protect you," Morgana counters. "I knew you didn't want Arthur approaching you."
<<elseif $say == "behind1">>
Your choices may align, but you didn't ask her to tell him to back off.
"I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly.
"And I want to protect you," Morgana counters. "I knew you didn't want Arthur approaching you."
<<elseif $say == "behind2">>
Your choices may align, but you didn't ask her to tell him to back off.
"I don't like that you went behind my back, even if I don't want Arthur as my father," you say calmly.
"And I want to protect you," Morgana counters. "I knew you didn't want Arthur approaching you."
<<elseif $say == "angst">>
"I wish he could do better." Your tone's gloomy; as if you're looking at the sky and despite the pitch black of the clouds, you still hope it won't rain.
"I wish that, too," Morgana echoes. She's not about to dispel the clouds though, but only bring the thunder. "I doubt he will, though."
<</if>>
Morgana laughs mirthlessly. "You know, I don't even think he realizes how he's wrong. He's kind, but naive. He listens to whatever Merlin tells him to do, and won't think for himself."
<div class="choice">[[Nod. "But what if he stops listening to Merlin? Can't you tell him not to trust him?"|Chapt3StudyAwful3][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "nottrust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["If he can't make his own decision, I can't trust him."|Chapt3StudyAwful3][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "canttrust"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just cry. Merlin seems like an evil man.|Chapt3StudyAwful3][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "cryevil", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're angry. Merlin seems like an evil man.|Chapt3StudyAwful3][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "angryevil"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He's stupid if he listens to Merlin."|Chapt3StudyAwful3][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "stupid"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shrug. "Maybe he'll change."|Chapt3StudyAwful3][$morgana_talk to "ok", $control to "maybe"]]</div><<if $control == "nottrust">>
Morgana shakes her head. "Arthur blindly trusts him. I think, until he sees the consequences, he won't stop listening to him." She smiles. "You should go back to your chamber and get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "canttrust">>
"Me either," Morgana says. "You should go back to your chamber and get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "cryevil">>
Tears stream down your face. Merlin seems to be at the root of so many of your problems.
Morgana rounds the desk to cup your face, hushing you and caressing your hair. When you calm down, she tells you to do back to your chamber to get ready for the feast.
<<elseif $control == "angryevil">>
Anger seeps through your veins. Merlin seems to be at the root of so many of your problems.
"You should go back to your chamber to get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "stupid">>
You scoff. "He's stupid if he listens to Merlin."
"That he is. You should go back to your chamber to get ready for the feast."
<<elseif $control == "maybe">>
Maybe he'll mature, maybe he'll realize Merlin is not to be trusted. For his benefit, you hope he will.
You shrug. "Maybe he'll change."
Morgana smiles ruefully.
<</if>>
[[Continue|MorganaPOV2]]<<silently>><<set $chapt1_3_arthur to "confused">><</silently>>
Morgana leans back in her chair. "I also wanted to talk to you about Arthur. I confronted him last night, in front of the lodge."
<div class="choice">[["You mean attacked him?" you ask defiantly. "My dragon heard a fight."|Chapt3Confuse][$defiant to $defiant+3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I hope you didn't scare him off," you say quietly.|Chapt3Confuse][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "2"]]</div>
<<if $stay == "furious" or $stay == "stop">><div class="choice">[["\"Yes, confronted him despite me telling you not to. Because you never listen to me.\""|Chapt3Confuse][$defiant to $defiant+3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "3"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $stay == "chance">><div class="choice">[["I asked you not to," you say desperately.|Chapt3Confuse][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "4"]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"" + $dragon_name + " said " + $dragon_he + " heard a fight. What happened?\""|Chapt3Confuse][$chapt3_study_arthur to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you tell him to stay away?" It's for the best, if he's only going to hurt you.|Chapt3Confuse][$chapt3_study_arthur to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're too hurt and angry at him. "Did you tell him to stay away?"|Chapt3Confuse][$chapt3_study_arthur to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I hope you told him to stay away from me."|Chapt3Confuse][$chapt3_study_arthur to "8"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Did you scare him away?" You hope Morgana didn't. A part of you still hopes he'll try.|Chapt3Confuse][$chapt3_study_arthur to "9"]]</div><<silently>><<set $chapt1_3_arthur to "hope">><</silently>>
Morgana leans back in her chair. "I also wanted to talk to you about Arthur. I confronted him last night, in front of the lodge."
<div class="choice">[["You mean attacked him?" you ask defiantly. "My dragon heard a fight."|Chapt3StudyHope1][$defiant to $defiant+3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I hope you didn't scare him off," you say quietly.|Chapt3StudyHope1][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "2"]]</div>
<<if $stay == "furious" or $stay == "stop">><div class="choice">[["\"Yes, confronted him despite me telling you not to. Because you never listen to me.\""|Chapt3StudyHope1][$defiant to $defiant+3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "3"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $stay == "chance">><div class="choice">[["I asked you not to," you say desperately.|Chapt3StudyHope1][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "4"]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"My dragon heard a fight. What happened?\""|Chapt3StudyHope1][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_study_arthur to "5"]]</div><<if $chapt3_study_arthur == "1">>
You cross your arms, quirking an eyebrow. Isn't that an interesting choice of word, confront? You know very well she went with the intention of picking a fight, giving Arthur no choice, just like she does with you. What $dragon_name told you only confirms it.
"You mean attacked him? $dragon_name told me $dragon_he heard a fight."
Morgana keeps a calm expression, arching an eyebrow in a gesture similar to yours. "I merely gave him a nudge," she explains. "And when push came to shove, he caved, like I expected."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "2">>
She confronted or rather, intimidated him. She sought him with the intent to pick a fight. What $dragon_name told you only confirms it.
"I hope you didn't scare him off," you say quietly.
Morgana gives you a sympathetic smile. "It's not me you have fear scaring him off, Mordred. It's himself."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "3">>
You cross your arms, glaring at her. "Yes, confronted him despite me telling you not to. Because you never listen to me." And by what $dragon_name told you, Morgana went picking a fight.
Morgana frowns. "I'm just looking out for you, Mordred."
"Sure," you say sardonically.
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "4">>
You frown, "I asked you not to," you say desperately, wondering if she scared Arthur, or even attacked him.
Morgana smiles sympathetically. "I'm just looking out for you, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_study_arthur == "5">>
Morgana looks surprised. "I merely gave Arthur a nudge," she explains. "And when push came to shove, he caved, like I expected."
<</if>>
Morgana smooths her skirt as she continues, "I confronted Arthur to ask him, once again like I did all those years ago when you were born, to make reparations. To claim you, give us back the Le Fay title and Tintal. But Merlin's words are so rooted in his mind, that he refused. He won't stand up for you, Mordred." Her tone is calm, her words sharp. "Do you really want a father that is ashamed of you? A father that is afraid to show you affection in public? That will cast you aside the moment Merlin tells him to?"
<div class="choice">[["Arthur's making an effort! He cares about me!"|Chapt3Effort][$say to "effort"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Arthur's making an effort! He cares about me! And if he hurts me, at least it was my choice."|Chapt3Effort][$say to "choice"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I want to make my own decision," you say calmly.|Chapt3Effort][$say to "decision"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You hesitate. "You really think he will?" Hope is straining, replaced by angst.|Chapt3Effort][$say to "hesitate", $opinion_arthur to "anguish"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just want him to be my father," you say, on the verge of tears.|Chapt3Effort][$say to "tears", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know if I can see him as a father, but I'd be happy to have him as an uncle. Just let me choose."|Chapt3Effort][$say to "uncle"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I want to get to know him.\""|Chapt3Effort][$say to "know"]]</div>"I saw Lancelot fall to his knees," Morgana says, considering you, searching your face for something. "I assume people believed he was merely exhausted from the attack, but I have a suspicion it was your doing." Her lips curl in a vicious smile. "Well done, Mordred."
<div class="choice">[["\"He deserved it!\""|Chapt3S][$chapt3_discuss to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I would have attacked him with more force, but I didn't want to draw attention.\""|Chapt3S][$chapt3_discuss to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"It was impulsive of me. I could have drawn attention.\""|Chapt3S][$chapt3_discuss to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile proudly.|Chapt3S][$chapt3_discuss to "4"]]</div>"I saw you attacking him," she says, a vicious smile curling her lips, "I'm proud of you standing up to him. But it was dangerous. I feared," she hesitates, maternal worry slipping in her expression, "that he'd hurt you back, like he hurt Accolon." She sighs. "And it'll only serve to feed his narrative about the danger you present to Arthur, no matter how satisfying it was seeing him fall to his knees." Her frown smooths, the smile returns. "At least Lancelot will know to fear you."
<div class="choice">[["\"He deserved it! And if he attacked, I could have defended myself.\""|Chapt3WW][$chapt3_discuss to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It was impulsive of me." Now people will think you're dangerous.|Chapt3WW][$chapt3_discuss to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"As he should.\""|Chapt3WW][$chapt3_discuss to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I was so hurt...I just couldn't control myself.\""|Chapt3WW][$chapt3_discuss to "4"]]</div>"I should tell my mother," you say.
"Oh, right. I already told mine I might go away with you."
"And she allowed you?"
"Of course! Why wouldn't she?"
Indeed, why wouldn't she? In Avalon, you often played with the children your age. But parents in Lothia both fear and despise you, a combination most poisonous. And so they'd take their children away from you if they dared play with you, urgently whispering warnings about //the bastard//. Children would come to you, as nervous as a woodland animal encountering a human, and tell you they can't play with you; and some of them would spout the hateful words they heard from their parents.
"I'll meet you outside," Gawain skips away through the crowd.
You direct your steps to the table where your mother is seated, between Lot and Arthur. She looks calmer than you expected, almost serene, leaning back in her high-backed seat, goblet in hand, her gaze scanning over the hall with mild interest. Everyone else at the table seems entangled in a web of animosity, dark clouds cast over them nimbly avoiding Morgana.
Trouble is etched tautly on Arthur's brow, fists clenched on the table. Lot's gaze is adrift, lost like a ship at sea- you imagine Morgana must have had some words with him about his sadistic glee at the tournament. And then there's Arthur's knightly entourage, with the Champion himself seated next to the king, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but there, jaw clenched hard as he stabs at his food, as if the dish itself has offended him and he's reclaiming honor in a duel.
Next to him is a red haired woman, leaning forward in her seat to converse with the woman opposite her who, you realize as you catch a glimpse of her fingers intertwined with Kay's, is Gawain's mother.
<<if $morgana_talk == "ok">>
As you get closer, Morgana meets your eyes and a smile flutters on her lips. She excuses herself and joins you away from prying ears.
"What is it, dear?" she asks softly.
"I want to go play with Gawain outside."
Her eyes widen in surprise, and she brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her gaze flits to the table. "I'm fine with it. Did he ask his mother?"
You nod and she smiles. "Have fun."
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "mad">>
As you get closer, Morgana meets your eyes and wary hope sparks in her eyes. She excuses herself and joins you away from prying ears.
"What is it, dear?" she asks softly.
"I want to go play with Gawain outside," you say, not quite meeting her eye, still mad at her after the fight in her study.
Her eyes widen in surprise, and she brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her gaze flits to the table. "I'm fine with it. Did he ask his mother?"
You nod and she smiles. "Have fun."
<<elseif $morgana_talk == "cry">>
As you get closer, Morgana meets your eyes and wary hope sparks in her eyes. She excuses herself and joins you away from prying ears.
"What is it, dear?" she asks softly.
"I want to go play with Gawain outside," you say, not quite meeting her eye, still upset after the fight in her study.
Her eyes widen in surprise, and she brushes a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her gaze flits to the table. "I'm fine with it. Did he ask his mother?"
You nod and she smiles. "Have fun."
<</if>>
You find Gawain in the empty hallway, leisurely strolling around. You fall into step with him, heading for his guest chamber.
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainChamber]]"I saw Arthur."
Morgana sucks in a breath. "What?" Before you can say anything, she grabs your hand and rushes you into a side hall, within the alcove formed by a great painted door. Pulling chalk out of her waist belt, she drops to her haunches to draw a circle around you, and within it a few runes you're quick to recognize. Then she closes her eyes, brow furrowing in concentration. A ripple of magic washes over your skin like an errant draft.
"No one can hear us now," she says, getting up and dusting the chalk off her hands. She grips your hands - loose enough as to not hurt, but tight enough to let you know this is serious. "Where did you see him?"
"In the inner courtyard. He recognized me, but I ran."
Her grip slackens, her creased features unknot with relief. "It's for the best you avoid him, Mordred."
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
As if you needed to be told. "I don't want anything to do with him," you scoff.
She nods decisively, "Good."
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
"What if he wants to meet me?" you venture carefully, as if on thin ice.
"Perhaps, on a whim," she waves a hand flippantly. "But he can't just waltz into your life like this, Mordred. Not after abandoning you. Abandoning both of us." You just bite the inside of your cheek, not quite sharing Morgana's conviction.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
"But I want to meet him,", you confess, "I wonder what he'll think of me?"
"You don't want to," she roundly assures you with a light scoff.
<</if>>
"I have to get back to work," Morgana sighs, wiping away the chalk with her shoe. "But I will come help you get ready for the feast."
<<if $tell == "morganagareth">>
[[Continue|Chapt3Gareth]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3Castle1]]
<</if>><<if $go == "build">>
Your footfalls are silenced by the lush carpet, the tent suffused in red, warm and cozy, like the intimate recesses of one’s heart.
<<elseif $go == "answers">>
Your footfalls are silenced by the lush carpet, the tent suffused with red, the color of the scales lurking beneath your skin, yet to be revealed, that mark you as Arthur’s child, that inexorably bind the two of you together, and to this Pendragon legacy.
<<elseif $go == "fury">>
Your footfalls are silenced by the lush carpet, the interior bleeding red, like an open wound.
<</if>>
Arthur and Elewen sit in silence by each other; yet the look they exchange, the shift in their expressions as they notice your presence tells you a conversation was most definitely ongoing, inside their heads, and most likely involved you. Arthur scrambles to his feet and halts halfway to you, as if suddenly afraid that moving too fast will scare you off.
“You came,” he says, letting his disbelieving words sink in and give your presence weight, lest you were a mere apparition conjured by his desperate mind.
<<if $go == "build">>
"Of course!" You smile, closing the cautious distance he left. "How could I not? I can't wait to get to know you!"
A relieved smile eases onto his features. "Me too. As does Elewen," he hastily adds, turning to the dragon behind him. “I shall let you introduce yourself.”
<<elseif $go == "answers">>
You take one cautious step forward, not quite crossing the careful distance he himself left. "I have so many questions."
His shoulders rise and fall with an inaudible sigh, but he still manages to summon a small smile. “I’ll try my best to answer them. But first, there’s someone else who wants to meet you.”
<<elseif $go == "fury">>
You cross your arms firmly standing your ground. "I only came to tell you what I think of you!"
His head bows, curls falling over his forehead, obscuring his face and whatever expression must have passed over it. You do not care about theatrics; they won’t sway you, won’t change the way you feel.
"That's fair,” he finally says, then glances up. “I’m glad you came, at least. But first, please, there’s someone who’d like to meet you."
<</if>>
Elewen, Royal Scholar and Arthur’s best friend, steps forward and offers you a long, jovial nod. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mordred. My name is Elewen.”
<<if $go != "fury">>
<div class="choice">[[Offer a friendly nod in return.|Chapt3GreetElewen][$chapt3_greet_elewen to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hug them.|Chapt3GreetElewen][$chapt3_greet_elewen to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[ Offer a friendly headbump - it’s more familial than a nod.|Chapt3GreetElewen][$chapt3_greet_elewen to 3]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $go != "build">>
<div class="choice">[[ Stare pointedly at them. “I don’t want anything to do with either of you.”|Chapt3GreetElewen][$chapt3_greet_elewen to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[ Stare pointedly. “A belated pleasure, surely. Since it took Arthur so long to come meet me.”|Chapt3GreetElewen][$chapt3_greet_elewen to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Offer a charming but fake smile|Chapt3GreetElewen][$chapt3_greet_elewen to 7]]</div>
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You give them a polite nod.|Chapt3GreetElewen][$chapt3_greet_elewen to 6]]</div><<if $throne == "no">>
Morgana's been telling you how you'll get the throne ever since you were little, but as you grew up, doubt crept in as you realized what you want doesn't align. "You keep talking about taking the throne. What if I don't want to?"
Morgana stares at you with an unreadable expression. "Don't you want revenge, Mordred? The throne is your birth right."
<<elseif $throne == "nono">>
Morgana's been telling you how you'll get the throne ever since you were little, but as you grew up, doubt crept in as you realized what you want doesn't align, but you don't dare say anything.
<<elseif $throne == "revenge">>
By taking the throne, you can take back all that's been stolen from the Le Fay.
<<elseif $throne == "right">>
You're Arthur's child. The throne is yours.
<<elseif $throne == "good">>
You want to bring a better era for Camelot.
<<elseif $throne == "wrong">>
They won't be mocking you when you're on the throne.
<<elseif $throne == "know">>
You're better of listening to her.
<<elseif $throne == "give">>
Morgana's been telling you how you'll get the throne ever since you were little, no matter what others say, including Arthur. But you only want to take it if that's what Arthur desires.
<<elseif $throne == "givesay">>
Morgana's been telling you how you'll get the throne ever since you were little, no matter what others say, including Arthur. "I only want to take the throne if Arthur wishes to give it to me."
Morgana snorts derisively. "I would like it too if Arthur gave you the throne, but he won't, not as long as he listens to Merlin. We can't rely on him. The throne is your birth right, no matter what Arthur says."
<</if>>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
[[Continue|Chapt3StudyHope]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
[[Continue|Chapt3StudyAnguish]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
[[Continue|Chapt3StudyConfused]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
[[Continue|Chapt3StudyAwful]]
<</if>>The tournament is about to start with a bang - quite literally. The first trial of the day is mixed combat, which entails throwing into the ring all knights who have signed up for it, letting them loose upon each other with the weapon of their choice. The rules are simple - use whatever you want except dirty tricks, and stay on your feet lest you're eliminated.
Accolon's weapon of choice is his trustworthy longsword that you had sharpened the other day. He better fight well, to avenge your sore muscles. Your arms hurt as you hand him the sword, but his smile is so sweet and proud you almost forget about it. Almost.
In the pavilion where the knights are getting ready, the air thrums with excitement and nervous anticipation. The din of voices is only rivaled by the clamor of armor being buckled on and weapons being handed over.
You and $dragon_name work side by side, attending to each of your respective mentors. One of the many perks of your connections is that you are free to chat without slacking off your duties, or being overheard.
All around you, people bustle to and fro; it's easy for toes and tails to be stepped on, and even easier for nerves to be trampled. You hear as many good luck wishes as you hear more or less veiled threat.
Accolon is as amiable as ever, cheering on the knights who stop to chat with him, and getting just as enthusiastic responses back; Sera headbumps good old friends from all across the Continent.
<<if $dragon_type=="bold">>
$dragon_name fastens the last buckle of Sera's armor and gives a brisk, self-satisfied nod at their own good work.
"Good luck out there! Just remember I placed my bets on you."
Sera chuckles. "Yes, wouldn't want you to lose your pebbles."
<<elseif $dragon_type=="fierce">>
$dragon_name, having finished buckling on Sera's armor, casts their gaze around the pavilion.
"I've assessed the competition and I think you can easily take on most of them." By the look in their eyes, they must be convinced they could easily take them on too.
<<elseif $dragon_type=="friendly">>
$dragon_name looks wildly around the pavilion, their attention always grabbed by something new.
"Everybody seems to be about ready. Good luck out there, I'm sure you'll do great!"
Sera chuckles. "With you cheering me on, definitely!"
<<elseif $dragon_type=="shy">>
$dragon_name checks that they've properly buckled on Sera's armor; they check once, twice, thrice.
The fourth time Sera places their forehead against theirs and says: "It's alright, thank you."
$dragon_name draws in a long breath, lets it out slowly. "Good luck! Be careful out there."
<</if>>
The first trial of the tournament is the humans' combat one - it's been separated from the draconic one for the safety of the former, who could be easily trampled on during the commotion. It's a level of realism the trial doesn't wish to simulate.
The announcer, a man clad in dazzingly bright garbs, walks up to the middle of the ring and demands the attention of the crowd that brims and buzzes with enthusiasm, and of the contestants, waiting in anticipation like a drawn arrow.
"Welcome, everyone, to the tournament housed by our gracious Duke Lot!" A round of loud applause follows. You spy Morgana next to Lot in the royal booth, applauding slowly, mockingly. Once the clapping subdues, the announcer spreads his arm in a grand gesture. "We are especially honored to have the King himself in the audience!" The announcer bows as he lets the people's cheering, even louder than before, wash over him.
You look towards the Royal Lodge where, beneath the moss-green canvas canopy, Arthur sits along with your family - a category that could/might/he's also included in, despite yesterday being the first time you've ever laid eyes on him. He's seated next to your mother, and offers a wide smile and bows his head for the crowd.
It takes long for the ripple of applause to fade, but once it does, the announcer continues, "The first trial of the tournament starts now! Contestants, come forward!"
You wish Accolon good luck and step to the side to avoid the knights streaming into the ring. You stay at the edge of the pavilion with the other squires and healers - the latter of which are here in case anyone gets overly enthusiastic or ill-intentioned with their strikes. Accolon says tournaments are supposed to be a fun competition, but some are prone to take out their frustration, petty grudges and long-standing feuds on their opponents. The healers come from all over the Continent, sent along the knights by the Duchies. The only familiar ones to you are the Lothian healers, fronted by Robin, a Lady of the Lake devotee - and the only one Morgana might call a friend at this Court.
The presenter waves his flag, and the fighting begins. It's a chaos hard to follow, people attacking alone or teaming up for brief moments before turning on each other. The knights who don't compete are positioned around the ring, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone trying to play dirty, tasked with eliminating them and the people who have fallen. Your gaze wanders from the action to the Royal Lodge - not far to your right - to your family seated on cushioned armchairs, flanked by stern-looking guards. Gilded trays of food and carafes of wine have been brought for them, servants hanging back quiet yet alert, ready to jump in at their behest.
Lot watches the fighting with an unreadable expression, his face holding a certain weariness. Elbow propped on his armrest and chin in hand, the whole display unimpressive to him. Gareth looks a lot more attentive, leaning forward in his seat. Morgana watches on with interest, as does Arthur on her side - but where she is calm, he shifts restlessly in his seat, twines and untwines his fingers in his lap. Both their gazes slip in the direction of the other, every so often. When their gazes meet, he quickly snaps his back to the fighting.
"Hey!" Someone calls out, and it takes a while to realize it's you they're addressing.
It's Gawain, beckoning you and $dragon_name to him with a wide smile, the familiar red-and-orange dragon at his side waving their tail so eagerly, they're in danger of whipping their friend. However, the look Galahad is throwing from behind them is the opposite of welcoming, and his warning from last night springs to mind.
<<if $chapt3_warn == "7">>
Or rather, what you suppose he warned you about, which is staying away from Gawain; you were too entranced by his violet gray eyes to actually pay attention to what was being said.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You go, shyly.|Chapt3Tournament1][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $beckon to "yes", $chapt3_beckon to "1", $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+1, $confident to $confident-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You go, happily.|Chapt3Tournament1][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $beckon to "yes", $chapt3_beckon to "2", $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+1, $confident to $confident+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Might as well go.|Chapt3Tournament1][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $beckon to "yes", $chapt3_beckon to "3", $Gawain_ally to $Gawain_ally+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head and mouth at him "Let's talk later." You want to talk when Galahad's not there.|Chapt3Tournament2Choice4][$beckon to "yes", $chapt3_beckon to "4", $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head.|Chapt3Tournament2][$beckon to "no", $chapt3_beckon to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You ignore him.|Chapt3Tournament2][$beckon to "no", $chapt3_beckon to "6", $Gawain to $Gawain-5]]</div><<if $chapt3_beckon == "1">>
You sketch a smile as you approach, gingerly, as if walking between sleeping dragons, knowing full well Galahad will not like you defying his warning. Yet, you won't give up on your potential blooming friendship with Gawain. You're used to angering people - but seeing them smile at you the way Gawain does? It's a rarity you want to hold on to.
<<elseif $chapt3_beckon == "2">>
You beam as you approach, quickly, knowing full well Galahad will not like you defying his warning. Yet, you won't give up on your potential blooming friendship with Gawain. You're used to angering people - but seeing them smile at you the way Gawain does? It's a rarity you want to hold on to.
<<elseif $chapt3_beckon == "3">>
You don't have anything else to do, after all.
<</if>>
The boy's smile widens when you reach him, but Galahad narrows his eyes at you.
Gawain waves and offers a friendly nod. “Hi! You must be $dragon_name, right? I’m Gawain! And my partner you already met. But you haven’t yet, Mordred.”
The red-and-orange dragon jumps forward, maw open in a grin. “Ariawen here! So nice to meet you.” They proffer a clawed hand - when you take it, they shake yours energetically. “And this is Callum, they’re partnered with Galahad.”
You follow where they’re pointing with the tip of their tail to the dragon sitting next to Galahad; limbs and tail tucked close to their body, as if they wished to fold in onto themselves. Their scales are an iridescent pearly white, shimmering with faint blues and pinks depending on the way the sun hits their skin. Their eyes, the pale blue of a winter morning sky, flit up to meet yours for a moment before fixing back to the floor. They offer you a polite, slow nod.
“Hello. It’s nice to meet you,” Callum says, voice timid yet friendly. “Mordred. $dragon_name.”
You stare, befuddled; you had braced yourself for a hostile remark, or a glare at the very least. Yet all you can read in Callum’s eyes is a coy sort of softness.
“We met last night at the bonfire party,” $dragon_name puts in.
<<if $dragon_type == "friendly">>
In the privacy of your mind, they add: //”And yeah, isn’t this a pleasant surprise? They’re shy, but really nice! I danced with them and Ariawen both at the party, we had a lot of fun together.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == "bold">>
In the privacy of your mind, they add: //”Surprising, isn’t it? They’re quite timid, but far from hostile. They didn’t say much last night, but I do get the feeling they wanted to talk more.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == "fierce">>
In the privacy of your mind, they add: //”They’re nice. Shy, but really nice. Unlike a certain someone they’re partnered up with.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == "shy">>
In the privacy of your mind, they add: //”They seem really nice. We talked a bit last night, though they’re as shy as me, so it was mostly Ariawen bridging the conversation. I’d like for us to talk more. I just hope it won’t get me in trouble with Galahad.”//
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You give Callum a friendly nod, then turn to Galahad. “You must be so happy to have such nice and lovely friends, Galahad,” you say with a sweet smile.|Chapt3MeetCallumAtTournament][$chapt3_meet_callum to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You give Callum a friendly nod, then turn to Galahad. “How come all your friends are so much nicer than you, Galahad?”
|Chapt3MeetCallumAtTournament][$chapt3_meet_callum to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“It’s nice to meet you, too,” you say with a sincere smile.|Chapt3MeetCallumAtTournament][$chapt3_meet_callum to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“It’s nice to meet you too,” you say politely.|Chapt3MeetCallumAtTournament][$chapt3_meet_callum to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You turn straight to Galahad. “How come all your friends are so much nicer than you, Galahad?”|Chapt3MeetCallumAtTournament][$chapt3_meet_callum to 5]]</div><<if $chapt3_beckon == "5">>
You shake your head and the boy frowns, looking like a kicked puppy.
<<elseif $chapt3_beckon == "6">>
Out of the corner of your eye you see him flailing his arm, before Galahad stops him.
<</if>>
You look away, turning your gaze back onto the action. $dragon_name, however, doesn’t.
<<if $dragon_type == “bold”>>
//”You want to go to them, don’t you?//” you ask, glancing up at them.
//”Yes,//” they reply without missing a beat. //”Ariawen and I had a lot of fun last night. Talked, danced, had a friendly debate over our tournament predictions.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == “friendly”>>
//”You want to go to them, don’t you?//” you ask, glancing up at them.
//“Yes! We had fun last night. Ariawen and I competed to see who can fit more tiny cakes into our mouths, and I won.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == “fierce”>>
//”You want to go to them, don’t you?//” you ask, glancing up at them.
//”Well, why not? We had fun last night. I challenged Ariawen on the dance floor to see who has the best moves.”//
//”And who won?”//
//”Honestly, I forgot we were competing after a while.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == “shy”>>
//”You want to go to them, don’t you?//” you ask, glancing up at them.
//”Well... yes. Ariawen and I really had fun last night. We talked, we danced… we danced for a good while. My limbs hurt by the end of the night, but it was great.”//
<</if>>
Before $dragon_name can actually decide to make good on their desire to go, Ariawen is already on the move, taking it upon themselves to approach you, seeing as you haven’t budged.
“Hi! I’m Ariawen, nice to meet you!” They say the introduction in an almost sing-song voice. “$dragon_name and I already met yesterday. We had fun at the party last night, didn’t we?”
Your newly arrived companion settled at $dragon_name’s side, happily chatting away.
<div class="choice">[[Might as well have some company then. Perhaps you’ll even enjoy it.|Chapt3CompanyAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_company to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You’re not particularly keen to talk with Ariawen, but your friend is, so might as well.|Chapt3CompanyAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_company to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You’re not particularly keen to talk with Ariawen; it was supposed to be just you and your friend, enjoying the tournament. You don’t say anything though, because they clearly want to talk with Ariawen.|Chapt3CompanyAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_company to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You’re not particularly keen to talk with Ariawen; it was supposed to be just you and your friend, enjoying the tournament, and you make the sentiment known through your connection.|Chapt3CompanyAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_company to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You’re not particularly keen to talk with Ariawen; but your friend clearly is, and you don't want to spoil their fun, so you decide to leave them to it and go to Sera.|Chapt3CompanyAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_company to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You’re not particularly keen to talk with Ariawen; it was supposed to be just you and your friend, enjoying the tournament. You don’t say anything though, and just leave them to it, and go to Sera.|Chapt3CompanyAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_company to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You’re not particularly keen to talk with Ariawen; it was supposed to be just you and your friend, enjoying the tournament. You make the sentiment clear through your connection, before you take your leave, going to Sera.|Chapt3CompanyAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_company to 7]]</div>Your budding friendship with Gawain is soured by Galahad's warning, a warning that you can’t ignore. You’ve seen what your peers are capable of doing to you, for the sole crime of existing; and so you do not wish to test Galahad.
You shake your head regretfully, mouthing, "Let's talk later."
Gawain frowns in confusion yet offers an understanding nod. Even so, the pout lingers on his face. You look away as your chest tightens.
<<if dragon_type == “bold”>>
$dragon_name, however, doesn’t turn away. //”It’s because of Galahad, isn’t it?”// You get a sense of quiet anger from them, tucked beneath the determined calm of their thoughts. //”Forget him. If he dares say anything to you, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.//
//It’s alright. I’ll just talk to Gawain later. When Galahad isn’t around.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == “shy”>>
$dragon_name, however, doesn’t turn away. With a sliver of sadness that trickles through your connection, they ask, //”It’s because of Galahad, isn’t it?”//
//”I’ll just talk to Gawain later,”// you say. //Preferably when Galahad isn’t around, yes.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == “fierce”>>
$dragon_name, however, doesn’t turn away. //”It’s because of Galahad, isn’t it?//” Anger simmers just beneath their thoughts. //”It’s not fair. He doesn’t get to dictate what you do, and if he dares say anything to you, I’ll give him a piece of my mind-”//
And possibly burn a piece off Galahad, by the way they’re eyeing the boy.
//”I’ll just talk to Gawain later,”// you say. //”When Galahad’s not around to be annoying about it.”//
<<elseif $dragon_type == “friendly”>>
$dragon_name, however, doesn’t turn away. //”It’s because of Galahad, isn’t it?”// they ask, throwing you a sad look. //”You shouldn’t let him say what you can do! Gawain clearly wants to be your friend, and he doesn’t get to control his friends.”//
You give them a watery smile. //”It’s alright, I’ll just find Gawain later, when Galahad’s not around to be annoying about it.”//
<</if>>
Seeing as you’re not budging, Ariawen takes it upon themselves to approach you instead. With a confident, skipping step, they walk up to you and thrust a claw in your face for you to shake which you take, almost on instinct. They shake your hand vigorously, making your teeth clatter.
“Hi! I’m Ariawen, nice to meet you!” They say the introduction in an almost sing-song voice. “$dragon_name and I already met yesterday. We had fun at the party last night, didn’t we?”
<<if $dragon_type == “friendly”>>
Your friend grins. “We competed to see who could fit more of those little cakes inside their mouth. I won.”
“Only by one tiny cake!” Ariawen protests, snickering.
<<elseif $dragon_type == “bold”>>
Your friend smiles, shiny white teeth on display. “We talked and danced and had a friendly debate on our tournament predictions.”
Ariawen snickered. “I’m still holding onto my bets, you know!”
“I know. And that’s why you’ll lose.”
<<elseif $dragon_type == “fierce”>>
Your friend grins. “I challenged them on the dancefloor, to see who has the best moves.”
“And?” you ask.
“I don’t know,” Ariawen brightly replies, “We had too much fun to care!”
<<elseif dragon shy>>
Your friend gives a small smile, eyes scrunched up into happy half-moons. “We talked a lot,” they say. “We danced too.”
“We danced right into the night!” Ariawen brightly adds. “I couldn’t feel my limbs anymore.”
<</if>>
Your newly arrived companion settles at $dragon_name’s side.
<<if $trial == “combat”>>
“$dragon_name said this is your favorite trial. You must be so excited that it’s first! And Sir Accolon is competing, too, isn’t he?”
<<else>>
“Sir Accolon is competing, right?”
<</if>>
They turn their gaze onto the arena, sweeping it over the chaotic, incessant, action. ‘“That’s him, right? He’s doing great! And that one’s Kay! He also fights with a longsword.”
You watch the fighting knights, your eye caught by the dragon crested armors of the Camelotian knights, the gilded embossing shining as if they carried a piece of the sun across their chests. One knight in particular captures your attention, holding it tight in their gauntlet’s vice-like grip. They wield a sword in one hand, its hilt gilded, ruby winking from the pommel, the design simple but elegant; their other hand is ungloved. Already lost in the frenzy, you reckon, or perhaps a peculiar choice - at least that’s what you make of it until you see their fingers flexing, summoning water from the basin placed in the middle of the ring. The water rises with the motion, separating into blobs that hover in the air, shaping themselves into throwing knives that then pour down on his enemy.
“That’s Lance!” Ariawen informs you, though you’d already gathered the fact. “Galaahad’s learning to fight like that with magic, too. Isn’t it impressive? Impressive for a humans’ fight, at least,” they add before anyone can offer their own opinion/input/can either agree or protest. “His ice knives are no match for a dragon’s fire though.” They take a pouncing stance, neck low, back curled, tail held taut in the air, legs wide. “I just take a deep breath and then poof - “ they make to demonstrate, though spare the pavilion from chaos by merely exhaling a circle of smoke and nothing more - “and the ice knives melt in the air! They don’t even get the chance to touch me.”
Then, turning to you, “Hey, your family is also devoted to the Lady, right? Are you also learning to wield her magic? You probably only need to learn healing, I mean what with your elemental affinity.”
<div class="choice">[[“Yes; I both pray to her and learn how to heal through her power.”|Chapt3MagicAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_question to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“I pray to her, yes, and I’m learning a little bit of healing, too.”|Chapt3MagicAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_question to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[“No, I already have my elemental magic; and healing can be done through other means, too.”|Chapt3MagicAriawen][$chapt3_ariawen_question to 3]]</div>The jousting continues until it's time for lunch, and the crowd sweeps to the long tables assembled among the food booths.
<<if $Gareth >= 50>>
Gareth finds you and $dragon_name to gush about the trials together, glossing over Morgana's gesture of insult to his father.
Accolon stops by, placing a friendly hand on Gareth's shoulder. "Enjoying yourself, Gareth?"
The boy smiles up at him, "Very much so!" He inclines his head, every inch the picture of a gracious courtier. "You were quite impressive, Sir Accolon."
Accolon chuckles and pats his shoulder. "You know it's just Accolon. I'll let you two talk then." And with a wave of his hand, he moves on to a group of knights.
Even though he's tried not to bring it up since that first day you met, you know Gareth thinks, like everyone else, that Accolon is your father. And he seems to envy you - longingly looking at you and Accolon training or playing, telling you how he wishes Lot did the same. Accolon gave attention to your brother, too, though Lot did his best to keep him away.
<<else>>
Gareth's furious gaze finds you in the crowd and he marches up to you. "Mother humiliated father."
As if it's your fault that Morgana chooses to so defiantly flaunt her affair. Can you even blame her, when Lot does the same for his hate for you?
Accolon, who had briefly left your side to order hot stews for the both of you, reappears at you side with a placating smile. "Is there a problem, Master Gareth?" Accolon asks Gareth.
The boy glares at him, but spins around and leaves.
Gareth thinks, like everyone else, that Accolon is your father. And as much as he seems to loathe you for it as his father taught him, he seems to envy you, somewhat - longingly looking at you and Accolon training or playing. Lot doesn't show him the same love, from what you've seen.
<</if>>
The trials resume with the obstacle course;Accolon stays at your side, cheering Sera on, until sword-fighting comes on and it's his turn to go out into the ring once again. The last trial of the day is the dragon race, and as Arthur has not participated in any trials until now, everyone is brimming with anticipation, knowing this will be the one.
The starting line is outside of the ring, and the audience moves from the stands to the field. People watch in awe as the dragons strut forward - scales glistening in the sun, horns, necks and talons bejeweled - while their human partners sit atop them, waving, smiling, stroking the excitement of the crowd.
The cheers grow louder as Sir Melker approaches - all onyx black scales, horns short but filed to a mean sharp point - walking with a leisured, confident step, as if all the whole world was waiting for was their arrival. Atop their back sits Lancelot, all ramrod straight and proud. Next up strides Sir Bridget, their scales the same hue as that of Pendragon red. Their mouth is open in a gaping grin; above it Kay mirrors it with his ear-to-ear smile, flashing far less sharp teeth. Gawain cheers their approach with a long, sustained cheer, while Galahad smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners.
The crowd parts, whispers of reverence rustling through as the King himself emerges atop Elewen. Royal and Draconic Scholar, the King's companion and confidant - Elewen stands tall, taller than all of the dragons lined up around them. Most dragons that get knighted sit somewhere on a range that at one end is roughly the size of a horse, and at the other, a height that is about three times the height of the average human. Your own dragon companion is expected to be the size of a very, very big horse. The biggest dragons you've seen are the ones employed in transportation, but they're not as numerous as their smaller kin. The truly big dragons - the ones whose size rivals castles - are rare and don't live among humans.
Elewen stands at about four times Arthur's average to short height, you reckon, with scales of a deep, dark purple that, from the elbows and knees down, turn a midnight black, as if they'd dipped their limbs in ink. They trot slowly, gingerly, their red eyed gaze soft as it roams over the crowd, searching, before stopping on you.
<<if $dragon_eyes == "red" and $scales == "purple">>
Purple scales and red eyes, just like $dragon_name. You wonder if this only goes to show that you really are your father's child.
<</if>>
The announcer bows, doing an elaborate, reverent flurried set of gestures with their hands. "Your Majesty! Mighty Elewen! What an honor to have you join the trials!" As they straighten, they turn to the crowd with a cheeky smirk. "Don't forget, knights, just because the royal pair is competing, you don't let them win!"
The race begins, the dragons taking off in a swirl of wings that sweeps up skirts, cloaks and hair and drowns out the cheers of the crowd. They fly as fast as they can, bumping into each other, casting shadows over the field, the flapping of wings thunderous as the contestants round the castle and head for the finishing line. Arthur's dragon soars easily, smoothly, dodging and going ahead of the others, and you can't help but admire them. You wonder if they guide each other mentally, like you and $dragon_name do. No need to spell out your intentions through tracing signals into the dragon's scales, no need to watch out for their head tilts to work out the response; your thoughts feed directly into each other, unrestrained, unbridled.
The dragons start to descend. They move as one, a great tide about to sweep the earth - then one figure carves itself out of the flurry of wings, shooting arrow-straight, and just as determined, for the ground. It's Elewen, catching speed, hurtling down, the empty space between them and the others growing wider as the grassy land seems to rise to meet them.
You get to see their clawed limbs hit the ground, rattling your heart in your chest - "The Royal pair wins!" bellows the announcer - before they're swallowed in the onrushing tide of wings.
You push closer, peeking through the contestants to see Arthur place a soft kiss on Elewen's head before slipping down. Gawain gets to him first, almost knocking him off his feet as he throws himself at the King. Arthur catches him, laughing, and keeps one arm open to pull in Galahad.
<div class="choice">[[You decide to go in for a hug.|Chapt3RaceHug][$hug to "hug"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You wish you could hug him too.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel a pang of jealousy.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "2", $gawain_envy to $gawain_envy+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's sweet how affectionate he is with Gawain, and gives you hope he's a good man.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You wonder if Accolon landed.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You look for Accolon to hug him.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go forward and smile at Arthur.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go forward and smile at Arthur. Then you'll search Accolon and offer him a celebratory hug.|Chapt3RaceHug1][$chapt3_race_hug to "12"]]</div>You barely slept last night so this morning, you're battling with both yawns and the straps of Accolon's armor. The clamor of preparation in the pavilion serves to wake you up.
Accolon is uncharacteristically silent this morning, too, and last night weighs heavy on your mind, the reveal of the prophecy what kept you up. He led you to your bedroom and told you Morgana would talk to you today about it.
He gives you a strained smile as you finish helping him with his armor.
<<if $betray == "ok">>
You return the smile weakly. It's a difficult matter, and you don't fault them for how they handled it.
<<elseif $betray == "confusion">>
You just look away, lips pressed into a grim line. This whole affair surrounding the prophecy - and the fact that they've been keeping it away from you - has left you confused and conflicted. You want to understand their reasoning, but you can't help but feel betrayed nonetheless.
<<elseif $betray == "betrayed">>
You frown as hurt and anger, a most poisonous amalgamation, lance through you. You can't accept smiles and comforting words right now, not after they've been keeping something as important as the prophecy away from you.
<</if>>
The royal stand seems to be fraught with tension too. Arthur flinches any time Morgana looks at him, her glare as sharp as a dagger. Even Lot seems indisposed, his brow knotted, and Gareth nervously tugs at his sleeves.
Galahad seems to hate you even more today, if that's possible. He's been glaring at you while helping Lancelot prepare, with a renewed fury. You wonder if something specific has happened - some perceived slight of yours - or if he decided today is a good day to make yours worse.
<<if $Gawain >= 50>>
Gawain is here to make it better, though, with his constant chatter about the trials. He confesses that his party seems to be in a sour mood today, though he doesn't know the reason for it.
<</if>>
You want nothing more but for the trials to be over, so that you may finally get the promised discussion with Morgana. Yet the morning drags on agonizingly slow, turning into a sluggish noon that moves no faster; as if time has decided to spite you in particular today.
You hand Accolon his sword as the announcer calls him into the ring to face against Lancelot in a one-on-one fighting trial.
The sparring starts, the clang of metal splitting the air. Lancelot's moves are ferocious and rough today, yet Accolon deftly parries each hit. He barely lands any, though. Lancelot's blows continue to rain down on Accolon relentlessly, with a force that carries behind it more than a mere desire to win this trial, the air charged as if even the crowd has realized that this is no friendly competition, no enthusiasm taken too far, but a thirst for blood. And the way the Champion Knight wields his blade with unforgiving strikes, he'll soon draw blood.
You inch as close to the edge of the pavilion as the guards will allow you. Everyone is watching warily, especially Morgana, sitting on the edge of her seat, her white knuckled hands gripping the armrests the only thing keeping her pivoted to it. You don't doubt she wants to jump in the middle of the fray and stop whatever Lancelot is doing.
Accolon's helmet comes off, hitting the ground with a metallic thud that makes you flinch. You clutch your cloak tightly, till your nails dig into your palm through the cotton. You feel like you should do something, anything, yet all you can do is watch uselessly. Accolon's lips move, forming around words that can't be heard over the clamor of metal. He's tiring out dodging Lancelot's hits, and his adversary lands more and more furious strikes, They leave dents in his armor, making Morgana flinch with each new one. At her side, Lot's unpleasant visage is twisted in a smile. Relishing revenge he rarely tastes, sweet no doubt to him, retribution for Morgana's poison. Arthur, on her other side, looks pained, his gaze cast away. Slumped in his seat as if it sprouted strong roots to keep him in place.
There's no doubt Lancelot is the better swordsman, and the angrier. Your mentor wobbles, panting, but still holding up his sword. Not for long though. Lancelot lands the winning hit that sends Accolon to his knees with a yell, at the same time that Morgana springs up.
Lancelot takes off his helmet and brings the tip of his sword under Accolon's chin, saying words that don't reach you. Then he walks back to the pavilion to the cheer of the crowd as Accolon collapses in the ring, a Lothian healer already running to his aid.
<div class="choice">[[Propelled by your rage and worry, you step in Lancelot's way. "You took it too far!"|Chapt3Injured][$attack to "warning", $warning to "yes", $chapt3_injury to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Propelled by your rage and worry, you let a gust of wind push against the knight. "You took it too far!"|Chapt3Injured1][$attack to "wind", $warning to "no", $chapt3_injury to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Propelled by your rage and worry, you summon water to splash the knight. "You took it too far!"|Chapt3Injured2][$attack to "water", $warning to "no", $chapt3_injury to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You ignore Lancelot and run to Accolon. You're worried about him.|Chapt3Injured][$attack to "ignore", $warning to "no", $chapt3_injury to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You stop to glare at Lancelot as you run to Accolon. "Such a noble knight."|Chapt3Injured][$attack to "jab", $warning to "no", $chapt3_injury to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As you run to Accolon, you send a burst of wind to Lancelot, as subtly as you can.|Chapt3Injured][$attack to "subtle", $warning to "no", $chapt3_injury to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Propelled by your rage and worry, you summon fire to attack the knight. "You took it too far!"|Chapt3Injured3][$attack to "fire", $warning to "no", $chapt3_injury to "7"]]</div><<if $chapt3_accolon_prophecy == "1">>
"Good," he smiles, patting your hand. "I'll see you down at the entrance hall in a few minutes."
<</if>>
You meet Accolon in the entrance hall, now mostly deserted but for guards, all guests down at the tournament and servants scurrying out of sight, cleaning chambers and preparing for yet another feast. You climb down the hill slowly, accommodating your pace to Accolon's strolling one. It's rather pleasant, taking a leisurely walk. You were rushing, dragging weapons and buckling armor just a few days ago - your muscles have only now begun to forget the soreness. The first trial has already started, and you can hear the distant sound of metal clashing and crowd roaring.
It's the last day of the tournament, so the number of participating knights has considerably decreased, as they failed trials, were injured beyond quick recovery, or, in exceptional cases, were disqualified for cheating. And so today the stalls of the tournament offering entertainment, food and souvenirs are a lot more crowded, bustling with knights and squires, guests and townsfolk, humans and dragons.
"Morgana did remarkable work, did she not?" Accolon brightly notes, sweeping a hand towards the festival-like display. "She organized everything, you know. It's really taken a toll on her."
You let your gaze wander over the rows of wood stalls, decorated with colorful banners and pastel writing on the wood advertising goods, which range from appetizing food to local knick knacks to Lothian clothes.
<div class="choice">[["\"She did everything? It's marvelous.\""|Chapt3MorganaPrepared][$chapt3_prepare to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Grunt noncommittally.|Chapt3MorganaPrepared][$chapt3_prepare to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Silently admire it, smiling.|Chapt3MorganaPrepared][$chapt3_prepare to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's nice," you try to sound neutral, but you are impressed.|Chapt3MorganaPrepared][$chapt3_prepare to "4"]]</div>"Well, look who it is," a cruel voice drawls from behind you.
<<if $attitude == "defiant">>
<<set $alina_attitude to "defiant">>
It fans a fire in you, which blazes a searing path through your veins, all the way to your fingertips. You clench your fists. Oh, that voice grates on you, but you square your shoulders and turn slowly. Facing a familiar and very much unwelcomed countenance.
A condescending grin is painted across the freckly vision, dark brown eyes pinned on you with malicious intent, twin arrows trained on you.
Alina Solomon.
The Solomon's are well-known and respected in Lothia, erected to royalty by grace of the magic that runs in the family. Sorcerers with an affinity for manipulating the weather. Summoning clouds as quickly as they can dispel them, bringing rain upon scorched land, holding lightning in the palm of their hands.
Not Alina, though.
She's the youngest of four. All three of her elder siblings are sorcerers, but the magic has forsaken her. The correct course of action then, to preserve her dignity, had been enrolling her as a squire.
The court whispers about her, too. You're not the only topic of interest, and you couldn't be. It //must// get tiring after a while, after all. But voices mollify when they speak of her. Lips shape into sad smiles around her name. They afford pity, compassion, sympathy. She's not a blight on Lothia. If she cannot serve the people through her magic, she'll do so by sword, and //isn't that worthy of admiration? Even if it's such a shame.//
Though you think //shame// is the only word that ever rings in Alina's mind. Shame to be the weak link. And how can she ever hope to feel stronger?
Hitting down on the weaker.
Nothing good comes out of your encounters. But if she wants to give you a difficult time, you'll gladly return the favor. So you paint a smile on your face too, in the same shades of scorn and disdain. "Alina! Couldn't go a day without seeing that ugly mug of yours, now could I?"
She's not alone. She's rarely ever alone, having her gaggle of fellow bullies follow her everywhere. It's easier to corner someone in a pack, after all. Fellow squires and Lothian nobles' kids count among her group. They hang a few steps back, so that the hierachy of power may stay clear. Alina is the most vocal of them all, too. Others merely echo her. Some don't say a word your way, and if you ever meet them on their own, barely spare you a glance, either. But does it matter? They stand and watch anyway.
She snorts. "If you and your mother had been hauled off, //I// wouldn't have to see your stupid face again. It ruins my day."
"Glad that means you have to make mine worse," you roll your eyes.
<<if $attack == "fire">>
Your palms blaze. "You've got a lot of nerve, Alina. Coming to me after seeing what I did to Lancelot."
"Your little fire show?"
"You wish you could do that, too." Her smirk falters and she surges forward, looming so close you can feel her hot breath on your face.
"I dare you," she snarls, and spittle sprays on your cheek. "I dare you to try it on me, you fucking bastard."
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "I can handle this," she hisses.
<<elseif $attack == "water">>
"You've got a lot of nerve, Alina. Coming to me after seeing what I did to Lancelot."
"Your little water trick?"
"You wish you could do that, too." Her smirk falters and she surges forward, looming so close you can feel her hot breath on your face.
"I dare you," she snarls, and spittle sprays on your cheek. "I dare you to try it on me, you fucking bastard."
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "I can handle this," she hisses.
<<else>>
"Always," she quips, stepping closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. "Oh, I should tell you, Mordred. Nice show, that duel between Sir Lancelot and your father."
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "He really does know how to take a beating."
<</if>>
[["\"What's going on here?\""|Chapt3ArthurBully]]
<<elseif $attitude == "meek">>
<<set $alina_attitude to "meek">>
It's like a sudden dagger to the back. A dagger with its blade coated in poison, that spreads through your veins, chill and sharp. You flinch, freezing as you were licking the grease off your fingers. Your eyes dart around, seeking escape routes. You'd get easily lost in this crowd. But the poison is paralyzing too, and you're rooted to the spot.
"Hey, didn't you hear me?" the voice demands, and you're roughly turned around when a hand grabs your shoulder. Facing a familiar and very much unwelcomed countenance.
A condescending grin is painted across the freckly vision, dark brown eyes pinned on you with malicious intent, twin arrows trained on you.
Alina Solomon.
The Solomon's are well-known and respected in Lothia, erected to royalty by grace of the magic that runs in the family. Sorcerers with an affinity for manipulating the weather. Summoning clouds as quickly as they can dispel them, bringing rain upon scorched land, holding lightning in the palm of their hands.
Not Alina, though.
She's the youngest of four. All three of her elder siblings are sorcerers, but the magic has forsaken her. The correct course of action then, to preserve her dignity, had been enrolling her as a squire.
The court whispers about her, too. You're not the only topic of interest, and you couldn't be. It //must// get tiring after a while, after all. But voices mollify when they speak of her. Lips shape into sad smiles around her name. They afford pity, compassion, sympathy. She's not a blight on Lothia. If she cannot serve the people through her magic, she'll do so by sword, and //isn't that worthy of admiration? Even if it's such a shame.//
Though you think //shame// is the only word that ever rings in Alina's mind. Shame to be the weak link. And how can she ever hope to feel stronger?
Hitting down on the weaker.
Literally.
The bump she gives your shoulder as she relents her grip on you may seem friendly from afar, but there's too much force in her fist to be so. It stings faintly, and you rub at the spot. "I'll just get out of your way, Alina."
She's not alone. She's rarely ever alone, having her gaggle of fellow bullies follow her everywhere. It's easier to corner someone in a pack, after all. Fellow squires and Lothian nobles' kids count among her group. They hang a few steps back, so that the hierachy of power may stay clear. Alina is the most vocal of them all, too. Others merely echo her. Some don't say a word your way, and if you ever meet them on their own, barely spare you a glance, either. But does it matter? They stand and watch anyway.
<<if $attack == "fire">>
"Oh, but I wanted to talk with you, Mordred." She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. "Cute little fire show you did."
You cross your arms, shoulders tensing around your lowered head. Your palms itch uncomfortably.
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you.
"Funny how both you and your mother can get away with attacking a Champion Knight."
<<elseif $attack == "water">>
"Oh, but I wanted to talk with you, Mordred." She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. "Cute little water trick you did."
You cross your arms, shoulders tensing around your lowered head. Your palms itch uncomfortably.
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you.
"Funny how both you and your mother can get away with attacking a Champion Knight."
<<else>>
"Oh, but I wanted to talk with you, Mordred." She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. "Nice show, that duel between Sir Lancelot and your father."
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "He really does know how to take a beating."
<</if>>
[["\"What's going on here?\""|Chapt3ArthurBully]]
<<elseif $attitude == "friendly">>
It's like a sudden dagger to the back. A dagger with its blade coated in poison, that spreads through your veins, chill and sharp. A warning, an alarm. This will turn sourly, quickly. You freeze, just as you were licking the grease off your fingers, and consider whether you should ignore the voice and attempt slipping through the crowd. But before you can act, the decision is made for you.
"Hey, didn't you hear me?" the voice demands, and you're roughly turned around when a hand grabs your shoulder. Facing a familiar and very much unwelcomed countenance.
A condescending grin is painted across the freckly vision, dark brown eyes pinned on you with malicious intent, twin arrows trained on you.
Alina Solomon.
The Solomon's are well-known and respected in Lothia, erected to royalty by grace of the magic that runs in the family. Sorcerers with an affinity for manipulating the weather. Summoning clouds as quickly as they can dispel them, bringing rain upon scorched land, holding lightning in the palm of their hands.
Not Alina, though.
She's the youngest of four. All three of her elder siblings are sorcerers, but the magic has forsaken her. The correct course of action then, to preserve her dignity, had been enrolling her as a squire.
The court whispers about her, too. You're not the only topic of interest, and you couldn't be. It //must// get tiring after a while, after all. But voices mollify when they speak of her. Lips shape into sad smiles around her name. They afford pity, compassion, sympathy. She's not a blight on Lothia. If she cannot serve the people through her magic, she'll do so by sword, and //isn't that worthy of admiration? Even if it's such a shame.//
Though you think //shame// is the only word that ever rings in Alina's mind. Shame to be the weak link. And how can she ever hope to feel stronger?
Hitting down on the weaker.
Literally.
The bump she gives your shoulder as she relents her grip on you may seem friendly from afar, but there's too much force in her fist to be so. It stings faintly, but you stop yourself from rubbing. Instead you smile, but it's strained. "Hello, Alina."
You've learned early on that amiability doesn't work on Alina. It's akin chopping away at a steel wall with a toy wooden sword. But walls don't usually strike back.
She's not alone. She's rarely ever alone, having her gaggle of fellow bullies follow her everywhere. It's easier to corner someone in a pack, after all. Fellow squires and Lothian nobles' kids count among her group. They hang a few steps back, so that the hierachy of power may stay clear. Alina is the most vocal of them all, too. Others merely echo her. Some don't say a word your way, and if you ever meet them on their own, barely spare you a glance, either. But does it matter? They stand and watch anyway.
<div class="choice">[[You're friendly, but she's a lost cause. So you deal with her calmly but firmly.|Chapt3TournamentAlina1][$defiant to $defiant+3, $calm to $calm+2, $chapt3_alina to 1, $alina_attitude to "calm"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're friendly, but she's a lost cause, so you've learnt to reply with your own venom.|Chapt3TournamentAlina1][$defiant to $defiant+3, $chapt3_alina to 2, $alina_attitude to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You let her words slide off you, waiting for her to finish.|Chapt3TournamentAlina1][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_alina to 3, $calm to $calm+2, $alina_attitude to "ignore"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You make yourself small, waiting for her to finish.|Chapt3TournamentAlina1][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_alina to 4, $alina_attitude to "meek"]]</div>
<<elseif $attitude == "shy">>
It's like a sudden dagger to the back. A dagger with its blade coated in poison, that spreads through your veins, chill and sharp. You flinch, freezing as you were licking the grease off your fingers. You consider whether you should ignore the voice and attempt slipping through the crowd. But before you can act, the decision is made for you.
"Hey, didn't you hear me?" the voice demands, and you're roughly turned around when a hand grabs your shoulder. Facing a familiar and very much unwelcomed countenance.
A condescending grin is painted across the freckly vision, dark brown eyes pinned on you with malicious intent, twin arrows trained on you.
Alina Solomon.
The Solomon's are well-known and respected in Lothia, erected to royalty by grace of the magic that runs in the family. Sorcerers with an affinity for manipulating the weather. Summoning clouds as quickly as they can dispel them, bringing rain upon scorched land, holding lightning in the palm of their hands.
Not Alina, though.
She's the youngest of four. All three of her elder siblings are sorcerers, but the magic has forsaken her. The correct course of action then, to preserve her dignity, had been enrolling her as a squire.
The court whispers about her, too. You're not the only topic of interest, and you couldn't be. It //must// get tiring after a while, after all. But voices mollify when they speak of her. Lips shape into sad smiles around her name. They afford pity, compassion, sympathy. She's not a blight on Lothia. If she cannot serve the people through her magic, she'll do so by sword, and //isn't that worthy of admiration? Even if it's such a shame.//
Though you think //shame// is the only word that ever rings in Alina's mind. Shame to be the weak link. And how can she ever hope to feel stronger?
Hitting down on the weaker.
Literally.
The bump she gives your shoulder as she relents her grip on you may seem friendly from afar, but there's too much force in her fist to be so. It stings faintly and you rub at the spot. Instead you smile, but it's so wane it can hardly be called a smile. "Hello, Alina."
You've learned early on that amiability doesn't work on Alina. It's akin chopping away at a steel wall with a toy wooden sword. But walls don't usually strike back.
She's not alone. She's rarely ever alone, having her gaggle of fellow bullies follow her everywhere. It's easier to corner someone in a pack, after all. Fellow squires and Lothian nobles' kids count among her group. They hang a few steps back, so that the hierachy of power may stay clear. Alina is the most vocal of them all, too. Others merely echo her. Some don't say a word your way, and if you ever meet them on their own, barely spare you a glance, either. But does it matter? They stand and watch anyway.
<div class="choice">[[You're friendly, but she's a lost cause. So you deal with her calmly but firmly.|Chapt3TournamentAlina1][$defiant to $defiant+2, $calm to $calm+1, $chapt3_alina to 1, $alina_attitude to "calm"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're friendly, but she's a lost cause, so you've learnt to reply with your own venom.|Chapt3TournamentAlina1][$defiant to $defiant+3, $calm to $calm-1, $chapt3_alina to 2, $alina_attitude to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You let her words slide off you, waiting for her to finish.|Chapt3TournamentAlina1][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_alina to 3, $alina_attitude to "ignore"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You make yourself small, waiting for her to finish.|Chapt3TournamentAlina1][$defiant to $defiant-3, $chapt3_alina to 4, $alina_attitude to "meek"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_alina == 1>>
Her smile widens, sharp. "Hello, Mordred. I wanted to talk to you."
Your own taut smile is frozen on your lips. "I don't think there's anything to talk about. You should go on enjoying the fair."
<<if $attack == "fire">>
"Oh, but there is. Like that cute little fire show of yours. You know what I also enjoyed?" She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "The duel between Sir Lancelot and your father. He really does know how to take a beating, doesnt he?"
Anguish surges through you, wipping the smile off your face. You clench your fists and talk slowly, firmly. "Leave, Alina."
<<elseif $attack == "water">>
"Oh, but there is. Like that cute little water trick of yours. You know what I also enjoyed?" She steps closer. She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "The duel between Sir Lancelot and your father. He really does know how to take a beating, doesnt he?"
Anguish surges through you, wipping the smile off your face. You clench your fists and talk slowly, firmly. "Leave, Alina."
<<else>>
"I am enjoying it," she retorts. "You know what I also enjoyed?" She steps closer. She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "The duel between Sir Lancelot and your father. He really does know how to take a beating, doesnt he?"
Anguish surges through you, wipping the smile off your face. You clench your fists and talk slowly, firmly. "Leave, Alina."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 2>>
Her smile widens, sharp. "Hello, Mordred. I wanted to talk to you."
Your own smile takes on an edge. "I don't think there's anything to talk about. You should go on enjoying the fair. I'm really not in the mood for your stupid face."
<<if $attack == "fire">>
"Oh, but there is. Like that cute little fire show of yours."
"What, jealous you can't?"
Her smirk falters and she surges forward, looming so close you can feel her hot breath on your face. "You know what I also enjoyed?" A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "The duel between Sir Lancelot and your father. He really does know how to take a beating, doesn't he?"
Anguish surges through you, wipping the smile off your face. You clench your fists, palms itching. "Leave, Alina."
<<elseif $attack == "water">>
"Oh, but there is. Like that cute little water show of yours."
"What, jealous you can't?"
Her smirk falters and surges forward, looming so close you can feel her hot breath on your face. "You know what I also enjoyed?" A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "The duel between Sir Lancelot and your father. He really does know how to take a beating, doesn't he?"
Anguish surges through you, wipping the smile off your face. You clench your fists, palms itching. "Leave, Alina."
<<else>>
"I am enjoying it," she retorts. "You know what I also enjoyed?" She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "The duel between Sir Lancelot and your father. He really does know how to take a beating, doesn't he?"
Anguish surges through you, wipping the smile off your face. You clench your fists, palms itching. "Leave, Alina."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_alina == 3>>
Her smile widens, sharp. "Hello, Mordred. I wanted to talk to you."
You keep you tone even. "I don't think there's anything to talk about. You should go on enjoying the fair."
<<if $attack == "fire">>
"Oh, but I wanted to talk with you, Mordred." She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. "Cute little fire show you did."
You cross your arms, shoulders tensing. Your palms itch uncomfortably.
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you.
"Funny how both you and your mother can get away with attacking a Champion Knight."
<<elseif $attack == "water">>
"Oh, but I wanted to talk with you, Mordred." She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. "Cute little water trick you did."
You cross your arms, shoulders tensing. Your palms itch uncomfortably.
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you.
"Funny how both you and your mother can get away with attacking a Champion Knight."
<<else>>
"Oh, but I wanted to talk with you, Mordred." She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. "Nice show, that duel between Sir Lancelot and your father."
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "He really does know how to take a beating."
<</if>>
<<else>>
Her smile widens, sharp. "Hello, Mordred. I wanted to talk to you."
You keep your gaze on your boots. "I don't think there's anything to talk about. You should go on enjoying the fair."
<<if $attack == "fire">>
"Oh, but I wanted to talk with you, Mordred." She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. "Cute little fire show you did."
You cross your arms, shoulders tensing around your lowered head. Your palms itch uncomfortably.
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you.
"Funny how both you and your mother can get away with attacking a Champion Knight."
<<elseif $attack == "water">>
"Oh, but I wanted to talk with you, Mordred." She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. "Cute little water trick you did."
You cross your arms, shoulders tensing around your lowered head. Your palms itch uncomfortably.
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you.
"Funny how both you and your mother can get away with attacking a Champion Knight."
<<else>>
"Oh, but I wanted to talk with you, Mordred." She steps closer. Too close, hot breath on your cheek. "Nice show, that duel between Sir Lancelot and your father."
A girl shoots out from her gaggle of followers and tugs at her arm, murmuring her name urgently. Alina shakes her off, swatting the girl away without taking her eyes off of you. "He really does know how to take a beating."
<</if>>
<</if>>
[["\"What's going on here?\""|Chapt3ArthurBully]]<<if $chapt3_accolon_prophecy == "2">>
Accolon gives you an understanding, yet sad smile.
<</if>>
Accolon remains in his chambers to rest and you take your leave. Having the whole day to yourself, free of your squire duties, you decide to pay your dragon a visit, and stop by the festival on the way to get something sweet for the both of you. You're sure $dragon_name will appreciate the treat.
You pass through the entrance hall, now mostly deserted but for guards, all guests down at the tournament and servants scurrying out of sight, cleaning chambers and preparing for yet another feast. You climb down the hill, unhurried. It's rather pleasant, taking a leisure walk through the tournament you were rushing, dragging weapons and buckling armor just a few days ago - your muscles have only now begun to forget the sourness. The first trial has already started, and you can hear the distant sound of metal clashing and crowd roaring.
It's the last day of the tournament, so the number of participating knights has considerably decreased, as they failed trials, were injured beyond quick recovery, or, in exceptional cases, were disqualified for cheating. And so today the stalls of the tournament offering entertainment, food and souvenirs are a lot more crowded, bustling with knights and squires, guests and townsfolk, humans and dragons.
You let your gaze wonder over the rows of wood stalls, decorated with colorful banners and pastel writing on the wood advertising goods, which range from appetizing food to local knick knacks to Lothian clothes, but you're only interested in the sweets.
There's only one girl in front of you at the stall, luckily, and she seems to be on the verge of leaving, too, reaching into her pouch for coin. A waterfall of light brown curls pours down her back. The vendor hands her the sweets wrapped in paper and she quickly spins around, coming toan abrupt halt when her eyes fall on you.
<<if $eavesdrop == "no">>
You recognize her from the first day of the tournament, when her family was greeted by Lot - she's Isolde, the eldest daughter of the Duke of Astolat.
You never know what someone's reaction to you might be - will they antagonize you, simply ignore you or actually be civil?
<<if $attitude == "defiant">>
You're always ready to hold your ground for when things turn sour, and so you thrust your chin forward, awaiting her reaction. When the girl breaks into an affable smile, however, you relax.
"Hello, Mordred," she says pleasantly.
<<elseif $attitude == "meek">>
The best outcome is when they merely spare you attention, and so you bow your head, avoiding her gaze.
"Hello, Mordred," she says pleasantly, the tone enough for you to snap your gaze to her, startled, only to find an affable smile on her face.
<<elseif $attitude == "friendly">>
And you always try to veer reactions towards the friendlier side with a charming smile of your own, like the one you're now putting on. The girl breaks into a affable smile of her own.
"Hello, Mordred," she says pleasantly.
<<elseif $attitude == "shy">>
You always wish for the best, and smile feebly, hoping it's enough to show you mean no harm.
The girl breaks int a affable smile, which makes your own wider.
"Hello, Mordred," she says pleasantly.
<</if>>
<<else>>
It's Isolde.
You never know what someone's reaction to you might be - will they antagonize you, simply ignore you or actually be civil? She seemed kindly-inclined towards you last night.
<<if $attitude == "defiant">>
But you're always ready to hold your ground for when things turn sour, and so you thrust your chin forward, awaiting her reaction. When the girl breaks into an affable smile, however, you relax.
"Hello, Mordred," she says pleasantly.
<<elseif $attitude == "meek">>
The best outcome is when they merely spare you attention, and so you bow your head, avoiding her gaze.
"Hello, Mordred," she says pleasantly, the tone enough for you to snap your gaze to her, startled, only to find an affable smile on her face.
<<elseif $attitude == "friendly">>
And you always try to veer reactions towards the friendlier side with a charming smile of your own, like the one you're now putting on. The girl breaks into a affable smile of her own.
"Hello, Mordred," she says pleasantly.
<<elseif $attitude == "shy">>
You always wish for the best, and smile feebly, hoping it's enough to show you mean no harm.
The girl breaks into a affable smile, which makes your own wider.
"Hello, Mordred," she says pleasantly.
<</if>>
<</if>>
The girl's face is heart-shaped, with big, guileless eyes and a small upturned. Everything about her features is soft, an harmony between the sweetness of her face and the kindness welling in her eyes. She's wearing an Astolatian, summer-sky blue dress, with a firm-looking bodice, sleeves puffy around the shoulders and hugging the arm. The ample skirt that almost grazes the ground looks as crisp as canvas.
She nods at you again, her smile crinkling the corners of her brown eyes, before getting out of the way. You go about your intended goal to get both yourself and your dragon some sweets, but just as you reach for the coins, a voice pipes in smoothly, "I'll pay." You watch in wonder as Isolde hands the vendor the gold, turns to you with a beam and inclines her head, inviting you to walk with her.
<div class="choice">[["Thank you so much!" You grin at her.|Chapt3TournamentIsolde][$chapt3_isolde to "1", $friendly to $friendly+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I really can't accept it," you insist, flushing.|Chapt3TournamentIsolde][$chapt3_isolde to "2", $affable to $affable+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why did you do it?" you asks, suspicious.|Chapt3TournamentIsolde][$chapt3_isolde to "3", $impulsive to $impulsive-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say bashfully.|Chapt3TournamentIsolde][$chapt3_isolde to "4", $confident to $confident-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Very generous of you," you smile.|Chapt3TournamentIsolde][$chapt3_isolde to "5", $friendly to $friendly+2]]</div><<if $chapt3_anger == "1">>
It wants to raise, like a high, furious wave, but you push it down, pressing hands down to stop the anger from gushing like water from a hole in the hull.
<<elseif $chapt3_anger == "2">>
Your hands clench into fists, your teeth grinding as you let anger raise like a high, furious wave. "The nerve on him!" you spit out a little too loudly. Accolon puts a hand on your shoulder in order to calm you down.
<<elseif $chapt3_anger == "3">>
You're not looking for trouble, and you'd appreciate it if he isn't, either. "Of course I'll stay away," you say calmly. "But he should do the same."
<<elseif $chapt3_anger == "4">>
You look up at Accolon with imploring eyes. "But I just wish he'd see I'm not like that." Your voice is quiet, rueful. "I'm not evil! I just want friends."
The man's expression mollifies and he pulls you into him with one arm, kissing the top of your head. "I know, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt3_anger == "5">>
Does he really think you're giving up on this so easily? Galahad has a wrong impression of you, and you'll correct it. "Stay away?" you repeat, scoffing. "No!" Your eyes widen with determination. "I'm going to change his opinion on me!"
The man looks taken aback by the display of confidence. "Oh Mordred. Just..." He considers you, admiringly yet uncertain. "Be careful."
<<elseif $chapt3_anger == "6">>
You nod gloomily. Oh well, what's different? Accolon notices your dejection, and puts a comforting arm around you.
<<elseif $chapt3_anger == "7">>
You cross your arms determined, defiance bubbling in you, hot and fiery. "Oh no. I'm not afraid of him. I'm not letting him step all over me."
Accolon looks concerned. "Just be careful, Mordred."
"Always am," you retort, thrusting forward your chin.
<<elseif $chapt3_anger == "8">>
"I am." You thrust your chin forward. "I just want to show him what I'm really like."
Accolon smiles, shaking his head.
<<elseif $chapt3_anger == "9">>
"I don't need to be careful, I just need to win him over," you confidently declare.
Accolon looks at you admiringly yet warriness seeps into his expression.
<</if>>
You redirect your attention back to the tournament, as the next trial is about to begin. You and Accolon keep remarking on the knights' performances, and the man also provides you with anecdotes of the knights and other tournaments he attended. When the second trial ends, you decide to make your way back to the castle, so that Accolon can rest again.
[[Continue|AccolonRoom]]<<if $chapt3_isolde == "1">>
"Thank you so much!" You grin at her excitedly, not quite believing her generosity. "It's not all just for me, though. It's for my dragon, too."
"You're welcome. And that's very nice of you, to bring your dragon some sweets."
<<elseif $chapt3_isolde == "2">>
"I really can't accept it," you insist, a flush of embarrassment creeping on your cheeks. "It's not just for me either. It's for my dragon, too."
"Then I'm happy to treat both of you."
<<elseif $chapt3_isolde == "3">>
Could there be a hidden motive? "Why did you do it?" you ask cautiously.
"I wanted to treat you," she says kindly.
<<elseif $chapt3_isolde == "4">>
"Thank you," you say bashfully, smiling. "It's not all just for me, though. It's for my dragon, too."
"You're welcome. And that's very nice of you, to bring your dragon some sweets."
<<elseif $chapt3_isolde == "5">>
"Very generous of you," you say amusedly, smiling.
The girl smiles back.
<</if>>
You make your way through the crowd, not quite sure where you're headed, following the girl.
"How's Sir Accolon?" She asks, a shadow of concern in her tone.
<div class="choice">[["Feeling better," you reply curtly.|Chapt3TournamentIsolde1][$chapt3_isolde1 to "1", $affable to $affable-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Feeling better," you say evenly.|Chapt3TournamentIsolde1][$chapt3_isolde1 to "2", $affable to $affable+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Feeling better," you smile.|Chapt3TournamentIsolde1][$chapt3_isolde1 to "3", $affable to $affable+2]]</div><<if $chapt3_isolde1 == "1">>
The girl seems surprised by your terse response, but smiles nonetheless.
<</if>>
"I'm glad.' And she genuinely seems so.
"Are you enjoying yourself at the tournament?" you ask.
"Yes! Though I must say, I'm not quite so interested in the trials. I think the festival," she sweeps a hand over the stalls around you, "and the feast are fun. My sister on the other hand loves all the fighting and jousting and dragon racing. Especially the dragon racing." She shakes her head with a smile. "You're a knight to be, you should be excited about all this."
<div class="choice">[["\"I am.\""|Chapt3Isolde2][$chapt3_isolde2 to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Not really, it's just my duty.\""|Chapt3Isolde2][$chapt3_isolde2 to "2"]]</div>The tournament has concluded, but the festivities are in full swing. The clash of metal on metal has been replaced with the merry tune of music. Now competitors and audience mingle, both partaking in all that the fair has to offer. And like the dinner table of a monarch, it presents a vast assortment of choice entertaitment.
You've seen the fair yesterday, but it was nothing compared to now. There are far more performers, stages and booths filling the open plains around the Castle. Humans juggling colorful balls, dragons juggling fiery ones. Bards with flutes or lutes, tapping their feet along to their own song. Strolling players on elevated platforms acting out comedic plays, where the characters' physical mishap draws the laughter of the audience. The actors stumble over their own feet and brandish ridiculously big wooden swords, each movement intentionally overexaggerated, as are their flashy clothes and lurid makeup.
The winners of the tournament, knights and dragons alike, parade about displaying their victories. Necks stacked with layers of medals, the gold clinking proudly with every step they take. Puffing out their chests to better blind you when the sun catches in them. Others have less medals to show, but walk around no less happy. And even those with none at all can't keep a smile long off their faces, not when there's so much to do.
There's so much to do, indeed, that people spare you no second glances.
It's of note to remark that it's significantly more crowded than yesterday, too. As soon as you arrived you got swept up in the stream of people, swimming along with the current, taking in the wonders along with them. It also makes it hard to find someone in this hubbub.
<<if $Gawain >= 55>>
Before going off to bed last night, Gawain promised he'd find you at the fair. It feels like a veritable quest as you look on around you.
<<else>>
You promised $dragon_name you'd find each other. Which, no matter how large the crowd, should be an easy feat with your shared bond.
<</if>>
But you don't make haste. It's still morning, the sun shinning brightly yet gently, and you want to enjoy today's festivities.
And most of all, you want something to eat.
You've forsaken breakfast entirely but for a buttered slice of bread. You didn't want to mar your appetite, leaving plenty space for the delicacies found here. You direct your steps towards the billowing steam, rising over the booth's roofs like a beacon over a dark sea, letting the waft of roast and frying oil guide you to the food.
There's not a food booth without a queue, but you don't settle anywhere yet, even as your stomach protests with a painful twist and your mouth waters. You circle around, considering your options. If the fair is abuzz, then behind the booths, tempers run as high as the temperature.
Fronting the stalls, servers take orders and echo them to the back, to the cooks. Their hands work tirelessly, turning meats from side to side over the fire, kneading dough, reaching for cloths to dab at the sweat on their foreheads.
There's plenty to choose from - bread spread with roasted eggplant, blended into a paste with oil and lemon juice, which adds a pleasant, sharp freshness; steaming bowls of vegetable soup, warm and filling; deep fried cheese with crispy crusts and an interior that melts lavishly on your tongue. For now, you decide on a serving of cheese pastries - dough that has been flattened into a thin circle and boiled in heaps of oil, filled with a layer of cheese and aromatic herbs - and align yourself to the queue.
[[Continue|Chapt3TournamentParty1]]As you wait in line, you let your gaze roam about, over the people dressed in so many different styles. Camelot may be unified under the same banner, same ruler, same tongue, but the fashion varies strickingly as you move across the map. You make a guessing game out of trying to match the attires to the Duchy, though it's quite a challenge when it overlaps for neighboring lands.
A gold-threaded dress with the waistline brought all the way up under the breasts - Astolat. Or Corbenic.
A crimson jerkin and trousers inflated about the thighs - Cornwallis. //Or Corbenic again.//
It distracts you from the hungry grumbling of your stomach.
"...Lady Morgana." And it distracted you from the clamour of voices too, fragments of conversation that buzzed around you, until the mention of your mother's name pulls you out of your focused examination, senses honing in acutely.
"She did it, didn't she?" the voice goes on, spirited, right behind you. Waiting in line. "You don't believe all that spoilt food horseshit, do you?" The person snorts to punctuate just how ludicrous the notion is.
You peek over your shoulder, movements slow as to not draw attention upon yourself. The man wears a plum jerkin over a white, puffy-sleeved shirt, which makes it hard for you to pin him on a map. Jerkins are awfully popular. As are doublets like his companion's fern green one. He shakes his head at his speaking friend, and when he stops, his gaze falls ahead instead of his friend. On you. Eyes widening in alarm.
The other man remains unaware. "Are they going to just let her get-" Lord Green Doublet pulls at his shirt's sleeve, hard, but the man is more concerned about his clothes than anything else, trying to swat his hand away. But Green Doublet doesn't relent, indicating to you with an utterly unsubtle tilt of his head.
Plum Jerkin finally looks, but there's no glimmer of recognition in his eyes. Just confusion, plain and clear. "It's a child."
<<if $attitude == "defiant">>
You turn towards them, revealing yourself fully and raise your chin. Perhaps your features may help spark a light, may help make the connection.
No such thing - or need, as his friend helpfuly supplies your name, mumbled in his ear.
"The //bastard// child?"
You put your hands on your hips, grinning. "The one and only." //They can't hurt you with it if you wear it proudly.//
Green Doublet tugs again at his friend's sleeve, this time attempting to pull him away. "I think we should go."
It takes a few good tugs and indignant mentions of the shirts quality to make Plum Jerkin leave. And even as he follows his friend, you hear his loud protests about wanting pastries and being allowed to conspire about shady women poisoning people.
The line advances without any other happenings, but the small commotion has brought eyes upon yourself. And you meet them all with your head held high.
<<elseif $attitude == "meek">>
You snap your head back forward, gaze fixed on the ground, your pulse quickening. Shoulders hunching as if you still have any chance of hiding yourself now.
"Anyway," Plum Jerkin sighs, letting slide the awkwardness of the moment. "As I was saying-"
But Green Doublet cuts him right off. "What kind of cheese do you fancy? They've got different types. And you can ask for herbs too."
As the line advances, he keeps the conversation from swaying back to Morgana or poisonings, but your shoulders don't relax until you receive your food and you sprint off, weaving through the crowd.
<<elseif $attitude == "friendly">>
You offer them both a smile and a small nod. Green Doublet mirrors it, warily, while Plum Jerkin continues to consider you, befuddled. You turn to face forward again.
"Anyway," Plum Jerkin sighs, letting slide the oddity of the moment. "As I was saying-"
But Green Doublet cuts him right off. "What kind of cheese do you fancy? They've got different types. And you can ask for herbs too."
As the line advances, he keeps the conversation from swaying back to Morgana or poisonings.
<<elseif $attitude == "shy">>
You lower your gaze to the ground, shooting them a wane smile before turning to look ahead. Shifting nervously from foot to foot.
"Anyway," Plum Jerkin sighs, letting slide the oddity of the moment. "As I was saying-"
But Green Doublet cuts him right off. "What kind of cheese do you fancy? They've got different types. And you can ask for herbs too."
As the line advances, he keeps the conversation from swaying back to Morgana or poisonings.
<</if>>
There are rows of long, wooden benches arranged in the bustling food area, but you decide to keep on walking around aimlessly. The dough is slightly crispy on the surface, where it darkened, but as you chew, it's fluffy and tender, the cheese creamy as it melts on your tongue.
You're munching on your last bites of cheese pastry as you stop at the periphery of a group circling a flute player. The musician, dressed in yellow, moves like a sunflower in a gale, as if the very music she produces has possesed her body.
[["Well."|Chapt3TournamentAlina]]<<if $chapt3_sweets == "bread">>
Accolon orders sweet bread for the both of you, and you bite into it with relish. The sweet flavor of the fruits, paired with the richness of the rum, invades your mouth and you let out a contented sigh.
<<elseif $chapt3_sweets == "apple">>
Accolon orders apple pie for the both of you. You devour it quickly, and lick the sweet stickiness off your fingers, not wasting one delicious crumb.
<<elseif $chapt3_sweets == "toffee">>
Accolon orders toffee for the both of you. The sweet and salty treat melts in your mouth.
<</if>>
You head towards the stadium, guided by the clamor of combat. As you make your way through the crowd, a thought crosses your mind, and you decide to give it voice.
"Aren't you...aren't you angry at Lancelot for what he did to you?"
You've never seen Accolon angry. He's always poised and calm and gentle, never raising his voice or hand or acting on the whim of impulse. The opposite of Morgana, who even calm is like a storm brewing on the horizon.
Accolon's hazel gaze is cast in thoughtful shadow. "I'm sad more than vexed that through his actions, Lancelot was trying to threaten you, to punish you for doing something no one should condemn you for, and that is talking to the man who sired you." He turns his gloomy eyes on you. "I'm upset because I know it hurt you."
"Hurt me? You're the one who was lying bleeding in the ring!" you counter, the memory flaring up your anger.
"And so he hurt us both. Physical wounds and emotional ones both leave scars."
You heave out a heavy breath, brow furrowing. "Mother was furious. And so was I."
"Yes, I know Morgana…," he carefully chooses his words, "also acted out on this fury."
You shake your head. "You and mother are so…so different." You tilt your head, puzzled. The next question comes out quiet, soft, inquisitive. "Why do you love her?"
A loving smile settles on the man's lips, reaching his eyes and casting away all the shadows from them. In the sun, their green stands out, vibrant like summer leaves.
"When Morgana came to Lothia, I was still a squire..."
You know this story, of how Morgana and Accolon met. You remember through hazy memories, an evening cast in the golden light of the candles, in your home in Avalon. You were cuddled with Accolon on the lounge, after a long day of playing knight and sparring with your wooden swords. Morgana, nestled in her armchair, sketch book in her lap, would lovingly gaze at you from time to time, a fond smile on her lips that brightened her whole face. The soft scratching of charcoal on paper paired with the distant crash of waves was like a soothing lullaby.
"And she was Lot's bride to be. She looked timid and lost, which was to be expected." He sighs. "I had already heard the rumors. That Uther forced her into this marriage, like he did her mother. But slowly, she started spending times with us, the young knights and squires and healers." His tone takes on a merrier note." She was different around us, bolder, playful. There was a fire in her eyes, a stark contrast to the mellow facade, which you could glimpse when she let her guard down. And I wanted to know that girl." Accolon meets your gaze. "Your mother does everything with passion. She loves and loathes with passion. And I suppose I am the opposite, like calm waters, trying to soothe her."
You let the words hang between you as you climb up the crowded stadium. You find a place to sit on the skirt of the highest bench. It's got a great vantage point for the ring and spectators, and even a peek into the bustling pavilion where the knights get ready; but they all look rather like your toy figurines from this distance.
Opposite the ring, you can see Morgana in her seat between the glum Lot and the distressed Arthur. They've been like this throughout the whole tournament. You pity poor Gareth, forced to sit with them, looking rather miserable.
Accolon nudges you with his leg, pointing towards the ring, "There's Sir Kay."
The first trial has yet to end, but it seems like a victor will soon be declared, only two knights left fighting, one of which is Gawain's father.
"He's a very skilled sword fighter," Accolon remarks admirably. "See the way he parries?"
"Do you think he'll win?" His competitor looks tired, each strike less and less powerful.
He nods firmly.
<<if $Gawain >= 58>>
"You and Kay's son seem to be rather good friends," Accolon cheerfully starts.
<<if $Gawain_friend >= 4>>
<div class="choice">[["He's really fun to be around! And he genuinely wants to be my friend."|Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk][$chapt3_cheer to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He's nice." You smile to yourself, happy to have made a friend.|Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk][$chapt3_cheer to "2"]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush >= 2>><div class="choice">[["Yes...a very good friend..." you say, visibly flustered. ❤ |Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk1][$chapt3_cheer to "3", $told_accolon to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_crush >= 2>><div class="choice">[["But I want to be more than friends!" you admit. ❤ |Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk1][$chapt3_cheer to "4", $told_accolon to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_oblivious >= 1>><div class="choice">[["Yes, he's really fun!" The mention of Gawain makes your stomach twist oddly. It's not necessarily unpleasant...💕|Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk2][$chapt3_cheer to "7", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<<elseif $Gawain_ally >= 4>>
<div class="choice">[["I'm just being nice to him." You shrug.|Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk][$chapt3_cheer to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I started out talking with him just out of courtesy, but he's actually good company." You smile.|Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk][$chapt3_cheer to "6", $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+1]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'm just being nice to him." You shrug.|Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk][$chapt3_cheer to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I started out talking him just out of courtesy, but he's actually good company." You smile.|Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk][$chapt3_cheer to "6", $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He's really fun to be around! And he genuinely wants to be my friend."|Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk][$chapt3_cheer to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He's nice." You smile to yourself, happy to have made a friend.|Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk][$chapt3_cheer to "2"]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush >= 2>><div class="choice">[["Yes...a very good friend..." you say, visibly flustered. ❤ |Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk1][$chapt3_cheer to "3", $told_accolon_gawain to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_crush >= 2>><div class="choice">[["But I want to be more than friends!" you admit. ❤ |Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk1][$chapt3_cheer to "4", $told_accolon_gawain to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_oblivious >= 1>><div class="choice">[["Yes, he's really fun!" The mention of Gawain makes your stomach twist oddly. It's not necessarily unpleasant...💕|Chapt3AccolonGawainTalk2][$chapt3_cheer to "7", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<</if>>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt3Anger1]]
<</if>><<if $trial == "race">>
"I'm most excited for the dragons' racing."
<<if $dragon_name == "friendly">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to watch the obstacle course - as it's also one of their favorite part of training. They say it feels like a game, fun, thrilling and challenging.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "bold">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the target practice. They say they like it because it takes skill and precision. They love practising it as well; every hit that lands true brings them a wave of satisfaction anew.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "shy">>
It's also the one $dragon_name is most looking forward to watch. It's their favorite part of training, too; they say they love the rush of wind against their scales, the way everything blurs around you.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "fierce">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the dragon one-on-one combat. They say it gives one the chance to test their strength and agility - and also the opportunity to learn more about yourself and your opponent. It is, unsurprisingly, their favorite part of squire training.
<</if>>
"Oh!" Gawain perks up. "Me too. Though I also quite love the combat trials. No, no, I think the obstacle course is even better! Or..."
He scrunches up his face, mulling on his answer and changing it three times before he settles on a tie between the first and the last.
<<elseif $trial == "sword">>
"I'm most excited for the sword-fighting."
<<if $dragon_name == "friendly">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to watch the obstacle course - as it's also one of their favorite part of training. They say it feels like a game, fun, thrilling and challenging.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "bold">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the target practice. They say they like it because it takes skill and precision. They love practising it as well; every hit that lands true brings them a wave of satisfaction anew.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "shy">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the dragons' racing. It's their favorite part of training, too; they say they love the rush of wind against their scales, the way everything blurs around you.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "fierce">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the dragon one-on-one combat. They say it gives one the chance to test their strength and agility - and also the opportunity to learn more about yourself and your opponent. It is, unsurprisingly, their favorite part of squire training.
<</if>>
"Oh!" Gawain perks up. "Me too. Though I also quite love the other combat trials. No, no, I think the obstacle course is even better! Or..."
He scrunches up his face, mulling on his answer and changing it three times before he settles on a tie between the first and the last.
<<elseif $trial == "jousting">>
"I'm most excited for the jousting."
<<if $dragon_name == "friendly">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to watch the obstacle course - as it's also one of their favorite part of training. They say it feels like a game, fun, thrilling and challenging.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "bold">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the target practice. They say they like it because it takes skill and precision. They love practising it as well; every hit that lands true brings them a wave of satisfaction anew.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "shy">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the dragons' racing. It's their favorite part of training, too; they say they love the rush of wind against their scales, the way everything blurs around you.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "fierce">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the dragon one-on-one combat. They say it gives one the chance to test their strength and agility - and also the opportunity to learn more about yourself and your opponent. It is, unsurprisingly, their favorite part of squire training.
<</if>>
"Oh!" Gawain perks up. "Me too. Though I also quite love the combat trials. No, no, I think the obstacle course is even better! Or..."
He scrunches up his face, mulling on his answer and changing it three times before he settles on a tie between the first and the last.
<<elseif $trial == "archery">>
"I'm most excited for the target practice."
"Oh!" Gawain perks up. "Me too. Though I also quite love the combat trials. No, no, I think the obstacle course is even better! Or..."
He scrunches up his face, mulling on his answer and changing it three times before he settles on a tie between the first and the last.
<<elseif $trial == "dragoncombat">>
"I'm most excited for the dragon combat."
<<if $dragon_name == "friendly">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to watch the obstacle course - as it's also one of their favorite part of training. They say it feels like a game, fun, thrilling and challenging.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "bold">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the target practice. They say they like it because it takes skill and precision. They love practising it as well; every hit that lands true brings them a wave of satisfaction anew.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "shy">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the dragons' racing. It's their favorite part of training, too; they say they love the rush of wind against their scales, the way everything blurs around you.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "fierce">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the dragon one-on-one combat. They say it gives one the chance to test their strength and agility - and also the opportunity to learn more about yourself and your opponent. It is, unsurprisingly, their favorite part of squire training.
<</if>>
"Oh!" Gawain perks up. "Me too. For both the dragon and human combat. No, no, I think the obstacle course is even better! Or..."
He scrunches up his face, mulling on his answer and changing it three times before he settles on a tie between the first and the last.
<<elseif $trial == "combat">>
"I'm most excited for the human combat."
<<if $dragon_name == "friendly">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to watch the obstacle course - as it's also one of their favorite part of training. They say it feels like a game, fun, thrilling and challenging.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "bold">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the target practice. They say they like it because it takes skill and precision. They love practising it as well; every hit that lands true brings them a wave of satisfaction anew.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "shy">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the dragons' racing. It's their favorite part of training, too; they say they love the rush of wind against their scales, the way everything blurs around you.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "fierce">>
It's also the trial $dragon_name is most looking forward to. They say it gives one the chance to test their strength and agility - and also the opportunity to learn more about yourself and your opponent. It is, unsurprisingly, their favorite part of squire training.
<</if>>
"Oh!" Gawain perks up. "Me too. For both the dragon and human combat. No, no, I think the obstacle course is even better! Or..."
He scrunches up his face, mulling on his answer and changing it three times before he settles on a tie between the first and the last.
<<elseif $trial == "course">>
"I'm most excited for the obstacle course."
<<if $dragon_name == "friendly">>
It's also the one $dragon_name is most looking forward to watch - as it's also one of their favorite part of training. They say it feels like a game, fun, thrilling and challenging.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "bold">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the target practice. They say they like it because it takes skill and precision. They love practising it as well; every hit that lands true brings them a wave of satisfaction anew.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "shy">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the dragons' racing. It's their favorite part of training, too; they say they love the rush of wind against their scales, the way everything blurs around you.
<<elseif $dragon_name == "fierce">>
$dragon_name is most looking forward to the dragon one-on-one combat. They say it gives one the chance to test their strength and agility - and also the opportunity to learn more about yourself and your opponent. It is, unsurprisingly, their favorite part of squire training.
<</if>>
"Oh!" Gawain perks up. "Me too. That one will be so fun. But I'm also excited for both the dragon and human combat. No, no, I think the dragons' racing will be even better! Or..."
He scrunches up his face, mulling on his answer and changing it three times before he settles on a tie between the first and the last.
<</if>>>>
"There's this tradition that Arthur himself signs up for a trial at a tournament, but doesn't say which." Gawain explains, licking sugar off his fingers from the cake he's eating. He continues to chat about which trials his father signed up for, then gets distracted by the dancing and music, drumming his fingers on the table and swaying. He turns to you, beaming, "I know how to play the lute." The admission is sudden, but it seems to be something that makes him really proud.
<div class="choice">[["That's amazing!" you encourage him.|Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_lute to "1", $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Will you play for me later?" you ask friendly.|Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_lute to "2", $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Will you play for me later?" You smile sweetly, wanting to spend more time with him. You like him more than a friend. ❤ |Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_lute to "3", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Will you play for me later?" You smile bashfully. ❤ |Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_lute to "4", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Will you play for me later?" 💕 |Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_lute to "9", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I know how to play too! We could duet," you suggest friendly.|Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_lute to "5", $lute to "yes", $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1, $told_lute to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know how to play too! We could duet," you suggest, wanting to spend more time with him. You like him more than a friend. ❤ |Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_lute to "6", $lute to "yes", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1, $told_lute to true]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["I know how to play too! We could duet," 💕 |Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_lute to "10", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $lute to "yes", $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1, $told_lute to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["That's nice," you say politely.|Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_lute to "7", $Gawain_ally to $Gawain_ally+1, $affable to $affable+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Why should I care?\""|Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain-5, $chapt3_lute to "8", $affable to $affable-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["That's nice," you say politely. You too play the lute but see no reason to share the fact.|Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_lute to "7", $Gawain_ally to $Gawain_ally+1, $affable to $affable+1, $lute to "yes", $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why should I care?" You too play the lute but see no reason to share the fact.|Chapt3Music][$Gawain to $Gawain-5, $chapt3_lute to "8", $affable to $affable-1, $lute to "yes", $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1]]</div><<silently>>
<<set $met_galahad to true>>
<</silently>>
<<if $chapt3_trick_add == 5>>
You play with the hem of your shirt, shaking your head as you eye the people around warily. Gawain follows your gaze, "Is anything wrong?"
"There's too many people," you whisper.
He nods, trying to understand why that's a problem. "Then you can show me later when it's just the two of us."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 6>>
"I'd rather not," you say coolly.
Gawain looks wounded, like a kicked puppy.
"Please! Why are you so mean?"
"Mean?" You raise your brow. "You approached me which was rude."
"I just wanted to talk," he protests.
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 7>>
"I'd rather not," you gently refuse.
"Oh." Gawain looks disappointed, but quickly perks up. "Another time."
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 8>>
You clench your fists. "What am I, a fair performer?" you snap. "Go ask them for tricks!"
Gawain looks like a kicked puppy. "Why are you so mean?"
<</if>>
"What's happening?" a voice calls out, and both you and Gawain turn around.
A boy a head taller than Gawain, who is rather short for his age, stands at the edge of the pavilion, cautiously glancing between the two of you. He is lean, with a tan complexion and golden blonde hair. But the most striking feature are his eyes, a cool gray that shines violet.
<<if $magictrick == "yes">>
He eyes you with an unreadable face, but Gawain steps forward to make the introductions. "Galahad, this is Mordred! ?They showed me a magic trick!"
<<else>>
He eyes you with an unreadable face, but Gawain steps forward to make the introductions. "Galahad, this is Mordred!"
<</if>>
Galahad. You know the name. Standing before you is Lancelot's son.
Morgana's talked about Lancelot with the same disdain she talks about Arthur, but hasn't told you much of his son - except that, as his father, he must loathe you.
Galahad's gray eyes fix you with a gaze so intense it overwhelms you. It's like an arrow through you, but you're more used to his reaction that Gawain's.
He offers no salute, staring at you.
<div class="choice">[[You smile genuinely at him. "Hello! It's nice to meet you."|Chapter3.4][$chapt3_salute to "1", $affable to $affable+3, $honest to $honest+3, $Galahad to $Galahad+2, $Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+1, $persuasion to $persuasion+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You put on your most charming smile, set to win him over. "Hello! It's nice to meet you."|Chapter3.4][$chapt3_salute to "2", $affable to $affable+3, $confident to $confident+2, $Galahad_ally to $Galahad_ally+1, $persuasion to $persuasion+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You put on a fake smile.|Chapter3.4][$chapt3_salute to "3", $honest to $honest-3, $Galahad_ally to $Galahad_ally+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile shyly.|Chapter3.4][$chapt3_salute to "4", $confident to $confident-3, $Galahad to $Galahad+2, $Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You put on a sardonic smile. "So impressed by me you are at a loss of words?"|Chapter3.4][$chapt3_salute to "5", $confident to $confident+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Look away from his gaze.|Chapter3.4][$chapt3_salute to "6", $confident to $confident-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What are you staring at?" you shout.|Chapter3.4][$chapt3_salute to "7", $calm to $calm-3, $intimidation to $intimidation+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Stop staring or I'll gouge out your eyes," you threaten.|Chapter3.4][$chapt3_salute to "8", $affable to $affable-3, $intimidation to $intimidation+2, $Galahad to $Galahad-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze confidently.|Chapter3.4][$chapt3_salute to "9", $confident to $confident+3, $intimidation to $intimidation+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, bored.|Chapter3.4][$chapt3_salute to "10", $calm to $calm+3, $intimidation to $intimidation+2]]</div><<if $chapt3_trick_add == 1>>
"Sure!" You smile. He's been friendly with you, and you'd like to be friends.
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 2>>
"Happy to oblige!" You smile. This is a good opportunity to charm him and get an ally.
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 3>>
"Sure!" You smile. He's cute. You like him and you'd really like him to like you.
<<elseif $chapt3_trick_add == 4>>
"Sure, I'll show you something really awesome." This is an opportunity to show what a powerful sorcerer you are!
<</if>>
You consider what trick would impress him the most, something simple that won't attract much attention, like Accolon warned, or something standoffish? It'd make an impression on more than just Gawain.
<div class="choice">[[Screw caution! You'll make it impressive.|ImpressiveTrick][$impulsive to $impulsive+3, $trick to "dramatic", $Gawain to $Gawain+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'll make something simple.|SimpleTrick][$impulsive to $impulsive-3, $trick to "simple"]]</div><<silently>>
<<set $met_galahad to true>>
<</silently>>
With a small impish smile, you reach out your hand and send a small burst of fire out of your hand, which catches the hem of Gawain's cloak. The boy screams and fumbles with the cords, unwrapping it and stepping on it to stop the fire. You laugh as he does, and once the small fire is put out, he looks at you with a betrayed look.
"What's happening?" A voice calls out, and both you and Gawain turn around.
A boy a head taller than Gawain, who is rather short for his age, stands at the edge of the pavilion with a cautious look, glancing between the boy and you. He is lean, with a tan complexion and golden blonde hair. But the most striking feature are his eyes, a cool gray that shines violet.
He sees Gawain's cloak on the ground, singed at the hem, and glares at you.
"Mordred tried to burn me!" Gawain shouts, pointing to you. He seems on the verge of tears.
He steps toward you. "Hurt Gawain again, and I'll see if you fight so well with a sword."
The fire in his eyes is as fiery as the one waiting at the tips of your fingers.
"Galahad, please. Let's go." Gawain has put on his cloak and is tugging the boy away from you. "Let's take the weapons and go."
Galahad. You know the name. Lancelot's son.
Morgana's talked about Lancelot with the same disdain she talks about Arthur, but hasn't told you much of his son- except that, as his father, he must loathe you.
Galahad's gray eyes fix you, with such an intense gaze it overwhelms you. His gaze is like an arrow through you, but you're more used to his reaction that Gawain's.
Galahad relents, and as they leave, you can hear him hiss, "I told you to stay away from Mordred!"
You hear the clang of metal, and the blacksmith calls out to you. You take your weapons and head back to the castle. You're just leaving after returning Accolon's bag, when you run into Morgana.
"Mordred!" She greets you with a smile, face flooded with relief.
Ever since you arrived in Lothia, Morgana's attire has become white linen dresses with colorful brodery sown into the hem, neckline and sleeves.
<<if $hair_type == "wavy" or $hair_type == "straight">>
However, she's kept her $hair hair as always, reaching her mid back in lush tresses.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
However, she's kept her $hair hair as always, reaching her mid back in lavish curls.
<<else>>
However, she's kept her $hair hair as always, reaching her shoulders in cloudlike coils.
<</if>>
<<include Chapter3.5>><<if $chapt3_discuss == "1">>
Your blood boils as you remember how he battered Accolon with relentless, angry strikes. "He deserved it!" you say ferociously. "And if he attacked, I could have defended myself."
"If he attacked, I would have got to him before you could," Morgana says, clenching her fist. "I won't allow him to hurt you."
<<elseif $chapt3_discuss == "2">>
You realize it was a rash decision, but you couldn't let Lancelot walk away unpunished, not after what he did to Accolon. You didn't stop to think of the consequences, but now their burden hits you. "It was impulsive of me." This is what Lancelot wants, to show people how dangerous you are.
"It was, but I can't blame you."
<<elseif $chapt3_discuss == "3">>
Good. He shouldn't underestimate you, or else he'll regret it. "As he should," you say, grinning.
Morgana smirks.
<<elseif $chapt3_discuss == "4">>
You shake your head, feeling the anguish pour over you again. "I was so hurt. I just couldn't control myself."
Morgana gives you a sympathetic smile.
<</if>>
She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms and tilting her head back, her gaze roaming over the dried herbs hung from the ceiling beams. Though you doubt she's seeking a particular plant, but rather a memory. "When I saw you attacking Lancelot, it reminded me of a particular event that I'm sure the knight lists as one of the reasons he hates me." A mirthless chuckle escapes her.
[[Continue|Chapt3AttackLance]]<<if $chapt3_warn == "1">>
You cross your arms, defiantly meeting his gaze. "Or what?"
He arches an eyebrow. "Or I'll show him your true colors." And with that ominous line, he leaves you.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "2">>
You pull at your sleeve, looking away. "I just want to be friends," you mutter.
"Gawain doesn't need friends like you," Galahad retorts before stalking off.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "3">>
You pull at your sleeve, heat rushing to your cheeks. "I just want to be friends," you mutter.
"Gawain doesn't need friends like you," Galahad retorts before stalking off.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "4">>
You put your hands on your hips, heat rushing to your cheeks. "I just want to be friends."
"Gawain doesn't need friends like you," Galahad retorts before stalking off.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "5">>
You put your hands on your hips. "I just want to be friends."
"Gawain doesn't need friends like you," Galahad retorts before stalking off.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "6">>
You cross your arms. "Why don't you try to be nicer like Gawain?" you nicely propose.
"I care about Gawain, but I'm not as naive as him to be friendly to someone like you." And with that ominous line, he leaves you.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "7">>
You stare at the boy's eyes, his words unheard as you lose yourself in twin pools of silver violet. You think it was something vaguely threatening. You haven't noticed before, but the flame of his enmity makes his eyes gleam like stars, cold yet beautiful.
Moments of silence that you barely register pass between you. The hostility in his expression melts into confusion, and you suddenly realize what a silly expression you must be making.
"Do you understand?" he asks, irked.
<div class="choice">[["Uh-huh," you manage.|Chapt3WarnFlirt][$defiant to $defiant-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It isn't hard to guess what threat he must have made, so you take a defiant stance.|Chapt3WarnFlirt1][$defiant to $defiant+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You were distracted, but it doesn't take long to guess what the warning must entail, so you calmly protest, "But I want to be Gawain's friend. And perhaps yours, too."|Chapt3WarnCalm][$calm to $calm+3, $Galahad to $Galahad+1, $Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "8">>
You scoff. "Get out of my way."
"Only if you stay out of Gawain's," he says, and leaves.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "9">>
You shrug. "Fine by me."
He nods, and leaves.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "10">>
"If you didn't notice, he was talking to me, I have no interest to be his friend," you say, exasperated after the boy talked your ear off.
He frowns and leaves.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "11">>
You were having such a great evening, finally meeting someone who is excited to be your friend. The warning is cutting, and tears spill suddenly down your face.
Concern flashes over Galahad's face, but he replaces it with a frown quickly. "Tears won't work on me." He leaves.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "12">>
You meet his gaze, not backing down. "I just want to be friends." As you say the words, your stomach flutters strangely, as if a bird was set loose within. You brush off the sensation.
"Gawain doesn't need friends like you," Galahad retorts before stalking off.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "13">>
You pull at your sleeve, looking away. "I just want to be friends," you mutter. There's a strange fluttering in your stomach, as if a bird was set loose within; you dismiss it as nerves.
"Gawain doesn't need friends like you," Galahad retorts before stalking off.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<<elseif $chapt3_warn == "14">>
You assume a look of aloof disinterest. "If you didn't notice," you say, "he was talking //at// me. I have no interest to be his friend."
Galahad fixes you with narrowed eyes for a beat. Then he turns around on his heels and finally leaves.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]
<</if>>Given your interactions with the boy so far, it doesn't take much to guess what the warning entails, even in your enthranced state. //Keep your distance.// Your brow knots, because you most definitely don't want to keep your distance from Gawain. And perhaps, neither from Galahad...
"But I want to be friends with him," you persist. "With both of you." The words are accompanied by a warm smile.
The eyes that bewitched you just moments ago fill with surprise, as you chest fills with hope - only for it all to be blown away by the wintry storm gathering again in his gaze.
"Gawain doesn't need friends like you and neither do I," Galahad retorts before stalking off.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]You snap your gaze away from his violet one, your heart drumming in your chest like a stampede of dragons.
"Uh-huh," it's all you manage to say.
Shaking his head at your //impressive articulateness//, he leaves you.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]Given your interactions with the boy so far, it doesn't take much to guess what the warning entails, even in your entranced state. //Keep your distance.// You thrust your chin forward and puff out your chest the way you've seen dragons do when they try to be intimidating. The way blood blazes through your veins, you almost belive you could breath fire too.
"Make me," you reply in kind, letting the heat pooling your cheeks bleed into your words.
The boy scowls, and even as his eyes cut into you, you can't help but admire them as you would an ornate dagger. "I will," he promises before storming off.
[[The next day|Chapt3Tournament]]<<if $chapt4_training == "bad">>
You're miserably damp, and as a result of it miserably parched. Sweat sheens your face, dews your eyebrows so heavily that it dribbles into your eyes. You blink wildly against the stinging, forcing yourself to focus on your hay-brained opponent. You only wish for this ordeal to be over. The sun's low position in the sky, craddled within green foliage, tells you that it should be so soon, but //soon// doesn't seem quick enough, not when your limbs trudge as if through sludge, slow and leaden and sore. You briefly entertain the idea of simply yielding as your blades bind again, but the jolt that travels up your arms at the contact steels you. You push on, if only to hear Accolon's proud //Good job//.
You've been at this the whole afternoon. Prior to picking up the sword, you've practised the dagger. Before even that, you've stretched your muscles and run laps around the training ground together with Accolon. Needless to say, it's been a long day.
And to top it all of, the iron-casted cherry crowning this awful cake of pain and bruises, Accolon questions you on knightly knowledge. He had the good grace not to introduce this additional trial before this round, though, which you can gather a meager appreciantion for in between blocking blows and replying in kind.
"What's the purpose of the Knights of the Round Table?" Accolon yells over the din of metal.
You grind your teeth and call out back, words stertorously punctuated by your panting and sword strikes, "Protect the King and Queen - the land - the people of the land." It's been drilled into your mind, since you started your training as a squire, but less as a code of honor to take to heart and more as lines of a role you must play.
Dum-dum raises their sword high and you catch an opening in your opponent's defense, an exposed patch of burlap that makes up their armpit, peeking from under their armor. You drive the blade home, piercing the coarse cloth. Dum-dum bleeds hay and staggers as you thrust your sword back. They don't stop but their moves become slower and more errant; their hits strike lighter and you block them with ease.
"But what sets them apart from regular knights?" Accolon follows up from the sidelines.
"Only the best - the most dedicated - the most loyal - knights join the Round Table. They're needed in day to day tasks, and quests, and must know more than just wielding a sword," you say in the process of wielding a sword, banging and slashing your way towards victory.
All knights are required to learn more than swinging a blade around, especially since Arthur's vision seeks to divorce the knights from war, since he'd like there to be no war at all; and if there's no battle to be fought, their purpose needs to be reconsidered and reworked. And what Arthur has moulded is a protector, a symbol of peace. Someone that the land can look up to, lean on, call on. A knight should wield their words carefully, as they do their weapons; should maintain law and order, and seek justice when they're broken. A Knight of the Round Table is the monarch's hands and eyes and voice. A regular knight assumes less responsibilites than one who belongs to the Round Table. They're expected to train often in order to keep in shape, yes, and to oversee affairs or fight when needed, but it's the Round Table that gets summoned in matters of high import, and that must carry out affairs of less gravity in a show of dedication to the Kingdom.
You could go into all these details, all so deeply etched into your brain, standing out even through the fog of exertion. But you find it kind of hard to spend your lungs on words when they can barely handle your heaving and puffing. Luckily, Accolon finds the answer satisfactory. Less luckily, he moves on to a different question. "How did their conception come about?"
<<elseif $chapt4_training == "fun">>
Your blood howls in your veins high on adrenaline, pounds in your ears like drums of war. You feel alive. You feel exalted. A grin splits your sweaty face, cutting into your cheeks like a knife. You wet your dry lips, tasting salt on your tongue, and throw yourself into another ferocious strike like a hungry wolf.
You've been at this the whole afternoon. Prior to picking up the sword, you've practised the dagger. Before even that, you've stretched your muscles and run laps around the training ground together with Accolon. With each exercise, with each new round, you've felt more electrified than tired.
For this round, though, Accolon had decided to add one more intricacy in the form of shouting at you questions on knightly knowledge. It's meant to test your attention, prod at your ability to focus on both the enemy and respond to outside factors.
"What's the purpose of the Knights of the Round Table?" Accolon yells over the din of metal.
You call back animatedly as if your answer were a cry of war, punctuated by the metallic clunk of your sword strikes, "Protect the King and Queen - the land - the people of the land." It's been drilled into your mind, since you started your training as a squire, but less as a code of honor to take to heart and more as lines of a role you must play.
Dum-dum raises their sword high and you catch an opening in your opponent's defense, an exposed patch of burlap that makes up their armpit, peeking from under their armor. You drive the blade home, piercing the coarse cloth. Dum-dum bleeds hay and staggers as you thrust your sword back. They don't stop but their moves become slower and more errant; their hits strike lighter and you block them with ease.
"But what sets them apart from regular knights?" Accolon follows up from the sidelines.
"Only the best - the most dedicated - the most loyal - knights join the Round Table. They're needed in day to day tasks, and quests, and must know more than just wielding a sword," you say in the process of wielding a sword, banging and slashing your way towards victory.
All knights are required to learn more than swinging a blade around, especially since Arthur's vision seeks to divorce the knights from war, since he'd like there to be no war at all; and if there's no battle to be fought, their purpose needs to be reconsidered and reworked. And what Arthur has moulded is a protector, a symbol of peace. Someone that the land can look up to, lean on, call on. A knight should wield their words carefully, as they do their weapons; should maintain law and order, and seek justice when they're broken. A Knight of the Round Table is the monarch's hands and eyes and voice. A regular knight assumes less responsibilites than one who belongs to the Round Table. They're expected to train often in order to keep in shape, yes, and to oversee affairs or fight when needed, but it's the Round Table that gets summoned in matters of high import, and that must carry out affairs of less gravity in a show of dedication to the Kingdom.
You could go into all these details, all so deeply etched into your brain, standing out even through the red thrill of fighting that's taken over your mind. But Accolon finds the answer satisfactory, and moves on to a different question. "How did their conception come about?"
<<elseif $chapt4_training == "train">>
You're coated in sweat, which dews your brows heavily enough to dribble into your eyes. You blink stalwartly against the stinging, keeping your eyes on your hay-brained opponent. Your muscles strain, singing a song of sore pain. Yet you plow on like a ship set on its course, bracing the blows like it braves the waves, countering the strikes with your own determined ones.
You've been at this the whole afternoon. Prior to picking up the sword, you've practised the dagger. Before even that, you've stretched your muscles and run laps around the training ground together with Accolon. Needless to say, it's been a long day but you carry on, doing all that's required of you with stony determination. Keeping in mind the promise of cake after training.
Before you can get your tasty treat though, you must endure yet another intricacy Accolon has decided to add, graciously enough only this round, and that is answering the various questions on knightly knowledge that he shouts at you.
"What's the purpose of the Knights of the Round Table?" Accolon yells over the din of metal.
You call back readily, words landing as heavy and loud as the sword strikes and breaths that punctuate them, "Protect the King and Queen - the land - the people of the land." It's been drilled into your mind, since you started your training as a squire, but less as a code of honor to take to heart and more as lines of a role you must play.
Dum-dum raises their sword high and you catch an opening in your opponent's defense, an exposed patch of burlap that makes up their armpit, peeking from under their armor. You drive the blade home, piercing the coarse cloth. Dum-dum bleeds hay and staggers as you thrust your sword back. They don't stop but their moves become slower and more errant; their hits strike lighter and you block them with ease.
"But what sets them apart from regular knights?" Accolon follows up from the sidelines.
"Only the best - the most dedicated - the most loyal - knights join the Round Table. They're needed in day to day tasks, and quests, and must know more than just wielding a sword," you say in the process of wielding a sword, banging and slashing your way towards victory.
All knights are required to learn more than swinging a blade around, especially since Arthur's vision seeks to divorce the knights from war, since he'd like there to be no war at all; and if there's no battle to be fought, their purpose needs to be reconsidered and reworked. And what Arthur has moulded is a protector, a symbol of peace. Someone that the land can look up to, lean on, call on. A knight should wield their words carefully, as they do their weapons; should maintain law and order, and seek justice when they're broken. A Knight of the Round Table is the monarch's hands and eyes and voice. A regular knight assumes less responsibilites than one who belongs to the Round Table. They're expected to train often in order to keep in shape, yes, and to oversee affairs or fight when needed, but it's the Round Table that gets summoned in matters of high import, and that must carry out affairs of less gravity in a show of dedication to the Kingdom.
You could go into all these details, all so deeply etched into your brain, standing out even through the fog of exertion. But Accolon finds the answer satisfactory, and moves on to a different question. "How did their conception come about?"
<</if>>
"King Arthur," you roar in reply as you land a pommel hit against the dummy's head, sending their helmet skittering over the armor of one of their fallen cousins. "King Arthur devised the rank - the first year of his reign."
Now's your opportunity. With their head revealed and vulnerable, you can finish this fight.
<div class="choice">[[Use your sword.|Chapt4.2][$chapt4_finish to "sword"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Use your fire.|Chapt4.2][$chapt4_finish to "fire"]]</div><<if $chapt4_finish == "sword">>
Your fingers tighten on the hilt until your knuckles smart as you pull back your sword, drawn taut like a bow, ready for the blow. You thrust forward and slide your blade through their faceless head, sinking in like a knife through warm butter. The dummy judders then stills, folding in a pitiful heap of stiched hay and armor plates at your feet as you pull back your sword.
<<else>>
You pull one of your hands away from the hilt, a hazardous move; but you wager on yourself being far more dangerous than the minute gap of vulnerability you present your foe with. Thrusting out your hand as if it were the blade now, you summon fire to your fingertips in a blink of an eye; another blink and the flames hurtle towards the dummy's naked, faceless head, coating it in blazing, hungry tongues of fire that scorch away the burlap. The dummy folds in a pitiful heap at your feet, the dried hay inside burning up beautifully.
Before the fire can consume the dummy, Accolon steps in and dumps on it a bucket of water that he keeps always within reach, precisely for these type of occasions.
"I feel a sorcerer's going to give me a lecture for this," Accolon remarks contemplatively as you both stare down at the damage you inflicted. Well, it certainly wouldn't be the first time. Unfortunately for the training dummy industry, they have not designed their products with sorcerer knights in mind.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_training == "bad">>
Accolon clasps your shoulders and with a bright smile - which he can afford, for it's not him who's on the brink of collapsing - says to you, "Incredible work, Mordred. You're all done for today." //About time.// You soak up the compliment as if it were a balm for your bruised flesh and sore muscles. "You're free to get ready for the cake tasting."
Your twelth birthday is drawing closer, merely a few weeks away, and Morgana's sworn to meticulous planning so that the party meets your desires and expectations. One of the most important details to establish, she said, is the type of cake you want, and the only way to decide is by treating you to a wide variety to choose from. A task that you're looking forward to undertake.
The mention of //cake tasting// is enough to ignite a vicious, painful clench of your stomach, both in hunger and craving, and water your arid mouth. Your expression must be one of intense desperation, for Accolon chuckles indulgently. "I know you're excited for it, but please stop by Robin's study first to take care of your bruises." He holds your eye until you finally relent and nod, then pats your back lightly.
<<elseif $chapt4_training == "fun">>
Accolon clasps your shoulders and with a bright smile - which you reply to with a wide grin of your own - he says, "Incredible work, Mordred. You're all done for today." Now that you're simmering down, the adrenaline draining and the hot, electric buzz that kept you going dimming, pain comes into sharp relief. You soak up the compliment as if it were a balm for your bruised flesh and sore muscles. "You're free to get ready for the cake tasting."
Your twelth birthday is drawing closer, merely a few weeks away, and Morgana's sworn to meticulous planning so that the party meets your desires and expectations. One of the most important details to establish, she said, is the type of cake you want, and the only way to decide is by treating you to a wide variety to choose from. A task that you're looking forward to undertake.
The mention of //cake tasting// is enough to ignite a vicious, painful clench of your stomach, both in hunger and craving, and water your arid mouth. Your expression must be one of intense anticipation, for Accolon chuckles indulgently. "I know you're excited for it, but please stop by Robin's study first to take care of your bruises." He holds your eye until you finally relent and nod, then pats your back lightly.
<<elseif $chapt4_training == "train">>
Accolon clasps your shoulders and with a bright smile - which you reply to with a weak one of your own - he says to you, "Incredible work, Mordred. You're all done for today." You soak up the compliment as if it were a balm for your bruised flesh and sore muscles. "You're free to get ready for the cake tasting."
Your twelth birthday is drawing closer, merely a few weeks away, and Morgana's sworn to meticulous planning so that the party meets your desires and expectations. One of the most important details to establish, she said, is the type of cake you want, and the only way to decide is by treating you to a wide variety to choose from. A task that you're looking forward to undertake.
The mention of //cake tasting// is enough to ignite a vicious, painful clench of your stomach, both in hunger and craving, and water your arid mouth. Your expression must be one of intense anticipation, for Accolon chuckles indulgently. "I know you're excited for it, but please stop by Robin's study first to take care of your bruises." He holds your eye until you finally relent and nod, then pats your back lightly.
<</if>>
You stalk off to the wooden bench where a jug of water awaits. You drink greedily, sloppily, paying no mind to the drops that lick down your jaw, down your throat and into your chemise, already soaked through. You finish the pitcher and slam it back on the bench with a satisfied, explosive sigh.
Accolon slides on the bench as you undo the straps of your leather gauntlets and toss them next to him. You're anxious to get out of the armor, out of your undergarments and, quite frankly at this moment, out of your skin. You work on the buckles of your forearm guards with slightly quivering fingers, feeling feverish from a day's training. Accolon sweeps in to help you with steady, expert hands, unfastening your arm and shoulder armor before helping you slip out of your cuirass.
"Mordred," he says as he sets the cuirass down on the bench next to its metal ensemble, speaking in the sombre, solemn way he only affects when there's something of gravity he wishes to impress. You meet his gaze, waiting. The man sits back down on the bench and gestures you to do the same, so you oblige. "I know training can get very intense," he continues in that endlessly patient and benevolent way of his. "I know I always tend to push you to do more."
Accolon does like to push you to the point you think it's the breaking one, then makes you go on some more until you actually reach it, at which time he prods you to press just a little bit more.
"I know a squire's education isn't easy," Accolon heartily admits, "and I insist so much because I want you to be capable and accomplished and strong."
"As to be a knight worthy of entering the Round Table?"
"Yes, but above all else, for you to be //safe//. Enemies won't go gentle on you."
<div class="choice">[[You're at a loss of words, overwhelmed by Accolon's worry for you.|Chapt4.3][$chapt4_worry to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Pff," you snort. "I can handle myself. I have magic!"|Chapt4.3][$chapt4_worry to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know. I understand," you say earnestly.|Chapt4.3][$chapt4_worry to 3]]</div><<if $chapt4_worry == 1>>
You pull at the strap of your cuisses as a pregnant silence settles between you. You feel you need to do something with your hands, anything to ground yourself lest you come undone, overwhelmed by the worry and care and tenderness you read in his face, unalloyed and unconcealed.
<<elseif $chapt4_worry == 2>>
His worry, painted so plainly and loudly on his face - along with broad strokes of the care and tenderness he holds for you - touches you, but he needn't fret. You're no ordinary knight, after all. You're a sorcerer, which gives you an immediate advantage you'll readily use.
"Pff," you rap your fingers against one of your cuisses; it clinks a tinny, silvery sound drowned out by your overly self-assured snort. "Don't worry about me. I have magic after all!" To emphasize your point you hold up your index and let a small flame flicker there.
Accolon smiles and squeezes your arm. "It's a great asset," he admits, but the corners of his mouth drag down into a serious, tight line again. "That's why combining the two - the sword and your magic - could prove your greatest asset. I just need you to apply yourself, whichever you want to lean on more."
<<elseif $chapt4_worry == 3>>
The worry and care and tenderness you read in his face, unalloyed and unconcealed, is almost overwhelming, spearing your chest with a keen, intense fondness. "I know," you say quietly, matching his gravity. "I understand."
<</if>>
Accolon smiles and the sober gloom lifts, dispelled. He resumes helping you out of your armor, moving to the plates covering your legs. These ones you could take off easily by yourself but you don't protest if he's kind enough to offer, and instead lean back and sip on your water jug.
You're down to your chemise and trousers and wiping your sweaty face with a cloth when you perceive a pulsating yet distant, dull thumping, growing with each moment. You toss the cloth over your shoulders, craning your neck to see a swiftly approaching dot of $scales against the rosy-blue sky.
<div class="choice">[[It's your dragon friend finishing training, looking exhausted.|Chapt4.4][$dragon_train to "tired"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's your dragon friend finishing training, looking tired yet excited.|Chapt4.4][$dragon_train to "fun"]]</div><<if $dragon_train == "tired">>
$dragon_name lands not far from the training field in a maelstrom of flapping wings, plopping down on the grass and staying there, puffing out a small, filmy, smoky breath. You make your way over to $dragon_him, dropping down to your haunches next to $dragon_him. "Tough day?" you ask.
One $dragon_eyes eye flutters open, fixing you with an affected weariness. "Exhausting," $dragon_name rumbles. Then, faintly: "But it was sort of fun, too."
Similarly to you training with Accolon, $dragon_he's been tutored all day in a dragon's fields of expertise by Sera, Accolon's companion and $dragon_name's mentor. This comprises of flying through an obstacle course, making fire breathing exercises and fighting techniques making use of $dragon_name's strongest features, such as $dragon_his sharp talons, even sharper teeth and hefty tail.
You press your forehead against the side of $dragon_his face, smiling. "Well, I'm off to get ready for the cake tasting." All fatigue and aching is forgotten upon hearing //cake//. $dragon_His head shoots up, $dragon_eyes glinting hungrily. "Don't worry," you hurry to say, "I'll bring you cake and we can decide together on the flavor."
A clamor of wings, followed by a slight quake of the ground beneath you; Sera has landed too. You bid everyone goodbye, leaving Accolon and Sera to discuss the grown-up, mentor stuff they usually discuss at the end of a day of separate training, to catch up on their students' progress.
<<else>>
$dragon_name lands not far from the training field in a maelstrom of flapping wings, plopping down on the grass and staying there, puffing out a small, filmy, smoky breath. You make your way over to $dragon_him, dropping down to your haunches next to $dragon_him. "Tough day?" you ask.
$dragon_His $dragon_eyes eye flutter open, amused. "Oh no, it was fun," $dragon_name rumbles, still able to sound energetic. Then, faintly: "Maybe a bit tough."
Similarly to you training with Accolon, $dragon_he's been tutored all day in a dragon's fields of expertise by Sera, Accolon's companion and $dragon_name's mentor. This comprises of flying through an obstacle course, making fire breathing exercises and fighting techniques making use of $dragon_name's strongest features, such as $dragon_his sharp talons, even sharper teeth and hefty tail.
You press your forehead against the side of $dragon_his face, smiling. "Well, I'm off to get ready for the cake tasting." Any fatigue or aching is forgotten upon hearing //cake//. $dragon_His head shoots up, $dragon_eyes glinting hungrily. "Don't worry," you hurry to say, "I'll bring you cake and we can decide together on the flavor."
A clamor of wings, followed by a slight quake of the ground beneath you; Sera has landed too. You bid everyone goodbye, leaving Accolon and Sera to discuss the grown-up, mentor stuff they usually discuss at the end of a day of separate training, to catch up on their students' progress.
<</if>>
As you gather your things and prepare to head back to the Castle, you catch a fragment of their conversation - of Accolon's warm, sunny voice and Sera's raspy one that speaks in such a gentle tone - held in the humans' language.
<<if $chapt3_gender_talk is true or $chapt3_told_morgana_gender is true>>
<<if $agab == "male">>
<div class="choice">[["How is she faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABM][$chapt4_pronouns to 1, $pgen to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How are they faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABM][$chapt4_pronouns to 2, $pgen to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How is he faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABM][$chapt4_pronouns to 3, $pgen to 0]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["How is she faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABF][$chapt4_pronouns to 4, $pgen to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How are they faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABF][$chapt4_pronouns to 5, $pgen to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How is he faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABF][$chapt4_pronouns to 6, $pgen to 0]]</div>
<</if>>
<<elseif $trans_count >= 3>>
<<if $agab == "male">>
<div class="choice">[["How is she faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABM][$chapt4_pronouns to 1, $pgen to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How are they faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABM][$chapt4_pronouns to 2, $pgen to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How is he faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABM][$chapt4_pronouns to 3, $pgen to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How is he faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you. The pronouns bother you somewhat, and you haven't quite figured out why, or spoken up about it yet.|Chapt4GenderNewTalkAGABM][$chapt4_pronouns to 7, $pgen to 0]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["How is he faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABF][$chapt4_pronouns to 6, $pgen to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How are they faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABF][$chapt4_pronouns to 5, $pgen to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How is she faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderTalkAGABF][$chapt4_pronouns to 4, $pgen to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How is she faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you. The pronouns bother you somewhat, and you haven't quite figured out why, or spoken up about it yet.|Chapt4GenderNewTalkAGABF][$chapt4_pronouns to 8, $pgen to 1]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $agab == "male">>
<div class="choice">[["How is he faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderNo][$chapt4_pronouns to 9, $pgen to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How is he faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you. It bothers you somewhat - being referred to as a boy - and you haven't quite figured out why, or spoken up about it yet.|Chapt4GenderNewTalkAGABM][$chapt4_pronouns to 7, $pgen to 0]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["How is she faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you.|Chapt4GenderNo][$chapt4_pronouns to 10, $pgen to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How is she faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you. It bothers you somewhat - being referred to as a girl - and you haven't quite figured out why, or spoken up about it yet.|Chapt4GenderNewTalkAGABF][$chapt4_pronouns to 8, $pgen to 1]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>>Half an hour later - after a swift visit to Robin and a quick, invigorating bath - you hurry down the corridors, taking steps two at a time in your haste to make it to the castle's kitchen, as if a mighty beast was chasing you. That mighty beast happens to be your hankering, growling stomach and your boundless appetite for cake, and both grow stronger with each passing moment you're spending not eating the baked goods.
You decide to cut a shorter, quicker path from your chamber to the kitchens through the inner courtyard, and veer off into a gallery hall, down a set of stairs and into the garth. Vines cling to walls in patches, a vibrant, revitalized summer green, and squares of pink rhododendron offer a much needed splash of color against the dreary gray flagstone and monotone white stone-dark wood-maroon bricks scheme of the castle.
"You wished to see me?" Gareth's voice gives you pause and roots you to the spot, but the words aren't directed at you. In the setting sun, you're shielded from view by long shadows, which you melt further into as you follow Gareth's line of sight to none else than Alina Solomon.
Ever since Arthur talked to Alina's mothers almost two years ago, the girl has been strong-armed into leaving you alone, faced with a bleak punishment should she deviate from the King's order: the doors to the Round Table closed on her. She couldn't allow her only escape from her family's shadow to slip through her fingers so you've come to an uneasy truce. She begrudges on you performative, stiff cordiality whenever you're forced by circumstance to interact. You can plainly tell how much she still loathes you, especially in those first few months after the tournament. Her expression would teem with impotent rage, she'd ball her fists to keep them from trembling - or from hitting you - and she'd bit her lips to keep from saying something that could come back around. In time, even this fire dimmed to seething embers, dormant and dulled but never quite extinguished.
<div class="choice">[[It piques your curiosity. What could Alina Solomon want from your brother?|Chapt4.6][$chapt4_curious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't want to disturb them or draw attention to yourself, and a part of you is curious. What could Alina Solomon want from your brother?|Chapt4.6][$chapt4_curious to 2]]</div><<if $chapt4_curious == 1>>
You flatten yourself against the alcove etched in the castle's wall, your back cushioned by the creeping plant's juicy, palm-sized leaves.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Lot says eavesdropping is an unbecoming, sordid habit, but then again you yourself are an unbecoming, sordid little thing in Lot's eyes. There's much to learn if one keeps their ears peeled, and you're particularly intrigued to understand what could Alina Solomon possibly have to say to your brother.
As the firstborn of the Duke and a child of sorcerers - magicless as she is - of similar age, the two often inhabit the royal confines of the same social circle; though it would be extremely generous to call them even acquaintances. To be called friends would be an outright, scandalous lie. Gareth treats her with more grace than he personally believes she deserves because he is a courtier through and through, but keeps her at a firm distance.
Gareth could never look past the way she treats you, or rather, used to treat you. Prior to Arthur settling the matter, Gareth himself had tried approaching the issue with Lot - obliquely, at first, then outright - but it was like talking to a stone. Perhaps even they would have been more receptive to his pleas. Lot would have rather patted Alina on the back and congratulated her on a job well done than reprimand her.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 40>>
Lot says eavesdropping is an unbecoming, sordid habit, but then again you yourself are an unbecoming, sordid little thing in Lot's eyes. There's much to learn if one keeps their ears peeled and you're particularly intrigued to understand what could Alina Solomon possibly have to say to your brother.
As the firstborn of the Duke and a child of sorcerers - magicless as she is - of similar age, the two often inhabit the royal confines of the same social circle; though it would be extremely generous to call them even acquaintances. To be called friends would be an outright, scandalous lie. Gareth treats her with more grace than he personally believes she deserves because he is a courtier through and through, but keeps her at a firm distance. He could never look past the way she treats you, or rather, used to treat you.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Lot says eavesdropping is an unbecoming, sordid habit, but then again you yourself are an unbecoming, sordid little thing in Lot's eyes. There's much to learn if one keeps their ears peeled and you're particularly intrigued to understand what could Alina Solomon possibly have to say to your brother.
Gareth treats her with the same grace and affability he affects for everyone, though it has a cold edge, as if he wishes to put a certain distance that he doesn't impose with other royal peers. You've always suspected it has something to do with how Alina has treated you, a sentiment that would be more touching if he'd ever attempted to stand up to her for you.
<<else>>
Lot says eavesdropping is an unbecoming, sordid habit, but then again you yourself are an unbecoming, sordid little thing in Lot's eyes. There's much to learn if one keeps their ears peeled and you're particularly intrigued to see what Alina Solomon has to say to your brother.
Gareth treats her with the same grace and affability he affects for everyone else. You've seen them talk, though they haven't struck you as particularly close. You wouldn't be surprised if they were, though. There's one matter they can easily bond over and that's their mutual hate for you.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_curious == 2>>
You flatten yourself against the alcove etched in the castle's wall, your back cushioned by the creeping plant's juicy, palm-sized leaves.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Lot says eavesdropping is an unbecoming, sordid habit, but then again you yourself are an unbecoming, sordid little thing in Lot's eyes. You didn't mean to do it, this time, but you're loath to go the roundabout way through the castle, and crossing the yard is out of the question if you hope not to draw attention upon yourself. And, perhaps unbecomingly and sordidly so, you //are// curious as to what Alina Solomon could possibly have to say to your brother.
As the firstborn of the Duke and a child of sorcerers - magicless as she is - of similar age, the two often inhabit the royal confines of the same social circle; though it would be extremely generous to call them even acquaintances. To be called friends would be an outright, scandalous lie. Gareth treats her with more grace than he personally believes she deserves because he is a courtier through and through, but keeps her at a firm distance.
Gareth could never look past the way she treats you, or rather, used to treat you. Prior to Arthur settling the matter, Gareth himself had tried approaching the issue with Lot - obliquely, at first, then outright - but it was like talking to a stone. Perhaps even they would have been more receptive to his pleas. Lot would have rather patted Alina on the back and congratulated her on a job well done than reprimand her.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 40>>
Lot says eavesdropping is an unbecoming, sordid habit, but then again you yourself are an unbecoming, sordid little thing in Lot's eyes. You didn't mean to do it, this time, but you're loath to go the roundabout way through the castle, and crossing the yard is out of the question if you hope not to draw attention upon yourself. And, perhaps unbecomingly and sordidly so, you //are// curious as to what Alina Solomon could possibly have to say to your brother.
As the firstborn of the Duke and a child of sorcerers - magicless as she is - of similar age, the two often inhabit the royal confines of the same social circle; though it would be extremely generous to call them even acquaintances. To be called friends would be an outright, scandalous lie. Gareth treats her with more grace than he personally believes she deserves because he is a courtier through and through, but keeps her at a firm distance. He could never look past the way she treats you, or rather, used to treat you.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Lot says eavesdropping is an unbecoming, sordid habit, but then again you yourself are an unbecoming, sordid little thing in Lot's eyes. You didn't mean to do it, this time, but you're loath to go the roundabout way through the castle, and crossing the yard is out of the question if you hope not to draw attention upon yourself. And, perhaps unbecomingly and sordidly so, you //are// curious as to what Alina Solomon could possibly have to say to your brother.
Gareth treats her with the same grace and affability he affects for everyone, though it has a cold edge, as if he wishes to put a certain distance that he doesn't impose with other royal children. You've always suspected it has something to do with how Alina has treated you, a sentiment that would be more touching if he'd ever attempted to stand up to her for you.
<<else>>
Lot says eavesdropping is an unbecoming, sordid habit, but then again you yourself are an unbecoming, sordid little thing in Lot's eyes. You didn't mean to do it, this time, but you're loath to go the roundabout way through the castle, and crossing the yard is out of the question if you hope not to draw attention upon yourself. And, perhaps unbecomingly and sordidly so, you //are// curious to see what Alina Solomon has to say to your brother.
Gareth treats her with the same grace and affability he affects for everyone else. You've seen them talk, though they haven't struck you as particularly close. You wouldn't be surprised if they were, though. There's one matter they can easily bond over and that's their mutual hate for you.
<</if>>
<</if>>
Alina Solomon stands opposite your brother, framed by a verdant background that makes the red of her hair pop out like a bleeding wound. You notice, with some sort of foreboding wonder, that its been lovingly combed and artfully fluffled out into loose curls as if she were headed for a ball. That should have been your first sign of danger. The second was her dress, which too looked exceedingly and unneccessarily pretty, freshly washed and pressed. And - is that rosy tint on her cheeks and lips?
"I wanted to talk to you," she says with a coyness so uncharacteristic and ghastly that it makes you balk.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
"Is it urgent?" Gareth asks, perfectly patient. "I promised someone I would be somewhere else very soon."
That //someone else, somewhere else// is you in the kitchen, and Alina's already stretching the //very soon// into soon. You wouldn't want for it to turn into //later//.
"But you made time for me," Alina replies, in a manner that immediately makes your hair prickle. There's again that alien timidity, that strange softness. It feels utterly wrong.
She looks at Gareth with bright hope; if Gareth finds anything amiss about all this, he doesn't show it. There's only a minute, restless twitch of his fingers, a veiled surprise. He levels her with a politeness that's cordial in tone and devoid of any real emotion. "What is it?"
"There's something I wanted to tell you," she says and extends the arm she's been holding behind her back. A dagger would have been more at home in her hands, which you've always known only to be cruel and brutish and wicked; she proffers instead a rose, its red petals matching her flushed cheeks. Your brother doesn't budge, considering her and her rose with that same placid affability. "I admire you, Gareth. I've admired you for a while now, though I didn't dare approach you..." And here she brushes a strand of bloody hair behind her ear, cocking her head slightly. "But I dare now, and I dare hope perhaps you'll feel the same."
Gareth's shoulders rise and fall with a silent sigh. "I'm sorry, Alina," he says, letting her down gently, "but I don't feel the same way about you."
Alina freezes. Her arm droops, making the rose bow its heavy, blooming head sorrowfully, bashfully. Her smile falters, wilting away and she stares nonplussed, mortified.
"Now," Gareth continues as Alina's still rendered silent, "I should really get going, if you'll excuse me."
Gareth has given her a gracious enough exit, an elegant cue for her to leave the stage. He did not say all the words he could have, all the thoughts he harbors, and why he could never, ever feel the same way about her. But Alina doesn't leave.
Perhaps it's simply the refusal in itself; perhaps it's the sympathy it's wrapped in. Alina could never really digest anything even resembling pity. She pulls her arm back to her side, the rose falling parrallel to her thigh like a drawn sword. The way her shoulders tense, you'd think she'd lunge to attack any moment.
"Is this about ?them?" Alina asks and now she finally sounds more like herself, voice dropped and sharpened and laden with a meaning that doesn't escape you.
"Alina." He speaks her name calmly yet firmly, a warning as clear as if it were a war horn going off.
It falls on deaf ears. The only time you could ever think of a warning working on her was the one Arthur made, and that one was of particularly heavy consequence. She balls her hands into fists and raises them as if bracing for a fight, rose still clenched in hand and looking more and more like a weapon with the way she brandishes it. "It is, isn't it?" she demands again, voice gaining a shrill, broken edge, fervid conviction painting her flushed face.
"You've treated ?them poorly for years," Gareth says, finally letting pour that disbelief he's been elegantly holding back like a hunting dog perfectly poised to spring into motion as its master's call. Disbelief that Alina would even have to ask something like this, that she'd ever expect him to reciprocate.
"Why do you keep shielding Mordred? You do know ?they <<verb 'is'>> the reason your mother left you!" Alina realizes her mistake as soon as the words are out of her mouth, but it's too late to swallow them back once spit out.
Deafening silence settles in the courtyard, as undisturbed and heavy and cold as the fallen snow in the little hours of the morning. Then Gareth plows right through it. "I think you should leave, Alina." His voice is a calm encased in ice, sharp and biting, a cold that stings more than any fire.
Alina splutters. The words might as well have been a punch to the stomach. She huffs, then puffs out a mighty angry puff before tossing the rose to the flagstone like a discarded sword in a gesture of yielding. She storms off, up the stairs opposite you, which you're really grateful for, though you doubt that in her aggrieved hurry she would have noticed you tucked in the leafy alcove.
Gareth's shoulders sag as he expels a rattling breath, whatever carefully constructed cool poise crumbling away, leaving him looking tired and dimmed and more his young age of fourteen. He bends down to retrieve the red rose, forsaken on the grey stones, and considers it pensively.
<div class="choice">[[Show yourself. No sense pretending you didn't just witness what you did.|Chapt4GarethTalk][$chapt4_curious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait for him to leave before continuing on your way to the kitchen and don't mention the incident. Spare the both of you whatever this was.|Chapt4GarethNo][$chapt4_curious to 2]]</div>
<<else>>
"Talk away, then," Gareth says in that perfectly patient, perfectly genial way that's been thoroughly studied and honed to appear unmeasured/way of a teacher inviting his pupil to speak.
Alina smiles and makes a lilting, high-pitched, clinking noise which, you realise with no small amount of horror, is a //giggle//. If your brother is disconcerted by any of this, he shows no sign of it.
"There's something I wanted to tell you," she says and extends the arm she's been holding behind her back. A dagger would have been more at home in her hands, which you've always known only to be cruel and brutish and wicked; she proffers instead a rose, its red petals matching her flushed cheeks. Your brother doesn't budge, leveling her and her rose with that same placid affability. "I admire you, Gareth. I've admired you for a while now, though I didn't dare approach you..." And here she brushes a strand of bloody hair behind her ear, cocking her head slightly. "But I dare now, and I dare hope perhaps you'll feel the same."
Gareth's shoulders rise and fall with a silent sigh. "I'm sorry, Alina," he says, letting her down gently, "but I don't feel the same way about you."
Alina freezes. Her arm droops, making the rose bow its heavy, blooming head sorrowfully, bashfully. Her smile falters, wilting away and she stares nonplussed, mortified.
"Now," Gareth continues as Alina's still rendered silent, "I should really get going, if you'll excuse me."
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
Gareth has given her a gracious enough exit, an elegant cue for her to leave the stage.
<<else>>
Gareth has given her a gracious enough exit, an elegant cue for her to leave the stage. You can't quite blame him for not reciprocating; bonding over their shared dislike of you may not be the best grounds for a romance. It hasn't helped Gareth's relationship with his father, either.
<</if>>
Alina, however, doesn't leave. Perhaps it's simply the refusal in itself; perhaps it's the sympathy it's wrapped in. Alina could never really digest anything even resembling pity. She pulls her arm back to her side, the rose falling parrallel to her thigh like a drawn sword. The way her shoulders tense, you'd think she'd lunge to attack any moment.
"Why?" she asks, which you believe is a terribly stupid thing to ask, especially after the other had spared her any explanation that may not be flattering to her person. Better not to pry at a wound that's trying to close: you'll just make it bleed anew.
Your brother seems to think the same. "Alina," he speaks her name softly, but it holds a warning, not unkind.
"I thought we might understand each other," she continues, somewhat frenzied and frenetic now, as if this desperate speech might persuade Gareth. "Because we're both the..." she hesitates and slaps the rose against her thigh, as if willing herself to spit the words, or beating herself for not being able to. Her voice drops when she says, "Since we're both the defects of our family. Though I suppose it's lucky for you. Gives you a chance to distance yourself from your mother and her name."
Gareth's frame stiffens. You can only see him from the side, the profile of his curved nose - which is entirely Lot's, moulded to the same cast - and corner of his mouth, twisted in clear, tight irritation. "Excuse me?" You sense the danger, see the dark clouds on the horizon heralding the incoming hailstorm. Alina does not, and you almost pity her.
"Well, your mother's done a great job running a smear campaign on her own name."
"Don't speak of her like that." This is no longer a hint; it's an entire army beating at your door, blowing horns of war.
Still, Alina doesn't heed it. The only time you could ever think of a warning working on her was the one Arthur made, and that one was of particularly heavy consequence. She balls her hands into fists and raises them as if bracing for a fight, rose still clenched in hand and looking more and more like a weapon with the way she brandishes it. "Why are you protecting that woman? She abandoned you, she abandoned you for that stupid bastard."
"Alina," Gareth says, and he does not raise his voice more than neccessary. He speaks with the same calm tone, encased in biting ice that stings more than any fire. "I know my father allows the court to drag my mother's name through the mud," he continues, "But I won't stand for it. So next time, Alina, I advise you bite your tongue."
Alina splutters. The words might as well have been a punch to the stomach. She huffs, then puffs out a mighty angry puff before tossing the rose to the flagstone like a discarded sword in a gesture of yielding. She storms off, up the stairs opposite you, which you're really grateful for, though you doubt that in her aggrieved hurry she would have noticed you tucked in the leafy alcove.
Gareth's shoulders sag as he expels a rattling breath, whatever carefully constructed cool poise crumbling away, leaving him looking tired and dimmed and more his young age of fourteen. He bends down to retrieve the red rose, forsaken on the grey stones, and considers it pensively.
It's a terrible accusation that Alina hurled in her shamefaced anger, like a cornered animal clawing blindlingly, seeking to draw blood. But she's not //entirely// wrong. Morgana did flee the Continent, and it was in order to protect you. She would have taken Gareth too, if she could; she'd told you as much since you were little, sitting on the beach with her while the wind sprayed briny droplets onto your face. But Lot made sure she wouldn't in an act she'd called //exceedingly brave for a coward like him// and //incredibly petty of him//.
Gareth leaves, climbing the same stairs Alina thunderously took two at a time in her rush to get away. You linger in your green, shadowed alcove for a little bit more listening to the retreating footsteps echoing around the empty courtyard. It's only when the sound has completely faded away that you follow, with no intention of letting Gareth know you've stood witness to whatever //that// was.
Forget about Alina and her nasty jibes and catastrophically bad confessions. It's time for cake.
[[The next day|Chapt4RobinStudy]]
<</if>><<if $chapt4_ring == 1>>
You pick up the blue ring and Accolon's smile widens.
"Good choice, Mordred," Hilde nods sagely. "Getting in on the winning team."
As it turns out, Hilde has quite the competitive streak - //friendly// competitive streak. She gets into position and aim as if it were a kingdom-wide competition; she throws the hemp rings with determination and precision. Accolon is much the same, though he comes across even more effortless, as if he weren't even trying yet manages to land //all// of the rings he tosses. With the two of them on your side, your team is sure to win.
You toss your ring; it twirls around the pole before settling atop the many other hoops thrown by your team, one victorious pile.
<<else>>
You pick up the purple ring and Kay pumps the air with his fist in victory. "Welcome on the team, Mordred."
As it turns out, Hilde has quite the competitive streak - //friendly// competitive streak. She gets into position and aim as if it were a kingdom-wide competition; she throws the hemp rings with determination and precision. Accolon is much the same, though he comes across even more effortless, as if he weren't even trying yet manages to land //all// of the rings he tosses. Between Kay, who fumbles most of his shots and Isabel, who has landed none since she thrust the ring right down the pole - and been kindly explained why it's against the rules - it's up to you to carry the team, which seems on course to get thouroughly trashed.
You have a trick up your sleeve that could turn tides in your favor, however. You toss the ring and, with a flick of your wrist, will the wind to give it a little nudge in the right direction. It twirls around the pole before settling atop the other team's pile of hoops.
Accolon looks at you, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you just use magic?"
You shrug innocently, fighting back a smile.
<</if>>
"You know," Kay says, spinning a hoop around his forearm, "you're really good at this."
"Thank you. As you are, Hilde," Accolon turns from the man to his wife and inclines his head in her direction.
Hilde grins. "Years of attending festivals."
Accolon chuckles. "Same for me. I'd try all of the games available at fairs, and play again and again, just for the fun of it. I suppose all that practise honed my skill, and I kept winning all sorts of prizes to the point I'd just win them for my friends."
"Hmm, I still have that plush octopus he won for me at the Avalon fair," a smooth voice chimes in.
Morgana approaches in a soft sigh of satin, exuding the stately charm of royalty - not Lothian royalty, though. She's donned an Avalonian cowl gown of azure and a very Tintalian choice of accesorries - twin snakes slithering up her arms.
Her eyes are pinned on Accolon, the curl of her lips gentle. "May I join in?"
<<if $chapt4_ring == 1>>
"Hop on in on our team," Kay beckons her. "We're losing, by the way."
Accolon hands Morgana one of the hemp rings and she turns it around between her fingers, slowly, as she studies the poles and gauges the distance. Finally she firmly plants her sandaled feet on the grass, throws back her arm and tosses.
It's...not the best shot, you can tell that from the start. Yet somehow the ring seems to catch the needed speed to fall right onto one of the polls.
"You used magic, didn't you?" Accolon chukles.
Hilde's head snaps between Morgana and the pole. "She did?"
"While everyone was too busy watching the ring fly, she did," Accolon confirms. He doesn't look bothered by the breach of the rules, but rather fondly proud. "And that's why they banned you from the games at the fair, dear," he says, now addressing your mother.
<<else>>
"Come join our team," Hilde beckons her. "We're winning, so you're in luck."
Accolon hands Morgana one of the hemp rings and she turns it around between her fingers, slowly, as she studies the poles and gauges the distance. Finally she firmly plants her sandaled feet on the grass, throws back her arm and tosses.
It's...not the best shot, you can tell that from the start. Yet somehow the ring seems to catch the needed speed to fall right onto one of the polls.
"You used magic, didn't you?" Accolon chukles. "Mordred did the same nifty little trick."
Hilde's head snaps between Morgana and the pole. "She did?"
"While everyone was too busy watching the ring fly, she did," Accolon confirms. He doesn't look bothered by the breach of the rules, but rather fondly proud. "And that's why they banned you from the games at the fair, dear," he says, now addressing your mother.
<</if>>
You play for a little bit longer, till Kay and Hilde decide to take a break when Isabel asks for fruit punch, and you stay with Morgana and Accolon for another round.
<<if $chapt4_party == "showy">>
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>>
<<else>>
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_ring == 1>>
You pick up the blue ring and Accolon's smile widens.
"A wise choice," Kay nods sagely. "I'm sure Accolon will thoroughly trash me."
Accolon does indeed just that, effortlessly so, as if he weren't even trying yet manages to land //all// of the rings he tosses. With him on your side, your team is sure to win.
You toss your ring; it twirls around the pole before settling atop the many other hoops thrown by your team, one victorious pile.
<<else>>
You pick up the purple ring and Kay pumps the air with his fist in victory. "Welcome on the team, Mordred. I may just yet stand a chance against Accolon, with your help."
Accolon is very good at tossing rings, effortlessly so, as if he weren't even trying yet manages to land //all// of the rings he tosses. Kay fumbles most of his shots so it's up to you to carry the team, which seems on course to get thoroughly trashed.
You have a trick up your sleeve that could turn tides in your favor, however. You toss the ring and, with a flick of your wrist, will the wind to give it a little nudge in the right direction. It twirls around the pole before settling atop the other team's pile of hoops.
Accolon looks at you, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you just use magic?"
You shrug innocently, fighting back a smile.
<</if>>
"You know," Kay says, spinning a hoop around his forearm, "you're really good at this."
"Thank you," Accolon chuckles. "Years of attending festivals. I'd try all of the games available at fairs, and play again and again, just for the fun of it. I suppose all that practise honed my skill, and I kept winning all sorts of prizes to the point I'd just win them for my friends."
"Hmm, I still have that plush octopus he won for me at the Avalon fair," a smooth voice chimes in.
Morgana approaches in a soft sigh of satin, exuding the stately charm of royalty - not Lothian royalty, though. She's donned an Avalonian cowl gown of azure and a very Tintalian choice of accesorries - twin snakes slithering up her arms.
Her eyes are pinned on Accolon, the curl of her lips gentle. "May I join in?"
<<if $chapt4_ring == 1>>
"Hop on in on my team," Kay beckons her. "We're losing, by the way."
Accolon hands Morgana one of the hemp rings and she turns it around between her fingers, slowly, as she studies the poles and gauges the distance. Finally she firmly plants her sandaled feet on the grass, throws back her arm and tosses.
It's...not the best shot, you can tell that from the start. Yet somehow the ring seems to catch the needed speed to fall right onto one of the polls.
"You used magic, didn't you?" Accolon chukles.
Kay's brow shoots up. "She did?"
"While everyone was too busy watching the ring fly, she did," Accolon confirms. He doesn't look bothered by the breach of the rules, but rather fondly proud. "And that's why they banned you from the games at the fair, dear," he says, now addressing your mother.
<<else>>
"Come," Accolon beckons her. She reaches out one hand, which he readily grasps, pressing a brief, gentle kiss on the back of her palm.
He hands Morgana one of the hemp rings and she turns it around between her fingers, slowly, as she studies the poles and gauges the distance. Finally she firmly plants her sandaled feet on the grass, throws back her arm and tosses.
It's...not the best shot, you can tell that from the start. Yet somehow the ring seems to catch the needed speed to fall right onto one of the polls.
"You used magic, didn't you?" Accolon chukles. "Mordred did the same nifty little trick."
Kay's brow shoots up. "She did?"
"While everyone was too busy watching the ring fly, she did," Accolon confirms. He doesn't look bothered by the breach of the rules, but rather fondly proud. "And that's why they banned you from the games at the fair, dear," he says, now addressing your mother.
<</if>>
You play for a little bit longer.
<<if $chapt4_party == "showy">>
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>>
<<else>>
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_accolon_love == 1>>
"How can I trust you anymore?" you demand. "You keep taking mother's part - keep defending everything she does. It feels like you're not even listening to me!" Your voice grows frantic the longer you speak, pitching up a notch in desperation.
Accolon scans your surroundings warily for any witnesses. You find you're at a point where you couldn't care less if you stirred rumours or even revealed all the sordid details of your life. It'd be a disaster but nothing weighs heavier on you right now than the betrayal of those you thought you could trust. Those you thought cared about you.
He reaches for you - a soothing hand heaed for your shoulder, a gesture he's done so many times before. When you flinch, he thinks better of it.
"I know it's a lot to digest - I know it's difficult to understand. But I'll always be there for you. As will your mother. I'm not turning against you, Mordred, I just wish to show you her perspective. She's suffered a lot-"
"And I'm suffering too!" you bite out. "Right now."
He presses his lips together. He doesn't look irritated or exasperated or mad. Just...sad. As wretched as you imagine yourself looking.
You walk past the studying dragon and training squire in heavy, pensive silence. There's no one else on the Castle grounds out for a stroll, not in this heat; just workers and servants going about their business as usual. The warmth has seeped into your sweaty skin, settled into your bones, setting you into a hazy, lazy disposition where you'd want nothing more but to lounge with the same carefree ease as the ginger cat atop its haystack bed. Accolon's steps have directed you back towards the Castle; you might let quiet fill the way, or change the subject.
<<elseif $chapt4_accolon_love == 3>>
"Can I trust you anymore?" you ask - //plead// with Accolon, desperate to cling to whatever affection you can yet wary of it turning to sand in your hands/of it being nothing else than a rope that'll get cut off and leave you adrift. Ever since you were little, you've relied on him for so much and now you're forced to wonder: "Do you really love me?"
"Of course I do," he says without skipping a beat. "I always have and I always will."
You want to believe that. You want that so, so much.
You walk past the studying dragon and training squire in heavy, pensive silence. There's no one else on the Castle grounds out for a stroll, not in this heat; just workers and servants going about their business as usual. The warmth has seeped into your sweaty skin, settled into your bones, setting you into a hazy, lazy disposition where you'd want nothing more but to lounge with the same carefree ease as the ginger cat atop its haystack bed. Accolon's steps have directed you back towards the Castle; you might let quiet fill the way, or change the subject.
<<else>>
You walk past the studying dragon and training squire in heavy, pensive silence. There's no one else on the Castle grounds out for a stroll, not in this heat; just workers and servants going about their business as usual. The warmth has seeped into your sweaty skin, settled into your bones, setting you into a hazy, lazy disposition where you'd want nothing more but to lounge with the same carefree ease as the ginger cat atop its haystack bed. Accolon's steps have directed you back towards the Castle; you might let quiet fill the way, or change the subject.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4AccolonNextDayConvo>>"Gawain and I are sweethearts now," you say, deciding to change the subject to the one wonderful thing that happened to you today. You had to take your chance before Gawain left, and the joy of the moment managed to momentarily brighten your day. Even now, just saying these words, you're rushed by a surge of tenderness.
"That's lovely, Mordred," Accolon beams. "I'm so happy for the both of you. Gawain's a very sweet boy." He asks for more details, such as who confessed first, and you eagerly recount the moment while Accolon listens, endeared.
[[Next|Chapt4AccolonNextDayConvo]]"I've reached out to Arthur, just so you know," you say, kicking at a rock and watching it skitter across the sun-parched grass. "To let him know I've found out the truth, and get his own account on it all."
"I see," Accolon nods. "It's only fair." Then he hesitates, peering curiously at your face. "Do you intend to keep up the correspondence?" You just shake your head in response.
[[Next|Chapt4AccolonNextDayConvo]]"I've reached out to Arthur, just so you know," you say, kicking at a rock and watching it skitter across the sun-parched grass. "To let him know I've found out the truth, and get his own account on it all. I want to...understand him better after this revelation."
"I see," Accolon nods. "It's only fair." Then he hesitates, peering curiously at your face. "Do you intend to keep up the correspondence?"
You too dither before you respond, unsure if you should let Accolon know - who might tell Morgana, who is sure to disapprove. "Yes, I think so. Depends on how he replies."
Accolon just smiles in that endlessly patient and understanding way of his.
[[Next|Chapt4AccolonNextDayConvo]]Accolon slows his pace as you pass by a yellow patch of dandelions. You watch a bee stop by one of the flowers, making it sway as it lands; the little winged creature goes about its pollinating with dilligence before moving on to another flower, and so on.
"I told Gareth about being a Pendragon. I've been wanting to tell him for a long while, to be honest." Which brings you to another question: "When would mother have told him?"
"I don't know. I can't blame you for sharing the truth with him, though. I know the two of you are very close," he says with the shadow of a smile.
"Mother may not be too happy, though."
Accolon sighs. "Your mother simply wanted to protect Gareth too. Matters are already quite...delicate and complicated," he puts in, a charitable way of seeing the whole mess that is Morgana's marriage to Lot, with poor Gareth in the middle of it all.
[[Next|Chapt4AccolonNextDayConvo]]<<if $chapt4_next_day_dads is true>>
"Junia told Gaius and Marcellus the truth of what happened."
Accolon's eyes widen in surprise. "Did she? I...can't say it's completely unexpected, and it's probably for the best, though I do think it would have been better if the confession came from Morgana herself, or rather, the both of them together."
You can't see your mother making such a confession out of her own volition - perhaps if Junia bodily dragged her in front of the men and gave her no other choice then yes, you can picture the scene.
"I'll tell Morgana to talk with them as well, anyway," Accolon says.
<<else>>
"Junia said she'd tell Gaius and Marcellus the truth of what happened."
Accolon's eyes widen in surprise. "Did she? I wonder if she's already done it," he mumbles, mostly for himself. "I...can't say it's completely unexpected, and it's probably for the best, though I do think it would be better if the confession came from Morgana herself, or rather, the both of them together."
You can't see your mother making such a confession out of her own volition - perhaps if Junia bodily dragged her in front of the men and gave her no other choice then yes, you can picture the scene.
"I'll tell Morgana to talk with them as well, anyway," Accolon says.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt4AccolonNextDayConvo]]You let silence accompany the two of you as you make your way back up the hill towards the Castle, let it fill the space between you. You wish you could let it slither inside your heat-numbed brain too, let it permeate the frenzy of your thoughts and subdue them into some semblance of quietude.
You part ways back in your wing, with you returning to your chamber and Accolon continuing down the hall - where, you're unsure.
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]<<if $chapt4_ring == 1>>
"You," you reply and Accolon grins.
"Blue, to match your dress." He hands Morgana the rings with the blue scrap of material attached, keeping the purple ones for yourselves.
Accolon is very good at tossing rings, effortlessly so, as if he weren't even trying yet manages to land //all// of the rings he tosses. Morgana isn't that bad herself, but Junia fumbles most of her shots so it's up to your mother to carry the team, which seems on course to get thoroughly trashed.
Morgana picks up the ring and turns it between her fingers as she takes her stance. Planting her sandaled feet firmly on the grass, she throws back her arm and tosses.
It's...not the best shot, you can tell that from the start. Yet somehow the ring seems to catch the needed speed to fall right onto one of the polls.
"You used magic, didn't you?" Accolon chukles.
Morgana shrugs elegantly while Junia struggles against a smile.
<<elseif $chapt4_ring == 2>>
"Mother," you reply and Morgana smiles.
"Blue, to match your dress." He hands Morgana the rings with the blue scrap of material attached, keeping the purple ones for himself.
Accolon is very good at tossing rings, effortlessly so, as if he weren't even trying yet manages to land //all// of the rings he tosses. A stark constrast to Junia, who fumbles most of her shots, leaving it up to the man to carry the team. Morgana isn't that bad herself, so you find yourself at a tie - unless someone turns the tide.
"If we get this shot," you tell your mother, "we could win."
"Hmm." Morgana picks up a ring and turns it between her finger. "Leave it to me." Before stepping up to take her stance she gives you a discreet wink.
Planting her sandaled feet firmly on the grass, she throws back her arm and tosses.
It's...not the best shot, you can tell that from the start. Yet somehow the ring seems to catch the needed speed to fall right onto one of the polls.
"You used magic, didn't you?" Accolon chukles.
Morgana shrugs elegantly while you struggle against a smile.
<<else>>
"Junia," you reply and the woman smiles.
He hands Morgana the rings with the blue scrap of material attached - "Blue, to match your dress," - and the purple ones to Junia.
Accolon is very good at tossing rings, effortlessly so, as if he weren't even trying yet manages to land //all// of the rings he tosses, and Morgana isn't that bad herself. Junia, however, fumbles most of her shots so it's up to you to carry the team, which seems on course to get thouroughly trashed.
Junia cringes as she misses yet another toss. "Sorry, Mordred." You watch together as Accolon lands yet another ring atop his and Morgana's stack of victorious hemp hoops.
"It's alright, Junia. I have an idea."
You have a trick up your sleeve that could turn tides in your favor, however. You toss the ring and, with a flick of your wrist, will the wind to give it a little nudge in the right direction. It twirls around the pole before settling atop the other team's pile of hoops.
Accolon looks at you, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Did you just use magic?"
You shrug innocently, fighting back a smile.
"You're really good at this, Accolon," Junia remarks.
"Thank you," he chuckles. "Years of attending festivals. I'd try all of the games available at fairs, and play again and again, just for the fun of it. I suppose all that practise honed my skill, and I kept winning all sorts of prizes to the point I'd just win them for my friends."
"Hmm, I still have that plush octopus he won for me at the Avalon fair," Morgana says, voice fond.
"Oh right" Junia's brow shoots up. "I remember when you came back home with it."
You play for a little bit longer.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_party == "showy">>
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>>
<<else>>
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_accolon_next1 is false and $chapt4_gawain_sweet is true>><div class="choice">[["\"Gawain and I are sweethearts now. I think.\""|Chapt4AccolonCatchUp1][$chapt4_accolon_next1 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_accolon_next2 is false>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_write == 1 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 2>>
<div class="choice">[["\"I've reached out to Arthur, just so you know. To inform him I've found out.\""|Chapt4AccolonCatchUp2][$chapt4_accolon_next2 to true]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_write == 3 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 4>>
<div class="choice">[["\"I've reached out to Arthur, just so you know. I think I want...I think I want to better understand his viewpoint after everything I found out.\""|Chapt4AccolonCatchUp3][$chapt4_accolon_next2 to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_accolon_next3 is false and $gareth_knows is true>><div class="choice">[["\"Gareth knows I'm a Pendragon. I finally told him.\""|Chapt4AccolonCatchUp4][$chapt4_accolon_next3 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_accolon_next4 is false and $chapt4_next_day_dads is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Junia said she'd tell Gaius and Marcellus the truth of what happened.\""|Chapt4AccolonCatchUp5][$chapt4_accolon_next4 to true]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_accolon_next4 is false>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Junia told Gaius and Marcellus the truth of what happened.\""|Chapt4AccolonCatchUp5][$chapt4_accolon_next4 to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Let silence accompany the two of you.|Chapt4AccolonCatchUp6][$chapt4_accolon_next5 to true]]</div><<if $chapt4_alina == 1>>
Some may say it's childish, but you regard sticking your tongue out as the ultimate show of dominance and superiority; a power move that can be utterly lost on foolish adults.
Alina's furrow deepens, the single look she gives you hotter than the summer heat itself. You're spared from it when Alina bruesquely turns away, gracing the grass with her glare instead, and you consider this another win for you.
<<elseif $chapt4_alina == 2>>
That single look she gives you is hotter than the summer heat itself, but you turn your head away, uninterested in indulging her hateful fervor. Let her glare all she wants.
<<elseif $chapt4_alina == 3>>
That single look she gives you is hotter than the summer heat itself, and you turn your head away to evade its hateful fervor. Ever since Arthur spoke to Alina's mothers, she has stopped //"accidentally"// forcefully bumping into you or carelessly tossing insults your way, but you still tense up in anticipation when you pass by her.
<<elseif $chapt4_alina == 4>>
You smile at her sharply, displaying your teeth - it's less a smile and more the wicked sneer of a wolf. Alina's furrow deepens, the single look she gives you hotter than the summer heat itself. You're spared from it when Alina bruesquely turns away, gracing the grass with her glare instead.
<<elseif $chapt4_alina == 5>>
You smile, as nice a smile as you can muster for her. Kindness has been wasted on her, but you keep on trying, especially now that she can't //"accidentally"// forcefully bump into you or carelessly toss insults your way. Perhaps at some point it'll rub on to her.
Alina's furrow deepens, the single look she gives you hotter than the summer heat itself. You're spared from it when Alina bruesquely turns away, gracing the grass with her glare instead.
<<elseif $chapt4_alina == 6>>
You merely take in her expression. She can't //"accidentally"// forcefully bump into you or carelessly toss insults your way, but her gaze still holds the loathing from before. That single look is hotter than the summer heat itself, but you're spared from it when Alina bruesquely turns away, gracing the grass with her glare instead.
<<elseif $chapt4_alina == 7>>
You smile, as winning a smile as you can muster for her. Charm has been wasted on her, but you keep on trying, especially now that she can't //"accidentally"// forcefully bump into you or carelessly toss insults your way. Perhaps at some point you'll manage to disarm her. That moment is not now, though.
Alina's furrow deepens, the single look she gives you hotter than the summer heat itself. You're spared from it when Alina bruesquely turns away, gracing the grass with her glare instead.
<</if>>
This is all she can afford without getting in trouble. Her tongue must be bloody and sore from all the biting she must do to keep herself from telling you what she wishes she could.
"No worries," comes a voice that's perfectly gallant and cool, replying to Accolon. Your gaze shoots to the tall woman next to Alina: her mentor, Sir Relia Cazacu. Whereas her squire's face is all puckered up in a frown, her own is only riddled by the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and the scar running across her jaw.
Towering at almost twice her height next to Sir Cazacu is her partner, the fearsome Benedict. Their gaze is trained on $dragon_name, regarding $dragon_him with detached interest. You wonder if they've been staying here long enough to catch your performance, and whether it's impressed them, if only a little.
Cazacu and Benedict make for a formidable pair - so formidable that they're considered the best knights of Lothia, the pride of Duke Lot, the heroes of the Duchy.
Mentors to a bully.
They're not bullies themselves, but they've always treated you with polite chill, a frosty yet professional demeanor which seems a lot less polite and professional when you remember they've been turning a blind eye to Alina's treatment of you. Upstanding knights like them don't associate with people like you, afterall, and by the talks you've heard they're not the most thrilled about your prospect of joining the Round Table, on account of who your mother is.
<<if $chapt4_ball == 2>>
"Come on," Accolon proffers a hand and you take it. "Our carriage should be waiting for us."
Such is your urgent desire to get back to the castle that you don't even protest riding back in that awful contraption. All you want right now is to strip out of your armor and sweaty shift and dip yourself in water. And then eat a hearty dinner - training always makes you work up a terrible appetite.
"Don't forget to write up the ruined projectile," Sir Cazacu helpfully supplies as you gather your things and prepare to leave.
<<if $chapt4_finish == "fire">>
Is it meant to be a veiled jab? You've heard knights complain that 'you've destroyed more training props than any other squire' and that 'you're a menace to equipment'.
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Come on," Accolon proffers a hand and you take it. "Our carriage should be waiting for us."
Such is your urgent desire to get back to the castle that you don't even protest riding back in that awful contraption. All you want right now is to strip out of your armor and sweaty chemise and dip yourself in water. And then eat a hearty dinner - training always makes you work up a terrible appetite.
<</if>>
This particular training ground, with its intricate obstacle course, has been built outside the boundaries of the town, on a sprawling plain surrounded by forrested hills. It's meant to be away from the bustle of town to offer free range of flight to the trainees without fear of interfering with others - or any injuries occuring to poor bystanders. Which means there's quite a bit of a distance to traverse back to the Castle, and while you usually arrive by flight, going back you're always persuaded to go by carriage as to give $dragon_name a break.
As you mount the carriage and settle inside the belly of the four-wheeled beast, Accolon asks, to fill the silence or ease the ride: "Are you looking forward to your birthday?"
You break into a wide smile. Two more weeks to go until your birthday.
You're more than excited.
[[Next|Chapt4JuniaArrival]]Down at the edge of the training ground there's Alina, standing crossed-armed, head craned up at you, looking mighty miffed.
You wonder whatever you've done this time to earn her scorn. You've got all the right to be here on the training ground. Accolon always takes care to slot your sessions with plenty leverage time. Alina doesn't need a reason though; by now you're used to your mere existence being something she feels the need to scoff at.
Next to her there's Liana, her dragon partner, watching you with a less aggrieved focus and more wary watchfulness as if sizing up a potential enemy.
You make a landing that's about as smooth as a tossed sack of potatoes hitting the ground. You can't hold it against $dragon_name. Their exhaustion comingles with your own soreness in a most tired cacophony - but it's a satisfied kind of spent, the one that makes you feel fuzzy and light. You unbuckle yourself from the safety harness and slip off in a no more graceful manner, laying on your back as $dragon_name succumbs to the same urge, flopping onto $dragon_his side.
Sera and Accolon land a few moments later, their arrival a lot more elegant and dignified.
"Great work, the both of you," Sera calls out.
You smile and $dragon_name snaps $dragon_his tail in eager response, but neither of you makes any move to get up. The air down here is stifling when compared to the crisp atmosphere and the cool wind that lashed at you above.
"Great time, too," Accolon adds, checking the watch he's hooked to his belt. "Better than last time." You let out a satisfied wheeze, incapable of any other reply at the moment. Accolon looks somewhere above and beyond you and raises an armored hand in salute. "You're rather early! We'll be leaving soon."
You flip to one side and push off your helmet and goggles to get a clearer view at the little group gathered some way off. Your gaze locks with Alina's brown one, smouldering under her steeply pinched brows.
<div class="choice">[[Stick your tongue out at her. She can't do anything to you now.|Chapt4AlinaReaction][$chapt4_alina to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Look away first. You have no desire to give her any attention.|Chapt4AlinaReaction][$chapt4_alina to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Look away. Even if her bullying has stopped, your muscles tense every time you pass by her.|Chapt4AlinaReaction][$chapt4_alina to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile at her, all teeth. She can't do anything to you now.|Chapt4AlinaReaction][$chapt4_alina to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile. You know kindness has never worked on her, but you'll still try your best to be polite. Who knows, maybe at some point it'll rub off on her.|Chapt4AlinaReaction][$chapt4_alina to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You simply look at her. She can't do anything to you now.|Chapt4AlinaReaction][$chapt4_alina to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile. You know charm has never worked on her, but you'll still try your best. Who knows, maybe you'll disarm her at some point.|Chapt4AlinaReaction][$chapt4_alina to 7]]</div><<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "empty">>
"I received a message rock from Ariawen today," $dragon_name says, lazily stretching $dragon_his front legs. $dragon_His eyes flutter open and $dragon_he looks up at you through twin drowsy slits of $dragon_eyes.
<<if $gally_river == "friend" or $gally_river == "charm">>
$dragon_name has been keeping in touch with Ariawen, Gawain's dragon partner, sending each other spelled rocks as is the custom among dragons - and Ariawen's been helping put Callum in touch with $dragon_name, too. It started as a shy salute, which turned to a couple short lines that boiled down to "How are you? I've been well!" to actually getting to know each other and recounting what each has been up to.
<<else>>
$dragon_name has been keeping in touch with Ariawen, sending each other spelled rocks as is the custom among dragons.
<</if>>
$dragon_name yawns, mouth opening to reveal rows of glistenign, sharpened teeth. "How're your scales coming along?"
<<else>>
$dragon_name lazily stretches $dragon_his front leg, eyes fluttering open. $dragon_He looks up at you through twin drowsy slits of $dragon_eyes. "How're your scales coming along?"
<</if>>
You jump at the occasion to catch $dragon_name up on your training, complete with a demonstration. You thrust out your arm, push up your sleeve and, with a bit of brow pinching and jaw-clenching you will the scales into appearance.
You spend the rest of the evening with $dragon_name by the river, talking and playing, risking getting out from under the alcove offered by the trees once the sun is setting and the heat in the air simmers down to a more pleasant warmth, mollified by a cool evening breeze. By the time you arrive back at the dragons' lodge the sun has sunk past the forest, the sky painted in shades of blue and purple and orange.
<<if $chapt4_hormones is true>>
[[Back to your room|Chapt4Hormones]]
<<else>>
[[Next day|Chapt4Flight]]
<</if>>All this talk of knights and healers has struck up an idea in your mind, and you don't hesitate to voice it, curiosity tinting your tone: "Robin?"
"Hmm?"
"If you can use water magic to heal broken bones and the likes. Could you..." You hold up your fists, pressing thumb against thumb. Then, clicking your tongue loudly, you pull your fists away as if breaking a twig in two. "You //can// break bones, right?"
Robin regards you dubiously, suspicious of your reasons for questioning. "It is possible, yes," they answer as if they wished they could say the opposite.
"You don't really hear of Priests who break bones. Just healers, no soldiers or knights."
"Well of course," Robin says, now confident. "It goes against what our Temple stands for."
"But it could be useful in battle, I suppose," you remark. "The Champion Knight certainly feels so."
Robin quirks an eyebrow. "The Champion Knight does not speak for the Temple, does he?" You concede he does not. "In any case, you've got swords and maces and what not. I assume they do enough damage." You concede on this point, too.
As you advance, the houses change too: the elegant and embellished gives way to the simple and practical, stacked closer together as you walk, leaving leeway between them only for crammed nooks that would cause a small uproar of "excuse me" and "no, excuse me" at best and elbows to the ribs at worst if people were to pass from opposite directions. It's clear you're exiting the Royal Quarter and entering the neighbors of the working classes. You stop by one more shop, almost hidden on a corner, and Robin assures you it's your last intermission along the way.
You walk down narrow alleys that stretch in that cramped space between the stone houses, under clotheslines draped with garments already half-dried in the heat. The alleyways open into wider, animated streets where vendors flank the buildings with their stalls and try to flag down passers-by with promises of fresh produce and quality linen and ceramics. Then these streets give way to the main ones where you're always in danger of getting trodden by a horse if you loiter too much or let yourself be taken in by the windowshops. Fortunately, you have Robin to steer you by the shoulder while you gawk.
Even in its busiest times, the Castle can never begin to simulate the chaos of the town. First of all, there's so many people and dragons here, so many of them overflowing the streets, sharing houses, passing by from the province to sell and buy and visit and add to this frenzy. And then there's the smells and the noises. It can be a feast on the nose, when you pass by bakeries and stalls of food dipped in way too much frying oil, and a nightmare when you huddle along side alleyways, walls stained with liquids you'd rather not dwell on or walk in the wake of a horse. It's made all the worse by the heat.
And the noise. You can barely begin to pick them out in the crowded squares. It's the thundering of horse hooves on stone; it's the shrill bellow of vendors; it's the murmur of conversation, as constant and unintelligible as the gurgling of a river, wordless voices that wash by you. Sometimes you'll pick up a sentence or just the fracture of one, stripped of its context. It's easy to get overwhelmed and hard to get bored.
The small dragons are by far the luckiest when it comes to avoiding this hubbub. They glide above the rooftops, spooking pigeons where they land to rest and chat, adding to the racket with their gravelly voices and guttural laughs and raspy calls.
You round on a street corner and emerge into the main square, marked by the fountain that reigns in the middle, both the pride of the Quarter and a social hub and in the summer's unforgiving heat, a welcome source of refresing coolness. It's been completely claimed by the townsfolk, who rest on the edge of the basin, obscuring the tiles that climb up the center tier too, and extend down on the pavement to form a wide, pedestrian circle around the fountain. The colorful tiles stand out against the monotonous stone of the buildings, painted with swirls and curlicues, forming abstract, whimsical shapes in red and green and blue reminiscent of the painted doors and glass in the Castle. You continue past the fountain, watching a dog splash through the water, followed by a little child, who gets soaked through - as do the bystanders. You too feel tempted to frolick through the water, but Robin pushes you on, down an alley of residential houses, the kinds shared by different families. Windows are thrown open, revealing glimpses into their life: dried herbs and copper pans; a woman, fanning herself with her palm as she stares dreamily out toward the hills; a teenager strumming a lute.
It's not long till you reach the Temple, nestled not far away from the clamour of the Quarter.
[[Continue|Chapt4AtTemple]]You don't bother bathing or changing - it's the last worry on your mind at the moment. With a wide sweep of your arm you snuff out the candles and slip back out of your room, haunting down the dimly lit corridor. Your pattering steps echo around you like incessant, unintelligible whispers, mimicking the chorus of gossipping that follows you everywhere.
You don't have far to run. Arthur, along with all your other guests, has been housed within Morgana's wing. You stutter to a halt in front of his door and rap your knuckles against the wood, insistent yet not too loud, for fear of rousing your mother. Who knows how well she'll take to you running directly to Arthur - and right now you need to talk with him alone. You keep on steadily knocking till you hear the telltale commotion from beyond. You draw back your hand just as a tousled Arthur opens the door, eyes bright and alert.
"Mordred?" One good look at your face is enough to shift his demeanor from confused apprehension to full-on alarm. He ushers you inside, taking a peek up and down the hallway as if he might chance upon whatever has brought such distress upon you. When he finds only shadows he closes the door and turns to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Mordred, what happened?"
<div class="choice">[[You burst into tears.|Chapt4ArthurTell][$chapt4_arthur_tell to 1, $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You hug Arthur, overcome by anguish for him, carving the comfort yourself too.|Chapt4ArthurTell][$chapt4_arthur_tell to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know what Morgana did to you," you say, trying to keep your composure.|Chapt4ArthurTell][$chapt4_arthur_tell to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You take a step away, letting his hand slide off your shoulder. Feeling strange to be the one getting comforted here. "I know what Morgana did to you."|Chapt4ArthurTell][$chapt4_arthur_tell to 4]]</div>A booming, brassy blow pierces the sky like a cry of victory. It travels the heated air like a welcome cool breeze and rings in your ears like a sweet melody. The horn heralding the King's arrival. You jump to your feet, teeming with excitement. You let it spill through your connection to $dragon_name, let the both of you be washed by that exhilarating rush.
You know this means they've barely been spotted approaching and there's still a little while till they'll properly arrive, but your pulse picks up a thrilled rhythm as you stand, eyes peeled on the sky. Arthur has travelled together with Elewen, as he is wont to do; just like you, he's never been fond of carriages.
You and $dragon_name are soon not alone on the field anymore. You're joined by Morgana and Accolon, followed by your other guests and a retinue of servants and guards, all dressed up in their best clothes and polished armors.
This isn't the first time Junia will be meeting the King - that was the case with your eleventh birthday - yet she looks as nervous as the first time, switching between figdeting with her Temple brooch and wrapping and unwrapping a springy red curl around her index. She's taken offense with your straw hat like Marcellus did too, even though it wasn't even crooked this time, and spent some time fixing and arranging it. You humour her, letting your gaze roam past her shoulder.
Glittering shapes dot the clear sky, approaching in a well-coordinated formation. The King and his party are here. It's hard to make out the colors from this far away and with the sun at their back, but you know immediately that Arthur and Elewen are in the middle, flanked by knights and guards.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
"Almost here?"
You turn to Gareth, startled. He must have sidled up to you when you were distracted. His smile turns a tinge smug - it's not often that he gets to sneak up on //you//.
Trailing behind him, keeping a disdainful distance from the rest of you, is Duke Lot himself.
<<else>>
"My dear, come here."
You turn towards Morgana but stop short when you realize it's not you she called after, but Gareth. He's arrived, dressed in moss green refinery and a smile. Trailing behind him, keeping a disdainful distance from the rest of you, is Duke Lot himself.
<</if>>
It'd be disrespectful and shameful - if not bordering on treasonous - for anyone in the Ducal family to be missing from welcoming the King without a good reason, even if Lot looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but here.
As the Royal convoy approaches, the air fills with the thunderous thump of wings like a grand orchestra of percussion instruments descending upon you. Your own heart attunes itself to its loud, rapid tempo, beating a rhythm of overbounding anticipation.
Arthur and Elewen are the first to land with an earth-shaking, graceful sweep. The great purple dragon spreads and stretches their wings before neatly folding them at their side, allowing Arthur to disentangle himself from the safety harness while their knights touch ground in a protective circle around them. You recognize the two dragon knights at the front - Bridget and Alaric, which means that the scarlet-armored, gilded-helmeted knights atop them are Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere, respectively. They accompanied Arthur last year, too.
Arthur slides off in one fluid, smooth move, all kingly in his jerkin and cloak of deep scarlet, threaded golden. Unlike his entourage of knights, he wears no armor - his skin is his armor, gleaming a bright red underneath the morning sun. He allows the scales to slowly recede as he approaches, going from mighty warrior of legend, shinning and untouchable, almost intangible like the radiant rays of light themselves, to mere man.
A man who graces you with the widest, jolliest smile his muscles and skin can allow to house.
<div class="choice">[[You run into his arms.|Chapt4ArthurArrived][$chapt4_arthur_hug to 1, $impulsive to $impulsive+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and wait for him to approach.|Chapt4ArthurArrived][$chapt4_arthur_hug to 2, $impulsive to $impulsive-2]]</div><<if $chapt4_arthur_hug == 1>>
Propriety and decorum be damned! You can't bring yourself to care about such frivolous, silly things, especially not at a moment like this. You propel yourself at Arthur, who in turn hastens his step and throws his arms wide open.
You meet halfway in a hug.
Arthur holds you close to his chest, squeezing you tightly for a few breathless moments. His curls tickle your cheek and he smells faintly sweet and earthy, like the forest. You linger in his arms, taking it all in, basking in the closeness to make up for the months of distance.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_hug == 2>>
You inch closer but wait, wringing your hands to give your excitement a much needed outlet. Arthur doesn't make you wait long, and doesn't look like he himself could bear the delay, either. He hastens his step, quickly closing the distance between you. He opens his arms wide and that's all you need before you throw yourself at him.
Arthur holds you close to his chest, squeezing you tightly for a few breathless moments. His curls tickle your cheek and he smells faintly sweet and earthy, like the forest. You linger in his arms, taking it all in, basking in the closeness to make up for the months of distance.
<</if>>
You pull away and for an aching moment you feel bereft and cold, but it doesn't last long - it's impossible, when there's so much joy and warmth to fill up the space.
"I have to say, Arthur," comes Morgana's voice, sliding in between you like a sharpened dagger through flesh, "I'm always a little bit surprised each year you actually show up." The confession is spoken light enough to be an innocent joke, if anything ever were innocent with your mother.
Arthur bows his head in earnest, as if they were talking of stately affairs. "Of course, Morgana. I made a promise. And," here he straightens, looking at you with a smile intent on rivaling the sun, "I'm always happy to show up."
Morgana merely smiles, the curl of her lips as sweet as it is calculated. You know mother has been circumspect about Arthur but she's never once protested or tried to stop you.
After an entire year of uninterrupted correspondence, after Arthur actually showing up for both your eleventh birthday and Gareth's thirteenth's, you've noticed a certain wary surprise in your mother. It gave her pause to see Arthur actually keep to his word. One year ago when he arrived for your birthday, she watched him intently as if weighing him up again, as if seeing him anew. Her expectations remained tempered, but there was a tentative hope in her that stoked your own.
<div class="choice">[[You've been hoping that this would be a good opportunity to make them up. You've been trying to subtly push for reconciliation.|Chapt4ReconcileArthur][$chapt4_reconcile to "subtle", $reconcile to $reconcile+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You've been hoping that this would be a good opportunity for them to reconcile, and you've been giving less than sublte hints.|Chapt4ReconcileArthur][$chapt4_reconcile to "blunt", $reconcile to $reconcile+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're adults. It'd be great for everyone if they reconciled, but you can't force them if they don't want to.|Chapt4ReconcileArthur][$chapt4_reconcile to "no"]]</div>You've been excused from lectures for the day. Might as well - you wouldn't have been able to focus anyway.
You and $dragon_name have been out on the field for over an hour now, waiting. Arthur is expected to arrive any moment now, though any moment now is both so close and too far away at the same time.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You've paced around till you thought you'd dig a ditch in the ground. Plopped back on the grass, propping your chin in hand, tapping impatient fingers against impatient, bouncing legs. You sighed explosively, scanned the sky with narrowed eyes, asked $dragon_name to fly up in the air to lookout, but your guests have yet to arrive - not on the horizon high above the forest, not on the distant roads winding up to the town.
For a terrible moment your stomach sinks, some irrational part of your mind convinced that this must mean they're not coming at all. Despite the excited, eager letters.
They just haven't arrived yet.
<<else>>
You've plopped down on the grass, cross-legged, waiting. After a while you laid down, wild weeds caressing your cheek, and scanned the horizon for any sign of flapping wings on the horizon high above the forest. $dragon_name has even taken a couple quick looks, flying as high as the castle's towers, but there was no sign of them on the roads winding up to the town either.
For a terrible moment your stomach sinks, some irrational part of your mind convinced that this must mean they're not coming at all. Despite the excited, eager letters.
They just haven't arrived yet.
<</if>>
Gaius has visited you at some point, bringing some refreshing iced tea and fussing over your crooked straw hat. You talked for a bit, and he wouldn't leave until he's smeared a fresh coat of sun-protecting cream across your cheeks.
[[Wait|Chapt4ArthurArrive1]]<<if $chapt4_arthur_away == 1>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that has tormented him for years. And if that were not enough, you are the terrible figure helming an equally terrible prophecy if one were to take Merlin's word for it. Part of it seems already fulfilled - you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. Knowing the full truth now, you feel horrible to have been the cause of his pain. He's suffered all this time that you licked the wounds his absence left, wondering the cause of his cowardice in abandoning you - which Morgana knew very well. Whatever scars he left you pale in comparison to the anguish that has racked him, that even now upon mere recollection has rendered him a crying, piteous mess.
"It's alright if you want to keep your distance from me for a while," you mutter. You don't want to say the words - they hurt even as you speak them, as if they were barbed and coated in poison, leaving a bloody trail up your throat and tongue - but you speak them all the same. You feel you need to. You can't force Arthur to stand by your side if it hurts him. You've already opened an old wound that you're not even sure was properly closed. You don't want to keep twisting the knife.
Arthur's head snaps up and he looks at you through dazed, misty eyes. He does not look assuaged at all. "Don't say that," he croaks. "Don't ever say that. I've regretted abandoning you once. I shall not repeat my mistake." He finds your hand and takes it in his, squeezing your fingers as if to moor himself to you in an unquestionable demonstration of his conviction. You squeeze back, mustering a weak smile.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_away == 2>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that has tormented him for years. And if that were not enough, you are the terrible figure helming an equally terrible prophecy if one were to take Merlin's word for it. Part of it seems already fulfilled - you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. You see it now in all its painful clarity: the reason for his absence. All this time, he's suffered just like you did. You both have scars and his have racked him utterly, so much so that even now upon mere recollection he's been rendered a crying, piteous mess.
If that pain was strong enough to keep him away from you all those years, could it pluck him away from you now too? The horrifying thought grips you in its sharp claws and you blurt out, a tinge frantic: "We can heal together, right? You won't disappear again?"
Arthur's head snaps up and he looks at you through dazed, misty eyes. "Of course we can," he croaks. "I've regretted abandoning you once. I shall not repeat my mistake." He finds your hand and takes it in his, squeezing your fingers as if to moor himself to you in an unquestionable demonstration of his conviction. You squeeze back, mustering a weak smile.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_away == 3>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that has tormented him for years. And if that were not enough, you are the terrible figure helming an equally terrible prophecy if one were to take Merlin's word for it. Part of it seems already fulfilled - you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. You see it now in all its painful clarity: the reason for his absence. All this time, he's suffered just like you did. You both have scars and his have racked him utterly, so much so that even now upon mere recollection he's been rendered a crying, piteous mess.
It doesn't completely wash away the bitterness those years brewed in you, nor does it close the slowly healing wounds he slashed open with his distance.
"I understand now better why you haven't reached out," you mutter. "But it doesn't change the fact that I've suffered for it too." The jaundiced words coat your tongue in bile and hurt even yourself to say, but you say them nonetheless. A part of you still feels so raw and festering whenever you think of his absence.
Arthur looks at you through dazed, misty eyes. "I know," he croaks. "I know, and I'm so sorry. But now I'm here. And we can heal. I hope that we can heal-" his voice breaks again. He finds your hand and takes it in his, squeezing your fingers. A show of affection and solidarity. You squeeze back, mustering a weak smile.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_away == 4>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that has tormented him for years. And if that were not enough, you are the terrible figure helming an equally terrible prophecy if one were to take Merlin's word for it. Part of it seems already fulfilled - you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. Knowing the full truth now, you feel horrible to have been the cause of his pain. All this time, he's suffered just like you did. You both have scars and his have racked him utterly, so much so that even now upon mere recollection he's been rendered a crying, piteous mess.
Understanding the depth of his pain that contributed to his absence - understanding now better that it were not mere cowardice, as Morgana has always liked to tell you - you deem now unjustified whatever bitterness you held for him in your most vulnerable moments, when rather than to think yourself unworthy of his love you transformed your agony to anger at him, an emotion that felt easier to contend with.
"I understand now better why you haven't reached out," you mutter. "I've suffered, but so have you. I'm sorry I was ever mad at you for it."
Arthur looks at you through dazed, misty eyes. "Don't apologize," he croaks. "It's not you that needs to apologize, it's me." You almost laugh, but it fades in your throat - look at the both of you attempting to take the burden onto yourself, to spare the other. He finds your hand and takes it in his, squeezing your fingers. You squeeze back, mustering a weak smile.
<</if>>
Once Arthur has dried his tears and you've both simmered down from the high-strung emotions of the night, fatigue sets in, weighing down your eyelids and limbs.
"I've realized," he says, "that you didn't tell me how you found out about it all. I...doubt Morgana told you herself."
"She didn't," you agree. "Lot did. As a //birthday present//."
Arthur's face twists in horror. "Mordred, that's horrible." He looks away, wringing his fingers and mumbling, more to himself than you: "I should have a talk with that man."
You, truth be told, would rather not think of Lot right now. He's dredged up enough dreadful feelings for one evening; no need to let him dig up some more.
At some point you've sat down crossed-legged on the edge of the bed, sleepy head propped up on slipping arm. "Can I sleep here tonight?" you ask, loath to take the - albeit short - trek back to your chamber, and more than anything loath to be alone.
Arthur smiles and happily obliges. He makes no remark of the fact that you haven't bathed or even changed out of your party attire. He snuffs out the candles and you fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.
[[Next morning|Chapt4ArthurMorning]]<<if $chapt4_arthur_comfort == 1>>
You throw your arms around his shaking frame, patting his back with one hand as you repeat, "It's alright," and "It's not your fault mother lied to you," in an attempt to allay his tears, your own eyes stinging as you listen to his pitiful sobs.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_comfort == 2>>
You don't know what to say or do to allay his tears. You don't know if there's anything you might do to help. Helplessly, you put a hand on his shaking shoulder, heart wrung out by each pitiful sob.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_comfort == 3>>
You're rooted to the spot as you watch him cry, each pitiful sob wringing your heart. Yet you don't know what you could say or do to help him so you stand there before him as useless as a statue - but not quite as still, pulling nervously at your sleeve as you chew on your lower lip.
<</if>>
"I'm so sorry, Mordred," he whimpers, "I'm so sorry. For never reaching out until the tournament. I know it must be horrible to hear, but for a while, I simply couldn't bear to be around you. And I hated myself for it at the same time, but it felt too painful a thing to attempt in those first few years."
<div class="choice">[[Arthur looks so pained...And you feel horrible. "It's alright if you want to keep your distance for a while. If this opened old wounds."|Chapt4ArthurAway][$chapt4_arthur_away to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A horrifying thought pops in your mind. "We can heal together, right? You won't disappear again?"|Chapt4ArthurAway][$chapt4_arthur_away to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I better understand why you kept your distance. It still hurt me, but I understand.\""|Chapt4ArthurAway][$chapt4_arthur_away to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I better understand why you kept your distance now. And I'm so sorry I was ever mad at you for it." You feel horrible.|Chapt4ArthurAway][$chapt4_arthur_away to 4]]</div><<if $chapt4_duel == 1>>
You start off easy, playfully so, neither of you applying too much force. This isn't training, you don't have to strain yourself to the point you're breathless and sore. This is more akin to dancing at a fair, carefree and fun, where the swords are extensions of you and the dueling rules are steps you both know well, set to the metallic music of your clanging blades.
"I know we're going easy," Arthur says over the din of metal as he parries your strike, "but I have to say you're doing very well; I can only imagine how good you are when you're in practice."
A wide smile splits your face at the words.
<<elseif $chapt4_duel == 2>>
This isn't practice, so there's no need to apply the same force, there's no need to run yourself ragged - yet you throw yourself into the play fight with the same vigor and vicious enthusiasm, a grin splitting your face. It takes Arthur by surprise but he's quick to catch himself, replying in kind. You dance around each other, swords clashing in an upbeat clanging song.
"You are quite something with the sword, Mordred," Arthur says over the din of metal as he parries your strike, and your smile widens till your cheeks hurt.
<</if>>
You go at it until you find an opening - a moment of inattention on Arthur's part, his guard let down for the briefest moment - that you take advantage of, dealing one strong blow that sends his sword flying to the side.
Arthur smiles, seemingly delighted by his defeat. You sit down on the grass to unwind a bit before you go for another round, positioning yourself beneath the pavilion's pleasant shade. You stretch your feet, stradling the sword over your thighs, while Arthur has folded his legs to his chest and lazily draped his arms around them, cheek propped on his knees.
<<if $chapt4_snake_wear is true>>
"I've noticed your new serpent coronet. Is it this year's gift?"
You instinctively bring a hand to your circlet, running the tips of your fingers over it. You have explained this little tradition to him last year and he found it rather wholesome a custom. As his eyes rack over the gilded, etched scales of the serpent and its tiny sapphire eyes, a question forms in your head. "Do you have any serpent jewelry - or something else for that matter? Anything //Le Fay//?"
<<else>>
"What was this year's serpent themed gift?" he asks.
"A coronet."
His eyes flit to your head, as if to check that he indeed hasn't missed any glint of metal or wink of gems on your head. He doesn't comment on the obvious lack of gift on your person though.
You have explained this little tradition to him last year and he found it rather wholesome a custom.
"Do you have any serpent jewelry - or something else for that matter?" you ask. "Anything //Le Fay//?"
<</if>>
Arthur's brow puckers and mouth twists as if you've just put him in a difficult, delicate affair of states. "It'd feel somewhat wrong," he says, then realizes how //wrong// the words must feel and hurries to clarify, "Not that there's anything wrong with the Le Fay! It's just... I told you I've only briefly met Igraine, and at the time I did not know she was my birth mother. And the magic never activated in me. It's such a foreign notion, putting my name - Arthur - next to Le Fay. Like I don't quite belong, I suppose?" he finishes, helpless.
<div class="choice">[["Nonsense," you say firmly. "You're Le Fay, and if you want to you should get a serpent."|Chapt4ArthurSerpent][$chapt4_arthur_snake to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Makes sense," you say gently. "But if you want, you can wear the Le Fay symbol, too. You are a Le Fay, after all."|Chapt4ArthurSerpent][$chapt4_arthur_snake to 2]]</div>You've been excused from lectures for the day. Might as well - you wouldn't have been able to focus anyway.
You and $dragon_name have been out on the field for over an hour now, waiting. Arthur and Gawain are expected to arrive any moment now, though any moment now is both so close and too far away at the same time.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You've paced around till you thought you'd dig a ditch in the ground. Plopped back on the grass, propping your chin in hand, tapping impatient fingers against impatient, bouncing legs. You sighed explosively, scanned the sky with narrowed eyes, asked $dragon_name to fly up in the air to lookout, but your guests have yet to arrive - not on the horizon high above the forest, not on the distant roads winding up to the town.
For a terrible moment your stomach sinks, some irrational part of your mind convinced that this must mean they're not coming at all. Despite the excited, eager letters.
They just haven't arrived yet.
<<else>>
You've plopped down on the grass, cross-legged, waiting. After a while you laid down, wild weeds caressing your cheek, and scanned the horizon for any sign of flapping wings on the horizon high above the forest. $dragon_name has even taken a couple quick looks, flying as high as the castle's towers, but there was no sign of them on the roads winding up to the town either.
For a terrible moment your stomach sinks, some irrational part of your mind convinced that this must mean they're not coming at all. Despite the excited, eager letters.
They just haven't arrived yet.
<</if>>
Gaius has visited you at some point, bringing some refreshing iced tea and fussing over your crooked straw hat. You talked for a bit, and he wouldn't leave until he's smeared a fresh coat of sun-protecting cream across your cheeks.
[[Wait|Chapt4ArthurGawainArrive1]]A booming, brassy blow pierces the sky like a cry of victory. It travels the heated air like a welcome cool breeze and rings in your ears like a sweet melody. The horn heralding the King's arrival. You jump to your feet, teeming with excitement. You let it spill through your connection to $dragon_name, let the both of you be washed by that exhilarating rush.
You know this means they've barely been spotted approaching and there's still a little while till they'll properly arrive, but your pulse picks up a thrilled rhythm as you stand, eyes peeled on the sky. Arthur has travelled together with Elewen, as he is wont to do; just like you, he's never been fond of carriages. Gawain, on the other hand, will be arriving by carriage with his mother.
You and $dragon_name are soon not alone on the field anymore. You're joined by Morgana and Accolon, followed by your other guests and a retinue of servants and guards, all dressed up in their best clothes and polished armors.
This isn't the first time Junia will be meeting the King - that was the case with your eleventh birthday - yet she looks as nervous as the first time, switching between figdeting with her Temple brooch and wrapping and unwrapping a springy red curl around her index. She's taken offense with your straw hat like Marcellus did too, even though it wasn't even crooked this time, and spent some time fixing and arranging it. You humour her, letting your gaze roam past her shoulder.
Glittering shapes dot the clear sky, approaching in a well-coordinated formation. The King is here. It's hard to make out the colors from this far away and with the sun at their back, but you know immediately that Arthur and Elewen are in the middle, flanked by knights and guards.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
"Almost here?"
You turn to Gareth, startled. He must have sidled up to you when you were distracted. His smile turns a tinge smug - it's not often that he gets to sneak up on //you//.
Trailing behind him, keeping a disdainful distance from the rest of you, is Duke Lot himself.
<<else>>
"My dear, come here."
You turn towards Morgana, but stop short when you realize it's not you she called after, but Gareth. He's arrived, dressed in moss green refinery and a smile. Trailing behind him, keeping a disdainful distance from the rest of you, is Duke Lot himself.
<</if>>
It'd be disrespectful and shameful - if not bordering on treasonous - for anyone in the Ducal family to be missing from welcoming the King without a good reason, even if Lot looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but here.
As the Royal convoy approaches, the air fills with the thunderous thump of wings like a grand orchestra of percussion instruments descending upon you. Your own heart attunes itself to its loud, rapid tempo, beating a rhythm of overbounding anticipation.
Arthur and Elewen are the first to land with an earth-shaking, graceful sweep. The great purple dragon spreads and stretches her wings before neatly folding them at her side, allowing Arthur to disentangle himself from the safety harness while their knights touch ground in a protective circle around them. You recognize the two dragon knights at the front - Bridget and Alaric, which means that the scarlet-armored, gilded-helmeted knights atop them are Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere, respectively. They accompanied Arthur last year, too. The procession of four-wheeled contraptions is still nowhere in sight, juddering away somewhere on the cobblestone roads.
Arthur slides off in one fluid, smooth move, all kingly in his jerkin and cloak of deep scarlet, threaded golden. Unlike his entourage of knights, he wears no armor - his skin is his armor, gleaming a bright red underneath the morning sun. He allows the scales to slowly recede as he approaches, going from mighty warrior of legend, shinning and untouchable, almost intangible like the radiant rays of light themselves, to mere man.
A man who graces you with the widest, jolliest smile his muscles and skin can allow to house.
<div class="choice">[[You run into his arms.|Chapt4FirstArthurArrives][$chapt4_arthur_hug to 1, $impulsive to $impulsive+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and wait for him to approach.|Chapt4FirstArthurArrives][$chapt4_arthur_hug to 2, $impulsive to $impulsive-2]]</div>$dragon_name considers Ariawen with awed eyes. "Did you learn that from..."
"Me," a voice rumbles on happily before $dragon_name can finish $dragon_his sentence.
Elewen ambles into your circle, scarlet eyes mellowed by tenderness. Of course Aria's been learning from them. Elewen's rather good at it, though it's just a creative endeavour for them, a fun pastime to entertain themself and their friends.
"Elewen, will you give us a demonstration? Please?" Gawain pleads, hands clasped and eyes rounded to puppy-level beseeching.
Elewen chuckles good-naturedly, a sound like falling rocks. "How can I refuse?" Their red eyes turn on you. "What would you like to see? It's your birthday after all, so your choice."
<div class="choice">[["Camelot Castle."|Chapt4CozyElewen][$chapt4_fireshow to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Jousting knights."|Chapt4CozyElewen][$chapt4_fireshow to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The mountains near Camelot."|Chapt4CozyElewen][$chapt4_fireshow to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A pair of dancing dragons."|Chapt4CozyElewen][$chapt4_fireshow to 4]]</div><<silently>><<set $chapt4_arthur_invited to true>><</silently>>
You often write to each other. Arthur makes time for you no matter how busy - and you do the same for him, though your schedule scarsely competes in business with that of a monarch.
He'll write to you about everything he's been up to, whether that be the latest sculpture he's made or skimming over dull ruling stuff; he'll tell you of Guinevere and how you've already wormed your way into her heart; he'll recount stories of the mischief his dog, Bo, gets up to, mischief that is swiftly forgiven as grace of his cuteness; he'll talk of Kay and Gawain and Elewen and sometimes even Lancelot, but the latter is always only ever briefly mentioned. You feel he'd like to talk more about him, but fears upsetting you. Accolon's wounds have long healed, but others linger longer.
You've welcomed Arthur into your life and he's brought along a guest. The Queen herself sends you letters, inquiring about your health and interests and telling you about her garden and her bunnies which love to munch on the fruits and salad planted there. For months you only knew her as ink on paper, yet she'd painted such a vivid and warm image in your mind of herself. She did not disappoint when you finally met.
Unfortunately, Guinevere has bad news to impart upon you: she won't be able to make it to your birthday party this year, on account of her faltering health. She assures you she'll be fine but needs the rest, and says she's instructed Arthur to give you double the kisses and hugs.
Every now and then apart from the letters you will receive a token from Arthur, too. Most of them are little figurines that he's chiseled out of wood, based on what you've told him you like or what he surmised you might enjoy; you collect them all and proudly display them around your room. Whenever you wish he were there, you look up at the sculptures he's gifted you and smile, filled with joy to know that he's finally trying, that he's finally in your life.
You don't often see each other in person. Over the course of almost two years, you can count the times you've met on one hand, one of the occasions being your eleventh birthday. You will be able to add one more finger to the count in a few weeks, though. Arthur has promised to come again for your birthday, which has only made the day all the more exciting to look forward to.
You read his letter, snuggled against $dragon_name. $dragon_His eyes are closed, but $dragon_he's merely resting, rocking you slightly as $dragon_his side expands and retreats with every steady breath. $dragon_His scales are lukewarm against your skin, heated from your flight, but it's not unpleasant. You summarize the contents of the letter once you're done, excitedly sharing that Arthur had already secured preparations for his imminent travel to Lothia.
<<include Chapt4Letters>>When your eyes flutter open, you're momentarily befuddled by the sight of an unfamiliar room. It takes a few doozy moments for the memories of last night to trickle back into your conciousness, bringing bearings upon your surrounding.
Arthur's seated at the desk, frowning deeply at his opened book. He's either dragged to the bottom of the depths of his thoughts, or profoundly confounded by a passage from the very serious, very challening read that must be //The Highly Comical Misadventures of Finley Folly the Court Jester//.
"Good morning," you call out, sitting up in bed.
Arthur jumps out of his skin, nearly sending the poor book flying over the room. He quickly composes himself, laying the tome down before any bodily harm can come upon it, and turns to you with a sheepish smile. "Morning."
"Have you been up long?"
"Not quite long, but I didn't wish to disturb you. How are you feeling?"
<div class="choice">[["I feel awful," you say. As if a hoard of horses trampled you.|Chapt4ArthurMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Not really well, but that's to be expected," you say with a watery smile.|Chapt4ArthurMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Honestly, I feel mostly numb," you say. "Numb and tired."|Chapt4ArthurMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Trying to adjust, I suppose," you say carefully. "Last night feels almost like a dream."|Chapt4ArthurMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Like my whole existence is a lie. Like I'm nothing but a tool," you say bitterly, voice catching.|Chapt4ArthurMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm as alright as I can be," you say warily. You're desperately trying to ward off all these complicated thoughts until you've shrugged the sleepiness off completely. Besides, you don't want to burden Arthur when he himself must be rather troubled.|Chapt4ArthurMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 6]]</div><<if $chapt4_morning_feel == 1>>
You feel as if a hoard of wild, mad horses trampled you - physically and mentally, wicked hooves shattering your world, wrecking your spirits, racking you utterly till you were left drained body and soul.
"I feel awful," you say, slumping against the pillows.
Arthur attempts to offer a sympathetic smile - the sentiment is touching but the result is more of a pained grimace, suggestive of his own anguish. He definitely looks tired, mentally //and// physically, dark rings underlying bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry," he says as if it were all his fault. He rises up and approaches tentatively, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I know it's not easy. But I'm here for you." He sucks in a breath, hesitating before going on, "I hope you know what you found out last night, regarding your conception, it doesn't define you. Doesn't change anything. You're so much more - you're loved and wanted. I love you, Mordred, and I'm happy to have you as my child."
You smile, genuine and wide and smile, flooded by the sentiment, by the warmth tender his words exude. Arthur tentatively opens him arms and you throw yourself into them, holding on tight.
At least you're grateful that you have Arthur by your side through it all, braving your troubles and burdens together, helping soothe each other's pain if only a little. "How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
"I'm fine," he says not too convincingly, scratching the back of his neck. When you open your mouth to insist that he clearly isn't, he quickly adds: "It's opened old wounds, yes, but...there's no new shock of revelation, I suppose it's what I'm trying to say. Anyway," he sketches a smile. "Shall I call for breakfast?"
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea before heading to your chambers to bathe and change. Today will most likely await you with charged conversations. Hopefully no more revelations.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 2>>
You've just had your world shattered and turned upside down the night before when Lot decided to unceremoniously dump all on you like a bucket of ice-cold water. Everything you thought you knew about your conception turned out to be a lie, a truth altered and tailored to fit a reality far sweeter and kinder. How could you feel fine?
"Not really well," you say, attempting a smile. It's feeble and sad and feels closer to a grimace on your lips. "But that's to be expected."
Arthur attempts to offer a sympathetic smile - the sentiment is touching but the result is more of a pained grimace, suggestive of him feeling just as horrible as you. He definitely looks tired, mentally //and// physically, dark rings underlying bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry," he says as if it were all his fault. He rises up and approaches tentatively, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I know it's not easy. But I'm here for you." He sucks in a breath, hesitating before going on, "I hope you know what you found out last night, regarding your conception, it doesn't define you. Doesn't change anything. You're so much more - you're loved and wanted. I love you, Mordred, and I'm happy to have you as my child."
You smile, genuine and wide and smile, flooded by the sentiment, by the warmth tender his words exude. Arthur tentatively opens him arms and you throw yourself into them, holding on tight.
At least you're grateful that you have Arthur by your side through it all, braving your troubles and burdens together, helping soothe each other's pain if only a little. "How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
"I'm fine," he says not too convincingly, scratching the back of his neck. When you open your mouth to insist that he clearly isn't, he quickly adds: "It's opened old wounds, yes, but...there's no new shock of revelation, I suppose it's what I'm trying to say. Anyway," he sketches a smile. "Shall I call for breakfast?"
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea before heading to your chambers to bathe and change. Today will most likely await you with charged conversations. Hopefully no more revelations.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 3>>
It's akin to that feeling after sitting in cold snow for too long, that coolness that seeps under your cloths, through your skin to your bones and numb your nerves. That's how you feel in the wake of last night, carrying with you now the revelations Lot decided to unceremoniously dump on you like a bucket of ice-cold water.
"Honestly," you sign, slumping against the pillows. "I feel mostly numb. Numb and tired."
Arthur attempts to offer a sympathetic smile - the sentiment is touching but the result is more of a pained grimace, suggestive of his own anguish. He definitely looks tired, mentally //and// physically, dark rings underlying bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry," he says as if it were all his fault. He rises up and approaches tentatively, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I know it's not easy. But I'm here for you." He sucks in a breath, hesitating before going on, "I hope you know what you found out last night, regarding your conception, it doesn't define you. Doesn't change anything. You're so much more - you're loved and wanted. I love you, Mordred, and I'm happy to have you as my child."
You smile, genuine and wide and smile, flooded by the sentiment, by the warmth tender his words exude. Arthur tentatively opens him arms and you throw yourself into them, holding on tight.
At least you're grateful that you have Arthur by your side through it all, braving your troubles and burdens together, helping soothe each other's pain if only a little. "How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
"I'm fine," he says not too convincingly, scratching the back of his neck. When you open your mouth to insist that he clearly isn't, he quickly adds: "It's opened old wounds, yes, but...there's no new shock of revelation, I suppose it's what I'm trying to say. Anyway," he sketches a smile. "Shall I call for breakfast?"
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea before heading to your chambers to bathe and change. Today will most likely await you with charged conversations. Hopefully no more revelations.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 4>>
You've been left dazed ever since Lot decided to dump all on you like a bucket of ice-cold water. Dazed and confused, trying to reconcile everything you thought you knew with the truth. Musing back on last night - conjuring up the murky image of your dark room where Lot lurked, wearing his cruel smile - it almost feels like a feverish dream, a vivid nightmare.
"Trying to adjust, I suppose," you say, searching within for how best to describe what you feel. "Last night feels almost like a dream."
Arthur attempts to offer a sympathetic smile - the sentiment is touching but the result is more of a pained grimace, suggestive of his own anguish. He definitely looks tired, mentally //and// physically, dark rings underlying bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry," he says as if it were all his fault. He rises up and approaches tentatively, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I know it's not easy. But I'm here for you." He sucks in a breath, hesitating before going on, "I hope you know what you found out last night, regarding your conception, it doesn't define you. Doesn't change anything. You're so much more - you're loved and wanted. I love you, Mordred, and I'm happy to have you as my child."
You smile, genuine and wide and smile, flooded by the sentiment, by the warmth tender his words exude. Arthur tentatively opens him arms and you throw yourself into them, holding on tight.
At least you're grateful that you have Arthur by your side through it all, braving your troubles and burdens together, helping soothe each other's pain if only a little. "How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
"I'm fine," he says not too convincingly, scratching the back of his neck. When you open your mouth to insist that he clearly isn't, he quickly adds: "It's opened old wounds, yes, but...there's no new shock of revelation, I suppose it's what I'm trying to say. Anyway," he sketches a smile. "Shall I call for breakfast?"
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea before heading to your chambers to bathe and change. Today will most likely await you with charged conversations. Hopefully no more revelations.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 5>>
Last night, your entire world shattered - your perception shifted till it was turned upside down, and you're still struggling to adjust to it all. Your existence, so far, has been a lie. An altered, tailored truth made up for Morgana to dress up the ugly truth that you were never meant to be anything else but a tool to be used, a weapon to be wielded. No mistakes turned miracles: just a pawn in a game that started long before you were born.
"Like my whole existence is a lie," you say bitterly, voice thick and harsh with emotion. "Like I'm nothing but a tool - a tool to hurt //you//. I don't want that," you say, horrified desperation hanging on your words.
"Don't say that." Arthur lurches to hit feet, face warped in a pained grimace. He hurries to sit down on the edge of the bed, holding your gaze. "You're not a tool. You can do whatever you - be whoever you want. This doesn't define you. Doesn't change who you are. I know it's hard. I know it's awful. But you're so much more - you're loved and wanted. I love you, Mordred, and I'm happy to have you as my child."
Your eyes prickle as something within you simply //breaks// - something fragile and soft and fuzzy that completely melts at his words. You nod your head as you blink furiously against unshed tears, not trusting your voice to spell out your gratitude without dissolving into sobbing. Arthur smiles and tentatively opens him arms. You throw yourself into them, holding on tight.
At least you're grateful that you have Arthur by your side through it all, braving your troubles and burdens together, helping soothe each other's pain if only a little. "How are //you// faring?" you ask as you pull back, turning the question on him.
"I'm fine," he says not too convincingly, scratching the back of his neck. When you open your mouth to insist that he clearly isn't, he quickly adds: "It's opened old wounds, yes, but...there's no new shock of revelation, I suppose it's what I'm trying to say. Anyway," he sketches a smile. "Shall I call for breakfast?"
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea before heading to your chambers to bathe and change. Today will most likely await you with charged conversations. Hopefully no more revelations.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 6>>
Thoughts circle you as menacingly as hornets intent on chasing you down and stinging you; they buzz incessantly as they bound within your head. Yet you drown it all out, fend them off as best as you can and plaster on a feeble smile that you hope looks more convincing than the grimace it feels like on your lips.
"I'm as alright as I can be," you say. You've already troubled Arthur so much; you don't want to further worry him, not when all these revelations have dredged up his own pain.
Arthur attempts to offer a sympathetic smile - the sentiment is touching but the result is more of a pained grimace, suggestive of his own anguish. He definitely looks tired, mentally //and// physically, dark rings underlying bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry," he says as if it were all his fault. He rises up and approaches tentatively, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I know it's not easy. But I'm here for you." He sucks in a breath, hesitating before going on, "I hope you know what you found out last night, regarding your conception, it doesn't define you. Doesn't change anything. You're so much more - you're loved and wanted. I love you, Mordred, and I'm happy to have you as my child."
You smile, genuine and wide and smile, flooded by the sentiment, by the warmth tender his words exude. Arthur tentatively opens him arms and you throw yourself into them, holding on tight.
At least you're grateful that you have Arthur by your side through it all, braving your troubles and burdens together, helping soothe each other's pain if only a little. "How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
"I'm fine," he says not too convincingly, scratching the back of his neck. When you open your mouth to insist that he clearly isn't, he quickly adds: "It's opened old wounds, yes, but...there's no new shock of revelation, I suppose it's what I'm trying to say. Anyway," he sketches a smile. "Shall I call for breakfast?"
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea before heading to your chambers to bathe and change. Today will most likely await you with charged conversations. Hopefully no more revelations.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt4JuniaPOV]]<<if $chapt4_arthur_away == 1>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that has tormented him for years. And if that were not enough, you are the terrible figure helming an equally terrible prophecy if one were to take Merlin's word for it. Part of it seems already fulfilled - you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. Knowing the full truth now, you feel horrible to have been the cause of his pain. He's suffered all this time that you licked the wounds his absence left, wondering the cause of his cowardice in abandoning you - which Morgana knew very well. Whatever scars he left you pale in comparison to the anguish that has racked him, that even now upon mere recollection has rendered him a crying, piteous mess.
"It's alright if you want to keep your distance from me for a while," you mutter. You don't want to say the words - they hurt even as you speak them, as if they were barbed and coated in poison, leaving a bloody trail up your throat and tongue - but you speak them all the same. You feel you need to. You can't force Arthur to stand by your side if it hurts him. You've already opened an old wound that you're not even sure was properly closed. You don't want to keep twisting the knife.
Arthur's head snaps up and he looks at you through dazed, misty eyes. He does not look assuaged at all. "Don't say that," he croaks. "Don't ever say that. I've regretted abandoning you once. I shall not repeat my mistake." He finds your hand and takes it in his, squeezing your fingers as if to moor himself to you in an unquestionable demonstration of his conviction. You squeeze back, mustering a weak smile.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_away == 2>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that has tormented him for years. And if that were not enough, you are the terrible figure helming an equally terrible prophecy if one were to take Merlin's word for it. Part of it seems already fulfilled - you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. You see it now in all its painful clarity: the reason for his absence. All this time, he's suffered just like you did. You both have scars and his have racked him utterly, so much so that even now upon mere recollection he's been rendered a crying, piteous mess.
If that pain was strong enough to keep him away from you all those years, could it pluck him away from you now too? The horrifying thought grips you in its sharp claws and you blurt out, a tinge frantic: "We can heal together, right? You won't disappear again?"
Arthur's head snaps up and he looks at you through dazed, misty eyes. "Of course we can," he croaks. "I've regretted abandoning you once. I shall not repeat my mistake." He finds your hand and takes it in his, squeezing your fingers as if to moor himself to you in an unquestionable demonstration of his conviction. You squeeze back, mustering a weak smile.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_away == 3>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that has tormented him for years. And if that were not enough, you are the terrible figure helming an equally terrible prophecy if one were to take Merlin's word for it. Part of it seems already fulfilled - you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. You see it now in all its painful clarity: the reason for his absence. All this time, he's suffered just like you did. You both have scars and his have racked him utterly, so much so that even now upon mere recollection he's been rendered a crying, piteous mess.
It doesn't completely wash away the bitterness those years brewed in you, nor does it close the slowly healing wounds he slashed open with his distance.
"I understand now better why you haven't reached out," you mutter. "But it doesn't change the fact that I've suffered for it too." The jaundiced words coat your tongue in bile and hurt even yourself to say, but you say them nonetheless. A part of you still feels so raw and festering whenever you think of his absence.
Arthur looks at you through dazed, misty eyes. "I know," he croaks. "I know, and I'm so sorry. But now I'm here. And we can heal. I hope that we can heal-" his voice breaks again. He finds your hand and takes it in his, squeezing your fingers. A show of affection and solidarity. You squeeze back, mustering a weak smile.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_away == 4>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that has tormented him for years. And if that were not enough, you are the terrible figure helming an equally terrible prophecy if one were to take Merlin's word for it. Part of it seems already fulfilled - you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. Knowing the full truth now, you feel horrible to have been the cause of his pain. All this time, he's suffered just like you did. You both have scars and his have racked him utterly, so much so that even now upon mere recollection he's been rendered a crying, piteous mess.
Understanding the depth of his pain that contributed to his absence - understanding now better that it were not mere cowardice, as Morgana has always liked to tell you - you deem now unjustified whatever bitterness you held for him in your most vulnerable moments, when rather than to think yourself unworthy of his love you transformed your agony to anger at him, an emotion that felt easier to contend with.
"I understand now better why you haven't reached out," you mutter. "I've suffered, but so have you. I'm sorry I was ever mad at you for it."
Arthur looks at you through dazed, misty eyes. "Don't apologize," he croaks. "It's not you that needs to apologize, it's me." You almost laugh, but it fades in your throat - look at the both of you attempting to take the burden onto yourself, to spare the other. He finds your hand and takes it in his, squeezing your fingers. You squeeze back, mustering a weak smile.
<</if>>
A pregnant silence falls over you as Arthur dries his tears and you both simmer down.
"I've realized," he says after a while, "that you didn't tell me how you found out about it all. I...doubt Morgana told you herself."
"She didn't," you agree. "Lot did. As a //birthday present//."
Arthur's face twists in horror. "Mordred, that's horrible." He looks away, wringing his fingers and mumbling, more to himself than you: "I should have a talk with that man."
You, truth be told, would rather not think of Lot right now. He's dredged up enough dreadful feelings; no need to let him dig up some more. "I'd like to stay with you for a while. If it's alright."
Arthur offers a liquid smile and a warm invitation to stay as much as you'd like. "I'd rather not be alone, either," he mutters. Then, clearing his throat: "I was thinking of whittling. Especially at a time like this, it...helps me calm down."
Arthur has told you that the precision and confidence needed to wield the whittling knife offers an outlet for the nerves that would otherwise render his hands restless; and in turn, the required concentration acts as an anchor for turbulent thoughts.
<div class="choice">[[You're happy to watch him whittling.|Chapt4ArthurWhittle][$chapt4_arthur_whittle to 1, $whittle to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Since meeting Arthur, you've picked up the hobby as well.|Chapt4ArthurWhittle][$chapt4_arthur_whittle to 2, $whittle to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Could you teach me how to whittle?" you ask.|Chapt4ArthurWhittle][$chapt4_arthur_whittle to 3, $whittle to "yes"]]</div><<if $chapt4_arthur_comfort == 1>>
You throw your arms around his shaking frame, patting his back with one hand as you repeat, "It's alright," and "It's not your fault mother lied to you," in an attempt to allay his tears, your own eyes stinging as you listen to his pitiful sobs.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_comfort == 2>>
You don't know what to say or do to allay his tears. You don't know if there's anything you might do to help. Helplessly, you put a hand on his shaking shoulder, heart wrung out by each pitiful sob.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_comfort == 3>>
You're rooted to the spot as you watch him cry, each pitiful sob wringing your heart. Yet you don't know what you could say or do to help him so you stand there before him as useless as a statue - but not quite as still, pulling nervously at your sleeve as you chew on your lower lip.
<</if>>
"I'm so sorry, Mordred," he whimpers, "I'm so sorry. For never reaching out until the tournament. I know it must be horrible to hear, but for a while, I simply couldn't bear to be around you. And I hated myself for it at the same time, but it felt too painful a thing to attempt in those first few years."
<div class="choice">[[Arthur looks so pained...And you feel horrible. "It's alright if you want to keep your distance for a while. If this opened old wounds."|Chapt4ArthurNextDayAway][$chapt4_arthur_away to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A horrifying thought pops in your mind. "We can heal together, right? You won't disappear again?"|Chapt4ArthurNextDayAway][$chapt4_arthur_away to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I better understand why you kept your distance. It still hurt me, but I understand.\""|Chapt4ArthurNextDayAway][$chapt4_arthur_away to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I better understand why you kept your distance now. And I'm so sorry I was ever mad at you for it." You feel horrible.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayAway][$chapt4_arthur_away to 4]]</div><<if $chapt4_arthur_write == 1>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that must have tormented him for years. Prophecy or not, you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. You see it now in all its painful clarity: the reason for his absence. All this time, he's suffered just like you did. It doesn't wash away the bitterness those years brewed in you, nor does it close the wounds he slashed open with his distance - but it offers you understanding.
You settle at your desk, pull a blank sheet of paper and dip your pen in ink. You inhale deeply as you try to corral your thoughts.
//'Dear Arthur',// you begin, which is the customary way of starting a letter. Yet the words feel so strange, staring up at you from the page. You shake your head and put pen to paper again, scribbling on, 'I have been told of the truth of my conception. I know what mother did to you, and I just wanted to let you know that now I think I have a better understanding of why you kept your distance. So, is it true? Is this why you felt you couldn't be around me - around my mother? Do I bring back painful memories? It doesn't erase the wounds your absence inflicted upon me, but it brings me an understanding I previously did not have. I just want to hear your side of the story. That's all I'm asking for; and afterwards I'll leave us to return to the distance I'm so familiar to.'
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_write == 2>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that must have tormented him for years. Prophecy or not, you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. Knowing the full truth now, you feel horrible to have been the cause of his pain. All this time, he's suffered just like you did.
You settle at your desk, pull a blank sheet of paper and dip your pen in ink. You inhale deeply as you try to corral your thoughts.
//'Dear Arthur',// you begin, which is the customary way of starting a letter. Yet the words feel so strange, staring up at you from the page. You shake your head and put pen to paper again, scribbling on, 'I have been told of the truth of my conception. I know what mother did to you, and I just wanted to let you know that now I think I have a better understanding of why you kept your distance. So, is it true? Is this why you felt you couldn't be around me - around my mother? Do I bring back painful memories? Your absence has hurt me deeply, yet now I can't help but feel terrible for everything you must have gone through. For what I must be a reminder of to you. I just want to hear your side of the story. That's all I'm asking for; and afterwards I'll leave us to return to the distance I'm so familiar to.'
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_write == 3>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that must have tormented him for years. Prophecy or not, you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. You see it now in all its painful clarity: the reason for his absence. All this time, he's suffered just like you did. It doesn't wash away the bitterness those years brewed in you, nor does it close the wounds he slashed open with his distance - but it offers you understanding.
//'Dear Arthur',// you begin, which is the customary way of starting a letter. Yet the words feel so strange, staring up at you from the page. You shake your head and put pen to paper again, scribbling on, 'I have been told of the truth of my conception. I know what mother did to you, and I just wanted to let you know that now I think I have a better understanding of why you kept your distance. So, is it true? Is this why you felt you couldn't be around me - around my mother? Do I bring back painful memories? It doesn't erase the wounds your absence inflicted upon me, but it brings me an understanding I previously did not have. I just want to hear your side of the story, and offer my sympathy for what you must have gone through.' You hesitate, the corner of your mouth tugging up in a sad smile. 'I'm hoping we could better understand each other.'
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_write == 4>>
You are the reminder of that horrible night, made flesh and blood; a consequence of the deceitful encounter that must have tormented him for years. Prophecy or not, you've been Arthur's undoing since the moment you were conceived.
No wonder he kept his distance. Knowing the full truth now, you feel horrible to have been the cause of his pain. All this time, he's suffered just like you did.
//'Dear Arthur',// you begin, which is the customary way of starting a letter. Yet the words feel so strange, staring up at you from the page. You shake your head and put pen to paper again, scribbling on, 'I have been told of the truth of my conception. I know what mother did to you, and I just wanted to let you know that now I think I have a better understanding of why you kept your distance. So, is it true? Is this why you felt you couldn't be around me - around my mother? Do I bring back painful memories? Your absence has hurt me deeply, yet now I can't help but feel terrible for everything you must have gone through. For what I must be a reminder of to you. I just want to hear your side of the story, and offer my sympathy for what you must have gone through.' You hesitate, the corner of your mouth tugging up in a sad smile. 'I'm hoping we could better understand each other.'
<</if>>
You sign off the letter, slip it inside an envelope and secure it with your wax seal - the Le Fay serpent - intent on sending it right away.
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]<<if $chapt4_arthur_tell == 1>>
Finding yourself standing face to face with Arthur, mind flooded with all the horrible things you've learned yesterday, you break yet again. The tears come unbidden and blur your vision till Arthur's but a misty smudge of colors. You try to clear your eyes but with every blink you come upon another broken, unclear glimpse of his suffering-twisted features. He pulls you closer and dabs at your damp cheeks with the sleeve of his chemise, muttering frantic questions and would-be soothing words that fail to achieve their effect when he sounds so ruffled and helpless himself.
He wraps you in his arms, alarmed and pleading with you to tell him what's wrong and whatever he can do to assuage you as your tears soak his shoulder, face pressed against the soft linen tunic, smelling vaguely of cedarwood - warm and earthy, somewhat camphor-like, reminding you of cool healing balms used to soothe the soreness of bruises and sting of cuts.
You try to swallow your sobs to no avail, struggling until you choke out a broken, "I know why mother had me. I know what she //did to you//."
Arthur freezes, his whole frame suddenly taut with tension. You pull back to look at him, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. His face is a raw, open, bleeding wound; anguished and harrowed that its sight alone claws at your chest and your insides. Tears gather in your eyes anew.
"I'm so sorry, Mordred," he says as if it were him who needed to apologize.
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation. Just curiosity.|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" Perhaps it's not a fair accusation but you throw it at him all the same.|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault.\""|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_tell == 2>>
Finding yourself standing face to face with Arthur, mind flooded with all the horrible things you've learned yesterday, you break yet again. You propel yourself at him, clinging to him as if you were drowning and he were your only anchor in this sea of anguish - anguish for yourself and for him. His arms come to wrap around you as he mutters frantic questions and would-be soothing words that fail to achieve their effect when he sounds so ruffled and helpless himself.
"What happened?"
Face pressed against the soft linen of his shoulder, you inhale deeply. A waft of cedarwood fills your nostrils, warm and earthy, somewhat camphor-like, reminding you of cool healing balms used to soothe the soreness of bruises and sting of cuts. "I know why mother had me. I know what she //did to you//."
Arthur freezes, his whole frame suddenly taut with tension. You pull back to look at him. His face is a raw, open, bleeding wound; so harrowed that its sight alone claws at your chest and your insides.
"I'm so sorry, Mordred," he says as if it were him who needed to apologize.
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation. Just curiosity.|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" Perhaps it's not a fair accusation but you throw it at him all the same.|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault.\""|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_tell == 3>>
Finding yourself standing face to face with Arthur, you mind floods with all the horrible things you've learned yesterday, threatening to overwhelm you. You take a deep, steadying breath as you prepare to launch into the painful explanation. A waft of cedarwood fills your nostrils, warm and earthy, somewhat camphor-like, reminding you of cool healing balms used to soothe the soreness of bruises and sting of cuts. "I know why mother had me," you say slowly. "I know what she //did to you//."
Arthur freezes, his whole frame suddenly taut with tension. His face contorts into a raw, open, bleeding wound; so anguished and harrowed that its sight alone claws at your chest and your insides.
"I'm so sorry, Mordred," he says as if it were him who needed to apologize.
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation. Just curiosity.|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" Perhaps it's not a fair accusation but you throw it at him all the same.|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault.\""|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_tell == 4>>
Finding yourself standing face to face with Arthur, you mind floods with all the horrible things you've learned yesterday, threatening to overwhelm you. Contradicting emotions crash against you like tumultuous waves, making your skin prickle and teem with nerves. You've sought Arthur out to discuss matters, but it's just as much an attempt to find some solace for yourself. Yet the words feel stuck in your throat now, a lump that refuses to budge, a burden that, once out, shall weigh down on both of you. Perhaps, when it's all out, it'll be him who needs the comfort more than you.
"What happened, Mordred?" Arthur prods, growing alarmed with your extending silence.
"I know why mother had me. I know what she did to you."
Arthur freezes, his whole frame suddenly taut with tension. His face contorts into a raw, open, bleeding wound; so anguished and harrowed that its sight alone claws at your chest and your insides.
"I'm so sorry, Mordred," he says as if it were him who needed to apologize.
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation. Just curiosity.|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" Perhaps it's not a fair accusation but you throw it at him all the same.|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault.\""|Chapt4ArthurNextTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_arthur_why == 1>>
"Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation but genuine curiosity. Has Arthur feared how Morgana might react upon finding out he's told you, similarly to her furious response to him revealing the prophecy to you?
"I don't like talking about it," he baldly states.
Arthur stumbles back till his leg hit the chest at the feet of the bed, upon which he falls heavily. He folds in on himself like a hedgehog, face buried in palms, and takes a rattling breath that resonates as wretched as a violent gust of late autumn wind through barren trees.
"I don't like talking about it," he repeats quietly, "But you deserve to know." He draws himself up to meet your gaze. "This is the reason - the biggest part of it - of why I kept away from you.
"That night," he swallows thickly, "I'm ashamed of what I've done...Of what I've allowed to happen." His voice quivers yet he plods on, "I was so distraught the next day when I found out who she was, and even more so when she-" his breath hitches, a gasp like he felt himself slipping underwater and quickly kicked up. "When she told me she was heavy with child. She stayed at Camelot those nine months, and I could hardly be around her at times." His voice breaks completely, any composure he clung to dissolving into a fit of tears as his face scrunches up. Yet he goes on, tripping over his words: "And all this time she looked so radiant, so bright, so unbothered by it and meanwhile I felt like I was drowning. I felt so foolish and embarrassed. So I didn't tell anyone until the night you were born, when I confessed everything to Merlin." The words fade away to quiet weeping and he lets his head hang in his hands.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_why == 2>>
"Why didn't you tell me?" Perhaps it's not a fair accusation but you throw it at him nonetheless, tone bitter. Was Arthur so scared of how Morgana might react upon finding out he's told you, similarly to her furious response to him revealing the prophecy to you?
"I don't like talking about it," he baldly states.
Arthur stumbles back till his leg hit the chest at the feet of the bed, upon which he falls heavily. He folds in on himself like a hedgehog, face buried in palms, and takes a rattling breath that resonates as wretched as a violent gust of late autumn wind through barren trees.
"I don't like talking about it," he repeats quietly, "But you deserve to know." He draws himself up to meet your gaze. "This is the reason - the biggest part of it - of why I kept away from you.
"That night," he swallows thickly, "I'm ashamed of what I've done...Of what I've allowed to happen." His voice quivers yet he plods on, "I was so distraught the next day when I found out who she was, and even more so when she-" his breath hitches, a gasp like he felt himself slipping underwater and quickly kicked up. "When she told me she was heavy with child. She stayed at Camelot those nine months, and I could hardly be around her at times." His voice breaks completely, any composure he clung to dissolving into a fit of tears as his face scrunches up. Yet he goes on, tripping over his words: "And all this time she looked so radiant, so bright, so unbothered by it and meanwhile I felt like I was drowning. I felt so foolish and embarrassed. So I didn't tell anyone until the night you were born, when I confessed everything to Merlin." The words fade away to quiet weeping and he lets his head hang in his hands.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_why == 3>>
Your brow furrows. "Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault." It's mother who tricked and deceived him; it's her who decided to hatch you as her revenge plan.
Arthur stumbles back till his leg hit the chest at the feet of the bed, upon which he falls heavily. He folds in on himself like a hedgehog, face buried in palms, and takes a rattling breath that resonates as wretched as a violent gust of late autumn wind through barren trees.
"I don't like talking about it," he says quietly, "But you deserve to know." He draws himself up to meet your gaze. "This is the reason - the biggest part of it - of why I kept away from you.
"That night," he swallows thickly, "I'm ashamed of what I've done...Of what I've allowed to happen." His voice quivers yet he plods on, "I was so distraught the next day when I found out who she was, and even more so when she-" his breath hitches, a gasp like he felt himself slipping underwater and quickly kicked up. "When she told me she was heavy with child. She stayed at Camelot those nine months, and I could hardly be around her at times." His voice breaks completely, any composure he clung to dissolving into a fit of tears as his face scrunches up. Yet he goes on, tripping over his words: "And all this time she looked so radiant, so bright, so unbothered by it and meanwhile I felt like I was drowning. I felt so foolish and embarrassed. So I didn't tell anyone until the night you were born, when I confessed everything to Merlin." The words fade away to quiet weeping and he lets his head hang in his hands.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Hug him.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayComfort][$chapt4_arthur_comfort to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't quite know how to comfort him - you put a hand on his shoulder, feeling helpless and useless.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayComfort][$chapt4_arthur_comfort to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You stand there awkwardly, not sure how to best comfort him. What to say, what to do, listening to his silent sobbing.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayComfort][$chapt4_arthur_comfort to 3]]</div><<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"You've been practising fire storytelling, haven't you?" Elewen asks and your dragon friend suddenly turns bashful, head lowered as $dragon_he murmurs a confirmation, most likely sensing the next question. "Would you like to show us?"
It takes a bit of coaxing and encouraging from the three of you for $dragon_name to step outside the pavilion onto the grass, away from anything flammable such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet.
<<else>>
"You've been practising fire storytelling, haven't you?" Elewen asks and your dragon friend suddenly perks up, head held higer as $dragon_he nods, most likely sensing the next question. "Would you like to show us?"
$dragon_name doesn't have to be asked twice before $dragon_he steps outside the pavilion onto the grass, away from anything flammable such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"A pair of knights flying.\""|Chapt4CozyDragonFriend2][$chapt4_fireshow to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Our spot by the river.\""|Chapt4CozyDragonFriend2][$chapt4_fireshow to 2]]</div><<if $chapt4_arthur_snake == 1>>
"Nonsense," you say firmly, tapping your fingers against the sword's hilt to punctuate your words with a dull thump. "You are a Le Fay, magic or not, raised as one or not. If you want to wear the serpent symbol, you should."
Though you do understand what Arthur says. His Le Fay blood is not the first thing that comes to mind when people think of the King. He's a Pendragon first and foremost, and it's as if that other side of him is willingly overlooked, another way through which he's distanced himself from you and Morgana and your family.
//Your family.// Perhaps there's another reason for which even you so easily overlook Arthur's dual claim as Le Fay and Pendragon - it stirs a strange, dark, slimy feeling that coils around you and makes your stomach roil. You're quick to banish it, though, as if shaking dust off of you.
<<else>>
"Makes sense," you say mildly, running an index along the sword's simple hilt. "But you are a Le Fay, magic or not, raised as one or not. If you want to wear the serpent symbol, you should."
Though you do understand what Arthur says. His Le Fay blood is not the first thing that comes to mind when people think of the King. He's a Pendragon first and foremost, and it's as if that other side of him is willingly overlooked, another way through which he's distanced himself from you and Morgana and your family.
//Your family.// Perhaps there's another reason for which even you so easily overlook Arthur's dual claim as Le Fay and Pendragon - it stirs a strange, dark, slimy feeling that coils around you and makes your stomach roil. You're quick to banish it, though, as if shaking dust off of you.
<</if>>
Arthur smiles. "Thank you, Mordred."
He straightens up and reaches for the sword laid by his side, cheerful mood restored. "Another round?"
Before you can reply, a buoyant voice calls out: "Having fun?"
Accolon strides up to you, wearing his beaming, kind smile.
One year ago, being addressed so amicably by Accolon, Arthur had dithered, demeanor suddenly turned bashful. The next day he had confessed to you that, in some moments, he'd felt bad for showing up in your life out of the blue, after sending no word or regard and knowing that you already had found a father in Accolon. That he was happy you had him, and grateful to Accolon for everything he's done for you. You'd assured him that Accolon had no ill feelings for him and that, on the contrary, Accolon had been very supportive of your decision to welcome him into your life. Arthur was greatly relieved.
"We are," Arthur replies amiably. "Would you like to join us?"
Play fighting in three is a lot more chaotic, but it simply makes it all the more fun.
<<if $chapt4_party == "showy">>
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>>
<<else>>
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_arthur_tell == 1>>
They come unbidden and blur your vision till Arthur's but a misty smudge of colors. You try to clear your eyes but with every blink you come upon another broken, unclear glimpse of his suffering-twisted features. He pulls you closer and dabs at your damp cheeks with the sleeve of his chemise, muttering frantic questions and would-be soothing words that fail to achieve their effect when he sounds so ruffled and helpless himself.
He wraps you in his arms and pleads with you to tell him what's wrong and whatever he can do to assuage you as your tears soak his shoulder, face pressed against the soft linen, smelling vaguely of cedarwood - warm and earthy, somewhat camphor-like, reminding you of cool healing balms used to soothe the soreness of bruises and sting of cuts.
You try to swallow your sobs to no avail, struggling until you choke out a broken, "I know why mother had me. I know what she //did to you//."
Arthur freezes, his whole frame suddenly taut with tension. You pull back to look at him, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. His face is a raw, open, bleeding wound; anguished and harrowed that its sight alone claws at your chest and your insides. Tears gather in your eyes anew.
"I'm so sorry, Mordred," he says as if it were him who needed to apologize.
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation. Just curiosity.|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" Perhaps it's not a fair accusation but you throw it at him all the same.|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault.\""|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_tell == 2>>
You propel yourself at him, clinging to him as if you were drowning and he were your only anchor in this sea of anguish - anguish for yourself and for him. His arms come to wrap around you as he mutters frantic questions and would-be soothing words that fail to achieve their effect when he sounds so ruffled and helpless himself.
"What happened?"
Face pressed against the soft linen of his shoulder, you inhale deeply. A waft of cedarwood fills your nostrils, warm and earthy, somewhat camphor-like, reminding you of cool healing balms used to soothe the soreness of bruises and sting of cuts. "I know why mother had me. I know what she //did to you//."
Arthur freezes, his whole frame suddenly taut with tension. You pull back to look at him. His face is a raw, open, bleeding wound; so harrowed that its sight alone claws at your chest and your insides.
"I'm so sorry, Mordred," he says as if it were him who needed to apologize.
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation. Just curiosity.|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" Perhaps it's not a fair accusation but you throw it at him all the same.|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault.\""|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_tell == 3>>
You take a deep, steadying breath as you prepare to launch into the painful explanation. A waft of cedarwood fills your nostrils, warm and earthy, somewhat camphor-like, reminding you of cool healing balms used to soothe the soreness of bruises and sting of cuts. "I know why mother had me," you say slowly. "I know what she //did to you//."
Arthur freezes, his whole frame suddenly taut with tension. His face contorts into a raw, open, bleeding wound; so anguished and harrowed that its sight alone claws at your chest and your insides.
"I'm so sorry, Mordred," he says as if it were him who needed to apologize.
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation. Just curiosity.|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" Perhaps it's not a fair accusation but you throw it at him all the same.|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault.\""|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_tell == 4>>
You take a wide step back, letting Arthur's hand slide off your shoulder. It falls by his side, helpless and awkward, as his brow pinches. You're experiencing tumultuous waves of contradicting emotions, your skin prickles and teems with nerves. You've sought Arthur out in an attempt to find some solace for yourself, but you're not the only one who should be comforted here - and perhaps he needs it more than you, but right now all you can do is stand, shifting your weigh from foot to foot, unsure how to get out your next words.
"What happened, Mordred?"
"I know why mother had me. I know what she did to you."
Arthur freezes, his whole frame suddenly taut with tension. His face contorts into a raw, open, bleeding wound; so anguished and harrowed that its sight alone claws at your chest and your insides.
"I'm so sorry, Mordred," he says as if it were him who needed to apologize.
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation. Just curiosity.|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why didn't you tell me?" Perhaps it's not a fair accusation but you throw it at him all the same.|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault.\""|Chapt4ArthurTell1][$chapt4_arthur_why to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_arthur_why == 1>>
"Why didn't you tell me?" It's not an accusation but genuine curiosity. Has Arthur feared how Morgana might react upon finding out he's told you, similarly to her furious response to him revealing the prophecy to you?
"I don't like talking about it," he baldly states.
Arthur stumbles back till his leg hit the chest at the feet of the bed, upon which he falls heavily. He folds in on himself like a hedgehog, face buried in palms, and takes a rattling breath that resonates as wretched as a violent gust of late autumn wind through barren trees.
"I don't like talking about it," he repeats quietly, "But you deserve to know." He draws himself up to meet your gaze. "This is the reason - the biggest part of it - of why I kept away from you.
"That night," he swallows thickly, "I'm ashamed of what I've done...Of what I've allowed to happen." His voice quivers yet he plods on, "I was so distraught the next day when I found out who she was, and even more so when she-" his breath hitches, a gasp like he felt himself slipping underwater and quickly kicked up. "When she told me she was heavy with child. She stayed at Camelot those nine months, and I could hardly be around her at times." His voice breaks completely, any composure he clung to dissolving into a fit of tears as his face scrunches up. Yet he goes on, tripping over his words: "And all this time she looked so radiant, so bright, so unbothered by it and meanwhile I felt like I was drowning. I felt so foolish and embarrassed. So I didn't tell anyone until the night you were born, when I confessed everything to Merlin." The words fade away to quiet weeping and he lets his head hang in his hands.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_why == 2>>
"Why didn't you tell me?" Perhaps it's not a fair accusation but you throw it at him nonetheless, tone bitter. Was Arthur so scared of how Morgana might react upon finding out he's told you, similarly to her furious response to him revealing the prophecy to you?
"I don't like talking about it," he baldly states.
Arthur stumbles back till his leg hit the chest at the feet of the bed, upon which he falls heavily. He folds in on himself like a hedgehog, face buried in palms, and takes a rattling breath that resonates as wretched as a violent gust of late autumn wind through barren trees.
"I don't like talking about it," he repeats quietly, "But you deserve to know." He draws himself up to meet your gaze. "This is the reason - the biggest part of it - of why I kept away from you.
"That night," he swallows thickly, "I'm ashamed of what I've done...Of what I've allowed to happen." His voice quivers yet he plods on, "I was so distraught the next day when I found out who she was, and even more so when she-" his breath hitches, a gasp like he felt himself slipping underwater and quickly kicked up. "When she told me she was heavy with child. She stayed at Camelot those nine months, and I could hardly be around her at times." His voice breaks completely, any composure he clung to dissolving into a fit of tears as his face scrunches up. Yet he goes on, tripping over his words: "And all this time she looked so radiant, so bright, so unbothered by it and meanwhile I felt like I was drowning. I felt so foolish and embarrassed. So I didn't tell anyone until the night you were born, when I confessed everything to Merlin." The words fade away to quiet weeping and he lets his head hang in his hands.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_why == 3>>
Your brow furrows. "Why are you apologizing? It's not your fault." It's mother who tricked and deceived him; it's her who decided to hatch you as her revenge plan.
Arthur stumbles back till his leg hit the chest at the feet of the bed, upon which he falls heavily. He folds in on himself like a hedgehog, face buried in palms, and takes a rattling breath that resonates as wretched as a violent gust of late autumn wind through barren trees.
"I don't like talking about it," he says quietly, "But you deserve to know." He draws himself up to meet your gaze. "This is the reason - the biggest part of it - of why I kept away from you.
"That night," he swallows thickly, "I'm ashamed of what I've done...Of what I've allowed to happen." His voice quivers yet he plods on, "I was so distraught the next day when I found out who she was, and even more so when she-" his breath hitches, a gasp like he felt himself slipping underwater and quickly kicked up. "When she told me she was heavy with child. She stayed at Camelot those nine months, and I could hardly be around her at times." His voice breaks completely, any composure he clung to dissolving into a fit of tears as his face scrunches up. Yet he goes on, tripping over his words: "And all this time she looked so radiant, so bright, so unbothered by it and meanwhile I felt like I was drowning. I felt so foolish and embarrassed. So I didn't tell anyone until the night you were born, when I confessed everything to Merlin." The words fade away to quiet weeping and he lets his head hang in his hands.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Hug him.|Chapt4ArthurComfort][$chapt4_arthur_comfort to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't quite know how to comfort him - you put a hand on his shoulder, feeling helpless and useless.|Chapt4ArthurComfort][$chapt4_arthur_comfort to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You stand there awkwardly, not sure how to best comfort him. What to say, what to do, listening to his silent sobbing.|Chapt4ArthurComfort][$chapt4_arthur_comfort to 3]]</div><<if $figurine == "yes" and $chapt4_arthur_whittle == 2>>
Every now and then you'll stare at the first figurine he's ever given you, proudly displayed on your shelf - the token of your reconciliation, the reminder that Arthur cared before you even met - all the others you've received ever since, hold them just to run your fingers over the meticulously chiseled handywork. You've studied them with more than just fondness, though, but with a keen eye for detail, seeking to unravel how the hand that wielded the knife cut and hewed and trimmed to recreate such a beautiful simulacrum of a dragon. You wanted to learn the same, and Arthur replied in earnest. With his next latter attached, he'd sent a box of shiny, new whittling tools, blocks of carving wood, and an instructional manual penned by him that opened with the great regret he couldn't be there to teach you as Ector did for him.
And it's truly such a shame you get so few opportunities for flesh-and-blood lessons, for Arthur has the most soothing, pleasant demeanor as a teacher. His cadence never fails to lull you into a sense of calm, much like drinking a hot tea by the hearth on a cold winter night or floating in tranquil waters, rocked by gentle currents.
<<elseif $figurine != "yes" and $chapt4_arthur_whittle == 2>>
You'll sometimes marvel at all the wooden sculptures he's sent you - you've amassed quite a few, and you love picking them up one but one just to run your fingers over the meticulously chiseled handywork. You've studied them with more than just fondness, though, but with a keen eye for detail, seeking to unravel how the hand that wielded the knife cut and hewed and trimmed to recreate such a beautiful simulacrum of a dragon. You wanted to learn the same, and Arthur replied in earnest. With his next latter attached, he'd sent a box of shiny, new whittling tools, blocks of carving wood, and an instructional manual penned by him that opened with the great regret he couldn't be there to teach you as Ector did for him.
And it's truly such a shame you get so few opportunities for flesh-and-blood lessons, for Arthur has the most soothing, pleasant demeanor as a teacher. His cadence never fails to lull you into a sense of calm, much like drinking a hot tea by the hearth on a cold winter night or floating in tranquil waters, rocked by gentle currents.
<<elseif $figurine == "yes" and $chapt4_arthur_whittle == 3>>
Every now and then you'll stare at the first figurine he's ever given you, proudly displayed on your shelf - the token of your reconciliation, the reminder that Arthur cared before you even met - all the others you've received ever since, hold them just to run your fingers over the meticulously chiseled handywork. Lately you've been looking at them with more than just fondness though, but a keen eye for detail, seeking to unravel how the hand that wielded the knife cut and hewed and trimmed to recreate such a beautiful simulacrum of a dragon.
"I'd like to learn how to whittle."
Your announcement is met with great excitement. It's as if all of Arthur's troubles have been forgotten and cast aside as he rummages around his luggage. He proffers to you a wooden box with an almost ceremonial air.
"You'll use my tools now, but I promise I'll send you a set of your own the first opportunity I get," he says as you inspect the knives and chisels set within the box atop a lush bed of velvet. They shine as bright as his smile - well beloved and taken care of. "Take that knife, and I'll bring you a wooden block. Think of what you'd like to carve. We'll do it together and I'll walk you through it. Oh, and you'll need a glove. Mine might be a bit too big, but we'll work with what we have."
Arthur turns out to be an excellent teacher. He explains everything patiently, and gives you ample guidance. His passion for the craft is plain to see and stokes your own dedication to learn. It's easy to soak up every word he says, with his cadence lulling you into a sense of calm, much like drinking a hot tea by the hearth on a cold winter night or floating in tranquil waters, rocked by gentle currents.
<<elseif $figurine != "yes" and $chapt4_arthur_whittle == 3>>
You'll sometimes marvel at all the wooden sculptures he's sent you - you've amassed quite a few, and you love picking them up one but one just to run your fingers over the meticulously chiseled handywork. Lately you've been looking at them with more than just fondness though, but a keen eye for detail, seeking to unravel how the hand that wielded the knife cut and hewed and trimmed to recreate such a beautiful simulacrum of a dragon.
"I'd like to learn how to whittle."
Your announcement is met with great excitement. It's as if all of Arthur's troubles have been forgotten and cast aside as he rummages around his luggage. He proffers to you a wooden box with an almost ceremonial air.
"You'll use my tools now, but I promise I'll send you a set of your own the first opportunity I get," he says as you inspect the knives and chisels set within the box atop a lush bed of velvet. They shine as bright as his smile - well beloved and taken care of. "Take that knife, and I'll bring you a wooden block. Think of what you'd like to carve. We'll do it together and I'll walk you through it. Oh, and you'll need a glove. Mine might be a bit too big, but we'll work with what we have."
Arthur turns out to be an excellent teacher. He explains everything patiently, and gives you ample guidance. His passion for the craft is plain to see and stokes your own dedication to learn. It's easy to soak up every word he says, with his cadence lulling you into a sense of calm, much like drinking a hot tea by the hearth on a cold winter night or floating in tranquil waters, rocked by gentle currents.
<<else>>
Arthur settles on the carpet by the unlit hearth, assembling before him his box of tools and blocks of wood. You nestle yourself close to him in a cozy nest of decorative pillows you've hastily put together as he sets to work. There's something strangely calming about watching someone go about a task with such ease and confidence that can only come from years of practice and experience. The whittling blade has become an extension of his hand, wielded with the same precision you might wield your sword. He knows exactly where to make incisions and how much to hew away, turning the unassuming block of wood into something new and beautiful. It's sort of like transfiguration, with your fingers and tools to do the magic.
<</if>>
You have a question to ask, though you're reluctant to shake the precarious sliver of calm you've both found - that tremulous lull after the rain has passed, before the outpour starts again with a vengeance.
You take a deep breath and say: "Does Guinevere know the whole truth, too?"
Arthur's hand still. His gaze stays fixed on the wood, that's cut and hewed enough to become suggestive of a shape. "Yes," he replies. "When I told her of your existence and the prophecy, I told her //everything//. It wasn't easy, but I'd started trusting her by then, and she was kind and understanding when I told her."
"Doe she hate mother?"
If she does, she's been hidding it well beneath smiles and jokes; though the two have never struck you as close, come to think of it.
"She...has strong feelings regarding what happened to me. And that extends as strong feelings towards Morgana." He pushes the blade against the side of the block, but doesn't cut yet. "I wish she were here," he adds in a whisper you barely catched. "Lord Lot should count himself lucky she wasn't here."
Your stomach twists, and you rush to say: "Let's just focus on the whittling then."
Arthur readily obliges. You'll speak on the topic with Guinevere herself, when you get the opportunity. But now, you want to try and take your mind off it for a bit.
By the time the whittling is done, a sense of melancholy calm has descended over you. There's comfort in spending time with Arthur, who understands your pain, and you leave reluctantly.
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]The Temple's gates are open, as they usually are throughout the day. They're as unassuming as the other wooden faces you've passed by: high as a person, allowing no view inside the courtyard once the gates are closed. What sets them apart, and marks the place as a site of prayer, is the blue, painted river that ripples across the wood. The inner yard is shaded by trees, their boughs heavy with verdant leaves and ripe fruits. Lush bushes line the enclosure, resplendent with their blooming flowers.
The building ahead of you is not the Temple itself, but the edifice where the Priests receive the devout, where the healers receive the patients, where the adepts themselves sleep and eat and learn and work. It's made up of three wings, forming a wide U-shape that embraces the courtyard. It's as fanciful as the houses in the Royal Quarter, and its stone newer than most buildings in this neighborhood.
Robin stops by the drinking fountain to top up your water flasks. It's a simple contraption, a slab of stone with a pipe coming out of it that gurgles water out into a round basin. It's attached to the ornamental fountain to the side of the yard, which in turn is plain compared to the one in the main square. It lacks the colorful tiles, but has a simple elegance granted by the sculpture of the woman at its center, tipping a vase through which the water trickles down. It's supposed to be the Lady of the Lake, though the artist must have taken artistic liberties; there are no clear descriptions of the water fae.
You sludge up the stairs behind Robin, fumbling with your flask, defeated by the heat and the road trodden. On the inside, the building is not unlike the Castle - dark wood floors and white walls, painted doors and furniture.
You traverse a silent, deserted foyer and cross the door opposite the entrance into another hall, this one longer and lively. Priests and devout scuttle along or chat by the wall, and they all salute the two of you as you pass. The hall concludes straight ahead into double doors that climb down into the back yard and the Temple itself.
The whole compound has been erected around the river that crosses the town, which rushes to meet the river slithering through the forest that you know so well; the Temple proper was built on the bank of the stream.
On a strip that's roughly the width of two double doors set side by side, the gravel that leads from the building to the river halts abruptly to make way for mosaic, a swirl and sworl of blues and greens and whites meant to emulate waves. It's distinctly Avalonian, different from any Lothian motif. It's the simplest option as far as Temples go. No columns, just a tiled floor. No roof by extension, but Lady's temples are never built with roofs anyway. Mother says it's to allow rain to wash over it.
Your slippers patter dully on the tiles as you approach. This temple doesn't extend much into the water, either, except for a couple wide steps that peek from its clear shallows.
There's already someone there, prostrating themselves on this modest altar for the Lady of the Lake, arms elbow-deep into the waters, propped up on the first mosaic step. They pay you no mind as Robin kneels down some distance away.
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
You settle down next to the healer and mirror their motions, following the movements of a rite that's etched deep into your memory: you dip your cupped hands into the river and rinse your face. The water is cool and reinvigorating against your heated skin, and you quiver, not unpleasantly, as droplets slick down your throat and arms. Then you submerge your hands again, drinking the water gathered in the hollow formed by your palms. For a third time you immerse your hands under the clear, cool water that shimmers like shards of diamonds and sapphires in the sun, and keep them there as you mutter a prayer. You express your gratitude and appreciation for the Lady of the Lake and her powers; you pray that her waters stay clean and fresh, and that she draws all the more strength from them.
<<else>>
You settle down next to the healer and watch them go about the usual rite, the one you've seen both Robin and Morgana do before. They dip their cupped hands into the river and rinse their face; then they immerse their hands yet again, and drink the water gathered in the hollow formed by their palms; lastly, they submerge their hands again and this time keep them there as they murmur a prayer.
You too follow the steps of this ritual, sans the praying: sluicing your heated face with the cool and reinvigorating water, droplets slinking down your throat and making you shiver, not unpleasantly. You drink generously from your cupped hands, and then submerge your arm as much as you can without tipping forward into the river - though you wouldn't mind that too much.
<</if>>
[[Some time and praying later|Chapt4TemplePray]]<<if $chapt4_arthur_stance == 1>>
You cut yourself off, swallowing heavily. //No//. It's too awful a thing and you can't dwell on it right now. There is so much hanging over you - an expense of sky dark and gloomy - and you need to leave. You need rest too, drowsiness tugging hard on your eyelids and limbs. Though tired as you may be you feel electrified, as if struck by lightning, head buzzing with everything you've learned.
You excuse yourself and hop off the armchair in a doozy hurry. Morgana tries to stop you but Accolon gently interjects, suggesting that some rest is exactly what you need right now and that you should talk again in the morning.
"I could make you some soothing sleeping tea," Morgana says, gaze raking over you critically. You reckon you must look a mess.
"There's no need," you say, somewhat stilted. "I'll be fine." You slip out the door, not quite convinced yourself of the words.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_stance == 2>>
You cut yourself off, swallowing heavily. //No//. What's done is done; your mother made a decision in a desperate situation. No need to dwell on it now, no matter the hurt it may have caused. There is so much hanging over you - an expense of sky dark and gloomy - and you need to leave. You need rest too, drowsiness tugging hard on your eyelids and limbs. Though tired as you may be you feel electrified, as if struck by lightning, head buzzing with everything you've learned.
You excuse yourself and hop off the armchair in a doozy hurry. Morgana tries to stop you but Accolon gently interjects, suggesting that some rest is exactly what you need right now and that you should talk again in the morning.
"I could make you some soothing sleeping tea," Morgana says, gaze raking over you critically. You reckon you must look a mess.
"There's no need," you say, somewhat stilted. "I'll be fine." You slip out the door, not quite convinced yourself of the words.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_stance == 3>>
"That's not right," you say, voice thick with unshed tears. "It simply isn't."
"It was necessary, Mordred," Morgana doggedly says as if it were a foul-tasting medicine you simply must swallow.
"Your mother was not in the best state of mind when all that transpired," Accolon supplies far gentler.
You take in a rattling breath. "That doesn't make it right."
"No," Accolon agrees, weary and sad. "It doesn't."
You shake your head, excuse yourself and hop off the armchair in a doozy hurry. Morgana tries to stop you but Accolon gently interjects, suggesting that some rest is exactly what you need right now and that you should talk again in the morning.
"I could make you some soothing sleeping tea," Morgana says, gaze raking over you critically. You reckon you must look a mess.
"There's no need," you say, stilted. "I'll be fine." You slip out the door, not quite convinced yourself of the words.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_stance == 4>>
"That's not right. It simply isn't!" you shout loud enough that it leaves a ringing in your ears in the ensuing silence.
"It was necessary, Mordred," Morgana doggedly says as if it were a foul-tasting medicine you simply must swallow.
"Your mother was not in the best state of mind when all that transpired," Accolon supplies far gentler.
You puff out, furious. "That doesn't make it right."
"No," Accolon agrees, weary and sad. "It doesn't."
You shake your head, excuse yourself and hop off the armchair in a doozy hurry. Morgana tries to stop you but Accolon gently interjects, suggesting that some rest is exactly what you need right now and that you should talk again in the morning.
"I could make you some soothing sleeping tea," Morgana says, gaze raking over you critically. You reckon you must look a mess.
"There's no need," you say, stilted. "I'll be fine." You slip out the door, not quite convinced yourself of the words.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_stance == 5>>
You cut yourself off, swallowing heavily. //No//. It's not a kind thing that your mother had done, but as she's always said, you can't afford to always be so if you want to get ahead. It was her chance to secure retribution for everything your family suffered and she took it. Still, the events of the evening hang over you like an expense of sky dark and gloomy. You need rest, drowsiness tugging hard on your eyelids and limbs. Though tired as you may be you feel electrified, as if struck by lightning, head buzzing with everything you've learned.
You excuse yourself and hop off the armchair in a doozy hurry. Morgana tries to stop you but Accolon gently interjects, suggesting that some rest is exactly what you need right now and that you should talk again in the morning.
"I could make you some soothing sleeping tea," Morgana says, gaze raking over you critically. You reckon you must look a mess.
"There's no need," you say, somewhat stilted. "I'll be fine." You slip out the door, not quite convinced yourself of the words.
<</if>>
You enter your room with slight reluctance, dreading you might happen again upon Lot sulking in the shadows. You're welcome by an empty room, candles still flickering.
<div class="choice">[[Force yourself to go through your bedtime routine and hope you'll fall asleep.|Chapt4Sleep][$chapt4_go to "bed"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can't stay here. You need to be with someone. Your dragon friend.|Chapt4Dragon][$chapt4_go to "dragon"]]</div>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>><div class="choice">[[You can't stay here. You need to be with someone. Gareth.|Chapt4Gareth][$chapt4_go to "gareth"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>><div class="choice">[[You can't stay here. You need to talk with Arthur. Now.|Chapt4Arthur][$chapt4_go to "arthur"]]</div><</if>><<silently>><<set $age to "12", $age_no to 12>><</silently>>
You wake up with one single thought filling up your mind: //It's your birthday.// That, and //there's a gentle rapping coming at your door//, though that's more sense than any clear notion.
You feel awake right away, excitement chasing any dregs of sleep much like that bitter, muddy brown draught adults drink to rouse themselves in the morning does.
"Come in!"
Morgana slips in, wearing a lavish dressing gown and brilliant smile. She's closely followed by Accolon, ginger hair still rumpled from slumber. His eyes, crinkled in the corners by a smile, are bright and awake.
What comes next is the customary round of well-wishes and hugs and forehead kisses. It's when Morgana slips one arm around you to pull you in an embrace that you realize she's holding the other hand behind her, clutching a small wooden box. You know what it is: the customary morning gift.
The morning birthday gift is distinct from the gifts you receive later in the day, which are usually the things you kept asking or yearning for. This is more akin a tradition. A ritual, almost. A formality that Morgana has started way back when you were just a little child in Avalon, and all these presents you've received along the years have one thing in common: they're serpent-themed.
Morgana shifts and smooths her dressing gown, settling at the edge of the bed. "I have something for you," she says, proferring the gift box. It's square, wider than both your palms together and rather thin, painted in a kaleidoscope of blues. Inside, upon a bed of velvet, sits a golden serpent, head and tail circling to almost kiss and form a delicate, dainty coronet. You run a finger over the grooves set into the gold to form its multitude of small scales and over the blue little sapphires of its eyes. It's a beautifully crafted piece, light in your hands.
It's most of all symbolic, something to celebrate both you and your Le Fay blood. It's a tradition Morgana started to honour your family, remind you who you are, what you lost and what you're fighting for.
<div class="choice">[[You understand it's important for her, so you humour her.|Chapt4SnakeGift][$chapt4_snakegift to "humour"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You love the gifts; they show that you're proud to be a Le Fay.|Chapt4SnakeGift][$chapt4_snakegift to "love"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You love the gifts; they show that you're proud to be a Le Fay, defiantly so even. You don't care that people think your line is disgraced - you find power in your family name.|Chapt4SnakeGift][$chapt4_snakegift to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're not quite as fond as her of flaunting the Le Fay symbol. It tends to cause you more trouble than you already have. But you accept her gifts because you know how important it is for her.|Chapt4SnakeGift][$chapt4_snakegift to "trouble"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You love the gifts; family symbol aside, you're especially fond of snake imagery.|Chapt4SnakeGift][$chapt4_snakegift to "snake"]]</div><<if $chapt4_party == "showy">>
The party is exactly what you wanted. A sprawling affair of colorful tents to shield you from the sun, housing tables laid with your favorite dishes and delicious desserts, artfully arranged over gilded and silver trays. There are plush, lush sofas under other pavilions, facing a stage currently taken by the band, singing a merry tune. There are all sorts of games brought for you, boards and hoops to throw on poles and arrows - //toy// arrows, with soft tips that can't hurt anyone - and sturdy twine ropes for tug of war.
It's loud and bright and fun and brimming with energy. It's everything you wanted.
You start with a light appertizer, platters of cheese and thinly cut meats and sliced vegetables that add a fresh, crisp taste and iced, sweetened tea to wash it all down.
You move on then to the main dish - for now, at least; this is only lunch after all. Once done your guests scatter, goblets in hand, throughout the pavilions.
[[Next|Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty]]
<<else>>
The party is exactly what you wanted. A couple colorful tents have been pitched to shield you from the sun. One of them houses the feast, a long table laid with your favorite dishes and delicious desserts, artfully arranged over gilded and silver trays. There are plush, lush sofas under a different pavilion. Two musicians sit in the corner, one strumming a lute and the other playing a flute, the sounds comingling in a pleasant, lilting tune that isn't overpowering and only adds to the atmosphere. There are all sorts of games brought for you, boards and hoops to throw on poles and arrows - //toy// arrows, with soft tips that can't hurt anyone - and sturdy twine ropes for tug of war.
It's cozy and laidback and fun. It's everything you wanted.
You start with a light appertizer, platters of cheese and thinly cut meats and sliced vegetables that add a fresh, crisp taste and iced, sweetened tea to wash it all down.
You move on then to the main dish - for now, at least; this is only lunch after all. Once done your guests scatter, goblets in hand, throughout the pavilions.
[[Next|Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty]]
<</if>><<if $chapt4_party == "showy">>
"Showy," you say, following the declaration with a generous lick of ice cream. Sharp, white pain flares squarely in your temple, setting your teeth on edge, and Accolon pats your shoulder, advising you to take it slower. "Big and showy," you repeat as the brain freeze subsides, and you take a more cautious lick.
"Your mother will love this," Accolon chuckles and Morgana smiles smugly.
"It'll be lovely, Mordred, I promise you. We'll have a band, and some performers, and games to play."
<<else>>
"Laidback," you say, following the declaration with a generous lick of ice cream. Sharp, white pain flares squarely in your temple, setting your teeth on edge, and Accolon pats your shoulder, advising you to take it slower. "Laidback and cozy," you repeat as the brain freeze subsides, and you take a more cautious lick.
"It'll be lovely, Mordred, I promise you. We can get a couple musicians, right? For ambiance. And we'll have some games to play."
<</if>>
She goes on about the finer details, which she really does love going over, and says you shall discuss and jot these down too after your magic lessons.
[[At the Castle|Chapt4MagicLesson]]//Arthur's POV//
//The King's study, Camelot//
Arthur puts down his chisel, leans back in his chair and admires his work.
The sculpture's as along as his forearm, the coiling shape of a snake slithering through grass. He's been chipping away at it for a week now, always in reprises, picking it up between poring over reports and signing papers and sitting down for meetings. He's painstakingly chiseled every little scale, tossing a look every now and then at the serpent drawings in the book he's borrowed from the Royal Library.
Keeping his hands busy somewhat helps calm the turmoil in his mind, the dark storm of his thoughts. It gives him something to focus on, something to channel all that nerves that rack through him and leave him feeling restless as if ants have crawled up his sleeves and pants and made a home of his limbs.
Mordred's twelth birthday is coming up soon. In a couple days, to be exact. He knows the date well. He's never forget the day, even if he has never sent any regards or gifts. For years before meeting Mordred he'd agonised over doing it. Went so far as to actually put pen to paper - but froze the moment he traced the first letters. Scribbled over, crossed the words, started again and again but could never find the right words. How would he even open? An apology? It felt hollow on paper. But none at all felt flippant, a dismissal. He never was good with words, spoken or written.
So he'd thought about sending a gift. A sculpture. That was what he was best at, after all, and he hardly knew what else to send - he knew nothing of what the child was like, let alone what ?they liked. But he ended up never sending anything.
Until two years ago, when the opportunity to see Mordred in person arose. An opportunity to make amends which he squandered.
Arthur picks up the wooden snake, turns it around in his hands. He wonders if he should have it delivered to Lothia. It'd never arrive in time for the birthday, however, and he doubts it'd be well received. Mordred has made it quite clear that they don't want anything to do with him and Arthur has respected that decision, as much as it pains him.
A rap comes at the door and the King startles. "It's Lord Merlin, Your Majesty," trickles in the familiar voice, as smooth and calming as warm honey.
Arthur breathes in sharply and lets out a long, rattling breath. He puts the snake away, along with his troubled thoughts.
There are kingly matters to return to.
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
[[Next|Chapt4GawainArrives]]
<<else>>
[[Next|Chapt4Birthday]]
<</if>>"Good night!" you call out as you jump off the chair and bound towards the door. It's been a long day and tomorrow you have to be up early, but you can't help but feel buoyed by the prospect of cake and music and games.
[[Next day|Chapt4Lecture]]Matters settled you set off for your chamber. It's been a long day and tomorrow you have to be up early, but you can't help but feel buoyed.
[[Next day|Chapt4Lecture]]<<if $chapt4_winner == 1>>
"Bragging rights," you answer.
Gawain chuckles. "Fair! But we could go bigger."
"I could bring the winner a mini-tart," Gareth chimes in and you concede.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 2>>
"The loser must bring the winner a mini-tart," you declare and Gawain chuckles, agreeing to your tasty terms.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 3>>
"The winner receives a kiss on the cheek from the loser," you declare with a little smug smile and Gawain chuckles.
"Then neither is a loser!" he protests.
"All the better," you return.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 4>>
"I was actually reading this story," you begin breezily, a playful smile tugging at your lips, "where two characters competed and the loser had to kiss the other. On the cheek, of course."
Gawain blinks at you, brown eyes wide and round. He tilts his head and studies your face intently, almost wonderingly, before his lips curl into a smile. "Alright," he agrees, turning to face the target with flushed cheeks. His eyes flit back to you. "It doesn't sound like either of us will be losers then, does it?"
"All the better," you return with a brilliant smile. His gaze lingers on it, face growing ruddier.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Gareth looks between the two of you, brow raised. When you meet his gaze his eyes narrow, smile turning knowing and smug.
<<else>>
Gareth pretends to be mighty interested in the hem of his shirt, face schooled into one of poised calm.
<</if>>
<</if>>
You nock your arrow, take your stance, ready your bow and let your arrow loose.
Both of you hit red.
Another arrow. You pull back the bowstring, prepare yourself, shoot...
And you both hit red yet again.
One last time. You breathe in deeply as you stare down your target, as your vision sharpens in on the taunting ruby red eye of the middle. Time seems to slow down to a crawl as you watch the arrow fly free of your bow, watch it soar over the carpet, over the grass towards the target...
...and hit red for a third time.
"Blue!" Gawain calls out next to you. "But it was very close to red."
<<if $chapt4_winner == 1>>
"All the bragging rights of winning against the King's newphew go to Mordred," Gareth announces, affecting a mock-serious tone.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 2>>
"I suddenly seem to crave a fruit mini-tart," you say, raising your arms high to stretch, smiling meaningfully at Gawain.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 3>>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. "For this sweet defeat." With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and peppering your cheek with kisses.
Your chuckling turns to outright laughter, merry and wholehearted.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 4>>
You turn to Gawain, who's already looking at you, cheeks powdered pink. When he notices your attention he rolls back his shoulders and affects a mock serious air. "And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, ducking his head. Fittingly dramatic, and an effective way of hiding his deepening blush.
He closes the distance between you and places a hesitant hand on your shoulder - after so casually gripping it, after so nonchalantly tugging your hand, he suddenly feels so unsure. His eyes gleam, almost gilded, and with his pupils dilated they look like twin eclipses. Gawain leans in slowly and plants a soft kiss on your cheek before stepping back with a bright smile.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 5>>
<<if $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You expel a breathless wheeze, but you relish the proximity, even as it sends a stab of pain through your chest. You almost wish you could take back that letter that broke it all off, but you know it's for the best that things that like this.
<<elseif $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You expel a breathless wheeze, but you relish the proximity, wiggling to wrap your arms back around him.
<<else>>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You expel a breathless, wheezing laugh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 6>>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You expel a breathless wheeze, but you relish the proximity.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 7>>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You expel a breathless wheeze, but you relish the proximity.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>>"Here," you hand your brother a bow. It's light, lighter than the sturdy, serious bows you use in your training - a mere toy, a funny thing to give to kids and nobles for whom this is all a game.
You show Gareth how to grip it, how to hold it to avoid any injury to himself, that's more likely than wounding anyone else.
"You can actually lose a finger if you're not careful," you airily remark, and stifle a chuckle at his alarmed expression.
It's not hard to apply what you've learned and get your brother in a proper archer's stance, adjusting his grip and position until you're satisfied and assure him that no injury will come to him, beside possibly his ego. He laughs and almost spoils his posture at that, but you're quick to rectify the mistake.
"Alright," you say brightly, stepping back. "Now shoot like I told you."
Gareth takes a deep, steadying breath - fixes his aim - draws back the bowstring - releases it. The arrow wheezes through the air, which is already quite the feat, since you feared it'd just fall a few feet in front of him. It sails the air proudly and swiftly, shooting towards the target - and falls in the grass somewhere past it.
"I think it almost grazed the target," you say and he merely snorts.
Gareth isn't discouraged, though, no; he asks you to demonstrate before nocking another arrow himself, and grins when you hit the red painted part of the twine. As you take turns at the target and walk Gareth through more pointers and instructions, he tells you he's actually quite recently read a story about an adventurer archer.
"Looking back on it," he says, closing his fingers around the wooden bow, "the pictures in the book were realy inacurrate."
"You'd //hope// they'd talk with an expert first," you complain, since this is far from the first time you've witnessed such gross mistakes. "And swords really aren't as heavy as some writers are trying to make them out to be!"
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
When Gareth finally manages to stick an arrow in the blue ring of the target, it's cause for wild celebration. A second pair of clapping joins your own, and you turn to find Gawain approaching you.
"That was amazing, Gareth! Can I join too?"
Gareth hands him his bow. "I think I'll take a break, anyway. Watch you from the sidelines."
As Gawain takes the toy weapon, a brilliant idea sparks in your head. "A competition! How about that?"
"Even better a reason for me to retreat," your brother smoothly supplies as he sits down on a bed of pillows, "lest my ego gets thouroughly trashed. I can referee, though."
"Competition," Gawain agrees, nodding earnestly.
"Alright," you say as you each take position in front of a target. "Three out of three?"
Gawain nods, moves to get into position then stops. "Oh! What does the winner get?"
<div class="choice">[["\"Bragging rights.\""|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"The loser must bring the winner a mini-tart.\""|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>><div class="choice">[["\"The winner receives a kiss on the cheek from the loser.\""|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 3]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_crush >= 3 and $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a kiss on the cheek from the loser," you say playfully. "I read that in a book recently," you add (you did not, in fact).❤|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 4, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"The winner receives a hug.\""|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 5]]</div>
<<if $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a hug." ❤|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 6]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a hug." 💕|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 7]]</div><</if>>
<<else>>
When Gareth finally manages to stick an arrow in the blue ring of the target, it's cause for celebration. A second pair of clapping joins your own, and you turn to find Accolon approaching you. "Keep up the great work, Gareth."
You do keep at it for a bit longer before you set your bows down and go in hunt for some mini-tarts and more iced tea.
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>>
<</if>>"Well then," you say, seeing this as your cue to go, "I'll let you to it."
Gareth nods in salute and goes to pick up one of the wooden toy bows. He surveys it and twirls it in his hands as if it were some sort of intricate puzzle. Then he retrieves an arrow and fumbles with the both of them, taking a stance that is utterly wrong. You shake your head and look away, going on your way - only to turn around again when you faintly hear Accolon's voice over the music, amicably asking, "Need any help?" The man has swooped in to save Gareth.
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>>You find Arthur under the playing pavilion, studying a rack of toy swords. He notices you sidling up to him and breaks into a brilliant smile. "Mordred! I was wondering where you were. Up for a duel?" He gives you a lopsided smile and grabs one of the swords, handing it to you by its dull blade.
Arthur has told you that he every so often he enjoys a sparring session with his knights, as a way of limbering up after sitting too much in his study going through tedious paperwork. It also helps him ensure he doesn't get too rusty at the skill he learned as a squire.
"When's the last time you dueled?" you ask as you take the sword and weigh it in your hand. You asked Morgana for //performance// swords, not toy ones - they're even more harmless and their blades more flexible than practice ones, but they also feel right in your hold, unlike their wooden imitators.
Arthur sighs wistfully, picking up a sword for himself. "A month ago, I think. Didn't really get the chance since then."
You move out in the open, away from other toys you might stumble into in your play-fight. The swords Arthur chose are shortswords, meant to be wielded with one hand, leaving your other free to hold a shield or a secondary weapon; you have neither right now.
Despite this being play pretend, you begin your duel as is customary in a tournament trial of the kind: facing each other, arms thrusts out so that the tips of your swords touch, free arm tucked behind your back. Then you each pace back, out of the other's range, and bow in deference. You're both smiling as you're going through the motions, like kids feeling very smug and mighty imitating the fancy rites of adults.
<div class="choice">[[Go easy. This is play fight, not training.|Chapt4ArthurDuel][$chapt4_duel to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go hard; it may only be play fight and not training but it's more fun this way.|Chapt4ArthurDuel][$chapt4_duel to 2]]</div><<if $chapt4_gawain_play is false and $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>><div class="choice">[[Play with Gawain.|Chapt4CozyGawainPlay][$chapt4_gawain_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<<if $chapt4_gareth_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Play with Gareth.|Chapt4CozyGarethPlay][$chapt4_gareth_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
<<if $chapt4_gareth_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Play with Gareth.|Chapt4CozyGarethLowPlay][$chapt4_gareth_play to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_dragon_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Talk to your dragon.|Chapt4CozyDragonPlay][$chapt4_dragon_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_play is false and $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>><div class="choice">[[Talk to Arthur.|Chapt4CozyArthurPlay][$chapt4_arthur_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_morgana_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Approach Morgana and Junia.|Chapt4CozyMorganaPlay][$chapt4_morgana_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_accolon_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Approach Accolon.|Chapt4CozyKayPlay][$chapt4_accolon_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_gaius_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Approach Gaius and Marcellus.|Chapt4CozyGaiusPlay][$chapt4_gaius_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[It's time to open your gifts.|Chapt4CozyDinnerParty]]</div>All of your guests gather around the sofas as the presents are brought to you to open. You sit among the sea of packages prettily wrapped in colorful paper and elaborate bows, facing all these people that you love and who love you.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You work quickly, pulling on strings and tearing at paper with enthusiasm; jumping up to thank and hug people after every gift you receive.
<<else>>
You gently pull on strings and peel off paper, brimming with enthusiasm; thanking and hugging people after every gift you receive.
<</if>>
The summer heat - already somewhat tempered by a pleasant breeze coming from the forest, summoned by the Solomons per Morgana's request - mellows further as the sun sinks past the trees, painting the sky a blazing orange as if the work of a dragon performer's. The dinner table is set with all sorts of dishes and desserts and crystal decanters. You're all beckoned to dinner as servants start lighting up braziers to fend off the growing dark.
You stay out on the field even as the sun's fiery light turns to cool night, even as the air turns crisp, refreshing against your skin, and the grass hums and buzzes with insects. When you make your way towards your bedroom, it's with drowsy yet light steps, soaring high on the merriment of the day.
You barely notice all the telltale signs that something's not quite right - the lit candles in your chamber, dim enough to shroud in darkness your unexpected and unwelcome guest.
[[Next|Chapt4LotChamber]]<<if $chapt4_fireshow == 1>>
$dragon_name reclaims Ariawen's spot on the grass under the clear summer sky, away from any fire hazard while the other dragon comes to join you on the pillows.
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a dragon with a human atop them, as big as a child's toy. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but there's no doubt to what it represents as it flies circles before you. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
Gawain turns to you, eyes bright. "Your turn."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick1][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick1][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 2>>
$dragon_name reclaims Ariawen's spot on the grass under the clear summer sky, away from any fire hazard while the other dragon comes to join you on the pillows.
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a carving taken right out of nature, recreated in the blazing hues of fire. Trees line a river bank, the stream slithering lazily between them. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but it's a beautiful rendition. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
Gawain turns to you, eyes bright. "Your turn."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick1][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick1][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_fireshow == 1>>
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a dragon with a human atop them, as big as a child's toy. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but there's no doubt to what it represents as it flies circles before you. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
As $dragon_name returns to your side, Arthur says, "Now it's Mordred's turn."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick3][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick3][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 2>>
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a carving taken right out of nature, recreated in the blazing hues of fire. Trees line a river bank, the stream slithering lazily between them. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but it's a beautiful rendition. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
As $dragon_name returns to your side, Arthur says, "Now it's Mordred's turn."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick3][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick3][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_fireshow == 1>>
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a dragon with a human atop them, as big as a child's toy. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but there's no doubt to what it represents as it flies circles before you. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
Junia turns to you. "Morgana told me you've been practising too, haven't you? Let's see your trick too."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick4][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick4][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 2>>
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a carving taken right out of nature, recreated in the blazing hues of fire. Trees line a river bank, the stream slithering lazily between them. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but it's a beautiful rendition. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
Junia turns to you. "Morgana told me you've been practising too, haven't you? Let's see your trick too."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick4][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick4][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true and $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
You find $dragon_name lounging against the pillows with Gawain and Ariawen, the topic of discussion becoming clear as you approach.
"I've been trying to practice a few fire tricks myself," Aria's saying.
$dragon_name nods knowingly. "You said so in your message. Are you going to show us?"
Ariawen stands up on all four legs, stretching their neck and shaking their head. "You don't have to ask me twice."
They walk out of the pavilion away from anything flammable, such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet. They puff out their chest as they take in a deep breath, eyes narrowed in concentration. Then they let it out in a flurry of blazing fire. It has the shape of a tiny dragon, wings outstretched in flight. It circles the air once, twice, then quivers and flickers.
[[Next|Chapt4ArthurGawainScene]]
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true and $chapt4_gawain_invited is false>>
You find $dragon_name lounging on the pillows next to Arthur and Elewen, the topic of discussion becoming clear as you approach.
[[Next|Chapt4ArthurScene]]
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is false and $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
You find $dragon_name lounging against the pillows with Gawain and Ariawen, the topic of discussion becoming clear as you approach.
"I've been trying to practice a few fire tricks myself," Aria's saying.
$dragon_name nods knowingly. "You said so in your message. Are you going to show us?"
Ariawen stands up on all four legs, stretching their neck and shaking their head. "You don't have to ask me twice."
They walk out of the pavilion away from anything flammable, such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet. They puff out their chest as they take in a deep breath, eyes narrowed in concentration. Then they let it out in a flurry of blazing fire. It has the shape of a tiny dragon, wings outstretched in flight. It circles the air once, twice, then quivers and flickers.
[[Next|Chapt4GawainScene]]
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is false and $chapt4_gawain_invited is false>>
You find $dragon_name lounging on the pillows next to Junia, the topic of discussion becoming clear as you approach.
[[Next|Chapt4JuniaScene]]
<</if>><<if $chapt4_fireshow == 1>>
"Camelot Castle it is, then," Elewen agrees, voice gravelly yet gentle.
You've never seen the Castle for yourself, but you've seen in various paintings, including Morgana's from her stay in Camelot, pregnant with you. You've heard people describe its stately beauty, as Arthur did too when you asked him about his kingly home. Though Arthur did call it just a tad intimidating in its loftiness, too, like a mountain towering over you.
Elewen's fire replica is not all that intimidating or towering, a small scale blazing recreation of the castle perched on its hill, that's about as big as you; a noble's toy castle to play dolls with. The attention to detail, however, is staggering, as is the clean, clear lines despite the flickering fire. She holds it for a while, so that you may all admire it. And when she breathes out, this time with no fire at all, to extinguish it, you all clap.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 2>>
"Jousting knights it is, then," Elewen agrees, voice gravelly yet gentle.
Elewen weaves in flames a fragment torn right out of a tournament, a short segment that might as well be a memory of the trial recreated in reds and oranges and scaled down as if the knights were a child's toys. You watch the fiery humans and dragons get into position at opposing sides, readying their lances. Then they charge, meeting halfway in an explosion of white flames.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 3>>
"The mountains near Camelot it is, then," Elewen agrees, voice gravelly yet gentle.
You've never seen them for yourself, but you've seen the scenery in various paintings, including Morgana's from her stay in Camelot, pregnant with you. You've heard people describe their stately beauty, as Arthur did too when you asked him. He's flown over their peaks and through their valleys before. //Exhilerating,// Arthur called the experience. //I'd love to take you and $dragon_name flying there one day,// he also said.
Elewen's replica of the mountain peaks is not as lofty, what with them being just as tall as you, but the recreation is gorgeous all the same. The attention to detail is staggering, as is the clean, clear lines despite the flickering fire. She holds it for a while, so that you may all admire it. And when she breathes out, this time with no fire at all, to extinguish it, you all clap.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 4>>
"A pair of dancing dragons it is, then," Elewen agrees, voice gravelly yet gentle.
Elewen weaves in flames a fragment torn right out of a dragons' party, a short segment that might as well be a memory of a dance show recreated in reds and oranges and scaled down as if the dragons were a child's toys. You watch the fiery dancers twirl and loop around each other, tracing elegant sworls in the air, moving fluidly and stately.
<</if>>
"Trying to impress them, are you Elewen?" Arthur cuts in, sidling up to you with a bright smile.
Elewen ducks her head, glancing up at the King with mischievous eyes. "Why don't you do it then?"
All eyes turn on Arthur as he settles down among the pillows next to you, cross-legged, and props his chin in hand. His own gaze is turned back on you - a mirror of your own $eye eyes.
"I hoped Mordred might entertain us," he suggests.
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4CozyMordredTrick][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div><<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
Marcellus and Gaius are standing by the table with goblets in hand, talking with a Hilde munching on a fruit tart. As you approach you pick up on her spirited words in between bites: "These are simply amazing. Kay and I tried the recipe you gave me, you know. Such a lovely summer treat. We had a little picnic with Guin and Arthur, too, and she absolutely loved them too."
Marcellus beams. "The Queen? Well you have to send her my regards, then." He takes a sip of his drink and as he does, his gaze lands on you. His eyes gleam. "Mordred! How are you doing, dear? Enjoying yourself?"
You nod eagerly as you reach for a tart yourself, and Gaius laughs. "On your hundreth tart, are you?" he winks.
"Oh, you think I didn't see you stuffing yourself as well?" Marcellus quirks an eyebrow, but Gaius only smiles.
"It's because your recipe's so great."
"Mama!" a cooing, high-pitched voice calls from nearby.
Hilde reacts immediately, clapping her hands to brush off the crumbs. "My child calls. Have fun."
You chat a little bit more with the men before going on your way.
<<else>>
Marcellus and Gaius are standing by the table with goblets in hand, looking over the other chatting guests. As you approach you pick up on Marcellus' pleased, admiring words, "This is all very lovely, isn't it?" Gaius nods, too busy stuffing his mouth with a fruit tart to answer otherwise. His husband doesn't even look at him, gaze fixed somewhere across the pavilion - on Morgana, who's been roped into a game of tug of war with Accolon. Marcellus tone turns somewhat wistful as he goes on: "Do you ever wonder if we did a good job raising her, Gaius?"
Gaius wipes crumbs off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Morgana?"
The man nods, pensively stroking the rim of his goblet with a thumb. "I feel like we did the best we could, but sometimes I wonder if our best was enough."
Gaius opens his mouth to respond - and that's when he notices you, dangerously close to hear their conversation. He nudges Marcellus and loudly says, "Hello there, Mordred," to make sure his message gets across to his husband.
Marcellus startles as if doused in cold water. He turns to you and whatever rueful haze that had descended over his gaze clears, giving way to a fond smile. "Mordred! How are you doing, dear? Enjoying yourself?"
You nod eagerly as you reach for a tart yourself, and Gaius laughs. "On your hundreth tart, are you?" he winks.
"Oh, you think I didn't see you stuffing yourself as well?" Marcellus quirks an eyebrow, but Gaius only smiles.
"It's because your recipe's so great."
You chat a little bit more with the men before going on your way.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>>You find your brother under the playing pavilion, surveying the available options.
"What are you doing?" you ask as you sidle up to him.
Gareth smiles. "I was thinking of being a bit adventurous and try something else than board games for a change." He nods towards the target, a large, twine wheel with its innermost whirls colored red, giving away to blue then unpainted beige. "I was thinking of trying archery. Especially since I can't hurt anyone with these." He picks up one of the arrows and taps its dull tip with one index.
"I don't know," you shrug, fighting back a smile. "Might still really sting to be hit by those. But that's exactly why the targets are poised as far away as possible from any poor, unsuspecting victim.
Gareth looks at you askance, far from reassured.
<div class="choice">[["I can show you how to shoot," you offer.|Chapt4CozyArcheryLowGawain][$chapt4_shoot to 1, $Gareth to $Gareth+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Well then, I'll let you to it.\""|Chapt4CozyArcheryLowGawain1][$chapt4_shoot to 2]]</div>You find your brother under the playing pavilion, surveying the available options.
"Up for a game of boards?" you ask as you sidle up to him.
Gareth smiles. "Actually, I was thinking of being a bit adventurous and try something else for a change." He nods towards the target, a large, twine wheel with its innermost whirls colored red, giving away to blue then unpainted beige. "I was thinking of trying archery. Especially since I can't hurt anyone with these." He picks up one of the arrows and taps its dull tip with one index.
"I don't know," you shrug, fighting back a smile. "Might still really sting to be hit by those. But that's exactly why the targets are poised as far away as possible from any poor, unsuspecting victim. Here," you hand your brother a bow. It's light, lighter than the sturdy, serious bows you use in your training - a mere toy, a funny thing to give to kids and nobles for whom this is all a game.
You show Gareth how to grip it, how to hold it to avoid any injury to himself that's more likely than wounding anyone else.
"You can actually lose a finger if you're not careful," you airily remark, and stifle a chuckle at his alarmed expression.
It's not hard to apply what you've learned and get your brother in a proper archer's stance, adjusting his grip and position until you're satisfied and assure him that no injury will come to him, beside possibly his ego. He laughs and almost spoils his posture at that, but you're quick to rectify the mistake.
"Alright," you say brightly, stepping back. "Now shoot like I told you."
Gareth takes a deep, steadying breath - fixes his aim - draws back the bowstring - releases it. The arrow wheezes through the air, which is already quite the feat, since you feared it'd just fall a few feet in front of him. It sails the air proudly and swiftly, shooting towards the target - and falls in the grass somewhere past it.
You pat his shoulder. "I think it almost grazed the target." He merely snorts.
<<if $Gareth >= 80>>
Gareth isn't discouraged, though, no; he asks you to demonstrate before nocking another arrow himself, and grins when you hit the red painted part of the twine. As you take turns at the target and walk Gareth through more pointers and instructions, you remember the story he was reading a couple weeks ago about some sort of adventurer archer who, after the painted picture you saw of him, should have spent the rest of the book seeking a healer instead of magic artefacts with the way he held his bow.
"The drawings were really inaccurate, weren't they?" Gareth laughs when you bring it up.
"You'd //hope// they'd talk with an expert first," you complain, since this is far from the first time you've witnessed such gross mistakes. "And swords really aren't as heavy as some writers are trying to make them out to be!"
<<else>>
Gareth isn't discouraged, though, no; he asks you to demonstrate before nocking another arrow himself, and grins when you hit the red painted part of the twine. As you take turns at the target and walk Gareth through more pointers and instructions, he tells you he's actually quite recently read a story about an adventurer archer.
"Looking back on it," he says, closing his fingers around the wooden bow, "the pictures in the book were realy inacurrate."
"You'd //hope// they'd talk with an expert first," you complain, since this is far from the first time you've witnessed such gross mistakes. "And swords really aren't as heavy as some writers are trying to make them out to be!"
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
When Gareth finally manages to stick an arrow in the blue ring of the target, it's cause for wild celebration. A second pair of clapping joins your own, and you turn to find Gawain approaching you.
"That was amazing, Gareth! Can I join too?"
Gareth hands him his bow. "I think I'll take a break, anyway. Watch you from the sidelines."
As Gawain takes the toy weapon, a brilliant idea sparks in your head. "A competition! How about that?"
"Even better a reason for me to retreat," your brother smoothly supplies as he sits down on a bed of pillows, "lest my ego gets thouroughly trashed. I can referee, though."
"Competition," Gawain agrees, nodding earnestly.
"Alright," you say as you each take position in front of a target. "Three out of three?"
Gawain nods, moves to get into position then stops. "Oh! What does the winner get?"
<div class="choice">[["\"Bragging rights.\""|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"The loser must bring the winner a mini-tart.\""|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>><div class="choice">[["\"The winner receives a kiss on the cheek from the loser.\""|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 3]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_crush >= 3 and $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a kiss on the cheek from the loser. I read that in a book recently," you quickly add. Definitely not because you're crushing on Gawain.|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 4]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"The winner receives a hug.\""|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 5]]</div>
<<if $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a hug." ❤|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 6]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a hug." 💕|Chapt4CozyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 7]]</div><</if>>
<<else>>
When Gareth finally manages to stick an arrow in the blue ring of the target, it's cause for wild celebration. A second pair of clapping joins your own, and you turn to find Accolon approaching you. "Keep up the great work, Gareth."
You do keep at it for a bit longer before you set your bows down and go in hunt for some mini-tarts and more iced tea.
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>>
<</if>>You find Gawain lounging on a sofa, listening transfixed to the performers, drumming his fingers on an embroidered pillow in rhythm with the cheery tune. When he notices you approaching he breaks into a smile and jumps to his feet to greet you. "Mordred! Do you want to play a game?"
You cock your head to the side. "What do you have in mind?"
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
He shrugs, taking your hand to marshal you towards a corner of the pavilion where pillows have been placed on the lush carpet next to stacks of board games and toys.
He plops down in front of the pile. "What games do you have here?"
You settle down next to him and he rests his head against your shoulder as he surveys the options, your fingers still intertwined. You lean into him, breathing in his perfume. It's not the lily of the valley scent you've come to so closely associate with the boy but a more sunny and summery and citrusy bergamot smell. It reminds you of Avalon.
You take a while to comb through the options but you finally settle on a game of checkers. It's not hard to win against Gawain, given that he pays more attention to talking than the board.
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
He shrugs, grabbing your arm to marshal you towards a corner of the pavilion where pillows have been placed on the lush carpet next to stacks of board games and toys.
He plops down in front of the pile. "What games do you have here?"
You settle down next to him and he casually rests his head against your shoulder as he surveys the options. Gawain has grown quite touchy ever since you've become closer, making a custom out of resting his chin on your shoulder when you sit down or looping his arms with yours when you walk. The proximity makes your skin prickle not unpleasantly, and your heart beat a frantic rhythm. Yet it also sends a stab of pain through your chest. Sometimes you wish to reach out for his hand and take back the words you wrote. But you restrain yourself every time, now being no different. You breathe in deeply, taking in a waft of his perfume. It's not the lily of the valley scent you've come to so closely associate with the boy, but a more sunny and summery and citrusy bergamot smell. It reminds you of Avalon.
You take a while to comb through the options but you finally settle on a game of checkers. It's not hard to win against Gawain, given that he pays more attention to talking than the board.
<<elseif $gawain_crush >= 3>>
He shrugs, grabbing your arm to marshal you towards a corner of the pavilion where pillows have been placed on the lush carpet next to stacks of board games and toys.
He plops down in front of the pile. "What games do you have here?"
You settle down next to him and he casually rests his head against your shoulder as he surveys the options. Gawain has grown quite touchy ever since you've become closer friends, making a custom out of resting his chin on your shoulder when you sit down or looping his arms with yours when you walk. The proximity makes your skin prickle not unpleasantly, and your heart beat a frantic rhythm. You breathe in deeply, taking in a waft of his perfume. It's not the lily of the valley scent you've come to so closely associate with the boy, but a more sunny and summery and citrusy bergamot smell. It reminds you of Avalon.
You take a while to comb through the options but you finally settle on a game of checkers. It's not hard to win against Gawain, given that he pays more attention to talking than the board.
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 3>>
He shrugs, grabbing your arm to marshal you towards a corner of the pavilion where pillows have been placed on the lush carpet next to stacks of board games and toys.
He plops down in front of the pile. "What games do you have here?"
You settle down next to him and he casually rests his head against your shoulder as he surveys the options. Gawain has grown quite touchy ever since you've become closer friends, making a custom out of resting his chin on your shoulder when you sit down or looping his arms with yours when you walk. The proximity makes your skin prickle not unpleasantly, and your heart beat a frantic rhythm; perhaps you're simply unaccustomed to such casual affection, to such effortless closeness. It's not like many people are so affectionate with you, outside of your family. You breathe in deeply, taking in a waft of his perfume. It's not the lily of the valley scent you've come to so closely associate with the boy, but a more sunny and summery and citrusy bergamot smell. It reminds you of Avalon.
You take a while to comb through the options but you finally settle on a game of checkers. It's not hard to win against Gawain, given that he pays more attention to talking than the board.
<<else>>
He shrugs, grabbing your arm to marshal you towards a corner of the pavilion where pillows have been placed on the lush carpet next to stacks of board games and toys.
He plops down in front of the pile. "What games do you have here?"
You settle down next to him and he casually rests his head against your shoulder as he surveys the options. Gawain has grown quite touchy ever since you've become closer friends, making a custom out of resting his chin on your shoulder when you sit down or looping his arms with yours when you walk. You were taken by surprise by such casual affection, to such effortless closeness. It's not like many people are so affectionate with you, outside of your family. You breathe in deeply, taking in a waft of his perfume. It's not the lily of the valley scent you've come to so closely associate with the boy, but a more sunny and summery and citrusy bergamot smell. It reminds you of Avalon.
You take a while to comb through the options but you finally settle on a game of checkers. It's not hard to win against Gawain, given that he pays more attention to talking than the board.
<</if>>
"Merlin has all these sort of board games. Some of them with these really pretty carved pawns - Arthur actually whittled an entire set for him once, for his birthday! I've never played with Merlin but I did with Nimue and she almost always win," he chuckles. "But I don't mind! It's always fun, and Nimue plays along with me turning the board and figurines in a sort of improvised puppet show."
"How's Nimue doing?" you ask.
<<if $chapt3_bracelet != "no">>
"Oh, you know. Sorcery things," he says, wiggling his fingers mysteriously. As he does, a whorl of color catches your attention. He's wearing the bracelet you gifted him almost two years ago at the tournament. "She actually just learned this really fun spell..."
<<else>>
"Oh, you know. Sorcery things," he says, wiggling his fingers mysteriously. "She actually just learned this really fun spell..."
<</if>>
He recounts to you the time she brewed an invisibility potion to allow them to snatch cookies from the castle's kitchen. By the time he's finished with your story you're done with your game as well with an easy win on your part. Gawain doesn't seem to mind at all.
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>><<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
"Your turn, Isabel," Kay has dropped to his haunches next to the little girl, handing her one of the hemp rope hoops. "That pole is ours, remember?"
The little girl nods and narrows her little eyes in concentration, tiny, chubby fist closing around the ring. She throws back her arm in a wide, careless, swinging arch only kids do, as if not quite aware of the space they take up, as if not quite sure how to navigate using their limbs yet. Isabel tosses the hoop, and it travels through the air, spinning...Only to land quite a way from the pole.
"That's alright," Kay pats her shoulder lightly. "You'll get it eventually."
It seems Isabel won't be having it, though. Rolling back her shoulders, she confidently strides forward, retrieves her fallen hoop and shoves it down the pole herself. The adults break into laughter as she turns around to them, hands propped on her waist, grinning a toothy little grin.
"I suppose that works, too," Hilde snorts.
Accolon shakes his head, still laughing, when his gaze falls on you. "Mordred! Come join us."
Kay amicably leans his arm on Accolon's shoulder. "Your knight over here is roping everyone into all sorts of games. Can't complain. Great man to party with, what can I say?"
Accolon picks up a couple rings for you - each with a differently dyed scrap of material attached. "Blue is Hilde and I, purple is Kay and Isabel. Which will you join?"
"Won't I unbalance the teams?" Tossing rings is usually played one on one or in teams of two as they're currently arrayed.
Accolon smiles mischievously. "We're making an exception for you, since it's your birthday."
<div class="choice">[[Blue. You won't compete against Accolon.|Chapt4AccolonAndAlistairs][$chapt4_ring to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Purple. Kay and Isabel seem to need the help.|Chapt4AccolonAndAlistairs][$chapt4_ring to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
"Your turn, Kay," Accolon nods towards the two polls ahead of them. There's a ring tossed about one of them, and another hemp rope hoop in the Kay's hand. Upon closer inspection, you notice a scrap of dyed material attached to both, each in a different color: blue and purple respectively.
Kay takes his stance, throws back his arm with impetus and tosses the ring. It lands, tauntingly so, right next to the poll.
"Not bad," Accolon says, patting his back. Then his gaze falls on you. "Mordred. Come join us!"
Kay smiles at your approach. "Your knight over here is roping everyone into all sorts of games. Can't complain. Great man to party with, what can I say?"
Accolon picks up a couple rings for you - each with a differently dyed scrap of material attached. "Blue is me, purple is Kay. Which will you join?"
"Won't I unbalance the teams?" Tossing rings is usually played one on one as they're currently arrayed or in teams of in two.
Accolon smiles mischievously. "We're making an exception for you, since it's your birthday."
<div class="choice">[[Blue. You won't compete against Accolon.|Chapt4AccolonAndKay][$chapt4_ring to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Purple. Kay and Isabel seem to need the help.|Chapt4AccolonAndKay][$chapt4_ring to 2]]</div>
<<else>>
You find Accolon, Morgana and Junia gathered next to two wooden poles stuck in the ground, chatting amongst themselves. The redhead is the first one to spot you approaching. "Oh, good, Mordred's here! Come play with us."
Junia explains they were having trouble splitting into teams, since tossing rings is usually played one-on-one or in teams of twos. With you here, you're just the right number of players.
"Who would you like to team up with, Mordred?" Accolon asks.
<div class="choice">[["\"You.\""|Chapt4AccolonGame][$chapt4_ring to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Mother.\""|Chapt4AccolonGame][$chapt4_ring to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Junia.\""|Chapt4AccolonGame][$chapt4_ring to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_fireshow1 == 1>>
How could you turn down an opportunity to show off your skill to everyone - especially to Arthur - who regards you with such proud expectation. He wants to see what you've picked up from his pointers and help, what you've learned in between your visits, and you won't rob him of it.
"Of course!" you jump to your feet, readily accepting the challenge. You skip through the pillows, making your way away from anything that could be a fire hazard, out of the shade under the summer, clear blue sky.
It's not strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling, even if it's a custom of the dragons. Other sorcerers have picked up the craft too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You tap your chin, pondering what you should show them. Arthur has told you it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take a steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<<else>>
There's so many eyes on you right now, including Arthut's, who regard you with such proud expectation. What if you disappoint him? He's been offering pointers and help and he must be curious what you've learned in between your visits, but what if you don't live up to his expectations?
"I don't know..." you hesitate, pulling nervously at your sleeve.
"Please," Arthur entreats you and your chest constricts. How can you say no to him? You can't, so you nod slowly and get up, carefully picking your way between pillows, away from any fire harzard, walking out of the shade under the summer, clear blue sky.
It's not strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling even if it's a custom of the dragons. Other sorcerers have picked up the craft too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You take a deep breath, pondering what you should show them. Arthur has told you it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take another steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<</if>>
You open your eyes and thrust out your arms, pushing out the fire tingling all over your palms, warm and familiar. Flames shoot out and flicker in midair just above the grass, a quivering, hazy mass you slowly start to mould like clay. It shifts, rearranging itself to your command and soon you have before your eyes $dragon_name in the fiery hues of fire and you atop $dragon_him, both small like a child's toys. Lines aren't the clearest or cleanest, the form fluttering at the seams, but there's no doubt to what it represents, and it listens to you when you make it fly circles in front of you. Your audience claps and you bask in the attention, smiling.
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>><<if $chapt4_fireshow1 == 1>>
"Of course!" you jump to your feet, readily accepting the challenge. You skip through the pillows, making your way away from anything that could be a fire hazard, out of the shade under the summer, clear blue sky.
It's not strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling even if it's a custom of the dragons. Other sorcerers have picked up the craft too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You tap your chin, pondering what you should show them. You've read it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take a steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow1 == 2>>
"I don't know..." you hesitate, pulling nervously at your sleeve.
"Please," Gawain pleads, eyes turning to puppy-level of beseeching. How can you sau no to that?
You nod slowly and get up, carefully picking your way between pillows, away from any fire harzard, walking out of the shade under the summer, clear blue sky.
It's not strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling even if it's a custom of the dragons. Other sorcerers have picked up the craft too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You take a deep breath, pondering what you should show them. You've read it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take another steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>><<if $chapt4_fireshow1 == 1>>
How could you turn down an opportunity to show off your skill to Arthur, who regards you with such proud expectation. He wants to see what you've picked up from his pointers and help, what you've learned in between your visits, and you won't rob him of it.
"Of course!" you jump to your feet, readily accepting the challenge. You skip through the pillows, making your way away from anything that could be a fire hazard, out of the shade, under the summer, clear blue sky.
Arthur obviously knows you're a dragonblood, but it still wouldn't be strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling even if it's a custom of the dragons. Other sorcerers have picked up the craft too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You tap your chin, pondering what you should show them. Arthur had told you it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take a steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow1 == 2>>
What if you disappoint Arthur, who's regarding you with such proud expectation? He's been offering pointers and help and he must be curious what you've learned in between your visits, but what if you don't live up to his expectations?
"I don't know..." you hesitate, pulling nervously at your sleeve.
"Please," Arthur entreats you and your chest constricts. How can you say no to him? You can't, so you nod slowly and get up, carefully picking your way between pillows, away from any fire harzard, walking out of the shade, under the summer, clear blue sky.
Arthur obviously knows you're a dragonblood, but it still wouldn't be strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling even if it's a custom of the dragons. Other sorcerers have picked up the craft too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You take a deep breath, pondering what you should show them. You've read it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take another steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<</if>>
You open your eyes and thrust out your arms, pushing out the fire tingling all over your palms, warm and familiar. Flames shoot out and flicker in midair just above the grass, a quivering, hazy mass you slowly start to mould like clay. It shifts, rearranging itself to your command and soon you have before your eyes $dragon_name in the fiery hues of fire and you atop $dragon_him, both small like a child's toys. Lines aren't the clearest or cleanest, the form fluttering at the seams, but there's no doubt to what it represents, and it listens to you when you make it fly circles in front of you. Your audience claps and you bask in the attention, smiling.
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>><<if $chapt4_fireshow1 == 1>>
"Of course!" you jump to your feet, readily accepting the challenge. You skip through the pillows, making your way away from anything that could be a fire hazard, out of the shade, under the summer, clear blue sky.
Junia knows you're a dragonblood but had she not know, it's still wouldn't be strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling, even if it's a custom of the dragons. Other sorcerers have picked up the craft, too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You tap your chin, pondering what you should show them. You've read it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take a steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow1 == 2>>
"I don't know..." you hesitate, pulling nervously at your sleeve.
"Please," Junia asks, smile gentle. You nod slowly and get up, carefully picking your way between pillows, away from any fire harzard, walking out of the shade, under the summer, clear blue sky.
Junia knows you're a dragonblood but had she not know, it's still wouldn't be strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling, even if it's a custom of the dragons. Other sorcerers have picked up the craft, too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You take a deep breath, pondering what you should show them. You've read it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take another steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>><<if $chapt4_drop == 1>>
It's not //your// fault that you overheard their little conversation; you were merely approaching them, and they did not take notice quick enough of your arrival, caught up as they were.
"You were speaking rather loudly," you airily retort, heaving yourself up on the sofa between them.
Morgana wraps an arm around your shoulders and Junia snorts. "?They really <<verb 'is'>> your kid, huh?" she says, not unkindly.
<<elseif $chapt4_drop == 2>>
You were merely approaching them and did not intend to overhear the conversation they were too caught up in to note your arrival. Though you won't deny that your curiosty was piqued.
"I didn't mean to," you say with a sheepish smile, heaving yourself up on the sofa between them.
Morgana wraps an arm around your shoulders and Junia squeezes your arm briefly, fondly.
<<elseif $chapt4_drop == 3>>
When in trouble, act dumb. Dumb and innocent.
"What do you mean?" you inquire, affecting a naive air as you heave yourself up on the sofa between them.
Morgana is far from fooled. She rolls her eyes, but her lips struggle against a smile. She wraps an arm around your shoulders and Junia briefly, fondly squeezes your arm.
<</if>>
"Alright," Morgana starts, looking at you. "Thoughts on the party so far."
You promptly reply: "Perfect." A pause. "When do I open the gifts?"
Morgana chuckles. "Just before dinner, alright?"
A servant approaches hurriedly, carefully picking their way between sofas and tables and guests. "Lady Morgana, a word if I may."
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
You're left alone with Junia as your mother leaves to hear out the servant. The woman shifts and smooths down her dress, a gauzy waterfall of sunflower yellow, cinched at the waist with a thick braided cordon. She lets out a long, content sigh and turns to you. "I'm so happy to see you and Arthur getting along so well. Gives me a little hope that things can be mended, after all."
<<if $chapt4_reconcile == "subtle">>
You lean in, dropping your voice as you're about to impart your conspiracy. "I've been doing my best to get them to make up. Subtly," you add, making a sliding motion with your hand to emphasize just how smooth you've been about it all.
Junia nods, smiling. "Clever. Keep up at that." Her smile quivers. "I really hope it works, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt4_reconcile == "blunt">>
"I've been doing my best to get them to make up," you tell her.
"Oh Mordred, you're such a sweetheart," she smiles. "I really hope it works."
<<else>>
"Perhaps," you shrug and Junia shakes her head, ginger ringlets bouncing about her face.
<</if>>
<<else>>
You're left alone with Junia as your mother leaves to hear out the servant. The woman shifts and smooths down her dress, a gauzy waterfall of sunflower yellow, cinched at the waist with a thick braided cordon. She looks at you out of the corner of her eye and shifts again. You get the distinct impression that there's something she wishes to say, something whirring just behind those blue eyes.
"Mordred," Junia leans towards you, dropping her tone as if afraid someone - mother - might hear her. She studies your face and sighs, putting on a strained smile. "Forget it, actually."
"Is this about Arthur?" you ask.
Her mouth twists. "So you did hear that part, didn't you?"
You nod in confirmation and echo Morgana's words - neither of you wants or needs Arthur to reach out or be here or send you anything. Your response does not seem to make her any more satisfied than it did coming out of your mother's mouth.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4CozyBirthdayParty>>Morgana is reclining on a plush sofa amongst decorative pillows, Junia plopped down next to her. Both hold gilded goblets and both sport Avalonian garb. For Junia, it's all her wardrobe consists of. For Morgana it's a dual show of respect for her adoptive home and defiance for her husband's land - especially given the twin golden serpents coiled around her arms.
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
"It's clear he takes after Uther in countenance," Junia says pensively, swirling her goblet. Her gaze is focused in the direction of the table, where Arthur is speaking to her dads and eating fruit tarts. "Though the features are so less harsher on him. I suppose his disposition also helps." She stops twirling the glass and taps her nails on the cup, briefly. It makes a little tinny noise. "Awful, awful man," Junia says, with feeling. "But Arthur's nothing like him."
Morgana only hums in response, that low hum you've heard during your lessons that lets you know you've made an error in your rune or spell. She sips slowly from her cup, eyes pinned on Arthur.
"And well," Junia goes on, sighing, either oblivious to or ignoring the warning sign, "You can really see Igraine in him when he smiles, don't you think?"
Morgana stiffens. It's an almost imperceptible change to the relaxed line of her shoulders, a strained stillness of the fingers layed upon the goblet raised to her lips, parted mouth thinning to a tight line.
Then her throat works up and down as she swills her drink and brings down her cup in an imperious arch to match her expression.
Junia watches her with a gaze that's almost weary. "You don't like me saying that, do you?"
Morgana opens her mouth to reply - then sees you and whatever words she had fade away. Her aloof expression gives way to a knowing quirk of the eyebrow.
"Mordred, were you eavesdropping?" Morgana speaks evenly, in the deliberate tone she uses when she's caught you red-handed. Yet you know you won't be in trouble.
<<else>>
"Arthur didn't send anything for Mordred's birthday? He really hasn't tried to reach out since the tournament, has he?" Junia wonders more than asks in a somewhat disbelieving voice, swirling her goblet between her hands. Her gaze is focused on Morgana's face.
Morgana's painted lips thin into a tight line, her fingers cupping her goblet harder. "I don't want or need Arthur reaching out to us again, Junia. Arthur had made his choice, time and time again; Mordred made up $their mind, too, and he's respecting that decision. It's the only good thing he's ever done."
Junia frowns, glacing down at her cup. "He doesn't have to be the enemy, Morgana."
"Yet he is."
"You're the one making him out to be that."
Morgana stiffens, cup frozen near her parted lips. Then her throat works up and down as she swills her drink and brings down her cup in an imperious arch to match her expression. She opens her mouth to reply - then sees you and whatever words she had fade away. Her aloof expression gives way to a knowing quirk of the eyebrow.
"Mordred, were you eavesdropping?" Morgana speaks evenly, in the deliberate tone she uses when she's caught you red-handed. Yet you know you won't be in trouble.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["You were speaking rather loudly," you airily retort.|Chapt4CozyMorganaHear][$chapt4_drop to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I didn't mean to," you say sheepishly.|Chapt4CozyMorganaHear][$chapt4_drop to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What are you talking about?" you play innocent. "I didn't hear anything."|Chapt4CozyMorganaHear][$chapt4_drop to 3]]</div>Despite your birthday - the event of the summer, really - coming up shortly, you're not spared from your courtly lessons and knightly training. Yet lectures seem to pass quicker and your strikes seem to land harder when you have something to look forward to, be it long evening walks with Junia and Morgana in the woods, collecting herbs; visiting the market in the morning with Gaius and Accolon, when the wares are fresh and the streets busiest; baking mini-tarts with Marcellus after the staff has gone to bed for the night and you have the kitchen all for yourself.
You always bring a handful of the tarts to $dragon_name, straight out of the oven; $dragon_he is always delighted by the visits for more than just the obvious, delicious reason. Junia's dads have called your dragon friend as much their grandchild as you are, and love doting on $dragon_him. Marcellus knows little of the dragon language and fumbles terribly with it so $dragon_name tries $dragon_his best to speak your tongue with him, but Gaius manages quite well with little intervention from you, even if their conversations end up being a mangled mess of both languages. They seem to have fun and understand each other, though.
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
One late afternoon, once the day's heat had mollified, Marcellus put together a lovely picnic for you, Gareth and $dragon_name, spoiling you with desserts and fancy little appetizers you could pop in your mouth and finish in one bite.
<<else>>
One late afternoon as you were wrapping up archery training and heading back for the castle you spotted Morgana, Junia, Gareth and Marcellus all gathered for a lovely little picnic. That was the one event you did not mind missing on.
<</if>>
The days pass in a merry blur. As the big day draws nearer and the deliveries pile up, preparations underway, your excitement only grows.
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited != true>>
[[Your birthday is close.|Chapt4CamelotArthurPOV]]
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true and $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
[[Your birthday is close.|Chapt4ArthurGawainArrive]]
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
[[Your birthday is close.|Chapt4ArthurArrives]]
<</if>>You don't bother bathing or changing - it's the last worry on your mind at the moment. With a wide sweep of your arm you snuff out the candles and slip back out of your room, haunting down the dimly lit hallways. Your pattering steps echo around you like incessant, unintelligible whispers, mimicking the chorus of gossipping that follows you everywhere.
You pass by guards, still and stolid like statues, eyes shifting from behind the slit in their helmet to watch your mad dash. You almost stumble upon a servant, their shoulders slumped with fatigue, inciting a rousing yelp from them. You burst out the doors into the lukewarm night, summoning a flame in the palm of your hand to guide your way. Though you reckon it's not all that necessary - the torchlights burn on around the pavilions where your party was, servants buzzing about cleaning the tables, gathering pillows and toys, rolling up carpets. You give them a wide berth, not breaking your run towards the dragons' lodge.
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
You burst through the doors, racing down the tall hallway till you stutter to a halt in front of $dragon_name's chamber. You don't knock. Instead you call out through your connection, reaching beyond the room with your mind. When no answer comes - when you feel no presence, not even that of your slumbering dragon - you extend that mental tendril farther outwards, towards Ariawen's room. As expected, you find $dragon_name there, $dragon_his merry disposition bleeding through to you. It soothes you, if only slightly.
//Mordred?// $dragon_his voice echoes in your mind, somewhat puzzled. //You can join us if you want.//
//I wanted to talk to you alone, actually,// you reply.
You feel your mind's tumult mirrored in $dragon_name as disquiet seeps through to your dragon. $dragon_He promises to come to you immediately and, true to $dragon_his word, a few moments later $dragon_he's hurrying down the hall towards you.
You both retreat into $dragon_name chamber, where you fling yourself upon a bed of furs and blankets. $dragon_He settles next to you and you promptly, clumsily shift around till you're leaning against $dragon_his side, the steady lifting and sinking of $dragon_his chest slowly lulling you.
<<else>>
You burst through the doors, racing down the tall, arching hallway till you stutter to a halt in front of $dragon_name's chamber. You don't knock. Instead you call out through your connection, reaching beyond the room with your mind. The answer comes immediately, filtered through $dragon_name's drowsy mind. $dragon_He promptly rouses upon sensing your distress though, and moments later you're slipping inside $dragon_his chamber and throwing your arms around $dragon_his neck.
//Mordred?// $dragon_his voice echoes in your mind, somewhat puzzled. //Is something wrong?//
You fling yourself upon a bed of furs and blankets. $dragon_He settles next to you and you promptly, clumsily shift around till you're leaning against $dragon_his side, the steady lifting and sinking of $dragon_his chest slowly lulling you.
<</if>>
"What happened?" $dragon_name asks.
You're too tired to use your words, so you simply open up your mind and let the recollection of the events and your emotions flood through into $dragon_name's own mind. You feel in return $dragon_his growing unease and quesiness that finally peaks into outright shocked terror. Once you're done dumping everything into $dragon_his thoughts, you both lay there, silent and weary as if finally washed ashore after getting tumbled around by some great, furious wave.
"What?" is all that $dragon_name manages, and you laugh mirthlessly. It comes out as more of a choking snort.
<<if $chap4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset">>
"I understand why you feel so betrayed," $dragon_name says after a pause, shaking $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't your mother think you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say bitterly and $dragon_his tail wraps around your wrist comfortingly. "Who knows what else she's hiding from me?"
"I think one revelation is enough for the night, anyway," $dragon_he says softly.
You sigh, letting your cheek rest against $dragon_his cool, scaled skin. "I don't even know if she truly loves me for me, or if she cares as long as I aid her quest for revenge," you mutter despondently.
<<if $dragon_personality == "timid" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"I'm sure she loves you very much," $dragon_name tries to mollify you but the uncertainy in $dragon_his voice belies the reassurance.
i'm sure she loves you. timid or fearful is a bit more hesitant and insecure.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"I'm sure she loves you...in her own //very// interesting way," $dragon_name reassures you. "Somewhat twisted, one might say."
<<else>>
"I'm sure she loves you very much!" $dragon_name tries to reassure you.
<</if>>
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you," $dragon_he continues. "It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too."
"What, from me being justifiably upset with her?" $dragon_name grumbles in agreement and you sigh again. "Well you can't do a thing like //this//, put this expectation on me and then don't expect such a reaction."
"I know. I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<<elseif $chap4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">>
"I understand why you feel so betrayed," $dragon_name says after a pause, shaking $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't it occur to your mother that you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say bitterly. $dragon_name wraps $dragon_his tail around your wrist comfortingly. "Who knows what else she's hiding from me?"
"I think one revelation is enough for the night, anyway," $dragon_he says softly.
You sigh, letting your cheek rest against $dragon_his cool, scaled skin.
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you," $dragon_name says. "It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too."
"What, from me being justifiably upset with her?" $dragon_name grumbles in agreement and you sigh again. "Well you can't do a thing like //this//, put this expectation on me and then don't expect such a reaction."
"I know. I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<<elseif $chap4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry">>
"I understand why you feel so betrayed," $dragon_name says after a pause, shaking $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't it occur to your mother that you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say bitterly. $dragon_name wraps $dragon_his tail around your wrist comfortingly. "Who knows what else she's hiding from me?"
"I think one revelation is enough for the night, anyway," $dragon_he says softly.
You sigh, letting your cheek rest against $dragon_his cool, scaled skin. "I don't even know if she truly loves me for me, or if she cares as long as I aid her quest for revenge," you mutter acidly.
<<if $dragon_personality == "timid" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"I'm sure she loves you very much," $dragon_name tries to mollify you but the uncertainy in $dragon_his voice belies the reassurance.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"I'm sure she loves you...in her own //very// interesting way," $dragon_name reassures you. "Somewhat twisted, one might say."
<<else>>
"I'm sure she loves you very much!" $dragon_name tries to reassure you.
<</if>>
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you," $dragon_he continues. "It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too."
"What, from me being justifiably upset with her?" $dragon_name grumbles in agreement and you sigh again. "Well you can't do a thing like //this//, put this expectation on me and then don't expect such a reaction."
"I know. I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<<elseif $chap4_revelation == "betrayed_angry">>
"I understand why you feel so betrayed," $dragon_name says after a pause, shaking $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't it occur to your mother that you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say bitterly. $dragon_name wraps $dragon_his tail around your wrist comfortingly. "Who knows what else she's hiding from me?"
"I think one revelation is enough for the night, anyway," $dragon_he says softly.
You sigh, letting your cheek rest against $dragon_his cool, scaled skin.
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you," $dragon_name says. "It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too."
"What, from my justified wrath?" $dragon_name grumbles in agreement and you sigh again. "Well you can't do a thing like //this//, put this expectation on me and then don't expect such a reaction."
"I know. I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<<elseif $chap4_revelation == "ok">>
"Mordred, this is...," $dragon_name struggles for words but the disbelief, shock and alarm trickling in through your bond speak louder than words. $dragon_He shakes $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't it occur to your mother that you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say wearily. $dragon_name wraps $dragon_his tail around your wrist comfortingly. "I hope there's nothing more she's holding back but who knows? If there is, I'd like to think she has good reasons for not telling me."
"You already seem...less bothered by the secrecy than I thought."
You sigh. "I suppose I just want to understand her reasoning."
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you," $dragon_name says. "It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too. From how you might react." You hum pensively. "I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<<elseif $chap4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
"Mordred, this is...," $dragon_name struggles for words but the disbelief, shock and alarm trickling in through your bond speak louder than words. $dragon_He shakes $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't it occur to your mother that you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say wearily. $dragon_name wraps $dragon_his tail around your wrist comfortingly. "I hope there's nothing more she's holding back but who knows? If there is, I'd like to think she has good reasons for not telling me."
"You already seem...less bothered by the secrecy than I thought."
You sigh. "I suppose I'm more bothered by the prospect that her love of me may depend on what I can do for her revenge."
<<if $dragon_personality == "timid" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"I'm sure she loves you very much," $dragon_name tries to mollify you but the uncertainy in $dragon_his voice belies the reassurance.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"I'm sure she loves you...in her own //very// interesting way," $dragon_name reassures you. "Somewhat twisted, one might say."
<<else>>
"I'm sure she loves you very much!" $dragon_name tries to reassure you.
<</if>>
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you. It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too. From how you might react."
You hum pensively. $dragon_name continues: "I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<</if>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Poor Arthur though...This puts things in perspective, doesn't it? Explains his reticence and unease around Morgana."
<<else>>
"Alright, this puts things in perspective, doesn't it? Explains Arthur's reticence and unease around Morgana."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Because I'm a reminder of what she's done to him?" you say bitterly. But this it not your fault.|Chapt4DragonArthur][$chapt4_reminder to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know," you say. "It makes sense why he'd want to stay away from mother."|Chapt4DragonArthur][$chapt4_reminder to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know," you say. "It makes sense why he'd want to stay away from mother. From the both of us."|Chapt4DragonArthur][$chapt4_reminder to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Because I'm a reminder of it, aren't I?" You feel horrible.|Chapt4DragonArthur][$chapt4_reminder to 4]]</div><<if $chapt4_reminder == 1>>
It's not your fault, but what $dragon_name says does seem to ring true. You've always wondered why Arthur would abandon you, refuse to reach out to you for so many years. For nights you've wondered whether he truly was as horrible and unreliable as Morgana had made him out to be. Then he swept in two years ago, belatedly yet wanting to make amends, though still held back by a certain reluctance. The pieces of the puzzle now fall together to complete the terrible picture. You have always been the answer to the question of his absence. All of those days that you spent wondering, you should have simply taken a look in the mirror.
But it's not fair. It's not fair towards you, because it isn't and shouldn't be your fault. Morgana did this to him, not you.
"Why? Because I'm a reminder of what she's done to him?" you say bitterly, a stab of pain lancing through your chest. "It's not //my// fault though."
$dragon_name pushes $dragon_his snout against your cheek. "Of course not!"
<<elseif $chapt4_reminder == 2>>
You've always wondered why Arthur would abandon you, refuse to reach out to you for so many years. For nights you've wondered whether he truly was as horrible and unreliable as Morgana had made him out to be. Then he swept in two years ago, belatedly yet wanting to make amends, though still held back by a certain reluctance. The pieces of the puzzle now fall together to complete the terrible picture. All this time, Morgana's gone on so many harangues about how Arthur had betrayed her - and all this time, it was her who betrayed him first.
"I know," you say. "It makes sense why he'd want to stay away from mother."
$dragon_name pushes $dragon_his snout against your cheek.
<<elseif $chapt4_reminder == 3>>
You've always wondered why Arthur would abandon you, refuse to reach out to you for so many years. For nights you've wondered whether he truly was as horrible and unreliable as Morgana had made him out to be. Then he swept in two years ago, belatedly yet wanting to make amends, though still held back by a certain reluctance. The pieces of the puzzle now fall together to complete the terrible picture. You have always been the answer to the question of his absence. All of those days that you spent wondering, you should have simply taken a look in the mirror.
You must be the reminder of that night, the consequence of what Morgana did to him made flesh and blood.
"I know," you say. "It makes sense why he'd want to stay away from mother. From the both of us."
$dragon_name pushes $dragon_his snout against your cheek.
<<elseif $chapt4_reminder == 4>>
It's not your fault, but what $dragon_name says does seem to ring true. You've always wondered why Arthur would abandon you, refuse to reach out to you for so many years. For nights you've wondered whether he truly was as horrible and unreliable as Morgana had made him out to be. Then he swept in two years ago, belatedly yet wanting to make amends, though still held back by a certain reluctance. The pieces of the puzzle now fall together to complete the terrible picture. You have always been the answer to the question of his absence. All of those days that you spent wondering, you should have simply taken a look in the mirror.
You must be the reminder of that night, the consequence of what Morgana did to him made flesh and blood.
"Why? Because I'm a reminder of what she's done to him?" you say tearfully, a stab of pain lancing through your chest.
$dragon_name pushes $dragon_his snout against your cheek.
<</if>>
You shift atop the blankets, pulling one over the both of you. The revelations of the evening have left you exhausted, eyelids drooping heavily with sleep that you crave now that you've calmed down, if only a little.
//I'm sorry if I'm always burdening you with my issues,// you let the thought float drowsily towards $dragon_name as you snuggle at $dragon_his side. Through half-closed eyes, you see out the window a patch of dark blue speckled with silver.
Despite your deep bond, despite all the reassurances you've received from $dragon_name, at times - when vile thoughts lurk out of dark nooks of your mind to whsiper poison in your ears - you feel like a troublesome burden weighing donw on $dragon_him, bringing $dragon_him undo problems simply because $dragon_he's close to you. It was only a while into your squire training together that you found out that some parents had been reticent to let their dragon kids be paired up with you, lest the Court looked down on them by association; Corra and her partner were the most open to it by far.
//Never apologize for that, Mordred. We're friends; we're supposed to share our problems.//
//Yeah, but it always ends up being me running to you,// you reply, shutting your eyes. //Rarely the other way around.//
//Your life's filled with enough troules for the both of us,// $dragon_name says and you let out an explosive, stunned burst of laughter. There's no mirth in it.
//Can't argue.//
$dragon_His tail wraps gently around you and you fall asleep huddled together.
The next morning you wake up in a shaft of soft light, curled up against $dragon_name in a nest of blankets. You linger for breakfast, sitting opposite on the carpet, platters of food spread between you. Upon finding you in the chamber, the servant was unfazed - it wouldn't be the first time you've spent the night here - and went to fetch more food without a question.
"How do you feel?" $dragon_name asks, eyeing you with concern.
<div class="choice">[["I feel awful," you say. As if a hoard of horses trampled you.|Chapt4DragonMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Not really well, but that's to be expected," you say with a watery smile.|Chapt4DragonMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Honestly, I feel mostly numb," you say. "Numb and tired."|Chapt4DragonMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Trying to adjust, I suppose," you say carefully. "Last night feels almost like a dream."|Chapt4DragonMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Like my whole existence is a lie. Like I'm nothing but a tool," you say bitterly, voice catching.|Chapt4DragonMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm as alright as I can be," you say warily. You're desperately trying to ward off all these complicated thoughts until you've shrugged the sleepiness off completely. Besides, you don't want to burden your friend more than you've already done; they'll feel your distress, anyway.|Chapt4DragonMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 6]]</div><<if $chapt4_morning_feel == 1>>
You feel as if a hoard of wild, mad horses trampled you - physically and mentally, wicked hooves shattering your world, wrecking your spirits, racking you utterly till you were left drained body and soul.
"I feel awful," you say, slumping.
$dragon_name stretches to nuzzle your cheek with $dragon_his comfortingly cool, scaled snout. There's no further words exchanged; just a deluge of warmth, love and reassurance poured your way from $dragon_him. You stay like this for a while, allow yourself to indulge in it like wrapping yourself within a warm blanket on a cold, winter night. It won't fend of your incessant, restless thoughts nor lift away the haze of weariness around you - but it soothes you and gives you strenght to know you have someone to turn to.
There's a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomachas as you pull away and look over the food in front of you, rendered utterly unappetizing. Yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch $dragon_name stake grapes on $dragon_his talon, you wonder how much it must weigh on $dragon_him: all these revelation, all this comfort $dragon_he lavishes on you, all the worry $dragon_he harbors for you.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on $dragon_him. After all, what affects you affect $dragon_him; what affect $dragon_him affects you.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 2>>
You've just had your world shattered and turned upside down the night before when Lot decided to unceremoniously dump all on you like a bucket of ice-cold water. Everything you thought you knew about your conception turned out to be a lie, a truth altered and tailored to fit a reality far sweeter and kinder. How could you feel fine?
"Not really well," you say, attempting a smile. It's feeble and sad and feels closer to a grimace on your lips. "But that's to be expected."
$dragon_name stretches to nuzzle your cheek with $dragon_his comfortingly cool, scaled snout. There's no further words exchanged; just a deluge of warmth, love and reassurance poured your way from $dragon_him. You stay like this for a while, allow yourself to indulge in it like wrapping yourself within a warm blanket on a cold, winter night. It won't fend of your incessant, restless thoughts nor lift away the haze of weariness around you - but it soothes you and gives you strenght to know you have someone to turn to.
There's a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomachas as you pull away and look over the food in front of you, rendered utterly unappetizing. Yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch $dragon_name stake grapes on $dragon_his talon, you wonder how much it must weigh on $dragon_him: all these revelation, all this comfort $dragon_he lavishes on you, all the worry $dragon_he harbors for you.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on $dragon_him. After all, what affects you affect $dragon_him; what affect $dragon_him affects you.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 3>>
It's akin to that feeling after sitting in cold snow for too long, that coolness that seeps under your cloths, through your skin to your bones and numb your nerves. That's how you feel in the wake of last night, carrying with you now the revelations Lot decided to unceremoniously dump on you like a bucket of ice-cold water.
"Honestly," you sign, slumping. "I feel mostly numb. Numb and tired."
$dragon_name stretches to nuzzle your cheek with $dragon_his comfortingly cool, scaled snout. There's no further words exchanged; just a deluge of warmth, love and reassurance poured your way from $dragon_him. You stay like this for a while, allow yourself to indulge in it like wrapping yourself within a warm blanket on a cold, winter night. It won't fend of your incessant, restless thoughts nor lift away the haze of weariness around you - but it soothes you and gives you strenght to know you have someone to turn to.
There's a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomachas as you pull away and look over the food in front of you, rendered utterly unappetizing. Yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch $dragon_name stake grapes on $dragon_his talon, you wonder how much it must weigh on $dragon_him: all these revelation, all this comfort $dragon_he lavishes on you, all the worry $dragon_he harbors for you.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on $dragon_him. After all, what affects you affect $dragon_him; what affect $dragon_him affects you.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 4>>
You've been left dazed ever since Lot decided to dump all on you like a bucket of ice-cold water. Dazed and confused, trying to reconcile everything you thought you knew with the truth. Musing back on last night - conjuring up the murky image of your dark room where Lot lurked, wearing his cruel smile - it almost feels like a feverish dream, a vivid nightmare.
"Trying to adjust, I suppose," you say, searching within for how best to describe what you feel. "Last night feels almost like a dream."
$dragon_name stretches to nuzzle your cheek with $dragon_his comfortingly cool, scaled snout. There's no further words exchanged; just a deluge of warmth, love and reassurance poured your way from $dragon_him. You stay like this for a while, allow yourself to indulge in it like wrapping yourself within a warm blanket on a cold, winter night. It won't fend of your incessant, restless thoughts nor lift away the haze of weariness around you - but it soothes you and gives you strenght to know you have someone to turn to.
There's a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomachas as you pull away and look over the food in front of you, rendered utterly unappetizing. Yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch $dragon_name stake grapes on $dragon_his talon, you wonder how much it must weigh on $dragon_him: all these revelation, all this comfort $dragon_he lavishes on you, all the worry $dragon_he harbors for you.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on $dragon_him. After all, what affects you affect $dragon_him; what affect $dragon_him affects you.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 5>>
Last night, your entire world shattered - your perception shifted till it was turned upside down, and you're still struggling to adjust to it all. Your existence, so far, has been a lie. An altered, tailored truth made up for Morgana to dress up the ugly truth that you were never meant to be anything else but a tool to be used, a weapon to be wielded. No mistakes turned miracles: just a pawn in a game that started long before you were born.
"Like my whole existence is a lie," you say bitterly, voice thick and harsh with emotion. "Like I'm nothing but a tool."
"Don't you say that! You're not a tool. You're //you//, and this doesn't change anything."
"It changes everything."
$dragon_name shakes $dragon_his head, pained, then stretches to nuzzle your cheek with $dragon_his comfortingly cool, scaled snout. There's no further words exchanged; just a deluge of warmth, love and reassurance poured your way from $dragon_him. You stay like this for a while, allow yourself to indulge in it like wrapping yourself within a warm blanket on a cold, winter night. It won't fend of your incessant, restless thoughts nor lift away the haze of weariness around you - but it soothes you and gives you strenght to know you have someone to turn to.
There's a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomachas as you pull away and look over the food in front of you, rendered utterly unappetizing. Yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch $dragon_name stake grapes on $dragon_his talon, you wonder how much it must weigh on $dragon_him: all these revelation, all this comfort $dragon_he lavishes on you, all the worry $dragon_he harbors for you.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on $dragon_him. After all, what affects you affect $dragon_him; what affect $dragon_him affects you.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 6>>
Thoughts circle you as menacingly as hornets intent on chasing you down and stinging you; they buzz incessantly as they bound within your head. Yet you drown it all out, fend them off as best as you can and plaster on a feeble smile that you hope looks more convincing than the grimace it feels like on your lips.
"I'm as alright as I can be," you say. You've dumped so much on $dragon_name last night, you don't want to continue burdening $dragon_him. You receive a sympathetic yet unconvinced look; $dragon_he knows you're not fine.
$dragon_name stretches to nuzzle your cheek with $dragon_his comfortingly cool, scaled snout. There's no further words exchanged; just a deluge of warmth, love and reassurance poured your way from $dragon_him. You stay like this for a while, allow yourself to indulge in it like wrapping yourself within a warm blanket on a cold, winter night. It won't fend of your incessant, restless thoughts nor lift away the haze of weariness around you - but it soothes you and gives you strenght to know you have someone to turn to.
There's a lump in your throat and a pit in your stomachas as you pull away and look over the food in front of you, rendered utterly unappetizing. Yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch $dragon_name stake grapes on $dragon_his talon, you wonder how much it must weigh on $dragon_him: all these revelation, all this comfort $dragon_he lavishes on you, all the worry $dragon_he harbors for you.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on $dragon_him. After all, what affects you affect $dragon_him; what affect $dragon_him affects you.
<</if>>
$dragon_name swallows a mouthful of raspberries and readily says: "I'm worried about you - which just comes with loving someone, doesn't it? I hate to see you hurting."
"But how does it affect //you//? To have me always pour my problems on you?" Unease prickles your skin.
"I thought we went over this last night. You know you can always come to me. Just like I go to you when I have my own troubles."
"But your troubles are always quite mundane," you point out. "When you argue with your parents, it's the usual eating too many sweets or staying up too late. Forgetting assignments for your lessons. Never prophecies that spell destruction and the likes."
"Well," $dragon_name says decisively, "all the more reason you need a friend to support you!"
You finish breakfast, mostly quiet, whatever else conversation you have carried through your connection, before returning to your chamber.
[[Next|Chapt4JuniaPOV]]<<if $chapt4_reminder == 1>>
It's not your fault, but what $dragon_name says does seem to ring true. You've always wondered why Arthur would abandon you, refuse to reach out to you for so many years. For nights you've wondered whether he truly was as horrible and unreliable as Morgana had made him out to be. Then he swept in two years ago, belatedly yet wanting to make amends, though still held back by a certain reluctance. The pieces of the puzzle now fall together to complete the terrible picture. You have always been the answer to the question of his absence. All of those days that you spent wondering, you should have simply taken a look in the mirror.
But it's not fair. It's not fair towards you, because it isn't and shouldn't be your fault. Morgana did this to him, not you.
"Why? Because I'm a reminder of what she's done to him?" you say bitterly, a stab of pain lancing through your chest. "It's not //my// fault though."
$dragon_name pushes $dragon_his snout against your cheek. "Of course not!"
<<elseif $chapt4_reminder == 2>>
You've always wondered why Arthur would abandon you, refuse to reach out to you for so many years. For nights you've wondered whether he truly was as horrible and unreliable as Morgana had made him out to be. Then he swept in two years ago, belatedly yet wanting to make amends, though still held back by a certain reluctance. The pieces of the puzzle now fall together to complete the terrible picture. All this time, Morgana's gone on so many harangues about how Arthur had betrayed her - and all this time, it was her who betrayed him first.
"I know," you say. "It makes sense why he'd want to stay away from mother."
$dragon_name pushes $dragon_his snout against your cheek.
<<elseif $chapt4_reminder == 3>>
You've always wondered why Arthur would abandon you, refuse to reach out to you for so many years. For nights you've wondered whether he truly was as horrible and unreliable as Morgana had made him out to be. Then he swept in two years ago, belatedly yet wanting to make amends, though still held back by a certain reluctance. The pieces of the puzzle now fall together to complete the terrible picture. You have always been the answer to the question of his absence. All of those days that you spent wondering, you should have simply taken a look in the mirror.
You must be the reminder of that night, the consequence of what Morgana did to him made flesh and blood.
"I know," you say. "It makes sense why he'd want to stay away from mother. From the both of us."
$dragon_name pushes $dragon_his snout against your cheek.
<<elseif $chapt4_reminder == 4>>
It's not your fault, but what $dragon_name says does seem to ring true. You've always wondered why Arthur would abandon you, refuse to reach out to you for so many years. For nights you've wondered whether he truly was as horrible and unreliable as Morgana had made him out to be. Then he swept in two years ago, belatedly yet wanting to make amends, though still held back by a certain reluctance. The pieces of the puzzle now fall together to complete the terrible picture. You have always been the answer to the question of his absence. All of those days that you spent wondering, you should have simply taken a look in the mirror.
You must be the reminder of that night, the consequence of what Morgana did to him made flesh and blood.
"Why? Because I'm a reminder of what she's done to him?" you say tearfully, a stab of pain lancing through your chest.
$dragon_name pushes $dragon_his snout against your cheek.
<</if>>
You rest your forehead against $dragon_his and close your eyes. Foregoing words, you let a fretful thought float $dragon_his way. //I'm sorry if I'm always burdening you with my issues,// you let the thought float towards $dragon_name.
//Never apologize for that, Mordred. We're friends; we're supposed to share our problems.//
//Yeah, but it always ends up being me running to you,// you reply. //Rarely the other way around.//
//Your life's filled with enough drama for the both of us,// $dragon_name says and you let out an explosive, stunned burst of laughter.
//Can't argue.//
"Now," $dragon_name says outloud. "How about we go for a flight?"
Speeding up above the treetops, you feel light as if you shed to the ground everything that was weighing you down. The air is cool against your cheeks, refreshing and invigorating, and you can barely hear your thoughts over the rush in your ears. You circle above the forest for a while before resting in your usual spot by the river, then reluctantly start making your way back to the Castle.
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]Teacher Wyon is only about a head taller than you - a head and a half, if you were to count the sandy horns that curl around the sides of his long face. They wait for you out in the sun, no hat or cape or cream smudged along their amber scales. Dragons do not need such things to be protected. They can lounge for hours in the sun without care of sunburn. $dragon_name too will sometimes lay outside of the trees' shade by the river, belly up and maw open in a big, dopey grin, drinking in the sunlight as if $dragon_he were a plant.
"Ready for our lesson?" your teacher asks in that rumbling, jovial voice of theirs.
Wyon has a particular, peculiar way of holding their lectures. While most of your teachers prefer the cozy library, they prefer the open fields of the Castle grounds or, on hot days like this, the cool forested expanse stretching past the grounds. It's not that they wouldn't fit inside the Castle; it seems to be a personal preference and a way to immerse yourself in dragon culture. While the dragons living among humans inhabit abodes similar to the Royal Lodge, which $dragon_name calls home, the dragons who have chosen to stay away from this peaceful cohabituation have carved their own homes into what nature has to offer. They've nestled into caves, breaking down stone to expand them into intricate, lavish stony dwellings; they've dug up mounds, creating wide, winding underground tunnels. And while some dragons - especially the smaller ones, the one who for so long have lived with humans - seemed to have fully accomodated to life in town, away from the wilderness of nature, many yet still feel the need to escape this human-built world that can feel stifling, too little for them.
Teacher Wyon leads you across the plains, past the few knights braving the sun on the training ground in pursuit of keeping in shape. You set down the well-trodden path between the trees; the foliage above you turns the ground into a patchwork of light and shadow. During pleasantly crisp mornings and mildly sunny afternoons, Wyon would usually take you to a meadow, fraught with wildflowers. In this oppresive heat, however, your tutor seeks a patch of shadow, offering as much cool as can be supplied.
You settle under the shelter of a great oak. You spread a thick blanket over the dry, clay-like earth, and assemble your notebook, feathered pen and inkpot around you.
As you do, Wyon says, "Today we'll be doing some translations."
As well as teaching you dragon culture, history and politics, Wyon has been giving you lessons of the dragon tongue, too, lessons which you do not need but must pretend you do.
<div class="choice">[[You've always been praised by Wyon as a good student with how "quick you're learning the language". You've tried not to overdo it though, making sensible mistakes as to not draw too much attention.|Chapt4LectureTongue][$chapt4_language to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You've never bothered trying to hide how well you speak the dragon tongue; you claimed that, on top of starting early, you're simply that bright.|Chapt4LectureTongue][$chapt4_language to 2]]</div><<if $draw == "yes">>
Morgana places the pencils between you. They're all been sharpened prior, and stand at different heights each, which makes it easy to tell what colors Morgana's favored lately - all the softer, pastel colors she's used throughout spring.
The pencils scratch the page with a soothing, pleasant rasp, which softens even more when the tips wear out. Morgana's hand moves swiftly and decisively, each motion holding years of practice behind it. She stops every now and then to stare at the river before her, slithering calmly and sparkingly through the woods, while keeping easy conversation with you. You take longer to study your surroundings, the way shadows fall, the way the sun limns the leaves and makes the surface of the water glitter. You've learned what you know from Morgana, and are still learning and evolving.
<<else>>
Morgana rummages through the pencils and they clink against each other with a bright, keen musicality. They're all been sharpened prior, and stand at different heights each, which makes it easy to tell what colors Morgana's favored lately - all the softer, pastel colors she's used throughout spring.
The pencils scratch the page with a soothing, pleasant rasp, which softens even more when the tips wear out; you lean against the tree trunk next to Morgana, watching her draw over her shoulder. Her hand moves swiftly and decisively, each motion holding years of practice behind it. She stops every now and then to stare at the river before her, slithering calmly and sparkingly through the woods, while keeping easy conversation with you.
<</if>>
You stay until the sky starts to tint a blazing orange, then make your way back leisurely. Morgana says next time you'll go herb-picking too, to double as lesson and restocking of her stash.
As the Castle's walls peek through the foliage, violently white against the lively green, Morgana says, "You'll help me carry all these," she inclines her head to the mostly-empty basket you're carrying and the books in her arms, "and stay for one more lesson for today."
Your head snaps to her, your heart trembling with sweet anticipation. "Are we going to-?" You don't need to finish your sentence - it reads all over your face, and Morgana smiles at you a conspiratorial little smile.
Over one month ago, your scales have bloomed on your skin for the very first time.
It's happened while you were sparring - only with Accolon, luckily, safe from any prying eyes. You've left yourself vulnerable, and Accolon landed a hit on you with the practice sword - it didn't hurt as it clattered against your plated forearm, but your skin //itched//. It prickled acutely, electrified by a tingling you were not familiar with, unlike the sensation of magic or fire teeming under your skin. It was not unpleasant, but its sheer abruptness and strangeness took you by surprise and made you drop your sword. Your heart no longer trembled with the exertion, but with a trepidation of anticipation, painful yet hopeful as you fumbled with the straps of your vambrace. Accolon had been alarmed, but you barely heard his questions as you jerked the guard off, pulled up your sleeve and revealed ripples of rubies.
You gasped. You might have yelped, too, you're not quite sure. All you remember is staring at your arm, utterly bewitched by the glittering, scarlet scales. Accolon had come to shield you with his body from any who might see you, and even though he urged you to cover your arm and hurry somewhere inside - ever so concerned - he was proud and smiling when you glanced at him.
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Morgana had pulled you out of your training for a week then, pretending you'd caught some illness or another. No one cared too much to ask, besides Gareth and Robin.
<<else>>
Morgana had pulled you out of your training for a week then, pretending you'd caught some illness or another. No one cared too much to ask, besides Robin.
<</if>>
She'd said it was paramount that you learn how to control the scales, as quickly and as well as you could, lest anyone saw them. They'd give away your blood immediately, and raise dangerous line of inquiry and rumours. She insisted on you being fully armored during fight training until you were confident in your command over the power, especially if you were sparring with other squires - though Morgana recommended avoiding that altogether for a while.
So you've started learning. After the initial, sudden, instinctive appearance of the scales, you thought summoning them would be easy, something to be done at a moment's notice. You'd been profusely wrong, and utterly frustrated to discover that the scales seemed to have a mind of their own. You and Morgana have come up with an exercise where she'd splash water at you, hoping it'd awake the same instinctual reaction - though perhaps it being water, which can't actually hurt you, wasn't enough of an incentive, and you jokingly suggested she try fire or some hefty book. She laughed, but a tiny part of you wasn't joking.
You'd settled for armoring yourself and letting Accolon hit you with the practise sword in order to draw the scales out, but it didn't //always// work. Just when you thought you'd taught yourself the trick of coaxing them out without bodily threat, you'd find the scales mulishly refuse to glint to the surface, on any part of your body. When they did listen to you, they always covered more or less surface than you concentrated upon, as if to specifically spite you. But you loved it nonetheless, loved staring at the way the light caught in them. Marveled at their bright crimson, marveled at their smoothness. Ran your flesh fingers over them, and excitedly invited Morgana and Accolon to do the same, and compared scales with $dragon_name. Whenever they bloomed you focused on that sensation of shifting, of something slithering and teeming just beneath your skin with an intesity that send goosebumps all over your body and made the place tickle and tingle and itch all at once.
There's still much for you to learn, but you've come to a point where you can successfully summon the scales roughly where you want them, but struggle with holding them for long; and you've mostly managed to restrain the instinctual bloom.
<div class="choice">[[You hasten your step, impatient.|Chapt4Scales][$chapt4_impatient to 1, $impulsive to $impulsive+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You buzz with excitement, but don't hurry.|Chapt4Scales][$chapt4_impatient to 2, $impulsive to $impulsive-2]]</div><<if $chapt4_winner == 1>>
"Bragging rights," you answer.
Gawain chuckles. "Fair! But we could go bigger."
"I could bring the winner a mini-tart," Gareth chimes in and you concede.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 2>>
"The loser must bring the winner a mini-tart," you declare and Gawain chuckles, agreeing to your tasty terms.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 3>>
"The winner receives a kiss on the cheek from the loser," you declare with a little smug smile and Gawain chuckles.
"Then neither is a loser!" he protests.
"All the better," you return.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 4>>
"I was actually reading this story," you begin breezily, a playful smile tugging at your lips, "where two characters competed and the loser had to kiss the other. On the cheek, of course."
Gawain blinks at you, brown eyes wide and round. He tilts his head and studies your face intently, almost wonderingly, before his lips curl into a smile. "Alright," he agrees, turning to face the target with flushed cheeks. His eyes flit back to you. "It doesn't sound like either of us will be losers then, does it?"
"All the better," you return with a brilliant smile. His gaze lingers on it, face growing ruddier.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Gareth looks between the two of you, brow raised. When you meet his gaze his eyes narrow, smile turning knowing and smug.
<<else>>
Gareth pretends to be mighty interested in the hem of his shirt, face schooled into one of poised calm.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 5>>
"The winner receives a hug," you decide.
"Then neither is a loser!" he protests, smiling.
"All the better," you return.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 6>>
"The winner receives a hug," you decide, heat creeping up your neck.
"Then neither is a loser!" he protests, smiling.
Something flutters in your stomach. "All the better," you return.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 7>>
"The winner receives a hug," you decide, a strange fluttering in your stomach.
"Then neither is a loser!" he protests, smiling.
"All the better," you return.
<</if>>
You nock your arrow, take your stance, ready your bow and let your arrow loose.
Both of you hit red.
Another arrow. You pull back the bowstring, prepare yourself, shoot...
And you both hit red yet again.
One last time. You breathe in deeply as you stare down your target, as your vision sharpens in on the taunting ruby red eye of the middle. Time seems to slow down to a crawl as you watch the arrow fly free of your bow, watch it soar over the carpet, over the grass towards the target...
...and hit red for a third time.
"Blue!" Gawain calls out next to you. "But it was very close to red."
<<if $chapt4_winner == 1>>
"All the bragging rights of winning against the King's newphew go to Mordred," Gareth announces, affecting a mock-serious tone.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 2>>
"I suddenly seem to crave a fruit mini-tart," you say, raising your arms high to stretch, smiling meaningfully at Gawain.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 3>>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. "For this sweet defeat." With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and peppering your cheek with kisses.
Your chuckling turns to outright laughter, merry and wholehearted.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 4>>
You turn to Gawain, who's already looking at you, cheeks powdered pink. When he notices your attention he rolls back his shoulders and affects a mock serious air. "And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, ducking his head. Fittingly dramatic, and an effective way of hiding his deepening blush.
He closes the distance between you and places a hesitant hand on your shoulder - after so casually gripping it, after so nonchalantly tugging your hand, he suddenly feels so unsure. His eyes gleam, almost gilded, and with his pupils dilated they look like twin eclipses. Gawain leans in slowly and plants a soft kiss on your cheek before stepping back with a bright smile.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 5>>
<<if $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You expel a breathless wheeze, but you relish the proximity, even as it sends a stab of pain through your chest. You almost wish you could take back that letter that broke it all off, but you know it's for the best that things stay like this.
<<elseif $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You expel a breathless wheeze, but you relish the proximity, wiggling to wrap your arms back around him.
<<else>>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You expel a breathless, wheezing laugh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 6>>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chuckle out of you. With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You expel a breathless wheeze, but you relish the proximity.
<<elseif $chapt4_winner == 7>>
"And now I shall have to pay my dues," Gawain says, affecting a mock-serious tone that draws a chukcle out of you. With that dramatic declaration he swoops in on you, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tightly. You expel a breathless wheeze, but you relish the proximity.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>>"Here," you hand your brother a bow. It's light, lighter than the sturdy, serious bows you use in your training - a mere toy, a funny thing to give to kids and nobles for whom this is all a game.
You show Gareth how to grip it, how to hold it to avoid any injury to himself that's more likely than wounding anyone else.
"You can actually lose a finger if you're not careful," you airily remark and stifle a chuckle at his alarmed expression.
It's not hard to apply what you've learned and get your brother in a proper archer's stance, adjusting his grip and position until you're satisfied and assure him that no injury will come to him, beside possibly his ego. He laughs and almost spoils his posture at that, but you're quick to rectify the mistake.
"Alright," you say brightly, stepping back. "Now shoot like I told you."
Gareth takes a deep, steadying breath - fixes his aim - draws back the bowstring - releases it. The arrow wheezes through the air, which is already quite the feat, since you feared it'd just fall a few feet in front of him. It sails the air proudly and swiftly, shooting towards the target - and falls in the grass somewhere past it.
"I think it almost grazed the target," you say and he merely snorts.
Gareth isn't discouraged, though, no; he asks you to demonstrate before nocking another arrow himself, and grins when you hit the red painted part of the twine. As you take turns at the target and walk Gareth through more pointers and instructions, he tells you he's actually quite recently read a story about an adventurer archer.
"Looking back on it," he says, closing his fingers around the wooden bow, "the pictures in the book were realy inacurrate."
"You'd //hope// they'd talk with an expert first," you complain, since this is far from the first time you've witnessed such gross mistakes. "And swords really aren't as heavy as some writers are trying to make them out to be!"
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
When Gareth finally manages to stick an arrow in the blue ring of the target, it's cause for wild celebration. A second pair of clapping joins your own, and you turn to find Gawain approaching you.
"That was amazing, Gareth! Can I join too?"
Gareth hands him his bow. "I think I'll take a break, anyway. Watch you from the sidelines."
As Gawain takes the toy weapon, a brilliant idea sparks in your head. "A competition! How about that?"
"Even better a reason for me to retreat," your brother smoothly supplies as he sits down on a bed of pillows, "lest my ego gets thouroughly trashed. I can referee, though."
"Competition," Gawain agrees, nodding earnestly.
"Alright," you say as you each take position in front of a target. "Three out of three?"
Gawain nods, moves to get into position then stops. "Oh! What does the winner get?"
<div class="choice">[["\"Bragging rights.\""|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"The loser must bring the winner a mini-tart.\""|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>><div class="choice">[["\"The winner receives a kiss on the cheek from the loser.\""|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 3]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_crush >= 3 and $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a kiss on the cheek from the loser," you say playfully. "I read that in a book recently," you add (you did not, in fact).❤|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 4, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"The winner receives a hug.\""|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 5]]</div>
<<if $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a hug." ❤|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 6]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a hug." 💕|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 7]]</div><</if>>
<<else>>
When Gareth finally manages to stick an arrow in the blue ring of the target, it's cause for celebration. A second pair of clapping joins your own, and you turn to find Accolon approaching you. "Keep up the great work, Gareth."
You do keep at it for a bit longer before you set your bows down and go in hunt for some mini-tarts and more iced tea.
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>>
<</if>>"Well then," you say, seeing this as your cue to go, "I'll let you to it."
Gareth nods in salute and goes to pick up one of the wooden toy bows. He surveys it and twirls it in his hands as if it were some sort of intricate puzzle. Then he retrieves an arrow, and fumbles with the both of them, taking a stance that is utterly wrong. You shake your head and look away, going on your way - only to turn around again when you faintly hear Accolon's voice over the music, amicably asking, "Need any help?" The man has swooped in to save Gareth.
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>>You find Arthur under the playing pavilion, studying a rack of toy swords. He notices you sidling up to him and breaks into a brilliant smile. "Mordred! I was wondering where you were. Up for a duel?" He gives you a lopsided smile and grabs one of the swords, handing it to you by its dull blade.
Arthur has told you that every so often he enjoys a sparring session with his knights, as a way of limbering up after sitting too much in his study going through tedious paperwork. It also helps him ensure he doesn't get too rusty at the skill he learned as a squire.
"When's the last time you dueled?" you ask as you take the sword and weigh it in your hand. You asked Morgana for //performance// swords, not toy ones - they're even more harmless and their blades more flexible than practice ones, but they also feel right in your hold, unlike their wooden imitators.
Arthur sighs wistfully, picking up a sword for himself. "A month ago, I think. Didn't really get the chance since then."
You move out in the open, away from other toys you might stumble into in your play-fight. The swords Arthur chose are shortswords, meant to be wielded with one hand, leaving your other free to hold a shield or a secondary weapon; you have neither right now.
Despite this being play pretend, you begin your duel as is customary in a tournament trial of the kind: facing each other, arms thrusts out so that the tips of your swords touch, free arm tucked behind your back. Then you each pace back, out of the other's range, and bow in deference. You're both smiling as you're going through the motions, like kids feeling very smug and mighty imitating the fancy rites of adults.
<div class="choice">[[Go easy. This is play fight, not training.|Chapt4ArthurDuel][$chapt4_duel to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Go hard; it may only be play fight and not training but it's more fun this way.|Chapt4ArthurDuel][$chapt4_duel to 2]]</div>All of your guests gather around the sofas as the presents are brought to you to open. You sit among the sea of packages prettily wrapped in colorful paper and elaborate bows, facing all these people that you love and who love you.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You work quickly, pulling on strings and tearing at paper with enthusiasm; jumping up to thank and hug people after every gift you receive.
<<else>>
You gently pull on strings and peel off paper, brimming with enthusiasm; thanking and hugging people after every gift you receive.
<</if>>
The summer heat - already somewhat tempered by a pleasant breeze coming from the forest, summoned by the Solomons per Morgana's request - mellows further as the sun sinks past the trees, painting the sky a blazing orange as if the work of a dragon performer's. The dinner table is set out, lavishly so, with all sorts of dishes and desserts and crystal decanters. You're all beckoned to dinner as servants start lighting up braziers to fend off the growing dark.
You stay out on the field even as the sun's fiery light turns to cool night, even as the air turns crisp, refreshing against your skin, and the grass hums and buzzes with insects. When you make your way towards your bedroom, it's with drowsy yet light steps, soaring high on the merriment of the day.
You barely notice all the telltale signs that something's not quite right - the lit candles in your chamber, dim enough to shroud in darkness your unexpected and unwelcome guest.
[[Next|Chapt4LotChamber]]You go, but not before $dragon_name snatches a tart off the table. You sprawl across the pillows, watching three rapidly approaching - and enlarging - dots on the sky. Slowly, your other guests join you to and by the time the performers have landed everyone has assembled for the fiery show.
"I always love a good fire show," Gaius says as he makes himself comfortable on the pillows, hands folded behind his back. "We have some very impressive performers back in Avalon."
"Your Majesty is fond of fire story-telling too, if I recall correctly? Marcellus levels Arthur with a genial, dimpled smile just as the man was lowering himself on a cushion.
He lands with a dull, muffled thump. "I do, very much so."
Marcellus nods. "Just like Mordred."
Arthur blinks, his smile faltering ever so slightly. "Yes, indeed."
Gaius pats his husband's thigh. "They're here."
It is, indeed, a good fire show as Gaius put it - a great fire show. Amazing. Astounding, even. It tells a story of adventure and danger and bravery, a story brought to life through blazing oranges and flaming red and dazzling blue. You sit right in the front, leaned forward, watching it all bewtiched, watching the figures each dragon breath into form intertwine and dance around each other, merging and splitting and shifting to create fiery sceneries and characters.
As the performers leave and the guests scatter, you and $dragon_name linger on the pillows alongside Arthur and Elewen, gushing over the performance.
"That was amazing," $dragon_name says. "The control over the contours, those beautiful colors..."
<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"You've been practising fire storytelling too, haven't you?" Elewen asks and your dragon friend suddenly turns bashful, head lowered as $dragon_he murmurs a confirmation, most likely sensing the next question. "Would you like to show us?"
It takes a bit of coaxing and encouraging from the three of you for $dragon_name to step outside the pavilion onto the grass, away from anything flammable, such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet.
<<else>>
"You've been practising fire storytelling too, haven't you?" Elewen asks and your dragon friend suddenly perks up, head held higer as $dragon_he nods, most likely sensing the next question. "Would you like to show us?"
$dragon_name doesn't have to be asked twice before $dragon_he steps outside the pavilion onto the grass, away from anything flammable, such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"A pair of knights flying.\""|Chapt4FancyDragonArthur1][$chapt4_fireshow to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Our spot by the river.\""|Chapt4FancyDragonArthur1][$chapt4_fireshow to 2]]</div><<if $chapt4_fireshow == 1>>
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a dragon with a human atop them, as big as a child's toy. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but there's no doubt to what it represents as it flies circles before you. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
As $dragon_name returns to your side, Arthur says, "Now it's Mordred's turn."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickArthur][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickArthur][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 2>>
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a carving taken right out of nature, recreated in the blazing hues of fire. Trees line a river bank, the stream slithering lazily between them. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but it's a beautiful rendition. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
As $dragon_name returns to your side, Arthur says, "Now it's Mordred's turn."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickArthur][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickArthur][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<</if>>You go, but not before $dragon_name snatches a tart off the table. Ariawen is already sprawled on the pillows, watching three rapidly approaching - and enlarging - dots on the sky. Slowly, your other guests join you to and by the time the performers have landed everyone has assembled for the fiery show.
"I always love a good fire show," Gaius says as he makes himself comfortable on the pillows, hands folded behind his back. "We have some very impressive performers back in Avalon."
It is, indeed, a good fire show as Gaius put it - a great fire show. Amazing. Astounding, even. It tells a story of adventure and danger and bravery, a story brought to life through blazing oranges and flaming red and dazzling blue. You sit right in the front, leaned forward, watching it all bewtiched, watching the figures each dragon breath into form intertwine and dance around each other, merging and splitting and shifting to create fiery sceneries and characters.
As the performers leave and the guests scatter, $dragon_name and Ariawen linger alongside you and Gawain, gushing over the performance.
"Did you see that? The control over the contours? Those stunning colors?" Ariawen says, tail flicking excitedly. They hesitate, then thump their tail hard against a cushion as if making a decision. "I've been trying to practice a few tricks myself."
$dragon_name nods knowingly. "You said so in your message. Are you going to show us?"
Ariawen stands up on all four legs, stretching their neck and shaking their head. "You don't have to ask me twice."
They walk out of the pavilion, away from anything flammable, such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet. They puff out their chest as they take in a deep breath, eyes narrowed in concentration, then lets out in a flurry of blazing fire. It has the shape of a tiny dragon, wings outstretched in flight. It circles the air once, twice, then quivers and flickers.
$dragon_name considers Ariawen with awed eyes. "Did you learn that from..."
"Elewen!" Gawain readily supplies, a note of admiration in his tone. "They're really good at this."
It's strange, sometimes, seeing through Gawain what life might have been with Arthur. It makes your chest constrict with an ill-defined,writhing feeling. It quells when $dragon_name's tail gently wraps around your wrist.
<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"$dragon_name's knows a few tricks, too," you say, pride swelling as Gawain and Aria turn excited gazes on your friend.
$dragon_name doesn't look quite as eager, though, a wave of uneasy washing over you from $dragon_him. //Mordred!// $dragon_he hisses in your mind. //Don't!//
//But you are good!// you counter, locked in a mental argument.
"You told me you were practising," Aria confirms, none the wiser to your silent conversation, "in one of your stone letters."
$dragon_name shifts, then shakes $dragon_his head. "Alright. Because it's your birthday, Mordred. So you choose what you'd like me to try."
<<else>>
"I've been practising too," $dragon_name chimes in.
"You did tell me in one of your stone letters," Aria nods. "Show us then!"
"Alright. Since it's your birthday, Mordred, you should choose what you'd like me to try."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"A pair of knights flying.\""|Chapt4FancyDragonGawain1][$chapt4_fireshow to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Our spot by the river.\""|Chapt4FancyDragonGawain1][$chapt4_fireshow to 2]]</div><<if $chapt4_fireshow == 1>>
$dragon_name reclaims Ariawen's spot on the grass, under the clear summer sky, away from any fire hazard while the other dragon comes to join you on the pillows.
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a dragon with a human atop them, as big as a child's toy. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but there's no doubt to what it represents as it flies circles before you. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
Gawain turns to you, eyes bright. "Your turn."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickGawain][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickGawain][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 2>>
$dragon_name reclaims Ariawen's spot on the grass, under the clear summer sky, away from any fire hazard while the other dragon comes to join you on the pillows.
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a carving taken right out of nature, recreated in the blazing hues of fire. Trees line a river bank, the stream slithering lazily between them. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but it's a beautiful rendition. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
Gawain turns to you, eyes bright. "Your turn."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickGawain][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickGawain][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<</if>>You go, but not before $dragon_name snatches a tart off the table. Ariawen is already sprawled on the pillows, watching three rapidly approaching - and enlarging - dots on the sky. Slowly, your other guests join you to and by the time the performers have landed everyone has assembled for the fiery show.
"I always love a good fire show," Gaius says as he makes himself comfortable on the pillows, hands folded behind his back. "We have some very impressive performers back in Avalon."
"Your Majesty is fond of fire story-telling too, if I recall correctly? Marcellus levels Arthur with a genial, dimpled smile just as the man was lowering himself on a cushion.
He lands with a dull, muffled thump. "I do, very much so."
Marcellus nods. "Just like Mordred."
Arthur blinks, his smile faltering ever so slightly. "Yes, indeed."
Gaius pats his husband's thigh. "They're here."
It is, indeed, a good fire show as Gaius put it - a great fire show. Amazing. Astounding, even. It tells a story of adventure and danger and bravery, a story brought to life through blazing oranges and flaming red and dazzling blue. You sit right in the front, leaned forward, watching it all bewtiched, watching the figures each dragon breath into form intertwine and dance around each other, merging and splitting and shifting to create fiery sceneries and characters.
As the performers leave and the guests scatter, $dragon_name and Ariawen linger alongside you and Gawain, gushing over the performance.
"Did you see that? The control over the contours? Those stunning colors?" Ariawen says, tail flicking excitedly. She hesitates, then thumps her tail hard against a cushion as if making a decision. "I've been trying to practice a few tricks myself."
$dragon_name nods knowingly. "You said so in your message. Are you going to show us?"
Ariawen stands up on all four legs, stretching their neck and shaking their head. "You don't have to ask me twice."
They walk out of the pavilion, away from anything flammable, such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet. They puff out their chest as they take in a deep breath, eyes narrowed in concentration, then lets out in a flurry of blazing fire. It has the shape of a tiny dragon, wings outstretched in flight. It circles the air once, twice, then quivers and flickers.
$dragon_name considers Ariawen with awed eyes. "Did you learn that from..."
"Me," a voice rumbles on happily before $dragon_name can finish $dragon_his sentence.
Elewen ambles into your circle, scarlet eyes mellowed by tenderness. Of course Ariawen's been learning from Elewen, who's rather good at it, though it's just a creative endeavour for them, a fun pastime to entertain themself and their friends.
"Elewen, will you give us a demonstration? Please?" Gawain pleads, hands clasped and eyes rounded to puppy-level beseeching.
"Didn't you just watch a most impressive demonstration?" Elewen retorts, though you know they won't turn him down. They never turns any of you down. "I'm afraid my little tricks will seem quite boring in comparison."
Gawain gasps. "Never!"
Elewen chuckles, a sound like falling rocks. "Alright, alright." Their red eyes turn on you. "What would you like to see? It's your birthday after all, so your choice."
<div class="choice">[["Camelot Castle."|Chapt4FancyGawainArthur1][$chapt4_fireshow to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Jousting knights."|Chapt4FancyGawainArthur1][$chapt4_fireshow to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The mountains near Camelot."|Chapt4FancyGawainArthur1][$chapt4_fireshow to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A pair of dancing dragons."|Chapt4FancyGawainArthur1][$chapt4_fireshow to 4]]</div>You go, but not before $dragon_name snatches a tart off the table. You sprawl across the pillows, watching three rapidly approaching - and enlarging - dots on the sky. Slowly, your other guests join you to and by the time the performers have landed everyone has assembled for the fiery show.
"I always love a good fire show," Gaius says as he makes himself comfortable on the pillows, hands folded behind his back. "We have some very impressive performers back in Avalon."
It is, indeed, a good fire show as Gaius put it - a great fire show. Amazing. Astounding, even. It tells a story of adventure and danger and bravery, a story brought to life through blazing oranges and flaming red and dazzling blue. You sit right in the front, leaned forward, watching it all bewtiched, watching the figures each dragon breath into form intertwine and dance around each other, merging and splitting and shifting to create fiery sceneries and characters.
As the performers leave and the guests scatter, you and $dragon_name linger on the pillows, gushing over the performance.
"That was amazing," $dragon_name says. "The control over the contours, those beautiful colors..."
A thought pops in your head as $dragon_he goes on. "You've been practising fire storytelling too. Why don't you give a little demonstration?"
"Oh, that would be lovely," Junia calls out from behind you, stumbling through pillows to join your side. "I'd love to see your progress, $dragon_name."
<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
Your dragon friend suddenly turns bashful, head lowered as $dragon_he murmurs, "I don't know..."
It takes a bit of coaxing and encouraging from the two of you for $dragon_name to step outside the pavilion onto the grass, away from anything flammable, such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet.
<<else>>
Your dragon friend suddenly perks up, head held higer as $dragon_he nods. $dragon_He doesn't have to be asked twice before $dragon_he steps outside the pavilion onto the grass, away from anything flammable, such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet.
<</if>>
"Alright, but it's your birthday, Mordred, so you should choose what I do."
<div class="choice">[["A pair of knights flying."|Chapt4FancyDragonJunia1][$chapt4_fireshow to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Our spot by the river."|Chapt4FancyDragonJunia1][$chapt4_fireshow to 2]]</div><<if $chapt4_fireshow == 1>>
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a dragon with a human atop them, as big as a child's toy. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but there's no doubt to what it represents as it flies circles before you. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
Junia turns to you. "Morgana told me you've been practising too, haven't you? Let's see your trick too."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickJunia][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickJunia][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 2>>
$dragon_name has been practising this trick for months now, doing their best to refine it. $dragon_He takes in a deep breath, scaled chest expanding, and breathes out a mass of flickering flames, undefined. Slowly, it writhes and squirms and shifts until it becomes a recognizable form - a carving taken right out of nature, recreated in the blazing hues of fire. Trees line a river bank, the stream slithering lazily between them. Lines aren't perfectly clean or clear, the form fluttering slightly at the seams, but it's a beautiful rendition. $dragon_name's crowd erupts in a round of applause and $dragon_he bows $dragon_his head, basking in it.
Junia turns to you. "Morgana told me you've been practising too, haven't you? Let's see your trick too."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickJunia][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickJunia][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>
<</if>><<if $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
You're pouring yourself a glass of punch when both your ears and mind are simultaneously assaulted.
"The fire show performers are here!" $dragon_name bounds to you, almost crashing into poor Junia. $dragon_He offers a quick apology and sheepish head bow before $dragon_he settles in front of you, tucking $dragon_his tail next to $dragon_his legs. "They're landing in a few moments," $dragon_he continues, teeming with excitement.
<<else>>
You're pouring yourself a glass of punch when $dragon_name calls out to you, teeming with excitement: "The fire show performers are here!"
You turn to find your dragon friend carefully making $dragon_his way between sofas and pillows and strewn games and drinking guests, tail tucked close to $dragon_his body.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true and $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
"Then let's go!"
[[Continue|Chapt4FancyDragonGawainArthur]]
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_invited is true and $chapt4_arthur_invited is false>>
"Then let's go!"
[[Continue|Chapt4FancyDragonGawain]]
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true and $chapt4_gawain_invited is false>>
"Then let's go!"
[[Continue|Chapt4FancyDragonArthur]]
<<else>>
"Then let's go!"
[[Continue|Chapt4FancyDragonJunia]]
<</if>><<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
Marcellus and Gaius are standing by the table with goblets in hand, talking with a Hilde munching on a fruit tart. As you approach you pick up on her spirited words in between bites: "These are simply amazing. Kay and I tried the recipe you gave me, you know. Such a lovely summer treat. We had a little picnic with Guin and Arthur, too, and she absolutely loved them."
Marcellus beams. "The Queen? Well you have to send her my regards, then." He takes a sip of his drink and as he does, his gaze lands on you. His eyes gleam. "Mordred! How are you doing, dear? Enjoying yourself? Your mother outdid herself, didn't she?"
You nod eagerly as you reach for a tart yourself, and Gaius laughs. "On your hundreth tart, are you?" he winks.
"Oh, you think I didn't see you stuffing yourself as well?" Marcellus quirks an eyebrow, but Gaius only smiles.
"It's because your recipe's so great."
"Mama!" a cooing, high-pitched voice calls from nearby.
Hilde reacts immediately, clapping her hands to brush off the crumbs. "My child calls. Have fun."
You chat a little bit more with the men before going on your way.
<<else>>
Marcellus and Gaius are standing by the table with goblets in hand, looking over the other chatting guests. As you approach you pick up on Marcellus' pleased, admiring words, "Morgana outdid herself, didn't she?" Gaius nods, too busy stuffing his mouth with a fruit tart to answer otherwise. His husband doesn't even look at him, gaze fixed somewhere across the pavilion - on Morgana, who's been roped into a game of tug of war with Accolon. Marcellus' tone turns somewhat wistful as he goes on: "Do you ever wonder if we did a good job raising her, Gaius?"
Gaius wipes crumbs off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Morgana?"
The man nods, pensively stroking the rim of his goblet with a thumb. "I feel like we did the best we could, but sometimes I wonder if our best was enough."
Gaius opens his mouth to respond - and that's when he notices you, dangerously close to hear their conversation. He nudges Marcellus and loudly says, "Hello there, Mordred," to make sure his message gets across to his husband.
Marcellus startles as if doused in cold water. He turns to you and whatever rueful haze that had descended over his gaze clears, giving way to a fond smile. "Mordred! How are you doing, dear? Enjoying yourself?"
You nod eagerly as you reach for a tart yourself, and Gaius laughs. "On your hundreth tart, are you?" he winks.
"Oh, you think I didn't see you stuffing yourself as well?" Marcellus quirks an eyebrow, but Gaius only smiles.
"It's because your recipe's so great."
You chat a little bit more with the men before going on your way.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>>You find your brother under the playing pavilion, surveying the available options.
"What are you doing?" you ask as you sidle up to him.
Gareth smiles. "I was thinking of being a bit adventurous and try something else than board games for a change." He nods towards the target, a large, twine wheel with its innermost whirls colored red, giving away to blue then unpainted beige. "I was thinking of trying archery. Especially since I can't hurt anyone with these." He picks up one of the arrows and taps its dull tip with one index.
"I don't know," you shrug, fighting back a smile. "Might still really sting to be hit by those. But that's exactly why the targets are poised as far away as possible from any poor, unsuspecting victim.
Gareth looks at you askance, far from reassured.
<div class="choice">[["I can show you how to shoot," you offer.|Chapt4FancyArcheryLowGawain][$chapt4_shoot to 1, $Gareth to $Gareth+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Well then, I'll let you to it.\""|Chapt4FancyArcheryLowGawain1][$chapt4_shoot to 2]]</div>You find your brother under the playing pavilion, surveying the available options.
"Up for a game of boards?" you ask as you sidle up to him.
Gareth smiles. "Actually, I was thinking of being a bit adventurous and try something else, for a change." He nods towards the target, a large, twine wheel with its innermost whirls colored red, giving away to blue then unpainted beige. "I was thinking of trying archery. Especially since I can't hurt anyone with these." He picks up one of the arrows and taps its dull tip with one index.
"I don't know," you shrug, fighting back a smile. "Might still really sting to be hit by those. But that's exactly why the targets are poised as far away as possible from any poor, unsuspecting victim. Here," you hand your brother a bow. It's light, lighter than the sturdy, serious bows you use in your training - a mere toy, a funny thing to give to kids and nobles for whom this is all a game.
You show Gareth how to grip it, how to hold it to avoid any injury to himself that's more likely than wounding anyone else.
"You can actually lose a finger if you're not careful," you airily remark, and stifle a chuckle at his alarmed expression.
It's not hard to apply what you've learned and get your brother in a proper archer's stance, adjusting his grip and position until you're satisfied and assure him that no injury will come to him, beside possibly his ego. He laughs and almost spoils his posture at that, but you're quick to rectify the mistake.
"Alright," you say brightly, stepping back. "Now shoot like I told you."
Gareth takes a deep, steadying breath - fixes his aim - draws back the bowstring - releases it. The arrow wheezes through the air, which is already quite the feat, since you feared it'd just fall a few feet in front of him. It sails the air proudly and swiftly, shooting towards the target - and falls in the grass somewhere past it.
You pat his shoulder. "I think it almost grazed the target." He merely snorts.
<<if $Gareth >= 80>>
Gareth isn't discouraged, though, no; he asks you to demonstrate before nocking another arrow himself, and grins when you hit the red painted part of the twine. As you take turns at the target and walk Gareth through more pointers and instructions, you remember the story he was reading a couple weeks ago, about some sort of adventurer archer who, after the painted picture you saw of him, should have spent the rest of the book seeking a healer instead of magic artefacts with the way he held his bow.
"The drawings were really inaccurate, weren't they?" Gareth laughs when you bring it up.
"You'd //hope// they'd talk with an expert first," you complain, since this is far from the first time you've witnessed such gross mistakes. "And swords really aren't as heavy as some writers are trying to make them out to be!"
<<else>>
Gareth isn't discouraged, though, no; he asks you to demonstrate before nocking another arrow himself, and grins when you hit the red painted part of the twine. As you take turns at the target and walk Gareth through more pointers and instructions, he tells you he's actually quite recently read a story about an adventurer archer.
"Looking back on it," he says, closing his fingers around the wooden bow, "the pictures in the book were realy inacurrate."
"You'd //hope// they'd talk with an expert first," you complain, since this is far from the first time you've witnessed such gross mistakes. "And swords really aren't as heavy as some writers are trying to make them out to be!"
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
When Gareth finally manages to stick an arrow in the blue ring of the target, it's cause for wild celebration. A second pair of clapping joins your own, and you turn to find Gawain approaching you.
"That was amazing, Gareth! Can I join too?"
Gareth hands him his bow. "I think I'll take a break, anyway. Watch you from the sidelines."
As Gawain takes the toy weapon, a brilliant idea sparks in your head. "A competition! How about that?"
"Even better a reason for me to retreat," your brother smoothly supplies as he sits down on a bed of pillows, "lest my ego gets thouroughly trashed. I can referee, though."
"Competition," Gawain agrees, nodding earnestly.
"Alright," you say as you each take position in front of a target. "Three out of three?"
Gawain nods, moves to get into position then stops. "Oh! What does the winner get?"
<div class="choice">[["\"Bragging rights.\""|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"The loser must bring the winner a mini-tart.\""|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>><div class="choice">[["\"The winner receives a kiss on the cheek from the loser.\""|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 3]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_crush >= 3 and $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a kiss on the cheek from the loser," you say playfully. "I read that in a book recently," you add (you did not, in fact).❤|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 4, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"The winner receives a hug.\""|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 5]]</div>
<<if $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a hug." ❤|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 6]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_kid != "exes_like">><div class="choice">[["The winner receives a hug." 💕|Chapt4FancyArcheryGawain][$chapt4_winner to 7]]</div><</if>>
<<else>>
When Gareth finally manages to stick an arrow in the blue ring of the target, it's cause for wild celebration. A second pair of clapping joins your own, and you turn to find Accolon approaching you. "Keep up the great work, Gareth."
You do keep at it for a bit longer before you set your bows down and go in hunt for some mini-tarts and more iced tea.
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_fireshow == 1>>
"Camelot Castle it is, then," Elewen agrees, voice gravelly yet gentle.
You've never seen the Castle for yourself, but you've seen in various paintings, including Morgana's from her stay in Camelot, pregnant with you; you've heard people describe its stately beauty, as Arthur did too when you've asked him about his kingly home. Though Arthur did call it just a tad intimidating in its loftiness, too, like a mountain towering over you.
Elewen's fire replica is not all that intimidating or towering, a small scale blazing recreation of the castle perched on its hill, that's about as big as you; a noble's toy castle to play dolls with. The attention to detail, however, is staggering, as is the clean, clear lines despite the flickering fire. She holds it for a while, so that you may all admire it. And when she breathes out, this time with no fire at all, to extinguish it, you all clap.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 2>>
"Jousting knights it is, then," Elewen agrees, voice gravelly yet gentle.
Elewen weaves in flames a fragment torn right out of a tournament, a short segment that might as well be a memory of the trial recreated in reds and oranges and scaled down as if the knights were a child's toys. You watch the fiery humans and dragons get into position at opposing sides, readying their lances. Then they charge, meeting halfway in an explosing of white flames.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 3>>
"The mountains near Camelot it is, then," Elewen agrees, voice gravelly yet gentle.
You've never seen them for yourself, but you've seen the scenery in various paintings, including Morgana's from her stay in Camelot, pregnant with you; you've heard people describe their stately beauty, as Arthur did too when you asked him. He's flown over their peaks and through their valleys before. //Exhilerating,// Arthur called the experience. //I'd love to take you and $dragon_name flying there one day,// he also said.
Elewen's replica of the mountain peaks is not as lofty, what with them being just as tall as you, but the recreation is gorgeous all the same. The attention to detail is staggering, as is the clean, clear lines despite the flickering fire. She holds it for a while, so that you may all admire it. And when she breathes out, this time with no fire at all, to extinguish it, you all clap.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow == 4>>
"A pair of dancing dragons it is, then," Elewen agrees, voice gravelly yet gentle.
Elewen weaves in flames a fragment torn right out of a dragons' party, a short segment that might as well be a memory of a dance show recreated in reds and oranges and scaled down as if the dragons were a child's toys. You watch the fiery dancers twirl and loop around each other, tracing elegant sworls in the air, moving fluidly and stately.
<</if>>
"Trying to impress them, are you Elewen?" Arthur cuts in, sidling up to you with a bright smile.
Elewen ducks her head, glancing up at the King with mischievous eyes. "Why don't you do it then?"
All eyes turn on Arthur as he settles down among the pillows next to you, cross-legged, and props his chin in hand. His own gaze is turned back on you - a mirror of your own $eye eyes.
"I hoped Mordred might entertain us," he suggests.
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You jump at the opportunity.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickArthur][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 1, $shy to $shy-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know..." you hesitate, timid.|Chapt4FancyMordredTrickArthur][$chapt4_fireshow1 to 2, $shy to $shy+5]]</div>The musicians clear the stage to make way for a flamboyantly dressed announcer. "If you please, take your seats! We'll be putting on a little comedic play in a few short moments, so gather round, big and small, esteemed and merry guests!
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
You find Gawain already lounging on the pillows, gnawing on his lower lip as he stares at the stage, leg bouncing restlessly with anticipation. You plop down next to him and he immediately shifts to put an arm around your shoulders. You lean into him, breathing in his perfume. It's not the lily of the valley scent you've come to so closely associate with the boy, but a more sunny and summery and citrusy bergamot smell. It reminds you of Avalon.
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
You find Gawain already lounging on the pillows, gnawing on his lower lip as he stares at the stage, leg bouncing restlessly with anticipation. You plop down next to him, lightly brushings against him as you do. He smiles and shifts, casually leaning against you as he's done many times before - Gawain has grown quite touchy ever since you've become closer, making a custom out of resting his chin on your shoulder when you sit down or looping his arms with yours when you walk. The proximity makes your skin prickle not unpleasantly, and your heart beat a frantic rhythm. Yet it also sends a stab of pain through your chest. Sometimes you wish to reach out for his hand and take back the words you wrote. But you restrain yourself every time, now being no different. You breathe in deeply, taking in a waft of his perfume. It's not the lily of the valley scent you've come to so closely associate with the boy, but a more sunny and summery and citrusy bergamot smell. It reminds you of Avalon.
<<elseif $gawain_crush >= 3>>
You find Gawain already lounging on the pillows, gnawing on his lower lip as he stares at the stage, leg bouncing restlessly with anticipation. You plop down next to him, lightly brushing against him as you do. He smiles and shifts, casually leaning on you as he's done many times before - Gawain has grown quite touchy ever since you've become closer friends, making a custom out of resting his chin on your shoulder when you sit down or looping his arms with yours when you walk. The proximity makes your skin prickle not unpleasantly, and your heart beat a frantic rhythm. You breathe in deeply, taking in a waft of his perfume. It's not the lily of the valley scent you've come to so closely associate with the boy, but a more sunny and summery and citrusy bergamot smell. It reminds you of Avalon.
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 3>>
You find Gawain already lounging on the pillows, gnawing on his lower lip as he stares at the stage, leg bouncing restlessly with anticipation. You plop down next to him, lightly brushing against him as you do. He smiles and shifts, casually leaning on you as he's done many times before - Gawain has grown quite touchy ever since you've become closer friends, making a custom out of resting his chin on your shoulder when you sit down or looping his arms with yours when you walk. The proximity makes your skin prickle not unpleasantly, and your heart beat a frantic rhythm; perhaps you're simply unaccustomed to such casual affection, to such effortless closeness. It's not like many people are so affectionate with you, outside of your family. You breathe in deeply, taking in a waft of his perfume. It's not the lily of the valley scent you've come to so closely associate with the boy, but a more sunny and summery and citrusy bergamot smell. It reminds you of Avalon.
<<else>>
You find Gawain already lounging on the pillows, gnawing on his lower lip as he stares at the stage, leg bouncing restlessly with anticipation. You plop down next to him. He smiles and shifts, casually leaning against you as he's done many times before - Gawain has grown quite touchy ever since you've become closer friends, making a custom out of resting his chin on your shoulder when you sit down or looping his arms with yours when you walk. You were taken by surprise by such casual affection, to such effortless closeness. It's not like many people are so affectionate with you, outside of your family. You breath in deeply, taking in a waft of his perfume. It's not the lily of the valley scent you've come to so closely associate with the boy, but a more sunny and summery and citrusy bergamot smell. It reminds you of Avalon.
<</if>>
"Do you have any idea what they're going to play?" Gawain asks, bouncing leg moving to the tune of a song only he can hear.
"Mother said they wrote a script especially for the ocassion. To surprise us."
"Ooh, that's even better."
Once all of your guests have assembled in front of the stage, the play can begin. It's a mix of witty dialogue and physical comedy, a fun romp that gets you smiling and laughing.
"We sometimes get traveling troupes at the castle in Camelot too, especially during the summer," Gawain tells once the performers have left the stage to an enthusiastic round of applause. "The best are the ones who do improvisation and let members of the crowd on stage - I've went twice, but I can never convince Gally to join. Perhaps it's for the better," Gawain scrunches up his nose in thought. "Once I did a cartwheel and fell off the stage but he was there to catch me."
<<if $chapt3_bracelet != "no">>
Gawain gestures as he speaks, making a rolling motion with his wrist to evoke his own fall, and a whorl of color catches your attention and you notice the bracelet on his hand, the one you gifted to him almost two years ago at the tournament.
You talk for a bit while, sprawled on the pillows, before moving to pour yourself more iced tea.
<<else>>
You talk for a bit while, sprawled on the pillows, before moving to pour yourself more iced tea.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>><<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
"Your turn, Isabel." Kay has dropped to his haunches next to the little girl, handing her one of the hemp rope hoops. "That pole is ours, remember?"
The little girl nods and narrows her little eyes in concentration, tiny, chubby fist closing around the ring. She throws back her arm in a wide, careless, swinging arch only kids do, as if not quite aware of the space they take up, as if not quite sure how to navigate using their limbs yet. Isabel tosses the hoop, and it travels through the air, spinning...Only to land quite a way from the pole.
"That's alright," Kay pats her shoulder lightly. "You'll get it eventually."
It seems Isabel won't be having it, though. Rolling back her shoulders, she confidently strides forward, retrieves her fallen hoop and shoves it down the pole herself. The adults break into laughter as she turns around to them, hands propped on her waist, grinning a toothy little grin.
"I suppose that works, too," Hilde snorts.
Accolon shakes his head, still laughing, when his gaze falls on you. "Mordred! Come join us."
Kay amicably leans his arm on Accolon's shoulder. "Your knight over here is roping everyone into all sorts of games. Can't complain. Great man to party with, what can I say?"
Accolon picks up a couple rings for you - each with a differently dyed scrap of material attached. "Blue is Hilde and I, purple is Kay and Isabel. Which will you join?"
"Won't I unbalance the teams?" Tossing rings is usually played one on one or in teams of two as they're currently arrayed.
Accolon smiles mischievously. "We're making an exception for you, since it's your birthday."
<div class="choice">[[Blue. You won't compete against Accolon.|Chapt4AccolonAndAlistairs][$chapt4_ring to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Purple. Kay and Isabel seem to need the help.|Chapt4AccolonAndAlistairs][$chapt4_ring to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
"Your turn, Kay," Accolon nods towards the two polls ahead of them. There's a ring tossed about one of them, and another hemp rope hoop in Kay's hand. Upon closer inspection, you notice a scrap of dyed material attached to both, each in a different color: blue and purple respectively.
Kay takes his stance, throws back his arm with impetus and tosses the ring. It lands, tauntingly so, right next to the poll.
"Not bad," Accolon says, patting his back. Then his gaze falls on you. "Mordred. Come join us!"
Kay smiles at your approach. "Your knight over here is roping everyone into all sorts of games. Can't complain. Great man to part with, what can I say?"
Accolon picks up a couple rings for you - each with a differently dyed scrap of material attached. "Blue is me, purple is Kay. Which will you join?"
"Won't I unbalance the teams?" Tossing rings is usually played one on one as they're currently arrayed or in teams of two.
Accolon smiles mischievously. "We're making an exception for you, since it's your birthday."
<div class="choice">[[Blue. You won't compete against Accolon.|Chapt4AccolonAndKay][$chapt4_ring to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Purple. Kay and Isabel seem to need the help.|Chapt4AccolonAndKay][$chapt4_ring to 2]]</div>
<<else>>
You find Accolon, Morgana and Junia gathered next to two wooden poles stuck in the ground, chatting amongst themselves. The redhead is the first one to spot you approaching. "Oh, good, Mordred's here! Come play with us."
Junia explains they were having trouble splitting into teams, since tossing rings is usually played one-on-one or in teams of two. With you here, you're just the right number of players.
"Who would you like to team up with, Mordred?" Accolon asks.
<div class="choice">[["\"You.\""|Chapt4AccolonGame][$chapt4_ring to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Mother.\""|Chapt4AccolonGame][$chapt4_ring to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Junia.\""|Chapt4AccolonGame][$chapt4_ring to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_fireshow1 == 1>>
How could you turn down an opportunity to show off your skill to everyone - especially to Arthur - who regards you with such proud expectation. He wants to see what you've picked up from his pointers and help, what you've learned in between your visits, and you won't rob him of it.
"Of course!" you jump to your feet, readily accepting the challenge. You skip through the pillows, making your way away from anything that could be a fire hazard, out of the shade, under the summer, clear blue sky.
It's not strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling, even if it's a custom of the dragons; other sorcerers have picked up the craft, too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You tap your chin, pondering what you should show them. Arthur has told you it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take a steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<<else>>
There's so many eyes on you right now, including Arthur's, who regard you with such proud expectation. What if you disappoint him? He's been offering pointers and help and he must be curious what you've learned in between your visits, but what if you don't live up to his expectations?
"I don't know..." you hesitate, pulling nervously at your sleeve.
"Please," Arthur entreats you and your chest constricts. How can you say no to him? You can't, so you nod slowly and get up, carefully picking your way between pillows, away from any fire harzard, walking out of the shade, under the summer, clear blue sky.
It's not strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling, even if it's a custom of the dragons; other sorcerers have picked up the craft, too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You take a deep breath, pondering what you should show them. Arthur has told you it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take another steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<</if>>
You open your eyes and thrust out your arms, pushing out the fire tingling all over your palms, warm and familiar. Flames shoot out and flicker in midair, just above the grass, a quivering, hazy mass you slowly start to mould like clay. It shifts, rearranging itself to your command and soon you have before your eyes $dragon_name in the fiery hues of fire and you atop $dragon_him, both small like a child's toys. Lines aren't the clearest or cleanest, the form fluttering at the seams, but there's no doubt to what it represents, and it listens to you when you make it fly circles in front of you. Your audience claps and you bask in the attention, smiling.
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>><<if $chapt4_fireshow1 == 1>>
"Of course!" you jump to your feet, readily accepting the challenge. You skip through the pillows, making your way away from anything that could be a fire hazard, out of the shade, under the summer, clear blue sky.
It's not strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling, even if it's a custom of the dragons; other sorcerers have picked up the craft, too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You tap your chin, pondering what you should show them. You've read it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take a steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow1 == 2>>
"I don't know..." you hesitate, pulling nervously at your sleeve.
"Please," Gawain pleads, eyes turning to puppy-level of beseeching. How can you sau no to that?
You nod slowly and get up, carefully picking your way between pillows, away from any fire harzard, walking out of the shade, under the summer, clear blue sky.
It's not strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling, even if it's a custom of the dragons; other sorcerers have picked up the craft, too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You take a deep breath, pondering what you should show them. You've read it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take another steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<</if>>
You open your eyes and thrust out your arms, pushing out the fire tingling all over your palms, warm and familiar. Flames shoot out and flicker in midair, just above the grass, a quivering, hazy mass you slowly start to mould like clay. It shifts, rearranging itself to your command and soon you have before your eyes $dragon_name in the fiery hues of fire and you atop $dragon_him, both small like a child's toys. Lines aren't the clearest or cleanest, the form fluttering at the seams, but there's no doubt to what it represents, and it listens to you when you make it fly circles in front of you. Your audience claps and you bask in the attention, smiling.
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>><<if $chapt4_fireshow1 == 1>>
"Of course!" you jump to your feet, readily accepting the challenge. You skip through the pillows, making your way away from anything that could be a fire hazard, out of the shade, under the summer, clear blue sky.
Junia knows you're a dragonblood but had she not know, it's still wouldn't be strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling, even if it's a custom of the dragons. Other sorcerers have picked up the craft, too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You tap your chin, pondering what you should show them. You've read it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take a steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<<elseif $chapt4_fireshow1 == 2>>
"I don't know..." you hesitate, pulling nervously at your sleeve.
"Please," Junia asks, smile gentle. You nod slowly and get up, carefully picking your way between pillows, away from any fire harzard, walking out of the shade, under the summer, clear blue sky.
Junia knows you're a dragonblood but had she not know, it's still wouldn't be strange of you to have been practising fire story-telling, even if it's a custom of the dragons. Other sorcerers have picked up the craft, too, and your Le Fay innate affinity for fire should be enough to explain your ease of summoning flames.
You take a deep breath, pondering what you should show them. You've read it's always good to try what you're most familiar with, so you've been practising bringing to life a pair of dragon and human flying, looking much like yourself and $dragon_name. Mind made up, you close your eyes and take another steadying breath, concentrating on the pleasant prickling in your fingers.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>><<if $chapt4_drop == 1>>
It's not //your// fault that you overheard their little conversation; you were merely approaching them, and they did not take notice quick enough of your arrival, caught up as they were.
"You were speaking rather loudly," you airily retort, heaving yourself up on the sofa between them.
Morgana wraps an arm around your shoulders and Junia snorts. "?They really <<verb 'is'>> your kid, huh?" she says, not unkindly.
<<elseif $chapt4_drop == 2>>
You were merely approaching them and did not intend to overhear their conversation they were too caught up in to note your arrival. Though you won't deny that your curiosty was piqued.
"I didn't mean to," you say with a sheepish smile, heaving yourself up on the sofa between them.
Morgana wraps an arm around your shoulders and Junia squeezes your arm briefly, fondly.
<<elseif $chapt4_drop == 3>>
When in trouble, act dumb. Dumb and innocent.
"What do you mean?" you inquire, affecting a naive air as you heave yourself up on the sofa between them.
Morgana is far from fooled. She rolls her eyes, but her lips struggle against a smile. She wraps an arm around your shoulders and Junia briefly, fondly squeezes your arm.
<</if>>
"Alright," Morgana starts, looking at you. "Thoughts on the party so far."
You promptly reply: "Perfect." A pause. "When do I open the gifts?"
Morgana chuckles. "Just before dinner, alright?"
A servant approaches hurriedly, carefully picking their way between sofas and tables and guests. "Lady Morgana, a word if I may."
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
You're left alone with Junia as your mother leaves to hear out the servant. The woman shifts and smooths down her dress, a gauzy waterfall of sunflower yellow, cinched at the waist with a thick braided cordon. She lets out a long, content sigh and turns to you. "I'm so happy to see you and Arthur getting along so well. Gives me a little hope that things can be mended, after all."
<<if $chapt4_reconcile == "subtle">>
You lean in, dropping your voice as you're about to impart your conspiracy. "I've been doing my best to get them to make up. Subtly," you add, making a sliding motion with your hand to emphasize just how smooth you've been about it all.
Junia nods, smiling. "Clever. Keep up at that." Her smile quivers. "I really hope it works, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt4_reconcile == "blunt">>
"I've been doing my best to get them to make up," you tell her.
"Oh Mordred, you're such a sweetheart," she smiles. "I really hope it works."
<<else>>
"Perhaps," you shrug and Junia shakes her head, ginger ringlets bouncing about her face.
<</if>>
<<else>>
You're left alone with Junia as your mother leaves to hear out the servant. The woman shifts and smooths down her dress, a gauzy waterfall of sunflower yellow, cinched at the waist with a thick braided cordon. She looks at you out of the corner of her eye and shifts again. You get the distinct impression that there's something she wishes to say, something whirring just behind those blue eyes.
"Mordred," Junia leans towards you, dropping her tone as if afraid someone - mother - might hear her. She studies your face and sighs, putting on a strained smile. "Forget it, actually."
"Is this about Arthur?" you ask.
Her mouth twists. "So you did hear that part, didn't you?"
You nod in confirmation and echo Morgana's words - neither of you wants or needs Arthur to reach out or be here or send you anything. Your response does not seem to make her any more satisfied than it did coming out of your mother's mouth.
<</if>>
You spend a little bit more time with the women after Morgana returns.
<<include Chapt4ShowyBirthdayParty>>Morgana is reclining on a plush sofa amongst decorative pillows, Junia plopped down next to her. Both hold gilded goblets and both sport Avalonian garb. For Junia, it's all her wardrobe consists of; for Morgana it's a dual show of respect for her adoptive home and defiance for her husband's land - especially given the twin golden serpents coiled around her arms.
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
"It's clear he takes after Uther in countenance," Junia says pensively, swirling her goblet. Her gaze is focused in the direction of the table, where Arthur is speaking to her dads and eating fruit tarts. "Though the features are so less harsher on him. I suppose his disposition also helps." She stops twirling the glass and taps her nails on the cup, briefly. It makes a little tinny noise. "Awful, awful man," Junia says, with feeling. "But Arthur's nothing like him."
Morgana only hums in response, that low hum you've heard during your lessons that lets you know you've made an error in your rune or spell. She sips slowly from her cup, eyes pinned on Arthur.
"And well," Junia goes on, sighing, either oblivious to or ignoring the warning sign, "You can really see Igraine in him when he smiles, don't you think?"
Morgana stiffens. It's an almost imperceptible change to the relaxed line of her shoulders, a strained stillness of the fingers layed upon the goblet raised to her lips, parted mouth thinning to a tight line.
Then her throat works up and down as she swills her drink and brings down her cup in an imperious arch to match her expression.
Junia watches her with a gaze that's almost weary. "You don't like me saying that, do you?"
Morgana opens her mouth to reply - then sees you and whatever words she had fade away. Her aloof expression gives way to a knowing quirk of the eyebrow.
"Mordred, were you eavesdropping?" Morgana speaks evenly, in the deliberate tone she uses when she's caught you red-handed. Yet you know you won't be in trouble.
<<else>>
"Arthur didn't send anything for Mordred's birthday? He really hasn't tried to reach out since the tournament, has he?" Junia wonders more than asks in a somewhat disbelieving voice, swirling her goblet between her hands. Her gaze is focused on Morgana's face.
Morgana's painted lips thin into a tight line, her fingers cupping her goblet harder. "I don't want or need Arthur reaching out to us again, Junia. Arthur has made his choice, time and time again; Mordred made up $their mind, too, and he's respecting that decision. It's the only good thing he's ever done."
Junia frowns, glacing down at her cup. "He doesn't have to be the enemy, Morgana."
"Yet he is."
"You're the one making him out to be that."
Morgana stiffens, cup frozen near her parted lips. Then her throat works up and down as she swills her drink and brings down her cup in an imperious arch to match her expression. She opens her mouth to reply - then sees you and whatever words she had fade away. Her aloof expression gives way to a knowing quirk of the eyebrow.
"Mordred, were you eavesdropping?" Morgana speaks evenly, in the deliberate tone she uses when she's caught you red-handed. Yet you know you won't be in trouble.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["You were speaking rather loudly," you airily retort.|Chapt4FancyMorganaHear][$chapt4_drop to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I didn't mean to," you say sheepishly.|Chapt4FancyMorganaHear][$chapt4_drop to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What are you talking about?" you play innocent. "I didn't hear anything."|Chapt4FancyMorganaHear][$chapt4_drop to 3]]</div><<if $chapt4_arthur_hug == 1>>
Propriety and decorum be damned! You can't bring yourself to care about such frivolous, silly things, especially not at a moment like this. You propel yourself at Arthur, who in turn hastens his step and throws his arms open wide.
You meet halfway in a hug.
Arthur holds you close to his chest, squeezing you tightly for a few breathless moments. His curls tickle your cheek and he smells faintly sweet and earthy, like the forest. You linger in his arms, taking it all in, basking in the closeness to make up for the months of distance.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_hug == 2>>
You inch closer but wait, wringing your hands to give your excitement a much needed outlet. Arthur doesn't make you wait long, and doesn't look like he himself could bear the delay, either. He hastens his step, quickly closing the distance between you. He opens his arms wide and that's all you need before you throw yourself at him.
Arthur holds you close to his chest, squeezing you tightly for a few breathless moments. His curls tickle your cheek and he smells fainly sweet and earthy, like the forest. You linger in his arms, taking it all in, basking in the closeness to make up for the months of distance.
<</if>>
You pull away and for an aching moment you feel bereft and cold, but it doesn't last long - it's impossible, when there's so much joy and warmth to fill up the space.
"I have to say, Arthur," comes Morgana's voice, sliding in between you like a sharpened dagger through flesh, "I'm always a little bit surprised each year you actually show up." The confession is spoken light enough to be an innocent joke, if anything ever were innocent with your mother.
Arthur bows his head in earnest, as if they were talking of stately affairs. "Of course, Morgana. I made a promise. And," here he straightens, looking at you with a smile intent on rivaling the sun, "I'm always happy to show up."
Morgana merely smiles, the curl of her lips as sweet as it is calculated. You know mother has been circumspect about Arthur but she's never once protested or tried to stop you.
After an entire year of uninterrupted correspondence, after Arthur actually showing up for both your eleventh birthday and Gareth's thirteenth's, you've noticed a certain wary surprise in your mother. It gave her pause to see Arthur actually keep to his word. One year ago when he arrived for your birthday, she watched him intently as if weighing him up again, as if seeing him anew. Her expectations remained tempered, but there was a tentative hope in her that stoked your own.
<div class="choice">[[You've been hoping that this would be a good opportunity to make them up. You've been trying to subtly push for reconciliation.|Chapt4Reconcile][$chapt4_reconcile to "subtle", $reconcile to $reconcile+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You've been hoping that this would be a good opportunity for them to reconcile with less than sublte hints.|Chapt4Reconcile][$chapt4_reconcile to "blunt", $reconcile to $reconcile+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're adults. It'd be great for everyone if they reconciled, but you can't force them if they don't want to.|Chapt4Reconcile][$chapt4_reconcile to "no"]]</div>You roll your shoulders and lean forward, attuning yourself to $dragon_name, letting yourself be fortified by the decisiveness that courses through them, hot and ready and electrifying. You've got this.
$dragon_name bursts forward like an arrow knocked loose. They went for a predicable dive that Sera's likely to expect, especially if they relied on your growing desperation and impatience. As $dragon_name said, your mentors are quick to move to intercept you. They grasp at empty air as your dragon takes a steep plunge in the opposite direction. It's a sharp, beautiful, elegant swoop and it gives you the perfect moment of faltering to take advantages of.
The spire, crowned by the bright red banner is right in front of you - brought within reach by $dragon_name's fierce flapping - so close yet again, you can't allow yourself to fail this time.
$dragon_name stretches out $dragon_his long neck just as Sera fixes course back on you, and your stomach knots in an intoxicating entanglement of anxiety and excitement. Time slows down to an infuriating crawl but your pursuers only race harder. They'll reach you within moments.
$dragon_name snaps the flag off the spire with $dragon_his teeth with such savage force it throws $dragon_his head back. Their muscles tighten and ripple underneath you as they propel you higher up in the air with one mighty flap as a wave of triumpth swells within you both, flooding your bond, stoking each other's delight. At some point your mental cheer crystallized to a vocal cry of victory, but you couldn't tell when the rioutously joyful sound started welling from without and not just within.
$dragon_name prances about the air, brandishing the flag in a cocky display that turns your cheering to laughter. Your throat burns from the yelling as your laughter bubbles up, and $dragon_name joins in with $dragon_his gruff guffaw.
By the time you simmer down your stomach hurts and you wear a grin that splits your numb cheeks. Accolon has taken off his helmet to reveal his own proud smile, though his looks less wild than yours feels. Sera too regards you with warmth and amusement as they hover some distance away, watching your antics. Accolon holds up an index and makes a swooping motion downwards. It's time to go back down.
[[It's only when you make your descend that you notice your spectators.|Chapt4AlinaTraining]]You roll your shoulders and lean forward, attuning yourself to $dragon_name, letting yourself be bolstered by the confidence that courses through them, cool and ready and electrifying. You've got this.
$dragon_name circles the spire, patient yet alert, both of your gazes keenly set on Sera and Accolon and any window that may open around them for you to slip in and snatch the flag. You prowl like a wolf, bidding your time.
You circle and circle, sliding a little bit closer and closer each time. It would start to feel a little bit silly did you not wholeheartedly trust $dragon_name on this one. They're careful with $dragon_his pace, measuring Sera's own speed and place. When they push forward a little bit more, $dragon_name falters behind.
There's your chance. $dragon_name bursts forward like an arrow knocked loose.
Before Sera can turn around and lunge at you, $dragon_name has already stretched $dragon_his long neck, reaching out for the flag, maw opening. Your stomach knots in an intoxicating entanglement of anxiety and excitement as times slows down to an infuriating crawl - but your pursuers only race harder. They'll reach you within moments.
$dragon_name snaps the flag off the spire with $dragon_his teeth with such savage force it throws $dragon_his head back. Their muscles tighten and ripple underneath you as they propel you higher up in the air with one mighty flap as a wave of triumpth swells within you both, flooding your bond, stoking each other's delight. At some point your mental cheer crystallized to a vocal cry of victory, but you couldn't tell when the rioutously joyful sound started welling from without and not just within.
$dragon_name does loops in the air, twirling and twisting and whirling out of control with enthusiasm. Your starting to get dizzy but it's a pleasant, giddy kind of dizzy that turns your cheering to laughter. Your throat burns from the yelling as your laughter bubbles up, and $dragon_name joins in with $dragon_his gruff guffaw.
By the time you simmer down your stomach hurts and you wear a grin that splits your numb cheeks. Accolon has taken off his helmet to reveal his own proud smile, though his looks less wild than yours feels. Sera too regards you with warmth and amusement as they hover some distance away, watching your antics. Accolon holds up an index and makes a swooping motion downwards. It's time to go back down.
[[It's only when you make your descend that you notice your spectators.|Chapt4AlinaTraining]]"All buckled up?"
You pat the straps across your waist and chest and give a vigorous nod. $dragon_name wiggles and stretches, testing their flexibility, and gives a firm nod of their head too. The harness plays a crucial role in ensuring the human's safety when flying, but it shouldn't inconvenience either them or the dragon. It should yield easily to both of your movements - only restrict the possibility of you slipping and falling off when unbalanced or unconscious - and not be too intricate to disentangle yourself from.
Accolon smiles. "Good. Steady. Ready..." He steps back and out of your way, holding up his pocket watch. "Go."
$dragon_name shoots up in a booming flap of wings. Ahead of you rises a forest of obstacles - hoops to fly through, pillars to avoid, low clouds summoned by a Solomon sorcerer for you to burst through. It's part of your and $dragon_name's shared training, and the favorite of both.
Sailing smoothly through the course is not your only goal today. No, that would make this whole exercise much too easy and, truthfully, quite dull. That's far from what Accolon and Sera have in mind for you.
All throughout the course, scarves and flags have been scattered for the two of you to retrieve as quickly as possible.
You start off confidently, weaving through hoops like a needle threading an intricate embroidery, collecting your first flag with ease. All you have to do is reach out your arm and snag it; $dragon_name doesn't even break their glide.
This is not where the difficulty of the task lies, though, but it does make it all the more fun. What you should look out for is the projectiles.
They can't wound you but they sure can hurt even through your armor - as much as you can expect a hurtling leather ball to hurt when it comes into such violent impact with your plates. It also rattles you a bit, to the point that many times your teeth and jaw smart for a couple days afterwards; and they sometimes do their job to distract you all too well.
Yet you and $dragon_name have always been among the best at this out of your peers. They both admire and envy your amazing coordination which they must believe is due to the two of you spending so much time together. They have no way of knowing the advantage the two of you have: your bond.
The image of a rushing ball fills your mind even as your eyes stay pinned on the second flag ahead of you and $dragon_name's warning registers more as instinct than an actual word echoed in your brain: //Duck.//
You do as told, flattening yourself against your dragon. The ball swooshes past where your shoulder was mere moments ago.
They say that a human and dragon should utterly and completely trust each other for them to be able to work together in the ways that knighthood requires. That's why they're paired up young, and why they're encouraged to form close friendships, to pledge loyalty to each other. To learn to understand each other.
Your bond goes beyond tight-knit friendship. When you lean into it, the seams of where your thoughts end and $dragon_his begin blur and cross and intertwine. There's no barrier as your minds blend and bleed into each other, forging a connection such that it feels that you share one head, one mind, one thought.
So when you need to turn left lest $dragon_name collides with another leather ball, you don't even need to form the instruction in your head, no need to spell it out - like muscles listening the command of your mind, so does $dragon_name instinctively swing left. The ball wheezes past.
The projectiles are coming from the evenly spaced towers lining the training ground, fired from some wooden constructed contraptions maneuvered by people who must be gathering enough frustration during the week to look forward to hurling missiles at children. That's the only way you can explain the sheer violent torrent that assaults you some days, no matter how much the knights insist this is //proper training//.
You snag another flag, holding it up proudly as $dragon_name floods your mind with $dragon_his enthusiasm, and immediately set out in search of the next one.
Even over the din of $dragon_name's flapping wings you can hear that a second set has joined, forming a thunderous duet.
Sera and Accolon have taken off, hot on your trail. They gave you a head start but now they'll be doing their best to veer you off course and keep you away from the flags you have to collect. Your muscles tense, taut with tension and sweet anticipation. Now that Accolon and Sera have joined the game, there's one simple rule to keep in mind: gather all the flags before they get a chance to snag the banner tied to $dragon_name's leg.
They come at you in full-force, shooting through the air like an arrow.
You aim directly towards the fluffy, wooly cloud ahead of you to lose Sera and Accolon. It's cold, moist and ticklish - a feeling most exhilarating. Your vision fills with white and its all you can see for a few seconds, suspended in this milky expanse where you can make no sense of up and down. Then you're speeding out of it in an explosion of smoke and wisp.
It's given $dragon_name the opportunity to snatch up another flag before you find yourself back in your pursuers' sight.
//How many flags have we got so far?// $dragon_name asks, zig-zagging between spires. Your brow furrows as you recount each successful retrieval: two flags seized by your hand, one by your dragon's teeth...
//One more flag.// You can see it beckoning to you up ahead, a lurid red atop the wooden spire. Waiting for you to seize it, taunting you as it sways in the breeze.
All your focus sharpens in on it, on that bloody cloth that whips wildly in the gust summoned by $dragon_name's wings. You stretch, stretch till your muscles smart and you feel something go //pop// in your shoulder. The tips of your fingers graze its soft edge and your pulse quickens in anticipation. So close, so very //close//...
$dragon_name dives down and your fingers grasp helplessly at air.
You let out an explosive, exasperate puff of breath within your helmet. It briefly warms your cheeks, numb from the cool air even as your blood boils inside your veins. Your frustration twines with $dragon_his own, but most loud on $dragon_name's mind is the realization that you were almost caught, $dragon_his scarf almost seized. Sera's shadow reigns over you as they hovers close to the flag you need to get to, right in the place where your dragon used to stand, when you were so close to victory. $dragon_name circles warily around the spire, weighing all the angles they could strike from - but you both know that it's a bit of a reckless risk, whether it'll be you snatching the flag or them taking your scarf first.
The banner continues to flutter frantically in the flurry of wings.
//Ball,// the warning reverberates in your bones.
<div class="choice">[[Trying your best to keep your composure, you push a gust of wind to send it off course.|Chapt4FlightBall][$chapt4_ball to 1, $impulsive to $impulsive-3, $calm to $calm+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[In a moment of dire vexation, you engulf it in fire.|Chapt4FlightBall][$chapt4_ball to 2, $impulsive to $impulsive+3, $calm to $calm-3]]</div><<if $chapt4_ball == 1>>
You turn in the direction of the incoming ball, guided by $dragon_name's own senses. You thrust out your arm in a wide arc, willing the wind to follow your motion, propelling it towards the projectile. The ball flies sideways as if knocked away by an invisible foot and you marshal your thoughts back to the issue at hand: the flag, and the dragon-human pair currently guarding it.
<<else>>
You turn in the direction of the incoming ball, guided by $dragon_name's own senses. You throw out your arm with furious abandon, sending a burst of fire forth from your palm. It meets the ball halfway, engulfing it in fiery flames. The ball plummets to the ground in a trail of smoke. You snap your attention back to the issue at hand: the flag, and the dragon-human pair currently guarding it.
<</if>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//We should just go in, full speed,// $dragon_name puts in, both $dragon_his thoughts and muscles rippling with red hot impatience. //Feign one direction to confuse them then snag the scarf.//
<<if $chapt4_ball == 1>>
//I don't know...// Your brow pinches in concentration as you peer from under your helmet. It's cool up here despite the sun beating down on you and your shift clings to your sweaty, lukewarm skin underneath the armour. //What if they take our scarf before - or at the same time? We still lose then.//
//Trust me, Mordred.//
Trust. That's the most important ingredient here, trusting each other so that you can synch - sharing thought and sense and initiative. Sometimes it means working as a pair in harmony - sometiemes it requires surrending to the other.
You take a deep breath then expel it in a rattled breath. //Alright. I trust you.//
[[Next|Chapt4FlagSpeed]]
<<else>>
//Let's do it,// you nod firmly as you peer out from your helmet, gaze narrowed in on your bloody target. It's cool up here despite the sun beating down on you and your shift clings to your sweaty, lukewarm skin underneath the armour. //I trust you, $dragon_name.//
Trust. That's the most important ingredient here, trusting each other so that you can synch - sharing thought and sense and initiative.
[[Next|Chapt4FlagWait]]
<</if>>
<<else>>
//It doesn't seem like they'll chase us anymore,// $dragon_name puts in as you whirl around the spire, eyeing the pair that does the same, keeping steady and watchful guard over the flag you so desperately need. //Maybe if we're patient, look for an opening, then we can go in and snag it.//
<<if $chapt4_ball == 1>>
//Let's do it,// you nod firmly as you peer out from your helmet, gaze narrowed in on your bloody target. It's cool up here despite the sun beating down on you and your shift clings to your sweaty, lukewarm skin underneath the armour. //I trust you, $dragon_name.//
Trust. That's the most important ingredient here, trusting each other so that you can synch - sharing thought and sense and initiative.
[[Next|Chapt4FlagWait]]
<<else>>
You shake your helmeted head almost violently so. //No. We have to be quick and decisive.// It's cool up here despite the sun beating down on you and your shift clings to your sweaty, lukewarm skin underneath the armour. //We can't waste time waiting for an opening.//
//Trust me, Mordred.//
Trust. That's the most important ingredient here, trusting each other so that you can synch - sharing thought and sense and initiative. Sometimes it means working as a pair in harmony - sometiemes it requires surrending to the other.
You take a deep breath then expel it in a rattled breath. //Alright. I trust you.//
[[Next|Chapt4FlagSpeed]]
<</if>>
<</if>>You don't bother bathing or changing - it's the last worry on your mind at the moment. With a wide sweep of your arm you snuff out the candles and slip back out of your room, haunting down the dimly lit hallways. Your pattering steps echo around you like incessant, unintelligible whispers, mimicking the chorus of gossipping that follows you everywhere.
A pair of guards stand by either side of Gareth's double doors. They stand still as statues in their moss green plating, only eyes shifting behind slits in their helmet to follow your movements. You ignore them as if they truly were nothing more than empty armours and pound on the door. You're met with utter silence from beyond. You knock with both hands till your knuckles smart and you fear you'll rouse Lot down the corridor sooner than your brother, till the sharp, insistent rap becomes a distressed alarm, a begging, wretched call that you can feel in your bones.
Eyes bore into you. If Gareth doesn't rouse soon the guards will finally break their stolid, dour silence to send you away. For a moment you ponder turning away of your own accord, to spare Gareth the burden of comforting you until next morning.
"Mordred?" Your brother stands in the doorframe, the room beyond flooded in darkness. He rubs drowsily at his eyes but stops short upon taking in your expression. "Did something happen? Come in!"
You summon a flame to guide the two of you across the parlor to the bedchamber. The sculpture of the bear, standing on his hind legs to prop up the tall mirror looms in the shadows, a beast with clawed paws and severe, beady eyes - but a more haunting sight is your own haggard reflection.
You light up the triad of tapers set on Gareth's bedside table and settle in bed next to your brother. He watches you warily as you shift restlessly as if you were severely injured and may pop a stich at any moment.
"What happened?"
<div class="choice">[[Tell him the whole truth. Tell him about everything. That Arthur's your father and what Morgana has done. You hesitate about the prophecy, though.|Chapt4GarethWholeTruth][$gareth_knows to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Tell him a half-truth. Lot came and told you some horrible things as a 'birthday present'.|Chapt4GarethHalfTruth]]</div><<if $chapt4_prophecy_gareth == "no">>
You've burdened him enough for the night, no need to tell him about the prophecy too. He will only further worry for you.
<<else>>
There's no need to tell him and further burden him. A part of you also fears that the prophecy may make him wary of you, too - you'd hate for your brother to view you as the villain.
<</if>>
"You must be exhausted," Gareth remarks.
Now that you've poured out everything, you're left feeling both relieved and wearied. You realize you're still wearing today's fancy attire and a layer of sweat from a day in the heat, but Gareth doesn't mind that you'll dirty his sheets. He pulls the covers for you both to slip under and you snuff out the candles with a flick of your wrist.
[[Next morning|Chapt4GarethAllMorning]]The next morning you linger in Gareth's quarters to have breakfast. "How are you feeling?" he asks as you sit down at the table. "Did you manage to sleep well enough?"
<div class="choice">[["I feel awful," you say. As if a hoard of horses trampled you.|Chapt4GarethMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Not really well, but that's to be expected," you say with a watery smile.|Chapt4GarethMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Honestly, I feel mostly numb," you say. "Numb and tired."|Chapt4GarethMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Trying to adjust, I suppose," you say carefully. "Last night feels almost like a dream."|Chapt4GarethMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Like my whole existence is a lie. Like I'm nothing but a tool," you say bitterly, voice catching.|Chapt4GarethMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm as alright as I can be," you say warily. You're desperately trying to ward off all these complicated thoughts until you've shrugged the sleepiness off completely. Besides, you don't want to burden Gareth more than you've already done.|Chapt4GarethMorningTalk][$chapt4_morning_feel to 6]]</div>Gareth's well accustomed to Lot's behavior towards you, from the petty fault-finding and attacks on your character to his blatant ignorance of your mistreatment at the hands of the Court.
You are visibly riled, if your thunderous knocking was not clue enough. You know Gareth will prod and ask and gently coax an answer out of you, that he will insist you share the burden that so clearly weighs down on you right now, so you must tell him something. But if you were to tell him exactly what Lot had said to rattle you so, you'd have to first reveal to him all else: your true paternity and your nature as dragonblood. It's simply too much. You're not sure if you should burden him with it; if it'd be safe for him to know. So instead you tell a half-truth, half-lie, the facts just slightly altered, tailored to fit the situation he knows. It hits you, with no small amount of irony, that this is exactly what Morgana has been doing with you. Truly, you're your mother's child.
You look upon your brother's face, the pinched brow limned in warm, wan light, the brown eyes, gentle and almost black in the dark. "Lot came to my room," you say, which is entirely true, "and told me some terrible things." Gareth frowns. Here's where the lie comes: "You know, the usual."
Gareth shakes his head, looking both horrified and furious on your behalf. "I can't believe it! On your birthday? I'm so sorry, Mordred." He reaches out to briefly squeeze your fingers and flashes you a sympathetic smile.
"I'm used to it," you say, trying to play it off.
"That just makes it worse," he retorts. He looks away and sighs, running a palm over his face. "And you looked really shaken this time." He turns back to you, searching your face. "Whatever he said about you - or anyone else - you know it's just his bitterness talking, yes?" He definitely was driven by his rancor, that much you can agree on.
Gareth decides you should sleep in his bedchamber for the night and undertakes the task of trying to cheer you up before you finally go to sleep, entertaining you with tales from the stories he's recently read, or gossip he's heard.
[[Next morning|Chapt4GarethMorning]]The next morning you linger in Gareth's quarters to have breakfast. He asks if you're alright and you smile wanly, telling him that you are - what else can you tell him ? - then turn then turning the subject to more pleasant matters. You enjoy the tranquil meal, knowing that today will most likely await you with charged conversations. Hopefully no more revelations.
[[Next|Chapt4JuniaPOV]]<<if $chapt4_morning_feel == 1>>
You feel as if a hoard of wild, mad horses trampled you - physically and mentally, wicked hooves shattering your world, wrecking your spirits, racking you utterly till you were left drained body and soul.
"I feel awful," you say, slumping in your chair.
"Hey," Gareth reaches out over the table, voice soft. "You know that if you ever need to talk - or just take your mind off things - you can come to me? I'm here for you." Gareth studies your face, then goes on: "I know it won't magically fix everything, but I want you to please remember: you've got me, and $dragon_name, and we both love you for //you//, Mordred."
You squeeze his fingers and smile. At least you're grateful that you have him, through it all; someone to alleviate, if only slightly, the burden of the revelations that you carry.
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch Gareth slather his own slice of bread with butter, you wonder how much of this calm he displays is actually genuine. The revelations you relayed last night must affect him too - to learn the extend of what Morgana did, and the truth of your conception far more world-shattering than a mere affair with a knight.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 2>>
You've just had your world shattered and turned upside down the night before when Lot decided to unceremoniously dump all on you like a bucket of ice-cold water. Everything you thought you knew about your conception turned out to be a lie, a truth altered and tailored to fit a reality far sweeter and kinder. How could you feel fine?
"Not really well," you say, attempting a smile. It's feeble and sad and feels closer to a grimace on your lips. "But that's to be expected."
"Hey," Gareth reaches out over the table, voice soft. "You know that if you ever need to talk - or just take your mind off things - you can come to me? I'm here for you." Gareth studies your face, then goes on: "I know it won't magically fix everything, but I want you to please remember: you've got me, and $dragon_name, and we both love you for //you//, Mordred."
You squeeze his fingers and smile. At least you're grateful that you have him, through it all; someone to alleviate, if only slightly, the burden of the revelations that you carry.
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch Gareth slather his own slice of bread with butter, you wonder how much of this calm he displays is actually genuine. The revelations you relayed last night must affect him too - to learn the extend of what Morgana did, and the truth of your conception far more world-shattering than a mere affair with a knight.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 3>>
It's akin to that feeling after sitting in cold snow for too long, that coolness that seeps under your cloths, through your skin to your bones and numb your nerves. That's how you feel in the wake of last night, carrying with you now the revelations Lot decided to unceremoniously dump on you like a bucket of ice-cold water.
"Honestly," you sign, slumping in your chair. "I feel mostly numb. Numb and tired."
"Hey," Gareth reaches out over the table, voice soft. "You know that if you ever need to talk - or just take your mind off things - you can come to me? I'm here for you." Gareth studies your face, then goes on: "I know it won't magically fix everything, but I want you to please remember: you've got me, and $dragon_name, and we both love you for //you//, Mordred."
You squeeze back his fingers and smile. "I love you, too."
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch Gareth slather his own slice of bread with butter, you wonder how much of this calm he displays is actually genuine. The revelations you relayed last night must affect him too - to learn the extend of what Morgana did, and the truth of your conception far more world-shattering than a mere affair with a knight.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 4>>
You've been left dazed ever since Lot decided to dump all on you like a bucket of ice-cold water. Dazed and confused, trying to reconcile everything you thought you knew with the truth. Musing back on last night - conjuring up the murky image of your dark room where Lot lurked, wearing his cruel smile - it almost feels like a feverish dream, a vivid nightmare.
"Trying to adjust, I suppose," you say, searching within for how best to describe what you feel. "Last night feels almost like a dream."
"It is...a lot," Gareth concedes sympathetically. "Hey," he reaches out over the table, voice soft. "You know that if you ever need to talk - or just take your mind off things - you can come to me? I'm here for you." Gareth studies your face, then goes on: "I know it won't magically fix everything, but I want you to please remember: you've got me, and $dragon_name, and we both love you for //you//, Mordred."
You squeeze back his fingers and smile. "I love you, too."
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch Gareth slather his own slice of bread with butter, you wonder how much of this calm he displays is actually genuine. The revelations you relayed last night must affect him too - to learn the extend of what Morgana did, and the truth of your conception far more world-shattering than a mere affair with a knight.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 5>>
Last night, your entire world shattered - your perception shifted till it was turned upside down, and you're still struggling to adjust to it all. Your existence, so far, has been a lie. An altered, tailored truth made up for Morgana to dress up the ugly truth that you were never meant to be anything else but a tool to be used, a weapon to be wielded. No mistakes turned miracles: just a pawn in a game that started long before you were born.
"Like my whole existence is a lie," you say bitterly, voice thick and harsh with emotion. "Like I'm nothing but a tool."
Gareth's mouth twists, pained. "Mordred..." He looks about himself, as if searching for something to help soothe you, as if the right words might appear, written on one of the walls. He takes a deep breath before meeting your gaze. "I'm only here because mother needed to give father a child," he says as calmly as if remarking on the weather. "She never told me, but it wasn't hard to put the pieces together. I'm more than that, though. We're both more than that." His lips curl into a gentle smile as he reaches over the table to grasp your fingers. "I know it won't magically fix everything, but please remember: you've got me, and $dragon_name, and we both love you for //you//, Mordred. Just for the person that you are."
Your eyes prickle as something within you simply //breaks// - something fragile and soft and fuzzy that completely melts at Gareth's words. You squeeze his hand back as you blink furiously against unshed tears. You nod your head, not trusting your voice to spell out your gratitude without dissolving into sobbing.
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch Gareth slather his own slice of bread with butter, you wonder how much of this calm he displays is actually genuine. The revelations you relayed last night must affect him too - to learn the extend of what Morgana did, and the truth of your conception far more world-shattering than a mere affair with a knight.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
<<elseif $chapt4_morning_feel == 6>>
Thoughts circle you as menacingly as hornets intent on chasing you down and stinging you; they buzz incessantly as they bound within your head. Yet you drown it all out, fend them off as best as you can and plaster on a feeble smile that you hope looks more convincing than the grimace it feels like on your lips.
"I'm as alright as I can be," you say. You've dumped so much on Gareth last night, you don't want to continue burdening him. The revelations are for you to carry and contend with.
"Hey," Gareth reaches out over the table, voice soft. "You know that if you ever need to talk - or just take your mind off things - you can come to me? I'm here for you." Gareth studies your face, then goes on: "I know it won't magically fix everything, but I want you to please remember: you've got me, and $dragon_name, and we both love you for //you//, Mordred."
You squeeze back his fingers and smile. "I love you, too."
There's a lump in your throat and pit in your stomach that renders the food in front of you utterly unappetizing, yet you force yourself to munch on bread with small, mouse-like bites that you wash down with sweet tea. As you watch Gareth slather his own slice of bread with butter, you wonder how much of this calm he displays is actually genuine. The revelations you relayed last night must affect him too - to learn the extend of what Morgana did, and the truth of your conception far more world-shattering than a mere affair with a knight.
"How are //you// faring?" you ask, turning the question on him.
<</if>>
Gareth gives you a quizzical smile. "Me?" You nod emphaticaly, hoping he won't choose this moment to shield his own thoughts and feelings to not //trouble you//, as he's wont to do. He takes a long sip of his tea as he considers your question. "I'm concerned about you, before anything."
It's touching, in a bittersweet kind of way. "That aside?" you prompt.
"I already knew mother has done unsavory things," Gareth says placidly, running a thumb over the cup's lip, eyes fixed on its liquid contents. "Now I better understand the wedge between her and Arthur. Or rather, I see it in a different light." He sighs and puts down the tea, reaching over for a second slice of bread to slather with butter.
"But how does it make //you// feel?"
"Shocked," he admits. "Confused. Like I don't know anything. While other things seem so much clearer - like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, I suppose."
You put down your half-eaten bread and brush the crumbs off your fingers on a napkin. "Don't you have questions? About me being a Pendragon."
He smiles. "Of course I do. But I won't pester you now with them."
"Pester away," you shrug. "Help me get my mind off things." You've waited for so long to finally tell Gareth the truth of your nature; now that he knows, underneath all that weariness, there's a flicker of anticipation to share it with him, and divert both your thoughts to something nicer, if only for a bit.
"Alright. But you must promise me that you'll finish that bread." He points to your plate. "And a second one." Seeing your affronted expression, he adds: "An empty stomach won't help."
You tell him about your scales in between bites of food - bread and cheese and even a couple cherry tomatoes he's placed into your plate. And if your voice ever trails off as whatever energy you managed to summon fades away, you pick up your tea and drink it pensively before dredging yourself back up from the depths of your mind.
[[Next|Chapt4JuniaPOV]]<<if $chapt4_gareth_speak == 1>>
Gareth's well accustomed to Lot's behavior towards you, from the petty fault-finding and attacks on your character to his blatant ignorance of your mistreatment at the hands of the Court. The events of last night hang heavily on your mind, and you seek comfort, even if you can't share with him exactly what's bothering you. He'll most likely catch on to your dampened spirits anyway, so you must tell him something; otherwise he'll prod and ask and gently coax an answer out of you. So you keep the secret, which you don't want to burden him with. You don't know if it'd even be safe for him to know. So instead you tell a half-truth, half-lie, the facts just slightly altered, tailored to fit the situation he knows. It hits you, with no small amount of irony, that this is exactly what Morgana has been doing with you. Truly, you're your mother's child.
You look upon your brother's face, the soft smile limned by the warm summer light, the brown eyes, glinting shiny and polished. The same eyes as his father, yet so much kinder. You brace yourself for what's to come and step out of the shadows.
"Lot came to my room," you say, which is entirely true, "and told me some terrible things." Gareth frowns. Here's where the lie comes: "You know, the usual."
Gareth shakes his head, looking both horrified and furious on your part. "I can't believe it! On your birthday? I'm so sorry, Mordred." He jumps out of his armchair and gives your shoulder a squeeze, flashing you a sympathetic smile.
"I'm used to it," you say, trying to play it off.
"That just makes it worse," he retorts. He looks away and sighs, running a palm over his face. "Whatever he said about you - or anyone else - you know it's just his bitterness talking, yes?" He definitely was driven by his rancor, that much you can agree on.
You'd rather take your mind off these matters, at least for a bit, and tell your brother as much. He jumps to the occasion with aplomb and provides you with a range of fun activities. You settle on playing a board game to arrest your attention and keep your mind preoccupied.
<<elseif $chapt4_gareth_speak == 2>>
You look upon your brother's face, the soft smile limned by the warm summer light, the brown eyes, glinting shiny and polished. The same eyes as his father, yet so much kinder. You summon a cheerful smile and step out of the shadows. "I was thinking we could do something fun," you say.
Gareth jumps to the occasion with aplomb and provides you with a range of options. You settle on playing a fun board game to arrest your attention and keep your mind preoccupied.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]<<if $gareth_knows_prophecy is true>>
"There's one more thing you should know about."
Gareth looks positively distressed that there could possibly be more but steels himself, giving a little nod for you to go on.
<<if $prophecy == "rule">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know." You shrug helplessly.
<<elseif $prophecy == "good">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know." You shrug helplessly. "I'm still hoping Merlin sees it as ruin because it involves me - but maybe it's a good thing, actually?"
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal, but it's really stupid if you were to ask me," you say and shrug, "Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words."
<<elseif $prophecy == "plan">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know." You shrug helplessly.
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say. What you don't say aloud, however, is that maybe this whole kingdom does deserve to burn. "Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know."
<<elseif $prophecy == "hate">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know." You shrug helplessly. "I think it's also played a part in Arthur staying away from me."
<<elseif $prophecy == "wrong">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know." You shrug helplessly.
<<elseif $prophecy == "calm">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know."
<</if>>
"There's...not a lot known about how prophecies precisely work, since they're said to be able to come in all sorts of shapes," Gareth carefully says, perfectly reciting what you've read before in books. You wonder if it's an attempt to reassure him or you - perhaps both. "And there's no other sorcerers with Merlin's affinity. We can't check if what he said is true, though if he was rattled enough to burst into mother's room," Gareth blows air through his nose, clearly finding it an act of utter mad desperation, "something must have bothered him." He shakes his head then meets your gaze. "Though he definitely has a history of fucking over Le Fay, too."
"Gareth!" your snorting laugh escapes despite yourself.
"What?" he asks, smile wry.
"Such unseemly vocabulary."
He gently flicks your shoulder. "Shush. But like I said, like you said. Merlin does seem to have been involved in a lot of bad things that happened to our family. And //undoing//, evocative as it may be is also very dramatic. What does it mean? Literally burning down buildings? Or letting the economy sink?" He nods, mostly to himself. "There's many possibilities. You may not even have the whole picture. I've read once-"
"That prophecies can come in pieces? Yeah, I've read up on them, too."
Gareth smiles feebly. "So all the more reason to be wary."
<<if $prophecy == "rule" or $prophecy == "good" or $prophecy == "plan" or $prophecy == "hate" or $prophecy == "wrong">>
You smile back. It's good to know your brother is taking all this with a grain of salt - and incredibly endearing how he's trying to comfort you.
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid" or $prophecy == "calm">>
You smile back. It's good to know your brother is taking all this foolish affair with a grain of salt - and incredibly endearing how he's trying to comfort you.
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
You smile back. It's endearing how he's trying to comfort you - even if a part of you is ready to embrace the prophecy.
<</if>>
"This is a lot," Gareth remarks as you both sink on a sofa, wearied by the confession. "How are you?"
"As alright as I can be, all things considered. What about you?"
"I already knew mother has done unsavory things," he says placidly, tracing an index over the swirling embroidery of a decorative pillow. "Now I better understand the wedge between her and Arthur. Or rather, I see it in a different light."
You sigh and decide to change the subject to something more pleasant. Now that you've poured all out, you want to take your mind off things for a bit.
"Come on, you must be curious," you prompt, mustering a playful smile. "About me being a dragonblood."
"Very curious, in fact."
You lean back and sweep out an arm in invitation. "Ask away."
He shifts, propping the pillow behind his head. His eyes gleam, as dark and shiny as the gazes of the bear peering from the gloom. "I don't even know where to start." His eyes flit to your hands. "Your scales. When did they first appear? What do they feel like?"
You happily entertain all of the questions Gareth has and finally get to tell him all of the things you wished you could have: your bond with $dragon_name, your fire magic, your scale armour. He listens to it all raptly, and by the time you leave him you're in better spirits.
<<elseif $chapt4_prophecy_gareth == "no">>
You've burdened him enough for the night, no need to tell him about the prophecy too. He will only further worry for you.
"This is a lot," Gareth remarks as you both sink on a sofa, wearied by the confession. "How are you?"
"As alright as I can be, all things considered. What about you?"
"I already knew mother has done unsavory things," he says placidly, tracing an index over the swirling embroidery of a decorative pillow. "Now I better understand the wedge between her and Arthur. Or rather, I see it in a different light."
You sigh and decide to change the subject to something more pleasant. Now that you've poured all out, you want to take your mind off things for a bit.
"Come on, you must be curious," you prompt, mustering a playful smile. "About me being a dragonblood."
"Very curious, in fact."
You lean back and sweep out an arm in invitation. "Ask away."
He shifts, propping the pillow behind his head. His eyes gleam, as dark and shiny as the gazes of the bear peering from the gloom. "I don't even know where to start." His eyes flit to your hands. "Your scales. When did they first appear? What do they feel like?"
You happily entertain all of the questions Gareth has and finally get to tell him all of the things you wished you could have: your bond with $dragon_name, your fire magic, your scale armour. He listens to it all raptly, and by the time you leave him you're in better spirits.
<<elseif $chapt4_prophecy_gareth == "different">>
There's no need to tell him and further burden him. A part of you also fears that the prophecy may make him wary of you, too - you'd hate for your brother to view you as the villain.
"This is a lot," Gareth remarks as you both sink on a sofa, wearied by the confession. "How are you?"
"As alright as I can be, all things considered. What about you?"
"I already knew mother has done unsavory things," he says placidly, tracing an index over the swirling embroidery of a decorative pillow. "Now I better understand the wedge between her and Arthur. Or rather, I see it in a different light."
You sigh and decide to change the subject to something more pleasant. Now that you've poured all out, you want to take your mind off things for a bit.
"Come on, you must be curious," you prompt, mustering a playful smile. "About me being a dragonblood."
"Very curious, in fact."
You lean back and sweep out an arm in invitation. "Ask away."
He shifts, propping the pillow behind his head. His eyes gleam, as dark and shiny as the gazes of the bear peering from the gloom. "I don't even know where to start." His eyes flit to your hands. "Your scales. When did they first appear? What do they feel like?"
You happily entertain all of the questions Gareth has and finally get to tell him all of the things you wished you could have: your bond with $dragon_name, your fire magic, your scale armour. He listens to it all raptly, and by the time you leave him you're in better spirits.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]You've come here seeking solace and understanding and to offer Gareth the truth in a far gentler manner than Lot proffered it to you. You look upon your brother's face, the soft smile limned by the warm summer light, the brown eyes, glinting shiny and polished. The same eyes as his father, yet so much kinder. You brace yourself for what's to come and step out of the shadows.
"I have something to tell you." Your somber tone prompts a shift in his demeanor, too. He gets up, expression focused and puckered by worry. "There's...a lot to say." You wince. There's comingled anticipation, relief and trepidation brewing in you as you build up to your big reveal.
Here you go: "Accolon is not my father." That's all it takes to perplex him. Poor Gareth. There's so much more to come. He doesn't interject though, waiting patiently for you to continue. "Arthur is." If possible, he looks even more nonplussed. If there's a limit to how much features can contort to accomodate surprise, you're afraid his expression must struggle wit the excess of shock you've just provided.
"Arthur? But...How...Why...?"
The //why// sends a stab of pain through you.
"But then..." Gareth looks at you anew, as if seeing you for the first time. "There...there definitely is a resemblance," he mutters, regarding you in this new light. Plainly studying your face as it reveals the details finally fitted into the wider picture. "I always attributed it to all three of you - Morgana, Arthur and you - merely taking so much after Igraine, but..." He halts, his eyes widening. "Mordred. Mordred, this makes you a dragonblood."
You hold out a slightly quivering hand and putting all of your willpower behind it, summon a wave of ruby red scales to burst over your skin.
Gareth startles. A small, choked sound of surprise erupts from the back of his throat and his hand shoots up to cover his mouth. He stands still as if your arm were a serpent that may jump at his throat any moment, then slowly leans closer. He marvels at it with eyes so wide they may pop out.
"You can touch it," you say, extending your arm further out.
He reaches out tentatively, pressing the pads of his fingers with a feather-like touch. He builds up confidence, palpating more intently till he closes his hand around your forearm, testing the sturdiness. "Just like a dragon," he remarks, awed. "They're beautiful." He lets go and glances up at you curiously. "So those rumours are true about a child being stashed away? You're Arthur's hidden heir?"
You pull back your arm and let the scales disappear. "No. I'm his hidden bastard."
He frowns, that something seems to dawn on him. "Mother...she //is// your mother, too, isn't she?" You nod. "But then...then..." The pieces fall together and his face twists in horror. "But that means..."
"Yes. I know," you say fretfully.
His mouth thins in sympathy, eyes softening. He takes both your hands - now completely fleshy - and squeezes comfortingly. "//How//?" he asks.
You swallow thickly and launch yourself back into the explanation, relaying onto him the revelations of last night.
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_angry">>
Your voice raises and falls, modulated by anger and hurt. You often have to pause to take deep breaths and simmer down, muscles so taut your whole frame shakes from the furious tension.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">>
Your voice hitches every now and then, coming close to breaking and dissolving into tears many times. You often have to pause to take deep breaths and gather yourself, to push the words out past the lump in your throat.
<<else>>
You speak steadily, wearily, pausing every now and then to take a deep breath or give a rattling sigh.
<</if>>
Gareth listens intently to it all, doing his best to comfort you, but by the time you're done recounting everything you think you may not be the only one in need of consolation. He runs a hand over his face, the other still holding yours. "What has mother done?" It's merely a rhetoric question, as much addressed to himself as to the starry sky outside. "It's no wonder why Arthur acts like //that// around her."
You stay silent, musing on one last piece of information you have yet to impart on him.
The prophecy.
<div class="choice">[[You tell him about the prophecy too.|Chapt4GarethNextDayProphecy][$gareth_knows_prophecy to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't tell him. No need to worry him about it.|Chapt4GarethNextDayProphecy][$chapt4_prophecy_gareth to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't tell him. No need to worry him about it - and you'd hate for him to regard you differently for it.|Chapt4GarethNextDayProphecy][$chapt4_prophecy_gareth to "different"]]</div>Gareth leaves, climbing the same stairs Alina thunderously took two at a time in her rush to get away. You linger in your green, shadowed alcove for a little bit more listening to the retreating footsteps echoing around the empty courtyard. It's only when the sound has completely faded away that you follow, with no intention of letting Gareth know you've stood witness to whatever //that// was.
<<if $alina_attitude == "defiant">>
Who would have thought that Alina Solomon, of all people, would be crushing on your older brother? Perhaps it shouldn't surprise you quite that much; she's never had a bone to pick with him, as much as she hates you. In fact, many times in her bellitling, she's told you how bad she feels for Gareth for being saddled with a sibling like you. You'd reply to her in kind, expressing that same mock compassion for her siblings for having her forced upon them - though, come to think of it, you don't think her sympathy ever was fake.
<<else>>
Who would have thought that Alina Solomon, of all people, would be crushing on your older brother? Perhaps it shouldn't surprise you quite that much; she's never had a bone to pick with him, as much as she hates you. In fact, many times in her bellitling, she's told you how bad she feels for Gareth for being saddled with a sibling like you.
<</if>>
You know your brother well. Any embarrassment he might feel about you being party to the confession wouldn't last long, and he'd likely be only slightly peeved that you eavesdropped. But you'd really rather cleanse your brain and eyes and ears of all that. You do not want to ever see Alina look at Gareth like that, in that nauseously, sickly sweet bright-eyed way.
You also try not to settle too long on that terrible accusation that she hurled in her shamefaced anger, like a cornered animal clawing blindlingly, seeking to draw blood.
<div class="choice">[[She's not wrong, after all. It's your fault Morgana left.|Chapt4GarethThink][$chapt4_guilty to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You hate how she said it to hurt him; it's not your fault Morgana left.|Chapt4GarethThink][$chapt4_guilty to 6]]</div>"There's one more thing you should know about."
Gareth looks positively distressed that there could possibly be more but steels himself, giving a little nod for you to go on.
<<if $prophecy == "rule">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know." You shrug helplessly.
<<elseif $prophecy == "good">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know." You shrug helplessly. "I'm still hoping Merlin sees it as ruin because it involves me - but maybe it's a good thing, actually?"
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal, but it's really stupid if you were to ask me," you say and shrug, "Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words."
<<elseif $prophecy == "plan">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know." You shrug helplessly.
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say. What you don't say aloud, however, is that maybe this whole kingdom does deserve to burn. "Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know."
<<elseif $prophecy == "hate">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know." You shrug helplessly. "I think it's also played a part in Arthur staying away from me."
<<elseif $prophecy == "wrong">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know." You shrug helplessly.
<<elseif $prophecy == "calm">>
"The night I was born Merlin made a prophecy. It foretold that I'd be the undoing of Camelot."
Gareth's brow knots. "What?"
"I know it sounds dismal," you say, "but Merlin doesn't seem to like me or mother an awful lot, and she seems reluctant to put much stock in his words. So I don't know."
<</if>>
"There's...not a lot known about how prophecies precisely work, since they're said to be able to come in all sorts of shapes," Gareth carefully says, perfectly reciting what you've read before in books. You wonder if it's an attempt to reassure him or you - perhaps both. "And there's no other sorcerers with Merlin's affinity. We can't check if what he said is true, though if he was rattled enough to burst into mother's room," Gareth blows air through his nose, clearly finding it an act of utter mad desperation, "something must have bothered him." He shakes his head then meets your gaze. "Though he definitely has a history of fucking over Le Fay, too."
"Gareth!" your snorting laugh escapes despite yourself.
"What?" he asks, smile wry.
"Such unseemly vocabulary."
He nudges your knee with his own. "Shush. But like I said, like you said. Merlin does seem to have been involved in a lot of bad things that happened to our family. And //undoing//, evocative as it may be is also very dramatic. What does it mean? Literally burning down buildings? Or letting the economy sink?" He nods, mostly to himself. "There's many possibilities. You may not even have the whole picture. I've read once-"
"That prophecies can come in pieces? Yeah, I've read up on them, too."
Gareth smiles feebly. "So all the more reason to be wary."
<<if $prophecy == "rule" or $prophecy == "good" or $prophecy == "plan" or $prophecy == "hate" or $prophecy == "wrong">>
You smile back. It's good to know your brother is taking all this with a grain of salt - and incredibly endearing how he's trying to comfort you.
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid" or $prophecy == "calm">>
You smile back. It's good to know your brother is taking all this foolish affair with a grain of salt - and incredibly endearing how he's trying to comfort you.
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
You smile back. It's endearing how he's trying to comfort you - even if a part of you is ready to embrace the prophecy.
<</if>>
"You must be exhausted," Gareth remarks.
Now that you've poured out everything, you're left feeling both relieved and wearied. You realize you're still wearing today's fancy attire and a layer of sweat from a day in the heat, but Gareth doesn't mind that you'll dirty his sheets. He pulls the covers for you both to slip under and you snuff out the candles with a flick of your wrist.
[[Next morning|Chapt4GarethAllMorning]]You exhale through your teeth and emerge from your shadowed alcove, boots pattering loudly in the empty courtyard. Gareth whirls around.
"Mordred." He blinks, surprised to see you there. Then it clears away and his lips curve into what may pass as a smile under dire circumstances, a weary and wry line. "How much did you catch of that?"
You hum, starting from a low, evasive droning in the back of your throat rising in a sheepish, high crescendo that breaks into a simple, articulated admission: "Everything."
Gareth sighs. He twirls the rose between his fingers as you approach, watching it become a blood red vortex. Once you're near he glances up at you, eyes soft and voice quiet as he says: "You do know it's not your fault, do you?" He doesn't have to repeat Alina's words. They echo in your mind nonetheless, shrill and harsh, like a coin relentlessly rattled in a metal cup.
<div class="choice">[["I know," you lie. You can't help but feel somewhat guilty.|Chapt4GarethTalk1][$chapt4_guilty to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Technically, she's not wrong," you say airily, trying to hide your hurt.|Chapt4GarethTalk1][$chapt4_guilty to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know," you say. "I just hate how she said that to hurt you."|Chapt4GarethTalk1][$chapt4_guilty to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's stupid anyway," you say flippantly, wanting to leave this subject behind. You just hate how she said that to hurt him.|Chapt4GarethTalk1][$chapt4_guilty to 4]]</div><<if $chapt4_guilty == 1>>
"I know," you lie with a smile because you don't want him to worry about you, and if you admit anything to the contrary he'll start fretting and fussing and trying to reassure you and you hate that. You appreciate his attempt but hate it all the same because he too must know deep down, just like you do, that it //is// your fault that Morgana abandoned him. She did it in order to protect you, and regretted having to leave him behind. She would have taken Gareth too, if she could; she'd told you as much since you were little, sitting on the beach with her while the wind sprayed briny droplets onto your face. But Lot made sure she wouldn't in an act she'd called //exceedingly brave for a coward like him// and //incredibly petty of him//.
<<elseif $chapt4_guilty == 2>>
"Well, technically," you say, drawing out the word as you bounce up and down on the ball of your feet, "she's not wrong." You speak in an airy tone that does not reflect the heaviness with which the matter presses on you.
It //is// your fault that Morgana left Lothia, fled the Continent, and it was in order to protect you. She would have taken Gareth too, if she could; she'd told you as much since you were little, sitting on the beach with her while the wind sprayed briny droplets onto your face. But Lot made sure she wouldn't in an act she'd called //exceedingly brave for a coward like him// and //incredibly petty of him//.
Gareth frowns. "That's not true, Mordred. It is most definitely not your fault."
You wave a hand vaguely. "I was the catalyst for her leaving the Continent."
"You were a baby," he says, crease deepening. "And I'm pretty sure not the one who told her to leave."
"Maybe I was an evil whispering baby," you wiggle your eyebrows at him and Gareth smacks your arm with the rose, exploding in a snort.
"Fine, //evil whispering baby//. Less blame, more cake, alright?" he says softly and you nod. He searches your face for a moment longer, as if trying to gauge out that his concise, wise words have actually reached your head. "Let's go."
<<elseif $chapt4_guilty == 3>>
It's a terrible accusation that Alina hurled in her shamefaced anger, like a cornered animal clawing blindlingly, seeking to draw blood. You were only a baby - a vulnerable baby, what with Merlin's attempt on your life, and Arthur's refusal to claim you or otherwise even acknowledge you. Morgana had to flee the Continent to protect you and would have taken Gareth too you, if she could have. She'd told you as much since you were little, sitting on the beach with her while the wind sprayed briny droplets onto your face. But Lot made sure she wouldn't in an act she'd called //exceedingly brave for a coward like him// and //incredibly petty of him//.
"I know," you say, and sigh. "I just hate how she said that to hurt you."
Gareth smiles, but it's strained and worn out around the edges. "Don't worry about it, Mordred."
"You always say that," you reply in a heartbeat, "doesn't change anything."
He smacks your arm playfully with the rose. "Shall we go? Cake's waiting for us."
<<elseif $chapt4_guilty == 4>>
It's a terrible accusation that Alina hurled in her shamefaced anger, like a cornered animal clawing blindlingly, seeking to draw blood. You were only a baby - a vulnerable baby, what with Merlin's attempt on your life, and Arthur's refusal to claim you or otherwise even acknowledge you. Morgana had to flee the Continent to protect you and would have taken Gareth too you, if she could have. She'd told you as much since you were little, sitting on the beach with her while the wind sprayed briny droplets onto your face. But Lot made sure she wouldn't in an act she'd called //exceedingly brave for a coward like him// and //incredibly petty of him//.
"It's stupid. //She's stupid//," you say, crossing your arms and shrugging your shoulders bodily, shedding this whole interaction off your back like a heavy, dirty, bloody coat you'd rather toss in a fire than look at again. She wanted to hurt Gareth, and you hate that most. "Let's go have cake."
Gareth smiles, and it brightens his eyes. "Let's."
<</if>>
[[The next day|Chapt4RobinStudy]]<<if $chapt4_guilty == 5>>
It //is// your fault that Morgana left Lothia, fled the Continent, and it was in order to protect you. She would have taken Gareth too, if she could; she'd told you as much since you were little, sitting on the beach with her while the wind sprayed briny droplets onto your face. But Lot made sure she wouldn't in an act she'd called //exceedingly brave for a coward like him// and //incredibly petty of him//.
<<else>>
You were only a baby - a vulnerable baby, what with Merlin's attempt on your life, and Arthur's refusal to claim you or otherwise even acknowledge you. Morgana had to flee the Continent to protect you and would have taken Gareth too you, if she could have. She'd told you as much since you were little, sitting on the beach with her while the wind sprayed briny droplets onto your face. But Lot made sure she wouldn't in an act she'd called //exceedingly brave for a coward like him// and //incredibly petty of him//.
<</if>>
You let out a shaky breath and push yourself off the castle wall. Forget about Alina and her nasty jibes and catastrophically bad confessions. It's time for cake.
[[The next day|Chapt4RobinStudy]]Gareth's well accustomed to Lot's behavior towards you, from the petty fault-finding and attacks on your character to his blatant ignorance of your mistreatment at the hands of the Court.
You are visibly riled, if your thunderous knocking was not clue enough. You know Gareth will prod and ask and gently coax an answer out of you, that he will insist you share the burden that so clearly weighs down on you right now, so you don't even attempt to evade him. After all, isn't this why you crossed all those corridors in such a mad dash?
You look upon your brother's face, the pinched brow limned in warm, wan light, the brown eyes, gentle and almost black in the dark. You brace yourself for what's to come.
"There's...a lot to say. For you to understand what's bothering me so, I have another confession to make first." You wince. There's comingled anticipation, relief and trepidation brewing in you as you build up to your big reveal. It makes you feel woozy - though that may be in part to exhaustion. Sleep seems out of grasp at the moment nevertheless. At least until you somewhat clear your mind of this tumult, and what better way than arranging it all into words.
"Gareth," the change in your tone prompts a shift in his demeanor, too. He leans forward, expression focused and hardened by resolve. Here you go: "Accolon is not my father." That's all it takes to perplex him. Poor Gareth. There's so much more to come. He doesn't interject though, waiting patiently for you to continue. "Arthur is." If possible, he looks even more nonplussed. If there's a limit to how much features can contort to accomodate surprise, you're afraid his expression must struggle wit the excess of shock you've just provided.
"Arthur? But...How...Why...?"
The //why// sends a stab of pain through you.
"But then..." Gareth looks at you anew, as if seeing you for the first time. "There...there definitely is a resemblance," he mutters, regarding you in this new light. Plainly studying your face as it reveals the details finally fitted into the wider picture. "I always attributed it to all three of you - Morgana, Arthur and you - merely taking so much after Igraine, but..." He halts, his eyes widening. "Mordred. Mordred, this makes you a dragonblood."
You hold out a slightly quivering hand and putting all of your willpower behind it, summon a wave of ruby red scales to burst over your skin.
Gareth startles. A small, choked sound of surprise erupts from the back of his throat and his hand shoots up to cover his mouth. He stands still as if your arm were a serpent that may jump at his throat any moment, then slowly leans closer. He marvels at it with eyes so wide they may pop out.
"You can touch it," you say, extending your arm further out.
He reaches out tentatively, pressing the pads of his fingers with a feather-like touch. He builds up confidence, palpating more intently till he closes his hand around your forearm, testing the sturdiness. "Just like a dragon," he remarks, awed. "They're beautiful." He lets go and glances up at you curiously. "So those rumours are true about a child being stashed away? You're Arthur's hidden heir?"
You pull back your arm and let the scales disappear. "No. I'm his hidden bastard."
He frowns, that something seems to dawn on him. "Mother...she //is// your mother, too, isn't she?" You nod. "But then...then..." The pieces fall together and his face twists in horror. "But that means..."
"Yes. I know," you say fretfully.
His mouth thins in sympathy, eyes softening. He takes both your hands - now completely fleshy - and squeezes comfortingly. "//How//?" he asks.
You swallow thickly and launch yourself back into the explanation, relaying onto him the revelations of tonight.
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_angry">>
Your voice raises and falls, modulated by anger and hurt. You often have to pause to take deep breaths and simmer down, muscles so taut your whole frame shakes from the furious tension.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">>
Your voice hitches every now and then, coming close to breaking and dissolving into tears many times. You often have to pause to take deep breaths and gather yourself, to push the words out past the lump in your throat.
<<else>>
You speak steadily, wearily, pausing every now and then to take a deep breath or give a rattling sigh.
<</if>>
Gareth listens intently to it all, doing his best to comfort you, but by the time you're done recounting everything you think you may not be the only one in need of consolation. He runs a hand over his face, the other still holding yours. "What has mother done?" It's merely a rhetoric question, as much addressed to himself as to the starry sky outside. "It's no wonder why Arthur acts like //that// around her."
You stay silent, musing on one last piece of information you have yet to impart on him.
The prophecy.
<div class="choice">[[You tell him about the prophecy too.|Chapt4GarethProphecy][$gareth_knows_prophecy to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't tell him. No need to worry him about it.|Chapt4GarethAll][$chapt4_prophecy_gareth to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't tell him. No need to worry him about it - and you'd hate for him to regard you differently for it.|Chapt4GarethAll][$chapt4_prophecy_gareth to "different"]]</div>A booming, brassy blow pierces the sky like a cry of victory. It travels the heated air like a welcome cool breeze and rings in your ears like a sweet melody. The horn heralding your guests' arrival. You jump to your feet, teeming with excitement. You let it spill through your connection to $dragon_name, let the both of you be washed by that exhilarating rush.
You know this means they've barely been spotted approaching and there's still a little while till they'll properly arrive, but your pulse picks up a thrilled rhythm as you stand, eyes peeled on the round snaking towards the town. Gawain will be arriving by carriage while Ariawen will be flying along, each accompanied by their own parents.
You and $dragon_name are soon not alone on the field anymore. You're joined by Morgana and Accolon, followed by your other guests and a retinue of servants and guards, all dressed up in their best clothes and polished armors.
This isn't the first time Junia will be meeting Gawain and his family, yet she's nervous about the whole formality of the greeting affair, figdeting with her Temple brooch and wrapping and unwrapping a springy red curl around her index. She's taken offense with your straw hat like Marcellus did too even though it wasn't even crooked this time, and spends some time fixing and arranging it. You humour her, letting your gaze roam past her shoulder.
Glittering shapes dot the clear sky, approaching in a well-coordinated formation. It's hard to make out the colors from this far away and with the sun at their back, but you know immediately that Ariawen and Bridget are in the middle, flanked by guards.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
"Almost here?"
You turn to Gareth, startled. He must have sidled up to you when you were distracted. His smile turns a tinge smug - it's not often that he gets to sneak up on //you//.
Trailing behind him, keeping a disdainful distance from the rest of you, is Duke Lot himself.
<<else>>
"My dear, come here."
You turn towards Morgana but stop short when you realize it's not you she called after, but Gareth. He's arrived, dressed in moss green refinery and a smile. Trailing behind him, keeping a disdainful distance from the rest of you, is Duke Lot himself.
<</if>>
It'd be disrespectful and shameful - if not bordering on treasonous - for anyone in the Ducal family to be missing from welcoming the King's adopted nephew and his family without a good reason, even if Lot looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but here.
The growing sound of trotting hooves arrests your full focus. You break away to behold the swiftly approaching carriage pulled by four majestic horses, huge beasts with shiny coats and combed manes.
The Royal convoy approaches, the thunderous flapping of wings comingling with the hooves thumping against the cobblestones in a grand orchestra of percussion instruments swooping upon you. Your own heart attunes itself to its loud, rapid tempo, beating a rhythm of overbounding anticipation.
The carriage, a fancy thing of sleek black wood and gilded edges, proudly sports the Pendragon banner on its red painted doors. It draws short of your little party and the footman jumps down from his perch before the dust even settles in their wake, quick on his feet- but not quick enough, it seems, as the carriage door is thrown open just before he can reach for the handle.
[[Next|Chapt4GawainCarriageAlone]]You've been excused from lectures for the day. Might as well - you wouldn't have been able to focus anyway.
You and $dragon_name have been out on the field for over an hour now, waiting. Gawain and his family are expected to arrive any moment now, though any moment now is both so close and too far away at the same time.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You've paced around till you thought you'd dig a ditch in the ground. Plopped back on the grass, propping your chin in hand, tapping impatient fingers against impatient, bouncing legs. You sighed explosively, scanned the sky with narrowed eyes, asked $dragon_name to fly up in the air as lookout, but your guests have yet to arrive - not on the horizon high above the forest, not on the distant roads winding up to the town.
For a terrible moment your stomach sinks, some irrational part of your mind convinced that this must mean they're not coming at all, despite all the excited, eager letters.
They just haven't arrived yet.
<<else>>
You've plopped down on the grass, cross-legged, waiting. After a while you laid down, wild weeds caressing your cheek, and scanned the horizon for any sign of flapping wings on the horizon high above the forest. $dragon_name has even taken a couple quick looks, flying as high as the castle's towers, but there was no sign of your guests on the roads winding up to the town either.
For a terrible moment your stomach sinks, some irrational part of your mind convinced that this must mean they're not coming at all, despite all the excited, eager letters.
They just haven't arrived yet.
<</if>>
Gaius has visited you at some point, bringing some refreshing iced tea and fussing over your crooked straw hat. You talked for a bit, and he wouldn't leave until he's smeared a fresh coat of sun-protecting cream across your cheeks.
[[Wait|Chapt4GawainArrive1]]Gawain shoots out of the carriage, hurtling at you with the speed of a training projectile about to topple you. He wraps his arms around you and you both stagger as you desperately cling to each other, squeezing till your ribs hurt. Yet you can't stop smiling and laughing - and hacking as your lungs are being crushed.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain pulls away and you can finally take a good look at his face. It's still the same sweet, round-cheeked face with big brown eyes like polished rocks - face that is now flushed as he intently considers you in return. There's something more mature about his features and he's grown in height, too, though not by much; he's still shorter than most peers his age.
"Happy early birthday!" Gawain leans in and plants a gentle kiss on your cheek which ensures that your face too has achieved the same level of heat as the sun. You chuckle and Gawain responds by pressing another kiss on your cheek, this time firmer and longer. "I'm so excited to give you your gift - but I won't until tomorrow, because tomorrow's your birthday, and I don't want to spoil it but I really hope you'll like it." He draws a deep, gasping intake at the end of his enthusiastic speech. You've missed this so much - his outpour of excited words, that radiant grin, those umber eyes pinned on you with such tenderness.
<<elseif $Gawain_crush >= 2 or $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
Gawain pulls away and you can finally take a good look at his face. It's still the same sweet, round-cheeked face with big brown eyes like polished rocks - eyes that study you in return, the realization sending a wave of heat up your chest and neck. There's something more mature about his features and he's grown in height, too, though not by much; he's still shorter than most peers his age.
"Happy early birthday! I'm so excited to give you your gift - but I won't until tomorrow, because tomorrow's your birthday, and I don't want to spoil it but I really hope you'll like it." He draws a deep, gasping intake at the end of his enthusiastic speech. You've missed this so much - his outpour of excited words, that radiant grin, those umber eyes pinned on you with such joy.
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 2>>
Gawain pulls away and you can finally take a good look at his face. It's still the same sweet, round-cheeked face with big brown eyes like polished rocks - eyes that study you in return, the realization sending your stomach into an odd twist. There's something more mature about his features and he's grown in height, too, though not by much; he's still shorter than most peers his age.
"Happy early birthday! I'm so excited to give you your gift - but I won't until tomorrow, because tomorrow's your birthday, and I don't want to spoil it but I really hope you'll like it." He draws a deep, gasping intake at the end of his enthusiastic speech. You've missed this so much - his outpour of excited words, that radiant grin, those umber eyes pinned on you with such joy.
<<else>>
Gawain pulls away and you can finally take a good look at his face. It's still the same sweet, round-cheeked face with big brown eyes like polished rocks - eyes that study you in return. There's something more mature about his features and he's grown in height, too, though not by much; he's still shorter than most peers his age.
"Happy early birthday! I'm so excited to give you your gift - but I won't until tomorrow, because tomorrow's your birthday, and I don't want to spoil it but I really hope you'll like it." He draws a deep, gasping intake at the end of his enthusiastic speech. You've missed this so much - his outpour of excited words, that radiant grin, those umber eyes pinned on you with such joy.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sure I'll love it," you assure Gawain.|Chapt4GawainJoke][$chapt4_assure to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, no I've decided I'll absolutely hate it. Whatever it is it's horrible," you joke.|Chapt4GawainJoke][$chapt4_assure to 2]]</div>Gawain shoots out of the carriage, hurtling at you with the speed of a training projectile about to topple you. He wraps his arms around you and you both stagger as you desperately cling to each other, squeezing till your ribs hurt. Yet you can't stop smiling and laughing - and hacking as your lungs are being crushed.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain pulls away and you can finally take a good look at his face. It's still the same sweet, round-cheeked face with big brown eyes like polished rocks - face that is now flushed as he intently considers you in return. There's something more mature about his features and he's grown in height, too, though not by much; he's still shorter than most peers his age.
"Happy early birthday!" Gawain leans in and plants a gentle kiss on your cheek which ensures that your face too has achieved the same level of heat as the sun. You chuckle and Gawain responds by pressing another kiss on your cheek, this time firmer and longer. "I'm so excited to give you your gift - but I won't until tomorrow, because tomorrow's your birthday, and I don't want to spoil it but I really hope you'll like it." He draws a deep, gasping intake at the end of his enthusiastic speech. You've missed this so much - his outpour of excited words, that radiant grin, those umber eyes pinned on you with such tenderness.
<<elseif $Gawain_crush >= 2 or $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
Gawain pulls away and you can finally take a good look at his face. It's still the same sweet, round-cheeked face with big brown eyes like polished rocks - eyes that study you in return, the realization sending a wave of heat up your chest and neck. There's something more mature about his features and he's grown in height, too, though not by much; he's still shorter than most peers his age.
"Happy early birthday! I'm so excited to give you your gift - but I won't until tomorrow, because tomorrow's your birthday, and I don't want to spoil it but I really hope you'll like it." He draws a deep, gasping intake at the end of his enthusiastic speech. You've missed this so much - his outpour of excited words, that radiant grin, those umber eyes pinned on you with such joy.
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 2>>
Gawain pulls away and you can finally take a good look at his face. It's still the same sweet, round-cheeked face with big brown eyes like polished rocks - eyes that study you in return, the realization sending your stomach into an odd twist. There's something more mature about his features now and he's grown in height, too, though not by much; he's still shorter than most peers his age.
"Happy early birthday! I'm so excited to give you your gift - but I won't until tomorrow, because tomorrow's your birthday, and I don't want to spoil it but I really hope you'll like it." He draws a deep, gasping intake at the end of his enthusiastic speech. You've missed this so much - his outpour of excited words, that radiant grin, those umber eyes pinned on you with such joy.
<<else>>
Gawain pulls away and you can finally take a good look at his face. It's still the same sweet, round-cheeked face with big brown eyes like polished rocks - eyes that study you in return. There's something more mature about his features now and he's grown in height, too, though not by much; he's still shorter than most peers his age.
"Happy early birthday! I'm so excited to give you your gift - but I won't until tomorrow, because tomorrow's your birthday, and I don't want to spoil it but I really hope you'll like it." He draws a deep, gasping intake at the end of his enthusiastic speech. You've missed this so much - his outpour of excited words, that radiant grin, those umber eyes pinned on you with such joy.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sure I'll love it," you assure Gawain.|Chapt4GawainJokeAlone][$chapt4_assure to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, no I've decided I'll absolutely hate it. Whatever it is it's horrible," you joke.|Chapt4GawainJokeAlone][$chapt4_assure to 2]]</div><<silently>><<set $chapt4_gawain_invited to true>><</silently>>
<<if $gawain_kid == "crush">>
Your stomach always flips like a dragon doing loops in the air when you receive a letter from Gawain, heat prickling your cheeks whenever you read how much he misses you and wishes to see you.
Gawain can fill pages upon pages, including every little thing that he's done or seen, anything that he thought was fun or interesting to share or that you'd like. He sometimes encloses poems he's written to ask for advice; sometimes the poems are especially written for you, sweet and grand declarations of his friendship that you always read with a smile on your face. If there's ever periods where the arrival of letters lulls to a slower pace, he apologizes profusely and makes up by writing double the amount he usually writes.
You hang onto each word of the poems he dedicates to you - as a //friend// - and keep them all in your drawer. When your wistfulness gets most poignant and your yearning most acute, you'll pull one of the letters and read it again and again.
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "oblivious">>
Your stomach always flips like a dragon doing loops in the air when you receive a letter from Gawain. It's such a strange yet not unpleasant feeling. It must be nerves - a ridiculous fear that perhaps one day he'll tire or bore of you and forsake you.
Gawain can fill pages upon pages, including every little thing that he's done or seen, anything that he thought was fun or interesting to share or that you'd like. He sometimes encloses poems he's written to ask for advice; sometimes the poems are especially written for you, sweet and grand declarations of his friendship that you always read with a smile on your face. If there's ever periods where the arrival of letters lulls to a slower pace, he apologizes profusely and makes up by writing double the amount he usually writes.
You keep all the poems he dedicates to you, waxing poetic of your friendship, and whenever your wistfulness gets most poignant you read them again and again.
<<else>>
Gawain can fill pages upon pages, including every little thing that he's done or seen, anything that he thought was fun or interesting to share or that you'd like. He sometimes encloses poems he's written to ask for advice; sometimes the poems are especially written for you, sweet and grand declarations of his friendship that you always read with a smile on your face. If there's ever periods where the arrival of letters lulls to a slower pace, he apologizes profusely and makes up by writing double the amount he usually writes.
<</if>>
<<if $Galahad_friend >= 3>>
He keeps you up with news on Galahad, as well. He tells you he'll often ask him if he wishes to address some lines to you, but he hasn't been lucky so far. He is, however, hard at work running a campaign with the goal of getting //Gally// to like you.
<<else>>
He inevitably speaks of Galahad, too, since the two are close friends, and he assures you he's hard at work running a campaign with the goal of getting //Gally// to like you.
<</if>>
Gawain also expresses his excitement about attending your upcoming birthday party - and finally seeing you again. He has great plans for all the fun things you can get up to, and hopes that you'll love the gift he has for you - which he will definitely not spoil, no matter how excited he is. He mentions that Aria's equally excited about seeing $dragon_name again, though he needn't tell you; your dragon friend has received that message directly from Ariawen that morning.
<<if $gally_river == "friend" or $gally_river == "charm">>
$dragon_name has been keeping in touch with Ariawen, sending each other spelled rocks as is the custom among dragons - and Ariawen's been helping put Callum in touch with $dragon_name, too. It started as a shy salute, which turned to a couple short lines that boiled down to "How are you? I've been well!" to actually getting to know each other and recounting what each has been up to.
<<else>>
$dragon_name has been keeping in touch with Ariawen, sending each other spelled rocks as is the custom among dragons.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4Letters>><<if $chapt4_assure == 1>>
"I'm sure I'll love it," you assure Gawain, gently squeezing his arm. His smile beams even brighter.
<<elseif $chapt4_assure == 2>>
"No, no," you shake your head, twisting your mouth into a mock moue. "I've decided I'll absolutely hate it. Whatever it is it's horrible."
Gawain bursts into peals of bright laughter.
<</if>>
"He couldn't stop talking about how excited he was on the road, either."
You glance up at Hilde Alistair, Gawain's mother. She's dressed in a lovely pink gown that compliments her brown fluffy hair - just like her son's - and the deep bottle green of her eyes. She's not alone. Propped against her plump waist there's a little child, face partly obscured by her mother's curls. The toddler observes you through the strands with keen brown eyes.
"Say hi to Mordred, Isabel," Hilde asks, tone honeyed and soothing. Isabel, Gawain's little sister, barely two summers old, raises a chubby little hand and waves, piping up with a chirp-like //hi//.
"Look how much she's grown," Accolon calls out. Trust him to direct his bright, warm attention to any adorable little thing in proximity, be it children or animals - yet he's assured you that you'll always be the most adorable of them all, which appeased you.
While you've been rushed by Gawain, $dragon_name too has had $dragon_his own affectionate assailant: Ariawen, who has finally made her way to the front after allowing the King and Elewen to pay their greetings to your dragon friend.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
The field spirals into a hubbub of salutations and conversations, some in the human tongue, other in the dragon language. By the time you all head up the hill to the castle, Duke Lot is nowhere to be seen, having slipped away sometimes after making all the necessary greetings.
<<else>>
The field spirals into a hubbub of salutations and conversations, some in the human tongue, other in the dragon language. By the time you all head up the hill to the castle, Duke Lot and Gareth are nowhere to be seen, having slipped away sometimes after making all the necessary greetings.
<</if>>
Your guests are each shown to their chambers, to be fetched in an hour's time for lunch out on the field.
[[Next|Chapt4Guests]]<<if $chapt4_assure == 1>>
"I'm sure I'll love it," you assure Gawain, gently squeezing his arm. His smile beams even brighter.
<<elseif $chapt4_assure == 2>>
"No, no," you shake your head, twisting your mouth into a mock moue. "I've decided I'll absolutely hate it. Whatever it is it's horrible."
Gawain bursts into peals of bright laughter.
<</if>>
"He couldn't stop talking about how excited he was on the road, either."
You glance up at Hilde Alistair, Gawain's mother. She's dressed in a lovely pink gown that compliments her brown fluffy hair - just like her son's - and the deep bottle green of her eyes. She's not alone. Propped against her plump waist there's a little child, face partly obscured by her mother's curls. The toddler observes you through the strands with keen brown eyes.
"Say hi to Mordred, Isabel," Hilde asks, tone honeyed and soothing. Isabel, Gawain's little sister, barely two summers old, raises a chubby little hand and waves, piping up with a chirp-like //hi//.
"Look how much she's grown," Accolon calls out. Trust him to direct his bright, warm attention to any adorable little thing in proximity, be it children or animals - yet he's assured you that you'll always be the most adorable of them all, which appeased you.
While you've been rushed by Gawain, $dragon_name too has had $dragon_his own affectionate assailant: Ariawen, who is beyond thrilled to see $dragon_him again.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
The field spirals into a hubbub of salutations and conversations, some in the human tongue, other in the dragon language. By the time you all head up the hill to the castle, Duke Lot is nowhere to be seen, having slipped away sometimes after making all the necessary greetings.
<<else>>
The field spirals into a hubbub of salutations and conversations, some in the human tongue, other in the dragon language. By the time you all head up the hill to the castle, Duke Lot and Gareth are nowhere to be seen, having slipped away sometimes after making all the necessary greetings.
<</if>>
Your guests are each shown to their chambers, to be fetched in an hour's time for lunch out on the field.
[[Next|Chapt4Guests]]<<if $chapt4_gawain_see == 1>>
A peal of laughter, bright and bubbly, escapes past your lips. It's like shedding a heavy coat as you step into the warmth of your home at the end of a weary and dreary journey. Gawain simply has a way of making anything better - of bringing the sun where it's dark and gloomy, of melting away the cold and sorrowful. At least for a while.
"I was hoping we could do something fun," you say.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain throws open his arms. "Whatever you want!" His smile promises he'd give you the world too if you'd only ask.
He's all the world you need right now.
<<else>>
Gawain throws open his arms. "Whatever you want!"
<</if>>
You glance around. The guest chamber Gawain's been given - at your direction - is rather modest in size yet the most colorfully decorated one in this wing, a fact that he's more than pleased about. With its verdant green furniture, lavishly painted with whorls of flowers and nestling birds, it puts you in mind of a summer garden; and with the curtains pulled to let the sun in, the only thing needed to make the experience complete is sweet, lilting birdsong, which you're sure Gawain could easily emulate with his lute.
"Do you have any games?" you ask.
His eyes gleam. "Yes!" he says and dives for his chest.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_see == 2>>
You laugh, bright yet brief like a quickly-snuffed flame. There's a cold, dark hollow carved in your chest like an empty, forsaken home with no light and no joy.
Gawain's brow pinches, your glum disposition failing to go unnoticed. Perhaps you don't want it to. Perhaps a part of you yearns to be comforted by Gawain, to have him set alight and keep the home fires burning. "Are you alright?"
"Not really," you admit.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain sweeps on to the rescue. He takes your hands in his, thumb caressing the back of your palm. "What happened? You know you can tell me. If you want to, that is. I'll help as best I can." His gaze locked on yours with such strong conviction, you believe him. You believe this boy would do anything if it'd only make you smile.
You expel a rattling sigh. "It's just...Lot. He said some nasty things to me last night."
Gawain looks appalled. "Last night? On your birthday?"
"It's nothing new coming from him, but it stung nonetheless." It's all you can say and it's more than enough to prompt Gawain to bestow upon you all his concern, sympathy and vexation for yourself at such ignoble treatment. He envelops you in a tight embrace which you melt into, letting your head rest against his shoulder, hands wrapped around his waist. You stand like this, face nestled close to his neck - he smells sweetly of bergamot, just like yesterday.
"What do you want to do? Anything to cheer you up!"
"This is a good start," you mumble as you smile against his turquoise tunic.
Gawain chuckles and lets you linger in this position, tracing idle circles on your back. "Alright. What else would help? Oh! We could play something, if you wanted. I received this pretty card deck for my birthday from mom and dad. I'm sure its sheer beauty is going to lift your spirits," he promises with a solemn air.
"Oh my," you say, affecting the same tone as a fuzzy warmth wells up in your chest. "I simply have to see this exquisite deck now."
<<else>>
Gawain sweeps on to the rescue. "What happened? You know you can tell me. If you want to, that is. I'll help as best I can."
You expel a rattling sigh. "It's just...Lot. He said some nasty things to me last night."
Gawain looks appalled. "Last night? On your birthday?"
"It's nothing new coming from him, but it stung nonetheless." It's all you can say and it's more than enough to prompt Gawain to bestow upon you all his concern, sympathy and vexation on your part at such ignoble treatment.
"It's awful," Gawain shakes his head. "What do you want to do? Anything to cheer you up!"
"Do you have any fun games?"
"Oh! I have just the thing! A deck of cards I received from mom and dad for my birthday. Its sheer beauty will lift your spirits," he winks before he darts away towards his chest.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_see == 3>>
You laugh yet it's somewhat dimmed, like a dwindling fire. There's a cold, dark hollow carved in your chest like an empty, forsaken home with no light and no joy. But if you let it show, you'll only worry Gawain and that's the last thing you want. There's no need to burden him with your despondency that you can't even begin to explain to him. You'd rather make a happy, merry memory now to hold on after he leaves for Camelot until you meet again.
So you plaster on a smile and inject your tone with a simulacrum of Gawain's cheerfulness. "I was hoping we could do something fun."
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain throws open his arms. "Whatever you want!" His smile promises he'd give you the world too if you'd only ask.
He's all the world you need right now.
<<else>>
Gawain throws open his arms. "Whatever you want!"
<</if>>
You glance around. The guest chamber Gawain's been given - at your direction - is rather modest in size yet the most colorfully decorated one in this wing, a fact that he's more than pleased about. With its verdant green furniture, lavishly painted with whorls of flowers and nestling birds, it puts you in mind of a summer garden; and with the curtains pulled to let the sun in, the only thing needed to make the experience complete is sweet, lilting birdsong, which you're sure Gawain could easily emulate with his lute.
"Do you have any games?" you ask.
His eyes gleam. "Yes!" he says and dives for his chest.
<</if>>
With a careless sweep of his arm, he sends yesterday's fancy attire flying in a heap on the rug. He rummages inside the trunk, a mighty, elegant thing of dark wood with the Pendragon emblem etched on its front. On its side there's been made an addition in bright yellow paint, a stark and merry constrast to the regal scarlet: Gawain's name, written in his loopy penmanship. The boy finally resurfaces from the chest's depth, holding victoriously a pack of cards.
He slides them out slowly, handling them as if they were precious crystalware. "They're used in all kinds of card games, as well as for divination, though Nimue says it's not quite the most precise magic - unless you have the affinity, of course." He spreads them out on the floor in front of you, one by one. Each card features a different illustration to fit with its name, written in embellished lettering. "This is my favorite," he points at a card entitled //The Fool//. Before you can even attempt a clever joke, he eagerly goes on: "I just really love his clothes and his little dog."
You pick up the card. The so-called fool must definitely be deemed so based on his attire, far from sensible for the journey his satchel suggests he's embarking on. He wears those billowing sleeves that are very much in fashion among the nobility, who can afford to put style and drama over practicality. The tunic is lushly embroidered and cinched at the waist with a gilded belt of linked suns that would attract the hawk eye of any highwayman within a mile and his boots, with their dainty high heels, would only serve to trip him up quicker down the canyon opening in front of him. Yet the Fool, oblivious to all these little inconveniences, steps forward with elegant carelessness, white rose held in one hand. The only one with sense is the little, fluffy white pooch off to the side, trying its best to arrest his attention before the Poor Fool tumbles down the cliff.
"It represents adventure and possibilities," Gawain says.
<div class="choice">[[You quirk an eyebrow. "I'm sure falling down a cliff is quite the adventure. Many possibilities for broken bones."|Chapt4GawainTarot][$chapt4_fool_card to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know if a fool is a very inspiring thing to have linked with possibilities," you say dubiously.|Chapt4GawainTarot][$chapt4_fool_card to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The little dog's so cute," you agree.|Chapt4GawainTarot][$chapt4_fool_card to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do you feel drawn to this card?" you ask with a meaningful, playful smile.|Chapt4GawainTarot][$chapt4_fool_card to 4]]</div><<if $gawain_kid == "exes_notalk_like">>
You agonized over the decision for weeks until you've finally made your choice and wrote to Gawain that you'd rather stop the correspondence. You were afraid that his sugary sweet romantic declarations would sour at some point, that he'd bore or tire of you and forsake you, so you saved yourself the pain by cutting the ties yourself. You pondered the possibility of keeping in touch as friends, but found it just as painful an option - so you divorced yourself of Gawain completely. Yet now and then you reach for the love poems he's written you that you hid in your drawer, going over the lines till your eyes prickle with tears.
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "friend_notalk">>
You agonized over the decision for weeks until you've finally made your choice and wrote to Gawain that you'd rather stop the correspondence. You were afraid that he'd bore or tire of you after a while and forsake you, so you saved yourself the pain by cutting the ties yourself. It hurts, and you still keep the letters he's sent you in a drawer. Some days you went as far as pulling a paper and dipping your pen in ink, poised to begin an apology, begging him to talk to you again - but you always crumpled the attempts up before you could even finish them.
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "ex_friend">>
You used to send letters back and forth quite frequently for a while, but in time you've started to write less rows, less often. You've also alluded many times to being quite busy with your training and lessons and bemoaning finding little time for writing letters till your message finally got across to Gawain and your correspondence stopped.
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "ally">>
You write to each other every now and then, mostly for special occasions such as birthdays and solstices. You're not close - far from it - but you keep your letters pleasant and catch each other up on what you've been up to in the months between the letters. You'd call yourself friendly acquaintances.
You expect to receive a letter from Gawain in the upcoming weeks, for your birthday, but nothing has arrived yet.
<</if>>
"I received a message rock from Ariawen today," $dragon_name says, lazily stretching $dragon_his front legs. $dragon_His eyes flutter open and $dragon_he looks up at you through twin drowsy slits of $dragon_eyes.
<<if $gally_river == "friend" or $gally_river == "charm">>
$dragon_name has been keeping in touch with Ariawen, Gawain's dragon partner, sending each other spelled rocks as is the custom among dragons - and Ariawen's been helping put Callum in touch with $dragon_name, too. It started as a shy salute, which turned to a couple short lines that boiled down to "How are you? I've been well!" to actually exchanging thoughts and what the other has been up to.
<<else>>
$dragon_name has been keeping in touch with Ariawen, sending each other spelled rocks as is the custom among dragons.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4Letters>><<silently>><<set $chapt4_gawain_invited to true>><</silently>>
<<if $gawain_kid == "exes">>
For a while your letters were fraught with sugary sweet, sweeping lines of romantic declarations but in time you've settled into being simply good friends.
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
For a while your letters were fraught with sugary sweet, sweeping lines of romantic declarations but in time you've settled into being simply good friends. It was your initiative, which you've agonized over for weeks until you finally made your choice and wrote to Gawain that you'd rather correspond as friends. You were afraid that his saccharine romantic declarations would sour at some point, that he'd bore or tire of you and forsake you, so you saved yourself the pain by cutting the ties yourself, but not completely. You couldn't bear to do it. So you've stayed friends, even if now and then you reach for the love poems he's written you that you hid in your drawer, going over the lines till your eyes prickle with tears.
<</if>>
Gawain can fill pages upon pages, including every little thing that he's done or seen, anything that he thought was fun or interesting to share or that you'd like. He sometimes encloses poems he's written to ask for advice; sometimes the poems are especially written for you, sweet and grand declarations of his friendship that you always read with a smile on your face. If there's ever periods where the arrival of letters lulls to a slower pace, he apologizes profusely and makes up by writing double the amount he usually writes.
<<if $Galahad_friend >= 3>>
He keeps you up with news on Galahad, as well. He tells you he'll often ask him if he wishes to address some lines to you but he hasn't been lucky so far. He is, however, hard at work running a campaign with the goal of getting //Gally// to like you.
<<else>>
He inevitably speaks of Galahad, too, since the two are close friends, and he assures you he's hard at work running a campaign with the goal of getting //Gally// to like you.
<</if>>
Gawain also expresses his excitement about attending your upcoming birthday party - and finally seeing you again. He has great plans for all the fun things you can get up to and hopes that you'll love the gift he has for you - which he will definitely not spoil, no matter how excited he is. He mentions that Aria's equally excited about seeing $dragon_name again, though he needn't tell you; your dragon friend has received that message directly from Ariawen that morning.
<<if $gally_river == "friend" or $gally_river == "charm">>
$dragon_name has been keeping in touch with Ariawen, sending each other spelled rocks as is the custom among dragons - and Ariawen's been helping put Callum in touch with $dragon_name, too. It started as a shy salute, which turned to a couple short lines that boiled down to "How are you? I've been well!" to actually getting to know each other and recounting what each has been up to.
<<else>>
$dragon_name has been keeping in touch with Ariawen, sending each other spelled rocks as is the custom among dragons.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4Letters>>$dragon_name considers her with awed eyes. "Did you learn that from..."
"Elewen!" Gawain readily supplies, a note of admiration in his tone. "They're really good at this."
It's strange, sometimes, seeing through Gawain what life might have been with Arthur. It makes your chest constrict with an ill-defined, writhing feeling. It quells when $dragon_name's tail gently wraps around your wrist.
<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"$dragon_name's knows a few tricks, too," you say, swelling with pride as Gawain and Aria turn excited gazes on your friend.
$dragon_name doesn't look quite as eager, though, a wave of unease washing over you from $dragon_him. //Mordred!// $dragon_he hisses in your mind. //Don't!//
//But you are good!// you counter, locked in a mental argument.
"You told me you were practising," Aria confirms, none the wiser to your silent conversation, "in one of your stone letters."
$dragon_name shifts then shakes $dragon_his head. "Alright. Because it's your birthday, Mordred. So you choose what you'd like me to try."
<<else>>
"I've been practising too," $dragon_name chimes in.
"You did tell me in one of your stone letters," Aria nods. "Show us then!"
"Alright. Since it's your birthday, Mordred, you should choose what you'd like me to try."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"A pair of knights flying.\""|Chapt4CozyDragonFriend][$chapt4_fireshow to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Our spot by the river.\""|Chapt4CozyDragonFriend][$chapt4_fireshow to 2]]</div><<silently>><<set $chapt4_gawain_invited to true>><</silently>>
Gawain can fill pages upon pages, including every little thing that he's done or seen, anything that he thought was fun or interesting to share or that you'd like. He sometimes encloses poems he's written to ask for advice; sometimes the poems are especially written for you, sweet dedications that you always read with a smile on your face. If there's ever periods where the arrival of letters lulls to a slower pace, he apologizes profusely and makes up by writing double the amount he usually writes.
<<if $Galahad_friend >= 3>>
He keeps you up with news on Galahad, as well. He tells you he'll often ask him if he wishes to address some lines to you, but he hasn't been lucky so far. He is, however, hard at work running a campaign with the goal of getting //Gally// to like you.
<<else>>
He inevitably speaks of Galahad, too, since the two are close friends, and he assures you he's hard at work running a campaign with the goal of getting //Gally// to like you.
<</if>>
Gawain also expresses his excitement about attending your upcoming birthday party - and finally seeing you again. He has great plans for all the fun things you can get up to, and hopes that you'll love the gift he has for you - which he will definitely not spoil, no matter how excited he is.
This time the letter has come with a poem enclosed, too. It's been a few weeks since you've received poetry from Gawain and you eagerly unfold the paper. A waft of lily of the valley tickles your nose and brings you back to that moment in the hallway, when you huddled close to each other, fingers twine, just before Gawain had to leave. He had the same perfume on then, and a bittersweet stab of pain lances through you as you bring the paper to your nose and breath in its sweet, fresh notes. You miss him so much - miss hearing his voice and seeing his smile and holding his hands in yours.
"Is it another love poem?" $dragon_name teases, not opening $dragon_his eyes. "I think I can feel that sickly sweet feeling you always get when he sends one."
Heat creeps up your neck as you defensively hug the paper close to your chest, even though $dragon_name's hasn't moved, let alone open $dragon_his eyes. "Yes, it is."
"Thought so," $dragon_name replies, tail flicking. "Aria said Gawain's been more distracted than usual these weeks. Probably thinking of youuu," $dragon_he draw out the syllable in a taunting sing-song voice.
<<if $gally_river == "friend" or $gally_river == "charm">>
$dragon_name has been keeping in touch with Ariawen, sending each other spelled rocks as is the custom among dragons - and Ariawen's been helping put Callum in touch with $dragon_name, too. It started as a shy salute, which turned to a couple short lines that boiled down to "How are you? I've been well!" to actually getting to know each other and recounting what each has been up to.
<<else>>
$dragon_name has been keeping in touch with Ariawen, sending each other spelled rocks as is the custom among dragons, and they're both equally excited about the prospect of meeting again with the occasion of your birthday.
<</if>>
The poem feels as wistful as you feel, each line spelling Gawain's longing to see you again, and the anticipation of finally being able to do so soon. You read it and then read it again, folding it lovingly before storing it in your satchel.
<<include Chapt4Letters>><<if $chapt4_fool_card == 1>>
You quirk an eyebrow as you return it to Gawain. "I'm sure falling down a cliff is quite the adventure. Many possibilities for broken bones, as well."
Gawain snorts in amusement. "Or maybe there's a dragon friend down there waiting to catch him. Anyway, it's supposed to be //metaphorical//. It's about taking a leap of faith."
"Down a cliff."
<<elseif $chapt4_fool_card == 2>>
"I don't know if a fool is a very inspiring thing to have linked with possibilities," you say dubiously as you return the card to him. "Doesn't seem all that wise to me."
"On contrary! The Fool is all about taking risks and making a leap of faith. Which can open many opportunities."
<<elseif $chapt4_fool_card == 3>>
"The little dog's so cute," you agree with a smile, returning the card to him. "It's nice to have a companion, if the Fool's going on an adventure."
Gawain grins. "Exactly! And who better than such an adorable companion? Anyway, this card represents taking a leap of faith, going on adventures, being spontaneous and creative."
"You relate to that?" you ask and he nods vehemently.
<<elseif $chapt4_fool_card == 4>>
"Do you feel drawn to this card?" you ask as a playful smile curls your lips. "Do you perhaps relate to it?"
Gawain rolls his eyes, still smiling. "I do, in fact. I like the sound of adventure and I'd definitely wear his garbs."
"They're not very pratical for adventure."
"No, but you must admit he looks great! I want to look great too."
<</if>>
Gawain talks you through each card, showing off each beautifully painted illustration as he explains their symbolism. You're familiar with the notions due to your magical studies, though Morgana's never put an emphasis on divination, deeming it too ambigous and volatile a branch of magic for her taste. Each card has a dual meaning - two sides of the same coin, opposites of each other. At the end of his enthusiastic and garrulous presentation, he asks you to pick a favorite among the deck. There's many to choose from - seventy eight cards, to be precise. Still, there's one in particular that caught your attention, that made your eye and thought alike linger on it, that you find yourself now reaching for.
<div class="choice">[["The Tower." It means destruction and mayhem; drastic changes.|Chapt4MordredTarot][$chapt4_mordred_card to "tower"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The Magician." It symbolizies magic, power, reaching one's full potential. Using one's abilities.|Chapt4MordredTarot][$chapt4_mordred_card to "magician"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The Monarch." It means authority, protection, defense, confidence, gentleness.|Chapt4MordredTarot][$chapt4_mordred_card to "monarch"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The Hermit." It symbolizes self reflection and contemplation.|Chapt4MordredTarot][$chapt4_mordred_card to "hermit"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The Chariot." It means determination, victory and assertion.|Chapt4MordredTarot][$chapt4_mordred_card to "chariot"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The High Priest." It symbolizes goodness, generosity, devotion and dedication.|Chapt4MordredTarot][$chapt4_mordred_card to "high priest"]]</div><<if $chapt4_gawain_pinkie == 1>>
You keep your pinkie right there, flush against Gawain's, that miniscule patch of skin tingling much like the familiar itch of your fire. Gawain doesn't move his hand either as he continues recounting his and Nimue's magical mishap with the green-colored potion and the messy yet harmless explosion.
You talk for some more before you take your leave.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_pinkie == 2>>
Your pulse quickens as you make up your mind, and takes on an outright galloping rhythm as you reach out and delicately hook your pinkie around his. Gawain halts. The magical mishap he and Nimue had with the green-colored potion and the messy yet harmless explosion is all forgotten as his bemused gaze shifts to your linked pinkies, his eyes shining golden brown in the sunlight. Then it slides up to your face, to the small smile on your lips. He smiles back, cheeks splotching pink, and curls his pinkie around yours. You stay in silence for a while, fingers intertwined, suspended in a moment of tenderness like specks of dust in a shower of light.
When he resumes his story, he speaks softer, quieter. You talk for some more before you take your leave.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_pinkie == 3>>
You slowly pull your hand away, leaving a cold sliver of space between your pinkies. It's but a small gap, but it feels to you like a deep canyon through which pain howls like a doleful gale. Gawain's oblivious to it all, continuing to recount the magical mishap he and Nimue had with the green-colored potion and the messy yet harmless explosion.
You talk for some more before you take your leave.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_pinkie == 4>>
Your pulse quickens as you make up your mind, and takes on an outright galloping rhythm as you reach out and delicately hook your pinkie around his.Gawain halts. The magical mishap he and Nimue had with the green-colored potion and the messy yet harmless explosion is all forgotten and his bemused gaze shifts to your linked pinkies, his eyes shining golden brown in the sunlight. Then it slides up to your face, to the small smile on your lips. He smiles back, cheeks splotching/tinting pink, and curls his pinkie around yours. You stay in silence for a while, fingers intertwined, suspended in a moment of tenderness like specks of dust in a shower of light.
"Gawain," you break the quiet, "There's something I want to tell you." The boy inhales sharply, as if something in your tone must have clued him in to what's to come. "I like you. //Relly// like you. I have, for a while now."
The pink in his cheeks deepens. He lurches on his side, head propped up in hand, hovering close enough to you that his warm breath tickles your face. "You do?" he asks, still surprised, and you nod. His stupor is starting to sow unease in you, as you find yourself in danger of withering under his gaze - the meaning of which you simply can't fathom. Does he nurture the same feeling - and never hoped you would return it? Or is your infatuation such a strange notion, as he never even entertained the possibility, not with you.
"I...I didn't expect you'd like me //this way//," Gawain says, which only makes your stomach tighten further in on itself. Yet he's smiling, giving you a little sliver of hope. "But...I like you too," he confesses, sparing you the torment. He smiles wider now and it lights up his whole face.
Gawain reaches out, fingers splayed out, proffering his hand in a silent invitation. You take it and he twines his fingers with yours, squeezing gently.
"I'm glad," you say, though the word feels like a shameful, terrible understatement of what you truly feel.
Gawain beams. "Me too."
He scooches closer to you, and lets his head flop down on his folded arm as a cushion. You mirror his stance, your linked hands resting in the small space between you. You stay like this for a while, talking in hushed voices, before you take your leave.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_pinkie == 5>>
You keep your pinkie right there, flush against Gawain's, that miniscule patch of skin tingling much like the familiar itch of your fire. Gawain doesn't move his hand either as he continues recounting his and Nimue's magical mishap with the green-colored potion and the messy yet harmless explosion. You let him finish his story, listening raptly, a soft smile affixed to your lips as you watch him speak with such enthusiasm.
"Gawain," you say as he taps his foot against the rug, humming a merry tune you recognize from yesterday's party. "There's something I want to tell you."
He turns his head to the side, meeting your gaze. "Yes?"
You take a deep breath as heat floods your cheeks. Suddenly, your throat feels tight, closing in on the words you want to get out - must get out. Your infatuation grew and grew till it bloomed in you lush and abundant, spilling into everything you do, every word you wrote, every touch you stole, every glance you peeked. You steel yourself and blurt out: "I like you." Once the confession's out, it feels like a dam's been broken, and everything else flows out with ease: "I //really// like you. I've felt so for a while now."
Pink blossoms in his cheeks as he stares at you, marveling somewhat - as if seeing you anew. He lurches on his side, head propped up in hand, hovering close enough to you that his warm breath tickles your face. "You do?" he asks, still surprised, and you nod. His stupor is starting to sow unease in you, as you find yourself in danger of withering under his gaze - the meaning of which you simply can't fathom. Does he nurture the same feeling - and never hoped you would return it? Or is your infatuation such a strange notion, as he never even entertained the possibility, not with you.
"I...I didn't expect you'd like me //this way//," Gawain says, which only makes your stomach tighten further in on itself. Yet he's smiling, giving you a little sliver of hope. "But...I like you too," he confesses, sparing you the torment, as the pink on his cheeks deepens. He smiles wider now and it lights up his whole face.
Gawain reaches out, fingers splayed out, proffering his hand in a silent invitation. You take it and he twines his fingers with yours, squeezing gently.
"I'm glad," you say, though the word feels like a shameful, terrible understatement of what you truly feel.
Gawain beams. "Me too."
He scooches closer to you, and lets his head flop down on his folded arm as a cushion. You mirror his stance, your linked hands resting in the small space between you. You stay like this for a while, talking in hushed voices, before you take your leave.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_pinkie == 6>>
You playfully bump your hand into his and grin. "Sounds like a big mess."
"It was!"
You talk for some more before you take your leave.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]<<if $chapt4_gawain_pinkie == 1>>
You keep your hand right where it is, pinkie flush against Gawain's. Your skin tingles, that pleasant itching like your fire teeming just beneath. You relish this proximity, this closeness that you have with Gawain and comes to easily and casually. You listen raptly as he continues the tale of the magicla mishap he and Nimue had with the green-colored potion and the messy yet harmless explosion.
You talk for some more before you take your leave.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_pinkie == 2>>
You delicately hook your pinkie around his, craving this proximity, this closeness that comes so easily between you. Gawain halts. The magical mishap he and Nimue had with the green-colored potion and the messy yet harmless explosion is all forgotten as his bemused gaze shifts to your linked pinkies, his eyes shining golden brown in the sunlight. Then it slides up to your face, to the small smile on your lips that morphs to mirror his sudden surprise. What's with his reaction? What's with //your reaction//, what's that fluttering in your stomach, as if you've just taken flight? Gawain smiles softly, cheeks splotching/tinting pink, and curls his pinkie around yours. You stay in silence for a while, fingers intertwined, suspended in a moment of tenderness like specks of dust in a shower of light.
When he resumes his story, he speaks softer, quieter. You talk for some more before you take your leave.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_pinkie == 3>>
Your stomach twists at the proximity, fluttering as if you've just taken flight. You slowly pull your hand away, frowning at the ceiling as you try to untangle your feelings. Oblivious to your confusion, Gawain continues the tale of the magicla mishap he and Nimue had with the green-colored potion and the messy yet harmless explosion.
You talk for some more before you take your leave.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_pinkie == 4>>
You playfully bump your hand into his and grin. "Sounds like a big mess."
"It was!"
You talk for some more before you take your leave.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]<<if $chapt4_pronouns == 8>>
<div class="choice">[[You don't quite identify with being a girl, but neither with being a boy.|Chapt4Leave][$trans_count to $trans_count+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't quite identify with being a girl, and boy is starting to seem more fitting.|Chapt4Leave][$trans_count to $trans_count+2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_pronouns == 7>>
<div class="choice">[[You don't quite identify with being a boy, but neither with being a girl.|Chapt4Leave][$trans_count to $trans_count+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't quite identify with being a boy, and girl is starting to seem more fitting.|Chapt4Leave][$trans_count to $trans_count+2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_pronouns == 9>>
"How is he faring?" she asks, but your hurried strides have already taken you far enough to completely make out Accolon's response; it seems positive though.
<<elseif $chapt4_pronouns == 10>>
"How is she faring?" she asks, but your hurried strides have already taken you far enough to completely make out Accolon's response; it seems positive though.
<</if>>
[[Later|Chapt4.5]]<<silently>><<set $trans to true>><</silently>>
<<if $chapt4_pronouns == 4>>
"How is she faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you. You've come to the conclusion that the pronouns don't bother you, just simply the way you've been viewed.
<div class="choice">[[You're not a girl or boy.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You associate with certain aspects of girlhood, but you don't fully identify as a girl. You're just...you.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_pronouns == 5>>
"How are they faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you. You've come to the conclusion that this is the way of addressing you that simply falls perfectly into place, like a missing puzzle piece that completes the picture. It's what feels right.
<div class="choice">[[You're not a girl or boy, so it only feels right.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You associate with both aspects of girlhood and boyhood, but don't want to be neatly boxed into either.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You associate with certain aspects of girlhood, but you don't fully identify as a girl. You're just...you, and these pronouns fit you best right now.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You associate with certain aspects of boyhood, but you don't fully identify as a boy. You're just...you, and these pronouns fit you best right now.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_pronouns == 6>>
"How is he faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you. You've come to the conclusion that this is the way of addressing you that simply falls perfectly into place, like a missing puzzle piece that completes the picture. It's what feels right.
<div class="choice">[[You're a boy, after all, and people address you accordingly.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "male"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[While you associate with certain aspects of boyhood, you don't fully identify as a boy. You're just...you, and these pronouns fit you best right now.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<</if>><<silently>><<set $trans to true>><</silently>>
<<if $chapt4_pronouns == 1>>
"How is she faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you. You've come to the conclusion that this is the way of addressing you that simply falls perfectly into place, like a missing puzzle piece that completes the picture. It's what feels right.
<div class="choice">[[You're a girl, after all, and people address you accordingly.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "female"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[While you associate with certain aspects of girlhood, you don't fully identify as a girl. You're just...you, and these pronouns fit you best right now.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_pronouns == 2>>
"How are they faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you. You've come to the conclusion that this is the way of addressing you that simply falls perfectly into place, like a missing puzzle piece that completes the picture. It's what feels right.
<div class="choice">[[You're not a girl or boy, so it only feels right.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You associate with both aspects of girlhood and boyhood, but don't want to be neatly boxed into either.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You associate with certain aspects of girlhood, but you don't fully identify as a girl. You're just...you, and these pronouns fit you best right now.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You associate with certain aspects of boyhood, but you don't fully identify as a boy. You're just...you, and these pronouns fit you best right now.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_pronouns == 3>>
"How is he faring?" Sera asks of Accolon, referring to you. You've come to the conclusion that the pronouns don't bother you, simply the way you've been viewed.
<div class="choice">[[You're not a girl or boy.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You associate with certain aspects of boyhood, but you don't fully identify as a boy. You're just...you.|Chapt4Leave][$gender to "nb"]]</div>
<</if>>You spend the rest of the day alternating between catching up with each of your guests, playing with the kids, listening to the adults say how much you've grown and what a winsome little squire you are, the kind of compliments they love to make that would sound quite belittling were they not told with such endearment.
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true and $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
Arthur expresses Guin's regret for having missed the occasion, a sentiment she's made known in her last letter sent as well. What else he tells you is that she has gifts for both you and $dragon_name: a cat plush for you, and a raven one for your friend, stitched by her own deft hands.
Late into the evening the dragons continue their merry assembly out on the field, while the rest of you move to Morgana's parlor. Her drawing chamber was not designed in mind with quite so many people inside, but it's a nice kind of crowded, a lively room packed with smiles and laughter and pleasant chit chat.
[[Next|Chapt4Birthday]]
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
Late into the evening the dragons continue their merry assembly out on the field, while the rest of you move to Morgana's parlor. Her drawing chamber was not designed in mind with quite so many people inside, but it's a nice kind of crowded, a lively room packed with smiles and laughter and pleasant chit chat.
[[Next|Chapt4Birthday]]
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Arthur expresses Guin's regret for having missed the occasion, a sentiment she's made known in her last letter sent as well. What else he tells you is that she has gifts for both you and $dragon_name: a cat plush for you, and a raven one for your friend, stitched by her own deft hands.
Late into the evening the dragons continue their merry assembly out on the field, while the rest of you move to Morgana's parlor. Her drawing chamber turns lively with your arrival, packed with smiles and laughter and pleasant chit chat.
[[Next|Chapt4Birthday]]
<<else>>
Late into the evening the dragons continue their merry assembly out on the field, while the rest of you move to Morgana's parlor. Her drawing chamber turns lively with your arrival, packed with smiles and laughter and pleasant chit chat.
[[Next|Chapt4Birthday]]
<</if>>Like you, $dragon_name's day has been filled with lectures - on dragons' own history, on the humans' tongue.
$dragon_He's more than happy when you arrive with a suggestion to hang out at your spot by the river.
"Ooh, I do need a limbering flight after all those lessons," $dragon_name says as $dragon_he prepares to take off.
[[By the river|Chapt4Hangout1]]You nestle against each other in the shadowy alcove formed by the trees lining the river bank. You discard your cape and hat - haphazardly balancing the hat on $dragon_name's head, eliciting a gravelly guffaw from $dragon_him - and lean against your dragon's side, resting your cheek against $dragon_his smooth scales.
A tranquil silence settles between you, broken by $dragon_name: "You're sweaty." You poke $dragon_his side in response.
<<include Chapt4Letters>><<if $chapt4_smile == 1>>
Your lips curl into a bright, friendly smile. "Hello!" you say, taking in the young Priest with her halo of curly, unruly dark hair and kind, white-teethed smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes.
<<elseif $chapt4_smile == 2>>
You nod curtly, a quick enough motion to pass of as greeting, and take in the young Priest with her halo of curly, unruly dark hair and kind, white-teethed smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes.
<<elseif $chapt4_smile == 3>>
"Hello," you peep, voice small and shy but smile friendly, as you take in the young Priest with her halo of curly, unruly dark hair and kind, white-teethed smile that crinkles the corners of her eyes.
<</if>>
"You're Mordred, right? Of course you are," she affirms before you can even open your mouth. "Robin asked me to stay with you until they return. I brought you these," she extends a wrapped up napkin. You take it, unfolding it to reveal a handful of small, crescent-shaped, sugar-powdered pastries. "They're fresh out of the oven. Well, relatively. They've had time to cool enough to eat. We're baking them for our patients. Oh! Not that I'm stealing from them, poor souls, no," she assures you despite you showing no concern about that possibility. "Mikhail always bakes way too much so it's fine you can go ahead. They're not poisoned." She laughs at her own little joke then slaps her mouth as horror dawns on her face. "Oh dear. That wasn't meant as an allusion to anything. It's just-just enjoy them." She laughs again, this time somewhat uneasily. Then she shifts to take the armchair next to you, pauses to ask if she might sit then proceeds to do so before you can reply. She twiddles her thumbs in her lap, watching you pick up one of the pastries. "So, what do you think of our little Temple? I know it's not your first time, but do you like it?"
<div class="choice">[["It's lovely," you say politely. It can't compare to the Avalonian temple, but it's not unseemly either.|Chapt4TempleTalk][$chapt4_temple to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's fine, I guess," you shrug. You don't really care either way.|Chapt4TempleTalk][$chapt4_temple to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It certainly is a Temple," you say because you have nothing else to say.|Chapt4TempleTalk][$chapt4_temple to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's lovely," you say genuinely.|Chapt4TempleTalk][$chapt4_temple to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The one in Avalon is better," you say.|Chapt4TempleTalk][$chapt4_temple to 5]]</div>Back at the castle, you seek out Morgana to see if your potion is ready. To your great delight, it is.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
You guzzle the potion down, drinking it all in one big gulp. You proceed to cough while Morgana gently pats your back, but you smile through the wheezing. It has an intense, somewhat tangy taste that lingers on your tongue but most of all it tastes like happiness.
<<else>>
You feel like you could drink it in one big gulp, but temper yourself to sip it steadily. It has an intense, somewhat tangy taste that lingers on your tongue but most of all it tastes like happiness.
<</if>>
[[Next day|Chapt4Flight]]<<silently>>
<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter != "no" and $chapt4_read_gawain_letter != "empty" and $chapt4_read_gawain_letter != "ally">><<set $chapt4_gawain_invited to true>><</if>>
<<if $chapt3_arthur_library is true>><<set $chapt4_arthur_invited to true>><</if>>
<</silently>>
Your first guests arrive one week before your birthday.
Junia and her dads - Marcellus and Gaius - have visited for every birthday since you left Avalon. They have a long way to travel from the island to Lothia so each time they come their stay is prolonged to as much as a fortnight, and it's always some of the best two weeks of the year.
As is your custom upon arrival, Marcellus bemoans not being able to bring his famous, delicious fruit tarts for fear of not tasting as good as fresh. You pretend to be upset to humour him before he triumphantly reveals that he still brought along the necessary fruits, all lovingly grown in his beloved garden. He always asks the kitchen staff to lend him a corner of the kitchen during the lazy hours, and he always makes extra for them, too. Morgana makes time to join him when he bakes, catching up over tumblers of his lemon liquor that causes his freckly cheeks to flush red and Morgana to giggle, liquor that you're not yet old enough to drink.
Gaius, on the other had, always comes with what he calls a //visiting gift//, which he insists has nothing to do with your birthday and is definitely not a sneaky way of spoiling you - not that you mind being spoiled. He brings presents for Morgana, Accolon, $dragon_name and Gareth too but never anything for the Duke. You've overheard Gaius use some very strong words when he thought you couldn't hear him, all referring to Lot and none of them favourable.
Morgana's rarely seen without Junia by her side throughout their visit. She takes liberties from her duties and responsabilites as Duchess where she can so that she may entertain her guests; and when she can't shake them off she invites Junia to her study for company. You doubt much gets done - you've heard servants whisper they can always hear muffled laughter when passing by the door.
The Court is usually reticent to associate with someone as close to Morgana as Junia, so you always marvel at the way the Priest's sweet smile and kind demeanor can mellow, if only a little, the frigid, dark hearts of Lothia. It doesn't take long for the nobles to falter once the redhead puts on her freckly, dimpled smile and speaks in that polite, gentle voice that tends to climb an octave when she's nervous and turn to timid giggling that's more akin to chiming bells. Her status as Priest in the Temple of the Lady of the Lake demands a certain degree of respect too - be it readily or reluctantly given. It'd be a great shame to mistreat clergy, and an Avalonian guest on top of it.
Morgana has told that it was Junia she modelled herself after in those horrid two years where she pretended to be a rose with no thorns Uther plucked and offered to Lot. It was Junia who had unwittingly taught her how sweetness may be poison, how tenderness may be a dagger; how a mask of gentle innocence may get you what you want.
The one utterly unimpressed remains Duke Lot himself. To be truthful, you've rarely seen the two interact, and it seems to be out of a mutual desire for distance. The only times you've seen soft-spoken, gentle Junia get heated is late into the evening after she's had a couple glasses of Marcellus' liquor and Lot's name comes up. She speaks with clear disgust, features twisted in an uncharacteristic moue. But just beneath the surface there's fear brewing, too. A heavy uneasiness that seeps into her words like the crisp night breeze that makes her small frame shudder.
[[Next|Chapt4Dads]]<<if $chapt4_junia_visit == 1>>
The falling out her and Morgana had must have been quite brutal to reduce Junia to a sobbing mess. The possibility that the two of them might not recover from it seems dangerously likely to crystallize, and seizes your chest with a sharp pain. You call out to Junia, and she halts as she reaches for the doorknob. "Junia? Will you and your dads come next year to my birthday?"
Her face crumbles. Something - your question, or perhaps the barely concealed alarm in your voice - seems to have torn her asunder. "Of course, Mordred."
<<else>>
As she slips out the door, you wonder about the falling out between her and Morgana. It must have been quite brutal to reduce Junia to a sobbing mess. The possibility that the two of them might not recover from it seems dangerously likely to crystallize, and seizes your chest with a sharp pain.
<</if>>
You sit on the edge of your bed, letting your legs dangle off the side, letting your eyes rest, unfocused and hazy, on specks of dust dancing in a beam of morning light. Today you were supposed to spend time with your family and guests which will be leaving tomorrow, but last night's revelations cloud your disposition. You suspect a lot of what should have been unwinding and relaxing will turn into difficult conversations.
<<if $chapt4_go != "bed">>
Whatever you do next, though, you first take a much-needed bath and change.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4NextDayConvo>><<if $chapt4_comfort_junia == 1>>
You pluck the closest handkerchief to hand Junia and run your hand up and down on her back soothingly. She crumples the handkerchief with shaking, clumsy fingers, then dabs furiously at her eyes while she lets pour a deluge of tears. When she's finally done she straightens and blows her nose with a sad, pitieous honk like a horn heralding the defeat of troops.
<<else>>
You jolt with alarm, nonplussed at the sudden outburt. You get your bearings enough to pluck the closest handkerchief and hand it Junia. She crumples the handkerchief with shaking, clumsy fingers, then dabs furiously at her eyes while she lets pour a deluge of tears. You sit next to her, brow puckered, balling and opening your fists, about as helpful as the sofa in the corner. Even a small rectangle of cloth is of more use to her. When she's finally done she straightens and blows her nose with a sad, pitieous honk like a horn heralding the defeat of troops.
<</if>>
She delicately folds the hankerchief - a rather difficult endeavor to attempt on the drenched cloth - and sighs. She looks even more weary than before, but much calmer, like the sea after a storm.
"I know what your mother tells you, Mordred," she says softly. "I know she wants revenge, and that's what she teaches to you as well. But..." she catches your gaze, and hold it almost imploringly. "Please don't let it consume you, Mordred."
<<if $want_revenge == "yes">>
You frown at the words. Of course Junia would say that; she doesn't understand. She's led a sheltered, happy, carefree life growing up on Avalon, away from the machinations of the court and the cruelty of war, cosseted by two loving fathers that no one pulled her away from. Following the path of a Temple Priest because that's what she always wanted, blossoming in a career she had the freedom to chose for herself. Her family may have received Morgana with open arms, but it'll never change the fact that your mother's a Le Fay who's been viciously torn from her own, stripped of everything and humiliated.
And you're the Le Fay that will set it all right whatever it takes.
"We deserve retribution," you say, thrusting out your chin.
Junia shakes her head, lips thinned to a grim line.
<<elseif $want_revenge == "no">>
The words surprise you, but they shouldn't. Junia's known your mother since they were little kids. She must have seen the flame of her hate kindle and grow hungry, greedy, destructive, becoming the fire you know all too well. You don't want to let yourself be consumed by it, till it's the only fuel capable to keep you going, the only light to guide a path of destruction, the only warmth that can fill the cold hollows of your heart.
"I won't," you promise and Junia smiles. It's a rueful smile.
<<elseif $want_revenge == "unsure">>
Unease sweeps over you, conflicting emotions swarming your head. You don't quite know what you want, at this point. Junia's known your mother since they were little kids. She must have seen the flame of her hate kindle and grow hungry, greedy, destructive, becoming the fire you know all too well. You don't want to let yourself be consumed by it, till it's the only fuel capable to keep you going, the only light to guide a path of destruction, the only warmth that can fill the cold hollows of your heart. But don't you deserve justice? Your family has suffered so much, you wish there were something you could do to set it all right.
You simply shake your head, as if the frantic motion might put your thoughts in order and help you make up your mind, let you see the matter clearly. Junia looks on at you, lips thinned in a grim line.
<</if>>
Junia gets up in a suspire of silk. "I'm sorry," she says as she places the sodden hankerchief on your bedside table. You're not quite sure if she's apologizing for it or something else. "I came to check up on you, but I ended up being the one in need of comfort." She laughs, but the sound is mirthless and fades as quickly as a flame in a gale. She places a light hand on your shoulder. "Will you be alright?"
You nod weakly. "Will you?"
She rubs at a blotched cheek and nods. Thus settled, she moves to leave.
<div class="choice">[["Junia! Will you and your dads come next year too?" What if Junia and Morgana can't reconcile? Will you see more of them?|Chapt4JuniaCome][$chapt4_junia_visit to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You let her leave.|Chapt4JuniaCome][$chapt4_junia_visit to 2]]</div>//Junia's POV//
Junia has always been quite a lightweight. The combined forces of the Avalonian wine and the liquor - both deliciously sweet and dangerously potent - went right to her head. Last night she stumbled into her room, feeling for the bed in the darkness, muffling a curse when her toe eagerly connected with it, and collapsed atop the sheets still in her party garbs. With what energy she had left she peeled off her jewelry and fell asleep midway to putting a bracelet away. She was rudely awoken by a commotion in the hall some time later - she wasn't sure how much time had passed - and in her drunken stupor she made her way to the door. By the time she stuck her head out in the corridor to check, the source of the hubbub was gone and she went back to bed.
<<if $chapt4_lot_truth == 4>>
It's only now at breakfast upon seeing Morgana's haggard face across the table that Junia realizes she hasn't dreamt the whole thing. More hazy, alcohol-tinted recollections trickle through, made clearer by the crisp morning light and the sobering pounding between her temples. Last night she woke up due to screaming in the hall, the words unintelligible even as she tries to dredge them up. It came from very close; close, like Morgana's chambers were positioned to her own.
<<else>>
It's only now at breakfast, upon seeing Morgana's haggard face across the table that Junia realizes she hasn't dreamt the whole thing. More hazy, alcohol-tinted recollections trickle through, made clearer by the crisp morning light and the sobering pounding between her temples. Last night she woke up due to thunderous knocking that had seemed to come from her door; but now it dawned on her it could have very well been from the other woman's door.
<</if>>
Junia takes a better, longer look at Morgana. She's yet to apply any tint to her face, hair falling free over the dressing gown she's pulled atop her nightgown. Dark circles mar the skin underneath her eyes, rendering them even more gloomy a vision than her bloodshot, grim expression already so amply achieves. Fatigue cast her whole face in harsh lines and deep shadows.
"What happened last night?" Junia asks, helping herself to a cup of Morgana's hangover-curing potion.
Morgana stops in the process of slathering butter on her slice of bread a bit more forcefully than the action warrants. She stands frozen like that, knife gripped too tightly in hand, staring down at the bread as if it had personally offended her. Then she slowly places them down, daintily rubs her fingers on a cloth and looks up at Junia, expression no less foreboding.
"My dear husband," she says with no small amount of acid, "decided to give Mordred a //birthday gift//."
Junia's stomach sinks. The mention of that horrible man's name is enough to send a wave of furious heat up her cheeks every time. She's hated him from the moment the forced engagement was announced - from the moment Morgana was whisked away from Avalon. The dull pain behind her eyes throbs sharper.
"Oh no. //Poor Mordred.// What did that man do?"
"He chose last night, of all nights, to tell Mordred about ?their conception."
That gives Junia pause. "You mean...the truth? The whole truth of it?"
Morgana nods. Junia's brow pinches. Lot's cruelty knows no bounds, it seems. Choosing to make such a horrifying confession to a child, on ?their birthday, knowing very well that'd be in high spirits, just to tear ?them down, to crush ?them under his boot as Lot's been doing for years. Just to what - get at a woman he has the gall to be mad at after all he's done to her.
"How's Mordred taking it?"
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry">>
"About as well as you can imagine." Morgana leans back in her chair and runs a palm over her face, shoulders slouching with an inaudible sigh. "Mordred's mad at me, and ?they got it into ?their head that I don't love ?them." Half-covered by the hand rubbing at her temples, Junia still catches the flash of pain that crosses her expression.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset">>
"About as well as you can imagine." Morgana leans back in her chair and runs a palm over her face, shoulders slouching with an inaudible sigh. "Mordred's upset with me, and ?they got it into ?their head that I don't love ?them." Half-covered by the hand rubbing at her temples, Junia still catches the flash of pain that crosses her expression.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_angry">>
"About as well as you can imagine." Morgana leans back in her chair and runs a palm over her face, shoulders slouching with an inaudible sigh. "Mordred's mad at me. Very much so." Half-covered by the hand rubbing at her temples, Junia still catches the flash of pain that crosses her expression.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">>
"About as well as you can imagine." Morgana leans back in her chair and runs a palm over her face, shoulders slouching with an inaudible sigh. "Mordred's upset with me. Very much so." Half-covered by the hand rubbing at her temples, Junia still catches the flash of pain that crosses her expression.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok">>
"About as well as you can imagine." Morgana leans back in her chair and runs a palm over her face, shoulders slouching with an inaudible sigh.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
"About as well as you can imagine." Morgana leans back in her chair and runs a palm over her face, shoulders slouching with an inaudible sigh. "?They got it into ?their head that I don't love ?them." Half-covered by the hand rubbing at her temples, Junia still catches the flash of pain that crosses her expression.
<</if>>
Junia flees her chair to sit down by Morgana's side, half-drunk cup forgotten behind her. She seeks the woman's hand under the table and squeezes her fingers then inches closer, leaning her body towards her - a silent, open invitation. Morgana takes it, resting her head on Junia's shoulder, allowing her friend to wrap an arm around her. Junia traces calming circles on the back of her hand, applies gentle pressure on her shoulder. They'd stayed like this many times before. Sometimes there were tears involved, sometimes curses, sometimes both. Other times the wind howled around them and the fire blazed - the water sloshed and the earth cracked under them, all sharing in Morgana's agony.
"It's alright, it's alright," she mutters. "You'll have to work it out from here. Have a talk with Mordred." It won't be easy, and it won't be beautiful. There are many facets to this awful affair - all of them ugly - and many complicated feelings to untangle, and it's always a difficult territory to tread when emotions run high and tempers are frayed.
At least now Mordred knows the truth. It has always bothered Junia that they had to keep up the charade, though Morgana pleaded a good case in its favor. How do you tell a young child what truly took place? How do you make them comprehend? She's tried her best to shield Mordred from it, same as she did with the prophecy.
And both times it's come back to bite her.
"Perhaps something," Junia softly begins, "I hesitate to call it //good//, but something came out of it. At least now it's all out in the open."
Morgana pulls back to throw her a withering glare. "So it's good that Lot ruined Mordred's birthday? It's good he's trying to turn my child against me?"
"Of course not, don't twist my words like that, Morgana!" Junia snaps back, cheeks heating up. It's clear Lot deliberately picked yesterday of all possible days, not as a favor of telling Mordred the truth but with all bitter intent of making ?them hurt. And he got what he wanted.
Junia does take more issue with Morgana's second accusation though. It's very true that Lot must relish the wedge this whole affair might put between Morgana and her child, but after all it's her decisions and actions that alienate Mordred. It's not Lot who deceived Arthur to conceive a child who'd spell her revenge - and it's not Lot who then deceived said child too.
"Mordred deserves to know the truth," Junia goes on, tempering her tone, "And now ?they can better understand Arthur's side, too, after years of getting only your own version of the tale."
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Morgana draws back, shrugging off the arm wrapped around her. The distance between them feels cold. "Arthur's side is that he is a coward who couldn't take responsability of his child until now."
<<else>>
Morgana draws back, shrugging off the arm wrapped around her. The distance between them feels cold. "Arthur's side is that he is a coward who couldn't take responsability of his child."
<</if>>
Junia laughs. It's more of a wheeze, an aggrieved puff of air forced through her nose by sheer disbelief. "Oh wow Morgana, I wonder why! Certainly not because of what you did to him!"
"I did what had to be done."
"You raped him!"
Defeaning silence is all that follows. Junia's heart beats a wild rhythm in her chest, in her ears and behind her eyes, pulsating furious, hot red.
"I did what I had to do." Morgana's tone is chilling, menacing and firm, like a knife pressed against your throat. This is not a line of conversation she intends to continue; all Junia will achieve is bang her fists against a shield of cold, callous excuses, thrashing till the knife draws blood.
There's a chasm between them. It runs deep and it runs long, teeming with swallowed reproaches and smothered bitterness.
Junia springs up. The chair's legs drag on the wood, a woeful screech that racks clawed fingers down her brain. She's shaking. Her whole frame quivers with everything she's been suppressing. All these years she's clammed up whenever she's heard that tone in Morgana's voice. Bit her tongue at the mere sight of Morgana's expression clouding, heralding the storm that is her temper. Not this time. This time she's going to let it all out. Hopefully, she thinks as her stomach coils and twists, she won't expel something else too.
"Morgana, I love you," Junia starts, straining to stay calm. "You're my sister. But I can't keep pretending you're not doing harm. I can't keep standing by your side like this. Indulging and humouring you. Fearing to speak up on your destructive tendencies. I feel like someone must finally tell you that at this point, you've become just like the ones you're seeking to punish - a villain yourself, hurting innocent people."
Morgana stares up at her as if it's Junia yielding the knife, pressing its blade against her throat, pushing till it cuts in. Staring up in horror as the blood drips. Junia doesn't wait for a response. She's tired of empty justifications. She's tired of ardent declarations of vengeance. But worse of it all, she fears of what she'll see in Morgana's face once the shock seeps away. She doesn't want to glimpse that shadow of deep-buried regret that Morgana always so quickly patches over with that stubborn, imperious facade.
Junia careens out the door into the hall, eyes prickling with tears. She thought that giving Morgana a piece of her mind - which was long overdue - would bring some sort of satisfaction, however bitter, but it was all swallowed up by an overflowing sadness. She hates that it had to come to this. She hates what Morgana has become. Yet at the same time, there's a grim determination: she can't walk back on what she's done, not if she hopes the words to finally reach Morgana.
She might have just lost her sister.
[[Continue|Chapt4JuniaPOVNext]]But then again, perhaps she's lost her a long time ago.
Junia always knew there was a vicious spark in Morgana. She knew all it took to get out of control and consume everything was a little kindling - and being forced to leave Avalon was more than just that for Morgana. It was like dousing a small flame in alcohol and watching the fire rage. Now it feels like her friend is just a glimmer lost in this hateful, vengeful blazing storm.
When Morgana came with Mordred, Junia had already heard the rumours. They travel fast, faster than dragons, and soon everyone knew the Duchess of Lothia carried a child out of welock and fled in shame to the only place that would welcome her. No one knew it was Arthur's child.
When Morgana confessed to her, she wasn't sure what to feel. It was as if she had been thrown into ice cold water, frozen and paralyzed. There were moments before in which she'd seen that wild, frantic, loathing look in Morgana's eyes. It was anger born out of suffering. The look of a caged animal ready to claw and bite and destroy everything the moment it's loose. It always wrung her heart to see her like that. But that time, it froze the blood in her veins. Yet the look was far from cold. It was hot and burning, ready to ravish everything in its path.
It was love and desperate hope that kept Junia clinging to her sister. She's overlooked cruel deed after cruel deed, stood stalwartly by her side as she watched revenge twist Morgana. And it was love, too, that made her put her foot down now.
If Morgana is ever going to change, Junia has to be the ice quencing the fire.
<<if $chapt4_go == "bed">>
Junia finds herself in front of Mordred's door, rapping urgently against the sturdy wood. No answer comes. She tries again; this time there's movement beyond.
[[Continue|Chapt4TalkJuniaInside]]
<<else>>
Junia finds herself in front of Mordred's door, rapping urgently against the sturdy wood. No answer comes. She tries again, to no avail. Yet she needs to talk with Mordred so she plants herself by ?their chamber, resolute to wait.
[[Continue|Chapt4TalkJuniaOutside]]
<</if>>"You've been practising fire storytelling," Junia's saying. "Could I get a little demonstration?"
<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
Your dragon friend suddenly turns bashful, head lowered as $dragon_he murmurs, "I don't know..."
It takes a bit of coaxing and encouraging from the two of you for $dragon_name to step outside the pavilion onto the grass away from anything flammable, such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet.
<<else>>
Your dragon friend suddenly perks up, head held higer as $dragon_he nods. $dragon_He doesn't have to be asked twice before $dragon_he steps outside the pavilion onto the grass away from anything flammable, such as the sea of comfy pillows and the lush carpet.
<</if>>
"Alright, but it's your birthday, Mordred, so you should choose what I do."
<div class="choice">[["\"A pair of knights flying.\""|Chapt4CozyDragonFriend4][$chapt4_fireshow to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Our spot by the river.\""|Chapt4CozyDragonFriend4][$chapt4_fireshow to 2]]</div><<if $conception_opinion == "tool_no">>
Your heart beats like a trapped, frenzied bird trying to escape its cage. Your whole being feels too big, too restless to be contained within your skin right now, writhing with so many conflicting, overwhelming feelings. You're shackled to a fate you do not want, to a horrifying purpose you do not want to fulfill. You're but a tool, and your existence so far a tailored lie meant to hide the awful truth. You don't know what that leaves you with - what it makes of you. Where do you go from here, how do you become more than the role you've been unwillingly assigned?
"I feel horrible," you confess, voice fragile. Junia looks at you, pained beyond words. Her fingers twitch, as if to reach out for you. "Like I'm just a tool - like my whole existence is a lie. I don't even //want// revenge," your voice breaks, shatters like a porcelain vase in shards of anguish.
Junia's hands shoot out to envelop yours. "Mordred," she pleads with you. "You are not that - you're so much more. I know this is harrowing," she says, bitting her lips, gaze darting over your face, over the chamber as if she might find the solution to soothing you written somewhere around her. Finally, her gaze settles on you, clouded with tears yet resolute. "People aren't tools. Shouldn't be. You are your own self, and in control of your choices. Always remember that."
You want to believe her, you want to cling to the reassurance those words bring you, but it slips through your fingers like sand. You can't help but dread that you've already begun fulfilling your role as tool; that what you've been told and taught have moulded you into just that.
The air feels stale, and too warm, suffocating you, burning down your lungs like fire. You need to open the window, need to douse yourself in cool water need to feel the wind whip against your cheeks.
"Mordred," Junia arrests your attention from the window, voice gentle. "Mordred, take deep breaths. In and out. Come on," she squeezes your fingers as you merely stare at her, bewildered. "In and out, together with me." She inhales through the nose, chest and shoulders rising as she does, then exhales through the mouth. You follow suit, wheezing as the air leaves your parted lips. "Close your eyes. Focus on this. Focus on relaxing your muscles."
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like meditating while praying to the Goddess," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it's meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find some quiet, but if it helps you even more, you can ask the Goddess for calm." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<elseif $chapt4_magic == "control">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like the meditation I do to control my powers," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it is meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<else>>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. "Is this what it's like praying to the Goddess?" you ask, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "In a way, yes. It's meditation. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<</if>>
You're not sure how much calm you've achieved for now, but at least you feel somewhat reassured by her words.
<<elseif $conception_opinion == "tool_unsure">>
Your heart beats like a trapped, frenzied bird trying to escape its cage. Your whole being feels too big, too restless to be contained within your skin right now, writhing with so many conflicting, overwhelming feelings. You're shackled to a fate you're not sure you want, to a purpose you do not if you'll seek to fulfill. You're but a tool, and your existence so far a tailored lie meant to hide the awful truth. You don't know what that leaves you with - what it makes of you. Where do you go from here, how do you become more than the role you've been unwillingly assigned?
"I feel horrible," you confess, voice fragile. Junia looks at you, pained beyond words. Her fingers twitch, as if to reach out for you. "Like I'm just a tool - like my whole existence is a lie," your voice breaks, shatters like a porcelain vase in shards of anguish.
Junia's hands shoot out to envelop yours. "Mordred," she pleads with you. "You are not that - you're so much more. I know this is harrowing," she says, bitting her lips, gaze darting over your face, over the chamber as if she might find the solution to soothing you written somewhere around her. Finally, her gaze settles on you, clouded with tears yet resolute. "People aren't tools. Shouldn't be. You are your own self, and in control of your choices. Always remember that."
You want to believe her, you want to cling to the reassurance those words bring you, but it slips through your fingers like sand. You can't help but dread that you've already begun fulfilling your role as tool; that what you've been told and taught have moulded you into just that.
The air feels stale, and too warm, suffocating you, burning down your lungs like fire. You need to open the window, need to douse yourself in cool water need to feel the wind whip against your cheeks.
"Mordred," Junia arrests your attention from the window, voice gentle. "Mordred, take deep breaths. In and out. Come on," she squeezes your fingers as you merely stare at her, bewildered. "In and out, together with me." She inhales through the nose, chest and shoulders rising as she does, then exhales through the mouth. You follow suit, wheezing as the air leaves your parted lips. "Close your eyes. Focus on this. Focus on relaxing your muscles."
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like meditating while praying to the Goddess," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it's meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find some quiet, but if it helps you even more, you can ask the Goddess for calm." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<elseif $chapt4_magic == "control">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like the meditation I do to control my powers," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it is meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<else>>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. "Is this what it's like praying to the Goddess?" you ask, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "In a way, yes. It's meditation. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<</if>>
You're not sure how much calm you've achieved for now, but at least you feel somewhat reassured by her words.
<<elseif $conception_opinion == "tool_yes">>
Your heart beats like a trapped, frenzied bird trying to escape its cage. Your whole being feels too big, too restless to be contained within your skin right now, writhing with so many conflicting, overwhelming feelings. You want revenge - crave it, need it - yet to learn it is the only and very thing your conception hinged on makes your stomach roil so violently you're afraid you won't be able to keep your breakfast. Is this all you are, what you've always been: but a tool, meant to achieve its purpose? Your existence a tailored lie. You don't know what that leaves you with - what it makes of you.
"I feel horrible," you confess, voice fragile. Junia looks at you, pained beyond words. Her fingers twitch, as if to reach out for you. "Like I'm just a tool - like my whole existence is a lie," your voice breaks, shatters like a porcelain vase in shards of anguish.
Junia's hands shoot out to envelop yours. "Mordred," she pleads with you. "You are not that - you're so much more. I know this is harrowing," she says, bitting her lips, gaze darting over your face, over the chamber as if she might find the solution to soothing you written somewhere around her. Finally, her gaze settles on you, clouded with tears yet resolute. "People aren't tools. Shouldn't be. You are your own self, and in control of your choices. Always remember that."
You want to believe her, you want to cling to the reassurance those words bring you, but it slips through your fingers like sand. You can't help but think your only worth lies in the role you can play, the one you've been moulded for.
The air feels stale, and too warm, suffocating you, burning down your lungs like fire. You need to open the window, need to douse yourself in cool water need to feel the wind whip against your cheeks.
"Mordred," Junia arrests your attention from the window, voice gentle. "Mordred, take deep breaths. In and out. Come on," she squeezes your fingers as you merely stare at her, bewildered. "In and out, together with me." She inhales through the nose, chest and shoulders rising as she does, then exhales through the mouth. You follow suit, wheezing as the air leaves your parted lips. "Close your eyes. Focus on this. Focus on relaxing your muscles."
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like meditating while praying to the Goddess," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it's meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find some quiet, but if it helps you even more, you can ask the Goddess for calm." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<elseif $chapt4_magic == "control">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like the meditation I do to control my powers," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it is meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<else>>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. "Is this what it's like praying to the Goddess?" you ask, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "In a way, yes. It's meditation. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all sense: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<</if>>
You're not sure how much calm you've achieved for now, but at least you feel somewhat reassured by her words.
<<elseif $conception_opinion == "more_no">>
Your heart beats like a confused, frenzied bird trying to escape its cage. Your whole being feels too big, too restless to be contained within your skin right now, writhing with so many conflicting, overwhelming feelings. Last night, your world was turned upside down with the revelation of your conception, and never quite righted from the tilted, dizzying view you now have. It's a lot to find out that you were conceived for such a horrifying purporse, that your existence so far was a tailored lie meant to hide the awful truth. You don't know what that leaves you with - but you know you don't want to be defined by it.
"I feel overwhelmed," you confess, voice fragile. Junia looks at you, pained beyond words. Her fingers twitch, as if to reach out for you. "Confused. But I don't want to let this define me. I want to make my own choices - and one of that is that I don't //want// revenge," your voice breaks, shatters like a porcelain vase in shards of anguish.
Junia's hands shoot out to envelop yours. "And you can!" she encourages you, her own voice quivering. "I know this is harrowing," she says, bitting her lips, gaze darting over your face, over the chamber as if she might find the solution to soothing you written somewhere around her. Finally, her gaze settles on you, clouded with tears yet resolute. "You are indeed more than this. You are your own self, and in control of your choices. Always remember that."
You cling to the reassurance the words bring you, holding as if it were a lifeline in a sea of thoughts trying to insidiously whisper you've already begun fulfilling the role you didn't know you were moulded to. Steeling yourself with the resolution that no matter what, you'll follow your own path.
The air feels stale, and too warm, suffocating you, burning down your lungs like fire. You need to open the window, need to douse yourself in cool water need to feel the wind whip against your cheeks.
"Mordred," Junia arrests your attention from the window, voice gentle. "Mordred, take deep breaths. In and out. Come on," she squeezes your fingers as you merely stare at her, bewildered. "In and out, together with me." She inhales through the nose, chest and shoulders rising as she does, then exhales through the mouth. You follow suit, wheezing as the air leaves your parted lips. "Close your eyes. Focus on this. Focus on relaxing your muscles."
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like meditating while praying to the Goddess," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it's meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find some quiet, but if it helps you even more, you can ask the Goddess for calm." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<elseif $chapt4_magic == "control">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like the meditation I do to control my powers," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it is meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<else>>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. "Is this what it's like praying to the Goddess?" you ask, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "In a way, yes. It's meditation. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<</if>>
You're not sure how much calm you've achieved for now, but at least you feel somewhat assuaged by her words.
<<elseif $conception_opinion == "more_unsure">>
Your heart beats like a confused, frenzied bird trying to escape its cage. Your whole being feels too big, too restless to be contained within your skin right now, writhing with so many conflicting, overwhelming feelings. Last night, your world was turned upside down with the revelation of your conception, and never quite righted from the tilted, dizzying view you now have. It's a lot to find out that you were conceived for such a purporse you don't even know if you want to fulfill, that your existence so far was a tailored lie. You don't know what that leaves you with - but you know you don't want to be defined by it.
"I feel overwhelmed," you confess, voice fragile. Junia looks at you, pained beyond words. Her fingers twitch, as if to reach out for you. "Confused. But I don't want to let this define me. I want to make my own choices," your voice breaks, shatters like a porcelain vase in shards of anguish.
Junia's hands shoot out to envelop yours. "And you can!" she encourages you, her own voice quivering. "I know this is harrowing," she says, bitting her lips, gaze darting over your face, over the chamber as if she might find the solution to soothing you written somewhere around her. Finally, her gaze settles on you, clouded with tears yet resolute. "You are indeed more than this. You are your own self, and in control of your choices. Always remember that."
You cling to the reassurance the words bring you, holding as if it were a lifeline in a sea of thoughts trying to insidiously whisper you've already begun fulfilling the role you didn't know you were moulded to. Steeling yourself with the resolution that no matter what, you'll follow your own path.
The air feels stale, and too warm, suffocating you, burning down your lungs like fire. You need to open the window, need to douse yourself in cool water need to feel the wind whip against your cheeks.
"Mordred," Junia arrests your attention from the window, voice gentle. "Mordred, take deep breaths. In and out. Come on," she squeezes your fingers as you merely stare at her, bewildered. "In and out, together with me." She inhales through the nose, chest and shoulders rising as she does, then exhales through the mouth. You follow suit, wheezing as the air leaves your parted lips. "Close your eyes. Focus on this. Focus on relaxing your muscles."
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like meditating while praying to the Goddess," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it's meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find some quiet, but if it helps you even more, you can ask the Goddess for calm." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<elseif $chapt4_magic == "control">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like the meditation I do to control my powers," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it is meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<else>>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. "Is this what it's like praying to the Goddess?" you ask, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "In a way, yes. It's meditation. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<</if>>
You're not sure how much calm you've achieved for now, but at least you feel somewhat assuaged by her words.
<<elseif $conception_opinion == "more_yes">>
Your heart beats like a confused, frenzied bird trying to escape its cage. Your whole being feels too big, too restless to be contained within your skin right now, writhing with so many conflicting, overwhelming feelings. Last night, your world was turned upside down with the revelation of your conception, and never quite righted from the tilted, dizzying view you now have. You want revenge - crave it, need it - yet to learn it's the very thing your conception hinged on leaves a strange, befuddling sentiment lingering on your mind like a dark cloud. You want revenge, but don't want to be defined by this. You are so much more than a means to an end.
"I feel overwhelmed," you confess, voice fragile. Junia looks at you, pained beyond words. Her fingers twitch, as if to reach out for you. "Confused. But I don't want to let this define me. I want to make my own choices," your voice breaks, shatters like a porcelain vase in shards of anguish.
Junia's hands shoot out to envelop yours. "And you can!" she encourages you, her own voice quivering. "I know this is harrowing," she says, bitting her lips, gaze darting over your face, over the chamber as if she might find the solution to soothing you written somewhere around her. Finally, her gaze settles on you, clouded with tears yet resolute. "You are indeed more than this. You are your own self, and in control of your choices. Always remember that."
You cling to the reassurance the words bring you, holding as if it were a lifeline in a sea of thoughts trying to insidiously whisper you've already begun fulfilling the role you didn't know you were moulded to. Steeling yourself with the resolution that no matter what, you'll follow your own path.
The air feels stale, and too warm, suffocating you, burning down your lungs like fire. You need to open the window, need to douse yourself in cool water need to feel the wind whip against your cheeks.
"Mordred," Junia arrests your attention from the window, voice gentle. "Mordred, take deep breaths. In and out. Come on," she squeezes your fingers as you merely stare at her, bewildered. "In and out, together with me." She inhales through the nose, chest and shoulders rising as she does, then exhales through the mouth. You follow suit, wheezing as the air leaves your parted lips. "Close your eyes. Focus on this. Focus on relaxing your muscles."
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like meditating while praying to the Goddess," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it's meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find some quiet, but if it helps you even more, you can ask the Goddess for calm." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<elseif $chapt4_magic == "control">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like the meditation I do to control my powers," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it is meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<else>>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. "Is this what it's like praying to the Goddess?" you ask, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "In a way, yes. It's meditation. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<</if>>
You're not sure how much calm you've achieved for now, but at least you feel somewhat assuaged by her words.
<<elseif $conception_opinion == "embrace_revenge">>
Your heart beats like a frenzied bird trying to escape its cage. Your whole being feels too big, too restless to be contained within your skin right now, writhing with so many conflicting, overwhelming feelings. Last night, your world was turned upside down with the revelation of your conception, and never quite righted from the tilted, dizzying view you know have. At the same time, it feels like a veil has been raised, and you see it all clear: the bits all fitting together so seamlessly. You want revenge - crave it, need it - and you were conceived for this very purpose, just as you've been raised to fill that role, to play your part in seeking the retribution you rfamily deserves. It's so much bigger than you, a history that extends before you and a future that it's up to you to shape; it's a lot, and you feel overwhelmed, like standing in front of a mountain whose tips fade into clouds, yet resolute to conquer its peak.
"I feel overwhelmed," you confess, voice quiet. Junia looks at you, pained beyond words. Her fingers twitch, as if to reach out for you. "But I'll be fine."
Junia studies your face, gaze doubtful. She takes your hands in hers, gnawing on her lips as she searches for words. "I know it's difficult. You don't need to brave it alone, and you don't need to hide your feelings." She smiles. "You are your own self, and in control of your choices. Always remember that."
You nod, heart still beating wildly in your chest. You wish you could open the window, but it'd only invite in the suffocating heat; you need to douse yourself in cool water, need to feel the wind whip against your cheeks.
"Mordred," Junia arrests your attention from the window, voice gentle. "Let's practice something that I'm sure will help you, shall we? Whenever you need to clear your mind, to calm yourself down. Come," she squeezes your fingers. "Take deep breaths. In and out, together with me." She inhales through the nose, chest and shoulders rising as she does, then exhales through the mouth. You follow suit, wheezing as the air leaves your parted lips. "Close your eyes. Focus on this. Focus on relaxing your muscles."
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like meditating while praying to the Goddess," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it's meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find some quiet, but if it helps you even more, you can ask the Goddess for calm." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<elseif $chapt4_magic == "control">>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. It's a comfortingly familiar process. "It's just like the meditation I do to control my powers," you say, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "Yes; well, it is meditation, after all. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<<else>>
You do as told; slowly, your wild pulse settles, and your thoughts quiet, if briefly, as you concentrate on the air passing in and out, on the way it gradually renders your tensed limbs loose and slack. "Is this what it's like praying to the Goddess?" you ask, eyes fluttering open.
Junia smiles. "In a way, yes. It's meditation. You can do it wherever you find a quiet place." She wipes at a stray tear sliding along her cheek. "You can do it likes this - concentrate on your breathing, or focus on your surroundings. Using all senses: what you hear, feel, see, even smell."
<</if>>
You're not sure how much calm you've achieved for now, but at least you feel somewhat assuaged.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext1]]You pull up your legs and cross them. "You knew about it, didn't you?"
"I did."
"How long?"
"Morgana told me when she fled to Avalon."
"So everyone knew, except for //me//."
"I'm so sorry," she says again, with far more remorse than you could wring out of Morgana herself. "It always bothered me, but I-I didn't want to overstep. I didn't even know how I might begin to tell you anything. I didn't even tell my dads, for Goddess' sake."
"Will you tell them now?"
Junia chews on her bottom lip, raking her teeth slowly over it, so hard you fear she'll draw blood any moment. "Yes." She sighs, shifts and glances at you with a tired smile more akin to a grimance. "Please don't mention anything to them yet, though. I want to be the one to tell them. I need to be the one to tell them."
"Why didn't you tell them sooner?"
She pulls a ginger ringlets till it straigthens to a taut line. "To protect them. To protect Morgana. I just - I didn't want for them to have to know what the woman they raised as their daughter did. I didn't want for her to have to face their disappointment."
A pregnant silence falls between the two of you. You're the first to break it, your voice cutting in like a knife through flesh.
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "ok" or $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
"I just want to understand //why// mother - and everyone - thought it'd be better this way."
"Well, as I said, it's not the easiest subject to discuss, and I think your mother was...afraid. Afraid of how you might react."
<<else>>
"Was anyone going to tell me eventually?" you ask, fingers closing tight around your ankle.
Junia doesn't reply immediately and when she does, her voice is barely more than a whisper. "I don't know."
<</if>>
There's a pause, then she says: "You have every right to be upset. With me, too, for not saying anything."
"You said you fought with Morgana?" you glance at her puffy, pink eyes. "Was this what you fought about?"
She dithers. "Kind of. Yes." Her face scrunches up and her lower lip sticks out, trembling slightly. She covers her mouth just in time to cover the incoming sob. Tears spring up in her eyes, falling over the back of her hand, and her shoulders shake violently. She doubles over, folding within herself as if she's received a painful blow to the guts - she might have preferred that over this pain, though.
<div class="choice">[[Comfort her.|Chapt4JuniaComfort][$chapt4_comfort_junia to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You freeze, not quite knowing what to do to comfort her.|Chapt4JuniaComfort][$chapt4_comfort_junia to 2]]</div><<if $chapt4_kay_inquire == 1>>
Given everything you've learned, it simply feels like you must interest yourself of Arthur's wellbeing, despite your self-imposed distance. It's such a strange, confusing sentiment after you've so staunchly put the man out of your mind, out of your life, yet here you are tentatively uttering the words, quiet enough to be snatched by a passing, wayward breeze. "How's Arthur?"
Kay arches a surprised eyebrow. "In general, or on this particular matter? He's happy; preocuppied with his Kingly duties, kept company by Guin, my family, Lancelot. And his little dog, of course. He's not completely untroubled, though. He's been especially pensive these last few weeks. Thinking about you, and your upcoming birthday."
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
You nod slowly, unsure of what to say. There's a rustle of fabric followed by a small, sleepy whine like that of a kitten. Isabel stirs, swaddled as she is in a pink blanket in Kay's arms. You decide this is your cue to go, and leave Kay with his slowly-rousing daughter. As you skip up the steps to the balcony, you hear her drowsy voice demanding food.
<<else>>
You nod slowly, unsure of what to say. You stay for a while longer, listening to the songbirds' cheerful melody before you take your leave.
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
There's a rustle of fabric followed by a small, sleepy whine like that of a kitten. Isabel stirs, swaddled as she is in a pink blanket in Kay's arms. You decide this is your cue to go, and leave Kay with his slowly-rousing daughter. As you skip up the steps to the balcony, you hear her drowsy voice demanding food.
<<else>>
You stay for a while longer, listening to the songbirds' cheerful melody before you take your leave.
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]<<if $chapt4_gawain_inquire == 1>>
You decide to ask, such is your yearning to hear something - anything - about the boy whose friendship you had to turn down to save yourself from potential heartache.
"How's Gawain going doing?" you ask, lanced through by pain.
Kay pockets the little opal pendant and sets the puzzle box next to him. "He's doign well. Composing his poems, playing his lute. Continuing his squire training just a you." He studies you for a moment, but you can't put a finger on the way he looks at you - is it curiosity or something else? Then he says: "Gawain asked about you too."
"He did?"
"Mhmm," he hums, continuing to study your face with a gentle smile.
You slump back against the wall with a small sigh, staring up at the vines climbing up to the balcony across the yard. Are his words as innocuous as they may seem to an outside viewer, or is there a hidden meaning for you to decipher? What should you even make of it - that Gawain hasn't forgotten you? That he still thinks of you? Or that he's merely such a sweet and polite boy that he'll inquire even after the one who spurned his friendship? The poor boy - he was so understanding of your request in his reply letter.
"That's nice of him," it's the best response you manage.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_inquire == 2>>
You battle down and smother your rising, aching curiosity to ask about Gawain. It's better this way - you'd only be turning the knife in the wound.
Kay pockets the opal pendant and sets the puzzle box next to him, leaning back against the wall as he watches a bird fly through the inner garden with a small smile on his lips.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_inquire == 3>>
You decide to ask; it's the polite thing to do, after all.
"How's Gawain going doing?" you ask.
Kay pockets the little opal pendant and sets the puzzle box next to him. "He's doign well. Composing his poems, playing his lute. Continuing his squire training just a you. Gawain asked about you too."
You smile faintly. "That's nice of him."
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_inquire == 4>>
You decide not to broach the subject. Kay pockets the opal pendant and sets the puzzle box next to him, leaning back against the wall as he watches a bird fly through the inner garden with a small smile on his lips.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_inquire == 5>>
You decide to ask, such is your yearning to hear something - anything - about the boy whose heart you must have broken in order to save your own. No use dwelling on it; you're sure Gawain has moved on by now.
"How's Gawain going doing?" you ask, lanced through by pain.
Kay pockets the little opal pendant and sets the puzzle box next to him. "He's doign well. Composing his poems, playing his lute. Continuing his squire training just a you." He studies you for a moment, but you can't put a finger on the way he looks at you - is it curiosity or something else? Then he says: "Gawain asked about you too."
Heat creeps up your neck. "He did?"
"Mhmm," he hums, continuing to study your face with a gentle smile.
You slump back against the wall with a small sigh, staring up at the vines climbing up to the balcony across the yard. Are his words as innocuous as they may seem to an outside viewer, or is there a hidden meaning for you to decipher? What should you even make of it - that Gawain hasn't forgotten you? That he still thinks of you? Or that he's merely such a sweet and polite boy that he'll inquire even after the one who spurned his romance and friendship? The poor boy - he was so understanding of your request in his reply letter.
"That's nice of him," is the best response you manage.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_inquire == 6>>
You battle down and smother your rising, aching curiosity to ask about Gawain. It's better this way - you'd only be turning the knife in the wound. Kay pockets the opal pendant and sets the puzzle box next to him, leaning back against the wall as he watches a bird fly through the inner garden with a small smile on his lips.
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_inquire == 7>>
You decide to ask; it's the polite thing to do, after all.
"How's Gawain going doing?" you ask.
Kay pockets the little opal pendant and sets the puzzle box next to him. "He's doign well. Composing his poems, playing his lute. Continuing his squire training just a you. Gawain asked about you too."
You smile faintly. "That's nice of him."
<<elseif $chapt4_gawain_inquire == 8>>
You decide not to broach the subject. Kay pockets the opal pendant and sets the puzzle box next to him, leaning back against the wall as he watches a bird fly through the inner garden with a small smile on his lips.
<</if>>
For a while you stay in companionable silence among the verdant courtyard, listening to the lilting songbird, punctuated now and then by the staccato rustle of leaves as birds hop from bough to bough. The longer the quiet, the more reluctant to talk you grow, feeling as if the words sitting on the tip of your tongue would be a brutish intrusion upon this oazis. So you indulge yourself and linger a moment more, inhaling the faint earthy smell of the soil and the sweet waft of summer flowers.
"I found out the truth," you say, voice hushed. It's befitting of the subject matter - you feel almost compelled to speak in such low tones, as if exchanging spells of the most twisted kind. "The truth about my conception."
Kay's smile falters. He squeezes his eyes shut for a pained moment before facing you. "I'm sorry, Mordred."
<<if $arthur_betrayal_stance == "horrible">>
You push out a heavy, weary sigh. "You knew, didn't you?"
"I did."
"You must really hate mother, don't you?" you ask, clenching your fists till your nails dig into your palms.
Kay's mouth twist. "I...I don't //hate// her." Then he sighs, his whole frame deflating with the exhale. "I didn't like her very much in those first few months after you were born, when I finally found out the truth from Arthur. My brother was a wreck. But was she there to see it? To comfort him every time he cried, to countlessly remind him that no, it was not his fault and he should stop blaming himself? So even though I don't hate her, I can't forgive her, not yet - though I know forgiveness is not mine to give."
You've never seen the man so grim, so grave; he looks older, the merry face that previously carried no care now looking as if it was burdened by all the problems in the world. He turns on you a sad smile that's but a feeble flicker of his usual brightness. "How are you faring? What do you think of it all - how do you //feel// about it all?"
<div class="choice">[["\"I feel horrible. I finally know that all along I was the reason Arthur abandoned me.\""|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "horrible"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I finally understand why it was so hard for Arthur - and why he always seemed so scared of mother.\""|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "hard"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I finally understand why it was so hard for Arthur - and why he always seemed so scared of mother. But it doesn't change the fact that he hurt me too.\""|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "understand_hurt"]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "hadto">>
Whatever he's apologizing for, you're not quite sure; whether his sympathy is for you to collect or addressed at the entirety of the situation. You are starting to tire of this unsolicited pity. You are a mark of hope, a promise of victory for the Le Fay, not a poor little misfortune to be bemoaned. "It is what it is," you say as you run your palm along the stone, as cool and even as your tone. "So. You knew, didn't you?"
"I did."
"You must not like mother very much, do you?" you ask, out of curiosity if nothing else.
Kay's mouth twist. "I...well." Then he sighs, his whole frame deflating with the exhale. "I didn't like her very much in those first few months after you were born, when I finally found out the truth from Arthur. My brother was a wreck. But was she there to see it? To comfort him every time he cried, to countlessly remind him that no, it was not his fault and he should stop blaming himself? So even though I don't hate her, I can't forgive her, not yet - though I know forgiveness is not mine to give."
You've never seen the man so grim, so grave; he looks older, the merry face that previously carried no care now looking as if it was burdened by all the problems in the world. He turns on you a sad smile that's but a feeble flicker of his usual brightness. "How are you faring? What do you think of it all - how do you //feel// about it all?"
<div class="choice">[["I understand now better why Arthur kept away." Is it horrible? Yes - but Morgana did what she had to do.|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "hadtodo"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know the whole truth now, I suppose." Morgana did what she had to do.|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "truth"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I understand now better why Arthur kept away." It's far from pretty, but Morgana did what she had to do. "It doesn't change the fact that he hurt me, too."|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "hadto_hurt"]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "desperate">>
A cool tendril of dread drags down your spine. Your mother was desperate, cornered, helpless, faced with no easy escape out of a horrible situation - so she chose to break her way out of it, whatever it took, whatever hurt she inflicted. And now, here you are. You push out a heavy, weary sigh. "It is what it is," you say as you run your palm along the stone, trying to keep your tone as even as its cool surface. "So. You knew, didn't you?"
"I did."
"You must not like mother very much, do you?"
Kay's mouth twist. "I...well." Then he sighs, his whole frame deflating with the exhale. "I didn't like her very much in those first few months after you were born, when I finally found out the truth from Arthur. My brother was a wreck. But was she there to see it? To comfort him every time he cried, to countlessly remind him that no, it was not his fault and he should stop blaming himself? So even though I don't hate her, I can't forgive her, not yet - though I know forgiveness is not mine to give."
You've never seen the man so grim, so grave; he looks older, the merry face that previously carried no care now looking as if it was burdened by all the problems in the world. He turns on you a sad smile that's but a feeble flicker of his usual brightness. "How are you faring? What do you think of it all - how do you //feel// about it all?"
<div class="choice">[["I understand now better why Arthur kept away." It's horrible, and caused Arthur suffering - but Morgana did what she had to do, especially given how desperate of a situation it was.|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "desperatehadtodo"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I understand now better why Arthur kept away." It's ugly, and caused Arthur suffering, but Morgana did what she had to do in a desperate situation. "It doesn't change the fact that he hurt me, too."|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "desperatehadto_hurt"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know the whole truth now, I suppose." Morgana did what she had to do in a desperate situation. Even if it caused so much suffering.|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "desperate_truth"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I feel horrible." Morgana did what she thought was right in a desperate situation, but it doesn't change the fact that it hurt people - hurt Arthur. And that it's your own fault he abandoned you.|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "desperate_horrible"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_kay_left == "horrible">>
"I feel horrible," you confess in a frazzled whisper, pressing your palms against the hard, cool stone. "I finally have the answer to the question that plagued me for years - why Arthur abandoned me - and I'm it. The reason."
"//Mordred//." There's a strained, pained emphasis put on your name. "Look at me." You listen to him, swallowing the lump that's formed in your throat. "It seems like I'll have to tell you the same things I told Arthur, won't I? It's not your fault, Mordred. Perish that thought right here, right now."
You smile, or try to - the curl of your lips seems utterly foreign to the expression. "But it's true."
"No, it's not; I understand you feel horrible for Arthur, but you have terribly misplaced your guilt. It's not for you to carry. It's a...delicate situation, in which both you and Arthur have had too suffer too much."
<<elseif $chapt4_kay_left == "hard">>
"I finally understand why it was so hard for Arthur," you say in a frazzled whisper, "and why he always seemed so scared of mother."
Kay sighs. "If nothing else, you at least have his side of the story too - you know the whole of it now."
You let silence settle over you, heavy as a chainmail armor.
<<elseif $chapt4_kay_left == "understand_hurt">>
"I finally understand why it was so hard for Arthur," you say in a frazzled whisper, "and why he always seemed so scared of mother. But it doesn't change the fact that he hurt me too."
"Of course not," Kay mutters. "It's a...delicate situation, in which both you and Arthur have had too suffer too much."
You let silence settle over you, heavy as a chainmail armor.
<<elseif $chapt4_kay_left == "hadtodo">>
"I understand now better why Arthur kept away," you say in a stolid whisper, quelling whatever ghastly feeling would like to crawl up your back and sink its hideous claws in you. Mother did what she had to do and you will adamantly stand by it. She told you it's not always going to be pretty or easy but one must do what they have to in order to survive, to thrive, to seek the retributiona and justice they deserve.
<<elseif $chapt4_kay_left == "truth">>
"I know the whole truth now, I suppose," you say in a stolid whisper, keeping any other sentiment you might feel on the situation safely tucked away from your expression. Mother did what she had to do/What mother did was necessary, and you will adamantly stand by it and quell any hideous chill that tries to slither its way up your spine. She told you it's not always going to be pretty or easy but one must do what they have to in order to survive, to thrive, to seek the retributiona and justice they deserve.
<<elseif $chapt4_kay_left == "hadto_hurt">>
"I understand now better why Arthur kept away," you say in a stolid whisper. Mother did what she had to do and you will adamantly stand by it and quell any hideous chill that tries to slither its way up your spine. She told you it's not always going to be pretty or easy but one must do what they have to in order to survive, to thrive, to seek the retributiona and justice they deserve. "It doesn't change the fact that he hurt me, too," you add bitterly.
"No, it doesn't," Kay mutters. "You've both suffered. Too much."
You let silence settle over you, heavy as a chainmail armor.
<<elseif $chapt4_kay_left == "desperatehadtodo">>
"I understand now better why Arthur kept away," you say in a stolid whisper, quelling whatever ghastly feeling would like to crawl up your back and sink its hideous claws in you. Mother did what she thought would give your family a fighting chance, caught in a desperate and delicate situation as she was. She told you it's not always going to be pretty or easy - that it'll bring suffering, but it's all justified.
<<elseif $chapt4_kay_left == "desperatehadto_hurt">>
"I understand now better why Arthur kept away," you say in a stolid whisper, quelling whatever ghastly feeling would like to crawl up your back and sink its hideous claws in you. Mother did what she thought would give your family a fighting chance, caught in a desperate situation as she was. She told you it's not always going to be pretty or easy - that it'll bring suffering, but it's all justified. "But it doesn't change the fact that he hurt me too."
"Of course not," Kay mutters. "It's a...delicate situation, in which both you and Arthur have had too suffer too much."
You let silence settle over you, heavy as a chainmail armor.
<<elseif $chapt4_kay_left == "desperate_truth">>
"I know the whole truth now, I suppose," you say in a stolid whisper, keeping any other sentiment you might feel on the situation safely tucked away from your expression. Mother did what she thought would give your family a fighting chance, caught in a desperate situation as she was. She told you it's not always going to be pretty or easy - that it'll bring suffering, but it's all justified. So you quell any hideous chill that tries to slither its way up your spine and sinks its claws in you.
<<elseif $chapt4_kay_left == "desperate_horrible">>
"I feel horrible," you confess in a frazzled whisper, pressing your palms against the hard, cool stone. "I finally have the answer to the question that plagued me for years - why Arthur abandoned me - and I'm it. The reason."
"//Mordred//." There's a strained, pained emphasis put on your name. "Look at me." You listen to him, swallowing the lump that's formed in your throat. "It seems like I'll have to tell you the same things I told Arthur, won't I? It's not your fault, Mordred. Perish that thought right here, right now."
You smile, or try to - the curl of your lips seems utterly foreign to the expression. "But it's true."
"No, it's not; I understand you feel horrible for Arthur, but you have terribly misplaced your guilt. It's not for you to carry. It's a...delicate situation, in which both you and Arthur have had too suffer too much."
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
"It was the most difficult for him in those first few years." Kay stares ahead at the leaf-covered wall across the yard, but his gaze is hazy, lost to the deep, dark crevices of memory. "Before you were born, when he didn't tell anyone and let himself stew in all those horrible feelings - and afterwards, when he wished he could both forget about it all and agonized over everything that happened, and how you might feel about him and his absence. And he still grapples with the events of that night with Morgana - with guilt I repeatedly told him shouldn't be put on his shoulders." He turns to you, smile closer to its familiar radiancy. "But now - now he knows with no shadow of doubt that he wants to be there for you, Mordred."
Your own lips tug up with far more ease. "Thank you, Kay."
There's a rustle of fabric followed by a small, sleepy whine like that of a kitten. Isabel stirs, swaddled as she is in a pink blanket in Kay's arms. You decide this is your cue to go, and leave Kay with his slowly-rousing daughter. As you skip up the steps to the balcony, you hear her drowsy voice demanding food.
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]
<<else>>
Would Arthur have told me at some point?" You're not sure if Morgana would have, at least not for a long while given her rattled she initially was. But what of Arthur - the one who finds himself at the very center of this web of intrigue? Would he too have kept the truth safely cocooned away from you? You would have expected him to jump at the opportunity of giving his side of the story, in his desperate attempt to earn your goodwill.
Kay considers your question, gaze pinned on the leaf-covered wall across the yard. "I don't know. He was in no hurry to broach the subject, especially given the distance you requested he keep, a demand he's serious about respecting. It's a difficult topic for him to navigate - one he's still struggling handling with himself."
<div class="choice">[[Inquire about Arthur. You just feel it's the right thing to do.|Chapt4KayInquireArthur][$chapt4_kay_inquire to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let the silence stretch between you again.|Chapt4KayInquireArthur][$chapt4_kay_inquire to 2]]</div>
<</if>>Your hurried strides have already taken you far enough that you can't completely make out Accolon's response; it seems positive though.
[[Later|Chapt4.5]]"Dragonbloods." The word is thrown out somewhat like a challenge, an enemy presenting you with a sword by its blade for you to take and duel. It's a sure way to capture your attention.
You glance up from the lines you've jotted down earlier in your lecture, meeting your teacher's gaze over the rim of her gilded, slim glasses. She jerks them off her crooked nose - she told you it was broken during a particularly heated academical scuffle - lets them hang around her neck by their golden chain and abruptly stands up.
Teacher Gabriela Damian can't stay still for much of your lectures - her record so far has been twenty minutes - before, stricken by some seemingly overwhelming whim, jumps out of her seat to pace the length and width of the library and lean against any available surface.
"If I were to ask you what a dragon blood is, you would know because you haven't lived under a rock," she waves her hand around, narrowly missing a taper off the shelf. "And we already went over that. Given power of the dragons through a mysterious ritual, created to be peacemakers between humans and dragons. A correct and shallow answer. On top of that, utterly boring," she enunciates this last undesireable trait with a firm wag of her index, as if it were the worst of all things to be.
You glance down at your hand, in your mind painting the soft, fleshy expense with sturdy, smooth bright scarlet. It's always of interest to you to hear more of the dragonbloods, of your kind.
Teacher Damian leans her elbow on the mantle, tucking it precariously close to the porcelains. To her credit, she's knocked down or broken things only about a dozen times over the years. At least during your lessons. "Let's look deeper, shall we? Set the scene, paint it for me, Mordred. What led to their creation?"
You set down your feathered pen and lean back in your chair, face carresed by the morning sun that shines in through white gossamer curtains. It's no less cruelly radiant than yesterday, and the window has been left shut to keep out the heat. As a result the air in the library is suffused with the sweet, vanilla-like fragrance of paper and the tangy, metallic smell of ink.
<div class="choice">[["Mutual fear and attacks, and a desire for peace," you answer confidently. You know this well.|Chapt4LectureDragonbloods][$confident to $confident+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mutual fear and attacks and a desire for peace," you answer quietly and somewhat hesitantly. It's stupid, because you know this well.|Chapt4LectureDragonbloods1][$confident to $confident-3]]</div>"Mutual fear and attacks," you answer, "and a desire for peace. The two sides saw each other as threats and battled. The humans thought dragons could easily overwhelm them with their strenght and fire. The dragons considered the humans to be invading their territory, their clans, stealing from them and attacking them. It was mutually destructive, and some people on both sides wanted to put a stop to it. Especially those who knew that dragons and humans could live in peace - because they were already doing it, in certain parts of the Continent. So they created the dragonbloods."
Damian chews on one of her glasses' legs as she listens to you, her face screwed up in utter concetration as if you were a scholar detailing their breakthrough research. "Who is this //they//?"
"The humans and dragons of Ulm. The Meier sorcerers primarily worked on it."
"And why would the dragonbloods be human?" she asks.
You readily supply: "Humans saw smaller dragons as not much of a threat but they were afraid of the bigger ones. The ones who could ravage entire villages. They weren't going to trust so easy, so they had to level the ground, somehow. Viewing it through the opposite side, the dragons too were afraid of dragonhunters and their weapons and their cruelty, so having humans who didn't want their harm could earn their trust." You sound like a history book, the way you steadily drone on.
Your teacher's teeth clink faintly against the gilded glasses' leg. "And this ritual, we don't know precisely what it entailed. Only what was set to be achieved and the actual result. Was it successful?" she demands, still looking at you as if you held the answer to said arcane ritual.
<<if $compulsion == "no">>
"It achieved all they set out to achieve," you say then hesitate, your mouth twisting downwards. "With a major flaw."
Damian's tirelessly working jaw freezes, gleaming brown eyes pinned on you. "A flaw, you say?"
You nod decisively. "A terrible flaw. Compulsion."
Damian shrugs one shoulder, letting her glasses fall against her chest. "What's so bad about it?" She affects a casual air - as casual as one can be with such an intent, intense gaze.
You know it's simply meant to test you, but you still balk at the question. "Because it's a violation of the dragons' free will."
Damian nods along fervently.
[[Continue|Chapt4LectureRitual1]]
<<elseif $compulsion == "maybe">>
"It achieved all they set out to achieve," you say, "with an unexpected result. Compulsion."
"Is it a flaw, is it an advantage?"
"Some may call it a flaw, and a failing since it's not what they intended to do. But I think it could come in handy, if you're out and options and there's nothing else to help heated situations simmer down."
Damian's tirelessly working jaw freezes, gleaming brown eyes pinned on you. "By mind controlling a dragon? Wouldn't it make the dragons distrust the dragonbloods? Resent them?"
"Not if you make them understand it was necessary," you retort. A sly smile curls your teacher's lips.
"Ah, I see. What about the ethics? It is, afterall, a violation of the dragons' will."
"If it's necessary," you explain, "if it's the only solution for a peaceful resolution, or the only solution left at all, it's necessary."
[[Continue|Chapt4LectureRitual1]]
<<elseif $compulsion == "yes">>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, but with an unexpected result. Compulsion." You'd argue it's not really a flaw, but an asset. Not out loud, though.|Chapt4LectureRitual]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, and more." You're ready to argue in favor of compulsion.|Chapt4LectureRitual]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, but with a flaw. Compulsion." A terrible flaw, if someone where to ask you.|Chapt4LectureRitual][$compulsion to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, but it also had an unexpected result. Compulsion." Some might argue it's a terrible flaw, others an invaluable asset. It's a result of the ritual, anyhow, which could come in handy if push comes to shove.|Chapt4LectureRitual][$compulsion to "maybe"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, but with an unexpected result. Compulsion." You'd argue it's not really a flaw, but an asset. Not out loud, though.|Chapt4LectureRitual][$compulsion to "yes", $chapt4_comp to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, and more." You're ready to argue in favor of compulsion.|Chapt4LectureRitual][$compulsion to "yes", $chapt4_comp to 2]]</div>
<</if>>"Mutual fear and attacks," you answer, voice quiet and demure, "and a desire for peace." It's stupid. It's very stupid of you to speak so hesitantly, very foolish of your palms to suddenly get so sweaty.
Teacher Damian's brow puckers as if she's come to the same conclusion as you. She gestures wildly with her glasses, almost snapping them off their chain, and urges you to speak louder and firmer.
You inhale, managing to instill at least a bit of those qualities in your tone. Just underneath your skin, your nerves teem like ants. "The two sides saw each other as threats and battled. The humans thought dragons could easily overwhelm them with their strength and fire. The dragons considered the humans to be invading their territory, their communities, stealing from them and attacking them. It was mutually destructive, and some people on both sides wanted to put a stop to it. Especially those who knew that dragons and humans could live in peace - because they were already doing it, in certain parts of the Continent. So they created the dragonbloods."
Damian chews on one of her glasses' legs as she listens to you, her face screwed up in utter concetration as if you were a scholar detailing their breakthrough research. "Who is this //they//?"
Your mouth twists at the oversight. You should have mentioned this first. "The humans and dragons of Ulm. The Meier sorcerers primarily worked on it."
"And why would the dragonbloods be human?" she asks.
You readily supply: "Humans saw smaller dragons as not much of a threat but they were afraid of the bigger ones. The ones who could ravage entire villages. They weren't going to trust so easy, so they had to level the ground, somehow. Viewing it through the opposite side, the dragons too were afraid of dragonhunters and their weapons and their cruelty, so having humans who didn't want their harm could earn their trust." You sound like a history book, the way you drone on.
Your teacher's teeth clink faintly against the gilded glasses' leg. "And this ritual, we don't know precisely what it entailed. Only what was set to be achieved and the actual result. Was it successful?" she demands, still looking at you as if you held the answer to said arcane ritual.
<<if $compulsion == "no">>
"It achieved all they set out to achieve," you say then hesitate, your mouth twisting downwards. "With a major flaw."
Damian's tirelessly working jaw freezes, gleaming brown eyes pinned on you. "A flaw, you say?"
You swallow heavily, nodding. "A terrible flaw. Compulsion."
Damian shrugs one shoulder, letting her glasses fall against her chest. "What's so bad about it?" She affects a casual air - as casual as one can be with such an intent, intense gaze.
You know it's simply meant to test you, but you still balk at the question. "Because it's a violation of the dragons' free will."
Damian nods along fervently.
[[Continue|Chapt4LectureRitual1]]
<<elseif $compulsion == "maybe">>
"It achieved all they set out to achieve," you say, "with an unexpected result. Compulsion."
"Is it a flaw, is it an advantage?"
"Some may call it a flaw, and a failing since it's not what they intended to do. But I think it could come in handy, if you're out and options and there's nothing else to help heated situations simmer down."
Damian's tirelessly working jaw freezes, gleaming brown eyes pinned on you. "By mind controlling a dragon? Wouldn't it make the dragons distrust the dragonbloods? Resent them?"
"Not if you make them understand it was necessary," you retort. A sly smile curls your teacher's lips.
"Ah, I see. What about the ethics? It is, afterall, a violation of the dragons' will."
"If it's necessary," you explain, "if it's the only solution for a peaceful resolution, or the only solution left at all, it's necessary."
[[Continue|Chapt4LectureRitual1]]
<<elseif $compulsion == "yes">>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, but with an unexpected result. Compulsion." You'd argue it's not really a flaw, but an asset. Not out loud, though.|Chapt4LectureRitual]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, and more." You're ready to argue in favor of compulsion.|Chapt4LectureRitual]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, but with a flaw. Compulsion." A terrible flaw, if someone where to ask you.|Chapt4LectureRitual][$compulsion to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, but it also had an unexpected result. Compulsion." Some might argue it's a terrible flaw, others an invaluable asset. It's a result of the ritual, anyhow, which could come in handy if push comes to shove.|Chapt4LectureRitual][$compulsion to "maybe"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, but with an unexpected result. Compulsion." You'd argue it's not really a flaw, but an asset. Not out loud, though.|Chapt4LectureRitual][$compulsion to "yes", $chapt4_comp to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It achieved what they wanted, and more." You're ready to argue in favor of compulsion.|Chapt4LectureRitual][$compulsion to "yes", $chapt4_comp to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_math == 1>>
Which is a shame, because you actually do enjoy learning about these matters. As a result, you've taken to studying a lot on your own and Canavan has praised you on multiple occasions as one of his best students, exceedingly good just like your brother. You did however ask Morgana about a possible change of tutor to which she promised she'd look into it, but that Canavan was already one of the best teachers in Lothia. So you replied, //Get me another one of the best//, but so far the search has been to no avail.
The lecturing part of the lesson is the worst in the way it tests your patience and attention; but you weather it, focusing as best as you can. You're relieved when Canavan finally assigns you some exercises to solve on your own and you happily turn to your notebook, scribbling away while he painstackingly unfolds his hankerchief and blows his nose, the sound explosive in the quiet library.
By the time your lecture is over and the clock marks the beginning of an hour-long recess, your stomach has already started churning, empty and peckish. You gather your books and pen and inkpot quickly while Canavan takes his time putting away his own, and leave before him with a hurried goodbye.
<<else>>
The subject was already dull to you; to have an equally, if not more, dull teacher lecturing you about matters you'd rather not be lectured on makes it even worse. Canavan always says you could do better if only you applied yourself more, and a small bitter part of you blames him and his boring lessons for your failings.
The lecture sludges on, crawling laboriously towards your highly expected, painfully desired recess. Once the clock announces your freedom you're already packing your books and bolting for the door with a hurried goodbye. It's lunch time afterall, and for half an hour now you've had to endure this tedious torture of a lesson on an empty, churning stomach.
<</if>>
Lunch - like dinner - is served in a cozy lounge in your wing of the Castle, just a corner away from your bedchambers. It functions as Morgana's own personal drawing room, a place to unwind with you and Accolon or receive guests to intimidate with the sheer amount of Le Fay motif she managed to weave into the chamber.
Accolon and Morgana always do their best to carve time out of their schedule so that the three of you can have lunch together as a family and today is no different. Upon arrival, you find Accolon already seated at the table. He puts down his book - one of his sappy romances, no doubt - and greets you with his usual warm, sunny smile. He inquires about your studies while you wait for Morgana, whose running a little bit late.
"She's hard at work planning for your birthday," Accolon says with a wink. If that's the case, you and your hungry stomach can easily forgive her tardiness.
After lunch, desert and lazing about on the couch by the cool, unlit hearth, you grab your hefty leather bag and make your way through the Castle, out of its shadowed shelter and out into the summer heat. Morgana wouldn't let you go until you've securely fixed your straw hat, donned your linen cape and smeared your cheeks with a sweet-smelling oitment meant to protect your skin from the sun's harsh glare.
A thin sheen of sweat has already coated your back when you make it down the hill where your teacher of draconian studies awaits you.
[["Ah, there you are, Mordred!"|Chapt4DragonStudies]]<<if $compulsion == "no">>
"It achieved all they set out to achieve," you say then hesitate, your mouth twisting downwards. "With a major flaw."
Damian's tirelessly working jaw freezes, gleaming brown eyes pinned on you. "A flaw, you say?"
<<if $confident >= 50>>
You nod decisively. "A terrible flaw. Compulsion."
<<else>>
You swallow heavily, nodding. "A terrible flaw. Compulsion."
<</if>>
Damian shrugs one shoulder, letting her glasses fall against her chest. "What's so bad about it?" She affects a casual air - as casual as one can be with such an intent, intense gaze.
You know it's simply meant to test you, but you still balk at the question. "Because it's a violation of the dragons' free will."
Damian nods along fervently.
<<elseif $compulsion == "maybe">>
"It achieved all they set out to achieve," you say, "with an unexpected result. Compulsion."
"Is it a flaw, is it an advantage?"
"Some may call it a flaw, and a failing since it's not what they intended to do. But I think it could come in handy, if you're out and options and there's nothing else to help heated situations simmer down. It's practical."
Damian's tirelessly working jaw freezes, gleaming brown eyes pinned on you. "By mind controlling a dragon? Wouldn't it make the dragons distrust the dragonbloods? Resent them?"
"Not if you make them understand it was necessary," you retort. A sly smile curls your teacher's lips.
"Ah, I see. What about the ethics? It is, afterall, a violation of the dragons' will."
"If it's necessary," you explain, "if it's the only solution for a peaceful resolution, or the only solution left at all, it's necessary."
<<elseif $chapt4_comp == 1>>
"It achieved all they set out to achieve," you say, "with an unexpected result. Compulsion."
"Is it a flaw, is it an advantage?"
You would argue towards it being an obvious advantage, but the books you've read called it "morally reprehensible" or some other preachy thing. A lot of foolish fussing and fretting, if it were to ask you; except now that you're actually asked this very question, you won't admit it. After all, sometimes it's better for people not to know that you are //"morally reprehensible"//.
"A flaw. Besides the fact that it was not part of their goal," you explain, "it's a violation of the dragons' will."
Damian nods along fervently.
<<elseif $chapt4_comp == 2>>
"It achieved all they set out to achieve," you say, "with an unexpected result. Compulsion."
"Is it a flaw, is it an advantage?"
You would argue towards it being an obvious advantage, but the books you've read called it "morally reprehensible" or some other preachy thing. A lot of foolish fussing and fretting, if it were to ask you.
"An advantage," you reply. "It's practical - it can help simmer down heated situations, turn the tide in your favor."
Damian's tirelessly working jaw freezes, gleaming brown eyes pinned on you. "By mind controlling a dragon? Wouldn't it make the dragons distrust the dragonbloods? Resent them?"
"Sometimes you'll upset people when you get done what needs to be done," you say roundly.
Your teacher merely stares at you, keen eyes cutting through sharper than usual, as if she might see to the depths of your mind if she stared hard enough. Then she makes a thoughtful, small "humph" and moves on.
<</if>>
She slams her palm against the mantletop, sending the ceramics in a frenzy as they clink against one other fretfully, as if desperately holding onto each other in an attempt not to fall. "Alright. So the ritual was done - we don't know how, we don't even know for sure if the records survived, such a shame if you ask me. Have the dragonbloods been successful?" Damian pushes herself off the mantlepiece, striding over the lush carpet to lean against the opposite wall, next to a wooden cabinet. She folds her hands at the small of her back and crosses her legs at the ankle, watching you expectantly.
"One should only look around themselves to be able to answer that." You've picked up your pen to absent-mindedly twirl between your fingers. The feather looks sleek and glossy in the sunlight, and makes a faint swishing sound as you turn it round and round.
"Well," Damian says, lips tugging up in a crafty smile. "One should look //better// around them. Want me to lend you my glasses?" When your brow puckers quizzically, her smile only widens. "//Think//, Mordred, think."
<div class="choice">[[You try your best to think of it. You come to the conclusion that the dragonbloods have been a success. They achieved peace and hunters were chased away. Which brings into question if they're even needed anymore.|Chapt4LectureSuccess][$chapt4_success_opinion to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You try your best to think of it. The dragonbloods fulfilled their role of bringing peace and chasing away hunters. Though with their dwindling numbers - brought to only one known dragonblood, Arthur, and two if you're counting yourself - it's a failing. Who's to say peace can't be broken, and hunters lured back by the lack of dragonbloods?|Chapt4LectureSuccess][$chapt4_success_opinion to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You try your best to think of it, but the pressure of having to give an answer - a good one - empties your mind completely.|Chapt4LectureSuccess][$chapt4_success_opinion to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you mulishly protest. Isn't it obvious? They made peace. Wasn't this the role to be fulfilled?|Chapt4LectureSuccess][$chapt4_success_opinion to 4, $chapt4_success_opinion1 to 1]]</div>She slams her palm against the mantletop, sending the ceramics in a frenzy as they clink against one other fretfully, as if desperately holding onto each other in an attempt not to fall. "Alright. So the ritual was done - we don't know how, we don't even know for sure if the records survived, such a shame if you ask me. Have the dragonbloods been successful?" Damian pushes herself off the mantlepiece, striding over the lush carpet to lean against the opposite wall, next to a wooden cabinet. She folds her hands at the small of her back and crosses her legs at the ankle, watching you expectantly.
"One should only look around themselves to be able to answer that." You've picked up your pen to absent-mindedly twirl between your fingers. The feather looks sleek and glossy in the sunlight, and makes a faint swishing sound as you turn it round and round.
"Well," Damian says, lips tugging up in a crafty smile. "One should look //better// around them. Want me to lend you my glasses?" When your brow puckers quizzically, her smile only widens. "//Think//, Mordred, think."
<div class="choice">[[You try your best to think of it. You come to the conclusion that the dragonbloods have been a success. They achieved peace and hunters were chased away. Which brings into question if they're even needed anymore.|Chapt4LectureSuccess][$chapt4_success_opinion to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You try your best to think of it. The dragonbloods fulfilled their role of bringing peace and chasing away hunters. Though with their dwindling numbers - brought to only one known dragonblood, Arthur, and two if you're counting yourself - it's a failing. Who's to say peace can't be broken, and hunters lured back by the lack of dragonbloods?|Chapt4LectureSuccess][$chapt4_success_opinion to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You try your best to think of it, but the pressure of having to give an answer - a good one - empties your mind completely.|Chapt4LectureSuccess][$chapt4_success_opinion to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you mulishly protest. Isn't it obvious? They made peace. Wasn't this the role to be fulfilled?|Chapt4LectureSuccess][$chapt4_success_opinion to 4, $chapt4_success_opinion1 to 1]]</div><<if $chapt4_success_opinion == 1>>
You touch the feather to your cheek, tracing ticklish lines along your jaw as your mind leafs through what you know. The dragonbloods were created with the intent of bringing the two sides - human and dragons - to much coveted peace, to put an end to their warring. It didn't happen overnight, of course. Both sides were wary of each other, and not everyone wanted to relent, especially not the dragon hunters. But in the end peace was obtained, treaties were signed, promises were made and hunters were chased away. The dragons that did not want to live alongside humans were assured that the humans would not attack them or intrude upon their land.
It all aligns with what they set out to achieve so you would call it a success, yes. But it also throws another question into sharp relief: //Are the dragonbloods needed anymore then?//
Which, for you, rings rather personal.
Your mother said you were unexpected but never unloved, and that's why she kept you and had you. When she speaks of your dragon blood it's always in relation to your right to Camelot's throne. There's never any mention of peace-keeping between dragons and humans, and she always puts a lot more emphasis on your Le Fay blood and legacy nonetheless. Your Pendragon blood is simply the key to unlock retribution for the wrongs inflicted upon the Le Fay. Perhaps Morgana merely fails to see outside the bounds of her personal vendetta. Perhaps there's no need for her to even look outside of it, because the dragonbloods have outgrown their necessity.
You gather all these thoughts and try your best to put them into words for your teacher, whose keen gaze now bores into the carpet as if its colorful swirls were an intricate code to crack. You leave out your intimate musings on your own purporse as a dragonblood, and end your little speech by saying: "They achieved their goal, which begs the question - are the dragonbloods even needed?"
"Interesting perspective, Mordred," Damian says, and there's a tinge of appreciation that warms her tone and strokes your ego. She relinquishes her casual lean against the wall in favor of circling the carpet, fiddling with her chained glasses. "Indeed, someone like King Arthur does not have a lot of work to do in the realm of mediating and peace-keeping, given things are well, good. But are the dragonbloods then not a symbol? A multi-faceted and perhaps polarizing symbol."
Multi-faceted and polarizing is a good way of putting it. You've read both conflicted and conflicting opinions on dragonbloods and the co-habituation of humans and dragons.
Damian claps her hands, startling you. "Moving on! There's a chronicle I want us to look over..." She strides over to the table to frantically leaf through one of the books stacked there. "Right, here..."
[[Next lecture|Chapt4Sciences]]
<<elseif $chapt4_success_opinion == 2>>
You touch the feather to your cheek, tracing ticklish lines along your jaw as your mind leafs through what you know. The dragonbloods were created with the intent of bringing the two sides - human and dragons - to much coveted peace, to put an end to their warring. It didn't happen overnight, of course. Both sides were wary of each other, and not everyone wanted to relent, especially not the dragon hunters. But in the end peace was obtained, treaties were signed, promises were made and hunters were chased away. The dragons that did not want to live alongside humans were assured that the humans would not attack them or intrude upon their land.
It all aligns with what they set out to achieve, so it should by all means be a success. Yet you can't help but ask yourself: is it, really?
There's peace, but it can be broken. It can be uprooted. All it takes is the right events, the right people to kickstart it. The hunters were all shunned and retreated all the way up to the Northen Isles. The dwindling number of dragonbloods may inspire a sense of confidence in them, a hope that they may yet triumpth over the dragons and enact vengeance on the humans who banished them. If there's no one to bridge the gaps between humans and dragons, you'd think that at least the years of co-living would hold them together, but there's no telling what could happen.
It all comes down to a question that rings personal: What's your role in all of this, as a dragonblood yourself?
Your mother said you were unexpected but never unloved, and that's why she kept you and had you. When she speaks of your dragon blood, it's always in relation to your right to Camelot's throne. There's never any mention of peace-keeping between dragons and humans, and she always puts a lot more emphasis on your Le Fay blood and legacy nonetheless. Your Pendragon blood is simply the key to unlock retribution for the wrongs inflicted upon the Le Fay. You're not sure how much she thought or cares of other matters. Afterall, her curse ensured Arthur could not have any other child. It was done in a fit of passion and anger and fear, all in an attempt to keep you safe from Merlin and anyone else who may wish harm upon you.
You gather all these thoughts and try your best to put them into words for your teacher, whose keen gaze now bores into the carpet as if its colorful swirls were an intricate code to crack. You leave out your intimate musings on your own purporse as a dragonblood, and end your little speech by saying: "They achieved their goal, at least for a while. But there's barely any - just one," you lie, "dragonblood left. Which would indicate that having fulfilled their goal, they've outgrown their necessity. Or rather, it's a failing. Afterall, the dragonbloods are almost extinct because of the hunters they hunted, as a result of interhuman wars and even at the hands of their own kin." That one being on Uther Pendragon.
"Interesting perspective, Mordred," Damian says, and there's a tinge of appreciation that warms her tone and strokes your ego. She relinquishes her casual lean against the wall in favor of circling the carpet, fiddling with her chained glasses. "Indeed, people look up to dragonbloods as mediators and upkeepers of peace, even if in this day and age there's not so much work to do since well, things are good. But are the dragonbloods then not a symbol? A multi-faceted and perhaps polarizing symbol."
Multi-faceted and polarizing is a good way of putting it. You've read both conflicted and conflicting opinions on dragonbloods, and the co-habituation of humans and dragons.
Damian claps her hands, startling you. "Moving on! There's a chronicle I want us to look over..." She strides over to the table to frantically leaf through one of the books stacked there. "Right, here..."
[[Next lecture|Chapt4Sciences]]
<<elseif $chapt4_success_opinion == 3>>
You twist the feathered pen furiously in between your fingers as your mind races, struggling to catch a string to follow to an answer, but all you manage to do is unravel under the pressure.
The dragonbloods have fulfilled their role, haven't they? They set out to bring peace between humans and dragons, and the world around you is the testament to their success. The hunters were all shunned and retreated all the way up to the Northen Isles.
You tell all this to your tutor, whose keen gaze bores into you. You trail off, "That's why it was a success," and Damian does not look impressed.
She nods slowly. "You're not wrong, at a surface level. But I want us to look deeper. Here, consider: they achieved peace. Hooray. What happens after that? Have the dragonbloods played a role in mainting it too? Theoretically, that's part of their purpose, isn't it?" You nod emphatically, and she goes on, "But their numbers have also dwindled significantly along the years. Has this influenced things in any way? What's their role today? Their necessity?"
<div class="choice">[[Indeed: is there a need for dragonbloods anymore? You're starting to doubt that.|Chapt4LectureSuccess1][$chapt4_success_opinion to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[The number of dragonbloods is indeed low: only one known, Arthur. Two if you're counting your secret self. Who's to say peace can't be broken and hunters can't be lured back by the lack of dragonbloods?|Chapt4LectureSuccess1][$chapt4_success_opinion to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_success_opinion == 4>>
You tap the feather against your cheek and say with no small amount of flippancy, "I don't know. They made peace. Otherwise we wouldn't be living alongside dragons, would we?"
Damian's keen gaze bores into you as if it could pierce right through you and dreg up a better response from the depths of your brain. "They did. You could say that. But it'd be like waddling in the shallow of the sea. I want you to take a deeper look at it, Mordred. Here, consider: they achieved peace. Hooray. What happens after that? Have the dragonbloods played a role in mainting it too? Theoretically, that's part of their purpose, isn't it?" You nod emphatically, and she goes on, "But they're numbers have also dwindled significantly along the years. Has this influenced things in any way? What's their role today? Their necessity?"
<div class="choice">[["\"I suppose there's no need for them, then.\""|Chapt4LectureSuccess2][$chapt4_success_opinion to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Then maybe peace can be broken, after all.\""|Chapt4LectureSuccess2][$chapt4_success_opinion to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_success_opinion == 1>>
You touch the feather to your cheek, tracing ticklish lines along your jaw as your mind leafs through what you know. The dragonbloods were created with the intent of bringing the two sides - human and dragons - to much coveted peace, to put an end to their warring. It didn't happen overnight, of course. Both sides were wary of each other, and not everyone wanted to relent, especially not the dragon hunters. But in the end peace was obtained, treaties were signed, promises were made and hunters were chased away. The dragons that did not want to live alongside humans were assured that the latter would not attack them or intrude upon their land.
It all aligns with what they set out to achieve - so you would call it a success, yes. But it also throws another question into sharp relief: //Are the dragonbloods needed anymore then?//
Which, for you, rings rather personal.
Your mother said you were unexpected - but never unloved, and that's why she kept you and had you. When she speaks of your dragon blood, it's always in relation to your right to Camelot's throne. There's never any mention of peace-keeping between dragons and humans, and she always puts a lot more emphasis on your Le Fay blood and legacy nonetheless. Your Pendragon blood is simply the key to unlock retribution for the wrongs inflicted upon the Le Fay. Perhaps Morgana merely fails to see outside the bounds of her personal vendetta. Perhaps there's no need for her to even look outside of it, because the dragonbloods have outgrown their necessity.
You gather all these thoughts and try your best to put them into words for your teacher, whose keen gaze now bores into the carpet as if its colorful sworls were an intricate code to crack. You leave out your intimate musings on your own purporse as a dragonblood, and end your little speech by saying: "They achieved what their goal, which begs the question - are the dragonbloods even needed?"
"Interesting perspective, Mordred," Damian says, and there's a tinge of appreciation that warms her tone and strokes your ego. She relinquishes her casual lean against the wall in favor of circling the carpet, fiddling with her chained glasses. "Indeed, someone like King Arthur does not have a lot of work in the realm of mediating and peace-keeping, given things are well, good. But are the dragonbloods then not a symbol? A multi-faceted and perhaps polarizing symbol."
Multi-faced and polarizing is a good way of putting it. You've read both conflicted and conflicting opinions on dragonbloods, and the co-habituation of humans and dragons.
Damian claps her hands, startling you. "Moving on! There's a chronicle I want us to look over..." She strides over to the table to frantically leaf through one of the books stacked there. "Right, here..."
[[Next lecture|Chapt4Sciences]]
<<elseif $chapt4_success_opinion == 2>>
You touch the feather to your cheek, tracing ticklish lines along your jaw as your mind leafs through what you know. The dragonbloods were created with the intent of bringing the two sides - human and dragons - to much coveted peace, to put an end to their warring. It didn't happen overnight, of course. Both sides were wary of each other, and not everyone wanted to relent, especially not the dragon hunters. But in the end peace was obtained, treaties were signed, promises were made and hunters were chased away. The dragons that did not want to live alongside humans were assured that the latter would not attack them or intrude upon their land.
It all aligns with what they set out to achieve, so it should by all means be a success. Yet you can't help but ask yourself: is it, really?
There's peace, but it can be broken. It can be uprooted. All it takes is the right events, the right people to kickstart it. The hunters were all shunned, and retreated all the way up to the Northen Isles. The dwindling number of dragonbloods may inspire a sense of confidence in them, a hope that they may yet triumpth over the dragons and exact vengeance on the humans who banished them. If there's no one to bridge the gaps between humans and dragons, you'd think that at least the years of co-living would hold them together, but there's no telling what could happen.
It all comes down to a question that rings personal: What's your role in all of this, as a dragonblood yourself?
Your mother said you were unexpected - but never unloved, and that's why she kept you and had you. When she speaks of your dragon blood, it's always in relation to your right to Camelot's throne. There's never any mention of peace-keeping between dragons and humans, and she always puts a lot more emphasis on your Le Fay blood and legacy nonetheless. Your Pendragon blood is simply the key to unlock retribution for the wrongs inflicted upon the Le Fay. You're not sure how much she thought or cares of other matters. Afterall, her curse ensured Arthur could not have any other child. It was done in a fit of passion and anger and fear, all in an attempt to keep you safe from Merlin and anyone else who may wish harm upon you.
You gather all these thoughts and try your best to put them into words for your teacher, whose keen gaze now bores into the carpet as if its colorful sworls were an intricate code to crack. You leave out your intimate musings on your own purporse as a dragonblood, and end your little speech by saying: "They achieved their goal, at least for a while. But there's barely any - just one," you lie, "dragonblood left. Which would indicate that having fulfilled their goal, they've outgrown their necessity - or rather, it's a failing. Afterall, the dragonbloods are almost extinct because of the hunters they hunted, as a result of interhuman wars and even at the hands of their own kin." That one being on Uther Pendragon.
"Interesting perspective, Mordred," Damian says, and there's a tinge of appreciation that warms her tone and strokes your ego. She relinquishes her casual lean against the wall in favor of circling the carpet, fiddling with her chained glasses. "Indeed, people look up to dragonbloods as mediators and upkeepers of peace, even if in this day and age there's not so much work to do since well, things are good. But are the dragonbloods then not a symbol? A multi-faceted and perhaps polarizing symbol."
Multi-faced and polarizing is a good way of putting it. You've read both conflicted and conflicting opinions on dragonbloods, and the co-habituation of humans and dragons.
Damian claps her hands, startling you. "Moving on! There's a chronicle I want us to look over..." She strides over to the table to frantically leaf through one of the books stacked there. "Right, here..."
[[Next lecture|Chapt4Sciences]]
<</if>><<if $chapt4_success_opinion == 1>>
You shrug one shoulder, tracing lazy, ticklish circles with the feather along your cheek. "I suppose then the dragonbloods aren't all that necessary. There's peace, so there's not much for them to do."
Your mother said you were unexpected but never unloved, and that's why she kept you and had you. When she speaks of your dragon blood it's always in relation to your right to Camelot's throne. There's never any mention of peace-keeping between dragons and humans, and she always puts a lot more emphasis on your Le Fay blood and legacy nonetheless. Your Pendragon blood is simply the key to unlock retribution for the wrongs inflicted upon the Le Fay. Perhaps Morgana merely fails to see outside the bounds of her personal vendetta. Perhaps there's no need for her to even look outside of it, because the dragonbloods have outgrown their necessity.
<<else>>
You shrug one shoulder, tracing lazy, ticklish circles with the feather along your cheek. "Then maybe peace can be broken and the dragon hunters can come back."
Your mother said you were unexpected but never unloved, and that's why she kept you and had you. When she speaks of your dragon blood it's always in relation to your right to Camelot's throne. There's never any mention of peace-keeping between dragons and humans, and she always puts a lot more emphasis on your Le Fay blood and legacy nonetheless. Your Pendragon blood is simply the key to unlock retribution for the wrongs inflicted upon the Le Fay. You're not sure how much she thought or cares of other matters. Afterall, her curse ensured Arthur could not have any other child. It was done in a fit of passion and anger and fear, all in an attempt to keep you safe from Merlin and anyone else who may wish harm upon you.
<</if>>
Damian claps her hands, startling you. "Moving on! There's a chronicle I want us to look over..." She strides over to the table to frantically leaf through one of the books stacked there. "Right, here..."
[[Next lecture|Chapt4Sciences]]<<if $chapt4_language == 1>>
Morgana always warns you against drawing too much attention on yourself - at least more than you've already received as her //bastard//. You've heard the other squires your age practising or complaining about the difficulty of the dragon tongue, and did your best to simulate their pace of learning. It can be a little bit hard, sometimes, putting on this act, making intentional mistakes when it's so much easier to simply let the sounds roll off your tongue with the same fluency as if you were a dragon raised among dragons yourself. You're considered a good student, though, who learns quickly and studies dilligently.
<<else>>
Morgana always warns you against drawing too much attention on yourself - at least more than you've already received as her //bastard//. But why would you bother pretending not to know a language that rolls off your tongue with such ease and fluency as if you were a dragon raised among dragons yourself. You're considered a brilliant student, and if anyone were to ask, that's the only answer you'd give: you're simply that bright. You started learning early and applied yourself, because that's how dedicated of a squire you are.
<</if>>
Teacher pulls with their teeth at the strings of their blue velvet pouch, then gently spills its contents on the blanket. Stones, roughly the size of your fist, tumble out, clinking dully against each other. The same rune has been engraved on each of the rocks. Since dragons don't write like humans do, their history, stories, laws and treaties are all mostly passed down orally and recorded with the help of magic items. The dragons have learned to imbue stones with an echo of their speech, by marking them with this rune you now see. To hear the echo, one must simply breath fire upon the carving; though there are more intricate ways, too, if one wishes to safeguard their recording, to allow only certain individuals to hear its message. The ones you have here are standard, and all they contain are lines spoken by your teacher to test your comprehension of the language.
Usually it's teacher who breaths fire upon the runes in order to activate the echo but as a sorcerer, Wyon allows you to use your own fire to do so since you seem to enjoy it so much. "Alright," Wyon says, letting you know it's time to get to business, and pushes their glasses higher up their snout with one talon. Your teacher has a peculiar sense of humour. They don't need them, yet they wear the little dainty pair of silver glasses, carefully balanced upon their dragon nose, as a fashion statement. When asked, they explain it makes them look intelligent.
"I want you to translate these for me" - here they push three of the stone in your direction, using their spiky tail - "and write down the translations in your notebook. Then we'll do reverse and I'll give you a book in your language, and you'll record yourself translating it. Understood?" You nod and get to work right away.
<<if $chapt4_language == 1>>
You'd be able to get the translation done perfectly in one listening, but knowing you must play the part of the still learning student, you play each stone twice and make a couple mistakes, just in case.
Once finished, you hand your notebook over to teacher Wyon, who dips one talon in red ink to mark over your carefully made mistakes. "Good work, Mordred."
<<else>>
You get the translation perfectly done with only one listening. You might have played the stone twice, just to give the impression of a still learning student, but you decide not to bother. You're a //bright// student.
Once finished, you hand your notebook over to teacher Wyon. Usually, they'd dip one talon in red ink to mark over any mistake, but they've learned by now that that's rarely the case for you. "Excellent work, Mordred."
<</if>>
You retrieve your notebook then hesitate, a question on your mind. Its seed has been planted during Damian's lesson, and it's only brewed throughout the morning and noon. You stare at the dragon intently as they look over the stones, deciding on the next one for you to translate, and ask: "Teacher, what's your opinion of dragonbloods?"
Wyon doesn't glance up as they retort, brushing past your question: "Not a lot of them left, are there?"
"Only one."
"Only //known// one," they mildly correct. They raise their head to look at you with moss green eyes, dark and deep. Your shoulders tense as your stomach sinks, forming a dreadful pit of anxiety where it used to be. For a moment, you think this whole act is up. Your dragon teacher has found out who - what - you are. Morgana has warned you about it, she's spoken in urgent hushed tones of such dire possibility-
"Afterall, for all we know, Merlin might have advised Arthur to pull the same little deception his father did, in order to protect him." You relax, relief shooting through your muscles with sharp, painful intensity. So this is not an accusation, but merely speculation.
"You think so?" you ask, hoping they can't hear the racing beat of your heart. "Wouldn't people expect it?"
"Perhaps, but it's not as if they can prove anything, or find the supposed child, is it?" He thrusts his silver glasses up his snout and lets out a small, pensive huff. "Though, there's always the chance that there's no child at all." They pause. "Perhaps for the better," they enigmatically conclude.
It piques your attention. "So you think the dragonbloods are not needed anymore? Or that they were a failure to begin with?"
Teacher Wyon tilts their head. Their spiky tail grazes thoughtfully against the blanket. "This wasn't in my lesson plan for today, but I suppose we can digress for a bit. Well, I'd say - yes and no. Not a failure, no, because they have managed to facilitate peace, and banish the hunters from the land. But one must wonder if that would have been possible through other means...given other motivation to the dragons and humans to unite. Afterall, it's not as if the dragon bloods have achieved everything they did on their own. Then one could argue they're a failure because once peace was obtained, they've strayed away from what they once stood for, and used their powers for humans' own wars and intrigues and interests. They've //killed// each other. Uther Pendragon ended the Tanwen bloodline. And it's not as if all dragons and all humans have agreed to cohabituation.
"Do not mistake me, Mordred. I think it's a good situation, that helps the two sides to understand each other, and care for each other. But there are still dragons living away from your kind, and there are still those of your kind, shunned as they are, who resent us. I suppose one simply wonders - are the dragonbloods still a necessity, or do we need to remind people that peace has always been about more than just these special humans bestowed with the power of dragons?"
<<if $chapt4_success_opinion1 == 1>>
Teacher Wyon concludes their little speech with a rumbling sigh. "But we should get back to our lesson. This stone, please."
<<elseif $chapt4_success_opinion == 1>>
Their musings echo your own, and you silently ruminate on them.
Teacher Wyon concludes their little speech with a rumbling sigh. "We should get back to our lesson, though. This stone, please."
<<elseif $chapt4_success_opinion == 2>>
"But the dragonbloods have been created as a link between humans and dragons," you argue. "And if that link is taken away, doesn't the chain break?"
"Ah. There is much to argue," Wyon says, not unkindly, "and many contradicting opinions. We should get back to our lesson, though. This stone, please."
<</if>>
You spend the next half an hour on the translation, then the next hour being taught about the history and cultural importance of dragons' fire storytelling.
It's an intriguing lesson, and afterwards you find yourself with time to spend as you please. Naturally, you go find $dragon_name.
[[Next|Chapt4Hangout]]<<if $chapt3_arthur_library is true and $chapt4_read_arthur_letter is false>><div class="choice">[["\"I got a new letter from Arthur.\""|Chapt4ArthurLetter][$chapt4_read_arthur_letter to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "empty">>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
<div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond - and your letters always tend on the romantic. You're sweethearts, afterall.|Chapt4GawainSweetheartLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "romantic", $gawain_kid to "sweethearts", $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond - as friends. For a while, you exchanged romantic letters, but in time decided to stay just good friends and pen pals, nothing more.|Chapt4GawainNowFriendLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "exes", $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_oblivious to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond - as friends. For a while you exchanged romantic letters, but in time decided to stay just good friends and pen pals, nothing more. The decision was yours - you wanted to save yourself from heartbreak.|Chapt4GawainNowFriendLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "exes_like", $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_oblivious to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain - you sent each other love letters. But you decided to save yourself from heartbreak, convinced he'd get bored of you sooner or later. So you broke things with him.|Chapt4GawainNoLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "exes_notalk_like", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_oblivious to 0]]</div>
<<elseif $gawain_crush >= 3>>
<div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond - as friends, but sometimes you wish there was more between you two. ❤|Chapt4GawainFriendLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_kid to "crush", $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2, $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond - as friends. Whatever infatuation you had when you first met has passed.|Chapt4GawainFriendLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "friends", $gawain_crush to 0, $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4, $gawain_oblivious to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain, but you decided to stop the letters before he could forget or tire of you. It would have hurt too much. Still, your infatuation for him is still there. ❤|Chapt4GawainNoLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_kid to "friend_notalk", $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2, $Gawain to $Gawain-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain, but you decided to stop the letters before he could forget or tire of you. It would have hurt too much. As well, whatever infatuation you held for him has faded.|Chapt4GawainNoLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_kid to "friend_notalk", $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_oblivious to 0]]</div>
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 2>>
<div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond - as friends, but sometimes you wish there was more between you two. ❤|Chapt4GawainFriendLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "crush", $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2, $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond, having stayed good friends. You always get such a strange fluttering when you receive his letters - nerves, most likely. 💕|Chapt4GawainFriendLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_kid to "oblivious", $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4, $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond, having stayed good friends. The strange fluttering you used to get around him has disappeared.|Chapt4GawainFriendLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_kid to "friends", $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4, $gawain_oblivious to 0, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain, but you decided to stop the letters before he could forget or tire of you. It would have hurt too much. As well, the strange fluttering you used to get around him has disappeared.|Chapt4GawainNoLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_kid to "friend_notalk", $gawain_oblivious to 0, $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain, but you decided to stop the letters before he could forget or tire of you. It would have hurt too much. The strange fluttering you used to get around him hasn't disappeared. 💕|Chapt4GawainNoLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_kid to "friend_notalk", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2, $Gawain to $Gawain-5]]</div>
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 2>>
<div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond, having stayed good friends.|Chapt4GawainFriendLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "friends", $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond - as friends, but sometimes you wish there was more between you two. ❤|Chapt4GawainFriendLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "crush", $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2, $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["I got a new letter from Gawain." You often correspond, having stayed good friends. You always get such a strange fluttering when you receive his letters - nerves, most likely. 💕|Chapt4GawainFriendLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "oblivious", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2, $Gawain to $Gawain+4, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+4]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain, but you decided to stop the letters before he could forget or tire of you. It would have hurt too much.|Chapt4GawainNoLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "friend_notalk", $Gawain to $Gawain-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain, but in time your letters shortened and dwindled. You politely let him know that you were too busy until Gawain finally got the message that you weren't interested in pursuing this friendship.|Chapt4GawainNoLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_kid to "ex_friend", $Gawain_friend to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You correspond from time to time - mostly to send regards for special occassion, when you'll also inquire about what the other has been up to. You're not interested in being close, but you want to stay on Gawain's good side.|Chapt4GawainNoLetter][$chapt4_read_gawain_letter to "ally", $gawain_kid to "ally", $Gawain_ally to $Gawain_ally+4]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You sit for a while, simply relaxing.|Chapt4AriawenLetters]]</div><<if $chapt4_lot_bastard == 1>>
You roll your eyes and blow an aggrieved puff. "I know that I'm an incestuous bastard, is this what you want me to say?" you hiss. "But we both already knew that."
His lips curl in disgust. "You are indeed," he agrees. "But that's not what I want to tell you. What did Morgana tell you about that night?" It's not a question he expects you to answer.
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_bastard == 2>>
Your stomach drops and you dig your nails into your palms till it smarts. "I know very well I'm the product of incest and a bastard," you say, voice quiet, "if that's what you're hinting at. We both know that."
His lips curl in disgust. "You are indeed," he agrees. "But that's not what I want to tell you. What did Morgana tell you about that night?" It's not a question he expects you to answer.
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_bastard == 3>>
You simply wanted to come into your room, have a pleasant bath and slip under the covers. Why must you be having this tiresome conversation? You both know very well you're the product of incest - that you're Arthur's bastard. Whatever else is he talking about?
"What did Morgana tell you about that night she met Arthur?" Lot says but this time it's not a question he expects you to answer.
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_bastard == 4>>
You don't respond, rendered wordless by a horrified curiosity. You both know very well you're the product of incest - that you're Arthur's bastard. Is there more to it that he knows of?
"What did Morgana tell you about that night she met Arthur?" Lot says but this time it's not a question he expects you to answer.
<</if>>
"She must have given you some little fiction about how she had no idea who Arthur were - that it had happened sometime before the coronation, perhaps? That she didn't sit through the sword-drawing ceremony, that she didn't see him well maybe - that he never revealed who he was during their conversation."
Mother did indeed tell you that she hadn't known at the time who Arthur were. Neither of them knew. They were both lost and inconsolable when they met in some empty hallway and comforted each other. Then - things happened. //You// happened.
"But she lied to you. As she lied to Arthur that night, because she knew very well who the fuck he was."
"What?" the word falls from your mouth unwittingly. You're rooted in place, watching Lot with growing unease.
"Morgana knew who Arthur was. She knew they were related. And she might have stopped what happened next, except she wanted for it to happen so that //you// might be her chance at revenge.
"What?" you ask yet again, the word forced out by the shock that hits you squarely in the chest; like a furious wave, stealing your breath away, sweeping you off your feet, tumbling you against the gritty sand and rocks of the shore till you don't know where's up and down.
Lot's face is set in a vicious frown; seeming to derive some sick pleasure from your world being turned upside down. "Isn't that what your mother wants, Mordred? Revenge and the throne, and how else would she have a claim to it without you? So she lied to Arthur; she tricked him that night and had you, all for the purpose for which she's grooming you now , all to fit into that awful little prophecy Lord Merlin saw for you. To steal the throne and doom us all."
<div class="choice">[["No. No! You're lying!" It's too horrible a notion to entertain.|Chapt4LotTruth][$chapt4_lot_truth to 1, $calm to $calm-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why should I believe you? You hate mother and I." You don't want to believe him.|Chapt4LotTruth][$chapt4_lot_truth to 2, $calm to $calm+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stand in stunned silence. Is this...true?|Chapt4LotTruth][$chapt4_lot_truth to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Get out. Get out!" You are overwhelmed. Uppended.|Chapt4LotTruth][$chapt4_lot_truth to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Burst into tears, overwhelmed and horrified.|Chapt4LotTruth][$chapt4_lot_truth to 5, $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>Lot rises up from your desk chair, coming out of the shadows like a hateful apparition out of mist. He stands before you, his face the stony side of a cliff erroded by rancor and hate that, like crashing waves and furious wind, have carved deep furrows across his features.
<div class="choice">[["What are you doing here? Who let you in?" you defiantly demand.|Chapt4LotReaction][$chapt4_lot_react to 1, $defiant to $defiant+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Lord Lot," you incline your head, speaking perfectly polite, keeping your calm. "Anything I can help you with?" Like finding the door, perhaps, you think.|Chapt4LotReaction][$chapt4_lot_react to 2, $defiant to $defiant-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Lord Lot," you bow your head, both in an attempt to escape his gaze and act polite. Hopefully it'll get him to leave quickly - his presence makes you nervous.|Chapt4LotReaction][$chapt4_lot_react to 3, $defiant to $defiant-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Get out," you cross your arms.|Chapt4LotReaction][$chapt4_lot_react to 4, $defiant to $defiant+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll call out for my mother," you say, wary of his presence.|Chapt4LotReaction][$chapt4_lot_react to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You stumble back, letting out a yelp.|Chapt4LotReaction][$chapt4_lot_react to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Lord Lot?" you stare at him, wary and very much confused.|Chapt4LotReaction][$chapt4_lot_react to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Come to wish me happy birthday?" you say, putting on a cheeky smile.|Chapt4LotReaction][$chapt4_lot_react to 8, $defiant to $defiant+3]]</div><<if $chapt4_lot_gift == 1>>
You give him a strained smile. Whatever has possessed him? This can't be an uncharacteristic moment of generosity; no, this surely is a trap and you won't fall for it. "That's most kind, but unnecessary," you say.
"I insist," and indeed he does, plowing on without a care: "My gift to you, Mordred, is the truth. A truth Morgana's loath to tell you. Consider this the one and only kindness I'll offer you."
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_gift == 2>>
Whatever has possessed him? This isn't an uncharacteristic moment of generosity; no, this is a trap and you won't fall for it. "I don't need anything from you," you categorically say.
Lot won't have it, plowing on nonetheless. "My gift to you, Mordred, is the truth. A truth Morgana's loath to tell you. Consider this the one and only kindness I'll offer you."
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_gift == 3>>
You meet his words with silence. Let him have his moment, if that's what he wants; the quicker he gets on with it the quicker he can leave you alone.
"My gift to you, Mordred," Lot says, "is the truth. A truth Morgana's loath to tell you. Consider this the one and only kindness I'll offer you."
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_gift == 4>>
Curiosity can be a dangerous thing. It certainly feels that way now, itching with the curiosity of approaching a beast despite knowing it can very well maul you. You give a little nod, indicating you're listening.
"My gift to you, Mordred," Lot says, "is the truth. A truth Morgana's loath to tell you. Consider this the one and only kindness I'll offer you."
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_gift == 5>>
"As if I need anything from you," you bristle. Wherever did he get such a foolish notion? The gall of him, thinking he can just invade your room, your personal space, and then demand you listen to him and accept whatever horrible thing he has to throw your way.
"Shut up and listen," Lot says sharply. "My gift to you, Mordred, is the truth. A truth Morgana's loath to tell you. Consider this the one and only kindness I'll offer you."
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_gift == 6>>
This is nonsense. First he intrudes upon your private chamber, then he insists to give you a gift, whatever that may be - something horrible, for sure. You don't need anything from him, except to see him leaving this room.
"Alright," you say decisively. "I'm calling out for my mom." You draw in a deep breath, readying yourself to shout at the top of your lungs-
"Then you won't hear the truth Morgana's loath to tell you."
You stop, the scream withering away in your mouth as you stare at the man nonplussed. Truth?
Lot takes advantage of your pause to push on, "My gift to you, Mordred. Consider this the one and only kindness I'll offer you."
<</if>>
A tendril of cold slicks down your spine. "Truth?"
Lot's mouth twists in an ugly smile. "She never told you, did she? Of course, why would she do it. She'd never want to look like the villain - always making herself out to be the victim." Your pulse quickens as he spins his message, irritantingly slow and vague, taunting you with whatever //truth// he so supposedly kindly wants to impart upon you.
"Do you know the truth about your conception, Mordred?"
<div class="choice">[["I know that I'm an incestuous bastard, is this what you want me to say?" you hiss. "But we both already knew that."|Chapt4LotBastard][$chapt4_lot_bastard to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your stomach drops and you quietly say: "I know very well I'm the product of incest and a bastard, if that's what you're hinting at. We both know that."|Chapt4LotBastard][$chapt4_lot_bastard to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You stay silent, tired by this all. You both know very well you're the product of incest - that you're Arthur's bastard. Whatever else is he talking about?|Chapt4LotBastard][$chapt4_lot_bastard to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You stay silent, riveted in horrified curiosity. You both know very well you're the product of incest - that you're Arthur's bastard. Is there more to it that he knows of?|Chapt4LotBastard][$chapt4_lot_bastard to 4]]</div><<if $chapt4_lot_react == 1>>
There is no reason for Lot to be in this wing of the castle, let alone in your chamber. You could count the times you've seen his face around these halls on the fingers of one hand, and can barely remember the last instance; so it's strange and a bit unsettling to find him waiting in your room, hidden in the shadows like a highwayman lurking to jump a poor unsuspecting traveler on a dark road. You're not daunted by his unexpected presence, however, and your voice stays firm and steady as you gamely demand to know: "What are you doing here? Who let you in?"
Lot scoffs. "Let me in? This is //my// castle."
"It's mother's wing, and by extension mine, especially this particular room," you say, sweeping an arm to encompass the quarters. Lot's lips twist with displeasure as if you've just told him to go frolick in mud. "Why are you here?" you ask again, growing peevish.
Lord Lot shakes his head, still not answering your question. "Such an insolent child," he bemoans. You've heard it before, as well as many other such descriptors associated with your name. If he's come all the way to insult you, he's going to have to try harder.
<<if $chapt4_snake_wear is true>>
He slowly approaches you, taking you in. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. His hand shoots out and you ready yourself to stolidly bear the back of his palm; instead he flicks your coronet with a dull thump that echoes through your temple.
<<else>>
He slowly approaches you, taking you in. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. "You're //her// from head to toe."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_react == 2>>
There is no reason for Lot to be in this wing of the castle, let alone in your chamber. You could count the times you've seen his face around these halls on the fingers of one hand, and can barely remember the last instance; so it's strange and a bit unsettling to find him waiting in your room, hidden in the shadows like a highwayman lurking to jump a poor unsuspecting traveler on a dark road.
You keep your composure however, politely inclining your head. It's more than he deserves, and you hope your willingness to be civil will get him as quickly out of here as possible. "Lord Lot. Anything I can help you with?" Like finding the door.
He scoffs, acting as if you've just shown him the same rude gesture that got a drunk courtier thrown out a party a couple months ago. He always acts like this, as if whatever courtesy you extend where a concealed dagger - a high offense he won't accept. "There's nothing //you// can help with, but I do have something for you."
You both dread and anticipate whatever that could mean. You won't deny that it piques your interest - does he mean a birthday gift? - but you're acutely aware it can only be something unpleasant, knowing Lot. You glance up, studying the scowling man, trying to gauge out his intentions.
<<if $chapt4_snake_wear is true>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. His hand shoots out and you ball your fists, nails digging into your palm to keep yourself from flinching. He flicks your coronet with a dull thump that echoes through your temple.
<<else>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. "You look so much like //her//."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_react == 3>>
There is no reason for Lot to be in this wing of the castle, let alone in your chamber. You could count the times you've seen his face around these halls on the fingers of one hand, and can barely remember the last instance; so it's strange and a bit unsettling to find him waiting in your room, hidden in the shadows like a highwayman lurking to jump a poor unsuspecting traveler on a dark road.
It's //very// much unnerving, you won't deny it. Uneasiness creeps just under your skin, cold and prickling. It's best - and safest - to act civil in the hopes he'll leave you alone as soon as possible. You bow your head both in deference and to escape that scathing glare of his, voice quiet as you acknowledge him. "Lord Lot."
Lot scoffs lightly. Whatever courtesy you might extend is always met as if it were a high offense, rebuked with dissaproval or plainly ignored by the man. You timidly glance up, studying his expression to try and gauge out his mysterious intents for coming here.
<<if $chapt4_snake_wear is true>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. His hand shoots out and you flinch, nails digging into your palm. He flicks your coronet with a dull thump that echoes through your temple.
<<else>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. "You look so much like //her//."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_react == 4>>
There is no reason for Lot to be in this wing of the castle, let alone in your chamber. You could count the times you've seen his face around these halls on the fingers of one hand, and can barely remember the last instance; so it's strange and a bit unsettling to find him waiting in your room, hidden in the shadows like a highwayman lurking to jump a poor unsuspecting traveler on a dark road.
Whatever his reasons for being here, you don't care. You just want him gone. Undaunted by his foreboading presence, you cross your arms and demand: "Get out."
Lot scoffs. "Such insolence," he spits out. "Might I remind you this is //my// castle."
"And this is //my// room," you shoot right back. He comes in without permission, while you are absent and makes himself comfortable wating for you. Who knows how long he's been here? Who knows what he's done? What if he's rummaged through your things, looked through your drawers? And he has the nerve to talk about //insolence//.
Lord Lot merely shakes his head, shrugging off the words as if you said nothing. Of course. To him, your words mean nothing.
<<if $chapt4_snake_wear is true>>
He slowly approaches you, taking you in. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. His hand shoots out and you ready yourself to stolidly bear the back of his palm; instead he flicks your coronet with a dull thump and echoes through your temple.
<<else>>
He slowly approaches you, taking you in. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. "You're //her// from head to toe."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_react == 5>>
There is no reason for Lot to be in this wing of the castle, let alone in your chamber. You could count the times you've seen his face around these halls on the fingers of one hand, and can barely remember the last instance; so it's strange and a bit unsettling to find him waiting in your room, hidden in the shadows like a highwayman lurking to jump a poor unsuspecting traveler on a dark road. Uneasiness creeps right underneath your skin, cold and prickling, and your voice comes out tight and strange as you say: "I'll call out for my mother."
Lot scoffs. "I'd advise against doing that," he says, which is a far from reassuring thing to say. He must read it in your face, too, for he continues, somewhat begrudgingly: "I'm not going to hurt you. I merely want to have a word."
You both dread and anticipate whatever he could want to tell you. You won't deny that it piques your interest but you're acutely aware it can only be something unpleasant, knowing Lot. You study the scowling man, trying to gauge out his intentions.
<<if $chapt4_snake_wear is true>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. His hand shoots out and you flinch, nails digging into your palm. He flicks your coronet with a dull thump that echoes through your temple.
<<else>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. "You look so much like //her//."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_react == 6>>
You stumble back against the door, yelping. Your heart gallops and blood drums in your ears as you stand, hand over mouth, taking in the man ominously glaring at you. There is no reason for Lot to be in this wing of the castle, let alone in your chamber. You could count the times you've seen his face around these halls on the fingers of one hand, and can barely remember the last instance; so it's strange and a bit unsettling to find him waiting in your room, hidden in the shadows like a highwayman lurking to jump a poor unsuspecting traveler on a dark road.
"Quit the theatrics," he says sharply as if it's your behavior that's inappropiate. It's perfectly normal to be spooked by intruders in your chamber. "And keep your voice down. I want to have a word."
You both dread and anticipate whatever he could want to tell you. You won't deny that it piques your interest but you're acutely aware it can only be something unpleasant, knowing Lot. You study the scowling man as you calm down, trying to gauge out his intentions.
<<if $chapt4_snake_wear is true>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. His hand shoots out and you flinch, nails digging into your palm. He flicks your coronet with a dull thump that echoes through your temples.
<<else>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. "You look so much like //her//."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_react == 7>>
You stare up at him in circumspect befuddlement. "Lord Lot?" you say, both an acknowledgement and a question.
There is no reason for Lot to be in this wing of the castle, let alone in your chamber. You could count the times you've seen his face around these halls on the fingers of one hand, and can barely remember the last instance; so it's strange and a bit unsettling to find him waiting in your room, hidden in the shadows like a highwayman lurking to jump a poor unsuspecting traveler on a dark road.
"I'd like a word with you," the man says.
You both dread and anticipate whatever he could want to tell you. You won't deny that it piques your interest but you're acutely aware it can only be something unpleasant, knowing Lot. You study the scowling man as you calm down, trying to gauge out his intentions.
<<if $chapt4_snake_wear is true>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. His hand shoots out and you freeze, nails digging into your palm. He flicks your coronet with a dull thump that echoes through your temples.
<<else>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. "You look so much like //her//."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_react == 8>>
There is no reason for Lot to be in this wing of the castle, let alone in your chamber. You could count the times you've seen his face around these halls on the fingers of one hand, and can barely remember the last instance; so it's strange and a bit unsettling to find him waiting in your room, hidden in the shadows like a highwayman lurking to jump a poor unsuspecting traveler on a dark road.
You're not daunted by his unexpected presence, however. Your lips twist in a dagger-sharp, irreverent smile. "Come to wish me happy birthday?" Perhaps it's not the wisest idea to prod a bear - he's never had any qualms trying to stand up to you, a child, as opposed to Morgana - but you can't help yourself.
Lot scoffs. "Actually, yes. A very happy birthday - " his tone couldn't be less pleasant - "and to impart something else on you, too."
You both dread and anticipate whatever he could want to tell you. You won't deny that it piques your interest but you're acutely aware it can only be something unpleasant, knowing Lot. You study the scowling man as you calm down, trying to gauge out his intentions.
<<if $chapt4_snake_wear is true>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. His hand shoots out and you brace yourself, nails digging into your palm. He flicks your coronet with a dull thump that echoes through your temples.
<<else>>
He slowly approaches you, surveying you in return. "Look at you," he says with such disgust as if beholding a horrid little creature beyond pity or sympathy. "You look so much like //her//."
<</if>>
<</if>>
This up close Lot reeks of alcohol, something potent and pungent that hits you in the face on a waft of hot breath. "I've come to give you my birthday gift," he says, speaking like a faerie out of your story books, come to retrieve their side of a bargain a human had foolishly struck with them. In those tales, whatever follows is sure to bring only suffering.
<div class="choice">[["That's most kind, but unnecessary," you say, smile strained.|Chapt4LotGift][$chapt4_lot_gift to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't need anything from you," you say firmly.|Chapt4LotGift][$chapt4_lot_gift to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Say nothing. Wait to see what he has for you and get over with this.|Chapt4LotGift][$chapt4_lot_gift to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're very curious, in a twisted way. Whatever awful thing does he have to throw your way?|Chapt4LotGift][$chapt4_lot_gift to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["As if I need anything from you," you bristle, growing angry.|Chapt4LotGift][$chapt4_lot_gift to 5]]</div><<if $chapt4_lot_truth == 1>>
"No," your voice is weak. Quiet. Crushed by these awful, horrible realizations. "No!" you repeat, this time louder and more desperate. "You're lying! You're just lying." Why would he tell you any truth? He's doing this to mess with your head, to turn you against your mother, to make you into some monster to justify his own mistreatment of you. It can't be true. But if what he says is indeed the truth, why would he bother lying? It's meant to hurt you all the same, and he doesn't even need to spin you little fictions to inflict pain.
<<if $chapt4_magic == "control">>
Shadows writhe over Lot's face as the candles flicker, unsettled by a sudden gust of wind sweeping the chamber as if someone had thrown open the windows. It's your magic, threatening to get out of control with your emotions as kindle for the fire. You make yourself to inhale and exhale deeply, slowly till the flames settle and all that's felt is the tumult within yourself.
<<else>>
Shadows writhe over Lot's face as the candles flicker, unsettled by a sudden gust of wind sweeping the chamber as if someone had thrown open the windows. It's your magic, threatening to get out of control with your emotions as kindle for the fire.
<</if>>
You refuse to believe anything that comes from his spiteful tongue. You must talk with Morgana.
Lot seems to have the same idea. He shrugs carelessly as he saunters past you with the confident gait of a man walking away from their thoroughly trashed opponent. "Ask your mother then. Ask that man - Accolon - about it. Perhaps he knows too."
Another hit, another stab, another bleeding wound inflicted upon you by his barbed words.
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_truth == 2>>
"Why should I believe you?" you ask, looking at Lot with narrowed, distrustful eyes. "You hate mother and I."
"I do," Lot confirms. "That's why I think you should trust me to tell the truth."
He's doing this to mess with your head, to turn you against your mother, to make you into some monster to justify his own mistreatment of you, surely. But if what he says is indeed the truth, why would he bother lying? It's meant to hurt you all the same, and he doesn't even need to spin you little fictions to inflict pain.
<<if $chapt4_magic == "control">>
Shadows writhe over Lot's face as the candles flicker, unsettled by a sudden gust of wind sweeping the chamber as if someone had thrown open the windows. It's your magic, threatening to get out of control with your emotions as kindle for the fire. You make yourself to inhale and exhale deeply, slowly till the flames settle and all that's felt is the tumult within yourself.
<<else>>
Shadows writhe over Lot's face as the candles flicker, unsettled by a sudden gust of wind sweeping the chamber as if someone had thrown open the windows. It's your magic, threatening to get out of control with your emotions as kindle for the fire.
<</if>>
You must talk with Morgana.
Lot seems to have the same idea. "Ask your mother," he says as he saunters past you with the confident gait of a man walking away from their thoroughly trashed opponent. "Ask that man - Accolon - about it. Perhaps he knows too."
Another hit, another stab, another bleeding wound inflicted upon you by his barbed words.
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_truth == 3>>
You stand there in stunned, horrified silence, letting his words crash against you, bump around inside your skull like tumultuous water against rocks. Is this...true? Everything he said - did Morgana truly deceive Arthur in such a way? All in a plot to make you...to have you be her revenge? Mother has always talked about retribution and the throne, about righting what's been wronged. You've always thought it happened to be you not because you were made with such intent in mind, but simply because you were the consequence of their mistake and ignorance, a Pendragon, betrayed and abandoned by a man who refused to claim you.
Lot studies your expression; you're not quite sure what he might see there. You're not quite sure what you're feeling, besides overwhelming confusion and acute betrayal.
<<if $chapt4_magic == "control">>
Shadows writhe over his face as the candles flicker, unsettled by a sudden gust of wind sweeping the chamber as if someone had thrown open the windows. It's your magic, threatening to get out of control with your emotions as kindle for the fire. You make yourself to inhale and exhale deeply, slowly till the flames settle and all that's felt is the tumult within yourself.
<<else>>
Shadows writhe over his face as the candles flicker, unsettled by a sudden gust of wind sweeping the chamber as if someone had thrown open the windows. It's your magic, threatening to get out of control with your emotions as kindle for the fire.
<</if>>
"Ask your mother," he encourages as he saunters past you with the confident gait of a man walking away from their thoroughly trashed opponent. "Ask that man - Accolon - about it. Perhaps he knows too."
Another hit, another stab, another bleeding wound inflicted upon you by his barbed words.
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_truth == 4>>
You stand there for a moment in horrified silence, letting his words crash against you, bump around inside your skull like tumultuous water against rocks. Then, your voice coming out harsher than expected, you spit out: "Get out." Then, louder and more desperate, throat burning with the shout: "Get out!"
<<if $chapt4_magic == "control">>
Shadows writhe over Lot's face as the candles flicker, unsettled by a sudden gust of wind sweeping the chamber as if someone had thrown open the windows. It's your magic, threatening to get out of control with your emotions as kindle for the fire. You make yourself to inhale and exhale deeply, slowly till the flames settle and all that's felt is the tumult within yourself.
<<else>>
Shadows writhe over Lot's face as the candles flicker, unsettled by a sudden gust of wind sweeping the chamber as if someone had thrown open the windows. It's your magic, threatening to get out of control with your emotions as kindle for the fire.
<</if>>
He moves to the door, sauntering past you with the confident gait of a man walking away from their thoroughly trashed opponent. He stops with a hand on the handle, turning to look at you over his shoulder. "Ask your mother," he encourages. "Ask that man - Accolon - about it. Perhaps he knows too."
"Get out!" you scream again, palms itchy and warm.
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_truth == 5>>
You stand there for a moment in horrified silence, letting his words crash against you, bump around inside your skull like tumultuous water against rocks. Then, like a dam breaking, you burst into tears. They fill your vision and turn it hazy and liquid, blurrying Lot's cruel face. He saunters past you with the confident gait of a man walking away from their thoroughly trashed opponent.
<<if $chapt4_magic == "control">>
Shadows writhe strangely around you as the candles flicker, unsettled by a sudden gust of wind sweeping the chamber as if someone had thrown open the windows. It's your magic, threatening to get out of control with your emotions as kindle for the fire. You make yourself to inhale and exhale deeply, slowly till the flames settle and all that's felt is the tumult within yourself.
<<else>>
Shadows writhe strangely around you as the candles flicker, unsettled by a sudden gust of wind sweeping the chamber as if someone had thrown open the windows. It's your magic, threatening to get out of control with your emotions as kindle for the fire.
<</if>>
Lot stops, hand on the handle, and looks at you over his shoulder. "Ask your mother," he encourages. "Ask that man - Accolon - about it. Perhaps he knows too."
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_lot_truth == 4>>
The door clicks shut, leaving you alone with everything he said circling around you like the dark, deep shadows lurking in the corners of the room. You don't linger long, shooting out into the hall as if you could escape the thoughts, heading for the only one who could chase them away - Morgana.
You burst out of your chamber at the same time that another door flings open down the corridor. Your mother strides out, hair let down, fumbling to fasten her dressing gown.
"Mordred? I heard you shout, are you-" she cuts herself off as she spots Lot's retreating back. "What do //you// think you're doing here?"
He makes no reply, slipping out the door before being faced with further questioning. Mighty cowardly of him. One act of defiance towards Morgana was enough, wasn't it? Because, true or not, kind or not, that's what this boils down to. This is what he wanted: you frantically rushing to your mother asking for an explanation. And whatever her answer, it'll be far from an easy one.
Morgana's head snaps back in your direction. "What did he do?" Her eyes scan over you in search of anything amiss.
<div class="choice">[["Told me the truth," you say, taking a wary step back. "Of that night with Arthur."|Chapt4LotTruthHall][$chapt4_confront_morgana to 1, $chapt4_said_lot to "truth"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Told me something horrible. Is it true?" You stumble back, putting distance between you.|Chapt4LotTruthHall][$chapt4_confront_morgana to 2, $chapt4_said_lot to "terrible"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He told me something terrible. Is it true?" you fling yourself into her arms, seeking comfort.|Chapt4LotTruthHall][$chapt4_confront_morgana to 3, $chapt4_said_lot to "terrible"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just cry, trying your best to get the words out through sobs. Letting her comfort you.|Chapt4LotTruthHall][$chapt4_confront_morgana to 4, $chapt4_said_lot to "terrible", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just cry, trying your best to get the words out through sobs. Pulling away when she tries to comfort you.|Chapt4LotTruthHall][$chapt4_confront_morgana to 5, $chapt4_said_lot to "truth", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<<else>>
The door clicks shut, leaving you alone with the words he said circling around you like the dark, deep shadows lurking in the corners of the room. You stumble out into the corridor, careening towards Morgana's chambers. You knock on the door in a frenzy, enough to stir a distant reassurance and muffled flurry from the other side. Morgana emerges, hair let down, fastening her hastily thrown on dressing gown.
"Mordred, are you alright?" She looks you over, whatever she sees in your face causing barely concealed alarm to raise on her own; she then looks up and down the corridor as if she might find the culprit that brought you in this state.
And she finds him slipping out the door, away from this wing. She furiously calls out after him but all that meets her is silence and a shut door. Mighty cowardly of him. One act of defiance towards Morgana was enough, wasn't it? Because, true or not, kind or not, that's what this boils down to. This is what he wanted: you frantically rushing to your mother asking for an explanation. And whatever her answer, it'll be far from an easy one.
She turns back to you. "What did he do?"
<div class="choice">[["Told me the truth," you say, taking a wary step back. "Of that night with Arthur."|Chapt4LotTruthHall][$chapt4_confront_morgana to 1, $chapt4_said_lot to "truth"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Told me something horrible. Is it true?" You stumble back, weighing her warily.|Chapt4LotTruthHall][$chapt4_confront_morgana to 2, $chapt4_said_lot to "terrible"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He told me something terrible. Is it true?" you fling yourself into her arms, seeking comfort.|Chapt4LotTruthHall][$chapt4_confront_morgana to 3, $chapt4_said_lot to "terrible"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just cry, trying your best to get the words out through sobs. Letting her comfort you.|Chapt4LotTruthHall][$chapt4_confront_morgana to 4, $chapt4_said_lot to "terrible", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just cry, trying your best to get the words out through sobs. Pulling away when she tries to comfort you.|Chapt4LotTruthHall][$chapt4_confront_morgana to 5, $chapt4_said_lot to "truth", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_confront_morgana == 1>>
You take an apprehensive step back. There's a gaping, growing hallow between you that's filled with dread, suspicion and mistrust, and you fear you'll slip under into their murky, dark waters at any moment.
"Told me the truth," you reply, considering Morgana in a different light, shed by Lot's accusation. You find that it's hard to dismiss it completely, as much as you wish you could. Worst of it all, a part of you can readily accept Lot's words to be true. You know your mother capable of treading dangerous paths, of going to extreme lenghts if she thinks it'll aid her quest for retribution.
Morgana's brow furrows. "Truth?"
You swallow heavily, wishing you might swallow the words too. Cleanse your mind of them and forget you've ever heard them. "He said you knew who Arthur was when you first met him. That - that you knew but he didn't know who you were and you still...you still," you struggle, tumbling over your words as if they were bumps in the road, lumps lodged in your throat that you can't spit out. "That you had me to complete your revenge against Arthur," you finish, biting at your lower lip till it stings.
<<elseif $chapt4_confront_morgana == 2>>
You take a stumbling step back. There's a gaping, growing hallow between you that's filled with dread, suspicion and mistrust, and you fear you'll slip under into their murky, dark waters at any moment. Your legs already betray you, rendered meek and feeble like a baby deer's by a trepidation that makes your skin teem with a thounsand ants.
"Told me something terrible," you reply, considering Morgana in a different light shed by Lot's accusation. You don't want to believe it. You don't want to believe that all this time, she's been lying about it. That all this time, your very sole reason for existing has been her thirst for vengeance, burning with such a passion as to lead her to deceive Arthur, too. //Arthur//. Your stomach roils at the thought of what she did to accomplish it.
"That horrible man," Morgana hisses under her breath, tossing the door Lot slipped out of a glare so heated and hateful it could have burned it down. "What did he say?"
You swallow heavily, wishing you might swallow the words too. Cleanse your mind of them and forget you've ever heard them. "He said you knew who Arthur was when you first met him. That - that you knew but he didn't know who you were and you still...you still," you struggle, tumbling over your words as if they were bumps in the road, lumps lodged your throat that you can't spit out. "That you had me to complete your revenge against Arthur," you finish, biting at your lower lip till it stings.
<<elseif $chapt4_confront_morgana == 3>>
You fling yourself at her. Her hands immediately wrap around you and you bury your face in her shoulder. It's her comfort that you seek despite every awful thing Lot has impressed upon you tonight; it's her tender fingers massaging your back and her soothing, whispered "Dear" and "Darling" and "What happened?" that calms, if only slightly, the mad gallop of your heartbeat and the shallow breaths you take, as if you were drowning - drowing in a sea of suspicion and dread and distrust, dragged under by shrewd, cruel undercurrents.
Face still hidden in her shoulder, the silk of her dressing gown smooth and soft against your cheek, you mutter, "He told me something terrible."
"That horrible man," Morgana hisses under her breath, any softness afforded to you stripped to a barbed, harsh, unadultered animosity as she speaks of Lot. "What did he say?"
You pull away to look at your mother, her hands still resting on your shoulders, reluctant to let go. You swallow heavily, wishing you might swallow the words too. Cleanse your mind of them and forget you've ever heard them. "He said you knew who Arthur was when you first met him. That - that you knew but he didn't know who you were and you still...you still," you struggle, tumbling over your words as if they were bumps in the road, lumps lodged in your throat that you can't spit out. "That you had me to complete your revenge against Arthur," you finish, biting at your lower lip till it stings.
<<elseif $chapt4_confront_morgana == 4>>
You open your mouth to answer but all that comes out is a wretched sob, followed by a deluge of tears. They choke you, lodge in your throat to smother the words you both dread to speak yet can barely contain. Drowing in a sea of tears and suspicion and dread, dragged under by shrewd, cruel undercurrents.
You fling yourself at Morgana and she catches you in her arms, enveloping you in a tender hug, hands soothingly massaging your back. She croons, trying to calm you down while she can barely rein in her own quivering voice, pleading with you to tell her what's wrong.
Face still hidden in her shoulder, the silk of her dressing gown soft and damp against your cheek, you mutter thickly, "He told me something terrible."
"That horrible man," Morgana hisses under her breath, any softness afforded to you stripped to a barbed, harsh, unadultered animosity as she speaks of Lot. "What did he say?"
You pull away to look at your mother, her hands still resting on your shoulders, reluctant to let go. You sniffle and rub at your eyes, swallowing heavily, wishing you might swallow the words too. Cleanse your mind of them and forget you've ever heard them. "He said you knew who Arthur was when you first met him. That - that you knew but he didn't know who you were and you still...you still," you struggle, tumbling over your words as if they were bumps in the road, lumps lodged in your throat that you can't spit out. "That you had me to complete your revenge against Arthur," you finish, biting at your lower lip till it stings.
<<elseif $chapt4_confront_morgana == 5>>
You open your mouth to answer but all that comes out is a wretched sob, followed by a deluge of tears. They choke you, lodge in your throat to smother the words you both dread to speak yet can barely contain. Drowing in a sea of tears and suspicion and dread, dragged under by shrew, cruel undercurrents.
Morgana reaches out, moving to wrap you in her arms. You dither and stumble back, putting space between you. There's a gapping, growing hallow between you that's filled with dread, suspicion and mistrust, and you fear you'll slip under into their murky, dark waters at any moment. Your legs already betray you, rendered meek and feeble like a baby deer's by a trepidation that makes your skin teem with a thounsand ants.
"What happened, darling?" she begs of you to say.
Between tears and snot and whimpers you manage: "He told me something terrible."
"That horrible man," Morgana hisses under her breath, tossing the door Lot slipped out of a glare so heated and hateful it could have burned it down. "What did he say?"
You sniffle and rub at your eyes, swallowing heavily, wishing you might swallow the words too. Cleanse your mind of them and forget you've ever heard them. "He said you knew who Arthur were when you first met him. That- that you knew but he didn't know who you was and you still...you still," you struggle, tumbling over your words as if they were bumps in the road, lumps lodged your throat that you can't spit out. "That you had me to complete your revenge against Arthur," you finish, biting at your lower lip till it stings.
<</if>>
"What?" Morgana says, bloodless.
She looks terrified. If Lot were the faerie that came to demand his end of the bargain, then it's her, not you, the foolish human who thought they had outwitted him.
<<if $morgana_skin_show is true and $chapt4_said_lot == "terrible">>
The color has drained from her cheeks, your mother rendered silent as she studies your face, seeking within it something - perhaps if you've already made up your mind on the matter. You don't know what to think, only what you'd like to, and what you want to believe may not be the truth. There's an uncertainy that's rapidly turning to suspicion, poisoning your heart. It seeps without to infect everything around you. The air is fraught now that the words have been spat out. They sizzle in the space between you, yet to be denied by her.
<<elseif $morgana_skin_show is true and $chapt4_said_lot == "truth">>
The color has drained from her cheeks, your mother rendered silent as she studies your face, seeking within it something. Perhaps hoping that any moment now there'll be a change in your features and in your heart and you'll stop looking at her with those accusing eyes. You can't see yourself but you can //feel// yourself, feel the tension within you seep out to poison everything around you. The air is fraught now that the words have been spat out. They sizzle in the space between you, yet to be denied by her.
<<elseif $chapt4_said_lot == "terrible">>
Your mother is rendered silent as she studies your face, seeking within it something - perhaps if you've already made up your mind on the matter. You don't know what to think, only what you'd like to, and that may not be the truth. There's an uncertainy that's rapidly turning to suspicion, poisoning your heart. It seeps without to infect everything around you. The air is fraught now that the words have been spat out. They sizzle in the space between you, yet to be denied by her.
<<else>>
Your mother is rendered silent as she studies your face, seeking within it something. Perhaps hoping that any moment now there'll be a change in your features and in your heart and you'll stop looking at her with those accusing eyes. You can't see yourself but you can //feel// yourself, feel the tension within you seep out to poison everything around you. The air is fraught now that the words have been spat out. They sizzle in the space between you, yet to be denied by her.
<</if>>
"Mordred, darling, I need you to settle down." It sounds as much an attempt to placate you as it is to calm herself down. She's stalling, and fortunately for her she's spared from having to articulate a response just yet when a voice calls out from behind.
"Morgana? Did something happen?"
Accolon's ginger hair is damp, shinning a dark auburn in the corridor's gilded light, a towel hanging about his shoulders. He regards you with copious amounts of both concern and confusion.
You're marshalled inside by Morgana, her silence allowing dread to sprout thick, sturdy roots that fix within yourself the terrible revelation. She closes the door and leans against it for a moment, taking a deep breath in, then out, building up her usual poise.
[[Continue|MorganaChamberTruth]]You part ways with Accolon at the Castle, with him going about the rest of his knightly duties while you and Morgana fetch the needed supplies to go about your own magicky affairs. You pick a couple tomes and a basket of food and make your way towards the woods.
The forest, like the town, is teeming with life. Buzzing insects and chittering birds joining voices to create a vast orchestra that accompanies you with every step. One of the birds will raise its voice in a solo of chirruping trills that stand out over it all; or the warbling will fade into the background, allowing the droning of bugs to fill your ears, looping again and again those same notes, keeping dilligently to a constant rhythm.
<<if $chapt3_arthur_river == "yes" or $chapt3_arthur_river == "train">>
You walk down the same path you lead Arthur down almost two years ago, and settle on the river bank where you sat with him then. It had been autumn, and the weather had been that cozy crisp cool where all you needed to be perfectly comfortable was a cloak, and the sun shone gently like a caressing hand, so unlike these whips of fire set on searing your skin.
The river gurgles all the same.
<<else>>
You're not headed for the riverbank spot you and $dragon_name have claimed as your own little forest nook. The river coils through the forest like a slithering serpent, and there's a bend that comes closer to the Castle, where Morgana brings you to train, and where she loves to pray and draw herself. Here the strip of land between the woods and the stream is much narrower than where you usually go with $dragon_name, and the river bank is lower here too. If you were to lean to the side and reach out your arm, your fingers would be dipping in the cool water.
<</if>>
The content of your magic lessons varies from week to week, sometimes from session to session; you'll dip your toes into a subject, as much as Morgana considers necessary at the moment. She has a curriculum of her own devise, inspired by the studies she herself has received; seeking to give you a well-rounded education in all areas of magic. And there are quite a lot of parts to cover. It's like a great, mighty tree, branching out into different subjects, each subject sprouting smaller boughs of its own. And this tree of magic is so tall you can't see its top, because there's so much of magic shrouded in mystery, so many unanswered questions that you can't even tell if they'll ever be answered. And its roots are nebulous, too, what fixes the tree into the ground, what it draws from the soil to keep it going. Its inner workings are only partially known, veiled in more enigma.
But what you learn is what is known. You learn the basic concepts of magic, the necessary theory. You learn to not only feel the magic within and without you, for that's not where the difficulty lies; you learn to understand it, to bend it. The elements come easy to you, grace of your Le Fay blood. You only need to grasp for it, having the innate recognition, deep in your core, running in your blood, for the magic that pulses in the wind, in the water, in the fire, in the earth. It's a part of you, its intertwined with every fiber of your being.
It's the other types of magic that you must learn to master, and Morgana insists on teaching you at least a bit of everything.
Your blood and the elements are so intertwined, in fact, that the magic around you reacts whether you want it or not, dictated by your emotions. It's especially hard for little children to take the reigns of that tie betweeen magic and feelings, but you like to think of yourself as no longer little. Morgana never bothered taming her temper, and finds a certain raw power in letting it control her magic. You've seen the consequences of her decision. The wind that picks up almost instinctively around her, so wild even as her own face may remain a mask. All nearby fires crackling, all the water around her splashing and sloshing. It's as powerful as it is unpredictable, and you've suspected it's always been the extreme of both for Morgana as a result of her doing everything she does and feeling everything she feels to the full capacity of her being.
Your mother has given you a choice in the matter, however. She's been taught how to control this capricious side of your blood's magic, even if she only applies it herself once she's worked herself up already.
<div class="choice">[[You've asked her to teach you. You've seen how dangerous she can get, and you'd rather control your magic. After all, it makes it no less powerful.|Chapt4MorganaMagic][$chapt4_magic to "control", $controlled_magic to $controlled_magic+10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You let your emotions run wild and free along with your magic. It gives you such an intoxicating rush of power; why should you try to stopper it?|Chapt4MorganaMagic][$chapt4_magic to "wild", $controlled_magic to $controlled_magic-10]]</div><<if $chapt4_mordred_card == "tower">>
<<if $want_revenge == "yes">>
"The Tower." You seize the card, appraising it for a second time. It depicts a crumbling ivory tower, struck by lightning. It blazes, set afire against a stormy sky. From the ravaged tower a figure has either fallen or jumped, its red cloak billowing behind them like a streak of blood. It speaks to you - the allure of mayhem, the beauty in ruin, the temptation to strike down the kingdom your family has been cast out of and barred from, to take down all those who built it on the suffering of your family.
<<else>>
"The Tower." You seize the card, appraising it for a second time. It depicts a crumbling ivory tower, struck by lightning. It blazes, set afire against a stormy sky. From the ravaged tower a figure has either fallen or jumped, its red cloak billowing behind them like a streak of blood. There's a certain allure to the depicted mayhem, a strange beauty in ruin. The Tower is coming undone - just as you feel precariously close to yourself sometimes.
<</if>>
Gawain considers you curiously. "Interesting pick," he says, far nicer than most would act in this instance. You would have all but admitted to ruin and treason in more suspicious, wary eyes. "It can mean destruction, that's true; but it stands for drastic, shocking changes, too, and changes don't have to be bad." In classic Gawain manner, he offers a more generous explanation than others would.
<<elseif $chapt4_mordred_card == "magician">>
"The Magician." You seize the card, appraising it for a second time. It depicts a sorcerer in flowing robes of blood red, short hair kept out of her face by a golden coronet, surrounded by a shock of rose bushes, standing in front of a table laid with a sword and a goblet. Her right hand is raised to the skies, as if calling upon nature itself to do her bidding, reaching out to grasp the magic that sizzles in the air around her. The Magician stares out at you from the illustration with an expression you know all too well: that heady look of someone high on power, that sheer confidence of someone who feels the rush of magic through their veins.
"Very fitting for you," Gawain giggles. "Though it's not just for sorcerers! It's a very empowering card - encouraging you to reach your full potential and all that."
<<elseif $chapt4_mordred_card == "monarch">>
"The Monarch." You seize the card, appraising it for a second time. It depicts the ruler seated on their throne, gilded and high-backed, crowned by elaborate spires. The monarch is no less impressive in their flowing robes that spill over the ivory steps before them in a waterfall of lavish purple. They sit, back straight and chin thrust forward, a specter held in their right hand, a crown of gleaming stars upon their curls.
"It's gorgeous, isn't it?" Gawain agrees, peering at it over your shoulder.
<<elseif $chapt4_mordred_card == "hermit">>
"The Hermit." You seize the card, appraising it for a second time. It depicts a cloaked figurine wandering through the woods, guided only by the moonlight and their lantern. The hermit peers out from beneath their hood with wary eyes and hand gripped tightly around their staff, as if at any moment something may jump out from the trees and attack them. Their robe is as deep a black as midnight and peppered with silver stars.
"Oooh, mysterious," Gawain sing-songs as he peeks over your shoulder at the card. "The hermits running off into the woods to do some self-reflection while looking all mysterious and very fashionable, of course."
<<elseif $chapt4_mordred_card == "chariot">>
"The Chariot." You seize the card, appraising it for a second time. It depicts a two-wheeled contraption - half a carriage, drawn by two steeds, one pure white, the other midnight black, both with lush manes. The woman holding the reigns stands up in the gilded chariot, under a canopy of velvet that imitates the starry sky. She dons an armor, polished to a shine, the kind worn for festivities that has never seen the dent or scratch of a sword, that aims to impress rather than protect - that might blind the foe in a battle, though.
"It's very beautiful," Gawain agrees, peering over your shoulder. "It has this...mighty aura."
<<elseif $chapt4_mordred_card == "high priest">>
"The High Priest." You seize the card, appraising it for a second time. It depicts the Priest of the Lady of the Lake with cupped hands, holding water, and eyes closed in prayer, an expression of bliss and serenity gracing their features. They're draped in Avalonian robes of blue, seated on the bank of a lake, their visage as calm as the waters its reflected in.
"It's pretty, isn't it?" Gawain agrees, peering over your shoulder. "This deck has a Priest of the Lady of the Lake, but it gets replaced with other Temples in other packs. This one is most fitting for you."
<</if>>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
You settle on playing different games, switching whenever one of you grows bored. At some point Gawain makes a request for sweetened tea and some nibbles to be brought to his chamber. After a while you end cuddled on the rug, legs tangled and arms draped lazily over the other, speaking of everything and anything, cards strewn all around you.
His fingers caress your cheek and your eyes flutter close as you relish the warm, gentle touch. "I'll miss you," he whispers.
You rest your forehead against his. "Me too. You'll come next year, too, right?" Your voice comes out in a fragile murmur, like a wayward breeze that barely rustles the leaves.
"Of course." A pause, then: "You know, this is like a fairy tale."
"A fairy tale?" you ask, bemused.
"Yes! One where the sweethearts can only meet on one specific day to circumvent some terrible curse that keeps them apart."
You chuckle. "Well, is there a way to break it?"
"There always is."
You stay like this for a while, talking, before you take your leave.
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]
<<else>>
You settle on playing different games, switching whenever one of you grows bored. At some point Gawain makes a request for sweetened tea and some nibbles to be brought to his chamber. After a while you end laying on the rug, staring at the dark wood beams of the ceiling and the patch of clear blue sky out the window, speaking of everything and anything, cards strewn all around you.
<<if $gawain_crush >= 2>>
"And there was this big billowing green smoke coming out of the cauldron," Gawain puckers his lips and blows out an explosive puff of air, throwing his arms up towards the ceiling to complete the dramatic picture. When they land back by his side on the carpet, his pinkie brushes ever so slightly by yours, and stays there.
<div class="choice">[[Keep it there. Relishing the miniscule touch. ❤|Chapt4GawainTouch][$chapt4_gawain_pinkie to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hook your pinkie with his, not saying anything. ❤|Chapt4GawainTouch][$chapt4_gawain_pinkie to 2, $gawain_ro to $gawain_ro+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull away with a twinge of pain. ❤|Chapt4GawainTouch][$chapt4_gawain_pinkie to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Gawain. There's something I want to tell you." Confess your feelings. ❤|Chapt4GawainTouch][$chapt4_gawain_pinkie to 4, $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to true, $chapt4_gawain_sweet to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Gawain..." Heat rushes to your cheeks. No. You don't know if you can say it. But you want to. You want to confess your feelings. ❤|Chapt4GawainTouch][$chapt4_gawain_pinkie to 5, $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to true, $chapt4_gawain_sweet to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's affectionate like that; he loves to be close to people, and you love to be chosen by him.|Chapt4GawainTouch][$chapt4_gawain_pinkie to 6, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 2>>
"And there was this big billowing green smoke coming out of the cauldron," Gawain puckers his lips and blows out an explosive puff of air, throwing his arms up towards the ceiling to complete the dramatic picture. When they land back by his side on the carpet, his pinkie brushes ever so slightly by yours, and stays there.
<div class="choice">[[Keep it there. You don't mind the proximity. 💕|Chapt4GawainTouchOblivious][$chapt4_gawain_pinkie to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hook your pinkie with his. You just love the proximity. It anchors you. 💕|Chapt4GawainTouchOblivious][$chapt4_gawain_pinkie to 2, $gawain_ro to $gawain_ro+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull away, confused. 💕|Chapt4GawainTouchOblivious][$chapt4_gawain_pinkie to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's affectionate like that; he loves to be close to people, and you love to be chosen by him.|Chapt4GawainTouch][$chapt4_gawain_pinkie to 4, $gawain_oblivious to 0, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<<else>>
"And there was this big billowing green smoke coming out of the cauldron," Gawain puckers his lips and blows out an explosive puff of air, throwing his arms up towards the ceiling to complete the dramatic picture.
"Sounds like a big mess."
"It was!"
You talk for some more before you take your leave.
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]
<</if>>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_speakup == 1>>
You truly doubt that but bite your tongue. You could go on like this all day, striking back and forth, for Morgana never tires of defending herself.
<<elseif $chapt4_speakup == 2>>
"No," you say roundly, unwilling to relent so easily. You can be just as persistent as her, counter every argument with your own. "Stop that. Stop making up excuses. Take responsability, accept the blame. You hurt Arthur - you wronged him. The least you can do is admit it."
Her jaw tigthens. "So I hurt him," Morgana glibly says, in a tone that suggests she's merely entertaining the idea rather than admitting to it. Treating this with insulting dismissiveness. "He hurt me too - hurt the both of us."
You eye her with narrowed eyes and scoff, "I wonder what made him stay away."
"His own decisions and cowardice," Morgana replies with such ease, she must have deeply, fully convinced herself of that.
You both sit in fuming silence, measuring the other warily as if you were enemies on opposite sides of the ring.
<<elseif $chapt4_speakup == 3>>
//It was neccessary//, you repeat to yourself, intent on echoing it till it rings less painful and more truthful.
<<elseif $chapt4_speakup == 4>>
Neccessary as she may deem it, it makes the situation no less horrible. "It doesn't change the fact that it was awful, and that you hurt Arthur. Wronged him."
Her jaw tigthens. "So I hurt him," Morgana glibly says, in a tone that suggests she's merely entertaining the idea rather than admitting to it. Treating this with insulting dismissiveness. "He hurt me too - hurt the both of us."
"Mother," you plead with her, "just admit to it, for once."
Morgana does not admit to it, not even for this once. Instead she keeps adamantly quiet, while you look on at her anxiously.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4MorganaStudyTalk>>This isn't the first time you've been here, is it? Not the first time you've been told a shattering revelation that suddenly changes your pespective, as if you've been looking at a picture upside down all your life and someone finally came and rectified it. And both times, the proper picture was not a pretty one. First, it was the prophecy. Now this.
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset">>
<<if $betray == "notforgive">>
The wound inflicted then couldn't even properly mend and now it's been viciously slashed open again, bleeding anew. It cuts deep and hard and her reassurance that she'll love you no matter what does nothing to assuage you. Maybe she truly does believe herself right now, but what happens if you do end up failing her intended purpose for you? Your chest constricts and your eyes prickle at the thought that your worth may weigh in balance with how you may best serve.
<<elseif $betray == "willforgive">>
It took so long for the wound inflicted then to mend and now it's been viciously slashed open again, bleeding anew. It cuts deep and hard and her reassurance that she'll love you no matter what does nothing to assuage you. Maybe she truly does believe herself right now, but what happens if you do end up failing her intended purpose for you? Your chest constricts and your eyes prickle at the thought that your worth may weigh in balance with how you may best serve.
<<else>>
You understood why they wanted to wait before they revealed that terrible prophecy to you, why they didn't want to burden you with its knowledge. But this is different. This betrayal cuts deep and hard and her reassurance that she'll love you no matter what does nothing to assuage you. Maybe she truly does believe herself right now, but what happens if you do end up failing her intended purpose for you? Your chest constricts and your eyes prickle at the thought that your worth may weigh in balance with how you may best serve.
<</if>>
You wonder if this is what she always does: distort and obfuscate the facts, turn them around and strip them of the truth to dress them up in something new and fake if that's what it takes to fit them into the narrative she wants to tell. You wonder how much else she's holding back. What else you're not aware of, what other truths have been twisted around for you to see only the facet she wants - or a completely fake, painted one, a masquarade everyone around you is happy to put on to keep you in the dark. Everyone except for Lot this time. You'd agree with him that it's the only kindness he's ever done you if it didn't wreck you so.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry">>
<<if $betray == "notforgive">>
The wound inflicted then couldn't even properly mend and now it's been viciously slashed open again, bleeding anew. It cuts deep and hard and her reassurance that she'll love you no matter what does nothing to assuage you. Maybe she truly does believe herself right now, but what happens if you do end up failing her intended purpose for you? Your chest constricts and your blood boils at the thought that your worth may weigh in balance with how you may best serve.
<<elseif $betray == "willforgive">>
It took so long for the wound inflicted then to mend and now it's been viciously slashed open again, bleeding anew. It cuts deep and hard and her reassurance that she'll love you no matter what does nothing to assuage you. Maybe she truly does believe herself right now, but what happens if you do end up failing her intended purpose for you? Your chest constricts and your blood boils at the thought that your worth may weigh in balance with how you may best serve.
<<else>>
You understood why they wanted to wait before they revealed that terrible prophecy to you, why they didn't want to burden you with its knowledge. But this is different. This betrayal cuts deep and hard and her reassurance that she'll love you no matter what does nothing to assuage you. Maybe she truly does believe herself right now, but what happens if you do end up failing her intended purpose for you? Your chest constricts and your blood boils at the thought that your worth may weigh in balance with how you may best serve.
<</if>>
You wonder if this is what she always does: distort and obfuscate the facts, turn them around and strip them of the truth to dress them up in something new and fake if that's what it takes to fit them into the narrative she wants to tell. You wonder how much else she's holding back. What else you're not aware of, what other truths have been twisted around for you to see only the facet she wants - or a completely fake, painted one, a masquarade everyone around you is happy to put on to keep you in the dark. Everyone except for Lot this time. You'd agree with him that it's the only kindness he's ever done you if it didn't wreck you so.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_angry">>
<<if $betray == "notforgive">>
The wound inflicted then couldn't even properly mend and now it's been viciously slashed open again, bleeding anew. It cuts deep and hard but there is a certain reassurance in the fact that Morgana does value you more than the purpose she had you for. Even if her way of showing love is the same reason for which you hurt.
<<elseif $betray == "willforgive">>
It took so long for the wound inflicted then to mend and now it's been viciously slashed open again, bleeding anew. It cuts deep and hard but there is a certain reassurance in the fact that Morgana does value you more than the purpose she had you for. Even if her way of showing love is the same reason for which you hurt.
<<else>>
You understood why they wanted to wait before they revealed that terrible prophecy to you, why they didn't want to burden you with its knowledge. But this is different. This betrayal cuts deep and hard but there is a certain reassurance in the fact that Morgana does value you more than the purpose she had you for. Even if her way of showing love is the same reason for which you hurt.
<</if>>
You wonder if this is what she always does: distort and obfuscate the facts, turn them around and strip them of the truth to dress them up in something new and fake if that's what it takes to fit them into the narrative she wants to tell. You wonder how much else she's holding back. What else you're not aware of, what other truths have been twisted around for you to see only the facet she wants - or a completely fake, painted one, a masquarade everyone around you is happy to put on to keep you in the dark. Everyone except for Lot this time. You'd agree with him that it's the only kindness he's ever done you if it didn't wreck you so.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">>
<<if $betray == "notforgive">>
The wound inflicted then couldn't even properly mend and now it's been viciously slashed open again, bleeding anew. It cuts deep and hard but there is a certain reassurance in the fact that Morgana does value you more than the purpose she had you for. Even if her way of showing love is the same reason for which you hurt.
<<elseif $betray == "willforgive">>
It took so long for the wound inflicted then to mend and now it's been viciously slashed open again, bleeding anew. It cuts deep and hard but there is a certain reassurance in the fact that Morgana does value you more than the purpose she had you for. Even if her way of showing love is the same reason for which you hurt.
<<else>>
You understood why they wanted to wait before they revealed that terrible prophecy to you, why they didn't want to burden you with its knowledge. But this is different. This betrayal cuts deep and hard but there is a certain reassurance in the fact that Morgana does value you more than the purpose she had you for. Even if her way of showing love is the same reason for which you hurt.
<</if>>
You wonder if this is what she always does: distort and obfuscate the facts, turn them around and strip them of the truth to dress them up in something new and fake if that's what it takes to fit them into the narrative she wants to tell. You wonder how much else she's holding back. What else you're not aware of, what other truths have been twisted around for you to see only the facet she wants - or a completely fake, painted one, a masquarade everyone around you is happy to put on to keep you in the dark. Everyone except for Lot this time. You'd agree with him that it's the only kindness he's ever done you if it didn't wreck you so.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok">>
<<if $betray == "notforgive">>
The wound inflicted almost two years ago hasn't properly healed yet but now you just feel numbed by this newfound betrayal. There is a certain reassurance though in the fact that Morgana does value you more than the purpose she had you for.
<<elseif $betray == "willforgive">>
It took so long for the last wound inflicted to mend and this time you're willing to approach this more openly, more indulgently. There is also a certain reassurance in the fact that Morgana does value you more than the purpose she had you for.
<<else>>
You understood why they wanted to wait before they revealed that terrible prophecy to you, why they didn't want to burden you with its knowledge - and you're willing to understand them this time too. There is also a certain reassurance in the fact that Morgana does value you more than the purpose she had you for.
<</if>>
You wonder if there's anything else Morgana's holding back; how often has she distorted and obfuscated the facts, and why? Are there any other terrible things that she's been shielding you from? Other truths that have been hidden so you see only the bright facets, or facades painted entirely in a fresh, prettier coat of paint?
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
<<if $betray == "notforgive">>
The wound inflicted almost two years ago hasn't properly healed yet but now you just feel numbed by this newfound betrayal. Her reassurance that she'll love you no matter what does not entirely assuage you. Maybe she truly does believe herself right now, but what happens if you do end up failing her intended purpose for you? Your chest constricts and your blood boils at the thought that your worth may weigh in balance with how you may best serve.
<<elseif $betray == "willforgive">>
It took so long for the last wound inflicted to mend and this time you're willing to approach this more openly, more indulgently. Her reassurance that she'll love you no matter what does not entirely assuage you. Maybe she truly does believe herself right now, but what happens if you do end up failing her intended purpose for you? Your chest constricts and your blood boils at the thought that your worth may weigh in balance with how you may best serve.
<<else>>
You understood why they wanted to wait before they revealed that terrible prophecy to you, why they didn't want to burden you with its knowledge - and you're willing to understand them this time too. Her reassurance that she'll love you no matter what does not entirely assuage you. Maybe she truly does believe herself right now, but what happens if you do end up failing her intended purpose for you? Your chest constricts and your blood boils at the thought that your worth may weigh in balance with how you may best serve.
<</if>>
You wonder if there's anything else Morgana's holding back; how often has she distorted and obfuscated the facts, and why? Are there any other terrible things that she's been shielding you from? Other truths that have been hidden so to see only the bright facets, or facades painted entirely in a fresh, prettier coat of paint?
<</if>>
There's more to this, though. One tiny detail that nags at you like some vexsome, stubborn thistle sticking to your skin, prodding sharply at you. A second deception, this one not at your expense.
Morgana knew who Arthur were. He was in the dark - that she could have lit for him, but chose not to. The words come out of your mouth almost unwittingly, with the same reluctant speed that your mind whirls with: "Arthur...you...you deceived him..."
<div class="choice">[[No. It's horrible. You don't want to say it. You need more time to process everything. You're leaving.|Chapt4BackToChamber][$chapt4_arthur_stance to 1, $arthur_betrayal_stance to "horrible"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No. What's done is done and your mother did what she could in a desperate situation. Even if it hurts others. No need to dwell on it now.|Chapt4BackToChamber][$chapt4_arthur_stance to 2, $arthur_betrayal_stance to "desperate"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["That's not right," you say, voice thick. "It simply isn't."|Chapt4BackToChamber][$chapt4_arthur_stance to 3, $arthur_betrayal_stance to "horrible"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["That's not right," you shout. "It simply isn't."|Chapt4BackToChamber][$chapt4_arthur_stance to 4, $arthur_betrayal_stance to "horrible"]]</div>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is false>><div class="choice">[[No. Your mother did what was necessary. It may not be nice; it may not be kind, but it she did what was needed for her to secure a chance at retribution for your family.|Chapt4BackToChamber][$chapt4_arthur_stance to 5, $arthur_betrayal_stance to "hadto"]]</div><</if>>"I've reached out to Arthur, jut so you know. To tell him I've found out about it all." You're not exactly sure why you're confiding to Morgana when it's the sort of thing she deeply disapproves of. Perhaps a part of you wants to vex her.
"//What//?"
"It's my right to talk to him. Get his viewpoint."
Morgana laughs - the sound is short, harsh and humourless like a vicious clash of blades. "What more viewpoint do you need? That man abandoned you - us - and I thought we both agreed he has no place in your life once he relinquished it all those years ago."
"I'm not planning to let him back in," you say, "though it'd be my choice to make. I just want to talk."
She fixes you, discontent plain on her face, but doesn't further argue - at least for the moment.
<<include Chapt4MorganaStudyTalk>>"I've reached out to Arthur, jut so you know. I want to...I want to better understand his viewpoint after everything I found out." It's sure to vex Morgana, but she has no right to stop you. It feels like a veil was taken off your eyes, the mist dispelled, leaving Arthur's motivation of keeping away clear and painful.
"//What//?"
"It's my right to talk to him. Get his viewpoint."
Morgana laughs - the sound is short, harsh and humourless like a vicious clash of blades. "What more viewpoint do you need? That man abandoned you - us - and I thought we both agreed he has no place in your life once he relinquished it all those years ago."
"It's be my choice to make. Right now, I just want to talk."
She fixes you, discontent plain on her face, but doesn't further argue - at least for the moment.
<<include Chapt4MorganaStudyTalk>>"I told Gareth the truth. About me being a Pendragon."
Morgana tenses, $eye eyes gleaming out guarded from the azure-tinted dimness. "You did?"
"Yes. I told him everything. I've been wanting to share this with him - for so long."
She glances to the side, somewhere within the deep shadows swimming in the crevices between cabinets and cases. She turns her head away, shielding the pensive, focused look on her face as she carefully picks out her answer: "Very well. I didn't want to tell him anything yet, either, but if all cards are out on the table, very well."
<<include Chapt4MorganaStudyTalk>><<if $chapt4_next_day_dads is true>>
"Junia told Gaius and Marcellus the truth, as well."
Morgana's lips thin at the mention of the woman, but she dooesn't say anything. She simply traces a thumb along the coiling shape of her serpent pendant, nodding her head as one who's seen the enemy marching on and grimly accepted the challenge, no matter how weakened or outnumbered. It seems she's come at a jaded point where the deluge of revelations can't jolt her anymore.
<<else>>
"Junia said she'll tell Gaius and Marcellus the truth, as well."
Morgana's lips thin at the mention of the woman, but she dooesn't say anything. She simply traces a thumb along the coiling shape of her serpent pendant, nodding her head as one who's seen the enemy marching on and grimly accepted the challenge, no matter how weakened or outnumbered. It seems she's come at a jaded point where the deluge of revelations can't jolt her anymore.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4MorganaStudyTalk>>You get up, the chair screeching horribly against the mosaic tiles, and take your leave with a quick goodbye, feeling as if breaking surface as you descend the spiral stairs, going back to a world mostly unwitting to your troubles and worries, that can barely guess at the propechy and purpose that have been thrust upon you at birth, going about their day avoiding you as if you were but a poisonous fish that may sting if approached, a curious yet unwanted thing.
<<if $chapt4_check_done is true>>
You retire back to your chamber and lay back in bed among the serpent-embroidered pillows, wishing you could sink in a sea of them, comfortable and protected. Instead you float above water, out in the storm, a little ship tossed about mercilessly. You have no energy left to move, forced to sit with your jumbled thoughts and dark disposition. This day one year ago, there was a wistfulness pervading your being, not stirred by any revelation - a sadness that hit you as the day drew to a close and your guests were set to leave the next. Your birthday had passed, the tents had been taken down, life returned to its usual lessons and duties and cold, loveless court that you must navigate. This year, it feels especially keen a loss; that joy and warmth that goes away with your guests, striking starker a constrast with a land that did not welcome you, not when you arrived and not ever since then.
[[End of chapter 4|Chapter5]]
<<else>>
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]
<</if>><<if $chapt4_trust == 1>>
You sincerely say: "I don't know." What can she do? If years of rearing and cosseting you can't assuage your doubts right now, what else would? Words are sweet, but that's all they can be - saccharine and flimsy like spun sugar. You want a demonstration, something solid and definitive, a reassurance that can't be shaken, a guarantee that can't be trampled. Perhaps only time can offer that.
Morgana falls silent, realizing you've come at an impasse, watching the chasm between you gape wider and deeper, like the opening maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hairs of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 2>>
"There's a lot to do," you say sincerely. Sadness rusts your tone, mars whatever shred of hope you might have for reconciliation. Your trust in Morgan right now is precarious, hanging on by a feeble thread that could snap at any moment. "If you want my trust" - if she can even truly have it fully back, or if from now one there will always be a part of you that puts up a defense, that guards itself around her to brace for any other such breach - "then you'll have to earn it." Even as you offer this chance to her, you feel how taut and thin that thread of trust is pulled, struggling to reach over the chasm gaping wide and deep between you like the maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hairs of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 3>>
You sincerely say: "I don't know." What can she do? If years of rearing and cosseting you can't assuage your doubts right now, what else would? Words are sweet, but that's all they can be - saccharine and flimsy like spun sugar. You want a demonstration, something solid and definitive, a reassurance that can't be shaken, a guarantee that can't be trampled. Perhaps only time can offer that.
Morgana falls silent, realizing you've come at an impasse, watching the chasm between you gape wider and deeper, like the opening maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hair's of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 4>>
"There's a lot to do," you say sincerely. Sadness rusts your tone, mars whatever shred of hope you might have for reconciliation. Your trust in Morgan right now is precarious, hanging on by a feeble thread that could snap at any moment. "If you want my trust" - if she can even truly have it fully back, or if from now one there will always be a part of you that puts up a defense, that guards itself around her to brace for any other such breach - "then you'll have to earn it." Even as you offer this chance to her, you feel how taut and thin that thread of trust is pulled, struggling to reach over the chasm gaping wide and deep between you like the maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hairs of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 5>>
You sincerely say: "I don't know." What can she do? If years of rearing and cosseting you can't assuage your doubts right now, what else would? Words are sweet, but that's all they can be - saccharine and flimsy like spun sugar. You want a demonstration, something solid and definitive, a reassurance that can't be shaken, a guarantee that can't be trampled. Perhaps only time can offer that. It doesn't help your conviction that whenever you've brought up the very idea of deviating from the path she sees fit for you - wanting no part in her revenge - Morgana balked. She parried and placated you, acting as if you were the unreasonable one.
Morgana falls silent, realizing you've come at an impasse, watching the chasm between you gape wider and deeper, like the opening maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hair's of your back.
Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 6>>
"There's a lot to do," you say sincerely. Sadness rusts your tone, mars whatever shred of hope you might have for reconciliation. Your trust in Morgan right now is precarious, hanging on by a feeble thread that could snap at any moment. Made all the more fragile by Morgana's dismissive manner whenever you've brought up the very idea of deviating from the path she sees fit for you, wanting no part in her revenge. "If you want my trust" - if she can even truly have it fully back, or if from now one there will always be a part of you that puts up a defense, that guards itself around her to brace for any other such breach - "then you'll have to earn it." Even as you offer this chance to her, you feel how taut and thin that thread of trust is pulled, struggling to reach over the chasm gaping wide and deep between you like the maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hairs of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 7>>
You sincerely say: "I don't know." What can she do? If years of rearing and cosseting you can't assuage your doubts right now, what else would? Words are sweet, but that's all they can be - saccharine and flimsy like spun sugar. You want a demonstration, something solid and definitive, a reassurance that can't be shaken, a guarantee that can't be trampled. Perhaps only time can offer that. It doesn't help your conviction that whenever you've brought up merely the possibility of deviating from the path she sees fit for you - questioning if you truly want a part in her revenge - Morgana balked. She parried and placated you, acting as if you were the unreasonable one.
Morgana falls silent, realizing you've come at an impasse, watching the chasm between you gape wider and deeper, like the opening maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hair's of your back.
Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 8>>
"There's a lot to do," you say sincerely. Sadness rusts your tone, mars whatever shred of hope you might have for reconciliation. Your trust in Morgan right now is precarious, hanging on by a feeble thread that could snap at any moment. Made all the more fragile by Morgana's dismissive manner whenever you've brought up the mere possibility of deviating from the path she sees fit for you, questioning if you truly want a part in her revenge. "If you want my trust" - if she can even truly have it fully back, or if from now one there will always be a part of you that puts up a defense, that guards itself around her to brace for any other such breach - "then you'll have to earn it." Even as you offer this chance to her, you feel how taut and thin that thread of trust is pulled, struggling to reach over the chasm gaping wide and deep between you like the maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hairs of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<</if>>
You let silence pass over you. It rings loud, as if submerged. With the tower room, awash with blue, soaring high above the bustle of the castle, a willing, self-inflicted isolation, it truly does feel like a bubble of air at the deepest bottom of the sea.
Then you break the surface with a splash: "Regarding Arthur."
Morgana's gaze, trailed off to the stoppered bottles to the side, snaps back to you. Her hands tightens around the pendant as she awaits your next words, such a small yet loud indication of disquiet.
<<if $arthur_betrayal_stance == "horrible">>
"What you did to him was horrible," you say baldly.
Morgana parries your words with dogged determination: "What I did was necessary."
You can meet her with the same steely resolve. "Cruel. It was //cruel//."
"You'll understand one day, Mordred."
<div class="choice">[[Bite your tongue.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you say roundly. "Stop that. Stop making up excuses. Take responsability, accept the blame."|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "desperate">>
"I don't like" - you falter, skirting around the word as if it were the pointy end of a sword - "what you did to him, but I understand you were desperate."
"I was," Morgana nods, hold on pendant loosening. "And it was necessary."
<div class="choice">[[It was neccessary, you repeat to yourself, again and again.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It doesn't change the fact that it was awful," you say.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "hadto">>
"I understand you only did what you had to."
"I did," Morgana agrees, hold on pendant loosening. "I did was I had for the Le Fay, and the retribution we deserve."
The words taste bitter on your tongue - just like any strong medicine needed to treat such a long-suffering, deep-running ailment as the one your family has endured.
<<include Chapt4MorganaStudyTalk>>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_trust == 1>>
Bile coats your mouth, as bitter as your exasperation, as acidic as your words. "All you do is make up excuses that suit you."
Morgana's brow pinches and her lips twist in a moue. "This was for your own good, Mordred-"
You shake your head violently, as if it may stop you from hearing yet another excuse. It echoes around your head like a coin in a metal cup, tinny and grating as it bounces against your skull incessantly. Excuses is all you'll get from her. "Can't you just admit that it hurt me anyway? What good was it?"
Her lips thin, but they can't contain for too long the new excuse they long to utter. "It hurt because you had to find out from Lot, who intended for it to hurt."
"It hurt because you didn't tell me before Lot could," you correct, capable of playing this just as doggedly as her.
Your perseverence pays off, if only a little. "That I admit," Morgana acquiesces, "that it were better if you heard it from me."
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 2>>
You stare at her. Bile coats your mouth, as bitter as your exasperation, hissing and bubbling past the boiling point, having reached red-hot levels of irritation. Yet what good will letting it spill over do, when you know that no matter how scorching your words, no matter how perseverent your manner, no matter how firm your stance, Morgana is much the same, if not more so, doggedly excusing everything you throw her way.
<</if>>
You let silence pass over you. It rings loud, as if submerged. With the tower room, awash with blue, soaring high above the bustle of the castle, a willing, self-inflicted isolation, it truly does feel like a bubble of air at the deepest bottom of the sea.
Then you break the surface with a splash: "Regarding Arthur."
Morgana's gaze, trailed off to the stoppered bottles to the side, snaps back to you. Her hands tightens around the pendant as she awaits your next words, such a small yet loud indication of disquiet.
<<if $arthur_betrayal_stance == "horrible">>
"What you did to him was horrible," you say baldly.
Morgana parries your words with dogged determination: "What I did was necessary."
You can meet her with the same steely resolve. "Cruel. It was //cruel//."
"You'll understand one day, Mordred."
<div class="choice">[[Bite your tongue.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you say roundly. "Stop that. Stop making up excuses. Take responsability, accept the blame."|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "desperate">>
"I don't like" - you falter, skirting around the word as if it were the pointy end of a sword - "what you did to him, but I understand you were desperate."
"I was," Morgana nods, hold on pendant loosening. "And it was necessary."
<div class="choice">[[It was neccessary, you repeat to yourself, again and again.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It doesn't change the fact that it was awful," you say.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "hadto">>
"I understand you only did what you had to."
"I did," Morgana agrees, hold on pendant loosening. "I did was I had for the Le Fay, and the retribution we deserve."
The words taste bitter on your tongue - just like any strong medicine needed to treat such a long-suffering, deep-running ailment as the one your family has endured.
<<include Chapt4MorganaStudyTalk>>
<</if>>You let silence pass over you. It rings loud in your ears, as if you were submerged. With the tower room, awash with blue, soaring high above the bustle of the castle, a willing, self-inflicted isolation, it truly does feel like a bubble of air at the deepest bottom of the sea.
Then you break the surface with a splash: "Regarding Arthur."
Morgana's gaze, trailed off to the stoppered bottles to the side, snaps back to you. Her hand tightens around the pendant as she awaits your next words, such a small yet loud indication of disquiet.
<<if $arthur_betrayal_stance == "horrible">>
"What you did to him was horrible," you say baldly.
Morgana parries your words with dogged determination: "What I did was necessary."
You can meet her with the same steely resolve. "Cruel. It was //cruel//."
"You'll understand one day, Mordred."
"How could you do this to Arthur, after what Lot did to you, after he-" you can't finish the sentence, the unspoken words like thorns in your mouth. Prickling, drawing blood.
Her voice is steel. "It's not the same. I did what I did to survive, Lot did it for his own pleasure. And it's sickening," she continues with a mirhless smile - the baring of a wolf's teeth before it snaps at the throat. "that he'd be the one pointing fingers at me."
It's not lost on you, the nerve of Lot to be the one bringing her wrongdoing to you, after all he's done. It roils your stomach just thinking of it.
But it changes nothing about what Morgana did to Arthur, and you tell your mother just so.
She remains unshaken, unmoved. "As I said," she repeats, "you'll understand when you're older, Mordred."
<div class="choice">[[Bite your tongue.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you say roundly. "Stop that. Stop making up excuses. Take responsability, accept the blame."|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "desperate">>
"I don't like" - you falter, skirting around the word as if it were the pointy end of a sword - "what you did to him, but I understand you were desperate."
"I was," Morgana nods, her hold on the pendant loosening. "And it was necessary."
<div class="choice">[[It was neccessary, you repeat to yourself, again and again.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It doesn't change the fact that it was awful," you say.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "hadto">>
"I understand you only did what you had to."
"I did," Morgana agrees, her hold on the pendant loosening. "I did was I had to do for the Le Fay, and the retribution we deserve."
The words taste bitter on your tongue - just like any strong medicine needed to treat such a long-suffering, deep-running ailment as the one your family has endured.
<<include Chapt4MorganaStudyTalk>>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_trust == 1>>
You sincerely say: "I don't know." What can she do? If years of rearing and cosseting you can't assuage your doubts right now, what else would? Words are sweet, but that's all they can be - saccharine and flimsy like spun sugar. You want a demonstration, something solid and definitive, a reassurance that can't be shaken, a guarantee that can't be trampled. Perhaps only time can offer that.
Morgana falls silent, realizing you've come at an impasse, watching the chasm between you gape wider and deeper, like the opening maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hairs of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 2>>
"There's a lot to do," you say sincerely. Sadness rusts your tone, mars whatever shred of hope you might have for reconciliation. Your trust in Morgan right now is precarious, hanging on by a feeble thread that could snap at any moment. "If you want my trust" - if she can even truly have it fully back, or if from now one there will always be a part of you that puts up a defense, that guards itself around her to brace for any other such breach - "then you'll have to earn it." Even as you offer this chance to her, you feel how taut and thin that thread of trust is pulled, struggling to reach over the chasm gaping wide and deep between you like the maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hairs of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 3>>
You sincerely say: "I don't know." What can she do? If years of rearing and cosseting you can't assuage your doubts right now, what else would? Words are sweet, but that's all they can be - saccharine and flimsy like spun sugar. You want a demonstration, something solid and definitive, a reassurance that can't be shaken, a guarantee that can't be trampled. Perhaps only time can offer that.
Morgana falls silent, realizing you've come at an impasse, watching the chasm between you gape wider and deeper, like the opening maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hair's of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 4>>
"There's a lot to do," you say sincerely. Sadness rusts your tone, mars whatever shred of hope you might have for reconciliation. Your trust in Morgan right now is precarious, hanging on by a feeble thread that could snap at any moment. "If you want my trust" - if she can even truly have it fully back, or if from now one there will always be a part of you that puts up a defense, that guards itself around her to brace for any other such breach - "then you'll have to earn it." Even as you offer this chance to her, you feel how taut and thin that thread of trust is pulled, struggling to reach over the chasm gaping wide and deep between you like the maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hairs of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 5>>
You sincerely say: "I don't know." What can she do? If years of rearing and cosseting you can't assuage your doubts right now, what else would? Words are sweet, but that's all they can be - saccharine and flimsy like spun sugar. You want a demonstration, something solid and definitive, a reassurance that can't be shaken, a guarantee that can't be trampled. Perhaps only time can offer that. It doesn't help your conviction that whenever you've brought up the very idea of deviating from the path she sees fit for you - wanting no part in her revenge - Morgana balked. She parried and placated you, acting as if you were the unreasonable one.
Morgana falls silent, realizing you've come at an impasse, watching the chasm between you gape wider and deeper, like the opening maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hair's of your back.
Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 6>>
"There's a lot to do," you say sincerely. Sadness rusts your tone, mars whatever shred of hope you might have for reconciliation. Your trust in Morgan right now is precarious, hanging on by a feeble thread that could snap at any moment. Made all the more fragile by Morgana's dismissive manner whenever you've brought up the very idea of deviating from the path she sees fit for you, wanting no part in her revenge. "If you want my trust" - if she can even truly have it fully back, or if from now one there will always be a part of you that puts up a defense, that guards itself around her to brace for any other such breach - "then you'll have to earn it." Even as you offer this chance to her, you feel how taut and thin that thread of trust is pulled, struggling to reach over the chasm gaping wide and deep between you like the maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hairs of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 7>>
You sincerely say: "I don't know." What can she do? If years of rearing and cosseting you can't assuage your doubts right now, what else would? Words are sweet, but that's all they can be - saccharine and flimsy like spun sugar. You want a demonstration, something solid and definitive, a reassurance that can't be shaken, a guarantee that can't be trampled. Perhaps only time can offer that. It doesn't help your conviction that whenever you've brought up merely the possibility of deviating from the path she sees fit for you - questioning if you truly want a part in her revenge - Morgana balked. She parried and placated you, acting as if you were the unreasonable one.
Morgana falls silent, realizing you've come at an impasse, watching the chasm between you gape wider and deeper, like the opening maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hair's of your back.
Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<<elseif $chapt4_trust == 8>>
"There's a lot to do," you say sincerely. Sadness rusts your tone, mars whatever shred of hope you might have for reconciliation. Your trust in Morgan right now is precarious, hanging on by a feeble thread that could snap at any moment. Made all the more fragile by Morgana's dismissive manner whenever you've brought up the mere possibility of deviating from the path she sees fit for you, questioning if you truly want a part in her revenge. "If you want my trust" - if she can even truly have it fully back, or if from now one there will always be a part of you that puts up a defense, that guards itself around her to brace for any other such breach - "then you'll have to earn it." Even as you offer this chance to her, you feel how taut and thin that thread of trust is pulled, struggling to reach over the chasm gaping wide and deep between you like the maw of a monster ready to swallow you both.
But your mother never backs away from any monster. "I'll prove it to you, Mordred," she vows as she leans forward, her low voice raising the hairs of your back. Then she settles back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<</if>>
You let silence pass over you. It rings loud, as if submerged. With the tower room, awash with blue, soaring high above the bustle of the castle, a willing, self-inflicted isolation, it truly does feel like a bubble of air at the deepest bottom of the sea.
Then you break the surface with a splash: "Regarding Arthur."
Morgana's gaze, trailed off to the stoppered bottles to the side, snaps back to you. Her hands tightens around the pendant as she awaits your next words, such a small yet loud indication of disquiet.
<<if $arthur_betrayal_stance == "horrible">>
"What you did to him was horrible," you say baldly.
Morgana parries your words with dogged determination: "What I did was necessary."
You can meet her with the same steely resolve. "Cruel. It was //cruel//."
"You'll understand one day, Mordred."
<div class="choice">[[Bite your tongue.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you say roundly. "Stop that. Stop making up excuses. Take responsability, accept the blame."|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "desperate">>
"I don't like" - you falter, skirting around the word as if it were the pointy end of a sword - "what you did to him, but I understand you were desperate."
"I was," Morgana nods, hold on pendant loosening. "And it was necessary."
<div class="choice">[[It was neccessary, you repeat to yourself, again and again.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It doesn't change the fact that it was awful," you say.|Chapt4MorganaArthurTalk][$chapt4_speakup to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "hadto">>
"I understand you only did what you had to."
"I did," Morgana agrees, hold on pendant loosening. "I did was I had for the Le Fay, and the retribution we deserve."
The words taste bitter on your tongue - just like any strong medicine needed to treat such a long-suffering, deep-running ailment as the one your family has endured.
<<include Chapt4MorganaStudyTalk>>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_need_talk == 1>>
You've found out all you needed to know last night, in the worst way possible. What else is there to say, when you fear any word coming out her mouth could be just another fiction she weaves to appease? You know very well what comes now; a deluge of unrepentant excuses and mullish justifications.
"Do we?" you ask tetchily. It's not a tone Morgana appreciates, though she shouldn't complain when it's her you learned it all from.
Her lips twitch, displeased, but she merely insists: "Yes, we really do. Now come on," she holds the door open for you, fixing you with steadfast stare until you finally deign to get up and follow her.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 2>>
You've found out all you needed to know last night, in the worst way possible. What else is there to say, when you fear any word coming out her mouth could be just another fiction she weaves to appease? You know very well what comes now; a deluge of unrepentant excuses and mullish justifications that will only serve to annoy and dismay you.
"I don't want to talk to you," you grumble, sinking deeper among the snake-embroidered pillows to show you're not planning on going anywhere. If it rid you of any such conversations, you'd let yourself slip completely under a sea of decorative pillows, make a home for yourself underneath like a mole in its burrow.
Morgana thoroughly dashes such tranquil dreams, however. "You may not want to, but we really should talk. We didn't get a proper chance last night. Now," she holds the door open, fixing you with a pointed, steadfast look, as if it alone might rouse you from bed and will you out the door.
You are set on putting up a fight, though. Crossing your arms, you meet her gaze head-on, locked in a battle of will where the most obstinate may win. Her brow quirks as she realizes your intentions, but she's far from cowed. She plants herself firmly by the door, staring back with such stolid, sturdy stubbornness you're convinced a sword strike might just brush off her, like water off a duck. She won't budge, is what her stance and eyes and stony face all scream at you.
You sigh explosively as you get up form the bed - an irritated admission of defeat as well as a small show of protest, the least defiance you can still claim in this instance. You trudge along after her down the halls, walking as if towards the executioner's block.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 3>>
There's no use fighting Morgana; it's akin banging your head to a stonewall in hopes of cracking it. You're left bleeding, hurting and losing. So you rouse yourself from bed with reluctance weighing down your limbs, and trudge after her down the halls, your lumbering gait a show of protest - about as impressive as a puppy learning to howl, but a faint defiance you like to indulge nonetheless.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 3>>
You nod, even as a lump lodges uneasily in your throat. You fear now that any word coming out her mouth could be just another fiction she weaves to appease, that you'll be swamped by a deluge of unrepentant excuses and mullish justifications. Yet you want - need - to talk matters out with her, to get a better understanding, or perhaps just let her know how you feel about it all.
You follow her quietly down the halls, walking as if to the executioner's block.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 5>>
You've found out all you needed to know last night, in the worst way possible. What else is there to say, when you fear any word coming out her mouth could be just another fiction she weaves to appease? You know very well what comes now; a deluge of unrepentant excuses and mullish justifications that will only serve to annoy and dismay you.
"Talk?" you scoff. "So you can feed me more lies, or what?"
Her lips thin in one line of plain vexation, but she keeps her tone perfectly even and unbothered as she says, "We need to talk, given we didn't get a proper chance last night. Now," she holds the door open, fixing you with a pointed, steadfast look, as if it alone might rouse you from bed and will you out the door.
You are set on putting up a fight, though. Crossing your arms, you meet her gaze head-on, locked in a battle of will where the most obstinate may win. Her brow quirks as she realizes your intentions, but she's far from cowed. She plants herself firmly by the door, staring back with a with such stolid, sturdy stubborness you're convinced a sword strike might just brush off her, like water off a duck. She won't budge, is what her stance and eyes and stony face all scream at you.
You sigh explosively as you get up form the bed - an irritated admission of defeat as well as a small show of protest, the least defiance you can still claim in this instance. You trudge along after her down the halls, walking as if towards the executioner's block.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4TalkMorgana>><<if $chapt4_need_talk == 1>>
You nod earnestly, jumping out of bed to follow Morgana. She smiles as you pass out the door, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to guide you down the halls. The gesture anchors and soothes you, assuring you that whatever difficult discussions you must brave, you'll do so together.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 2>>
You've found out all you needed to know last night, in the worst way possible. What's else there to say?
"Do we?" you ask tetchily. It's not a tone Morgana appreciates, though she shouldn't complain when it's her you learned it all from.
Her lips twitch, displeased, but she merely insists: "Yes, we really do. Now come on," she holds the door open for you, fixing you with steadfast stare until you finally deign to get up and follow her.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 3>>
There's no use fighting Morgana; it's akin banging your head to a stonewall in hopes of cracking it. You're left bleeding, hurting and losing. So you rouse yourself from bed with reluctance weighing down your limbs, and trudge after her down the halls, your lumbering gait a show of protest - about as impressive as a puppy learning to howl, but a faint defiance you like to indulge nonetheless.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 4>>
You've found out all you needed to know last night, in the worst way possible, an experience that's left you drained. All you want is to settle down like a weary traveler come from a long, danger-riddled journey, in hopes of forgetting your worries.
"I don't want to talk right now," you grumble, sinking deeper among the snake-embroidered pillows to show you're not planning on going anywhere. If it rid you of any such conversations, you'd let yourself slip completely under a sea of decorative pillows, make a home for yourself underneath like a mole in its burrow.
Morgana thoroughly dashes such tranquil dreams, however. "You may not want to, but we really should talk. We didn't get a proper chance last night. Now," she holds the door open, fixing you with a pointed, steadfast look, as if it alone might rouse you from bed and will you out the door.
You stare back; then sigh and get up, resolving it'd be more tiring going toe to toe with Morgana. She smiles faintly as you pass by her, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as she guides you down the halls.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 5>>
You nod, even as a lump lodges uneasily in your throat. It'll be muddy, dark waters to tread - but that's exactly why you must do it, in hopes of clearing it all, of getting a better understanding, of letting her know how you feel. Morgana smiles faintly as you pass by her, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as she guides you down the halls, heavy silence settling between the two of you.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4TalkMorgana>><<if $chapt4_need_talk == 1>>
You've found out all you needed to know last night, in the worst way possible. What else is there to say?
"Do we?" you ask tetchily. It's not a tone Morgana appreciates, though she shouldn't complain when it's her you learned it all from.
Her lips twitch, displeased, but she merely insists: "Yes, we really do. Now come on," she holds the door open for you, fixing you with steadfast stare until you finally deign to get up and follow her.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 2>>
You nod, even as a lump lodges uneasily in your throat. It'll be muddy, dark waters to tread - but that's exactly why you must do it, in hopes of clearing it all, of getting a better understanding, of letting her know how you feel. Morgana smiles faintly as you pass by her, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as she guides you down the halls, heavy silence settling between the two of you.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 3>>
There's no use fighting Morgana; it's akin banging your head to a stonewall in hopes of cracking it. You're left bleeding, hurting and losing. So you rouse yourself from bed with reluctance weighing down your limbs, and trudge after her down the halls, your lumbering gait a show of protest - about as impressive as a puppy learning to howl, but a faint defiance you like to indulge nonetheless.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 4>>
You nod earnestly, jumping out of bed to follow Morgana. She smiles as you pass out the door, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder to guide you down the halls. The gesture anchors and soothes you, assuring you that whatever difficult discussions you must brave, you'll do so together.
<<elseif $chapt4_need_talk == 5>>
You've found out all you needed to know last night, in the worst way possible, an experience that's left you drained. All you want is to settle down like a weary traveler come from a long, danger-riddled journey, in hopes of forgetting your worries.
"I don't want to talk right now," you grumble, sinking deeper among the snake-embroidered pillows to show you're not planning on going anywhere. If it rid you of any such conversations, you'd let yourself slip completely under a sea of decorative pillows, make a home for yourself underneath like a mole in its burrow.
Morgana thoroughly dashes such tranquil dreams, however. "You may not want to, but we really should talk. We didn't get a proper chance last night. Now," she holds the door open, fixing you with a pointed, steadfast look, as if it alone might rouse you from bed and will you out the door.
You stare back; then sigh and get up, resolving it'd be more tiring going toe to toe with Morgana. She smiles faintly as you pass by her, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder as she guides you down the halls.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt4TalkMorgana>><<if $chapt4_lot_punish == 1>>
You nod once, quick, decisive. "Good." He better //suffer// for what he did. If he truly wanted it to be the kindness he claimed it was, he would have chosen an entirely different day - not your birthday, when your spirits where buoyed to such great heights. It was a calculated hit to knock you to the ground, and he succeeded. Now it's time for Morgana to avenge you.
A smile, as swift and sharp as a blade glinting in the dark, flashes across her lips. "Now, let's move on to what he told you. It's all true, yes, as I said last night."
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_punish == 2>>
Of course she wouldn't dive right into the actual matters that needed discussion. Forget about Lot - he's accomplished his task, delivered his so-called kindness and went on his way with the satisfaction of ruining your birthday, leaving you behind to contend with the scattered pieces of your shattered world, cutting yourself and bleeding over jagged edges and lies.
"This isn't about Lot, though, is it?" you say in an attempt to corral your mother back to subject. "We're here to talk about what he told me."
"Of course," Morgana says, raising her chin as if preparing to face a foe, ready to tackle the monster that is this revelation Lot dumped on you. "What he told you is all true, yes, as I admitted last night too."
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_punish == 3>>
"At least Lot told me the truth," you huff, glaring at your mother.
Morgana scoffs, doggedly keeping at her excuses: "I had reasons for not telling you, Mordred. You can't possibly tell me what Lot did was right - that man acted completely out of rancor."
"Be it as it may, cruel intentions or not, now I know the truth."
"You do," Morgana agrees, jaw setting with tension, preparing herself to tackle the monster that is this revelation Lot dumped on you. "What he told you is all true, yes, as I admitted last night too."
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_punish == 4>>
Lot caused you suffering with his so-called kindness - if he truly intended for it to be so, he would have chosen an entirely different day, not your birthday, when your spirits were buoyed to such great heights. It was a calculated hit to knock you to the ground and he succeeded, but what good will it be to perpetuate this never-ending cycle of inflicting violence on each other? It's brought nothing but pain to both Morgana and Lot, and unwilllingly dragged you and Gareth into this storm that you must now weather too.
"Is this what you'll always do? Meet cruel deed with another? Keep this going?"
Morgana scoffs incredulously as if you've just suggested some ludicrous thing. "What would you have me do, Mordred? Let him get away with it? No - Lot must learn to stay in his place."
"It just feels like you're running in circles. And I have to suffer for it all."
Her brow puckers, but she doesn't jump to refute your point. She couldn't, when you've got years of evidence to show for it. She shifts in her seat, eyes gleaming dangerous from the dark like the gaze of a lurking predator, watching from the foliage. "All the pain will end once we get back what we deserve - then, it'll be them who suffer."
You shake your head, biting back the bitter, mirthless laugh bubbling up your throat.
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_punish == 5>>
Lot caused you suffering with his so-called kindness - if he truly intended for it to be so, he would have chosen an entirely different day, not your birthday, when your spirits were buoyed to such great heights. It was a calculated hit to knock you to the ground and he succeeded, but what good will it be to perpetuate this never-ending cycle of inflicting violence on each other? It's brought nothing but pain to both Morgana and Lot, and unwilllingly dragged you and Gareth into this storm that you must now weather too. You don't say anything on the matter, though, because your mother will always act as she wants to with no regard to others, and defend it all as necessary.
<<elseif $chapt4_lot_punish == 6>>
Lot caused you suffering with his so-called kindness - if he truly intended for it to be so, he would have chosen an entirely different day, not your birthday, when your spirits where buoyed to such great heights. It was a calculated hit to knock you to the ground and he succeeded, but you do not want to let your thoughts linger anymore on that horrible man.
"I don't want to talk about Lot," you say.
"Of course," Morgana nods. "You shouldn't worry about him - I'll take care of it. Let's speak of what he told you. It's all true, yes, as I admitted last night."
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset">>
"I've had my reasons for not telling you the truth Mordred. It felt too...difficult to explain to you as a child, so I had to dress it up."
"Were you going to ever tell me?" Your voice is quiet but harsh, an intrusion like the thrust of a knife into the heavy, fraught silence of the chamber. "Or was I supposed to find out from someone else, just like with the prophecy?"
Morgana sighs. "Once you were older-"
"How old?" you demand. "How old do you deem enough for me to understand? Because I found out, and I'm perfecly capable of understanding."
"No. You're too young to be burdened with all this knowledge, Mordred. I was merely trying to protect you," she insists, putting emphasis on the last couple words as if trying to etch those words into your brain, repeat them as clear and loud and stressed as many times as it's necessary to impress them upon you. Like a brand of fire you should just accept with no protest or question. "I didn't want you to get the wrong impression of how I feel about you, just because of my reason of having you. But I fear that's the case now, and it //hurts// me." The dried herbs above you sway, rustling echoes of pain.
"What else am I supposed to think?"
"Do you seriously believe that all these years, I have not genuinely cared for you, as a mother?"
"I believe you care for me," you say. You //have// to believe it, because the alternative would be unbearable and crushing. To think all those fond words and gentle caresses were pretense, it would be worse than any wound a foe might inflict. The fear that they were only afforded to you same as one might care for its beloved tool, however, weighs down just as heavily on you.
You distraughtly go on, "I don't know if that love has conditions. I fear it does - I fear it all hinges on the role I can play for you, on the plans I can accomplish for you. That my only worth lies in the reason you even had me in the first place."
"What can I do to prove to you that I love you?" Morgana demands, the mask breaking ever so slightly to reveal growing fear and desperation lurking underneath. The herbs above you swish fretfully; the curtains waver, tracing waves of light across the floor. "What will it take for you to believe me, Mordred?"
<<if $want_revenge == "yes" and $throne == "no">>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say, sincerely. Your trust has been lost.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalk][$chapt4_trust to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A lot" you say, sincerely. Your trust in her is precarious right now; she must work to prove herself to you, to earn it back.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalk][$chapt4_trust to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $want_revenge == "yes">>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say, sincerely. Your trust has been lost.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalk][$chapt4_trust to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A lot" you say, sincerely. Your trust in her is precarious right now; she must work to prove herself to you, to earn it back.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalk][$chapt4_trust to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $want_revenge == "no">>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say, sincerely. Your trust has been lost.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalk][$chapt4_trust to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A lot" you say, sincerely. Your trust in her is precarious right now; she must work to prove herself to you, to earn it back.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalk][$chapt4_trust to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $want_revenge == "unsure">>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say, sincerely. Your trust has been lost.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalk][$chapt4_trust to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A lot" you say, sincerely. Your trust in her is precarious right now; she must work to prove herself to you, to earn it back.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalk][$chapt4_trust to 8]]</div>
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
"I've had my reasons for not telling you the truth Mordred. It felt too...difficult to explain to you as a child, so I had to dress it up."
"When were you going to tell me?" you ask, trying to get all the details so you may better understand her. "Surely you know I would have found out somehow - anyone else who knew could have told me, like Lot did."
"I figured, obviously," Morgana agrees. "I simply couldn't fathom Lot doing such a thing. Knowing how I'd react. Regardless," she sighs, running her thumb over a sapphire ring. "I was going to tell you once you were older. You're too young to be burdened with all this knowledge, Mordred. I was merely trying to protect you," she insists, putting emphasis on the last couple words to make sure they reach past whatever shield of doubt you might have put up. "I didn't want you to get the wrong impression of how I feel about you, just because of my reason of having you. Tell me you understand that it was better for everyone this way."
"I understand," you say carefully, giving a small smile the confidence to bloom on her lips. It withers at your next words: "But you're right. It does change my perspective, knowing why you had me in the first place."
"Do you seriously believe that all these years, I have not genuinely cared for you, as a mother?"
"I believe you care for me," you say. You //have// to believe it, because the alternative would be unbearable and crushing. To think all those fond words and gentle caresses were pretense, it would be worse than any wound a foe might inflict. The fear that they were only afforded to you same as one might care for its beloved tool, however, weighs down just as heavily on you.
You distraughtly go on, "I don't know if that love has conditions. I fear it does - I fear it all hinges on the role I can play for you, on the plans I can accomplish for you. That my only worth lies in the reason you even had me in the first place."
"What can I do to prove to you that I love you?" Morgana demands, the mask breaking ever so slightly to reveal growing fear and desperation lurking underneath. The herbs above you swish fretfully; the curtains waver, tracing waves of light across the floor. "What will it take for you to believe me, Mordred?"
<<if $want_revenge == "yes" and $throne == "no">>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say, sincerely. Your trust has been lost.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkOKDoubt][$chapt4_trust to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A lot" you say, sincerely. Your trust in her is precarious right now; she must work to prove herself to you, to earn it back.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkOKDoubt][$chapt4_trust to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $want_revenge == "yes">>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say, sincerely. Your trust has been lost.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkOKDoubt][$chapt4_trust to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A lot" you say, sincerely. Your trust in her is precarious right now; she must work to prove herself to you, to earn it back.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkOKDoubt][$chapt4_trust to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $want_revenge == "no">>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say, sincerely. Your trust has been lost.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkOKDoubt][$chapt4_trust to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A lot" you say, sincerely. Your trust in her is precarious right now; she must work to prove herself to you, to earn it back.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkOKDoubt][$chapt4_trust to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $want_revenge == "unsure">>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say, sincerely. Your trust has been lost.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkOKDoubt][$chapt4_trust to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["A lot" you say, sincerely. Your trust in her is precarious right now; she must work to prove herself to you, to earn it back.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkOKDoubt][$chapt4_trust to 8]]</div>
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">>
"I've had my reasons for not telling you the truth Mordred. It felt too...difficult to explain to you as a child, so I had to dress it up."
"Were you going to ever tell me?" Your voice is quiet but harsh, an intrusion like the thrust of a knife into the heavy, fraught silence of the chamber. "Or was I supposed to find out from someone else, just like with the prophecy?"
Morgana sighs. "Once you were older-"
"How old?" you demand. "How old do you deem enough for me to understand? Because I found out, and I'm perfecly capable of understanding."
"No. You're too young to be burdened with all this knowledge, Mordred. I was merely trying to protect you," she insists, putting emphasis on the last couple words as if trying to etch those words into your brain, repeat them as clear and loud and stressed as many times as it's necessary to impress them upon you. Like a brand of fire you should just accept with no protest or question. "I didn't want you to get the wrong impression of how I feel about you, just because of my reason of having you. Understand, Mordred, it was better for everyone this way."
"Was it? Or was it easier for you not having to explain yourself for fear of how I'll react?"
The herbs above you rustle, aggitated, as her brow furrows. "It was easier not to trouble either of us, Mordred."
Morgana leans back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant and regarding you with a cocked head as if you were a puzzle she needed to look at from a different angle in order to figure out.
<div class="choice">[["All you do is make up excuses that suit you," you say bitterly.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkBetrayed][$chapt4_trust to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You stare at her, knowing you'll just be met with further excuses if you insist on the matter.|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkBetrayed][$chapt4_trust to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok">>
"I've had my reasons for not telling you the truth Mordred. It felt too...difficult to explain to you as a child, so I had to dress it up."
"When were you going to tell me?" you ask, trying to get all the details so you may better understand her. "Surely you know I would have found out somehow - anyone else who knew could have told me, like Lot did."
"I figured, obviously," Morgana agrees. "I simply couldn't fathom Lot doing such a thing. Knowing how I'd react. Regardless," she sighs, running her thumb over a sapphire ring. "I was going to tell you once you were older. You're too young to be burdened with all this knowledge, Mordred. I was merely trying to protect you," she insists, putting emphasis on the last couple words to make sure they reach past whatever shield of doubt you might have put up. "I didn't want you to get the wrong impression of how I feel about you, just because of my reason of having you. Tell me you understand that it was better for everyone this way. Tell me you know I love you all the same."
"I understand," you say carefully, giving a small smile the confidence to bloom on her lips. The alternative would be too crushing a notion to entertain, that all those fond words and gentle caresses were nothing but pretense, that all the affection you received was akin to the care one has for their beloved tool.
Morgana leans back in her chair, wrapping her fingers around her serpent pendant. The equanimity painted over her face no longer looks like a carefully donned mask, but genuine now that she's received some reassurance from you.
<<if $conception_view == "tool">>
But matters are far from settled, and you're far from pacified yourself. "Do you know how this revelation made me feel?" you ask in a wearied, quiet voice. "All this time you told me I was an accident, but one that you never regretted; that you loved me so much from the moment you found out about me, that you couldn't even bear to call it something so sordid as an accident." Yet the reality is far more calculated, like an assasin's precise strike in the dark. "You knew what you were doing all along, and had me with an intended, set purpose in mind. How is that supposed to make me feel - see myself - if not like a weapon to be wielded?"
Morgana stares at you, horrified that you'd even suggest this, despite the fact that it's the most logical conclusion - no, the reality of the situation because, while your mother may have come to love you as a child rather than a pawn to be moved across the board, that's what you were intended as when she deceived Arthur. It's the crystallization of what she feared you'd believe upon the revelation of the truth.
"You're not a weapon, Mordred," she says. Her tone is gentle, as soft as all the times she'd tucked you in bed and bade you goodnight, as all the times she'd inquired about your newfound interests or mollified you when you were down - but underneath it brews a steel-hard conviction. "You're my child."
<<elseif $conception_view == "more">>
But matters are far from settled, and you're far from pacified yourself. "Do you know how this revelation made me feel?" you ask in a wearied, quiet voice. "All this time you told me I was an accident, but one that you never regretted; that you loved me so much from the moment you found out about me, that you couldn't even bear to call it something so sordid as an accident." Yet the reality is far more calculated, like an assasin's precise strike in the dark. "You knew what you were doing all along, and had me with an intended, set purpose in mind. What should that make me then? A weapon to be wielded? I'm more than that - just a means to and end."
"You're not a weapon, Mordred," she says. Her tone is gentle, as soft as all the times she'd tucked you in bed and bade you goodnight, as all the times she'd inquired about your newfound interests or mollified you when you were down - but underneath it brews a steel-hard conviction. "You're my child."
<<elseif $conception_view == "revenge">>
But matters are far from settled, and you're far from pacified yourself. "Do you know how this revelation made me feel?" you ask in a wearied, quiet voice. "All this time you told me I was an accident, but one that you never regretted; that you loved me so much from the moment you found out about me, that you couldn't even bear to call it something so sordid as an accident." Yet the reality is far more calculated, like an assasin's precise strike. "You knew what you were doing all along, and had me with an intended, set purpose in mind that I will achieve, for us. For our family - I'll seek the justice we deserve, just like you always taught me."
Morgana smiles, sharp and bright like the gleam of a dagger flashing through the dark. "Yes," she says roundly. "We'll do that, together. As family, as mother and //child//. Not a weapon, not a pawn."
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt4MorganaConceptionTalkOK]]
<</if>>She loves you and looking back at everything she's done, you can't deny it. She's always acted so tenderly towards you, always jumped to offer you whatever you wanted or needed. Yet now you can't help but question if the love she's given you has any limits, whether it exists within the boundaries of what she expects of you. If you push and bend and break those expectations with which you were conceived, will she still afford that same affection and attention to you? Does one still love the sword they so carefully and lovingly forged when it dulls? When it refuses to be sharpened to be wielded to inflict pain and draw more blood than has already been spilt, does the blacksmith simply toss it away? Do they keep sharpening it till it's forced become what they created it for?
If you fail to meet your purpose, will mother still love you?
"But what if I don't turn out to be what you want me to be?" you ask, eyeing her with circumspection. Dread has thrust its claws in you, holding you in a vice-like grip. Tightening your stomach to the point you fear you'll expel its contents on Morgana's pretty serpent rug. "Will you still love me then?"
"Of course I will!" Morgana looks affronted and disbelieveing, as if you've insinuated a great offense she couldn't even consider. She leans forward more, till she's barely sitting on the armchair anymore, reaching out her hands to squeeze your own. When you make no movement, she places them gently on your knees, applying a pressure that wishes to be reassuring - and perhaps a tad desperate, an attempt to impress upon you the gravity and truth of her words.
<<if $throne == "no">>
"And if I don't want the throne? If I don't seek to punish those who wronged our family in the way you see fit? Even then?"
"Even then. No matter what." She pauses, appraising your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "It's not the first time you've brought up this notion, of you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours. Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<elseif $throne == "nono">>
"And if I don't want the throne? If I don't seek to punish those who wronged our family in the way you see fit? Even then?"
"Even then. No matter what." She pauses, appraising your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "What is this about you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours? Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<else>>
"Even if I fail to take the throne? Even if I fail to right the wrongs?"
"Even then. No matter what."
"Truly? I do want the throne, as you intend for me; but I don't think I want to pursue revenge. Not the way you wish me to."
Morgana appraises your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "But you do want justice, don't you? We can't let all those people get away!"
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
"Is it justice or revenge you want?"
Morgana laughs bitterly. "It's one and the same."
"Not the way //you// want it."
<</if>>
You turn to Accolon. He's stood by the hearth all this while, as silent and still as one of the decorations on the mantlepiece. He's forgone the towel at some point and his wan face is now dried, hazel eyes cast in sorrowful shadows by the dim light, mouth thinned to a grim line.
"Did you know?" you ask.
"I did."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Everyone who knows of your true paternity." Morgana pauses. "Except for Marcellus and Gaius."
You frown. "How come?"
Morgana shrugs as if it's all a trivial matter you should dismiss. "I didn't find it necessary to tell them."
"So you told them what you told me, then."
You breathe in deeply then out in a shuddering, long exhale.
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and upset. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_doubt_upset"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and upset. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_upset"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to understand why she hid it from you - why she lied. Right now, you feel so confused and tired. There's only one thing you're sure of: that she loves you no matter what.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to understand why she hid it from you - why she lied. Right now, you feel so confused and tired. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "ok_doubt"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and angry. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_doubt_angry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and angry. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_angry"]]</div>She loves you and looking back at everything she's done, you can't deny it. She's always acted so tenderly towards you, always jumped to offer you whatever you wanted or needed. Yet now you can't help but question if the love she's given you has any limits, whether it exists within the boundaries of what she expects of you. If you fail to meet those expectations with which you were conceived, will she still afford that same affection and attention to you? Does one still love the sword they so carefully and lovingly forged when it dulls beyond sharpening? When it can no longer achieve the purpose for which it was created?
If you fail, will mother still love you?
"I know. I want to right the wrongs done to our family," you say, eyeing her with circumspection. Dread has thrust its claws in you, holding you in a vice-like grip. Tightening your stomach to the point you fear you'll expel its contents on Morgana's pretty serpent rug. "But if I fail to do so, will you still love me?"
"Of course I will!" Morgana looks affronted and disbelieveing, as if you've insinuated a great offense she couldn't even consider. She leans forward more, till she's barely sitting on the armchair anymore, reaching out her hands to squeeze your own. When you make no movement, she places them gently on your knees, applying a pressure that wishes to be reassuring - and perhaps a tad desperate, an attempt to impress upon you the gravity and truth of her words.
<<if $throne == "no">>
"And if I don't want the throne? If I seek justifce for the Le Fay - if I punish those who wronged our family but don't take the throne you so dearly cling to. Even then?"
"Even then. No matter what." She pauses, appraising your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "It's not the first time you've brought up this notion, of you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours. Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<elseif $throne == "nono">>
"And if I don't want the throne? If I seek justifce for the Le Fay - if I punish those who wronged our family but don't take the throne you so dearly cling to. Even then?"
"Even then. No matter what." She pauses, appraising your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "What is this about you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours? Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<else>>
"Even if I fail to take the throne?" you repeat, to ensure the words reach her. That she feels their weight and she doesn't answer flippantly. "Even if I fail to right the wrongs?"
"Even then. No matter what." She reaches yet again for your hands, and this time you don't pull back. "And you needn't fear failure, darling. I'll be there by your side. Helping you all the way. Together, I know we can do great things."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<</if>>
You turn to Accolon. He's stood by the hearth all this while, as silent and still as one of the decorations on the mantlepiece. He's forgone the towel at some point and his wan face is now dried, hazel eyes cast in sorrowful shadows by the dim light, mouth thinned to a grim line.
"Did you know?" you ask.
"I did."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Everyone who knows of your true paternity." Morgana pauses. "Except for Marcellus and Gaius."
You frown. "How come?"
Morgana shrugs as if it's all a trivial matter you should dismiss. "I didn't find it necessary to tell them."
"So you told them what you told me, then."
You breathe in deeply then out in a shuddering, long exhale.
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and upset. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_doubt_upset"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and upset. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_upset"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to understand why she hid it from you - why she lied. Right now, you feel so confused and tired. There's only one thing you're sure of: that she loves you no matter what.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to understand why she hid it from you - why she lied. Right now, you feel so confused and tired. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "ok_doubt"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and angry. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_doubt_angry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and angry. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_angry"]]</div>Growing up, you've never felt unloved by Morgana. Quite the opposite - she's always acted so tenderly towards you, always jumped to offer you whatever you wanted or needed. You've butted heads at times, but don't all children and parents have their disagreements? Yet now you can't help but question if the love she's given you is conditional on how well you may serve her and her goals. If this love extends only as far as you're useful to her - if all affection will vanish the moment you fail to meet expectations, the moment you go against her quest for revenge. The moment you're no longer the weapon she intended for you to be. You know how much she clings to her vengeance, you know how it flames within her like a fire that can't be extinguished. Is the love she extends to you merely the warmth of that fire? Does she truly love you for yourself, as one should love a child?
"Do you love me, or do you love only what I can be and do for you and your quest for revenge?" you ask, eyeing her with circumspection. Dread has thrust its claws in you, holding you in a vice-like grip. Tightening your stomach to the point you fear you'll expel its contents on Morgana's pretty serpent rug.
"Of course I love you!" Morgana looks affronted and disbelieveing, as if you've insinuated a great offense she couldn't even consider. She leans forward more, till she's barely sitting on the armchair anymore, reaching out her hands to squeeze your own. When you make no movement, she places them gently on your knees, applying a pressure that wishes to be reassuring - and perhaps a tad desperate, an attempt to impress upon you the gravity and truth of her words. "Don't speak nonsense, Mordred. I love you because you are my child, and I'd love you no matter what."
"Truly? Even if the only reason you had me was the claim to the throne?"
"Truly. Gareth I had to get Lot off my back, and I still love him exceedingly so. Despite having the blood of the man who lent his armies to massacre our family."
<<if $throne == "no">>
You shake your head. It feels heavy and woolly, filled with befuddling and overwhelming revelations. "And if I don't want the throne? Neither the throne nor chasing your beloved revenge. Will you still love me then?"
"Even then. No matter what." She pauses, appraising your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "It's not the first time you've brought up this notion, of you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours. Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<elseif $throne == "nono">>
You shake your head. It feels heavy and woolly, filled with befuddling and overwhelming revelations. "And if I don't want the throne? Neither the throne nor chasing your beloved revenge. Will you still love me then?"
"Even then. No matter what." She pauses, appraising your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "What is this about you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours? Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<else>>
You shake your head. It feels heavy and woolly, filled with befuddling and overwhelming revelations. "Even if I fail to take the throne?" you repeat, to ensure the words reach her. That she feels their weight and she doesn't answer flippantly. "Even if I don't want to chase your beloved revenge?"
"Even then. No matter what." She reaches yet again for your hands, and this time you don't pull back. "But you do want justice, don't you? We can't let all those people get away!"
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
"Is it justice or revenge you want?"
Morgana laughs bitterly. "It's one and the same."
"Not the way //you// want it."
<</if>>
You turn to Accolon. He's stood by the hearth all this while, as silent and still as one of the decorations on the mantlepiece. He's forgone the towel at some point and his wan face is now dried, hazel eyes cast in sorrowful shadows by the dim light, mouth thinned to a grim line.
"Did you know?" you ask.
"I did."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Everyone who knows of your true paternity." Morgana pauses. "Except for Marcellus and Gaius."
You frown. "How come?"
Morgana shrugs as if it's all a trivial matter you should dismiss. "I didn't find it necessary to tell them."
"So you told them what you told me, then."
You breathe in deeply then out in a shuddering, long exhale.
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and upset. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_doubt_upset"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and upset. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_upset"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to understand why she hid it from you - why she lied. Right now, you feel so confused and tired. There's only one thing you're sure of: that she loves you no matter what.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to understand why she hid it from you - why she lied. Right now, you feel so confused and tired. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "ok_doubt"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and angry. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_doubt_angry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and angry. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_angry"]]</div>Growing up, you've never felt unloved by Morgana. Quite the opposite - she's always acted so tenderly towards you, always jumped to offer you whatever you wanted or needed. You've butted heads at times, but don't all children and parents have their disagreements? Yet now you can't help but question if the love she's given you is conditional on how well you may serve her and her goals. If this love extends only as far as you're useful to her - if all affection will vanish the moment you fail to meet expectations, the moment you go against her quest for revenge. The moment you're no longer the weapon she intended for you to be. You know how much she clings to her vengeance, you know how it flames within her like a fire that can't be extinguished - one that's been ignited in you too. Is the love she extends to you merely the warmth of that fire? Does she truly love you for yourself, as one should love a child?
"Do you love me, or do you love only what I can be and do for you and your quest for revenge?" you ask, eyeing her with circumspection. Dread has thrust its claws in you, holding you in a vice-like grip. Tightening your stomach to the point you fear you'll expel its contents on Morgana's pretty serpent rug.
"Of course I love you!" Morgana looks affronted and disbelieveing, as if you've insinuated a great offense she couldn't even consider. She leans forward more, till she's barely sitting on the armchair anymore, reaching out her hands to squeeze your own. When you make no movement, she places them gently on your knees, applying a pressure that wishes to be reassuring - and perhaps a tad desperate, an attempt to impress upon you the gravity and truth of her words. "Don't speak nonsense, Mordred. I love you because you are my child, and I'd love you no matter what."
"Truly? Even if the only reason you had me was the claim to the throne?"
"Truly. Gareth I had to get Lot off my back, and I still love him exceedingly so. Despite having the blood of the man who lent his armies to massacre our family."
<<if $throne == "no">>
You shake your head. It feels heavy and woolly, filled with befuddling and overwhelming revelations. "And if I don't want the throne? If I seek justifce for the Le Fay - if I punish those who wronged our family but don't take the throne you so dearly cling to. Even then?"
"Even then. No matter what." She pauses, appraising your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "It's not the first time you've brought up this notion, of you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours. Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<elseif $throne == "nono">>
You shake your head. It feels heavy and woolly, filled with befuddling and overwhelming revelations. "And if I don't want the throne? If I seek justifce for the Le Fay - if I punish those who wronged our family but don't take the throne you so dearly cling to. Even then?"
"Even then. No matter what." She pauses, appraising your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "What is this about you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours? Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<else>>
You shake your head. It feels heavy and woolly, filled with befuddling and overwhelming revelations. "Even if I fail to take the throne?" you repeat, to ensure the words reach her. That she feels their weight and doesn't answer flippantly. "Even if I fail to right the wrongs?"
"Even then. No matter what." She reaches yet again for your hands, and this time you don't pull back. "And you neend't fear failure, darling. I'll be there by your side. Helping you all the way. Together, I know we can do great things."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<</if>>
You turn to Accolon. He's stood by the hearth all this while, as silent and still as one of the decorations on the mantlepiece. He's forgone the towel at some point and his wan face is now dried, hazel eyes cast in sorrowful shadows by the dim light, mouth thinned to a grim line.
"Did you know?" you ask.
"I did."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Everyone who knows of your true paternity." Morgana pauses. "Except for Marcellus and Gaius."
You frown. "How come?"
Morgana shrugs as if it's all a trivial matter you should dismiss. "I didn't find it necessary to tell them."
"So you told them what you told me, then."
You breathe in deeply then out in a shuddering, long exhale.
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and upset. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_doubt_upset"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and upset. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_upset"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to understand why she hid it from you - why she lied. Right now, you feel so confused and tired. There's only one thing you're sure of: that she loves you no matter what.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to understand why she hid it from you - why she lied. Right now, you feel so confused and tired. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "ok_doubt"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and angry. Despite her reassurances, you fear her love will vanish the moment you fail her expectations of you.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_doubt_angry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and angry. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_angry"]]</div>Growing up you've never felt unloved, and neither do you feel now after this revelation. Morgana's always acted so tenderly towards you, always jumped to offer you whatever you wanted or needed. You've butted heads at times, but don't all children and parents have their disagreements? So when Morgana says she loves you, you believe her wholeheartedly. She's only ever wanted to protect you, even if she doesn't always go about it in the best of ways. What if she's conceived you with a goal, with a hope that you'll have a claim to the throne? With a bright future for you in mind? Isn't that the reason why nobles and rulers conceive, in the first place?
"I know you love me," you say with feeling, nonetheless reassured to her the words from her. "And I'll help us right the wrongs that have been done, too." You know how much it means to her to avenge your family, you know how it flames within her like a fire that can't be extinguished - one that's been ignited in you too.
Morgana leans forward more, till she's barely sitting on the armchair anymore, reaching out her hands to squeeze your own. You squeeze back, smiling feebly.
<<if $throne == "no">>
You go on: "I want that, I truly do. But I don't think I want the throne. There must be other ways to get revenge."
She appraises your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "It's not the first time you've brought up this notion, of you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours. Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<elseif $throne == "nono">>
You go on: "I want that, I truly do. But I don't think I want the throne. There must be other ways to get revenge."
She appraises your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "What is this about you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours? Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<else>>
"But what if I fail?"
"You needn't fear failure, darling. I'll be there by your side. Helping you all the way. Together, I know we can do great things."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<</if>>
You turn to Accolon. He's stood by the hearth all this while, as silent and still as one of the decorations on the mantlepiece. He's forgone the towel at some point and his wan face is now dried, hazel eyes cast in sorrowful shadows by the dim light, mouth thinned to a grim line.
"Did you know?" you ask.
"I did."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Everyone who knows of your true paternity." Morgana pauses. "Except for Marcellus and Gaius."
You frown. "How come?"
Morgana shrugs as if it's all a trivial matter you should dismiss. "I didn't find it necessary to tell them."
"So you told them what you told me, then."
You breathe in deeply then out in a shuddering, long exhale.
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and upset. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_upset"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and angry. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_angry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to understand why she hid it from you - why she lied. Right now, you feel so confused and tired. There's only one thing you're sure of: that she loves you no matter what.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "ok"]]</div>Growing up you've never felt unloved, and neither do you feel now after this revelation. Morgana's always acted so tenderly towards you, always jumped to offer you whatever you wanted or needed. You've butted heads at times, but don't all children and parents have their disagreements? So when Morgana says she loves you, you believe her wholeheartedly. She's only ever wanted to protect you, even if she doesn't always go about it in the best of ways. What if she's conceived you with a goal, with a hope that you'll have a claim to the throne? Isn't that the reason why nobles and rulers conceive, in the first place? Sometimes those parents must grapple with and accept the fact that children don't always live up to that expectations.
"I know you love me," you say with feeling, nonetheless reassured to hear the words from her. Morgana leans forward more, till she's barely sitting on the armchair anymore, reaching out her hands to squeeze your own. You squeeze back, smiling feebly. "But I don't think I want to chase the revenge you want me to." You know how much it means to her to avenge your family, you know how it flames within her like a fire that can't be extinguished - but that fire hasn't been ignited in you too.
<<if $throne == "no">>
You go on: "And I don't think I want the throne, either."
She appraises your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "It's not the first time you've brought up this notion, of you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours. Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<elseif $throne == "nono">>
You go on: "And I don't think I want the throne, either."
She appraises your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "What is this about you not wanting the throne that //is// rightfully yours? Don't you want more? Don't you want to change perspective? They'll no longer be able to look down upon you if you're high on your throne."
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
<<else>>
You go on: "But I do intend to get the throne as you wish for me."
She appraises your face as her brow furrows - not in anger, but puzzlement. Then she says: "But don't you want justice? We can't let all those people get away!"
Horripilation tingles down your arms and spine as the air blisters with the red-hot passion smouldering behind her words. There's a faint crackling from the cold, empty hearth, a wave of warmth hitting your goose-flesh skin.
"Is it justice or revenge you want?"
Morgana laughs bitterly. "It's one and the same."
"Not the way //you// want it."
<</if>>
You turn to Accolon. He's stood by the hearth all this while, as silent and still as one of the decorations on the mantlepiece. He's forgone the towel at some point and his wan face is now dried, hazel eyes cast in sorrowful shadows by the dim light, mouth thinned to a grim line.
"Did you know?" you ask.
"I did."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Everyone who knows of your true paternity." Morgana pauses. "Except for Marcellus and Gaius."
You frown. "How come?"
Morgana shrugs as if it's all a trivial matter you should dismiss. "I didn't find it necessary to tell them."
"So you told them what you told me, then."
You breathe in deeply then out in a shuddering, long exhale.
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and upset. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_upset"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel betrayed, deeply wounded and angry. You believe that she truly does love you no matter what - even if it's in a twisted way, where she hides and distorts the truth to paint the image she wants you to see.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "betrayed_angry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You want to understand why she hid it from you - why she lied. Right now, you feel so confused and tired. There's only one thing you're sure of: that she loves you no matter what.|Chapt4MorganaBetrayedDoubt][$chapt4_revelation to "ok"]]</div><<if $chapt4_magic == "control">>
"Alright," Morgana says briskly, having settled down on the blanket she laid out under the shade of the trees flanking the bank. "Would you like to start with some meditation exercises first? Fifteen minutes, I'll time you. Meanwhile I can go over your lesson for today again, see if there's anything else we could do."
You gladly go sit criss-cross in front of the river, half-tempted to knock off your shoes and dip your feet into the water. But you don't, closing your eyes instead and clearing your mind as Morgana's taught you.
This is simply a way of exercising the methods that you'd have to apply once you feel your magic slip out of control - as a result of your emotions peaking to the heights of fury, angst or even jubilation. Breathe in through your nose, breathe out through your mouth, deeply and slowly, focusing on the air that enters and leaves your body. Relax, free your mind of any thoughts, simply reach within yourself and feel the magic - distinguish it from your state of mind. When the magic starts to run amok as your temper does, you'll have to discern it, grasp it, stop it. Let the feelings flow a different rhythm than that of the magic in you, that should be kept steady, easy, until you reach for it.
By the time Morgana calls out to you - softly, as not to startle you - a sense of tranquility has fallen over you and wrung out any lingering tension from your muscles. You move to join Morgana under the shade of the trees flanking the bank, where she'd laid out a blanket.
"Alright," she says briskly. "Last time we went over rituals and runes." Morgana opens a notebook in her lap and gingerly dips a purple-feathered pen into an inkwell to jot down a couple lines in her looping, elegant calligraphy. "I'll quiz you on that a bit, by the way," she says, not looking up from the page. "Then we'll go over some more complex transfiguration spells, as well as a bit of telekinesis - hovering the same objects as before, but pushing for a longer duration of suspention." She thumbs back a few pages, and stops upon a neatly drawn table. You don't need to read it to know it contains on its rows each of the objects - and its weight - you attempted telekinesis on, and on its column the period you managed to keep them in the air.
<<else>>
"Alright," Morgana says briskly, having settled down on the blanket she laid out under the shade of the trees flanking the bank. "Last time we went over rituals and runes." Morgana opens a notebook in her lap and gingerly dips a purple-feathered pen into an inkwell to jot down a couple lines in her looping, elegant calligraphy. "I'll quiz you on that a bit, by the way," she says, not looking up from the page. "Then we'll go over some more complex transfiguration spells, as well as a bit of telekinesis - hovering the same objects as before, but pushing for a longer duration of suspention." She thumbs back a few pages, and stops upon a neatly drawn table. You don't need to read it to know it contains on its rows each of the objects - and its weight - you attempted telekinesis on, and on its column the period you managed to keep them in the air.
<</if>>
//Quizzing you on runes// consists of reproducing the patterns you've learnt so far to the best of your abilities, and testing them out if you can. Protection wards, meant to repel different types of physical, as well as magic attacks, not always simultaneously, unless you combine different runes into a bigger one. You practise the moderate to complex ones - the more intricate, the more powerful. Wards, not unlike the ones used on the training dummies you fight, which spell objects into doing your binding - to certain limitations. The object must facilitate your goal in order to get the best results.
Morgana doesn't insist on the wards. After all, you've thoroughly studied them a few days ago, and she seems satisfied of your work now, having little corrections to make.
You move on to transfiguration, for which Morgana makes you fetch a couple river rocks. First and foremost, for a successful transformation, one must be well-enough familiar with the result they desire: its shape, its color, its consistency, its weight. One must keep in mind every detail they can recall and paint it in their mind's eye. Then that's when the magic comes in, the chisel in your hand needed to carve the object into this illusion summoned in your head.
Morgana did it effortlessly, flawlessly, when she spooked the Duke of Tintal that night all those years ago. Not to take away from her achievement, but she //did// have a good starting point for the serpent she faked in the snake already embroidered on the man's tunic. It's not any less impressive, though - it might as well have turned out a worm in less capable hands. Your mother had learned from a sorcerer whose family affinity is transfiguration, and now she's teaching it to you. You're not that bad, but you've not reached your mother's aptitude, either. When it comes to turning twigs into swords and daggers you're near perfection. Other things...well, the results can be interesting, at the very least. You pride yourself in having transfigured a rock into a swallow, just the right size and fairly cute, to be honest - far better than the abomination that was your very first attempt. //At least//, Morgana had consoled you, //next time go even more monstruous. Good for scaring people.//
Transfiguration is close cousins with illusion, which Morgana also teaches you; what sets the two apart is that your hand will go through the later as if it were mist, while the former renders physicality to the projected image. Whether it's the right one it's an entirely different matter.
"We'll do a frog today," Morgana says. A small, devious smile that promises no good curves her lips. "Perhaps you can make it leap, too?"
You nod slowly. When you'd transfigured the swallow, she'd asked you to make it fly, too. It flew...straight into the river.
"Any kind of frog I want?" you ask as you pull one of the stones in front of you. It's big enough to fill your palm. Morgana confirms, giving you free reign on whatever type of the leaping amphibians you can remember, so you scrunch up your nose. Recalling the frogs you've spotted and sought by the river with $dragon_name.
The green toad jumps to mind. $dragon_name always thought it rather cute with its pale beige body mottled with green and sprayed with fine red specks as if it had stood too close to a bloody fight. //Like a frog knight, you know?// $dragon_name had said, which conjured to mind an image of the toad all dressed up in plates which you had to share with $dragon_him.
You concentrate on that picture - the regular frog one, not Sir Toad - and will the plain gray rock to sculpt itself into it. This process always manages to successfully summon a faint, dull throb in your temples, if nothing else.
The frog comes out alright, if you don't stare at it too closely to notice all the ways it didn't come out alright.
Morgana picks up your frog, scooping it in the palm of her hand. She scrutinizes it with a critical eye, humming the low tone which indicates a mistake - and draws it out. Then she moves her hand up and down as if the frog were a bag of coins and she were trying to determine if you'd conned her out of her money. She sighs. "Try again, will you? It needs to be a bit heavier. The eyes - not that bugged out - and the legs, they shouldn't bend that way."
You try again, reaching out to the magic, willing it to help you chisel the rock. This time when Morgana seizes it for inspection, her hum rises to that pleasant approving note you long to hear. "Not bad," comes the verdict. "One more time."
Once you're finished with the frogs and rocks, Morgana lets you study one of the tomes she's brought with you, a thick book with curlicues etched into the leather, pompuous enough to make your head pound before you even attempt the magic. She then conceals the book and asks you to reconstruct it from a piece of plank. You repeat the process until you feel that the image of the tome has been fire-branded into your brain, but at least Morgana's satisfied with your work.
The lesson doesn't stop there. Morgana has yet more ideas for things you can transfigure: wildflowers and books and small animals, to the point where you feel uncertain how any of these look in reality. When Morgana announces you're finally done for the day, you're more than happy to clear your mind of frogs and rabbits, however adorable. When she gives you the second good news - that it's time for lunch - your stomach lurches, abruptly remembering hunger now that it's been freed from the throes of concentration. You're sure you could spell the rocks into food well enough to trick people, with the clarity it paints itself into your famished brain.
Morgana cuts slices of cheese - the yellow kind with the holes that look as if a mouse had taken hurried bits every time the cook wasn't looking - and puts them on bread, freshly baked that morning. She cuts tomatoes and scallions and radishes and you gorge yourself on your simple yet delicious lunch and wash it down with cool honeyed tea.
Afterwards you dive right back into your lecture, rejuvenated, picking up with telekinesis. The tomes Morgana's brought come into play again as props. You're asked to hover them in air, first at waist level, for as much and as steady as you can manage. Then it's shoulders level, then over your head; then it's not just one tome but both at the same time - stacked together, then side by side. Which is a very important distinction, because the latter is considerably harder. Stacked, they're one whole - side by side you must focus on both at the same time.
<<if $draw == "yes">>
By the time you're done with your lessons, the trees cast lanky shadows over you and the river, and the sun's softened, having tired itself after a long day of making people sweat and soil dry and crack. Morgana puts aside everything - the beloathed tomes, the notebook that tallies your good and bad, the purple-feathered pen and inkwell - and instead produces two other notebooks and a set of colorful pencils.
[[Continue|Chapt4Draw]]
<<else>>
By the time you're done with your lessons, the trees cast lanky shadows over you and the river and the sun's softened, having tired itself after a long day of making people sweat and soil dry and crack. Morgana puts aside everything - the beloathed tomes, the notebook that tallies your good and bad, the purple-feathered pen and inkwell - and instead produces a different notebook and a set of colorful pencils.
<div class="choice">[[She's brought along your sketching notebook too; you both love drawing.|Chapt4Draw][$draw to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You settle down next to her, watching Morgana draw.|Chapt4Draw][$draw to "no"]]</div>
<</if>>You traverse these corridors for the third time this day, this time to wildly differing reactions. The greetings sent Robin's way were friendly and familiar, an equal to an equal; and even the apprentice you spotted didn't bow their head as lowly as a healer now does to your mother. It's the due respect that must be shown to the Duchess, and some meet it with ease, even //warmth// in their eyes. Other offer strained, tight smiles - some were frozen on their lips by contemptuous iciness, but a lot of them were simply wary. Scared.
Morgana is quite the source of contradiction and consternation among the Temple. On one hand, the faith of the Lady proclaims itself open to everyone as long as they come without ill-intent, and Morgana has only ever been reverent of the Goddess. On the other hand, your mother's conduct - the unproven poisonings and promises of revenge, to be exact - place her at odds with the same peace and benevolence the Temple preaches. She's not barred from coming, but not all greet her with open arms either, Igraine's daughter or not. It's that kind of polite but strained cordiality you receive when someone's hospitality override any other discomfort over a questionable guest. With just a smudge of fear of turning the guest down, lest they must have to face their wrath.
You emerge for a second time today in the back courtyard, towards the modest altar. The devout that was there, arms half submerged, when you first arrived had not budged. Their skin must have pruned to rival the most shrivelled-up raisin by now.
A couple more people have arrived in the meantime. Two women all swaddled up in colorful headkerchiefs - hands and sleeves and hems already soaked - who seem to be on their way out, heels pattering sharply on the blue tiles. The chatting women hush abruptly as their gazes fall on Morgana, eyes widening with recognition. They scurry away, offering loud courteous greetings and bowing as they retreat, droning on even until they round the building, singing a deferential echo that tugs Morgana's lips up in a sardonic smile.
The commotion draws the attention of the aspiring raisin devout, who straightens and looks over their shoulder, misty-eyed and vaguely ruffled. They spot Morgana and their face darkens, cloudy eyes clearing to tune in on her with acute intensity. They shoot up, spraying freshwater on the blue mosaic, and march up to your party with all the moistness and intimidation of a raincloud.
Accolon slips quickly into his role as guard, the transition seamless. He puts himself in front of Morgana and his hand goes from resting against the pommel to firmly grasping the hilt, not yet pulling out the sword. "Stop right there."
The devout halts but otherwise ignores him, leaning heavily to the side to set their blazing eyes on Morgana. "How dare you! How dare you, snake, traitor, villain-" they rattle such a sheer number of adjectives and adjective-adjacent words as to put a dictionary to shame, and to rival a shopping list for a royal feast.
Accolon tries to stop them again, the firm and commanding tone he affects sounding rather strange coming out of his mouth, but the devout's tirade is as unstoppable as water pouring out of a broken dam, their whole being incandescent with self-righteous fury.
<div class="choice">[[Impulsively step in to attempt stopping them yourself, propelled by a surge of anger.|Chapt4TempleAttack][$chapt4_tirade to 1, $calm to $calm-2, $impulsive to $impulsive+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Impulsively step in to attempt stopping them yourself. Maybe seeing two reasonable, calm people will halt them?|Chapt4TempleAttack][$chapt4_tirade to 2, $calm to $calm+2, $impulsive to $impulsive+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stand back and watch. Better not get involved.|Chapt4TempleAttack][$chapt4_tirade to 3, $calm to $calm+2, $impulsive to $impulsive-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stand back and watch. Better not get involved, but you can't help the surge of anger that lances through you.|Chapt4TempleAttack][$chapt4_tirade to 4, $calm to $calm-2, $impulsive to $impulsive-2]]</div><<if $chapt4_morgana_next1 is false>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_write == 1 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 2>>
<div class="choice">[["\"I've reached out to Arthur, just so you know. To inform him I've found out.\""|Chapt4MorganaCatchUp1][$chapt4_morgana_next1 to true]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_write == 3 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 4>>
<div class="choice">[["\"I've reached out to Arthur, just so you know. I think I want...I think I want to better understand his viewpoint after everything I found out.\""|Chapt4MorganaCatchUp2][$chapt4_morgana_next1 to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_morgana_next2 is false and $gareth_knows is true>><div class="choice">[["\"Gareth knows I'm a Pendragon. I finally told him.\""|Chapt4MorganaCatchUp3][$chapt4_morgana_next2 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_morgana_next3 is false and $chapt4_next_day_dads is false>><div class="choice">[["\"Junia said she'll tell Gaius and Marcellus the truth of what happened.\""|Chapt4MorganaCatchUp4][$chapt4_morgana_next3 to true]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_morgana_next3 is false>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Junia told Gaius and Marcellus the truth of what happened.\""|Chapt4MorganaCatchUp4][$chapt4_morgana_next3 to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You take your leave.|Chapt4MorganaCatchUp5]]</div><<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true and $chapt4_next_day_arthur is false>><div class="choice">[[Go to Arthur.|Chapt4TalkArthur][$chapt4_next_day_arthur to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_next_day_dragon is false>><div class="choice">[[Seek out your dragon friend.|Chapt4TalkDragon][$chapt4_next_day_dragon to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_next_day_gareth is false and $Gareth >= 60>><div class="choice">[[Find Gareth.|Chapt4TalkGareth][$chapt4_next_day_gareth to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_next_day_accolon is false>><div class="choice">[[Talk with Accolon.|Chapt4TalkAccolon][$chapt4_next_day_accolon to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_next_day_gawain is false and $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>><div class="choice">[[Go to Gawain.|Chapt4TalkGawain][$chapt4_next_day_gawain to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_next_day_kay is false and $chapt4_arthur_invited is true and $chapt4_gawain_invited is false>><div class="choice">[[Seek Kay.|Chapt4TalkKayAlone][$chapt4_next_day_kay to true]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_next_day_kay is false and $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>><div class="choice">[[Seek Kay.|Chapt4TalkKayIsabel][$chapt4_next_day_kay to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_next_day_dads is false>><div class="choice">[[Spend some time with Gaius and Marcellus.|Chapt4TalkDads][$chapt4_next_day_dads to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_next_day_morgana is false>><div class="choice">[[Find Morgana. She'll want to talk with you, anyway.|Chapt4TalkMorgana][$chapt4_next_day_morgana to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_next_day_arthur_write is false and $chapt4_arthur_invited is false>><div class="choice">[[Sit down at your desk and pen a letter to Arthur. You must get his side in this matter. You must let him know you've found out.|Chapt4WriteArthur][$chapt4_next_day_arthur_write to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_next_day_morgana is false>>
<div class="choice">[[You've talked with everyone you wanted to talk.|Chapt4TalkNotDone][$chapt4_check_done to true]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You've talked with everyone you wanted to talk.|Chapt4TalkDone]]</div>
<</if>><<silently>><<set $trans to true>><</silently>>
<<if $hormones is true>>
Morgana, being the skilled potion-maker that she is, needn't outsource when it comes to your potions; she brews them herself and keeps up the neccessary stock, and all that's required of you is notifying her whenever you're running low, though she makes sure to inquire too lest you forget. This particular potion is rather important to you - and has been such a boon - so you do your best to remember nonetheless.
When puberty decided to tentatively rear its ugly head, you realized whatever it's trying to put you through just won't do; not the way it wanted to, anyway, and it was easily rectified by this potion Morgana brews for you to regularly take.
<<elseif $puberty_blockers is true>>
Morgana, being the skilled potion-maker that she is, needn't outsource when it comes to your potions; she brews them herself and keeps up the neccessary stock, and all that's required of you is notifying her whenever you're running low, though she makes sure to inquire too lest you forget. This particular potion is rather important to you - and has been such a boon - so you do your best to remember nonetheless.
When puberty decided to tentatively rear its ugly head, you realized whatever it's trying to put you through just won't do. You've gone to Morgana for help, and came to the conclusion that, for the moment, you'd rather delay its effects while giving you the freedom to explore and reflect and experiment without discomfort or distress.
<<else>>
"Good night!" you call out as you jump off the chair and bound towards the doors. It's been a long day, and tomorrow you have to be up early, but you can't help but feel buoyed by the prospect of cake and music and games.
<</if>>
[[Next day|Chapt4Lecture]]<<silently>><<set $trans to true>><</silently>>
<<if $hormones is true>>
You linger, gaze flicking over shelves of stoppered bottles. You've been turning this matter around in your head, and decided to finally bring it up to Morgana now that your mind's made. Ever since puberty decided to tentatively rear its ugly head, you've realized whatever it's trying to put you through just won't do; not the way it wanted to, anyway. So you need something to place you on the right track. You tell so to your mother. You don't need to ask if she can brew the potion herself, though. Morgana, being the skilled potion-maker that she is, needn't outsource.
"Hmm," she leans back in her chair, humming thoughtfully. "I don't know the potion from memory, so let me look over the ingredients." Morgana pushes back her chair and drifts towards the bookcase, unerringly picking up the tome she needs. She's told you that she's read all the potion books she has at least twice. She leafs through it and you wait, strung-up in anticipation as she takes what feels as long as if she were reading the book twice more. Finally, she smiles. "Aren't you lucky? I have everything the recipe requires, so we can start whenever you're ready."
An electrifying surge of excitement shoots through you at the news. "Tomorrow?"
Morgana chuckles indulgently at your enthusiasm, coming to sit back down in her chair. "Alright, darling. It can be done."
She instructs you to come to her study first thing in the morning for a quick blood draw and weight check so she may best prepare the potion, and promises to get it done by evening. You can't help the smile that splits your face, straining like the joy welling from your chest strains to be contained within you.
"Now," Morgana says, "is there anything else you wanted to discuss?"
<<if $agab == "male">>
<div class="choice">[["\"If you mean how I'd like people to refer to me, I don't quite know yet.\""|Chapt4Chamber1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think I'd like people to start referring to me as she."|Chapt4Chamber1][$pgen to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think I'd like people to start referring to me as they."|Chapt4Chamber1][$pgen to 2]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["\"If you mean how I'd like people to refer to me, I don't quite know yet.\""|Chapt4Chamber1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think I'd like people to start referring to me as he."|Chapt4Chamber1][$pgen to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think I'd like people to start referring to me as they."|Chapt4Chamber1][$pgen to 2]]</div>
<</if>>
<<elseif $puberty_blockers is true>>
You linger, gaze flicking over shelves of stoppered bottles. You've been turning this matter around in your head, and decided to finally bring it up to Morgana now that your mind's made. Ever since puberty decided to tentatively rear its ugly head, you've realized whatever it's trying to put you through just won't do; not the way it wanted to, anyway. So you'd rather delay its effects while you figure things out. You tell so to your mother. You don't need to ask if she can brew the potion herself, though. Morgana, being the skilled potion-maker that she is, needn't outsource.
"Hmm," she leans back in her chair, humming thoughtfully. "I don't know the potion from memory, so let me look over the ingredients." Morgana pushes back her chair and drifts towards the bookcase, unerringly picking up the tome she needs. She's told you that she's read all the potion books she has at least twice. She leafs through it and you wait, strung-up in anticipation as she takes what feels as long as if she were reading the book twice more. Finally, she smiles. "Aren't you lucky? I have everything the recipe requires, so we can start whenever you're ready."
An electrifying surge of excitement shoots through you at the news. "Tomorrow?"
Morgana chuckles indulgently at your enthusiasm, coming to sit back down in her chair. "Alright, darling. It can be done."
She instructs you to come to her study first thing in the morning for a quick blood draw and weight check so she may best prepare the potion, and promises to get it done by evening. You can't help the smile that splits your face, straining like the joy welling from your chest strains to be contained within you.
"Now," Morgana says, "is there anything else you wanted to discuss?"
<<if $agab == "male">>
<div class="choice">[["\"If you mean how I'd like people to refer to me, I don't quite know yet.\""|Chapt4Chamber1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think I'd like people to start referring to me as she."|Chapt4Chamber1][$pgen to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think I'd like people to start referring to me as they."|Chapt4Chamber1][$pgen to 2]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["\"If you mean how I'd like people to refer to me, I don't quite know yet.\""|Chapt4Chamber1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think I'd like people to start referring to me as he."|Chapt4Chamber1][$pgen to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think I'd like people to start referring to me as they."|Chapt4Chamber1][$pgen to 2]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Good night!" you call out as you jump off the chair and bound towards the door. It's been a long day and tomorrow you have to be up early, but you can't help but feel buoyed by the prospect of cake and music and games.
[[Next day|Chapt4Lecture]]
<</if>><<if $chapt4_reconcile == "subtle">>
Like a hound sensing blood, you picked up the trace of Morgana's hesitation and followed it to the bleeding wounds she won't let heal. She must let it heal, like you did, if she wants to reconcile with Arthur. She must give him a chance like you allowed him, to show he can do better. You've slipped into conversation bits of what Arthur has told you, showed her all the gifts he's sent, jokingly mentioned the growing stack of letters you receive from him, all in an attempt to get her to see the potential you see in Arthur.
Once, when you dared be less oblique, you told her letting him into your life was the best decision you could have made. You had expected for her smile to be sharp and sardonic as usual, that infuriating curl of the lips that lets you know she thinks you're being naive in your childhood innocence. Instead, there was a sadness you couldn't quite comprehend.
"Of course he showed up," you echo Arthur's words, injecting your own with an air of levity. "He promised me he would."
<<elseif $chapt4_reconcile == "blunt">>
Like a hound sensing blood, you swooped in on Morgana's moment of hesitance and took full advantage of it. You've repeatedly pointed out to all the promises Arthur made and kept as proof that he is indeed trying his best and meant every word he said. That he can learn from his mistakes be better. And all you needed to do was offer him the chance to do so. You've suggested that perhaps, if you've been willing to open yourself up to him and be vulnerable, she could take a leaf out of your book and do the same. The results may pleasantly surprise you, you told her.
Morgana had smiled at you then. You had expected for her smile to be sharp and sardonic as usual, that infuriating curl of the lips that lets you know she thinks you're being naive in your childhood innocence. Instead, there was a sadness you couldn't quite comprehend.
"Of course he showed up!" you echo Arthur's words, puffing up your chest with pride. "He promised me he would and he came. See, mom? I told you he's trying now. Not just trying, but succeeding too!"
Arthur ducks his head, smile turned bashful, and Morgana merely quirks an eyebrow at you, face still set in her courtly, composed mask. "So it seems," is all she says.
<<else>>
You'd love for them to solve their issues, to mend the bleeding wounds they've inflicted upon each other. But it's not for you to fix, it's not for you to meddle.
"Of course he showed up," you say. It's a silly thing to imply he would do otherwise. He came last year too, and promised he'd come now too: and here he is.
<</if>>
The Court at large has taken note of his presence in Lothia, too. Ever since Arthur's come into your life - and kept frequent correspondence, and showed up to your birthday that first summer to everyone's surprise but yours - you've noticed a certain shift at Court, if tentative at first. A wave of murmurs overtaking the nobles and servants alike, marveling at this sudden change in the King's heart. You've heard the whispers, be them sympathetic or cruel: that Arthur took pity on the bastard, that it's just another one of Morgana's scheme and you her pawn. It earned you some goodwill among those who think the former, but none with those that boast the latter - Lot counting among them, no doubt. While you're still far from a favorite at Court, you've noticed small things, such as cold gazes thawing and thinned lips turning into shadows of a smile; squires more willing to train with you, children less reticent to play with you.
While you've been having your little reunion, the knights have dismounted and approached, hanging a respectful distance away from Arthur, always ready to step in should trouble arise. Arthur excuses himself to greet the rest of your party, starting with Lot and Gareth as is the custom.
Having given his perfunctory welcome and being offered Arthur's demurely effusive reply, Lot is freed from his Ducal duties to his King and escapes to the back of your little crowd. Arthur's attention shifts to his nephew who has affected much the same poise as Morgana.
In the two years since the tournament, Arthur has picked up writing letters to Gareth too. They're not as frequent or intimate as the ones he writes to you, but he's made a custom out of writing for every birthday and celebration on top of sending him gifts; inquiring about his wellbeing and interests, recounting fun little tales of life in Camelot. Arthur has confessed to you that while he's always tormented himself over not reaching out to you before, he's felt guilt over the distance he maintaned from Gareth too. He said he never was sure how to navigate the relationship - and this time not only because of your brother's ties to Morgana. He told you, quite truthfully, that Lot intimidates him and that he knows, despite the Duke offering him his due respect as King, that he has not endeared himself to Lot - and doesn't wish to start now. Not when he knows how he's allowed the Court to treat you.
You watch Arthur hug Gareth before the former moves on to greet Junia and her fathers, but you don't have time to observe the encounter as the earth quivers slightly under your feet and a whiff of hot air slaps you in the face.
"Elewen!"
You turn to Arthur's friend and companion with a wide smile, mirrored in their open-maw face. Their eyes, red as poppy, consider you with a gentleness that always takes you by surprise, and makes you realize how greedy and needy you are for more eyes to regard you with such softness.
They push their snout against you, a most affectionate greeting for dragons, and you place your hands on either side of their face, rubbing your cheek against their smooth scales to return the gesture. When they pull away they direct their attention to your left, towards $dragon_name. They bow their head and waits for your friend to push $dragon_his forehead against theirs.
"How have you been my little ones?" Elewen croons in the dragon tongue, their voice as soothing as steady steps crunching on a bed of crisp, autumn leaves.
You open your mouth to reply but whatever response you had fades from your lips as the growing sound of trotting hooves arrests your full focus. You break away to behold the swiftly approaching carriage pulled by four majestic horses, huge beasts with shiny coats and combed manes. The carriage, a fancy thing of sleek black wood and gilded edges, proudly sports the Pendragon banner on its red painted doors. It draws short of your little party and the footman jumps down from his perch before the dust even settles in their wake, quick on his feet - but not quick enough, it seems, as the carriage door is thrown open just before he can reach for the handle.
[[Next|Chapt4GawainCarriage]]<<if $chapt4_reconcile == "subtle">>
Like a hound sensing blood, you picked up the trace of Morgana's hesitation and followed it to the bleeding wounds she won't let heal. She must, like you did, if she wants to reconcile with Arthur. She must give him a chance like you allowed him, to show he can do better. You've slipped into conversation bits of what Arthur has told you, showed her all the gifts he's sent, jokingly mentioned the growing stack of letters you receive from him, all in an attempt to get her to see the potential you see in Arthur.
Once, when you dared be less oblique, you told her letting him into your life was the best decision you could have made. You had expected for her smile to be sharp and sardonic as usual, that infuriating curl of the lips that lets you know she thinks you're being naive in your childhood innocence. Instead, there was a sadness you couldn't quite comprehend.
"Of course he showed up," you echo Arthur's words, injecting your own with an air of levity. "He promised me he would."
<<elseif $chapt4_reconcile == "blunt">>
Like a hound sensing blood, you swooped in on Morgana's moment of hesitance and took full advantage of it. You've repeatedly pointed out to her all the promises Arthur made and kept as proof that he is indeed trying his best and meant every word he said. That he can learn from his mistakes and be better. And all you needed to do was offer him the chance to do so. You've suggested that perhaps, if you've been willing to open yourself up to him and be vulnerable, she could take a leaf out of your book and do the same. The results may pleasantly surprise you, you told her.
Morgana had smiled at you then. You had expected for her smile to be sharp and sardonic as usual, that infuriating curl of the lips that lets you know she thinks you're being naive in your childhood innocence. Instead, there was a sadness you couldn't quite comprehend.
"Of course he showed up!" you echo Arthur's words, puffing up your chest with pride. "He promised me he would and he came. See, mom? I told you he's trying now. Not just trying, but succeeding too!"
Arthur ducks his head, smile turned bashful, and Morgana merely quirks an eyebrow at you, face still set in her courtly, composed mask. "So it seems," is all she says.
<<else>>
You'd love for them to solve their issues, to mend the bleeding wounds they've inflicted upon each other. But it's not for you to fix, it's not for you to meddle.
"Of course he showed up," you say. It's a silly thing to imply he would do otherwise. He came last year too, and promised he'd come now too: and here he is.
<</if>>
The Court at large has taken note of his presence in Lothia, too. Ever since Arthur's come into your life - and kept frequent correspondence, and showed up to your birthday that first summer to everyone's surprise but yours - you've noticed a certain shift at Court, if tentative at first. A wave of murmurs overtaking the nobles and servants alike, marveling at this sudden change in the King's heart. You've heard the whispers, be them sympathetic or cruel: that Arthur took pity on the bastard, that it's just another one of Morgana's scheme and you her pawn. It earned you some goodwill among those who think the former, but none with those that boast the latter - Lot counting among them, no doubt. While you're still far from a favorite at Court, you've noticed small things, such as cold gazes thawing and thinned lips turning into shadows of a smile; squires more willing to train with you, children less reticent to play with you.
While you've been having your little reunion, the knights have dismounted and approached, hanging a respectful distance away from Arthur, always ready to step in should trouble arise. Arthur excuses himself to greet the rest of your party, starting with Lot and Gareth as is the custom.
Having given his perfunctory welcome and being offered Arthur's demurely effusive reply, Lot is freed from his Ducal duties to his King and escapes to the back of your little crowd. Arthur's attention shifts to his nephew who has affected much the same poised and elegant stance as Morgana.
In the two years since the tournament, Arthur has picked up writing letters to Gareth too. They're not as frequent or intimate as the ones he writes to you, but he's made a custom out of writing for every birthday and celebration on top of sending him gifts; inquiring about his wellbeing and interests, recounting fun little tales of life in Camelot. Arthur has confessed to you that while he's always tormented himself over not reaching out to you before, he's felt guilt over the distance he maintaned from Gareth too. He said he never was sure how to navigate the relationship - and this time not only because of your brother's ties to Morgana. He told you, quite truthfully, that Lot intimidates him and that he knows, despite the Duke offering him his due respect as King, that he has not endeared himself to Lot - and doesn't wish to start now. Not when he knows how he's allowed the Court to treat you.
You watch Arthur hug Gareth before the former moves on to greet Junia and her fathers, but you don't have time to observe the encounter as the earth quivers slightly under your feet and a whiff of hot air slaps you in the face.
"Elewen!"
You turn to Arthur's friend and companion with a wide smile, mirrored in their open-maw face. Their eyes, red as poppy, consider you with a gentleness that always takes you by surprise, and makes you realize how greedy and needy you are for more eyes to regard you with such softness.
They push their snout against you, a most affectionate greeting for dragons, and you place your hands on either side of their face, rubbing your cheek against their smooth scales to return the gesture. When they pull away they direct their attention to your left, towards $dragon_name. Elewen bow their head and waits for your friend to push $dragon_his forehead against theirs.
"How have you been my little ones?" Elewen croons in the dragon tongue, their voice as soothing as steady steps crunching on a bed of crisp, autumn leaves.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
The field spirals into a hubbub of salutations and conversations, some in the human tongue, other in the dragon language. By the time you all head up the hill to the castle, Duke Lot is nowhere to be seen, having slipped away sometimes after making all the necessary greetings.
<<else>>
The field spirals into a hubbub of salutations and conversations, some in the human tongue, other in the dragon language. By the time you all head up the hill to the castle, Duke Lot and Gareth are nowhere to be seen, having slipped away sometimes after making all the necessary greetings.
<</if>>
Your guests are each shown to their chambers, to be fetched in an hour's time for lunch out on the field.
[[Next|Chapt4Guests]]The ice clinks in your goblet like the chiming, silvery chink of a dagger being drawn. You sip on the lemon raspberry tea, sweetened with a dollop of honey and lounge back on the cushioned seat, watching Robin agonize over an intimidating stack of papers.
Today's supposed to be dedicated to your magical studies, but Morgana was urgently needed elsewhere. You didn't quite catch what she was talking about; it sounded like some tedious administrative affair. In spite of the Duchy hating her - or perhaps because of it - she's still expected to duly perform her role of Duchess of the land. The healer opposite you doesn't seem to be faring any better in terms of dull matters.
Paperwork, you've learned, can fell the most dilligent of people. A particularly daunting pile had even gotten Morgana to idly muse on the actual merit of taking the throne.
"Even monarchs have too much paper to wade through," she'd said, holding a sheet between index and thumb, nose screwed up, as if it were a badly smelling sock.
You've been stacked on top of this pile of paper, adding to their royal healer responsibilities they must fulfill a babysitting one. That's how they put it, at least. Morgana had highlighted it as a potions lesson, if they would be so kind to at least quizz you in between their duties. So far, all the instructions you received have been to sit down, take the tea and be quiet.
Robin worries the crease between their brows with their index and forefinger, sighing for the millionth time since you've arrived.
"I just need to finish this," they say distractedly, //this// being the elusive stack of paper. You're still not quite sure what they're working at and you've been here for half an hour, in which they've kept reading and scribbling and frowning away at the sheets. Sometimes they'd pick one up, bring it close to their face, then sigh long and weary and place it back.
<div class="choice">[[Wait patiently.|Chapt4Wait][$chapt4_wait to 1, $impulsive to $impulsive-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're growing bored.|Chapt4Wait][$chapt4_wait to 2, $impulsive to $impulsive+5]]</div><<if $chapt4_impatient == 1>>
You pick up your pace, the reed basket bumping against your thigh wilder with each hurried step.
"Slow down now," Morgana calls out, already a way behind you. You halt, bouncing on the balls of your feet and waiting for her to catch up with you. When she does, you attempt to stem your enthusiasm, but at least Morgana takes pity on you and while she doesn't match your initial jog, she does set a brisker step.
<<else>>
Buoyed by excitement, there's a sudden skip to your steps. Yet you don't hasten, keeping pace with Morgana's leisured walk.
<</if>>
The air feels less stifling now and the light falls in streaks between the leaves, in showers of gold that bath bunches of wildflowers and patches of dry, clay-like earth.
[[Continue|Chapt4ScalesPractice]]Once arrived in Morgana's tower, she goes about shuttering each and all of the windows emcompassing the circular chamber. Perhaps it's an excess of concern, perhaps it's a well-founded fear, but Morgana would rather not have anyone fly close enough to take a peek inside and catch the red glimmer of scales on your skin.
While she draws the heavy velvet curtains shut, you set about lighting up the chandelier with a few quick flicks of your wrist. Then you move onto setting ablaze even more candles, trailing your index over their wicks. Once done, you position yourself in front of the tall mirror leaned against the wall, watching your reflection haloed in golden by the candles placed in a crescent behind you. Morgana drags a chair near you, notebook open in her lap and pen dipped in ink, poised to take notes.
You've stripped out of your light summer cloak, with its long sleeves meant to keep your arms from burning and blistering out in the harsh sun, and rolled up your shirt's short sleeves, exposing the entirety of your arms.
Morgana says, "Start with an arm, if you will." She pauses, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "If //you can will it//." So it's a challenge, then?
You inhale deeply and thrust out one arm, currently all skin and $hair hairs and incredibly human. You try your best to keep your breath steady - you've noticed nerves, be them welling from excitement or anxiety, weaken your control over the scales - and focus on that shifting sensation under the skin, that sharp yet not unpleasant prickling that sends shivers down your spine.
The itching blooms, violently so, on the back of your palm. It's followed by a burst of ruby that stretches up your fingers to your nails which harden somewhat, up your forearm, swallowing skin in a glimmering wave of bright red.
"Now hold it as long as you can," Morgana says, scribbling down in her notebook.
So you hold, eyes roaming over the scaled expanse of your forearm. It constrasts starkly with your fleshy upper arm, as if you've donned a gem-studded glove - or rather vambrace, given that your scales are not merely a fashion statement but your armor.
You relax your arm, letting it sway by your side. You flex your fingers, close your fist. Move your arms in way that would suggest this was your first time having an arm and don't quite know what to do with it, watching the scales glint in the candlelight. You do this for a couple minutes, then Morgana asks for you to summon them on your other arm too, so you do. They climb a tiny bit higher over your elbow than the other in obstinate asymmetry. You stay like this for a while more before Morgana instructs you to pick up the wooden sword and go through some of your practice stances.
Mother says that you shouldn't be spending all your energy on maintaining the scales, which tracks with everything you've read up on the matter. The scales should come and go as you will them and allow your attention to wander wherever you want or need it - such as on an opponent during a fight, where you expect your scale armor to be most required, safely obscured by your metal one.
You parry and block and attack, methodically going through the basics of swordfighting. As you face off your own reflection, it looks rather silly, a court dance more than battle moves. Morgana silently observes you, pocket watch clutched in hand, pen hovering over the page. At some point she strikes up conversation, another tactic to arrest your attention. You chat about things as mundane as court gossip, tucked away in this shuttered up chamber. If anyone were to glimpse within, they'd stumble upon a secret with the potential to uproot the entire kingdom.
If they ever made it back down the stairs with their memory intact.
You manage to go a quarter of an hour without the scales disappearing completely. They did, however, quiver like quicksilver, teasing you as they shrunk beneath your elbows only to come back with a spasm that threw off your parry. Time to try again, this time on your legs.
Roughly one hour later you conclude your training, satisfied yet utterly drained, but not enough to back down from birthday planning when Morgana brings it up. Revitalized, you go over the details you already discussed earlier today on your journey through town. This time Morgana neatly jots it all down in her notebook - her event planning one - in spidery letters.
"All done for today," she announces as she snaps the book shut and folds her hands atop it. "If there's anything else you desire, let me know in time."
<<if $trans is true>>
<div class="choice">[["Good night!" you call out and head to your chamber.|Chapt4Chamber]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Can you renew my potion? I'm running low." Recently, you've started taking a potion to put you through the right puberty.|Chapt4Potions1][$hormones to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Can you renew my potion? I'm running low." Recently, you've started taking a potion that helps delay any unwanted changes adolescence may throw at you and allows you to explore in the meantime what feels right for you.|Chapt4Potions1][$puberty_blockers to true]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["Good night!" you call out and head to your chamber.|Chapt4Chamber]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You linger. You want to inquire about some potions that would help kickstart the right puberty, not whatever your body's currently attempting.|Chapt4Potions2][$hormones to true, $chapt4_hormones to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You linger. You want to inquire about some potions that might help you, before puberty truly hits you like a dragon coming in at full speed.|Chapt4Potions2][$puberty_blockers to true, $chapt4_hormones to true]]</div>
<</if>>Next up you have mathematics and physics with Teacher Stefan Canavan who at best you can say has a soothing voice. At worse, he's incredibly dull. He talks in a droning monotone which alternatively makes one want to pull out their hair just to get some stimulation, or fall asleep and dream jumbled dreams of nonsensical calculations. It's especially jarring whenever you have a lesson with Canavan back to back with Damian, whose high energy always keeps you on your toes, whether you want it or not.
"Good afternoon, Mordred," Canavan hums in his dull and tedious and slightly nasal voice, slowly and carefully placing his books on the table. "Today we shall continue our journey into the exciting land of trigonometry," he says in a tone that inspires the opposite of //exciting//.
<div class="choice">[[Which is such a shame, since you actually do enjoy his subject.|Chapt4LectureMaths][$chapt4_math to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Which makes it worse, given how you don't quite like his subject.|Chapt4LectureMaths][$chapt4_math to 2]]</div><<if $chapt4_gawain_play is false>>
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>><div class="choice">[[Play with Gawain.|Chapt4FancyGawainPlay][$chapt4_gawain_play to true]]</div><</if>><</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<<if $chapt4_gareth_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Play with Gareth.|Chapt4FancyGarethPlay][$chapt4_gareth_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
<<if $chapt4_gareth_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Play with Gareth.|Chapt4FancyGarethLowPlay][$chapt4_gareth_play to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_play is false and $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>><div class="choice">[[Talk to Arthur.|Chapt4FancyArthurPlay][$chapt4_arthur_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_dragon_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Talk to your dragon.|Chapt4FancyDragonPlay][$chapt4_dragon_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_morgana_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Approach Morgana and Junia.|Chapt4FancyMorganaPlay][$chapt4_morgana_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_accolon_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Approach Accolon.|Chapt4FancyKayPlay][$chapt4_accolon_play to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_gaius_play is false>><div class="choice">[[Approach Gaius and Marcellus.|Chapt4FancyGaiusPlay][$chapt4_gaius_play to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[It's time to open your gifts.|Chapt4FancyDinnerParty]]</div>The basin in the bathroom is already filled with water, awaiting you. The servants don't usually bother keeping it warm for you since you can easily adjust the temperature yourself with your magic. You light up only a couple candles, as to guide your movements, and dip yourself chin-deep, inhaling through the nose and exhaling through the mouth, trying to get your tightly-wound muscles to slowly relax in the lukewarm water. You try not to think too much, keeping away from the wild whirlwind of your thoughts. Listening to your pulse pounds loudly in your ears.
You crawl under the covers, snuffing out the candles with one wide sweep of your arm. You forgot to draw the curtains close, a patch of navy, star-streaked sky peeking in through the window along with a silvery thread of moonbeam. You count the twinkling stars to lull yourself to sleep, your vision blurrying till the sky contains double the hazy celestial bodies. Your limbs are weighed down heavily bt sleep; your tired eyes struggle to keep open, yet your head swarms with thoughts, incessant and restless like hornets circling to attack with their venomous stingers. It could have been few minutes, or a few hours by the time you fall asleep.
[[Next|Chapt4JuniaPOV]]<<if $chapt4_snakegift == "humour">>
You understand the weight of this gesture, the importance it carries for her, and so you're willing to humour Morgana. She always puts so much care and attention in making sure you have great birthdays - it only feels right to show appreciation for this little tradition she's started.
"I like it, it's very elegant," you say, taking it out of its box, pretending to be very engrossed studying its tiny little carved scales and petite blue eyes. You're excited for what's to come today, so it's not hard to lend your tone some enthusiasm, too.
Morgana smiles, pleased. "Perhaps you'll wear it at the party. You don't have to if you won't want, of course."
<<elseif $chapt4_snakegift == "love">>
You've heard people whisper that it's //improper// of you to flaunt your family banner, that it's an //act of defiance// to display it so boldly. Yet there's a certain unease in their gaze when it lingers on the serpent. They realize its gravity, they understand its power, a family that Uther couldn't squash under his boot no matter how hard he tried - that's what Morgana says, and that you should be proud of it. And you are, very much so.
"Thank you, it's beautiful."
Morgana smiles, pleased. "Perhaps you'll wear it at the party. You don't have to if you won't want, of course."
<<elseif $chapt4_snakegift == "defiant">>
You've heard people whisper that it's //improper// of you to flaunt your family banner, that it's an //act of defiance// to display it so boldly. They're right: it is indeed an act of defiant, one you wholeheartedly embrace. Let them gaze upon the serpent and realize its gravity, its power. The symbol of a family that Uther couldn't squash under his boot no matter how hard he tried - that's what Morgana says, and that you should be proud of it. And you are, very much so.
"Thank you, it's beautiful."
Morgana smiles, pleased. "Perhaps you'll wear it at the party. You don't have to if you won't want, of course."
<<elseif $chapt4_snakegift == "trouble">>
You understand the weight of this gesture, the importance it carries for her and so you're willing to humour Morgana. She always puts so much care and attention in making sure you have great birthdays - it only feels right to show appreciation for this little tradition she's started. But you're less inclinded to flaunt the symbol as boldly and readily as she does. It never seems to attract the right kind of attraction, even if Morgana relishes their uneasy glances. You do not. You're always wary of what thoughts they carry behind those cagey gazes, of what new trouble may rouse for you.
"I like it, it's very elegant," you say, taking it out of its box, pretending to be very engrossed studying its tiny little carved scales and petite blue eyes. You're excited for what's to come today, so it's not hard to lend your tone some enthusiasm.
Morgana smiles, pleased. "Perhaps you'll wear it at the party. You don't have to if you won't want, of course."
<<elseif $chapt4_snakegift == "snake">>
You understand the weight of this gesture, the importance it carries for her. It's your family emblem, and she wants you to wear it with pride, and you do. You do also love serpent imagery, symbolism aside. There's just something so fascinating and aesthetic about the reptile, and all the creative ways its image can be incorporated in jewelry, clothes, decoration - anything, really.
"Thank you, it's beautiful," you say, studying its tiny little carved scales and petite blue eyes.
Morgana smiles, pleased. "Perhaps you'll wear it at the party. You don't have to if you won't want, of course."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'll wear the coronet to the party.|Chapt4WearSerpent][$chapt4_snake_wear to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't wear it.|Chapt4WearSerpent][$chapt4_snake_wear to false]]</div>You come upon Accolon in the quarters he shares with Morgana, that he's been calling //home// for years now. He's reading, though you surmise he's not actually doing a lot of it; with his eyes hazily fixed somewhere beyond the window, it'd seem his thoughts are far away from the pages, as far away as the high skies are from the Castle. He puts down his book - of the saccharine romance variety - and smiles gently, as if he's been waiting all along just for you to come and talk.
"Should we go for a walk?"
Moving is preffered to staying in one place, restless as your frayed and electified nerves render you, so you both seize your sun-shielding garbs and slather cream onto your faces before making your quiet way out of the Castle. After yesterday's party, the sprawling grounds seem eerily subdued, weighed down by the summer heat. In the distance, an older squire is fighting against two charmed dummies while their mentor watches from the sidelines; farther down, a young dragon is getting lectured, though they look like they're absorbing more sunlight than information. You set off to circle the field at a leisured step, steering clear of approaching anyone so that you might talk undisturbed.
You're the first to break the silence weaved with the earth-scorching heat and remote, brassy clang of colliding blades: "How long did you know?"
"She told me shortly after I've arrived in Avalon, seeking her. She was so...unsettled, frenzied. She broke down crying recounting it all to me. The wind picked up inside - everything went awry."
"What did you do?"
"I comforted her," Accolon replies as if it were the only right answer - the natural thing of him to do. "I comforted her, soothed her. She kept telling me it was her only choice - the only solution she could see in that moment. That night when it happened, it was the culmination of years of...impotent rage and immeasurable grief. A pit of despair she had to crawl out of." Accolon sighs, as weary as if it were him carrying that burden. In a way, he's no stranger to it; he's been witness to what Morgana went through, he's offered to alleviate her pain and by loving her, took it on himself, hurting to see her hurt.
"I know Arthur suffered greatly as a result, I know you did too - it's an altogether messy, gruelling and painful situation for everyone involved."
<<if $arthur_betrayal_stance == "horrible">>
"What she did to Arthur is horrible," you say roundly, harsh and firm as a hammer strike.
"It is," Accolon agrees.
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "desperate">>
"I understand," you grimly say. "I understand that she was desperate." Accolon nods along to your words, mouth thinned to a humourless line.
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "hadto">>
"Well, mother did what she had to do," you primly say, thrusting your chin forward. "And sometimes the things one must do are the ones not most would do, or could stomach, but //must// be done."
Accolon stares at you for a long moment, almost stunned but, most of all, pained. He shakes his head and mournfully says: "I just wish life didn't shape you both to think this way; you hurt yourself in the process, too, you know? I do not want to deny either the pursuit of justice - I just wish we could pave a less rocky and bloody trail."
<</if>>
You walk past the horses' stable, hit squarely in the face by an overwhelming waft, sweet and musty and sharp, made all the more keen by the heat. You catch a glimpse of the beasts within - fine creatures, with their lush manes and shiny coats, but you can never tell what thoughts brew behind those eyes. And people trust them to pull those wheeled contraptions, put their trust in being led by someone they can't talk or reason with.
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry">>
A ginger cat lounges by the front on a makeshift bed of haystack that someone must have lovingly arranged for the kitty, given the bowls of water and cut meat that have been placed next to it. As you look on, you wonder if the cat is simply cosseted because it fulfills its role of catching mice. Would it get the same love if it did not? And it's not even aware of its purpose and duties, like you weren't this time yesterday, playing in the sun.
The cat stretches and chirps out a meow as you pass; Accolon stops briefly to scratch it behind the ear, allowing you to do the same before you move on.
<<else>>
A ginger cat lounges by the front on a makeshift bed of haystack that someone must have lovingly arranged for the kitty, given the bowls of water and cut meat that have been placed next to it. You look on at the cat, most likely kept for its helpful purpose of catching mice around the stable. It'sd cosseted by the workers, and you like to think it'd receive the same sweet treatment if it weren't attending to its duties, anyway.
The cat stretches and chirps out a meow as you pass; Accolon stops briefly to scratch it behind the ear, allowing you to do the same before you move on. The moment brings you a sliver of happiness.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset">>
As you leave the stable behind, you quietly ask, "When were you intending to tell me the truth? Were you going to ever tell me, or was I supposed to find out from anyone else but the two of you?"
"The truth is not always kind. Like with the prophecy, we didn't want to burden you with it - at least, not yet."
"So what," you laugh - a bitter, explosive snort - "you //just// wanted to protect me?"
"We did," Accolon agrees in earnest, ignoring your tone. "We wanted to protect you, we didn't know how you might feel about it all - how heavy a matter it'd be to process. And...I will be honest, Mordred, I think your mother feared how you might think of her afterwards."
"Well, she well should have. I don't know what to think anymore!" Your voice raises slightly, trembling, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to calm down. "I can't be sure if her love is genuine now - maybe not even she knows."
"One thing I can assure you of, Mordred, is that your mother loves you, so, so much."
But that's not the crux of the problem, is it? It's not a question of whether mother loves you - there's so much tenderness and care you could point at as evidence of that - the true question posed is how much that love extends. How flexible, how malleable is it? Can you push and prod and pull - or does it break the moment you slip out the bounds of what she's set out for you? You don't have an answer - just a sea of doubts ready to swallow you up.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry">>
As you leave the stable behind, you quietly ask, "When were you intending to tell me the truth? Were you going to ever tell me, or was I supposed to find out from anyone else but the two of you?"
"The truth is not always kind. Like with the prophecy, we didn't want to burden you with it - at least, not yet."
"So what," you laugh - a bitter, explosive snort - "you //just// wanted to protect me?"
"We did," Accolon agrees in earnest, ignoring your tone. "We wanted to protect you, we didn't know how you might feel about it all - how heavy a matter it'd be to process. And...I will be honest, Mordred, I think your mother feared how you might think of her afterwards."
"Well, she well should have. I don't know what to think anymore!" Your voice raises slightly, trembling, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to calm down. "I can't be sure if her love is genuine now - maybe not even she knows."
"One thing I can assure you of, Mordred, is that your mother loves you, so, so much."
But that's not the crux of the problem, is it? It's not a question of whether mother loves you - there's so much tenderness and care you could point at as evidence of that - the true question posed is how much that love extends. How flexible, how malleable is it? Can you push and prod and pull - or does it break the moment you slip out the bounds of what she's set out for you? You don't have an answer - just a sea of doubts ready to swallow you up.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">>
As you leave the stable behind, you quietly ask, "When were you intending to tell me the truth? Were you going to ever tell me, or was I supposed to find out from anyone else but the two of you?"
"The truth is not always kind. Like with the prophecy, we didn't want to burden you with it - at least, not yet."
"So what," you laugh - a bitter, explosive snort - "you //just// wanted to protect me?"
"We did," Accolon agrees in earnest, ignoring your tone. "We wanted to protect you, we didn't know how you might feel about it all - how heavy a matter it'd be to process. And...I will be honest, Mordred, I think your mother feared how you might think of her afterwards."
"But I deserve to know." Your voice raises slightly, trembling, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to calm down.
"That's...true, too," he admits.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_angry">>
As you leave the stable behind, you quietly ask, "When were you intending to tell me the truth? Were you going to ever tell me, or was I supposed to find out from anyone else but the two of you?"
"The truth is not always kind. Like with the prophecy, we didn't want to burden you with it - at least, not yet."
"So what," you laugh - a bitter, explosive snort - "you //just// wanted to protect me?"
"We did," Accolon agrees in earnest, ignoring your tone. "We wanted to protect you, we didn't know how you might feel about it all - how heavy a matter it'd be to process. And...I will be honest, Mordred, I think your mother feared how you might think of her afterwards."
"But I deserve to know." Your voice raises slightly, trembling, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to calm down.
"That's...true, too," he admits.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok">>
As you leave the stable behind, you quietly ask, "When were you intending to tell me the truth, at any point? Didn't you think I'd find out, anyway?" It's not an accusation, you merely want to understand the situation. Didn't they think it'd be better for you to hear it from Morgana herself?
"The truth is not always kind. Like with the prophecy, we didn't want to burden you with it - at least, not yet."
"So, you were just trying to protect me?"
"Yes," Accolon agrees in earnest. "We wanted to protect you, we didn't know how you might feel about it all - how heavy a matter it'd be to process. And...I will be honest, Mordred, I think your mother feared how you might think of her afterwards."
You bite the inside of your cheek as you take in the words. "Well...I think I understand. It's a lot to process, I get it."
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
As you leave the stable behind, you quietly ask, "When were you intending to tell me the truth, at any point? Didn't you think I'd find out, anyway?" It's not an accusation, you merely want to understand the situation. Didn't they think it'd be better for you to hear it from Morgana herself?
"The truth is not always kind. Like with the prophecy, we didn't want to burden you with it - at least, not yet."
"So, you were just trying to protect me?"
"Yes," Accolon agrees in earnest. "We wanted to protect you, we didn't know how you might feel about it all - how heavy a matter it'd be to process. And...I will be honest, Mordred, I think your mother feared how you might think of her afterwards."
"Well, she well should have. I understand why you kept the secret. It's a lot to process, and I don't know what to think anymore!" Your voice raises slightly, trembling, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to calm down. "I can't be sure if her love is genuine now - maybe not even she knows."
"One thing I can assure you of, Mordred, is that your mother loves you, so, so much."
But that's not the crux of the problem, is it? It's not a question of whether mother loves you - there's so much tenderness and care you could point at as evidence of that - the true question posed is how much that love extends. How flexible, how malleable is it? Can you push and prod and pull - or does it break the moment you slip out the bounds of what she's set out for you? You don't have an answer - just a sea of doubts ready to swallow you up.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "ok">>
You walk past the studying dragon and training squire in heavy, pensive silence. There's no one else on the Castle grounds out for a stroll, not in this heat; just workers and servants going about their business as usual. The warmth has seeped into your sweaty skin, settled into your bones, setting you into a hazy, lazy disposition where you'd want nothing more but to lounge with the same carefree ease as the ginger cat atop its haystack bed. Accolon's steps have directed you back towards the Castle; you might let quiet fill the way, or change the subject.
<<include Chapt4AccolonNextDayConvo>>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
<div class="choice">[["Can I trust you anymore?" you ask. "Do you really love me?"|Chapt4AccolonBetrayed][$chapt4_accolon_love to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let silence wash over you.|Chapt4AccolonBetrayed][$chapt4_accolon_love to 4]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["How can I trust you anymore?" you say, voice thick with emotion. "You keep taking mother's part. It doesn't even feel like you're listening to me."|Chapt4AccolonBetrayed][$chapt4_accolon_love to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let silence wash over you.|Chapt4AccolonBetrayed][$chapt4_accolon_love to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_go != "arthur">>
You don't have to look far for Arthur. He, along with all your other guests, has been housed within Morgana's wing. He admits you inside his chamber with a radiant smile.
"I was about to inquire about you. I was thinking of whittling, and hoped you'd-" he cuts himself off as he considers your expression. His own demeanor shifts suddenly, dimmining to concern. "Mordred? Is everything alright?"
<div class="choice">[[You burst out crying.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayTell][$chapt4_arthur_tell to 1, $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You hug Arthur, overcome by anguish for him, carving the comfort yourself too.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayTell][$chapt4_arthur_tell to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know what Morgana did to you," you say, keeping your composure.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayTell][$chapt4_arthur_tell to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You look away, shifting uncomfortably. "I know what Morgana did to you."|Chapt4ArthurNextDayTell][$chapt4_arthur_tell to 4]]</div>
<<else>>
Arthur admits you in his chamber with a smile. It reaches his eyes, but its gentleness can't cover the telltale red puffiness of crying. "Mordred. I'm happy you came. I was thinking of whittling, and..." he lets the sentence fade into a silent invitation.
Arthur has told you that the precision and confidence needed to wield the whittling knife offers a productive, beneficial outlet for the nerves that would otherwise render his hands restless; and in turn, the required concentration to guide his movements acts as an anchor for turbulent thoughts.
<div class="choice">[[You're happy to watch him whittle.|Chapt4ArthurWhittle][$chapt4_arthur_whittle to 1, $whittle to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Since meeting Arthur, you've picked up the hobby as well.|Chapt4ArthurWhittle][$chapt4_arthur_whittle to 2, $whittle to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Could you teach me how to whittle?" you ask.|Chapt4ArthurWhittle][$chapt4_arthur_whittle to 3, $whittle to "yes"]]</div>
<</if>>You set out to find Gaius and Marcellus. Instead, //they// find you. They wear twin expressions of concern that let you know Junia already talked with them, as she said she would. They shuffle you into their guest chamber and pour you a generous cup of raspberry hibicus tea as the three of you settle on armchairs by the window. Not even the sun, filtered to a gentle blue by the curtains, that turns the darkwood floor into the bottom of some deep sea, can't cast away the net of unease that's been tossed over your little group, all trapped under the heaviness of a subject no one's in any hurry to broach. The men look like they wish they could slip some //liquid courage// in their tea when nobody's watching.
Marcellus is the first to speak, while Gaius continues staring into the depths of his cup. "Junia talked with us. She told us what happened. She told us...everything." His lips shape uneasily around the word, as if merely alluding to the events comes as a difficulty. "We didn't know, Mordred."
"We knew the same as you," Gaius pipes in, voice soft and quiet. "I'm not even sure what to make of all this. Morgana..." he struggles for words, but finally just shakes his head mournfully and glances up at you. "Are you alright?"
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset">>
"I'm upset," you say, running a thumb over the rim of your cup, staring down into the pink depths of the tea as if you might find some allination there. "And now I'm not even sure if my mother loves me for myself, or just..." you cut yourself off, bitting hard on your lip as a twinge of pain shoots through you.
Gaius leans forward and squeezes your hand. "I'm sure Morgana loves you. That's one thing I'm confident I still know about her." He sighed, his whole frame deflating as if a heavy burden has been plopped on his back. "You've got every right to be upset with her, though. //We're// upset, too. This is all..."
"Very difficult for everyone," Marcellus supplies when Gaius grapples for the words, scrunching up his face.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry">>
"I'm angry," you say, fingers tightening around the cup until your knuckles sting, staring down into the pink depths of the tea with a frown the poor liquid does not deserve. "And now I'm not even sure if my mother loves me for myself, or just..." you cut yourself off, bitting hard on your lip as a twinge of pain shoots through you.
Gaius leans forward and squeezes your hand. "I'm sure Morgana loves you. That's one thing I'm confident I still know about her." He sighed, his whole frame deflating as if a heavy burden has been plopped on his back. "You've got every right to be upset with her, though. //We're// upset, too. This is all..."
"Very difficult for everyone," Marcellus supplies when Gaius grapples for the words, scrunching up his face.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_angry">>
"I'm angry," you say, fingers tightening around the cup until your knuckles sting, staring down into the pink depths of the tea with a frown the poor liquid does not deserve. "To find out now that all this time, I've been conceived as her revenge...it's a lot to find out."
"From that horrible man, to top it all," Gaius scoffs. He leans forward and squeezes your hand. "We're here for you, Mordred. You've got every right to be angry with your mother. //We're// upset, too. This is all..."
"Very difficult for everyone," Marcellus supplies when Gaius grapples for the words, scrunching up his face.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">>
"I'm upset," you say, running a thumb over the rim of your cup, staring down into the pink depths of the tea as if you might find some allination there. "To find out now that all this time, I've been conceived as her revenge...it's a lot to find out."
"From that horrible man, to top it all," Gaius scoffs. He leans forward and squeezes your hand. "We're here for you, Mordred. You've got every right to be upset with your mother. //We're// upset, too. This is all..."
"Very difficult for everyone," Marcellus supplies when Gaius grapples for the words, scrunching up his face.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok">>
"I'm fine, all things considered," you answer, tracing a thumb along the rim of your cup. "I just want to understand why they felt the need to hide the truth from me."
"I can think of a couple reasons," Marcellus mumbles under his breath.
"We're here for you if you need us, Mordred," Gaius says, leaning forward to squeeze your hand. "This is all..."
"Very difficult for everyone," Marcellus supplies when Gaius grapples for the words, scrunching up his face.
"I'm alright," you insist with a small smile.
"The offer still stands," Gaius shoots back.
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
"I'm...not completely fine, to be honest," you answer, tracing a thumb along the rim of your cup. "I want to understand why they felt the need to hide the truth from me. Now I'm not even sure if my mother loves me for myself, or just..." you cut yourself off, bitting hard on your lip as a twinge of pain shoots through you.
Gaius leans forward and squeezes your hand. "I'm sure Morgana loves you. That's one thing I'm confident I still know about her." He sighed, his whole frame deflating as if a heavy burden has been plopped on his back. "Though I understand where you're coming from. //We're// upset, too. This is all..."
"Very difficult for everyone," Marcellus supplies when Gaius grapples for the words, scrunching up his face.
<</if>>
"Have you eaten today?" Marcellus asks, fixing you with a gaze so keen you'd think he's trying to look directly into your stomach and see if it's full.
"I did," you nod.
"Ate enough?" he insists, to which you nod again.
"And don't forget to keep hydrated too," Gaius adds. "Have another cup of tea."
You spend a while longer in the two men's calming presence, drinking tea and munching on butter biscuits.
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]You lay back in bed among the serpent-embroidered pillows, wishing you could sink in a sea of them, comfortable and protected. Instead you float above water, out in the storm, a little ship tossed about mercilessly. You have no energy left to move, forced to sit with your jumbled thoughts and dark disposition. This day one year ago, there was a wistfulness pervading your being, not stirred by any revelation - a sadness that hit you as the day drew to a close and your guests were set to leave the next. Your birthday had passed, the tents had been taken down, life returned to its usual lessons and duties and cold, loveless court that you must navigate. This year, it feels especially keen a loss; that joy and warmth that goes away with your guests, striking starker a constrast with a land that did not welcome you, not when you arrived and not ever since then.
[[End of chapter 4|Chapter5]]<<if $chapt4_go != "dragon">>
You grab your hat and summer cloak and set off to find $dragon_name.
The morning is hot and the sun blazing. Your eyes flutter wildly as you adjust to the light, pulling the brim of your straw hat down to shield them. The pavilions of last night have been torn down, leaving behind no tell-tale sign of yesterday's party. Your chest constricts as you remember how happy and carefree you felt then, but you don't dwell too long on neither the field nor thought, rushing towards the dragons' lodge.
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
When you arrive in front of $dragon_name's door, you don't knock. Instead you call out through your connection, reaching beyond the room with your mind. When no answer comes - when you feel no presence, not even that of your slumbering dragon - you extend that mental tendril farther outwards, towards Ariawen's room. As expected, you find $dragon_name there, $dragon_his merry disposition bleeding through to you. It soothes you, if only slightly.
//Mordred?// $dragon_his voice echoes in your mind, somewhat puzzled. //You can join us if you want. We've just come back from a flight around.//
//I wanted to talk to you alone, actually,// you reply.
You feel your mind's tumult mirrored in $dragon_name as disquiet seeps through to your dragon. $dragon_He promises to come to you immediately and, true to $dragon_his word, a few moments later $dragon_he's hurrying down the hall towards you.
You both retreat into $dragon_name chamber, where you fling yourself upon a bed of furs and blankets. $dragon_He settles next to you and you promptly, clumsily shift around till you're leaning against $dragon_his side, the steady lifting and sinking of $dragon_his chest slowly lulling you.
<<else>>
When you arrive in front of $dragon_name's door, you don't knock. Instead you call out through your connection, reaching beyond the room with your mind. The answer comes immediately, accompanied by a trickle of alarm upon sensing your distress. Moments later you're slipping inside $dragon_his chamber and throwing your arms around $dragon_his neck.
//Mordred?// $dragon_his voice echoes in your mind, somewhat puzzled. //Is something wrong?//
You fling yourself upon a bed of furs and blankets. $dragon_He settles next to you and you promptly, clumsily shift around till you're leaning against $dragon_his side, the steady lifting and sinking of $dragon_his chest slowly lulling you.
<</if>>
"What happened?" $dragon_name asks.
There's no need for words. You simply open up your mind and let the recollection of the events and your emotions flood through into $dragon_name's own mind. You feel in return $dragon_his growing unease and quesiness that finally peaks into outright shocked terror. Once you're done dumping everything into $dragon_his thoughts, you both lay there, silent and weary as if finally washed ashore after getting tumbled around by some great, furious wave.
"What?" is all that $dragon_name manages, and you laugh mirthlessly. It comes out as more of a choking snort.
<<if $chap4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset">>
"I understand why you feel so betrayed," $dragon_name says after a pause, shaking $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't your mother think you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say bitterly and $dragon_his tail wraps around your wrist comfortingly. "Who knows what else she's hiding from me?"
"I think one revelation is enough for now, anyway," $dragon_he says softly.
You sigh, letting your cheek rest against $dragon_his cool, scaled skin. "I don't even know if she truly loves me for me, or if she cares as long as I aid her quest for revenge," you mutter despondently.
<<if $dragon_personality == "timid" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"I'm sure she loves you very much," $dragon_name tries to mollify you but the uncertainy in $dragon_his voice belies the reassurance.
i'm sure she loves you. timid or fearful is a bit more hesitant and insecure.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"I'm sure she loves you...in her own //very// interesting way," $dragon_name reassures you. "Somewhat twisted, one might say."
<<else>>
"I'm sure she loves you very much!" $dragon_name tries to reassure you.
<</if>>
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you," $dragon_he continues. "It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too."
"What, from me being justifiably upset with her?" $dragon_name grumbles in agreement and you sigh again. "Well you can't do a thing like //this//, put this expectation on me and then don't expect such a reaction."
"I know. I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<<elseif $chap4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">>
"I understand why you feel so betrayed," $dragon_name says after a pause, shaking $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't it occur to your mother that you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say bitterly. $dragon_name wraps $dragon_his tail around your wrist comfortingly. "Who knows what else she's hiding from me?"
"I think one revelation is enough for now, anyway," $dragon_he says softly.
You sigh, letting your cheek rest against $dragon_his cool, scaled skin.
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you," $dragon_name says. "It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too."
"What, from me being justifiably upset with her?" $dragon_name grumbles in agreement and you sigh again. "Well you can't do a thing like //this//, put this expectation on me and then don't expect such a reaction."
"I know. I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<<elseif $chap4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry">>
"I understand why you feel so betrayed," $dragon_name says after a pause, shaking $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't it occur to your mother that you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say bitterly. $dragon_name wraps $dragon_his tail around your wrist comfortingly. "Who knows what else she's hiding from me?"
"I think one revelation is enough for now, anyway," $dragon_he says softly.
You sigh, letting your cheek rest against $dragon_his cool, scaled skin. "I don't even know if she truly loves me for me, or if she cares as long as I aid her quest for revenge," you mutter acidly.
<<if $dragon_personality == "timid" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"I'm sure she loves you very much," $dragon_name tries to mollify you but the uncertainy in $dragon_his voice belies the reassurance.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"I'm sure she loves you...in her own //very// interesting way," $dragon_name reassures you. "Somewhat twisted, one might say."
<<else>>
"I'm sure she loves you very much!" $dragon_name tries to reassure you.
<</if>>
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you," $dragon_he continues. "It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too."
"What, from me being justifiably upset with her?" $dragon_name grumbles in agreement and you sigh again. "Well you can't do a thing like //this//, put this expectation on me and then don't expect such a reaction."
"I know. I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<<elseif $chap4_revelation == "betrayed_angry">>
"I understand why you feel so betrayed," $dragon_name says after a pause, shaking $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't it occur to your mother that you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say bitterly. $dragon_name wraps $dragon_his tail around your wrist comfortingly. "Who knows what else she's hiding from me?"
"I think one revelation is enough for now, anyway," $dragon_he says softly.
You sigh, letting your cheek rest against $dragon_his cool, scaled skin.
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you," $dragon_name says. "It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too."
"What, from my justified wrath?" $dragon_name grumbles in agreement and you sigh again. "Well you can't do a thing like //this//, put this expectation on me and then don't expect such a reaction."
"I know. I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<<elseif $chap4_revelation == "ok">>
"Mordred, this is...," $dragon_name struggles for words but the disbelief, shock and alarm trickling in through your bond speak louder than words. $dragon_He shakes $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't it occur to your mother that you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say wearily. $dragon_name wraps $dragon_his tail around your wrist comfortingly. "I hope there's nothing more she's holding back but who knows? If there is, I'd like to think she has good reasons for not telling me."
"You already seem...less bothered by the secrecy than I thought."
You sigh. "I suppose I just want to understand her reasoning."
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you," $dragon_name says. "It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too. From how you might react." You hum pensively. "I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<<elseif $chap4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
"Mordred, this is...," $dragon_name struggles for words but the disbelief, shock and alarm trickling in through your bond speak louder than words. $dragon_He shakes $dragon_his head at this whole situation. "The prophecy was an omission - and they //did// say they would reveal it to you eventually - but this? This is...Was she ever going to say anything? Didn't it occur to your mother that you'd find out some day from someone, if so many know?"
You shrug, folding your legs to your chest. "I don't know. I feel like I don't know anything anymore," you say wearily. $dragon_name wraps $dragon_his tail around your wrist comfortingly. "I hope there's nothing more she's holding back but who knows? If there is, I'd like to think she has good reasons for not telling me."
"You already seem...less bothered by the secrecy than I thought."
You sigh. "I suppose I'm more bothered by the prospect that her love of me may depend on what I can do for her revenge."
<<if $dragon_personality == "timid" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"I'm sure she loves you very much," $dragon_name tries to mollify you but the uncertainy in $dragon_his voice belies the reassurance.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"I'm sure she loves you...in her own //very// interesting way," $dragon_name reassures you. "Somewhat twisted, one might say."
<<else>>
"I'm sure she loves you very much!" $dragon_name tries to reassure you.
<</if>>
"Maybe this was just her way of protecting you. It's...not the nicest story to have to tell a child," $dragon_he charitably supplies. "I think it was a way to protect herself too. From how you might react."
You hum pensively. $dragon_name continues: "I think this is what the adults would call a fucked-up situation."
You shoot up to meet $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes. "$dragon_name!" you reprimand, more out of amused shock than anything else. "It is though," you relent, falling back against $dragon_him.
<</if>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"Poor Arthur though...This puts things in perspective, doesn't it? Explains his reticence and unease around Morgana."
<<else>>
"Alright, this puts things in perspective, doesn't it? Explains Arthur's reticence and unease around Morgana."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Because I'm a reminder of what she's done to him?" you say bitterly. But this it not your fault.|Chapt4DragonNextArthur][$chapt4_reminder to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know," you say. "It makes sense why he'd want to stay away from mother."|Chapt4DragonNextArthur][$chapt4_reminder to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know," you say. "It makes sense why he'd want to stay away from mother. From the both of us."|Chapt4DragonNextArthur][$chapt4_reminder to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Because I'm a reminder of it, aren't I?" You feel horrible.|Chapt4DragonNextArthur][$chapt4_reminder to 4]]</div>
<<else>>
You grab your hat and summer cloak and set off to find $dragon_name.
The morning is hot and the sun blazing. Your eyes flutter wildly as you adjust to the light, pulling the brim of your straw hat down to shield them. The pavilions of last nights have been torn down, leaving behind no tell-tale sign of yesterday's party. Your chest constricts as you remember how happy and carefree you felt then, but you don't dwell too long on either the field or thought, rushing towards the dragons' lodge.
You find $dragon_name in $dragon_his chamber, curled up like a cat in a beam of sunlight. $dragon_His eyes are closed as $dragon_he listens to a story in the dragons' language, recorded on an enchanted stone.
"Mordred," $dragon_name greets you as $dragon_he draws $dragon_himself up, arching $dragon_his back in a big, expensive stretch. $dragon_He lets a small huff of fire wash over the stone, muting its pleasant, droning voice. "Are you alright?"
You settle against the wall, outside of the sunlight's reach. Unlike $dragon_name, who welcomes the warm caress against $dragon_his cool scales, you've already gained a lukewarm, thin layer of sweat that you do not wish to add upon. "Better than last night, I suppose. I just want to take my mind off everything for a while."
$dragon_name tilts $dragon_his head, a lopsided smile splitting $dragon_his maw. "We could go for a flight."
You match $dragon_his grin. "Just what I had in mind."
Speeding up above the treetops, you feel light as if you shed to the ground everything that was weighing you down. The air is cool against your cheeks, refreshing and invigorating, and you can barely hear your thoughts over the rush in your ears. You circle above the forest for a while before resting in your usual spot by the river, then reluctantly start making your way back to the Castle.
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]
<</if>><<if $chapt4_go == "gareth">>
You find Gareth lounging about his chamber. The moss green curtains have been kept closed, transforming the room in a dark, cool forest where bear eyes, black and beady and unblinking watch from the shadows, stalwart, wooden guardians over your brother.
Gareth himself is sitting in an armchair pushed by the window, thrown into relief by the lonely shaft of light allowed inside, just enough to illuminate his book. He puts its away immediately and pulls down his legs, laconically slung over the armrest. "Mordred," he greets you with a smile, but worry brews underneath. "How are you feeling?"
<<if $gareth_knows is true>>
You muster a smile and step closer to him, into the beam of light. "I'm fine. I think. I talked with Junia. Mother and her fought."
"About last night?"
You nod. "About last night. But that's not what I wanted to speak about. I was thinking we could do something fun - I just really want to take my mind off this..." - you gesture wildly around as if fighting off a swarm of bees - "everything."
Gareth jumps to the occasion with aplomb and provides you with a range of options. You settle on playing a fun board game to arrest your attention and keep your mind preoccupied. As you play you regale Gareth with more of your experiences as your dragonblood, and indulge any other curiosity he has with enthusiasm. If nothing else, you're happy you can finally share this with him.
<<else>>
You muster a smile and step closer to him, into the beam of light. "I'm fine. I think. I was hoping we could do something fun - I just realy want to take my mind off last night."
Gareth jumps to the occasion with aplomb and provides you with a range of options. You settle on playing a fun board game to arrest your attention and keep your mind preoccupied.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]
<<else>>
You find Gareth lounging about his chamber. The moss green curtains have been kept closed, transforming the room in a dark, cool forest where bear eyes, black and beady and unblinking watch from the shadows, stalwart, wooden guardians over your brother.
Gareth himself is sitting in an armchair pushed by the window, thrown into relief by the lonely shaft of light allowed inside, just enough to illuminate his book. He raises his head from his lecture, welcoming you with a smile as warm as the sunbeam. You dither in the shade, overcast by the gloom of last night's revelations.
Why have you come here? Certainly, you wanted to see a comforting, friendly face. One which, by some twisted irony, takes so much after the jaundiced countenance of Lot - in all but expression. But how much are you willing to share with your brother - how much should you even tell him? Perhaps it's best not to further burden him, now that for once you have the option to shield him like he always tries to protect you. Though the truth may not be for you to guard, not in this instance, not from Gareth.
<div class="choice">[[Tell him the whole truth. Tell him about everything. That Arthur's your father and what Morgana has done. You hesitate about the prophecy, though.|Chapt4GarethNextDayWholeTruth][$gareth_knows to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Tell him a half-truth. Lot came and told you some horrible things as a 'birthday present'.|Chapt4GarethNextDayHalfTruth][$chapt4_gareth_speak to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't tell him anything. You just came to take your mind off all those awful things.|Chapt4GarethNextDayHalfTruth][$chapt4_gareth_speak to 2]]</div>
<</if>>The search for Gawain is short, successful from your very first attempt.
"Come in, come in," the boy cheerfully ushers you inside his guest chamber. "I was just about to go looking for you, you know. You must have read my mind," he laughs and winks.
<div class="choice">[[You laugh, the sound actually light. Gawain simply has a way of making you feel better.|Chapt4GawainNextDay][$chapt4_gawain_see to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh, but it fades quickly. You still feel weighed down by everything. Perhaps you can tell Gawain a half-truth and seek his comfort.|Chapt4GawainNextDay][$chapt4_gawain_see to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh. You're still weighed down by everything that happened, but you don't want to worry Gawain.|Chapt4GawainNextDay][$chapt4_gawain_see to 3]]</div>The last person you expected to find at your door was Junia. Yet here she is, looking wan and sick.
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "ok">>
Does Morgana think you need first be mollified by Junia and her sweet disposition? Does she fear your reaction, now that you've had more time to process the events of last night?
<<else>>
Ah, but you see through your mother's ruse: send in Junia to mollify you with her sweet disposition before she comes in to talk with you herself.
<</if>>
"Did mother send you?" you cagily ask, half concealed by the door.
"No," she says, voice thick. She clears her throat and tries again: "No, I just wanted to talk with you. Your mother and I, we...we sort of had an argument, actually."
You nod and make way for her. She settles on the bed next to you, smoothing down her pale green dress with quick, aggitated movements. She shifts and arranges the skirt again, turning to look at you. "I know what happened last night. I'm so sorry, Mordred. How are you holding up?"
At Junia's question, it's as if a dam breaks within you, letting pour everything that's been brewing since the revelation was dumped on you.
<<if $chapt4_want_revenge is true>>
<div class="choice">[[You feel horrible; your whole existence has been a lie. You're a tool for revenge - and while revenge is what you want, it's sickening to think that's all you were meant to be.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "tool_yes", $want_revenge to "yes", $conception_view to "tool"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel overwhelmed. Your world was turned upside down, yet you're trying to contend with everything. Just because you were conceived with a purpose, it mustn't mean you're reduced to that. At least, you're resolved not to let yourself be just that, even if you do want to seek revenge.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "more_yes", $want_revenge to "yes", $conception_view to "more"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's overwhelming, yet makes so much sense. Isn't revenge what you and your mother always wanted? You were born to achieve it.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "embrace_revenge", $want_revenge to "yes", $conception_view to "revenge"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You feel horrible; your whole existence has been a lie. You're a tool meant for revenge, meant to destroy - and you don't want that.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "tool_no", $want_revenge to "no", $conception_view to "tool"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel horrible; your whole existence has been a lie. You're a tool for revenge - which you're not even sure you want. It's sickening to think that's all you were meant to be.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "tool_unsure", $want_revenge to "unsure", $conception_view to "tool"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel overwhelmed. Your world was turned upside down, yet you're trying to contend with everything. Just because you were conceived with a purpose, it mustn't mean you're reduced to that. At least, you're resolved not to let yourself be that, especially since you don't want revenge.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "more_no", $want_revenge to "no", $conception_view to "more"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel overwhelmed. Your world was turned upside down, yet you're trying to contend with everything. Just because you were conceived with a purpose, it mustn't mean you're reduced to that. At least, you're resolved not to let yourself be that, especially since you're unsure you even want revenge.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "more_unsure", $want_revenge to "unsure", $conception_view to "more"]]</div>
<</if>>The last person you expected to find waiting at your door was Junia. Yet here she is, leaning against the wall, head bowed down so that the ginger ringlets shield her face.
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "ok">>
Does Morgana think you need first be mollified by Junia and her sweet disposition? Does she fear your reaction, now that you've had more time to process the events of last night?
<<else>>
Ah, but you see through your mother's ruse: send in Junia to mollify you with her sweet disposition before she comes in to talk with you herself.
<</if>>
"Junia?" you call out cagily. "Did mother send you?"
She looks up at you with red-rimmed eyes and a feeble, sad smile. "No," she croaks out, then clears her throat and tries again: "No, I just wanted to talk to you. Your mother and I, we...we sort of had an argument, actually."
You let Junia follow you inside, and settle on the bed. She sits down next to you, smoothing down her pale green dress with quick, aggitated movements. She shifts and arranges the skirt again, turning to look at you. "I know what happened last night. I'm so sorry, Morded. How are you holding up?"
At Junia's question, it's as if a dam breaks within you, letting pour everything that's been brewing since the revelation was dumped on you.
<<if $chapt4_want_revenge is true>>
<div class="choice">[[You feel horrible; your whole existence has been a lie. You're a tool for revenge - and while revenge is what you want, it's sickening to think that's all you were meant to be.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "tool_yes", $want_revenge to "yes", $conception_view to "tool"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel overwhelmed. Your world was turned upside down, yet you're trying to contend with everything. Just because you were conceived with a purpose, it mustn't mean you're reduced to that. At least, you're resolved not to let yourself be just that, even if you do want to seek revenge.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "more_yes", $want_revenge to "yes", $conception_view to "more"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's overwhelming, yet makes so much sense. Isn't revenge what you and your mother always wanted? You were born to achieve it.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "embrace_revenge", $want_revenge to "yes", $conception_view to "revenge"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You feel horrible; your whole existence has been a lie. You're a tool meant for revenge, meant to destroy - and you don't want that.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "tool_no", $want_revenge to "no", $conception_view to "tool"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel horrible; your whole existence has been a lie. You're a tool for revenge - which you're not even sure you want. It's sickening to think that's all you were meant to be.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "tool_unsure", $want_revenge to "unsure", $conception_view to "tool"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel overwhelmed. Your world was turned upside down, yet you're trying to contend with everything. Just because you were conceived with a purpose, it mustn't mean you're reduced to that. At least, you're resolved not to let yourself be that, especially since you don't want revenge.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "more_no", $want_revenge to "no", $conception_view to "more"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel overwhelmed. Your world was turned upside down, yet you're trying to contend with everything. Just because you were conceived with a purpose, it mustn't mean you're reduced to that. At least, you're resolved not to let yourself be that, especially since you're unsure you even want revenge.|Chapt4JuniaTalkNext][$conception_opinion to "more_unsure", $want_revenge to "unsure", $conception_view to "more"]]</div>
<</if>>It takes a while to find Kay but finally you come upon him sitting in the inner courtyard.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
He's shielded from the sun by the overhead balcony, back against the castle wall as he rests on a stone bench, fiddling with something. You settle silently next to him, feeling as if your presence brought with it a portentous cloud of storm to his little slice of tranquility. He flashes a wide smile as greeting before his gaze is pulled back to the contraption in his hands. You lean closer, peering at it: a wooden box as long as his palm which might have easily been mistaken for any other a jewelry box, with its bright, fancy whorls of paint and inlaid precious stones winking up at you like a multitude of tiny eyes. What sets this one aside are the knobs and shafts sticking out of it, marking it as a puzzle box. Gareth has quite the collection - an entire chest worth of them, smaller and bigger, simpler and harder. The more complex, the better.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 40>>
He's shielded from the sun by the overhead balcony, back against the castle wall as he rests on a stone bench, fiddling with something. You settle silently next to him, feeling as if your presence brought with it a portentous cloud of storm to his little slice of tranquility. He flashes a wide smile as greeting before his gaze is pulled back to the contraption in his hands. You lean closer, peering at it: a wooden box as long as his palm which might have easily been mistaken for any other a jewelry box, with its bright, fancy whorls of paint and inlaid precious stones winking up at you like a multitude of tiny eyes. What sets this one aside are the knobs and shafts sticking out of it, marking it as a puzzle box. Gareth has quite the collection of them, smaller and bigger, simpler and harder. The more complex, the better.
<<else>>
He's shielded from the sun by the overhead balcony, back against the castle wall as he rests on a stone bench, fiddling with something. You settle silently next to him, feeling as if your presence brought with it a portentous cloud of storm to his little slice of tranquility. He flashes a wide smile as greeting before his gaze is pulled back to the contraption in his hands. You lean closer, peering at it: a wooden box as long as his palm which might have easily been mistaken for any other a jewelry box, with its bright, fancy whorls of paint and inlaid precious stones winking up at you like a multitude of tiny eyes. What sets this one aside are the knobs and shafts sticking out of it, marking it as a puzzle box. It's one of Gareth's favorite gifts to receive, mother told you. He's got quite the collection - the more complex, the better.
<</if>>
Aside from the challenge posed, the boxes usually reveal little surprises upon completion as incentive to be solved, which range in nature as much as the puzzle's difficulty. The simpler ones, meant to be deciphered as soon as you bought them, contain sweets or trinkets. Harder ones conceal toys or verses or wooden figurines; the more expensive ones can even hide small precious stones or jewelry.
"How's it going?" you ask, nodding your head towards the box.
Kay chuckles. "I think I'm very close to finishing it, after struggling for almost an hour." He pushes at a shaft spearing out at the side, producing a tiny //click// from inside. "It's Gawain's puzzle box, he gave it to me so I have something to do," Kay explains as he continues pulling and pushing at the levers, each drawing a new sound from the mysterious confines of the box. "He's not particularly fond of solving them himself, but he covets pretty things" -//clunk//- "like a magpie."
Kay stares at the puzzle, fingers turning it around slowly as his mind whirs looking for the next move. He halts, hands tensing with anticipation, and decisively goes for one small shaft protruding out of the wood, easy to miss. There's a satisfying click as the top pops open. You both peer inside; something gleams from the shadows within. Kay fishes out the prize, a small oval pendant of opal, shining a spectral of varying colors that shift and turn in the light as Kay inspects it.
He smiles, satisfied. "Gawain'll love it."
<<if $gawain_kid == "friend_notalk">>
The mention of Gawain is like an arrow straight to your heart. You miss him and are reminded of the fact so violently that your muscles all tense up. You'd feared that Kay would be upset with you for forsaking Gawain, but he's been as amiable and affable as always. He skirts around the subject of his son, though, and you're not quite sure whichever of you he's protecting by it, or if he merely thinks it's of no interest to you after cutting ties with him.
You wonder if you should ask about Gawain, if it'll do you more harm than good, if it's too out of place a question.
<div class="choice">[[Ask about Gawain.|Chapt4KayInquireGawain][$chapt4_gawain_inquire to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't ask.|Chapt4KayInquireGawain][$chapt4_gawain_inquire to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "ex_friend">>
You wonder if you should inquire upon Gawain, if nothing else but out of a sense of duty to politeness. You'd feared that Kay would be upset with you for forsaking Gawain, but he's been as amiable and affable as always. He skirts around the subject of his son, though, and you're not quite sure whichever of you he's protecting by it, or if he merely thinks it's of no interest to you after cutting ties with him.
<div class="choice">[[Ask about Gawain.|Chapt4KayInquireGawain][$chapt4_gawain_inquire to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't ask.|Chapt4KayInquireGawain][$chapt4_gawain_inquire to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "exes_notalk_like">>
The mention of Gawain is like an arrow straight to your heart. You miss him and are reminded of the fact so violently that your muscles all tense up. You'd feared that Kay would be upset with you for forsaking Gawain, but he's been as amiable and affable as always. He skirts around the subject of his son, though, and you're not quite sure whichever of you he's protecting by it, or if he merely thinks it's of no interest to you after cutting ties with him.
You wonder if you should ask about Gawain, if it'll do you more harm than good, if it's too out of place a question.
<div class="choice">[[Ask about Gawain.|Chapt4KayInquireGawain][$chapt4_gawain_inquire to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't ask about Gawain.|Chapt4KayInquireGawain][$chapt4_gawain_inquire to 6]]</div>
<<else>>
You wonder if you should inquire upon Gawain, if nothing else but out of a sense of duty to politeness.
<div class="choice">[[Ask about Gawain.|Chapt4KayInquireGawain][$chapt4_gawain_inquire to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't ask about Gawain.|Chapt4KayInquireGawain][$chapt4_gawain_inquire to 8]]</div>
<</if>>It takes a while to find Kay but you finally come upon him sitting in the inner courtyard.
He's shielded from the sun by the overhead balcony, back against the castle wall as he rests on a stone bench, cradling a slumbering Isabel. You settle silently next to him, feeling as if your presence brought with it a portentous cloud of storm to his little slice of tranquility.
"Mordred," he greets you in a whisper, inclining his head meaningfully towards the sleeping girl.
For a while you stay in companionable silence among the verdant courtyard, listening to the lilting songbird, punctuated now and then by the staccato rustle of leaves as birds hop from bough to bough. The longer the quiet, the more reluctant to talk you grow, feeling as if the words sitting on the tip of your tongue would be a brutish intrusion upon this oazis. So you indulge yourself and linger a moment more, inhaling the faint earthy smell of the soil and the sweet waft of summer flowers.
"I found out the truth," you say, voice hushed. It's befitting of the subject matter - you feel almost compelled to speak in such low tones, as if exchanging spells of the most twisted kind. "The truth about my conception."
Kay's smile falters. He squeezes his eyes shut for a pained moment before facing you. "I'm sorry, Mordred."
<<if $arthur_betrayal_stance == "horrible">>
You push out a heavy, weary sigh. "You knew, didn't you?"
"I did."
"You must really hate mother, don't you?" you ask, clenching your fists till your nails dig into your palms.
Kay's mouth twist. "I...I don't //hate// her." Then he sighs, his whole frame deflating with the exhale. "I didn't like her very much in those first few months after you were born, when I finally found out the truth from Arthur. My brother was a wreck. But was she there to see it? To comfort him every time he cried, to countlessly remind him that no, it was not his fault and he should stop blaming himself? So even though I don't hate her, I can't forgive her, not yet - though I know forgiveness is not mine to give."
You've never seen the man so grim, so grave; he looks older, the merry face that previously carried no care now looking as if it was burdened by all the problems in the world. He turns on you a sad smile that's but a feeble flicker of his usual brightness. "How are you faring? What do you think of it all - how do you //feel// about it all?"
<div class="choice">[["\"I feel horrible. I finally know that all along I was the reason Arthur abandoned me.\""|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "horrible"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I finally understand why it was so hard for Arthur - and why he always seemed so scared of mother.\""|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "hard"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I finally understand why it was so hard for Arthur - and why he always seemed so scared of mother. But it doesn't change the fact that he hurt me too.\""|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "understand_hurt"]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "hadto">>
Whatever he's apologizing for, you're not quite sure; whether his sympathy is for you to collect or addressed at the entirety of the situation. You are starting to tire of this unsolicited pity. You are a mark of hope, a promise of victory for the Le Fay, not a poor little misfortune to be bemoaned. "It is what it is," you say as you run your palm along the stone, as cool and even as your tone. "So. You knew, didn't you?"
"I did."
"You must not like mother very much, do you?" you ask, out of curiosity if nothing else.
Kay's mouth twist. "I...well." Then he sighs, his whole frame deflating with the exhale. "I didn't like her very much in those first few months after you were born, when I finally found out the truth from Arthur. My brother was a wreck. But was she there to see it? To comfort him every time he cried, to countlessly remind him that no, it was not his fault and he should stop blaming himself? So even though I don't hate her, I can't forgive her, not yet - though I know forgiveness is not mine to give."
You've never seen the man so grim, so grave; he looks older, the merry face that previously carried no care now looking as if it was burdened by all the problems in the world. He turns on you a sad smile that's but a feeble flicker of his usual brightness. "How are you faring? What do you think of it all - how do you //feel// about it all?"
<div class="choice">[["I understand now better why Arthur kept away." Is it horrible? Yes - but Morgana did what she had to do.|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "hadtodo"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know the whole truth now, I suppose." Morgana did what she had to do.|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "truth"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I understand now better why Arthur kept away." It's far from pretty, but Morgana did what she had to do. "It doesn't change the fact that he hurt me, too."|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "hadto_hurt"]]</div>
<<elseif $arthur_betrayal_stance == "desperate">>
A cool tendril of dread drags down your spine. Your mother was desperate, cornered, helpless, faced with no easy escape out of a horrible situation - so she chose to break her way out of it, whatever it took, whatever hurt she inflicted. And now, here you are. You push out a heavy, weary sigh. "It is what it is," you say as you run your palm along the stone, trying to keep your tone as even as its cool surface. "So. You knew, didn't you?"
"I did."
"You must not like mother very much, do you?"
Kay's mouth twist. "I...well." Then he sighs, his whole frame deflating with the exhale. "I didn't like her very much in those first few months after you were born, when I finally found out the truth from Arthur. My brother was a wreck. But was she there to see it? To comfort him every time he cried, to countlessly remind him that no, it was not his fault and he should stop blaming himself? So even though I don't hate her, I can't forgive her, not yet - though I know forgiveness is not mine to give."
You've never seen the man so grim, so grave; he looks older, the merry face that previously carried no care now looking as if it was burdened by all the problems in the world. He turns on you a sad smile that's but a feeble flicker of his usual brightness. "How are you faring? What do you think of it all - how do you //feel// about it all?"
<div class="choice">[["I understand now better why Arthur kept away." It's horrible, and caused Arthur suffering - but Morgana did what she had to do, especially given how desperate of a situation it was.|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "desperatehadtodo"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I understand now better why Arthur kept away." It's ugly, and caused Arthur suffering, but Morgana did what she had to do in a desperate situation. "It doesn't change the fact that he hurt me, too."|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "desperatehadto_hurt"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know the whole truth now, I suppose." Morgana did what she had to do in a desperate situation. Even if it caused so much suffering.|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "desperate_truth"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I feel horrible." Morgana did what she thought was right in a desperate situation, but it doesn't change the fact that it hurt people - hurt Arthur. And that it's your own fault he abandoned you.|Chapt4KayIsabelArthur][$chapt4_kay_left to "desperate_horrible"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt4_revelation == "ok" or $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
You find yourself in a familiar position, sitting opposite your mother in her study. The wooden, elegant desk between you is like a fixture to all important conversations you've had along the years, be it hidden prophecies, birthday plans or, in this case, most world-shattering revelations.
You understand why Morgana always brings you here. The cozy familiarity and safety of the tower chamber helps soothe you. It's a retreat she first carved for herself, that extended to become the same for you, should you need it.
<<else>>
You find yourself in a familiar position, sitting opposite your mother in her study. The elegant desk between you is like a fixture to all important conversations you've had along the years, be it hidden prophecies, birthday plans or, in this case, most world-shattering revelations.
The tower chamber itself should be soothing in its familiarity, a cozy, remote retreat Morgana's first carved for herself, put to your disposition should you need it too - but it feels like enemy territory for you now, uneven ground that Morgana always brings you to have these discussions. The wooden surface seperating you is like a gapping chasm opening before you, a cold distance wedged between you.
<</if>>
Morgana sits ramrod-straight in her chair. The curtains are drawn to shield from the blazing sun, bathing the entire room in calm, cool light blue, the same shade as the Le Fay banner. The colorful serpents slithering across the mosaic floor seem to be swimming in the depths of some azure sea, your mother's face cast in deep, mysterious shadows as she considers you. She's had time to piece together her shattered, stony mask and to gather her thoughts since last night, when the shock of it all rendered her almost desperate.
<<if $chapt_revelation == "ok" or $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
"I'm so sorry for how yesterday ended, Mordred," Morgana begins. "I shall have a talk with Lot, make him rue the decision to ruin your birthday in such a vile way."
<<else>>
"I'm so sorry for how yesterday ended, Mordred," Morgana begins. There's genuine remorse in her tone; you wonder if her contrition can extend to cover her own actions. "I shall have a talk with Lot, make him rue the decision to ruin your birthday in such a vile way."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Good." He better suffer for it.|Chapt4MorganaLotTalk][$chapt4_lot_punish to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"This isn't about Lot though, is it? We're here to talk about what he told me.\""|Chapt4MorganaLotTalk][$chapt4_lot_punish to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"At least Lot told me the truth.\""|Chapt4MorganaLotTalk][$chapt4_lot_punish to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Is this what you'll always do? Meet cruel deed with another? Keep this going?\""|Chapt4MorganaLotTalk][$chapt4_lot_punish to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stay silent. Lot's hurt you, yes, though you don't know if meeting cruel deed with another will solve anything.|Chapt4MorganaLotTalk][$chapt4_lot_punish to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to talk about Lot." You don't care what she does to him; you simply don't want to think of that horrible man.|Chapt4MorganaLotTalk][$chapt4_lot_punish to 6]]</div>You retire to your chamber where you ask for your food to be delivered, too wearied to be joining anyone in the parlor. You're barely finished, lazily picking up crumbs off your plate when a decisive knock comes at your door. You know it's Morgana before she even turns the knob.
"We need to talk," she says without preamble, composed mask firmly in place.
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">>
<div class="choice">[["Do we?" you ask, tetchy.|Chapt4MorganaGoBetrayed][$chapt4_need_talk to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to talk to you," you say, as stubborn as her.|Chapt4MorganaGoBetrayed][$chapt4_need_talk to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You acquiesce, because you know she won't give up until you give in.|Chapt4MorganaGoBetrayed][$chapt4_need_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod grimly. You really do need to talk.|Chapt4MorganaGoBetrayed][$chapt4_need_talk to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Talk? So you can feed me more lies, or what?\""|Chapt4MorganaGoBetrayed][$chapt4_need_talk to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok">>
<div class="choice">[[You nod earnestly. You really do need to talk - and need her reassurance.|Chapt4MorganaGoOk][$chapt4_need_talk to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do we?" you ask, tetchy.|Chapt4MorganaGoOk][$chapt4_need_talk to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You acquiesce, because you know she won't give up until you give in.|Chapt4MorganaGoOk][$chapt4_need_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to talk right now," you say, weary.|Chapt4MorganaGoOk][$chapt4_need_talk to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod grimly. You're in no hurry to discuss these matters, but you know you must.|Chapt4MorganaGoOkDoubt][$chapt4_need_talk to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
<div class="choice">[["Do we?" you ask, tetchy.|Chapt4MorganaGoOkDoubt][$chapt4_need_talk to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod grimly. It's a heavy conversation, but you must talk.|Chapt4MorganaGoOkDoubt][$chapt4_need_talk to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You acquiesce, because you know she won't give up until you give in.|Chapt4MorganaGoOkDoubt][$chapt4_need_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod. You really do need to talk.|Chapt4MorganaGoOkDoubt][$chapt4_need_talk to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to talk right now," you say, weary.|Chapt4MorganaGoOkDoubt][$chapt4_need_talk to 5]]</div>
<</if>>You make your way down the flagstone road as carriages pass you by, moving dilligently like ants between the castle and town. Above you the sky is a clear azure, as soft as the sun is harsh and unforgiving with its sweltering heat. You've both donned wide-brimmed straw hats - you wouldn't want to return to the healer's study in need of sunburn treatment.
Robin shifts their long, blond braid from shoulder to shoulder, murmuring something about unbearable heat. As tepid sweat springs out at your temples, you can't help but agree.
From up in the castle perched stately on the hill, the town sweeps out towards the woodlands in a sea of rusty red and rocky brown pitched roofs. From down here, on the well-trodden stone road slithering down from the castle, you're first greeted with the proud, imperious edifices of the Royal quarter: residences and inns and businesses, all painted in the same snowy white of the castle - the kind that demands frequent fresh coats of paint to keep it from turning muddy snow - and the less toilsome peachy, sandy beiges. Houses two or three-stories high, with complex curclicues in the stone used sparringly, but effectively. What the architects incorporated with no restrain, however, is the fancy, cusped arches of balconies and windows: they look as if carved using three-foiled and four-foiled clovers as inspiration.
"Robin," you start, absent-mindedly adjusting your straw hat. "You said you didn't train in town, did you?"
"No, it was a temple in the mountains. Lovely place. Cooler than here, too," they add, not missing the opportunity to take a jab at the weather whenever possible, as if they may shame it into simmering down.
"Is it far from here?"
"About five days by horseride," they reply and you scrunch up your nose. You've never understood the appeal of carriages, no matter how much you've been told the practicality of it. Dragon drivers rarely transport passengers, flying mostly produce and letters and packets; in exceptional cases, akin your travel from Tintal to Lothia when you first arrived, they'll fly one or two people, but not more. You just consider yourself lucky that, as a knight, you'll travel with $dragon_name most of the time.
"What was it like?" you ask as Robin unhooks their water flask and takes a long, hearty jug.
"Haven't I told you before?" You shrug with an innocent, expectant smile and they sigh. "Well, bigger than the Temple here. Grandiose, I'd say," they do say so, in the least impressed way you could say it, "and built close to a beautiful waterfall."
"Did you like it?"
A small, soft smile graces their lips at that question, "Yes. Very different from the Court, anyway." They put a hand on your back and redirect your trajectory slightly to the left, "We have to stop here."
//Here// happens to be an apothecary, housed in one of the fancy buildings with its carved florescent whorls. You wait on a wooden bench by the door, craning your neck to stare at shelves stocked with vials and bottles and trying to make out their contents by color alone. The apothecary prepares Robin's order, measuring and weighing powders and liquids while they commiserate about the weather. You wonder if shopkeeps ever get tired of that subject - it seems to be the first one all customers approach.
"Was it your choice?"
"Of ingredients?" they quirk an eyebrow, lifting the parcel they've tucked under their arm.
"Becoming a cleric."
"I suppose so," Robin wipes at their damp forehead with the back of their palm. "They faced me with a range of options, including the Temple. I might have become a shoemaker," they said in the tone of one who was very grateful their parents did not let them become a shoemaker. "But I've always felt drawn to the Temple. Why? Having doubts about becoming a knight?" The question is playfully put, not expecting a real answer, but you ponder it in silence nonetheless.
Knighthood is the choice Morgana made for you when you were just a toddler, and back then you definitely did not mind. She'd made it sound oh so enticing: being partnered with a dragon friend, going on adventures, regaining the glory of the Le Fay. It meant following in Accolon's footsteps, and he too made it out to be so glamorous for little you - and you were already so taken in with anything he said (except if it involved bedtime, or the limit of sweets you could eat) that it was not hard to convince you it's what you wanted.
You also know that none of the knights chose this path for themselves. It's something a parent or guardian chooses for the child. Morgana's ambitions aside, it's a perfectly suitable career for a second-born in a Ducal family, and perfectly honorable for an unoffical bastard like you.
<div class="choice">[[You can't complain.|Chapt4ArriveTemple][$chapt4_knight to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're excited by the prospect of becoming a knight.|Chapt4ArriveTemple][$chapt4_knight to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're not all that excited by the prospect of being a knight.|Chapt4ArriveTemple][$chapt4_knight to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're only nervous you won't be good enough.|Chapt4ArriveTemple][$chapt4_knight to 4]]</div><<if $chapt4_tirade == 1>>
How dare Morgana? How dare //they//? Throwing themself into hurtling insults, unprovoked, with such furious abandon. Did they think you'd take this lying down? That they can denigrate the Le Fay name with such insolence? If Accolon's hand on his sword is not enough to stop them, perhaps they'll listen if someone matches their tone of voice.
You feel taut and tight and tensed all up like a drawn bow, ready to dive forward - you only make it one step before a hand on your shoulder draws you back. You follow the arm up to Robin's warning look. You make to shrug off their hand but upon turning your attention back on the scene, you find Morgana's gaze, who shakes her head minutely. So you stay put, letting anger course through you, as hot red and scorching as the sun.
<<elseif $chapt4_tirade == 2>>
They won't listen to Accolon, a knight whose authority demands that people listen to him. But perhaps if you join your voice to his, you might be able to stop their furious tirade - surely, in the face of so many composed people, they should feel some shame to let themselves prey to such a wild display of emotions, shock some decency into them. Truth be told, you don't turn the matter around in your mind for too long; you just need that you //must// do something //right now//, so you do.
You only make it one step before a hand on your shoulder draws you back. You follow the arm up to Robin's warning look. You make to shrug off their hand but upon turning your attention back on the scene, you find Morgana's gaze, who shakes her head minutely. So you stay put, watching warily from the side.
<<elseif $chapt4_tirade == 3>>
Robin takes two wide steps back, and pulls you alongside them. They have the right idea. It's better not to get involved, not when this person hurls insults with such furious abandon. Who knows when they might actually start throwing fists, too? It would be terribly inadvisable, of course, when Accolon has a hand on the hilt of his sword and Morgana nature itself to her command, but the angry devout hasn't made any wise choices so far, anyway.
<<elseif $chapt4_tirade == 4>>
Robin takes two wide steps back, and pulls you alongside them. They have the right idea. It's better not to get involved, not when this person hurls insults with such furious abandon. Who knows when they might actually start throwing fists, too? It would be terribly inadvisable, of course, when Accolon has a hand on the hilt of his sword and Morgana nature itself to her command, but the angry devout hasn't made any wise choices so far, anyway. So you stay put, letting anger course through you, as hot red and scorching as the sun.
<</if>>
Morgana merely lets the words pelt against her like hail, receiving them with a placid, almost bored poise. She keeps her hands clasped loosely in front of her and halfway through the haranguing even studies her nails with measured nonchalance.
When the devout's finally ran themself ragged, all red in the face and puffing, Morgana asks, "All done?" with a flippancy that almost sets them off again. But now it's her turn to talk.
Morgana considers the wound-up devout as if they were dirt on her fancy little brocade boots. "You seem to be forgetting yourself," she speaks calmly, yet cool enough to freeze the blood in your veins even in the summer heat. "You seem to be forgetting who's your Duchess. Whose family built this very Temple you seem so..." her eyes flickered to the puckered skin of their arms, "so devouted to."
"You are a disgrace to this Temple, and to your family name," the ruddy-faced, pruned-armed person retorts and spits on the gravel. You're impressed by both the sheer amount of scorn and phlegm.
Morgana steps to the side, relinquishing the protection offered by Accolon to approach the devout. Her face's still a glacial calm, but the wind has picked up around you, hot and humid as it whips at your face and tugs at Morgana's lavender headdress, making its long back billow behind her. The river gurgles ahead, agitated.
"I'm offering you two options," she says imperiously. "Grovel and I may yet forgive you."
"Never," the devout hisses before Morgana can present the second choice.
This makes Morgana's $eye eyes sparkle with wicked delight, which means the alternative must be much, much worse. "Apologize," she reiterates, "or suffer the consequences of your actions."
The devout makes their choice known with a resounding, definitive, passionate "Fuck you" and storms off.
The wind settles and the river returns to its silvery babbling. Robin shakes their head and flicks their braid on the opposite shoulder. "Some people don't know when and where to pick their battles.
Morgana tweaks a hair pin, expression unfathomable. "Robin? You're my witness and you'll assist me. We shall talk to the High Priests to let them know that person is no longer allowed inside this Temple."
Robin frowns, a deep, damp knot between their pale blond brows. "Morgana, are you-"
Morgana cuts them off: "All these years I've come here, and no one's dared jump at my throat quite like that." She meets Robin's eyes with her own, twin storms of $eye. "They won't start now."
Robin stares at her before nodding stiffly.
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
"Good," Morgana says, and her face transforms utterly as she breaks into an easy, sugary smile. "I really do appreciate it, Robin," but Robin only rolls their eyes. "Have you prayed already?"
"Yes," you and Robin answer in unison, which only widens Morgana's smile.
<<else>>
"Good," Morgana says, and her face transforms utterly as she breaks ino an easy, sugary smile. "I really do appreciate it, Robin," but Robin only rolls their eyes. "Have you prayed?"
"Yes," Robin replies and Morgana's gaze shifts to you, faintly hopeful.
You just shake your head. She should really know by now.
<</if>>
"Can you please wait while I pray so we can talk to the High Priests afterward, Robin? We came by carriage but we'll walk back, so you can take it all for yourself."
"Beyond me to refuse such a generous offer."
"Great! Will you pray with me? Mordred, you can go play with Accolon."
As they pass by, Morgana asks, "Robin, do //you// think I'm a disgrace to the Temple?" It's by no means a serious question, though Morgana mockingly affects that air.
Robin stipples their hands and brings them to their mouth as if in prayer. Inhaling deeply and exhaling loudly, they expel an irritated question: "Remind me, Lady Morgana, why I put up with you."
"Because you love my charming personality?"
They study her face, her saccharine smile and amused eyes and shake their head. "Maybe I'm just afraid you'll poison me," they say, but there's no real feeling behind the words.
"I'd make it quick," Morgana quips.
Accolon turns to you, grinning and hooking his thumbs into his belt. "Done anything fun with Robin today?"
"Picking up their orders," you reply.
Behind you comes a high-pitched, prolonged yowling followed by the pitter-patter of distinctly small and light feet. A slender cat is rapidly coming down the plank that's been propped up against the open window as a ramp - wide enough for a cat to ascend and descend. It meows even as it patters down, resulting in a kitty song that modulates from shrill to deep notes like a musician trying to show off their voice. The cat - white with tabby blotches of gray - rushes you with an almost aggressive decisiveness to demand pets. It rubs against your legs forcefully, headbutting your calf and purring up a storm. You drop to your haunches, offering the kitty what it wants. To make things even better for the cat, Accolon bends down to join the petting.
You stroke the cat in comfortable, companionable silence, while the river flows with a soothing, gentle murmur that steals away any whispered prayer you might have heard. There's a rustling of leaves, then a soft, almost questioning meow that rises like a timid question and you look up towards the bush lining the bank of the river. Another cat, chunky and with an abundant calico coat of fluffiness that makes it look //round//, languidly approaches you. This is shaping up to be a great day, angry devout or not.
The second sidles up to you too, and gives you just one gentle rub before flopping on its side, offering you its tummy. Depending on the cat, this can be a genuine invitation to belly-rubbing - a boon, a soft fluffy boon - or a trap, wherein after one or two good pats the cat will launch a complex attack upon your helpless hand: the front paws grab sharply with claws, the back paws, armed too with claws, kick away with abandon. And then there's the teeth - oh, the teeth. Tiny daggers piercing the skin.
You size up the calico, trying to gauge which treatment you might get. It looks back up at you expectantly through eyes narrowed to sleepy blue slits.
"Oh, the belly," Accolon says knowingly. He must have noticed the struggle in your face. "Will you take the chance?"
You decide to take your chance after all, figuring that the reward is worth the alternative. You take the plunge and rub the tummy, your hand sinking into the fluff. It's incredibly soft, and its belly's squishy, and you're elated to see it purr and stretch contentedly.
It's with a heavy heart that you let the kitties bask in the sunlight and take your leave once Morgana's done praying. Robin parts with you in the front courtyard, where a fancy carriage awaits, bearing the Leudonus insigna: a brown bear against mossy green. The driver stands sloped on his bench, fanning himself with his straw hat, but straightens when he spots the healer approaching, hastily stuffing the hat back on. You allow the carriage to depart first, listening to the retreating trot of hooves on the worn-out stones.
[[Back to the Castle|Chapt4TownWalk]]You return inside and Robin instructs you to wait for them in the quiet foyer, seated on a cushioned armchair. The murmur of conversation trickles in through closed and half-opened doors, floating hazily like shimmering air in the heat. Muffled laughs and coughs, the distant slosh of water and - is that a cat yowling? Before you can leave the chair Robin assigned you to with a warning look to investigate the adorable source of the sound, a door bursts open down the hall.
"Hello there!" a frizzy-haired Priest chirps. Much like most Priests you've seen in Lothia, she wears the Duchy's typical style of dress: puffy-sleeves, intricate embroidery, cinched waist. What's atypical for the Duchy, imported from the mist-encircled island, is the silver pin at her chest, announcing her status.
<div class="choice">[["Hello," you offer a friendly smile.|Chapt4HelloPriest][$chapt4_smile to 1, $affable to $affable+2, $confident to $confident+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod curtly.|Chapt4HelloPriest][$chapt4_smile to 2, $affable to $affable-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hello," you peep shyly.|Chapt4HelloPriest][$chapt4_smile to 3, $affable to $affable+2, $confident to $confident-2]]</div><<if $chapt4_temple == 1>>
You gulp down the strawberry jam-filled pastry and smile. "It's lovely." It definitely could be worse. The mosaic is nice enough. It doesn't hold a candle to the Temple in Avalon, that's for sure. You figure a Priest serving this sanctuary would love to hear a compliment though, so that's what you offer and by her looks, you hit bullseye.
The frizzy-haired Priest preens as if it were her own creative work you praised, cocking her head to this side and that, twined fingers hooked around her crossed legs. "Oh, it //is// lovely, isn't it? I know it's not much, no, not all that much, but it's got its charm. I'm sure the one in Avalon must be really impressing. Quite truthfully," she leans in and drops her voice to a hush that's still loud, "I much more enjoyed the Temple over in Eforia, you know the port city." She looks around the empty foyer as if afraid the Temple itself might be offended by her confession. A distant cough echoes from somewhere within a nearby chamber. If that was the Temple's protest, it was rather feeble and half-hearted.
"You can sense the Lady's magic in the smallest drop of water, of course, I'd never dare suggest otherwise," she continues. "But a stream is to the sea what a lone singer is to a choir, you know?"
<<elseif $chapt4_temple == 2>>
You gulp down a strawberry jam-filled pastry and shrug bodily. The subject is of not interest to you. "It's fine, I suppose," comes your very eloquent response.
The frizzy-haired Priest nods, twined fingers hooked around her crossed legs. "It is fine, very fine. I know it's not much, no, not all that much, but it's got its charm. I'm sure the one in Avalon must be really impressing. Quite truthfully," she leans in and drops her voice to a hush that's still loud, "I much more enjoyed the Temple over in Eforia, you know the port city." She looks around the empty foyer as if afraid the Temple itself might be offended by her confession. A distant cough echoes from somewhere within a nearby chamber. If that was the Temple's protest, it was rather feeble and half-hearted.
"You can sense the Lady's magic in the smallest drop of water, of course, I'd never dare suggest otherwise," she continues. "But a stream is to the sea what a lone singer is to a choir, you know?"
<<elseif $chapt4_temple == 3>>
You gulp down a strawberry jam-filled pastry. "It certainly is a Temple," you say with the air of paying some grand compliment, and making as much of a point as if you had shrugged your shoulders.
The frizzy-haired Priest nods and chuckles, twined fingers hooked around her crossed legs. "I agree, it //certainly// is a Temple, yes, what else would it be? I know it's not much, no, not all that much, but it's got its charm. I'm sure the one in Avalon must be really impressing. Quite truthfully," she leans in and drops her voice to a hush that's still loud, "I much more enjoyed the Temple over in Eforia, you know the port city." She looks around the empty foyer as if afraid the Temple itself might be offended by her confession. A distant cough echoes from somewhere within a nearby chamber. If that was the Temple's protest, it was rather feeble and half-hearted.
"You can sense the Lady's magic in the smallest drop of water, of course, I'd never dare suggest otherwise," she continues. "But a stream is to the sea what a lone singer is to a choir, you know?"
<<elseif $chapt4_temple == 4>>
You gulp down the strawberry jam-filled pastry and smile. "It's lovely." It does have its own quaint charm, a beauty to be found in its candid simplicity, even if it can't hold a candle to the Temple in Avalon. The mosaic was gorgeously rendered, too.
The frizzy-haired Priest preens as if it were her own creative work you praised, cocking her head to this side and that, twined fingers hooked around her crossed legs. "Oh, it //is// lovely, isn't it? I know it's not much, no, not all that much, but it's got its charm. I'm sure the one in Avalon must be really impressing. Quite truthfully," she leans in and drops her voice to a hush that's still loud, "I much more enjoyed the Temple over in Eforia, you know the port city." She looks around the empty foyer as if afraid the Temple itself might be offended by her confession. A distant cough echoes from somewhere within a nearby chamber. If that was the Temple's protest, it was rather feeble and half-hearted.
"You can sense the Lady's magic in the smallest drop of water, of course, I'd never dare suggest otherwise," she continues. "But a stream is to the sea what a lone singer is to a choir, you know?"
<<elseif $chapt4_temple == 5>>
You gulp down the strawberry jam-filled pastry. "The one is Avalon was better," you decree. This one pales completely in comparison.
The frizzy-haired Priest burst out into laughter, earning herself an odd look from a passing Priest. Frizzy Hair puts up a placating hand as a silent apology for the outburst, then presses the tips of her fingers to her lips and clears her throat. "Yes, I suppose this one must be disappointing after seeing the one in Avalon, yes. Quite truthfully," she leans in and drops her voice to a hush that's still loud, "I much more enjoyed the Temple over in Eforia, you know the port city." She looks around the empty foyer as if afraid the Temple itself might be offended by her confession. A distant cough echoes from somewhere within a nearby chamber. If that was the Temple's protest, it was rather feeble and half-hearted.
"You can sense the Lady's magic in the smallest drop of water, of course, I'd never dare suggest otherwise," she continues. "But a stream is to the sea what a lone singer is to a choir, you know?"
<</if>>
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
You nod along. You do understand what she's getting at.
<<else>>
You nod along, vaguely understanding what she's getting at.
<</if>>
The Priest opens her mouth but whatever she was about to say is cut off by an unexpected arrival.
The double doors open to reveal Morgana, followed closely by Accolon. Your mother strides in as if she owned the place, as elegant as ever in her silken lavender. And perhaps it's not that alien of a sentiment to have - after all, the sole reason this Temple stands erected here in Lothia's capital, so far away from Avalon, is her mother.
Morgana told you that Igraine had been limited in her position as Queen - a prisoner in all but name, allowed little liberties. Yet she carved them out herself where she could, always pushing and prodding and testing the boundaries of what she could do and demand. Her project to build Temples of the Lady of the Lake all over the newly formed Kingdom of Camelot had been one of her most succesful ventures: an act of reverence for the Lady and the Le Fay, and an act of defiance against Uther by spreading a faith that was so intertwined with your bloodline and your stolen country. Uther had never cared much about religion or asking for the fae's guidance and power. There was only one God he served and that was his //massive ego//, Morgana had once put it. She always spoke of him in the sharpest, harshest tone in her repertoire.
Merlin had been strangely supportive of this undertaking without precedence. It was no favour towards her mother, Morgana had assured you; Merlin had his own agenda that went far beyond earning the goodwill of a woman who would never trust him.
The frizzy-haired Priest jumps to her feet, throwing her arms up in the air as if she's been spooked. "Your Grace! What a surprise to see you here! And you too, Sir Accolon." She clasps her hands with a loud //thud// and inclines her head deeply, looking as if she's praying. "A pleasant surprise, of course, of course.."
Accolon stands next to Morgana in all the glory of his mossy green Lothian armor, his sword - his trusty two-hander - strapped at his hip. He's here in his capacity as knight, as guard of the Duchess, a role Morgana always pulls strings to be assigned to him - not that it's a difficult string to pull. People are all too happy to yield the part.
He rests his hand loosely on the hilt of his sword, which gives the impression of the proper bodyguard, but it's entirely belied by Morgana's arm looped through it. Promenade partner seems to more likely befit him.
Morgana smiles at the Priest, a perfect simulacrum of a beatific smile - but it doesn't reach her eyes. It softens to a real, genuine one as her gaze shifts to you. "Mordred," she says. "Where's Robin?"
You don't need to answer because at that moment Robin, who turns out to have impeccable timing, walks into the foyer. They do not look impressed to see Morgana. "I thought you had a meeting," they say without preamble. "My Lady." The title is thrown in as an afterthought, almost ironic.
"Meeting's done," Morgana shrugs with nonchalance, her motions as easy and fluid as the ripple of the silk she wears. She readjusts a couple pins that secure the violet scarf on her head. "I came to take Mordred off your hands, Robin, and pray."
"Why Lady Morgana you're always welcome to come!" the frizzy-haired Priest chimes in, smiling broadly. "Whether you want to pray or just see how we run things," she chuckles behind her fingers as if it were something very amusing. "Would you like some pastries, Your Grace? They're - relatively - fresh out of the oven." That //relatively// really seems to be stretched to its limits now.
Morgana demurs, and asks instead to go directly to the Temple proper.
[[Continue|Chapt4MorganaPrays]]You set off down the flagstone-paved streets under the hot noon sun.
"If this heat persists, or gets worse," Morgana dabs delicately at her forehead with a linen, lace-lined handkerchief, one corner elaborately embroidered with a coiling golden snake, "we'll have to ask the Solomons to bring us rain." She gazes somewhere off into the distance, over the rusty red and earth brown rooftops. In the direction of the Weather Tower, jolting towards the azure skies outside the town. Only its sharp tip is visible from here. "Perhaps I'll pay Adrian Solomon a visit myself." Adrian Solomon, who had briefly mentored Morgana when she was sixteen, teaching her to tame lightning and summon storms. Morgana had laughingly said he must regret the lessons now, but he seems the most endeared to her out of his family.
You steer clear of the most crowded streets, but people part nonetheless when they see Morgana - you've always suspected it's more out of fear than respect - carving a clear path for you through the frenzied streets of the town.
Accolon spots an ice cream stall on a street corner, and stops to buy one for each. Ice cream - or most food - would have no chance in this heat if it weren't for special containers spelt to keep cold, just the right chilly temperature needed. You're handed the ice-cream, generously plopped within a waffle cone and topped with dripping honey and crushed walnuts. It's sweet and cold - mind-numblingly cold - and simply amazing.
"We should talk about your birthday," Morgana says, which is a sure way to get your undevided attention. "We've established it's going to be held outside, as always. But let's discuss some finer details. Would you like it to be...showy? Loads of entertainment, performers, that type of thing."
"Or it could be a cozy affair," Accolon pipes in, countering her suggestion. "There'll be entertainment, no doubt, but it'd be more laid-back. Quieter, too."
You consider your options, licking your ice-cream pensively.
<div class="choice">[[Showy affair.|Chapt4BirthdayTalk][$chapt4_party to "showy"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Laidback affair.|Chapt4BirthdayTalk][$chapt4_party to "laidback"]]</div><<if $chapt4_wait == 1>>
The rustling whisper of paper, paired with the steady murmur of writing, pleasantly scratch an itchy part of your brain, putting you at ease. The sensation starts from the crown of your head and electrifies each hair on your scalp; then the delicious thrill trickles down your neck, down your spine all the way to your fingers and toes, leaving you swaddled in a sense of much needed tranquility. Across the desk, Robin looks far from serene.
You take another long sip of your honeyed, iced tea and let your gaze travel idly over the study you've come to know so well over the years. This is not the first time you've sat in this chair, or the first time Robin's been asked to keep an eye on you.
To your right there's a marble basin, hoisted up on a leg fashioned to resemble a column of water. You wouldn't think it possible, but sculptors manage through skill akin to magic to turn stone, which seems so unwieldy and firm and set, into waves of cloth and rivulets of hair and in this case, frozen falling water, winding in such a way that, if you lean back and fro, it tricks the eye into thinking it's moving. Inside the basin there is actual water, fresh and still. Above it all there's a thickset window, its panels a sapphire blue, cut in diamond shapes; the light streaming through it turns the water in the basin into deep, pleasant cobalt like the sea. You understand that the basin is both practical and spiritual; a small, modest altar for the healer to pray, and a source of water for them to draw on the Lady's magic.
Behind Robin, and further down the right wall there are windows with simple glass which let in the light unadulterated, keeping the place from looking like a chamber sunk on the bed of the sea. It can readily be solved by drawing close the blue curtains, though.
You run a finger over the lip of your goblet and pull up a leg under you. This respite is especially welcome after yesterday's exhausting exercises, and you wouldn't mind spending the whole day here. The castle's stone shields you from the summer heat outside, which was fairly tame the other days but came back in full force this morning, slapping you like a dog's hot breath panting in your face.
"If you run out of tea you can go pour yourself some more, no need to ask me," Robin says without looking up, as if suddenly remembering you're here in the room too. They wave somewhere to the left, to the plain hearth in the wall, its white mantlepiece clustered with various cups and bowls and iron pots. Next to it stands a small wooden table, the only one not used for preparing potions, with a glass carafe and a silver tray of fruits atop it.
You down your tea and go pour yourself another glass, nabbing a handful of berries too in the process.
<<elseif $chapt4_wait == 2>>
You're growing bored with every passing moment, which seems to drag itself through a sea of molasses, waddling forward agonizingly slow. You're growing bored, and when you do, you employ everything in your power to change that dull, tedious state of being.
You start by rapping your nails against the glass goblet to shake off the coldness from your fingers, but it does not dispel the numbness fogging your brain. You cast your gaze about the room, but there's nothing new to catch your attention; you know this chamber well from years of sitting in this same chair.
Your eyes lock back on the stack of paper on the desk. You lean forward, propping your elbows on the table. "What are those?"
"Paperwork," they answer as dryly as the paper they're handling.
"What for?"
They wave a hand vaguely. "Royal healer stuff."
"Like what?"
Robin looks up at you over the gilded rim of their glasses, face tight with barely-restrained exasperation. "Are you bored? You know, if you let me focus, I'll be done quicker; if I'm done quicker, we can do something else more exciting." You nod along with a mild, understanding smile. Yes, yes, makes sense; except it's incredibly dull. Robin does not look pleased, either. "Take a book," they relent. "Pour yourself some more tea. Just give me a couple minutes, alright?"
You narrow your eyes at them. "Aren't all those just anatomy and botanic tomes? Are you tricking me into studying on my own?"
"Imagine they're picture books," Robin retorts, pushing their glasses up on their nose. "Fun stuff. Delightful even."
"Uh-huh," you hum and jump to your feet, intent on at least renewing your glass of tea.
You head to the plain hearth set in the wall to your left, its white mantlepiece clustered with various cups and bowls and iron pots. Next to it stands a small wooden table, the only one not used for preparing potions, with a glass carafe and a silver tray of fruits atop it. To accompany your tea, you nab a handful of berries and then wander the chamber, passing by shelves of books and stoppered bottles and tin boxes; staring up at sketches of bones and muscles; till you arrive to a corner of the right wall which stands out.
There's a marble basin, hoisted up on a leg fashioned to resemble a column of water. You wouldn't think it possible, but sculptors manage through skill akin to magic to turn stone, which seems so unwieldy and firm and set, into waves of cloth and rivulets of hair and in this case, frozen falling water, winding in such a way that, if you lean back and fro, it tricks the eye into thinking it's moving. Inside the basin there is actual water, fresh and still. Above it all there's a thickset window, its panels a sapphire blue, cut in diamond shapes; the light streaming through it turns the water in the basin into deep, pleasant cobalt like the sea. You understand that the basin is both practical and spiritual; a small, modest altar for the healer to pray, and a source of water for them to draw on the Lady's magic.
Behind Robin, and further down the right wall there are windows with simple glass which let in the light unadulterated, keeping the place from looking like a chamber sunk on the bed of the sea. It can readily be solved by drawing close the blue curtains, though.
You retrace your steps back to one of the bookcases and pull out a leather-bound book at random. You settle on the darkwood floor, setting your drink next to you as you leaf through pages of pen plant drawings and small, neat handwritting.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt4WaitDone]]<<if $chapt4_wait == 1>>
"All done," Robin pronounces some time later, placing the papers in a neat pile with a satisfied, dull thump.
You straighten up in your chair. You've relaxed so well you were close to dozing off, given a few more minutes. You stretch your arms over your head and look at Robin expectantly.
<<else>>
"All done," Robin pronounces some time later, placing the papers in a neat pile with a satisfied, dull thump.
You scramble up from the floor, hastily place back the books you pulled off the shelf and come to the desk to watch Robin expectantly.
<</if>>
"We'll be heading off to the Temple now," they say, slipping off their gilded, reading glasses and folding them up.
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
"Oh! Are we going to pray?" you ask, smiling. It's been a while since you've been to the Lady of the Lake Temple in town. Most of your lessons are held by the river in the forest, or in Morgana's study.
"Yes," Robin answers and reaches for their own tea goblet. It's sat untouched throughout their preocuppied scribbling, the ice all melted by now, "that, and I need to pick up some-" they cut themself off as their hand knocks into the inkpot, sending a dark blue waterfall sprawling onto the desk.
<<else>>
"You're not going to try to make me pray or anything, right?" you demand, eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.
<<if $defiant >= 50>>
"I don't think anyone can make you do something you don't want to, Mordred," they say with a wry, bemused smile. You take that as a compliment. "All I ask is that you wait while I do. Though this isn't the only reason why we're going, I need to pick up some-" they cut themself off as their hand knocks into the inkpot, sending a dark blue waterfall sprawling onto the desk.
<<else>>
"Nuh-huh," they hum and reach for their tea goblet. It's sat untouched throughout their preocuppied scribbling, the ice all melted by now. "All I ask is that you wait while I do. Though this isn't the only reason why we're going, I need to pick up some-" they cut themself off as their hand knocks into the inkpot, sending a dark blue waterfall sprawling onto the desk.
<</if>>
<</if>>
The inkpot's spill has luckily avoided any important sheaf of paper, as if stayed by some fear of Robin's fury - which is none too appeased by this small mercy. They look at the ink as if it had personally burned down their house, stole all their money and made a nasty comment about their robes. You think they might scream, but instead they hover a splayed palm over the navy liquid and murmur the unintelligible words of a prayer. The droplets rise over of the wood surface in quickly-moving, thin rivulets that quiver in the air as it coalesces in a thicker stream and rushes back inside the pot. To avoid further accidents, Robin stuffs the cork stopper back on.
Robin takes an eager sip of their drink, then jerks the goblet back, pursing their lips, frowning at what must now be lukewarm tea. They hold a hand over the cup and murmur a quick prayer; you hear the musical clink of ice from within. "Alright," Robin says, satisfied. "Let's be on our way."
[[To the Temple|Chapt4Temple]]<<if $Gareth >= 80>>
There comes another knock at your door and Gareth enters, bringing your little nightgown party to four.
He looks around and sighs. "I'm never the first to say happy birthday, am I?" His tone is light and playful.
"You should try coming by at midnight," you quip as he heaves up on the bed next to you. "And maybe bring your gift with you, too." Your eyes roam over him and the distinct lack of any prettily-wrapped object on his person.
"Wait until the party," he retors, lips tugging in a wry smile.
Morgana and Accolon depart to get ready for the day and ensure preparations are going according to plan, letting you and Gareth have a cozy breakfast in bed.
<<else>>
Morgana and Accolon depart to get ready for the day and ensure preparations are going according to plan, letting you have a cozy breakfast in bed.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
<<if $Gareth >= 80>>
The rest of the morning is a whirlwind of bright well-wishes, fond hugs and kissed cheeks. You're assaulted by Gawain the moment you step foot into the hall, rushed into a tight embrace and overcome by a flurry of enthused congratulations. You're warmly received in the parlor by the rest of your guests, and linger there for a bit before making your hurried way to the dragons' lodge. You while away the morning until it's time to get ready for the party under a tree with $dragon_name, Gareth and Gawain, watching fancy tents being erected on the field, watching Morgana coordinate the decorating.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
The rest of the morning is a whirlwind of bright well-wishes, fond hugs and kissed cheeks. You're greeted by Gareth the moment you step foot into the hall, then promptly assaulted by Gawain who overcomes you with a flurry of enthused congratulations. You're warmly received in the parlor by the rest of your guests, and linger there for a bit before making your hurried way to the dragons' lodge. You while away the morning until it's time to get ready for the party under a tree with $dragon_name, Gareth and Gawain, watching fancy tents being erected on the field, watching Morgana coordinate the decorating.
<<else>>
The rest of the morning is a whirlwind of bright well-wishes, fond hugs and kissed cheeks. You're assaulted by Gawain the moment you step foot into the hall, rushed into a tight embrace and overcome by a flurry of enthused congratulations. You're warmly received in the parlor by the rest of your guests, and linger there for a bit before making your hurried way to the dragons' lodge. You while away the morning until it's time to get ready for the party under a tree with $dragon_name and Gawain, watching fancy tents being erected on the field, watching Morgana coordinate the decorating.
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $Gareth >= 80>>
The rest of the morning is a whirlwind of bright well-wishes, fond hugs and kissed cheeks. You're warmly received in the parlor by your guests, and linger there for a bit before making your hurried way to the dragons' lodge. You while away the morning until it's time to get ready for the party under a tree with $dragon_name and Gareth, watching fancy tents being erected on the field, watching Morgana coordinate the decorating.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
The rest of the morning is a whirlwind of bright well-wishes, fond hugs and kissed cheeks. You're greeted by Gareth the moment you step foot into the hall, then warmly received in the parlor by your guests, and linger there for a bit before making your hurried way to the dragons' lodge. You while away the morning until it's time to get ready for the party under a tree with $dragon_name and Gareth, watching fancy tents being erected on the field, watching Morgana coordinate the decorating.
<<else>>
The rest of the morning is a whirlwind of bright well-wishes, fond hugs and kissed cheeks. You're warmly received in the parlor by your guests, and linger there for a bit before making your hurried way to the dragons' lodge. You while away the morning until it's time to get ready for the party under a tree with $dragon_name, watching fancy tents being erected on the field, watching Morgana coordinate the decorating.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_party == "showy">>
[[The party|Chapt4BirthdayParty]]
<<else>>
[[The party|Chapt4BirthdayParty]]
<</if>>In light of this revelation, you deem it simply necessary to reach out to Arthur. You've been thrown off-course, struggling with conflicting and contradicting emotions. All this time, there was more to Arthur's reasons of steering clear of you - there was an open, raw wound that you were not aware of, bleeding and festering.
<div class="choice">[[Knowing all this, you perfectly understand why he stayed away. His absence hurt, yes, and you don't need him to come back in your life now, but now you know he's been hurting, too.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayLetter][$chapt4_arthur_write to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Knowing all this, you perfectly understand why he stayed away, and feel horrible for having been so hard on him for his absence. You don't want need him to come back in your life though. Just clear things between you.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayLetter][$chapt4_arthur_write to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just want to let him you've found out the truth about your conception. To offer him sympathy, and ask for his comfort back. You feel you understand him better now. He's hurt you, yes, but he's been hurting too.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayLetter][$chapt4_arthur_write to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just want to let him know you've found out the truth about your conception. To offer him sympathy, and ask for his comfort back. You feel you understand him better now. You feel horrible.|Chapt4ArthurNextDayLetter][$chapt4_arthur_write to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[On second thought, you'd rather not write to Arthur.|Chapt4NextDayConvo]]</div><<if $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 1>>
Any pride you might have felt at his praise is dampened by the tension stewing between you.
Distancing yourself from Accolon was like pulling an arrow - dragging it out slowly, painfully - but it was necessary, if you wanted to have any chance at letting your wounds heal. Now you're left with the scars of it, raw and red and still sore to the touch.
You glance at him, at his genuine, sunny expression. It does not warm you; if anything, it sends a chill thrill down your spine.
You wish you could reply with a smile, wish you could find it within yourself to swell with pride and joy and bask together in your victory, as you used to do before. But hurt and betrayal run deep, seething under your skin like an infection you can't treat.
"Thank you," you say stifly, setting down your flask with more force than necesarry.
Accolon's learned well by now that he won't get much else out of you. In those first months after your twelfth birthday and the terrible revelations made, you asked he give you space and he obliged. Yet he grew restless when time did nothing to soothe you - but neither did his attempts assuage you, not as they did when you were younger. His tone may have been mellower than hers, but all he did was spew excuses and defenses like Morgana. And they hurt you as much as your distance and bitterness hurt him.
<<elseif $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 2>>
Any pride you might have felt at his praise is dampened by the tension stewing between you.
Distancing yourself from Accolon was like pulling an arrow - dragging it out slowly, painfully - but it was necessary, if you wanted to have any chance at letting your wounds heal. Now you're left with the scars of it, raw and red and still sore to the touch.
You glance at him, at his genuine, sunny expression. It does not warm you; if anything, it sends a chill thrill down your spine.
You wish you could reply with a smile, wish you could find it within yourself to swell with pride and joy and bask together in your victory, as you used to do before. But hurt and betrayal run deep, seething under your skin like an infection you can't treat.
You just give him a brusque nod and keep your gaze trained on your water flask. Some days, you can barely look in his face. You hate the emotions it stirs - spleen and bile and, worst of all, that aching longing to go back to how it was before and the knowledge that you can't.
Accolon's learned well by now that he won't get much else out of you. In those first months after your twelfth birthday and the terrible revelations made, you asked he give you space and he obliged. Yet he grew restless when time did nothing to soothe you - but neither did his attempts assuage you, not as they did when you were younger. His tone may have been mellower than hers, but all he did was spew excuses and defenses like Morgana. And they hurt you as much as your distance and bitterness hurt him.
<<elseif $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 3>>
The revelations of your twelfth birthday - the betrayal and anguish and bitterness that came along - hit you like an arrow to the chest.
You pulled it out - dragged painfully through flesh and bone, bleeding profusely - but the scars remain. Sometimes, they feel fully healed, a remainder of it all that doesn't hurt anymore. Othertimes, it's raw and red and still sore to the touch.
A weak smile curls your lips as pride blooms within you at the praise. Accolon is not stingy with kind words, but it never lessens their impact. "Thank you."
He beams back at you. Accolon has learned to treat your relationship with care as he navigates the tension brewing underneath that you're willing to overcome yet can't always look past.
<<elseif $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 4>>
The revelations of your twelfth birthday - the betrayal and anguish and bitterness that came along - hit you like an arrow to the chest.
You pulled it out - dragged painfully through flesh and bone, bleeding profusely - but the scars remain. Sometimes, they feel fully healed, a remainder of it all that doesn't hurt anymore. Othertimes, it's raw and red and still sore to the touch.
A smile curls your lips as pride blooms within you at the praise. Accolon is not stingy with kind words, but it never lessens their impact. "I showed those dummies, didn't I?"
He chuckles. Accolon has learned to treat your relationship with care as he navigates the tension brewing underneath that you're willing to overcome yet can't always look past.
<<elseif $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 5>>
Accolon is not stingy with kind words, but it never lessens their impact.
You beam. "Thank you." You anticipate soreness will hit you once you're out of your armor but for now, pride makes for a balm as effective as Robin's.
<<elseif $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 6>>
Accolon is not stingy with kind words, but it never lessens their impact.
You thrust your chin up. "I showed those dummies, didn't I?" You anticipate soreness will hit you once you're out of your armor but for now, pride makes for a balm as effective as Robin's.
<</if>>
He holds up his cuirass. "Would you help me, please?"
Accolon often brings or dons armor himself with the occasion of your training, in the events of wanting to sparr with you himself or go against the dummies in a demonstration for you. This morning, too, he's brought it along, but not yet put it on.
Years of aiding Accolon means each motion comes easy and quick to you - you could do it blindfolded. You slip the plates on and fasten the straps without much thought to the process, like a little figurine spinning inside a music box.
"I hope you don't mind the interruption to your training to spar with Elaine," Accolon says as you secure his vambraces, "She looked so enthusiastic when she arrived, and she was so captivated by your fight, I simply felt bad turning her around. And she came all done up in armor, too."
"I won't complain about getting a break." Your gaze flickers to Elaine loitering about the training grounds. She's studying the collapsed Twins, prodding at one with the tip of her boot. "Besides, I'll finally see what's all the fuss. She keeps insisting she's passionate about swordfighting...and about all a squire learns."
Accolon looks on at her too, gaze pensive. "I've heard that she used to spar a lot with Sir Tristan."
Together, you manage to assemble the armor on him, and you collapse to the bench with a sigh. You need more water.
[[Continue|Chapt5AccolonDuel]]<<if $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 1>>
Any pride you might have felt at his praise is dampened by the tension stewing between you.
Distancing yourself from Accolon was like pulling an arrow - dragging it out slowly, painfully - but it was necessary, if you wanted to have any chance at letting your wounds heal. Now you're left with the scars of it, raw and red and still sore to the touch.
You glance at him, at his genuine, sunny expression. It does not warm you; if anything, it sends a chill thrill down your spine.
You wish you could reply with a smile, wish you could find it within yourself to swell with pride and joy and bask together in your victory, as you used to do before. But hurt and betrayal run deep, seething under your skin like an infection you can't treat.
"Thank you," you say stifly, setting down your flask with more than needed.
Accolon's learned well by now that he won't get much else out of you. In those first months after your twelfth birthday and the terrible revelations made, you asked he give you space and he obliged. Yet he grew restless when time did nothing to soothe you - but neither did his attempts assuage you, not as they did when you were younger. His tone may have been mellower than hers, but all he did was spew excuses and defenses like Morgana. And they hurt you as much as your distance and bitterness hurt him.
<<elseif $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 2>>
Any pride you might have felt at his praise is dampened by the tension stewing between you.
Distancing yourself from Accolon was like pulling an arrow - dragging it out slowly, painfully - but it was necessary, if you wanted to have any chance at letting your wounds heal. Now you're left with the scars of it, raw and red and still sore to the touch.
You glance at him, at his genuine, sunny expression. It does not warm you; if anything, it sends a chill thrill down your spine.
You wish you could reply with a smile, wish you could find it within yourself to swell with pride and joy and bask together in your victory, as you used to do before. But hurt and betrayal run deep, seething under your skin like an infection you can't treat.
You just give him a brusque nod and keep your gaze trained on your water flask. Some days, you can barely look in his face. You hate the emotions it stirs - spleen and bile and, worst of all, that aching longing to go back to how it was before and the knowledge that you can't.
Accolon's learned well by now that he won't get much else out of you. In those first months after your twelfth birthday and the terrible revelations made, you asked he give you space and he obliged. Yet he grew restless when time did nothing to soothe you - but neither did his attempts assuage you, not as they did when you were younger. His tone may have been mellower than hers, but all he did was spew excuses and defenses like Morgana. And they hurt you as much as your distance and bitterness hurt him.
<<elseif $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 3>>
The revelations of your twelfth birthday - the betrayal and anguish and bitterness that came along - hit you like an arrow to the chest.
You pulled it out - dragged painfully through flesh and bone, bleeding profusely - but the scars remain. Sometimes, they feel fully healed, a remainder of it all that doesn't hurt anymore. Othertimes, it's raw and red and still sore to the touch.
A weak smile curls your lips as pride blooms within you at the praise. Accolon is not stingy with kind words, but it never lessens their impact. "Thank you."
He beams back at you. Accolon has learned to treat your relationship with care as he navigates the tension brewing underneath, that you're willing to overcome yet can't always look past.
<<elseif $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 4>>
The revelations of your twelfth birthday - the betrayal and anguish and bitterness that came along - hit you like an arrow to the chest.
You pulled it out - dragged painfully through flesh and bone, bleeding profusely - but the scars remain. Sometimes, they feel fully healed, a remainder of it all that doesn't hurt anymore. Othertimes, it's raw and red and still sore to the touch.
A smile curls your lips as pride blooms within you at the praise. Accolon is not stingy with kind words, but it never lessens their impact. "I showed those dummies, didn't I?"
He chuckles. Accolon has learned to treat your relationship with care as he navigates the tension brewing underneath, that you're willing to overcome yet can't always look past.
<<elseif $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 5>>
Accolon is not stingy with kind words, but it never lessens their impact.
You beam. "Thank you." You anticipate soreness will hit you once you're out of your armor but for now, pride makes for a balm as effective as Robin's.
<<elseif $chapt5_accolon_relationship == 6>>
Accolon is not stingy with kind words, but it never lessens their impact.
You thrust your chin up. "I showed those dummies, didn't I?" You anticipate soreness will hit you once you're out of your armor but for now, pride makes for a balm as effective as Robin's.
<</if>>
"Elaine looked so enthusiastic when she arrived," Accolon says as you pick up a cloth to dab at your forehead. "And she was so captivated by your fight, I simply felt bad turning her around. She came all done up in armor, too."
<<if $accolon_closeness == "distant">>
You bury your entire face in the cloth and say nothing. It does not deter Accolon from speaking.
"I've heard that she used to spar a lot with Sir Tristan when he was a squire. He's only recently become //Sir//," he says, "but I heard he's a skilled young man."
You wordlessly toss the cloth back on the bench, damp and crumpled, and take one more swig of water before grabbing your helmet. You go meet Elaine on the training ground.
<<else>>
"Well," you say, voice muffled as you bury your entire face in the cloth. "She's been going on about how passionate she is about swordfighting, so I'll finally see what's she's made of."
Accolon looks on at her, gaze pensive. "I've heard that she used to spar a lot with Sir Tristan, when he was a squire."
You toss the cloth back on the bench, damp and crumpled. "How good is Sir Tristan?"
"He's only recently become //Sir//," he says, "but I heard he's a skilled young man."
You take one more swig of water before you grab your helmet and go meet Elaine on the training ground.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5ElaineMordredDuelBegin]]You hang close by as you wait for Accolon and Elaine to position themselves in the training ring. He inclines his head in respectful greeting like you've seen him do before duels. Elaine mirrors him, smiling.
"Sir Accolon?" she asks. "Please don't go easy on me. I hate when people do that." She taps a fist against her cuirass. "I'm no porcelain doll, and I don't shy away from pain and bruising."
Through the visor in his helmet, you see mild surprise cross his gaze, yet he makes no remark . "Alright.",
Well, this should be interesting to watch. "Ready?" you ask and they both nod. "Then start!"
You leap back to give them space, but neither is in any rush to charge. You walk backwards towards the bench, eyes darting from one armored figure to another. Waiting to see who's the first to pounce.
They circle each other slowly, always keeping the other at the front, never letting an opening appear on the sides. Round they go, slinking like predators, seizing up who's the biggest threat.
Elaine's intent on being the one.
She charges at Accolon, but doesn't come at him straight. He was moving to the left but she hits from his right in an attempt to catch him off-guard. It's not the case; Accolon shifts his weigh to the other side and blocks her effortlessly.
You plop down on the bench and grab for your water flask but stop short of bringing it to your lips. You can't take your eyes off them now. After all her eager talk of sword-fighting, you need to see how she measures, especially against someone like Accolon. Your mentor may not be a knight of the Round Table - it's not something he wanted for himself, truth be told - but he's stalwart with years of experience, whereas Elaine's not even a squire.
You can tell he's not holding back, as promised, and as he does when training with you. Accolon's never been one for aggressive strikes - in fact, he leans much to the defense, where perfect guards are his strenght - but there's a firmness to his stance, decisiveness to his hits and vigour to his parries that make him a remarkable fighter.
You take a swig of water and make yourself comfortable on the bench.
[[Watch|Chapt5AccolonDuelNext]]Elaine's relentless. She holds herself well against Accolon, and even lands her own hits. She's exceeding all your expectations. You thought she might make up for skill with determination, but she has enough of both to prove an exciting fighter to watch in a duel.
A duel that you don't think will go on for much longer. You can tell, by the way he moves and looks for an opening, that Accolon is close to delivering the blow to end this.
And he does, sending Elaine's sword flying out of her gauntled hands. It skitters to the ground with a dull thud that marks his victory.
A resounding win for Sir Accolon.
He removes his helmet, tucks it under his arm and proffers a gauntled hand to Elaine. "You fought admirably."
Elaine yanks off her own helmet and takes his hand with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Thank you, Sir." She hesistates ,smile faltering. She drops her voice, low enough that you strain to hear her next words: "What would you say about...about my technique?"
He glances at you waiting and watching on the bench, then back to Elaine. "If you wish to discuss at lenght, you can find me in the knights' hall around noon."
They shake hands and say their goodbyes. Sword sheathed and helmet in hand, Elaine passes by your bench, uncorking the flask she's brought for herself with her teeth.
<div class="choice">[["Not bad," you say.|Chapt5ElaineNotBad][$chapt5_not_bad to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You're actually quite good," you remark.|Chapt5ElaineNotBad][$chapt5_not_bad to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["See you at dinner," you wave at her.|Chapt5ElaineNotBad][$chapt5_not_bad to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't say anything.|Chapt5ElaineNotBad][$chapt5_not_bad to 4]]</div><<if $chapt5_dance == "no">>
The dancefloor slowly clears and your table fills up again, your neighbors returning sore-footed, short of breath and throat-parched.
<<else>>
By the time you're done dancing and returned to your seat, you are sore-footed, short of breath and throat-parched.
<</if>>
Most everyone is back by now - except for Nimue, who you haven't seen for a good few songs now. Her chair isn't empty, however. You have visitors.
Sir Percival Peredur has claimed Nimue's seat for himself, a ruddy-cheeked Luca Solomon draped round his shoulders. The knight had offered a quick, blithe hello to the general table before unceremoniously plopping down and falling into easy conversation with Tristain and Isolde.
"Percy and I are housemates back in Camelot," Tristan mentions, mostly for your and Gareth's benefit. "Along with Bronwyn and Dinadan."
"By the way," Percy begins, his mischievous smile belying the innocuous tone, "I haven't seen Bronwyn for a while now. And for a matter-of-fact, where's Nimue?" He doesn't wait for an answer, diving smugly ahead, "Off smashing lips together, I reckon."
<div class="choice">[[Ah, so it's gossip time.|Chapt5NimueGossip][$chapt5_nimue_gossip to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["So they're together? Courting?" You can't help yourself, when he so generously extends a serving of gossip.|Chapt5NimueGossip][$chapt5_nimue_gossip to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Well, can't blame Bronwyn for that, though you do wish you were in her place. ❤|Chapt5NimueGossip][$chapt5_nimue_gossip to 3, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You silently sulk. ❤|Chapt5NimueGossip][$chapt5_nimue_gossip to 4, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Oh well, you can't blame Bronwyn for that. ❤|Chapt5NimueGossip][$chapt5_nimue_gossip to 5, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["So they're together? Courting?" you casually ask. You're just...curious. Definitely don't have any other reasons to ask. ❤|Chapt5NimueGossip][$chapt5_nimue_gossip to 6, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $nimue_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[Wait, what? 💕.|Chapt5NimueGossip][$chapt5_nimue_gossip to 7, $nimue_oblivious to $nimue_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<<if $nimue_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["So they're together? Courting?" You can't help yourself, when he so generously extends a serving of gossip. You need to know. 💕|Chapt5NimueGossip][$chapt5_nimue_gossip to 8, $nimue_oblivious to $nimue_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<<if $nimue_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[Oh well, you can't blame Bronwyn for that. 💕|Chapt5NimueGossip][$chapt5_nimue_gossip to 9, $nimue_oblivious to $nimue_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>Once everyone's got their fill of dessert, you move on to the lounge, a chamber similarly furnished as the dining room, with dark cabinets and low tables etched with sundry picturesque scenes of hills and sheep and trees. A multitude of sofas and armchairs are assembled in a crescent around a hearth that yawns open as tall as you. A gentle fire flickers within: the smouldering eye of a little creature in the great mouth of a stone beast. Atop the mantlepiece sit ceramic vases, a splash of color against the snowy wall.
The Beauregards and Lot work as effectively as the shepherd dog depicted running around its flock of sheep in the painting above the mantlepiece, herding Gareth and Elaine onto a two-seat sofa. The boy offers her an affable smile, conducting himself with the grace that your etiquette tutor always praises so highly; Elaine flashes a quick, strained smile, stretching her long legs as she sinks into the decorative pillows in her corner of the sofa. You claim an armchair next to them for yourself, curling like a cat as you fold up your legs. As if to completely mirror your table sitting, Isolde perches on the armchair found at the other end, as elegant as if posing for a portrait.
"So, Elaine," your brother begins. "What do you like to do in your spare time?"
Elaine brightens up. "Sword fighting."
"Really?"
It's not that unexpected a thing for a noble. There are those who master the sword, either for defense or passion or both. There are ones who merely learn sword-play, where the emphasis is placed on the word //play// - it is nothing more than a fancy dance with blades, a harmless charade they indulge for their own amusement. Gareth himself finds no particular pleasure in the wielding of the weapon, be it in earnest or whim.
"Do you...fancy swordfighting?" she returns the question on to Gareth.
"Not quite, no," he shakes his head ruefully. Elaine deflates, but not for long. "Perhaps you could teach me some moves?"
"I'd like that," Elaine agrees. Then her gaze slides to you, glinting with far more excitement. "And perhaps I could also duel with Mordred. I always love testing my skills with an actual squire."
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you smirk. "But I won't go easy on you." You won't just play around to some noble's whim.|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 1, $Elaine to $Elaine+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you smirk. "But I won't go easy on you." You're curious what she's capable of; hopefully she can keep up with you.|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 2, $Elaine to $Elaine+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you smirk. "But I won't go easy on you." It's a perfect opportunity to bond and befriend her - but you won't go easy nonetheless.|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 3, $Elaine to $Elaine+2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you smirk. "But I won't go easy on you." You're curious to see what she's capable of. ❤|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 4, $Elaine to $Elaine+2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you smirk. "But I won't go easy on you." You're curious to see what she's capable of. 💕|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 12, $Elaine to $Elaine+2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course," you incline your head. Perfect opportunity to make yourself an ally, perhaps?|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 5, $Elaine to $Elaine+1, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course," you smile. Perfect opportunity to befriend her.|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 6, $Elaine to $Elaine+1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course," you smile. You're curious what she's capable of. ❤|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 7, $Elaine to $Elaine+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course," you smile. You're curious what she's capable of. 💕|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 13, $Elaine to $Elaine+1, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Not interested in fighting an amateur," you say curtly.|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, I don't know now," you say politely, not interested in entertaining her. "I'm rather busy usually. I'm sure teaching Gareth will keep you just as preocuppied."|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, I don't know now," you say politely. You'd love to, but you don't think it's a good idea - she should spend time with Gareth. "I'm rather busy usually. I'm sure teaching Gareth will keep you just as preocuppied."|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 10, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, I don't know now," you say politely. You'd love to, but you don't think it's a good idea - she should spend time with Gareth. "I'm rather busy usually. I'm sure teaching Gareth will keep you just as preocuppied." ❤|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 11, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, I don't know now," you say politely. You'd love to, but you don't think it's a good idea - she should spend time with Gareth. "I'm rather busy usually. I'm sure teaching Gareth will keep you just as preocuppied." 💕|Chapt5DuelAsk][$chapt5_duel to 14, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1]]</div><<if $chapt5_armor_off == 1>>
You lean back against the wall and open your arms wide. "Yes!" you dramatically call out. "My savior! Do come, please and thank you."
She places both fists on her hips, stricking the pose of a hero - an effect she manages to achieve despite the chemise damp with sweat and ruffled hair, all on the backdrop of dull, wooden cabinets of medicine. "Coming to the rescue."
Elaine kneels before you and gets right to work, deftly untying the cords and unbuckling the straps of your plates. The first one comes off smoothly, but a knot on the second greave eludes her, driving her to scrunch up her face and murmur a series of expletives under her breath like a magical chant calling for aid from the fae.
<div class="choice">[[She looks so cute. ❤|Chapt5DistractedEasy][$chapt5_distracted to 1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[She looks so endearing. Wait. What is this feeling? 💕|Chapt5DistractedEasy][$chapt5_distracted to 2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Having trouble?" you ask.|Chapt5DistractedEasy][$chapt5_distracted to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_armor_off == 2>>
You let out a relieved sigh. "I'd appreciate that, thanks."
She kneels before you and gets right to work, deftly untying the cords and unbuckling the straps of your plates. The first one comes off smoothly, but a knot on the second greave eludes her, driving her to scrunch up her nose and murmur a series of expletives under her breath like a magical chant calling for aid from the fae.
<div class="choice">[[She looks so cute. ❤|Chapt5DistractedEasy][$chapt5_distracted to 1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[She looks so endearing. Wait. What is this feeling? 💕|Chapt5DistractedEasy][$chapt5_distracted to 2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Having trouble?" you ask.|Chapt5DistractedEasy][$chapt5_distracted to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_armor_off == 3>>
"No, no, it's alright," you say wish a sheepish little chuckle. As you slice your gaze downwards to the plates that gleam polished in the sunlight, you're tempted to accept her offer.
"Come on," she insists, "it's no trouble."
That's all the push you need. "Alright. Guess I had to take them off before dinner anyway," you add, to cover that faint pang of awkwardness welling within. Just to replace it with a stronger one as you question the quality of your humor.
Luckily, Elaine smiles. "I don't know, I think they look very stylish."
She kneels before you and gets right to work, deftly untying the cords and unbuckling the straps of your plates. The first one comes off smoothly, but a knot on the second greave eludes her, driving her to scrunch up her nose and murmur a series of expletives under her breath like a magical chant calling for aid from the fae.
<div class="choice">[[She looks so cute. ❤|Chapt5DistractedEasy][$chapt5_distracted to 1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[She looks so endearing. Wait. What is this feeling? 💕|Chapt5DistractedEasy][$chapt5_distracted to 2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Having trouble?" you ask.|Chapt5DistractedEasy][$chapt5_distracted to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_armor_off == 4>>
"No, no, it's alright," you say, waving a hand dismissively. To further evince how perfectly alright you are, you lean back against the wall and clasp your hands idly over your stomach - somewhere where it doesn't //hurt// - and smile over at her, rocking your legs over the edge of the bed. "I'm thinking of wearing them to dinner too, actually."
"Your choice," she shrugs, leaning back against a strip of white wall next to a cabinet. "So, thoughts on our duel?"
"You're good with a sword."
She flashes you a smug smile. "I know. Thanks. I'm glad you agreed to spar. What I'm not glad about," she crosses her arms over her damp chemise, fixing you with a pointed look, so sharp you'd think she'd trying to run it through you like a blade, "is that you held back against me. I could tell, you know."
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry, I was afraid of hurting you," you say.|Chapt5DistractedPlatonicEasy][$chapt5_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry, I didn't want to upset you if I went too hard," you say.|Chapt5DistractedPlatonicEasy][$chapt5_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I wasn't holding back," you insist. "I was just tired."|Chapt5DistractedPlatonicEasy][$chapt5_why to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_armor_off == 1>>
You cross your arms and level her with a mock-affronted expression. "Don't get lazy! I was just congratulating you on being a great swordsman."
She twines her fingers and hooks them at the nape of her head to better lean against the wall. "What does that have to do with anything?"
You shake your head in disappointment, biting back a smile. "A great swordsman doesn't get lazy with removing their armor."
"Where does it say that?"
"In the rulebook," you say, pulling it all out of your arse. There's no such thing as //the rulebook//, though there are plenty of texts penned by various knights that detail what each sees the fit regimen and principles one of this station should swear and live by. These vary wildly from author to author.
Elaine sticks her tongue out at you and plays along: "Well //I// read that the rulebook says an even greater swordsman would help their peer take off their armor, soooo," she wiggles her legs in the air, beckoning to you.
"Alright, alright."
You kneel before her - the wooden floor creaks, like the grunt of a fallen knight - and set to work.
"Thanks," she says, unlacing the neckline of her chemise. "You're pretty good with a sword yourself, you know."
"Just pretty good? I trashed you, and that's all you have to say?"
"Trashed me?" she snorts and pulls her chemise over her head, revealing the naked skin underneath, sheened with sweat. "I'd say it was a tight fight."
<div class="choice">[[Your eyes shoot up to her barren chest. And arms. Is it getting hot in here? ❤|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 1, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your eyes shoot up to her barren chest. And arms. A long smile curls your lips. It's getting kind of hot in here. ❤|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 2, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just roll your eyes and smile. "Too hot, huh? Or are you just trying to show off your muscles?" ❤|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 3, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You can't help but stare. She's got muscles. Is it getting hot in here? 💕|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 4, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You just roll your eyes and smile. "Too hot?"|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile sympathetically. "Too hot?"|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_armor_off == 2>>
You consider Elaine: the sweat beading her forehead, the satisfied smile on her face and careless posture as she twines her fingers and hooks them at the back of her head to better lean against the wall. She looks too comfortable to disturb. Besides, she was the one to get caught up between the hard ground and your armored self, so you might as well do her a little favor.
"I could lend a helping hand," you offer.
Elaine takes you up on it without hesitating, wiggling her legs in anticipation. "Thanks." As you kneel down before her and set to work, she goes on, "You're pretty good with a sword yourself, you know."
"I would hope so," you chuckle. "Wouldn't be much of a squire otherwise." You glance up at Elaine; her brown eyes sparkle with amusement. "And thank you."
"It was a good fight," she says, unlacing the neckline of her chemise.
"Even if you lost?"
She snorts and pulls her chemise over her head, revealing the naked skin underneath, sheened with sweat. "Winning or losing is not how you measure the quality of a fight."
<div class="choice">[[Your eyes shoot up to her barren chest. And arms. Is it getting hot in here? You're fumbling the straps of the armor. ❤|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 1, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your eyes shoot up to her barren chest. And arms. A long smile curls your lips. It's getting kind of hot in here. ❤|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 2, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just roll your eyes and smile. "Too hot, huh? Or are you just trying to show off your muscles?" ❤|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 3, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You can't help but stare. She's got muscles. Is it getting hot in here? 💕|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 4, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You just roll your eyes and smile. "Too hot?"|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile sympathetically. "Too hot?"|Chapt5ShirtOff][$chapt5_shirtless to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_armor_off == 3>>
You consider Elaine: the sweat beading her forehead, the satisfied smile on her face and careless posture as she twines her fingers and hooks them at the back of her head to better lean against the wall.
"Alright," you shrug. "Suit yourself."
"Oh, I have suited myself," she assures you, settling more comfortably back against the wall, only to spoil the effect with a wince. "Or maybe not." With a sigh, she unlaces the neckline of her chemise and pulls it over her head, revealing the naked skin underneath, sheened with sweat.
<div class="choice">[[Your eyes shoot up to her barren chest. And arms. Is it getting hot in here? ❤|Chapt5ShirtOff1][$chapt5_shirtless to 1, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your eyes shoot up to her barren chest. And arms. A long smile curls your lips. It's getting kind of hot in here. ❤|Chapt5ShirtOff1][$chapt5_shirtless to 2, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just roll your eyes and smile. "Too hot, huh? Or are you just trying to show off your muscles?" ❤|Chapt5ShirtOff1][$chapt5_shirtless to 3, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You can't help but stare. She's got muscles. Is it getting hot in here? 💕|Chapt5ShirtOff1][$chapt5_shirtless to 4, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You just roll your eyes and smile. "Too hot?"|Chapt5ShirtOff1][$chapt5_shirtless to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile sympathetically. "Too hot?"|Chapt5ShirtOff1][$chapt5_shirtless to 6]]</div>
<</if>>Both parties, Lothian and Astolatian alike, step forward to meet halfway like opposing armies colliding in battle. The Duke of Astolat - Raphael Beauregad - strikes first, sweeping onto Lot with open arms: "Lot, friend! So good to see you!" There's no doubt regarding his strategy - he's moving in decisively for a hug, which you anticipate to be quite the comical ordeal to bring upon the sour, dour Duke of Lothia. To your amused horror, Lord Beauregard leans in for more - a kiss on the cheek. His lips don't make contact with skin though, puckering against the air. He leans sideways to mimic the greeting on the other cheek, then repeats the procedure all over again as you watch in utter bemusement Lot gladly reciprocate. He looks like an entirely different man, friendlier, livelier, as if you're glimpsing into the past to a time before he darkened his heart and shrivelled up to the husk that you know so well.
Once the Duke of Astolat is finished with Lot, he directs his attention on your mother - and so on, intent on everyone getting their fill of air-kisses, slowly making his way toward you. Luckily, your etiquette teacher has prepared you for this. Over the last fornight, your lessons have been dedicated to brushing up on your knowledge of Astolatian culture and customs, as well as memorizing names after names of their Ducal family, lest you cause offense by forgetting Elaine's third-removed, impressively-polyonymous cousin. When your tutor sternly warned you against spooking like a rabbit if approached to be kissed on both cheeks, which you took as an unnecessarily rude assumption, you inquired whether this wasn't an overly friendly greeting for the occasion. The man looked at you square in the eye, shoulders always straight as if his spine had been replaced by an unbendable iron rod, and primly said: //You're uniting families, Mordred. There's a certain degree of familiarity to be expected.// You merely marvelled at the ominous way he managed to utter it.
You play along as expected, accepting air kisses after air kisses, caught in a whirlwind of radiant smiles and sweet, powdery wafts of perfume. The last such exchange is between you and Elaine as the youngests, by now both of you moving as automatically as figurines dancing within a wound-up music box. She clasps your shoulders as she leans in to deliver the kisses - her grasp strong yet not enough to dig in and smart, firm and relaxed as one might grip a sword. As she pulls back, your eyes lock with hers, dark honey and round, framed by eyelashes so fair they're rendered gossamer-like.
A sudden gale whips at your clothes and hair. The uproarious tumult of a dozen pair of flapping wings descends upon you, drumming against your ears, pervading your mind, rattling in your chest and bones. The stray strands of flaxen blonde hair that have come free of Elaine's braid dance across her face as she stubbornly squints her eyes against the wind and raises a hand in greeting to one of the dragons. You follow her line of sight to the youngest among them, a blue-scaled dragon just slightly taller than $dragon_name. They stand out among the others who are clearly knights, garbed in vests bearing the Astolat crest, mounted by their human partners. A squire, perhaps - or someone's child, or both. Greetings are further exchanged, this time far more formal, affecting a certain cordial distance.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
As you make your way up the hill on foot, Gareth is quickly stirred away from your side by a smiling Lot - a sight you're still having trouble accomodating to - while Isolde is gently removed from Elaine's by her own father so that the two betrothed may walk together. You find yourself relegated to the back of the group, bringing up the rear with Isolde. She smiles at you; it only serves to soften up her already sweet face, with its round-cheeked rosiness and doe-like eyes so reminiscent of Elaine's.
"How have you been, Mordred? It's been a while, hasn't it?"
<<else>>
As you make your way up the hill on foot, Gareth is quickly stirred away from Morgana's side by a smiling Lot - a sight you're still having trouble accomodating to - while Isolde is gently removed from Elaine's by her own father so that the two betrothed may walk together. You find yourself relegated to the back of the group, bringing up the rear with Isolde. She smiles at you; it only serves to soften up her already sweet face, with its round-cheeked rosiness and doe-like eyes so reminiscent of Elaine's.
"How have you been, Mordred? It's been a while, hasn't it?"
<</if>>
A longer while for you than the rest of your family, in fact. You were supposed to attend Isolde's wedding one year ago, along with Morgana, Lot and Gareth - then fell violently ill two days before departure. There was no question of you going at that point, not when you were consigned to bed in a feverish state, shivering from under your pile of blankets despite the stoked fire, feelings as if nothing short of bathing in fire might warm you up, only crawling out to put to the test the strength of your abdominal muscles by upchucking each and every meal you managed to force down. Morgana was compelled to leave only on Robin's earnest promise to see to your health, attending to you along with a retinue of healers and servants. By the time they returned from Astolat, you were gratefully convalescent.
<div class="choice">[["I apologize for missing your wedding," you say, genuinely friendly. "I heard it was perfectly lovely. Congratulations on the union."|Chapt5IsoldeWedding][$chapt5_isolde_wedding to 1, $affable to $affable+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I apologize for missing your wedding," you say, set upon being charming. "I heard it was perfectly lovely. Congratulations on the union."|Chapt5IsoldeWedding][$chapt5_isolde_wedding to 2, $affable to $affable+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I apologize for missing your wedding," you say, shyly. "You have my well-wishes."|Chapt5IsoldeWedding][$chapt5_isolde_wedding to 3, $affable to $affable+2, $confident to $confident-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yeah, quite a long while," you agree, not intent on making conversation.|Chapt5IsoldeWedding][$chapt5_isolde_wedding to 4, $affable to $affable-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just nod, uninterested in conversation.|Chapt5IsoldeWedding][$chapt5_isolde_wedding to 5, $affable to $affable-2]]</div>You make yourselves comfortable by the river, spreading blankets along the bank and building a bonfire Ariawen eagerly offers to light up.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 2>>
With a rustle of silk, Nimue sits down next to you. There's plenty of space around, yet she chose this patch of blanket directly to your right. It has to be deliberate. Yet she pays you no mind, far more preoccupied with whatever she's seeking in the concealed depths of her gown pocket. You take the time to do your own digging, searching your mind for an appropriate conversation starter. //How are you enjoying the night so far?// should suffice, and you can work your way from there to more interesting catching-up questions.
As she produces a purple package from the folds of her black dress and carefully starts sliding out its contents, the words on your tongue change shape. "You brought a tarot deck?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1>>
With a rustle of silk, Nimue sits down next to you. There's plenty of space around, yet she chose this patch of blanket directly to your right. It has to be deliberate, but to what end? Is she simply making good on her offer to 'catch up' with you - which you so hope to be candid - or did she aim for a vantage point, better to keep an eye on you?
You might be overestimating your importance. Nimue pays you no mind, far more preoccupied with whatever she's seeking in the concealed depths of her gown pocket. You take the time to do your own digging, searching your mind for an appropriate conversation starter. //How are you enjoying the night so far?// should suffice, and you can work your way from there to more interesting catching-up questions.
As she produces a purple package from the folds of her black dress and carefully starts sliding out its contents, the words on your tongue change shape. "You brought a tarot deck?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_greet == 3>>
With a rustle of silk, Nimue sits down next to you. There's plenty of space around, yet she chose this patch of blanket directly to your right. Your heart picks up an excited pace. It has to be deliberate. Yet she pays you no mind, far more preocuppied with whatever she's seeking in the concealed depths of her gown pocket. You try not to think much of the proximity, not to look too intently in her direction, lest your expression betrays how her presence affects you. There's no danger of that, though, since she pays you no mind, far more preoccupied with whatever she's seeking in the concealed depths of her gown pocket. You might be overestimating your importance.
You take the time to do your own digging, searching your mind for an appropriate conversation starter. //How are you enjoying the night so far?// should suffice, and you can work your way from there to more interesting catching-up questions.
As she produces a purple package from the folds of her black dress and carefully starts sliding out its contents, the words on your tongue change shape. "You brought a tarot deck?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
With a rustle of silk, Nimue sits down next to you. There's plenty of space around, yet she chose this patch of blanket directly to your right. It has to be deliberate, but to what end? Is she simply making good on her offer to 'catch up' with you - which you so hope to be candid - or did she aim for a vantage point, better to keep an eye on you? You try not to think much of the proximity, not to look too intently in her direction, lest your expression betrays how her presence affects you. There's no danger of that, though, since she pays you no mind, far more preoccupied with whatever she's seeking in the concealed depths of her gown pocket. You might be overestimating your importance.
You take the time to do your own digging, searching your mind for an appropriate conversation starter. //How are you enjoying the night so far?// should suffice, and you can work your way from there to more interesting catching-up questions.
As she produces a purple package from the folds of her black dress and carefully starts sliding out its contents, the words on your tongue change shape. "You brought a tarot deck?"
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">>
With a rustle of silk, Nimue sits down next to you. There's plenty of space around, yet she chose this patch of blanket directly to your right. It has to be deliberate, but to what end? Is she simply making good on her unasked for offer to 'catch up' with you, or did she aim for a vantage point, better to keep an eye on you? No matter, you have your eye trained right back on her.
You might be overestimating your importance, as Nimue pays you no mind, far more preoccupied with whatever she's seeking in the concealed depths of her gown pocket. She produces a purple package from the folds of her black dress and carefully starts sliding out its contents. A pack of cards - tarot cards, you realize upon catching glimpses of familiar imagery.
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_greet == 5>>
With a rustle of silk, Nimue sits down next to you. There's plenty of space around, yet she chose this patch of blanket directly to your right. It has to be deliberate - perhaps as a means of making good on her threat to 'catch up' with you, which you did not ask for. You might be overestimating your importance though. Nimue pays you no mind, far more preoccupied with whatever she's seeking in the concealed depths of her gown pocket. She produces a purple package from the folds of her black dress and carefully starts sliding out its contents. A pack of cards - tarot cards, you realize upon catching glimpses of familiar imagery.
<</if>>
She might as well have taken out a slice of meat among cats; they all circle her, curious, though none is as excited as Gawain.
"Who are you going to give a reading?" he asks.
"I was thinking the betrothed couple might want a card reading? Find out how your marriage will bode?"
Elaine shakes her head, mouth screwed up as if Nimue's offered her something sour to taste, while Gareth articulates his refusal more graciously, speaking of "Wishing to keep some surprise and anticipation to the union."
Nimue doesn't insist. Instead, she turns to you. "Perhaps Mordred would like to have their fortune read then?"
You scrutinize her expression, weighing her words for any hidden meaning: feeling along the seams of her sentence, looking for a concealed pocket that might contain a message written just for you - or a blade, there to cut yourself on and bleed out. It leads you to wonder if she truly brought the cards only for entertainment, for the betrothed, or was she always meaning to turn to you, to pose this-
What //is// this, after all? A game, a test, a challenge? You don't know which answer is better or worse - that this is just a way of amusing herself, an attempt to tease you, to poke and prod and see how you respond. Perhaps it's a trial, appraising how you react, faced with such a public exhibition of your nebulous future. Maybe it's a mere friendly offer she extends to an old childhood friend, which you might have automatically assumed, were circumstances different.
Or it's a simple, loud statement: she knows your fate, sees into your future, that which is murky to you, that which you wish yourself in control of, an illusion she can shatter with a premonition.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
Perhaps you're reading too much into it - there's no hidden meaning to unearth - perhaps //she// wants you to read too much into it, wants you to twist and twist your mind round her words till you're worn down to nothing.
<<else>>
Perhaps there's no hidden meaning to unearth and you're just reading too much into it, filtering every innocuous action through the prism Morgana planted in your head.
<</if>>
Whatever the case, she's waiting for an answer.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//"I say do it,"// $dragon_name's confident voice cleaves through the tangle of your thoughts. //"It's just a silly card reading, nothing to be intimidated about."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//"I say don't back down,"// $dragon_name's voice cleaves through the tangle of your thoughts. //"Whatever her intentions, show her you're prepared for anything."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//"Maybe she just thinks it might be fun?"// $dragon_name's voice floats into your head. //"You should do it. Or not."//
<<else>>
"//What if...//" dragon_name's voice floats into your head, a fearful whisper, "//what if the cards show something related to the prophecy?//"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Why not?" You won't deny, you're curious - morbidly so, perhaps - and even thrilled by the prospect of a reading.|Chapt5TarotReadingCurious][$chapt5_tarot to "yes_curious"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright." You're nervous, yet intrigued. Besides, were this be a test or challenge or mere friendly offer, it'd cause less suspicion to accept it.|Chapt5TarotReadingNervous][$chapt5_tarot to "yes_nervous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why not?" you shrug. Whether test, challenge or mere friendly offer, it's something to entertain yourself with.|Chapt5TarotReadingCasual][$chapt5_tarot to "yes_casual"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No thank you. I'd rather the future keep me on my toes." And you'd rather your future not be advertised in front of so many.|Chapt5TarotReadingNo][$chapt5_tarot to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You keep the nerves out of your voice as you say: "No thank you. I'd rather the future keep me on my toes." What if the cards show something unsavory or concerning, for all gathered to see?|Chapt5TarotReadingNo][$chapt5_tarot to "no_nervous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No thank you. I'd rather the future keep me on my toes." You're in no mood to entertain Nimue.|Chapt5TarotReadingNo][$chapt5_tarot to "no_mood"]]</div>You arrive at the Temple of the Lady of the Lake in uneasy silence. You're grateful to get out of the suffocating, stifling atmosphere inside and into the inner courtyard, where a row of genially-smiling priests await. The blue-and-white, swan-embossed coach arrives soon after, screeching to a halt next to you.
Raphael Beauregard climbs down, as radiant and delighted as he was upon his arrival in Lothia, his presence effortlessly rivaling the sun itself. He vigorously shakes hands left and right, and eagerly lavishes compliments upon the priests as you're shown through the building, down a long corridor of more smiling, deferential adepts, and into the back yard where the Temple proper can be found. You're well acquainted with the place, having come here with Morgana and Robin over the years. Gareth, too, has been paying visits to the Temple, less in reverence to the Goddess and more in respect to his grandmother Igraine, the reason this edifice even stands here, so far removed from the faerie's home in Avalon. By all accounts, the priests and healers love him and wholeheartedly welcome him, with none of the reservations attached to the politeness proffered to you and Morgana.
You make your way towards the river streaming peacefully by, its steady warbling already soothing your tattered nerves. The grassy soil gives way to a sturdy, beautiful mosaic of blues, depicting fluid, flowing imagery as befits a Temple of the Lady - though, given that the tiles which unfurl beyond to the edge of the riverbank, and give way into the shallow waters, //are// the Temple itself, it's not quite that impressive a sight. It is lovely, though, with the backdrop of hills towering over the sprawling town and the spacious garden that surrounds the river. There's even a little orchard within, nestled along the tall walls.
Just as your magically-charged emotions impact the elements, so does nature affect you - usually in less sorcerous ways, but a place of worship always prickles with the energy of the fae and the devout. You fill your lungs with the fresh air and let it flush out the unease teeming under your skin, buried in your muscles. You roll your neck till it pops and thrust back your shoulders, relishing in the satisfying strain and pull of muscles.
<<if $Elaine >= 55>>
Elaine grins as she sidles up to your side. "Limbering up?"
<div class="choice">[[You nod. "I despise carriage rides."|Chapt5SpyElaineCarriageRide][$chapt5_carriage to 1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yeah," you say and stretch more languidly. ❤|Chapt5SpyElaineCarriageRide][$chapt5_carriage to 2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Y-yeah," you say, suddenly self-conscious. ❤|Chapt5SpyElaineCarriageRide][$chapt5_carriage to 3, $Elaine to $Elaine+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You nod. "I despise carriage rides." 💕|Chapt5SpyElaineCarriageRide][$chapt5_carriage to 5, $Elaine to $Elaine+1, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious +2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Uh-huh," you give a non-committal hum.|Chapt5SpyElaineCarriageRide][$chapt5_carriage to 4]]</div>
<<else>>
You notice Elaine, too, limbering up to the side. She kicks up one leg to hook a palm around the ankle and pull back, maintaining perfect balance as she does. Meanwhile, Raphael looks positively aghast at the antics she's engaging while wearing trousers and boots that look too fancy to be even thought of as meant for sport. Elaine merely shifts to her other leg, uninhibited by pompous court clothes, gazing idly over the river.
Her attention is roundly arrested by Lot's booming, jovial voice - yet one more affect that's hard to reconcile with the man. "Elaine, how do you find the Temple?"
Elaine looks put on the spot, as if called on by a teacher in the middle of a lecture she was not paying attention to. She glances about herself, making a show of admiring the tree boughs, heavy and red with ripe apples, as well as the building, statuesque yet simple, which curves out of view to cradle the front yard.
"It's very beautiful," she says with a strained smile and the tone of one who would say anything just to be left alone.
Isolde smoothly sweeps in to take attention off her. "It is truly a lovely place, and has such a peaceful quality to it, as befits a Temple."
"It's a source of pride for our town," Lot says, speaking entirely for the benefit of his own ego, "to host this Temple, and all its skilled adepts."
Morgana smiles sweetly. It's a bad omen. "Yes, the Temple my mother built. It is a great source of pride for the //Le Fay//, to have spread the Goddess' faith beyond Avalon." Morgana leans in closer to Raphael and Beatrice, smile turning shrewd as if about to impart some great conspiracy. "Could you believe that it is quite a rarity for my dear husband to visit the Temple? I don't reckon he's stepped foot inside more than once, when it was erected and inaugurated."
"I would have accompanied you," Lot says, "but you only requested Sir Accolon's company."
Sir Accolon, whom Lot has made sure to keep as far away from the Beauregards as possible. He already perceives Morgana's affair as a blight upon the family, so there's no need to bring her lover to remind everyone of it. Which is just as well; if given the chance to speak with the Beauregards, they'd be sure to find him preferable to the Duke.
Elaine seems to think much the same.
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
"Perhaps Sir Accolon was better company," she mutters under her breath, loud enough for you and Gareth to hear and not anyone else. She eyes the Duke critically, an expression both you and your brother take sharp notice of.
This is simply too good a retort to let pass by in a whisper. You echo Elaine's words for everyone to hear, if only to spite Lot: "Indeed, Sir Accolon is better company."
The Beauregards keep politely indulgent expressions, acting as if the remark has truly remained but a murmur that you might mistake for the rustling of leaves. Morgana's eyes flicker to you though, and her lips twitch up ever so briefly. Lot must be exercising all his will not to throw you a withering glance - or throttle you in front of guests.
<<else>>
"Perhaps Sir Accolon was better company," she mutters under her breath, loud enough for you and Gareth to hear and not anyone else. She eyes the Duke critically, an expression both you and your brother take sharp notice of.
<</if>>
"I did," your mother agrees. "As well as kept the company of healers and adepts. People who appreciate what this," she gestures towards the river, edifice and swirling blue mosaic, "stands for."
Raphael steps in, equable as ever. "You never were the devout type, were you Lot?"
Lot drags his gaze from Morgana to the Duke. "I pay my respects to both the Goddess and the Keepers."
Keepers of Woods and Hills, Protectors of Plains and Roads - the faeries that most Lothians uniquely prayed to, before the introduction of a new fae to celebrate and draw strength from. Unlike the Goddess, they are a triad, first speculated to be siblings, as much as fae can be, until further accounts of sightings have agreed they behaved more akin to lovers. They're a popular choice of prayer to those traveling, especially on roads less trodden, or shepherds in transhumance, to ease their minds and smooth their journeys.
Lot isn't lying; he does include perfunctory mentions to the faeries wherever it befits his already laconic speeches, carried out with the stern dignity of a General recounting a grim attack plan rather than the declamation meant to open festivities. You wonder how long he can - or even cares - to don on this veneer of amiability. Between Morgana's waspish temper and the charade he compels himself to play, surely he must be utterly sapped. Does the mask came off once the marriage is secured, and the Beauregards back on their way to Astolat?
You're left pondering your questions as Raphael drones on. He's the one who was most enthusiastic about this outing, and the one holding it together like the last, valiant thread of a rope coming undone.
"What about you, Gareth?" he asks.
Your brother smiles. "I too honor our faeries, whether from this land or beyond." He pauses, gaze darting to the tiled floor that makes up the modest altar. "I do have a certain more, ah, personal connection to the Lady of the Lake. It's a family tradition." Then he turns to Elaine, passing along the question Raphael posed. "Are you devout?"
"Eh," is her very articulate response. She hastens to refine it, prompted not by fear of being smitten by some capricious fae bothered by the perceived slight, but her own father, leveling her way a plaintive, disappointed face. "I mean, I pay my //respects//-" she puts emphasis on the word that's not aimed at Gareth, "-to the Grape God, on equinox and harvest and all that. But I don't pray or visit any Temples otherwise."
"Grape God?" Gareth's brows shoot up with amusement. "You mean the Bountiful One?"
Elaine's lips curl up in a playful smile as she leans in and drops her voice. "Yeah, it's less...pompous, but I think both sound silly."
"Well don't let them hear you," he quips.
The smile lingers on her face, bright and genuine, chasing away any awkwardness left. If the Duke of Astolat takes any issue with besmirching the name of the fae whose power renders his wine so intoxicatingly successful, he shows no sign of it, delighted instead by the banter flowing between the two as easily as the river behind them.
The course is abruptly deviated. "Mordred?" Elaine asks. "Do you pray to the Goddess? Or anyone else?"
<<if $water_study == "yes">>
"I do," you nod. In fact, you're craving a reprise from this whole debacle so you may do just that, and let the water and her power wash over you and inspire within you enough equanimity to bear the carriage ride back to the Castle. "I pray, and practice healing through her magic."
"Oh! It could be used in combat like Sir Lancelot does too. Though you already have your Le Fay powers for that, don't you?"
<<elseif $water_study == "sometimes">>
"I do," you nod. In fact, you'd like the opportunity to do so now too; let the water and her power wash over you and inspire within you enough equanimity to bear the carriage ride back to the Castle. "I pray from time to time, and practice a bit of healing through her magic."
"Yeah, that does sound helpful for a knight."
<<else>>
"I don't," you say, which seems to come off as a surprise to Elaine. Your family's honoring of the Goddess fares far back in the past, and is known widely across the Continent. Such was Igraine's reverence - and perhaps, in whatever capacity, spite for Uther - as to bring a legacy so deeply intertwined with the Le Fay to the whole kingdom of Camelot. And here is her grandchild, standing on the altar of her Goddess as ?they nonchalantly claim no particular fondness or alligance.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt5TempleDiscussion]]
<</if>><<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Arthur's written words exude a warmth that rivals that of the fire burning in the hearth. He expresses how excited he is for you to see each other again after your birthday - sooner than you would have otherwise. He then goes on to talk a bit about his latest woodwork, and his dog Bo's little adventures around the castle.
Guinevere too has written to let you know she's eager to spend more time together. She remarks, innocuously enough, how close this wedding rides on the tail of Isolde's union - which she regrets you missed - and finishes the letter with the hopes you're faring well through the bustle that must have taken over your castle.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_write == 3 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 4>>
Three years ago, you put pen to paper and sealed a letter for Arthur to tell him you learned the dreadful truth of your conception. You expressed, tentatively, that you would not mind if you were to start a back and fort of correspondece. Clearly, there was much unknown and misunderstood between the two of you and while difficult and painful, you wanted to try and tread that strange, shadowy land.
He replied, sharing your hopes, and you spent days pondering what to write in return. Where to start, when so many years he'd been but a face peering down at you from portraits - so familiar a countenance with those eyes, $eye like yours, yet so foreign a person to you. The beginning was awkward and cautious and uncertain as you got to know each other. Speaking of the murkier emotions that loomed over you - the hole his absence dug in you, the reminder you bear for him - has helped you grow closer, and you've started to built brighter memories.
He was but a shadow over your life before you met at the tournament, five years ago; now, there's so much you know about him. He's passionate about wood-carving, which he picked up from Ector - he sents you a figure hewed by himself for your every birthday - and he has a little dog called Bo. He cares deeply about the kingdom, but he often feels the weigh of the crown as a burden; for that to be eased, he relies on those around him.
Arthur's written words exude a warmth that rivals that of the fire burning in the hearth. He expresses how excited he is for you to see each other again after your birthday - sooner than you would have otherwise - and says Guinevere is eager to spend some time with you as well.
You've welcomed Arthur into your life and he's brought along a guest. The Queen herself sends you letters, inquiring about your health and interests and telling you about her garden and her bunnies which love to munch on the fruits and salad planted there. For months you only knew her as ink on paper, yet she'd painted such a vivid and warm image in your mind of herself. She did not disappoint when you finally met.
Guinevere too has written to let you know she's eager to spend more time together. She remarks, innocuously enough, how close this wedding rides on the tail of Isolde's union - which she regrets you missed - and finishes the letter with the hopes you're faring well through the bustle that must have taken over your castle.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5ArthurOneLetter1]]<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain - you sent each other love letters. But you broke things at some point along the years, and the letters stopped flowing between the two of you too.|Chapt5GawainNoLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_teen to "exes_notalk", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain - you sent each other love letters. But you broke things with him sometime after the revelation of your conception and your role as weapon in Morgana's revenge; you decided it was for the best to protect Gawain. And so the letters stopped flowing between the two of you too.|Chapt5GawainNoLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "exes_like", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain. But you broke the friendship at some point along the years, and the letters stopped flowing between the two of you too.|Chapt5GawainNoLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_teen to "exfriends_notalk", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_friend to 0, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_ally to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain. But you broke the friendship with him sometime after the revelation of your conception and your role as weapon in Morgana's revenge; you decided it was for the best to protect Gawain. And so the letters stopped flowing between the two of you too.|Chapt5GawainNoLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_teen to "exfriends", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "ally">>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain, mostly to send kind regards with the occasion on celebrations. You grew tired even of this, though, and stopped sending letters altogether.|Chapt5GawainNoLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_teen to "notalk", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_ally to 1]]</div>
<<else>>
You fold the letter and place it in your drawer.
[[Continue|Chapt5Window]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_nimue_serious == 1>>
A small, rueful smile twists your mouth as you dig into the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory to find that past version of yourself, so small/little yet filled with such desolation/woe at the thought of leaving Avalon. There were many times when you longer for the Island - especially when Lothia proved too cruel, too cold - but you've thrown yourself into your training with earnest, and your passion for it has only grown over the years.
"Being a squire has proved more exciting than I expected it'd be," you say. "Though I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 2>>
A small, rueful smile twists your mouth as you dig into the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory to find that past version of yourself, so small/little yet filled with such desolation/woe at the thought of leaving Avalon. There were many times when you longer for the Island - especially when Lothia proved too cruel, too cold - but you don't regret being a squire.
"Being a squire has proved more fun than I expected it'd be," you say. "Though I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 3>>
A small, rueful smile twists your mouth as you dig into the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory to find that past version of yourself, so small/little yet filled with such desolation/woe at the thought of leaving Avalon.
You've come to greatly enjoy squirehood - but you won't deny there are no doubt and melancholy plaguing you. During your hardest times, you miss the island all the more keener; but you can't ascribe all your confusing, strange thoughts to this one cause. There's more to it, a feeling so ill-defined that you can ignore it most of the time. Perhaps if you prodded, it'd all unravel - and you'd come to some revolutionary conclusion that could either do or undo you. You'd rather not find out just yet.
"Being a squire has proved more fun than I expected it'd be," you say. "Though I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 4>>
A small, rueful smile twists your mouth as you dig into the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory to find that past version of yourself, so small/little yet filled with such desolation/woe at the thought of leaving Avalon.
You've come to greatly enjoy squirehood - but you won't deny there are no doubt and melancholy plaguing you. During your hardest times, you miss the island all the more keener; but you can't ascribe all your confusing, strange thoughts to this one cause. There's more to it, a feeling so ill-defined that you can ignore it most of the time. Perhaps if you prodded, it'd all unravel - and you'd come to some revolutionary conclusion that could either do or undo you. You'd rather not find out just yet.
"Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. "But...I do think a tiny piece of me was left behind." There are many aspects of it you enjoy - but you can't help but feel conflicted and melancholy at times.
"Being a squire has proved more fun than I expected it'd be," you say. "But..I do think I may have left a tiny piece of myself back on Avalon when I left."
You wait, somewhat apprenhesive, to see how the confession is received. You wonder if Nimue understads - or if she's well beyond such sentimentality.
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue smiles. "I won'd deny, there's a part of myself that'll always be claimed by Avalon. Perhaps a bigger part than I dare admit."
Maybe it's the quiet way she says it, or the glint in her green eyes as she holds your gaze - but the skin of on the back of your neck/on your arms is rendered/turned to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue smiles. "I won'd deny, there's a part of myself that'll always be claimed by Avalon. Perhaps a bigger part than I dare admit."
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 5>>
A small, rueful smile twists your mouth as you dig into the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory to find that past version of yourself, so small/little yet filled with such desolation/woe at the thought of leaving Avalon.
You've come to enjoy squirehood, and it's what brought you close to $dragon_name - but you won't deny there are no doubts plaguing you. You have questioned before, if given the liberty, you've had chosen this path for yourself. It's not a thought you like to linger on, but sometimes it's hard to shrug off the unease it leaves in its wake/behind/but its unease can persist even after you banish it back to a crevice of your mind.
Not that you'd say any of this out-loud, right now. "Being a squire is both more and less exciting than I expected," you tactfully/carefully say instead. "Perhaps I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "but flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 8>>
??????
"Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. There are many aspects of it you enjoy - but you can't help but feel conflicted at times, though it has nothing to do with Avalon. The island is well in your past by now.
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 6>>
???????????????
"Being a squire has proved more exciting than expected," you say. You've grown very passionate about it, though you do miss Avalon at times.
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 7>>
??????????????????
"Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. There are many aspects of it you enjoy. And besides, it's a career that suits you. Melancholy for Avalon does come and go.
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<</if>>
"It's everything it was promised it'd be/It's everything I wanted it to be/thought it'd be," she replies with
A [raucous] peal breaks over the lilt of violins. You flinch and turn, expecting a /A peal of howling laughter roars over the lilting of violins, making you flinch. Nimue doesn't budge; her gaze stays riveted on you, scouring your face with the same intent/intesity she used to scour the shallows of water, searching for shells. Whatever she searches for in your expression, you don't know.
"Say," Nimue begins, "do you remember how you used to ask me for a vision? Won't you ask me for one now too - for old time's sake?"
"I remember you playing tricks on me," you retort.
"Not always."
"What about now?"
She slides closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper - as soft as the rustle of foliage/undergrowth that shelters a predator about to pounce. 'Would you like to find out?"
You don't get to reply. As you open your mouth, she closes her eyes. She tilts her head from one side to the other as if turning around an image in her mind, looking for a different angle, searching for a better view. The back of your neck prickles. She's often payed/rewarded your childhood requests for a vision with jests and pranks. Few where the times you drew a genuine response from her - but those times were enough to keep you asking, enough to conjure your/inspire anxious/eager anticipation even when you hardly expected seriousness. Here you are, falling in that trap again, ensnared against your will, possessed by an almost morbid curiosity/Here you are again, pulling closer, ears open, pulse quickened. Waiting.
Her eyes snap open [dark beneath the shadow of her lashes.] "something smart about merlin arriving/I see something - something that's on your mind, something you know so much yet so little of - something that weighs on you/your mind, because it's approaching you. Rapidly. Unexpectedly. It's-"
"Why," a mellow voice calls from behind you, "I see you're catching up already."
[[You turn to find Merlin.|Chapt5MerlinParty]]<<if $chapt5_nimue_serious == 1>>
You did let yourself carried away from Avalon to the Continent, to squirehood - though it was your mother guiding you, not the sea/currents. You can't complain as to the path you've been led to, however. You've embraced it in earnest, and only grew more and more passionate.
"Being a squire has proved more exciting than I expected it'd be," you say. "Though I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 2>>
You did let yourself carried away from Avalon to the Continent, to squirehood - though it was your mother guiding you, not the sea/currents. You can't complain as to the path you've been led to, however.
"I suppose," you say. "It took me to squirehood, and it fits me well" you say. "Though I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 3>>
You did let yourself carried away from Avalon to the Continent, to squirehood - though it was your mother guiding you, not the sea/currents. You can't complain as to the path you've been led to, however. But you won't deny there is no doubt plaguing you. It's such an ill-defined feeling, though, that you can easily ignore it most of the time. Perhaps if you prodded, it'd all unravel - and you'd come to some revolutionary conclusion that could either do or undo you. You'd rather not find out just yet.
"Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. "Though I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 4>>
You did let yourself carried away from Avalon to the Continent, to squirehood - though it was your mother guiding you, not the sea/currents. You can't neccesarily complain as to the path you've been led to. It does suit you, given your Pendragon powers, and there are many aspects you enjoy about it. But you won't deny there are no doubts plaguing you. You have questioned before, if given the liberty, you've had chosen this path for yourself. It's not a thought you like to linger on, but sometimes it's hard to shrug off the unease it leaves in its wake/behind/but its unease can persist even after you banish it back to a crevice of your mind.
Not that you'd say any of this out-loud, right now. "Being a squire is both more and less exciting than I expected," you tactfully/carefully say instead. "Perhaps I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "but flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<</if>>
"It's everything it was promised it'd be/It's everything I wanted it to be/thought it'd be," she replies with
A [raucous] peal breaks over the lilt of violins. You flinch and turn, expecting a /A peal of howling laughter roars over the lilting of violins, making you flinch. Nimue doesn't budge; her gaze stays riveted on you, scouring your face with the same intent/intesity she used to scour the shallows of water, searching for shells. Whatever she searches for in your expression, you don't know.
"Say," Nimue begins, "do you remember how you used to ask me for a vision? Won't you ask me for one now too - for old time's sake?"
"I remember you playing tricks on me," you retort.
"Not always."
"What about now?"
She slides closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper - as soft as the rustle of foliage/undergrowth that shelters a predator about to pounce. 'Would you like to find out?"
You don't get to reply. As you open your mouth, she closes her eyes. She tilts her head from one side to the other as if turning around an image in her mind, looking for a different angle, searching for a better view. The back of your neck prickles. She's often payed/rewarded your childhood requests for a vision with jests and pranks. Few where the times you drew a genuine response from her - but those times were enough to keep you asking, enough to conjure your/inspire anxious/eager anticipation even when you hardly expected seriousness. Here you are, falling in that trap again, ensnared against your will, possessed by an almost morbid curiosity/Here you are again, pulling closer, ears open, pulse quickened. Waiting.
Her eyes snap open [dark beneath the shadow of her lashes.] "something smart about merlin arriving/I see something - something that's on your mind, something you know so much yet so little of - something that weighs on you/your mind, because it's approaching you. Rapidly. Unexpectedly. It's-"
"Why," a mellow voice calls from behind you, "I see you're catching up already."
[[You turn to find Merlin.|Chapt5MerlinParty]]<<if $chapt5_nimue_serious == 1>>
Your excitement hasn't diminished - if anything, your passion has only grown stronger/only burns stronger and hotter than it did within that little, bright-eyed child you used to be/your passion has only grown stronger as you grew more skilled.
"Being a squire has proved as exciting as I hoped it'd be," you say. "Perhaps I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "but flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 2>>
You wouldn't say your excitement has diminished - far from it - but it has taken a different form over the years/but it's changed and matured over the years. That bright-eyed, naive enthusiasm turned to a more earnest, practical understanding and enjoyment.
"Being a squire is both more and less exciting than I expected," you say. "Perhaps I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "but flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 3>>
You've grown out of that bright-eyed, naive excitement, but it's not as if you're not enjoying squirehood. There's so much to appreciate about it - but you won't deny there is no doubt plaguing you. It's such an ill-defined feeling, though, that it's easily ignored most of the time. Perhaps if you prodded it'd all unravel - and you'd come to some revolutionary/revelationary conclusion that could either do or undo you. You'd rather not find out just yet.
Not that you'd say mention of this out-loud, right now. "Being a squire is both more and less exciting than I expected," you tactfully/carefully say instead. "Perhaps I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "but flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 4>>
You've grown out of that bright-eyed, naive excitement, but it's not as if you're not enjoying squirehood. There's so much to appreciate about it - but you won't deny there are no doubts plaguing you. You have questioned before, if given the liberty, you've had chosen this path for yourself. It's not a thought you like to linger on, but sometimes it's hard to shrug off the unease it leaves in its wake/behind/but its unease can persist even after you banish it back to a crevice of your mind.
Not that you'd mention any of this out-loud, right now. "Everything seems far too exciting when you're a child," you tactfully/carefully say instead. "It's...more and less than what I expected then. Perhaps I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "but flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine./It turns the skin on the back of your neck/on your arms to gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?/Is it what you thought it'd be?"
<</if>>
"It's everything it was promised it'd be/It's everything I wanted it to be/thought it'd be," she replies with with utter/unadultered/pure/firm, proud conviction.
A [raucous] peal breaks over the lilt of violins. You flinch and turn, expecting a /A peal of howling laughter roars over the lilting of violins, making you flinch. Nimue doesn't budge; her gaze stays riveted on you, scouring your face with the same intent/intesity she used to scour the shallows of water, searching for shells. Whatever she searches for in your expression, you don't know./Revelers pass you by, sparing/sneaking/flashing quick, inquisitive glances at you, if not otherwise staring openly at you as if any moment they might stride up to you and ask the business/subject of your conversation. Nimue pays them no mind; she keeps her attention focused squarely on you.
"Say," Nimue begins, "do you remember how you used to ask me for a vision? Won't you ask me for one now too - for old time's sake?"
"I remember you playing tricks on me," you retort.
"Not always."
"What about now?"
She slides closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper - as soft as the rustle of foliage/undergrowth that shelters a predator about to pounce. 'Would you like to find out?"
You don't get to reply. As you open your mouth, she closes her eyes. She tilts her head from one side to the other as if turning around an image in her mind, looking for a different angle, searching for a better view. The back of your neck prickles. She's often payed/rewarded your childhood requests for a vision with jests and pranks. Few where the times you drew a genuine response from her - but those times were enough to keep you asking, enough to conjure your/inspire anxious/eager anticipation even when you hardly expected seriousness. Here you are, falling in that trap again, ensnared against your will, possessed by an almost morbid curiosity/Here you are again, pulling closer, ears open, pulse quickened. Waiting.
Her eyes snap open [dark beneath the shadow of her lashes.] "something smart about merlin arriving/I see something - something that's on your mind, something you know so much yet so little of - something that weighs on you/your mind, because it's approaching you. Rapidly. Unexpectedly. It's-"
"Why," a mellow voice calls from behind you, "I see you're catching up already."
[[You turn to find Merlin.|Chapt5MerlinParty]]<<if $chapt5_bastard == 1>>
"It's alright, Gawain," you smoothly say. "You can say bastard. Even if that term applies to me only unofficially."
Your tablemates seem unsure whether this is a jest they should laugh at . Polite, sympathetic smiles - and Gawain's mumbled apology - surround you before Nimue speaks, moving the conversation forward.
"Ah," she says, "but illegitimate children occupy a far more complicated place in the court environ."
<<elseif $chapt5_bastard == 2>>
There's no need to bring further attention to it.
"Ah," Nimue says, "but illegitimate children occupy a far more complicated place in the court environ."
<<elseif $chapt5_bastard == 3>>
Your gaze meets Tristan's over the table, locking in shared sympathy and bastardom. He subtly inclines his head and you smile, a brief, sweet reassurance from bastard to fellow bastard.
"Ah," Nimue says, "but illegitimate children occupy a far more complicated place in the court environ."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Why not? Dragons aren't nobles, but they can become knights."|Chapt5Commoners][$chapt5_knight_common to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["There's a reason only nobles can become knights," you earnestly tell Elaine. "We have the means for it."|Chapt5Commoners][$chapt5_knight_common to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["There's a reason only nobles can become knights," you sardonically say. "We have the money for it."|Chapt5Commoners][$chapt5_knight_common to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You say nothing, but think there's no reason commoners shouldn't be able to become knights Anyone can swing a sword.|Chapt5Commoners][$chapt5_knight_common to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You say nothing, though you can't agree with the idea of opening knighthood to commoners. They don't have the means for it.|Chapt5Commoners][$chapt5_knight_common to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You say nothing, though you know why knighthood won't open its ranks to commoners any time soon. They wouldn't have the money for it.|Chapt5Commoners][$chapt5_knight_common to 6]]</div><<if $chapt5_rec == 1>>
You can't help but agree with Gareth on this. //The Daring and Dauntless adventures of Daria//, the first book in the series //Adventurous and Adventurouser//, tackles a Continent-spanning quest that starts in Lothia and has the titular character go as far as the Northen Islands, battling dragon hunters and finding treasure. You've devoured it in one night, despite the early morning training that almost made you regret the choice.
"That one's great," you say. "You should read it."
With your seal of approval added atop Gareth's, Elaine snaps the book shut with a smile and decisive nod.
<<elseif $chapt5_rec == 2>>
Perhaps //The Daring and Dauntless adventures of Daria//, the first book in the series //Adventurous and Adventurouser// is as good a book as Gareth advertised it, filled with perilous escapades and great feats of courage - but what you're about to do is a great feat of kindness. For your brother.
"Oh, it's good, but I've got something better," you say, waving a dismissive hand towards //The Daring and Dauntless adventures of Daria//, while your other hand reaches for the shelf, pulling a different tome out. "Here."
Elaine takes the //Courageous, Brave, Valiant Heroics of Victoria// from your hands and surveys the etched cover with interest. Her gaze darts between the two volumes now, struggling to choose between the book with the axe-wielding, fierce-grinning hero or the one with the sword-swinging, sneering hero. She settles on the later, possibly on account of the menacing two-hander, and slides Gareth's recommendation back in place.
<<elseif $chapt5_rec == 3>>
You shrug, leaning against the bookcase behind you - their frames and sheer bulk of books making it safe to do so - and say: "I haven't read it." //The Daring and Dauntless adventures of Daria//, the first book in the series //Adventurous and Adventurouser//, seems to have had the Court in uproar upon its release, gripping everyone with its great feats of courage. You, however, had no desire to pick it up.
Elaine stares at the cover, and the axe-swinging warrior stares back with a fierce grin. Whether tempted or intimidated into reading it, Elaine nods decisively. "I'll take it."
<<elseif $chapt5_rec == 4>>
Perhaps //The Daring and Dauntless adventures of Daria//, the first book in the series //Adventurous and Adventurouser// is as good a book as Gareth advertised it, filled with perilous escapades and great feats of courage - but what you're about to do is a great feat of pettiness.
"It's not that good," you scoff, waving a dismissive hand towards //The Daring and Dauntless adventures of Daria//, while your other hand reaches for the shelf, pulling a different tome out. "This one's better."
Elaine takes the //Courageous, Brave, Valiant Heroics of Victoria// from your hands and surveys the etched cover with interest. Her gaze darts between the two volumes now, struggling to choose between the book with the axe-wielding, fierce-grinning hero or the one with the sword-swinging, sneering hero. She settles on the later, possibly on account of the menacing two-hander, and slides Gareth's recommendation back in place.
<<elseif $chapt5_rec == 5>>
"This one's clearly better," you say, waving a dismissive hand towards //The Daring and Dauntless adventures of Daria//, while your other hand reaches for the shelf, pulling a different tome out. "I enjoyed it far more," you say as if those simple words could begin to cover the sentiments this book has stirred within as you stayed late up at night reading, even with early morning practice awaiting.
You've talked with Gareth about this - your argumentation on the virtues of //Courageous, Brave, Valiant Heroics of Victoria// rivalled any book analysis your tutors have asked you to pen. It's clearly the superior choice in the genre, with far better plot, characters, imagery and theme - even the hero's name means //victory//, which should make it automatically the winner.
Elaine takes the //Courageous, Brave, Valiant Heroics of Victoria// from your hands and surveys the etched cover with interest. Her gaze darts between the two volumes now, struggling to choose between the book with the axe-wielding, fierce-grinning hero or the one with the sword-swinging, sneering hero. She settles on the later, possibly on account of the menacing two-hander, and slides Gareth's recommendation back in place.
<</if>>
She tucks the book under her arm and shifts from one foot to the other as if about to continue on, but doesn't budge. Her attention slides from the book spines towards the case holding them, and she runs her fingers over a detail etched into the side. You lean closer; the light catches on the polished wood, revealing in all its gleaming glory the roaring head of a bear.
"What a fearsome symbol," she remarks.
"Unlike the swan?" you retort, thinking back on the elegant creature embossed on their carriage.
"Hey! Swans are //vicious//."
When you regard her doubtfully, she says: "We have plenty of swans - obviously, hence the symbol - and I saw their violence first-hand. What with our Castle being built over a river they seem to really love. They get very defensive of their nests. They've tipped quite a few people off their boats, you know. I saw them battling the birds with the oars - and the bird won."
"You included?"
She opens her mouth to protest, indignant and flushed, then closes it again. She sighs. "No, that was just my doing."
"How?" you insist. People don't just pitch over, no matter how drunk. At least, you think so. You've never attempted it yourself - getting drunk or tipping off a boat, let alone both at the same time. You figure she must have been fidgeting a lot to end up in the water. "How drunk where you? And what were you trying to do?"
"Drunk enough," she chuckles. She looks left and right before leaning in, dropping her voice as if about to impart a secret - the terrible secret of what landed her in the river. Must be pretty bad. "Don't tell anyone-"
"Your father already did," you cut in.
"//But//," Elaine continues, narrowing her eyes at you, "I may have tried to..." She trails off, scanning your expectant expression. "You know what, forget it."
<div class="choice">[["Alright," you sigh.|Chapt5Swan][$chapt5_press to 1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Noo," you protest, putting on a pleading look. "You can't leave me hanging."|Chapt5Swan][$chapt5_press to 2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright," you shrug, losing interest in the subject.|Chapt5Swan][$chapt5_press to 3]]</div><<if $chapt5_more_booze == 1>>
<<if $chapt5_drink_wine == 2>>
You grin. "Why not? It's a party. No party without booze." Booze is quite magnificient. It's emulating quite well that giddy lightheadedness that tracing loops in the sky gives you, and it's dulled the tension in your muscles as effectively as your mother's soothing tea might.
<<elseif $chapt5_drink_wine == 1>>
You grin. "Why not? It's a party. No party without booze." You understand why adults seem to indulge in it so much. It makes you want to laugh more, louder, brighter, makes you want the night to never end.
<<else>>
You grin. "Why not? It's a party. No party without booze."
<</if>>
Gawain grins back. "Like Mordred says! Besides, we don't need to //drink// it all. Just have it. Just in case."
[[Get going.|Chapt5GoToWoodsParty]]
<<elseif $chapt5_more_booze == 2>>
<<if $chapt5_drink_wine == 2>>
"That's a lot of booze," you say. You already feel as if you've taken flight, that giddy, empty-air sensation in your stomach, the feeling of rearranging insides as you careen through the sky. Only you wonder, how gracefully will you be able to land?
<<elseif $chapt5_drink_wine == 1>>
"That's a lot of booze," you say. You already feel so...different. Brighter, easier, as if you might take flight on your own at any time.
<<else>>
"That's a lot of booze," you say. And there are some among you who should probably not indulge in more of it, though you do not say that aloud.
<</if>>
Gawain waves a dismisse hand, almost knocking down his goblet. "We don't need to //drink// it all. Just have it. Just in case."
[[Get going.|Chapt5GoToWoodsParty]]
<<elseif $chapt5_more_booze == 3>>
<<if $chapt5_drink_wine == 2>>
"Why the cellar?" Your skin blazes as if with fever but devoid of its throes. This heat burns away fear, retince and shame. "Why not snatch a bottle from Lot's cabinet?"
<<elseif $chapt5_drink_wine == 1>>
"Why the cellar?" Your next words leave your mouth carelessly, as if they held no weight on your tongue. "Why not snatch a bottle from Lot's cabinet?"
<<else>>
"Why the cellar?" You know it's scandalous, but you don't care. Something in you is thirsty, but it's not the booze it craves so much as sweet, petty rebellion. "Why not snatch a bottle from Lot's cabinet?"
<</if>>
Gawain's eyes widen then flicker to your brother, his smile and enthusiasm faltering.
Elaine, however, snorts out a laugh. "That's be something."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Gareth meets your eye; you hold his gaze steadfast and undaunted. The shadow of a smile flashes over his lips.
"What a devious idea," he says, and means it as a compliment. "Why not indeed?"
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Gareth meets your eye; you hold his gaze steadfast and undaunted.
Finally, he says,"What a devious idea," and it sounds almost like a compliment. "Why not indeed?"
<<else>>
Gareth meets your eye; you hold his gaze steadfast and undaunted.
Finally, he says, "What a devious idea," in what, shockingly, sounds almost like a compliment. "Why not indeed?"
<</if>>
[[Get going.|Chapt5GoToWoodsParty]]
<<elseif $chapt5_more_booze == 4>>
You don't care. You're not joining them, anyway. So let them plan, let them scheme; you only make yourself more comfortable in your seat.
[[Stay put.|Chapt5SitPartyOut]]
<</if>>You've made a game out of gauging and guessing who your next arrival will be, scrutinizing carriages for tell-tale colors, emblems or the livery of footmen, scouring the flying dragons above for any piece of clothing or jewelry that may give you an answer or clue. Sometimes, you even gamble on it with $dragon_name - with no stakes involved, save for a brief moment of triumph. Today's tally leans firmly in their favor.
You crane your neck, tilt your head, squint your eyes. The approaching carriage looks mighty ornate, overwhelmingly gilded and blinding to look at. It not only mirrors the sun, but strives to become one itself, blazing and powerful and commanding the whole world to revolve around it.
The carriage riding in front, though embellished itself, pales in comparison. You mistook it for a guests' coach, but seeing it along with its twin bringing up the rear, you recognize them for what they are - security.
You know who's inside before you catch a glimpse of the crimson red on the doors.
"In your places," Lot commands. "The King and Queen are arriving."
//'And Elewen,'// $dragon_name supplements in your mind, drawing your eye towards the sky. There they are, grand and purple and graceful. Trailing closely behind them are two more familiar scaled faces. //'Ariawen and Callum,'// $dragon_name thinks at the same time as you.
It means the whole of the royal retinue - family and friends - must be here as well.
<<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
This is it - what you've been waiting for weeks. The silver lining, the light in the dark you've been treading towards, the one arrival to break the monotony of these ever-revolving introductions.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
Gawain and his family should be close behind then, all the more reason to get excited.
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
Gawain and his family should be close behind then, all the more reason to get excited. You quickly check your reflection in the goblet, then get into position next to your mother. You can't wait to see him - can't wait to have him in your arms.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
You've dreaded this moment. It's been so long since you saw each other - since that arduous, tormentuous string of letters that came after your fateful twelfth birthday. You cut at the ties you'd made with a dulled knife while Arthur pleaded that you stopped. When it was all over, you were left bloodied and tired, but at least he kept true to his words, to your wishes of putting up distance.
What now? Your ill, rioting bowels spared you from an encounter at Isolde's wedding, but there's no ailment to give you an easy solution now. You've stared through the gloom of night at your ceiling, playing out possibilities. What will Arthur do? What will //you// do? Even now, the only thing you know for certain is the ache in your chest.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
You try to stave it off with a better thought. If Arthur and Guinevere are near, Gawain should be close behind then, and that you can be excited about.
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
You try to stave it off with a better thought. If Arthur and Guinevere are near, Gawain should be close behind then, and that you can be excited about. You quickly check your reflection in the silver goblet, then get into position next to your mother. You can't wait to see Gawain - can't wait to have him in your arms.
<</if>>
<<else>>
Oh, how great and wonderful that the King and Queen are arriving. Truly, you're beyond yourself with excitement. Hurrying to fall in line and smile prettily at your royal guests.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
There is, though, reason to get genuinely excited. If Arthur and Guinevere are near, Gawain should be close behind then.
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
There is, though, reason to get genuinely excited. If Arthur and Guinevere are near, Gawain should be close behind then. You quickly check your reflection in the goblet, then get into position next to your mother. You can't wait to see him - can't wait to have him in your arms.
<</if>>
<</if>>
You take your place by your family and wait. You cannot deny that the Camelotian party does have you intrigued. Your pulse quickens ever so slightly with anticipation; the din of percussive hooves and clattering wheels is over-encompassing. Behind the royal carriage, interspersed by security, follow more carriages adorned in gold and red. There are familiar and unfamiliar faces alike ahead. Figures from your past and those that are strangers to you yet have cast their shadow over your life.
In one of those carriages rides Lord Merlin Wyllt, Royal Sorcerer and herald of the ruin you'll bring.
<div class="choice">[[You dread his arrival. How could you not, after all you've been told about him?|Chapt5WaitingMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_before to "dread"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your curiosity is piqued, perhaps morbidly so. Merlin is quite the prolific man: royal sorcerer, crown advisor and the one who aided bring about your family's downfall.|Chapt5WaitingMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_before to "curious"]]</div>
<<if $morgana_closeness != "close">><div class="choice">[[Ever since you could remember you've been told Merlin Wyllt is an evil man. But those accounts came from your mother, who you're finding hard to trust now. How much is truth and how much did she embellish?|Chapt5WaitingMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_before to "lie"]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Ever since you could remember you've been told of Merlin's misdeed and nefarious character. Both your mother's and your grandmother's accounts solidify these claims - it's only natural that you've grown to loathe this man.|Chapt5WaitingMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_before to "hate"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ever since you could remember you've been told of Merlin's misdeed and nefarious character. You've made up your mind that the best way to deal with such a man is by keeping as far away as you can from him.|Chapt5WaitingMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_before to "avoid"]]</div>It's a bright, sweet autumn morning, and you're headed for the Temple in town. The confined cosmos of your carriage is decisively not bright and sweet, though.
Morgana and Lot have seated themselves as far apart as possible, using you and Gareth as buffers. You have to contend with their jaundiced tension, grown to dizzying heights in the restricted quarter, as if the daily dinners weren't enough - as if riding this horrendous contraption wasn't //enough//. Your last training session has left bruises which, even mellowed out by Robin's calming balm, still flare up with dull, tender pain at any juddering disturbance in the road. There was no argument to be brooked when Morgana suggested you all take a walk through town, ostensibly on account of the lovely weather, tacitly on your behalf. It would have been deemed unbecoming to make your guests go on foot, by Lot's word, so you the four of you squeezed into a carriage and tried not to suffocate under the mounting tension.
Your gaze flickers over to the Duke, seated opposite you. Bitterness shows on his face, undressed and unguarded, rendered sourer than usual as if to make up for all the pretending he does around the Beauregards. He's garbed as elegantly as he's been for each dinner, sporting the Lothian bear on his moss green tunic; his own scowl rivals that of the embroidered creature on his chest. Its beady eyes, marked by carefully stitched obsidian gems that shine menacingly in the sun, have been stalwartly watching you throughout the whole ride.
They're now joined by a second pair of dark eyes.
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude != "">>
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "cautious">>
You jolt and look away, stubbornly fixing your gaze on the town unfurling beyond the window. You ignore Lot's gaze, which bores into you and sends your insides in a queasy twist, and retreat further. The carriage trundles on.
Then it judders.
Its wood heaves and creaks with a great shake, like the bones of some great beast. To your horror, you're propelled forward, even as your stomach sinks. You brace yourself on the wall, just about managing not to pitch over Lot - though the sheer hateful force of his sneer could have pinned you in place.
You settle back and curl as far into your cushioned corner as you can, wincing as your sore muscles scream in protest with the movement.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
You catch his eye and hold it steadfast and uncowed. If anyone looks away first, it will be him, not you. You don't waver as the carriage trundles on.
Then it judders.
Its wood heaves and creaks with a great shake, like the bones of some great beast. To your horror, you're propelled forward, even as your stomach sinks. You brace yourself on the wall, just about managing not to pitch over Lot - though the sheer hateful force of his sneer could have pinned you in place.
You settle back in your cushioned corner and try to appear as unruffled as you can, biting back a grimace as your sore muscles scream in protest with the movement.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "ignore">>
You turn your impassive gaze on to the town unfurling beyond the window. You won't deign to offer that dreadful man any more attention. The carriage trundles on, passing houses and shops and people.
Then it judders.
Its wood heaves and creaks with a great shake, like the bones of some great beast. To your horror, you're propelled forward, even as your stomach sinks. You brace yourself on the wall, just about managing not to pitch over Lot - though the sheer hateful force of his sneer could have pinned you in place.
You settle back in your cushioned corner and sigh, wincing as your sore muscles scream in protest with the movement.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Gareth offers a commiserating smile from where he's seated next to grouchy Lot.
<<else>>
Gareth flicks his gaze over you, then back outside the window. Hands clasped in his lap over pressed, green trousers, Gareth watches the passing buildings - sturdy residences of stone, shop fronts with open doors - with a placid expression so unlike his father's.
<</if>>
Morgana's lips thin as she looks on at Lot. "I thought we'd discussed re-paving the roads-"
He gnashes his teeth in answer: "It's well underway."
<<if $elaine_crush >= 2>>
Oh Goddess, now they'll argue over administrative nonsense. You wonder what the mood is like in the Astolatian carriage. Whatever the case, you're convinced it can't be worse than this. Perhaps you could hitch a ride with them on the way back? The thought of huddling next to Elaine is enough to bring a faint smile to your lips. Talking and laughing with her would definitely make the ride far more tolerable. Enjoyable, even.
<<elseif $elaine_friend >= 2>>
Oh Goddess, now they'll argue over administrative nonsense. You wonder what the mood is like in the Astolatian carriage. Whatever the case, you're convinced it can't be worse than this. Perhaps you could hitch a ride with them on the way back? Talking and laughing with Elaine would definitely make the ride far more tolerable. Enjoyable, even.
<<else>>
Oh Goddess, now they'll argue over administrative nonsense. You wonder what the mood is like in the Astolatian carriage. Whatever the case, you're convinced it can't be worse than this. Perhaps you could hitch a ride with them on the way back? Or better yet, slip away and return on foot.
<</if>>
[[Arrive at the Temple|Chapt5ArriveTemple]]
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[Look away, startled. Lot's attention is never a good thing, and makes your skin prick with apprenhension|Chapt5LotCarriage][$chapt5_lot_attitude to "cautious"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Level him with a steady, challenging gaze. He doesn't intimidate you.|Chapt5LotCarriage][$chapt5_lot_attitude to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Look away. He's just a dreadful, pathetic man you want nothing to do with.|Chapt5LotCarriage][$chapt5_lot_attitude to "ignore"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_carry_gawain == "back">>
"Hop on my back," you say.
Gawain doesn't need to be told twice. He scrambles up with all the clumsy agility of a little kitten - his arms looped round your neck, your hands tucked behind his knees. You resume your journey, this time without the ambient sounds of grunts and sighs and yelps. You manage to keep your grunts of effort safely locked behind your smile - a smile that comes easy, seeing Gawain so content, his warm cheek rested against yours.
<<elseif $chapt5_carry_gawain == "arms">>
"I'll carry you then."
With one hand you secure your grip on his waist and slip the other under his knees. You lift him off the ground with barely a grunt, mentally congratulating yourself for achieving this sweeping romantic gesture without stumbling or finally introducing Gawain to the ground. His laugh is bright with surprise and delight as he clings close to your neck and plants a kiss on your cheek.
Your muscles may strain and protest as you resume your journey, but Gawain's gleaming, content face is enough to keep you going.
<<elseif $chapt5_carry_gawain == "heels">>
"Gawain, we're both wearing heels," you say. "We'll topple together. Let's just hang on tightly to each other, alright?"
He seems content enough with your solution and so you proceed, arms locked tightly, step careful, navigating the treachorous ground together, pulling each other out of danger's way - not too fast, lest you just end up falling. Gawain has quit complaining, too, chattering happily as he twines his fingers with yours.
<<elseif $chapt5_carry_gawain == "drunk">>
"We're both drunk," you say. "I don't think it's a good idea. Let's just hang on tightly to each other, alright?"
He seems content enough with your solution and so you proceed, arms locked tightly, step careful, navigating the treachorous ground together, pulling each other out of danger's way - not too fast, lest you just end up falling. Gawain has quit complaining, too, chattering happily as he twines his fingers with yours.
<</if>>
"How long till we get there though?" he asks.
"Patience" Nimue says. The flame in her palm bathes her face in harsh orange. "We're nearing our destination."
Her serene words pass over you like a chill breeze. "Is that a vision?"
Nimue smiles. "Can't you hear the rushing water?"
Silence steals over your party. Beyond the breathing, beyond the rustling, beyond the calls of night birds, you hear it - faint and distant.
It's not long before you can see it too, liquid silver where the moon touches the river.
[[Continue|Chapt5ArriveAtRiverParty]]She turns over the first card. It brushes against the blanket when flipped, letting out a soft sigh of relief.. She doesn't move on to the next one, however, letting anticipation build-up, denying everyone the quick release of tension. Your curiosity, if nothing else, is piqued.
<<if $chapt1father1 == "1">>
"Five of cups." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a black-shrouded figure. Their back is turned on you and their obscured face tilted downwards, gazing in the direction of three spilled cups. Behind them, two filled cups stand upright, ignored.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for great sorrow and dejection in your life. Something - someone - in your past, in your life, cast their shadow over you, so huge as to be inescapable, so dark as to blind you. It soured your heart, and when disappoitnment was too much, it spilled into hate."
<<elseif $chapt1father1 == "3">>
"The Star." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a woman with flowing hair. She carries two pitchers which she tips into a pond she's dipping one foot in; above her hangs a great, brilliant star.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow in your life. There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - casted over you. Too huge to escape, yet not so dark as to blind you. Deep within, you created your own light to ward off the shadows and guide you ahead, to give you hope for the future. Even when it hurt, even when the flame flickered, you held on to that hope."
<<else>>
"The Moon." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a nighttime scene: a dog and a wolf, both howling at the moon while behind them, a crayfish emerges from the water. The little critter takes you so much by surprise that you almost laugh - until you catch her gaze, so intent and grave it makes any sound wither on your tongue.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow. There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - cast over you. Too huge to escape, dark enough as to blind. You were unsure where to put your next step, unsure what to make of this darkness, of this hurt and sorrow and dejection that stalked you every day. You were told it was a predator - you were told it was dangerous and bad and that you had to keep turning away from it, but you didn't heed so easily. You wanted to find out on your own, to know if things could truly be so."
<</if>>
For one unbalancing moment you are back on Avalon, a little carefree child, back into those times you remember as sun-drenched as they are mist-enshrouded. You forget - want to forget - that shadow, the ever-present absence that has been haunting you ever since you were old enough to understand who Arthur was.
Was there ever a time in your life when you didn't have a shadow or another cast over yourself?
Nimue looks up and meets your eye. She doesn't ask if she was right or not. She already knows the answer. For a brief moment your stomach empties. It's that feeling of weightlessness you get when $dragon_name plummets straight downwards, swerving just as you think the ground will swallow you up. There's a sense of danger, of excitement to stir you up, to keep you on your toes. Perhaps the stakes of this card game are higher than you initially thought.
[[Second card|Chapt5CasualCard2]]<<if $want_revenge == "yes">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"The Chariot," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the proud, helmeted head of the charioteer; in one hand she holds the reins of two great stallions - one white, one black - and with the other brandishes a raised sword.
"You show determination and ambition, the willpower to not just push on, but thrive." She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's a fire burning bright and hot within you, driving you forward. But fire can easily get out of control; feed it, and it may grow to consume everything in its path."
You crack a little smile. "Is this about my fire magic?"
Nimue smiles too. "No."
<<elseif $want_revenge == "no">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"Ten of swords," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the figure laying prone and bleeding, speared through by the eponymous ten of swords.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's anguish hollowing you out from the inside. Your skin won't heal over the open gashes in your flesh, but you maintain the hope that with time they will. This strife needn't be permanent, needn't be worsened by continuing to pick at old wounds." There's a softness to her voice - neither pity nor reassurance, but a sort of acknowledgement.
The words bounce inside your skull, repeating over and over like a feverish prayer. Will there truly be a day when the skin has closed, scarred and healed? You'll never forget - you'll have the scars, no mater how faded, always there - but you won't be hurting anymore. It's only the present card - promises you made yourself, not yet to be fulfilled.
<<elseif $add_want_revenge == "justice">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"Justice," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the crowned head of the woman who sits atop a throne, one hand holding a raised sword, the other a scale, perfectly balanced.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's a fire within you, burning bright and hot. Let loose, it would consume everything in its path - but you wish to wield it well and careful, make it illuminate that which has been left to the shadows."
You crack a smile. "It's a bit on the nose this one, don't you think?"
Nimue smiles back. "But it's accurate, isn't it?"
"I only want what's fair."
"And who decides what's fair? You?"
You know the answer one should give in this instance: it is the crown, the king and queen, who decide the boundaries of justice, the rules of judgement. Their word is law. But none of that necessitates the end result be truly fair - if truly fair is something that can ever be achieved.
You just shrug, hiding the shiver coming up your back. "Do you want to divert the reading to a philosophical debate?"
Nimue smiles. "Hmm. Some other time perhaps."
<<else>>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"The Hermit," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps her nail against the hooded figure standing among a shadowy wood, with nothing for company but their cane and lantern.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's uncertainty within you, so you withdraw to ponder and examine that which troubles you, that threatens to tear you in two. You are searching for answers within, but the question posed is too difficult to have solved it yet. And so you stand on the edge of a knife - a knife you were told you were born to wield, unsure whether to grab that blade and do what you're meant to, even if it meants cutting yourself deeper, or take it and hurl it far away from you."
You twist and turn her words in your head, trying to cleave through her dense metaphors, peel away the fanciful dressing to find the bare truth beneath, sieve the oracular till you're left with your practical reality. The knife must be the vengeance Morgana had planned for you to enact in conceiving you, the pensive Hermit reflecting your indecision, standing in the middle of a dark woods and not knowing which path to do down to. This card will offer you no solution, no hint to what your future self might chose - will the next one reveal that?
Nimue watches you patiently, waiting for you to say something, do something. Perhaps she wants you to give an agonized grimace, to silently grapple with the uncertainty in your heart in a way all can see.
Instead you simply crack a smile. "Are you talking about a literal knife?"
"No." Her gaze flickers over your face. "But you already knew that."
<</if>>
Nimue's hand moves to unveil the last card. Gawain gasps.
You don't do anything quite so dramatic: merely stare at the card, unsure whether to laugh or sigh.
A proud tower stands in ruin against a stormy backdrop as lightning cracks its stone and sets it aflame. Two figures have flung themselves from its crumbling, burning heights of certain doom, down towards the tumultuous embrace of the waters beneath. The sea may either rock them to eternal sleep or carry them away to safety. You think it's most likely they'll be bashed on the jagged rocks right below, or crushed beneath the toppling masonry.
//The Tower.// A card of unforeseen catastrophe.
<div class="choice">[[A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells. Yet more evidence of your doomed fate?|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of thing, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed by its appearance.|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Would you be justified in bring about this chaos, after everything you've been through?|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself.|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom.|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 5]]</div><<if $chapt5_quick_catchup == 1>>
There's so much you could ask, you hardly know where to begin. Better start simple.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
"It's kind of strange, isn't it? So many years of absence gape between us, like an abyss. That's a lot to bridge. We might as well be strangers meeting for the first time."
"It is a little bit strange," you agree, and saying it seems to help alleviate the oddity of it. "Where do you propose we start then?"
<<elseif $chapt5_quick_catchup == 2>>
Your eyes linger on all the fine details of her face - the smiling line of plum-purple lips, the sharp eyes, their lustre accentuated by shimmery green paint, the proud curve of her nose - all framed by strands of cinnamon brown hair, artfully left out of the complex braid that snakes down her back.
You could stare all night, but that's not a very feasible plan, and neither does it satisfy your curiosty. Instead, you should start talking.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
"It's kind of strange, isn't it? So many years of absence gape between us, like an abyss. That's a lot to bridge. We might as well be strangers meeting for the first time."
"It is a little bit strange," you agree, and saying it seems to help alleviate the oddity of it. "Where do you propose we start then?"
<<elseif $chapt5_quick_catchup == 3>>
You shift as the silence wears on. The longer it lingers, the keener you feel the expectation to sever it; but like a vine left to overtake a wall, it has a sturdy, stubborn grip on you. Nimue watches you steadfastly, placidly, in no hurry to lend a helping hand.
You'd sooner find your words if a lack of questions was your issue. As it stands, there's so much you want to ask.
Better start simple. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
"It's strange, isn't it? So many years of absence gape between us, like an abyss. That's a lot to bridge. We might as well be strangers meeting for the first time."
"It is a little bit strange," you agree, and saying it does seem to alleviate some of the oddity and awkwardness of it all. "Where do you propose we start then?"
<<elseif $chapt5_quick_catchup == 4>>
You should start catching up, shouldn't you? Where do you even start? Silence stretches on and you're grasping desperately for words.
Your eyes linger on all the fine details of her face - the smiling line of plum-purple lips, the sharp eyes, their lustre accentuated by shimmery green paint, the proud curve of her nose - all framed by strands of cinnamon brown hair, artfully left out of the complex braid that snakes down her back.
You could stare all night, but that's not a very feasible plan, and neither does it satisfy your curiosty. Instead, you should start talking. Yet you don't.
You shift as the silence wears on. The longer it lingers, the keener you feel the expectation to sever it; but like a vine left to overtake a wall, it has a sturdy, stubborn grip on you. Nimue watches you steadfastly, placidly, in no hurry to lend a helping hand.
You'd sooner find your words if a lack of questions was your issue.
Better start simple. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
"It's strange, isn't it? So many years of absence gape between us, like an abyss. That's a lot to bridge. We might as well be strangers meeting for the first time."
"It is a little bit strange," you agree, and saying it does seem to alleviate some of the oddity and awkwardness of it all. "Where do you propose we start then?"
<<elseif $chapt5_quick_catchup == 5>>
You should say something, if only for the sake of politeness. It's not that you lack curiosity. It's only that your most burning questions - about Merlin, about yourself, about her involvement in all of it - are the ones most likely to get no answer, or deceit. So, simple conversation it is.
"It's been a long time, hasn't it?"
"It's kind of strange, isn't it? So many years of absence gape between us, like an abyss. That's a lot to bridge. We might as well be strangers meeting for the first time."
"It is a little bit strange," you agree, and saying it seems to help alleviate the oddity of it. "Where do you propose we start then?"
<</if>>
"With the obvious. Here you are, a squire as you said you'd become."
"And here you are, your father's apprentice."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 3>>
"No suprises so far, are there?" Though deeper, her voice has maintained that calm, confident cadence you remember - it's the steady lull of mild waves, a rhytmic to and fro one could listen to endlessly; it's the tide, reeling you in like a pebble, pulling you to the depth before it washes you out back on the shore. A slight, soft Avalonian lilt persists in her pronunciation.
<<else>>
"No suprises so far, are there?" Though deeper, her voice has maintained that calm, confident cadence you remember -it's the steady lull of mild waves, a rhytmic to and fro one could listen to endlessly, that carries you along with the tide. A slight, soft Avalonian lilt persists in her pronunciation.
<</if>>
No surprises indeed. Nimue has never hidden her ambition, and neither have you.
<<if $chapt1eager == "eager">>
"Back then," Nimue says, "when we were little, you'd been so eager to become a knight. Swinging your wooden sword at your menacing plush toy foes. And you'd been so excited to see the Continent. Tell me then, what's it been like?"
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire has proved as exciting as I hoped it'd be," you say.|Chapt5SquireEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire has proved as exciting as I hoped it'd be," you say. "The Continent...is not exciting in the way I imagined it to be."|Chapt5SquireEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire suits me," you simply say.|Chapt5SquireEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire suits me," you say, "but I can't say that the Continent lived up to my expectations."|Chapt5SquireEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Everything seems far too exciting when you're a child," you say tactfully.|Chapt5SquireEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt1eager == "bitter">>
"Back then," Nimue says, "when we were little, you'd seemed to reluctant to leave Avalon and become a squire. As if you might be parting with a piece of yourself. Did you, then? Trade a part of your heart to become a squire?"
<div class="choice">[["Nothing quite so dramatic. Being a squire has proved more exciting than I expected it'd be," you say.|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing quite so dramatic. Being a squire has proved as exciting than I hoped it'd be," you say. "The Continent...is not exciting in the way I imagined it to be."|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire suits me," you simply say.|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire suits me," you say, "but I can't say that the Continent lived up to my expectations."|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You make it sound so dramatic," you say; you're deflecting. The way she said it resonated with something in you. "Being a squire suits me."|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You make it sound so dramatic," you say. "But I suppose I did leave a bit of me behind on Avalon."|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt1eager == "casual">>
"Back then," Nimue says, "when we were little, you seemed to accept knighthood and leaving Avalon so placidly. Letting the currents take you wherever they will. Is this still what you're doing - going with the flow of water?"
<div class="choice">[["I like to think I'm at the helm of my own life now," you say, almost defensively. After all you've learned on your twelfth birthday, it feels necessary to remind yourself you're more than a mean to an end.|Chapt5SquireCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I suppose," you say. "It took me to squirehood, and it fits me well."|Chapt5SquireCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Something about the phrasing makes you uneasy. Is that what you're doing - letting yourself led? "Well, it took me to squirehood, and it fits me well."|Chapt5SquireCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I was a child then, Nimue. Of course I've taken helm of my life now."|Chapt5SquireCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course I've taken helm of my life now," you say. "And I find being a squire quite exciting."|Chapt5SquireCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 5]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[Back then in Avalon, you'd been so excited to leave for the Continent and become a knight; you remember telling her, once evening on the beach collecting seashells.|Chapt5SquireExtra][$chapt1eager to "eager"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Back then in Avalon, you'd been so sad to leave for the Continent; you remember telling her, once evening on the beach collecting seashells.|Chapt5SquireExtra][$chapt1eager to "bitter"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Back then in Avalon, you'd been so nonchalant about leaving for the Continent and becoming a knight, without a care in the world; you remember telling her about it, once evening on the beach collecting seashells.|Chapt5SquireExtra][$chapt1eager to "casual"]]</div>
<</if>>There's much you could ask, if you thought it worth it; plenty of burning questions about Merlin, about yourself, about her involvement in all of it. Questions most likely to get no answer, or deceit. As for small talk and banter, you have no interest in it.
You let the silence wear on. Nimue doesn't rush to dispel. She watches you steadfastly, placidly, waiting yet not particularly expectant.
Finally, she speaks. "No questions, no curiosities? You used to have so many queries when we were little - of Camelot, of the King, of my father."
"That was then," you say.
Her arch smile doesn't seem convinced. "Was it? Well, I suppose in the meantime you've have the opportunity to meet the King for yourself. And the rest - all in due time."
All around you, revelers continue to move about, an endlessly flowing river, a constant sussuration of voices washing over you. They pass you by, flashing quick, inquisitive glances at you, if not otherwise staring openly at you as if any moment they might stride up to you and ask the subject of your conversation. Nimue pays them no mind; she keeps her attention focused squarely on you.
"You won't even ask me for a vision, like you used to - for old time's sake? Do you remember?"
You'd accuse her of sentimentality if the tilt of her lips wasn't so teasing.
"I remember you playing tricks on me," you retort.
"Not always."
"What about now?"
She slides closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper - as soft as the rustle of foliage that shelters a predator about to pounce. 'Would you like to find out?"
You don't get to reply. As you open your mouth, she closes her eyes. She tilts her head from one side to the other as if turning around an image in her mind, looking for a different angle, searching for a better view. The back of your neck prickles. She's often rewarded your childhood requests for a vision with jests and pranks. Few where the times you drew a genuine response from her - but those times were enough to keep you asking, enough to inspire anxious anticipation even when you hardly expected seriousness. You feel the echoes of that anticipation now as you wait, despite yourself, to see what she has to say. Though you could just as easily use the moment to slip away, to relieve yourself of this conversation you didn't want to begin with-
Her eyes snap open dark beneath the shadow of her lashes. "I see something - something that weighs on your mind, something you know so much yet so little of. It's approaching. Rapidly. Unexpectedly. It's-"
"Why," a mellow voice calls from behind you, "I see you're catching up already."
[[You turn to find Merlin.|Chapt5MerlinParty]]You dig in once the chestnuts have cooled down enough, peeling away the roasted shell with a knife. You've learned long ago not to attempt it with your fingers unless you want to risk jabbing the hard, jagged crust underneath your nails; a small injury that hurts an awful lot.
You eat in companionable silence before the now extinguished hearth. You find that the spells of quiet with Elaine are as pleasant as your animated chatter.
Every now and then, you hear shouts from outside. You can't make out the words but with the guests arriving tomorrow and the castle in a frenzy, it can only be attributed to the bustling preparations - in which Elaine is none too eager to play her own part.
You look over at her. She's deftly skinning a chestnut, popping the golden kernel in her mouth with an expression of utter relish.
"So," you begin. "It's been a fortnight since you arrived in Lothia. It's only fair to ask how you've accommodated. What do you think of our Duchy now?"
She glances down at the bowl between you. "You've got good chestnuts," she says around a mouthful of them.
"Can't argue with that."
She chews pensively then picks up another piece, hewing at its shell. "No, it's fine. I mean, you've got nice scenery. I like the nearby woods, Felix and I found some nice spots over there. And people have been very welcoming. Everyone's insisting this is home now, like they're trying to hammer the sentiment in me."
"And what do you make of my family?" you ask.
<<if $Elaine_ro >= 4 and $chapt4_heal_romantic is true and $gawain_teen != "sweethearts">>
"Well you're alright," she says and bumps your arm with her fist. "No, really," she adds, more earnestly now. "You're very fun to be around." Her voice drops to a feather-like whisper. "You've been one of the best parts of coming here so far."
<div class="choice">[["The feeling is mutual," you say with a smile. Yet what you don't say is how much more you feel for her. ❤|Chapt5ElaineChamberFlirt][$elaine_chamber to 1, $chapt5_elaine_romance to true, $chamber_confess_elaine to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The feeling is mutual," you say with a smile. "But for me...there's more to it." Confess your feelings. ❤|Chapt5ElaineConfessFlirt][$elaine_chamber to 2, $chapt5_elaine_romance to true, $chamber_confess_elaine to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The feeling is mutual," you reply, then, not quite ready for a confession, search for something romantic to say. "Your eyes look like twin chestnuts." ❤|Chapt5ElaineConfessCompliment][$elaine_chamber to 4, $chapt5_elaine_romance to true]]</div>
<<elseif $Elaine >= 59>>
"Well you're alright," she says and bumps your arm with her fist. "No, really," she adds, more earnestly now. "You're very fun to be around. You've been one of the best parts of coming here so far."
<<if $elaine_ally >= 4>>
<div class="choice">[["The feeling is mutual," you say with a smile. You started with the mere intention to gain favor, but you've ended up enjoying her company very much.|Chapt5ElaineFriend][$elaine_chamber to 1, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You make for very pleasant company likewise," you say with a smile. You don't feel quite as strongly; you've just wanted to gain her favor, which you have.|Chapt5ElaineFriend][$elaine_chamber to 2]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["The feeling is mutual," you say with a smile.|Chapt5ElaineFriend][$elaine_chamber to 3]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $gawain_teen != "sweethearts">><div class="choice">[["The feeling is mutual," you say with a smile. Yet what you don't say is how much more you feel for her. ❤|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore][$elaine_chamber to 4, $chapt5_elaine_confession to true, $chamber_confess_elaine to "no"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_teen != "sweethearts">><div class="choice">[["The feeling is mutual," you say with a smile. "But for me...there's more to it." Confidently confess your feelings. ❤|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$elaine_chamber to 5, $chapt5_elaine_confession to true, $chamber_confess_elaine to "yes1"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_teen != "sweethearts">><div class="choice">[["The feeling is mutual," you say with a smile. "But for me...there's more to it." Bashfully confess your feelings. ❤|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$elaine_chamber to 6, $chapt5_elaine_confession to true, $chamber_confess_elaine to "yes1"]]</div><</if>>
<<else>>
"Well you're alright," she says and bumps your arm with her fist.
<<if $elaine_ally >= 4>>
<div class="choice">[["You're alright," you say with a smile. You started with the mere intention to gain favor, but you've ended up enjoying her company very much.|Chapt5ElaineChamber][$elaine_chamber to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Likewise," you say with a smile. You don't feel quite as strongly; you've just wanted to gain her favor, which you have.|Chapt5ElaineChamber][$elaine_chamber to 2]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["You're alright too," you say with a smile.|Chapt5ElaineChamber][$elaine_chamber to 3]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_knight_common == 1>>
"Why not?" you say. "Dragons aren't nobles, but they can become knights."
Elaine nods passionately. "Exactly. Dragons aren't nobles - full stop - but they're allowed to become knights."
//"Well,//" $dragon_name's voice comes into your mind, //"it's not like we would have upended our whole lives just for that. We're doing pretty well for ourselves, nobility or not."//
Nimue replies without skipping a beat. "But that's dragons, not humans. And besides, it's not a matter of one's species but...a question of one's means."
"And I'm drunk," Elaine says, raising the cup in her hand, "I shouldn't be trusted to answer such heavy questions while drunk."
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_common == 2>>
"There's a reason only nobles can become knights," you earnestly tell Elaine. "We have the means for it."
Armor and weapons don't come by cheaply, especially not of the quality you're expected to possess. On top of that, a squire needs a knight and that, for someone without noble blood, is even harder to get hold of.
Elaine eyes you critically. "I'm aware. Look, I'm drunk," she says, raising the cup in her hand, "I shouldn't be trusted to answer such heavy questions while drunk."
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_common == 3>>
"There's a reason only nobles can become knights," you sardonically say. "We have the money for it."
Armor and weapons don't come by cheaply, especially not of the quality you're expected to possess. On top of that, a squire needs a knight and that, for someone without noble blood, is even harder to get hold of. Of course, all these matters could be solved, if only those with the means for it were a bit more generous.
Elaine lets out a humorless snort. "I'm aware. Look, I'm drunk," she says, raising the cup in her hand, "I shouldn't be trusted to answer such heavy questions while drunk."
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_common == 4>>
There's no reason commoners shouldn't be able to become knights; noble blood does not make one better at swinging a sword around.
Elaine shakes her head, sensing she's stepped into dangerous political territory. "I don't know! Dragons aren't nobles - full stop - but they're allowed to become knights."
Nimue replies without skipping a beat. "But that's dragons, not humans. And besides, it's not a matter of one's species but...a question of one's means."
"And I'm drunk," Elaine says, raising the cup in her hand, "I shouldn't be trusted to answer such heavy questions while drunk."
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_common == 5>>
Armor and weapons don't come by cheaply, especially not of the quality you're expected to possess. On top of that, a squire needs a knight and that, for someone without noble blood, is even harder to get hold of.
Elaine shakes her head, sensing she's stepped into dangerous political territory. "I don't know! Dragons aren't nobles - full stop - but they're allowed to become knights."
Nimue replies without skipping a beat. "But that's dragons, not humans. And besides, it's not a matter of one's species but...a question of one's means."
"And I'm drunk," Elaine says, raising the cup in her hand, "I shouldn't be trusted to answer such heavy questions while drunk."
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_common == 6>>
Armor and weapons don't come by cheaply, especially not of the quality you're expected to possess. On top of that, a squire needs a knight and that, for someone without noble blood, is even harder to get hold of. Of course, all these matters could be solved, if only those with the means for it were a bit more generous.
Elaine shakes her head, sensing she's stepped into dangerous political territory. "I don't know! Dragons aren't nobles - full stop - but they're allowed to become knights."
Nimue replies without skipping a beat. "But that's dragons, not humans. And besides, it's not a matter of one's species but...a question of one's means."
"And I'm drunk," Elaine says, raising the cup in her hand, "I shouldn't be trusted to answer such heavy questions while drunk."
<</if>>
Nimue glances from the goblet to Elaine. Her teasing expression shifts ever so slightly into something more resembling gravity. "But you're a ducal child. and about to marry a duke, which would make you one yourself. Then you could make decisions. You could bring your ideas to the king and queen. Hopefully not while drunken. Just something to consider, Elaine."
Despite her claims to drunkenness, Elaine seems to soak in the words with surprising sobriety.
<div class="choice">[["Do you want to be a knight, Elaine?" you outright ask. "Since you seem to have such strong opinions on the matter."|Chapt5WantKnight][$chapt5_want_knight to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You're awfully interested in the topic of knighthood, Elaine," you obliquely say.|Chapt5WantKnight][$chapt5_want_knight to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Say nothing. You'd rather ask in private.|Chapt5WantKnight][$chapt5_want_knight to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Say nothing. You don't care all that much as to be the one asking.|Chapt5WantKnight][$chapt5_want_knight to 4]]</div>"We could make a quick stop by the kitchen, too, if you crave something to eat," you say as you descend a winding, wide staircase, the patter of your boots on the dark-wood steps echoing cavernously.
You expect an answer; you also expect to find Elaine by your side when you turn to check why the former is delayed, but you're met with none.
Elaine's lingered on the landing while you advanced halfway down the stairs. Limned by the sunlight streaming in through the high, square window, her head is tilted towards the patch of clear, blue sky. The light renders her features gilded - turns her hair to golden thread and her brown eyes to polished brass. She looks Kingly.
"Does our tour include the castle grounds?" she ask, face still turned upwards.
<div class="choice">[[You stare openly, as if in a trance. What did she ask, again? ❤|Chapt5ElaineKingly][$chapt5_sunlit to 1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You realize you've been staring and rip your gaze away. "Yes," you reply. ❤|Chapt5ElaineKingly][$chapt5_sunlit to 2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give her a sweet smile. "If you want it, of course." ❤|Chapt5ElaineKingly][$chapt5_sunlit to 3, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you smile. It'll give you more time to spend with her. ❤|Chapt5ElaineKingly][$chapt5_sunlit to 4, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Sure," you smile. It'll give you more time to spend with her, which you find yourself excited over. 💕|Chapt5ElaineKingly][$chapt5_sunlit to 5, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you smile. It'll be nice to spend more time with her.|Chapt5ElaineKingly][$chapt5_sunlit to 6, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you smile. It's best to indulge your guest.|Chapt5ElaineKingly][$chapt5_sunlit to 7, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["If you want that," you say, not all that eager.|Chapt5ElaineKingly][$chapt5_sunlit to 8]]</div><<if $chapt5_crush == 1>>
There's curiosity, tightly intertwined with tingling warmth tentatively wrapping itself around you. But you mustn't let it. What good would it be? Elaine's betrothed to Gareth, no matter how much your mother may loathe it. You must banish this feeling that only complicates everything to the deepest, darkest crevice of your heart - you must stomp on any budding notion of romance till it withers and crumbles under your boot. Still, you want to see what she's made of, so you won't refuse to indulge her in a swordfight.
"Sure," your lips curl into a smirk, sharp as the blade you wield, "But I won't go easy on you."
"Oh," Elaine smiles grins, showing teeth, "I'm definitely not asking you to."
<<elseif $chapt5_crush == 2>>
There's curiosity, tightly intertwined with tingling warmth tentatively wrapping itself around you. Lot would be aghast to know there's but a sliver of interest in your heart when you look upon Elaine's expectant face, but the again, caring for his opinion is something you've given up a long time ago. She's betrothed to Gareth, but the outlook is not entirely auspicious for their union. An engagement so hastily sealed, more by the parents than themself, a marriage that Morgana so strongly opposes...do Gareth and Elaine even want this, or are they caught in the undertows of royal machinations? You won't deny yourself from indulging in your curiosity, then, won't attempt to stomp it out.
"Sure," your lips curl into a smirk, sharp as the blade you wield, "But I won't go easy on you."
"Oh," Elaine smiles grins, showing teeth, "I'm definitely not asking you to."
<<elseif $chapt5_crush == 3>>
There's curiosity, tightly intertwined with tingling warmth tentatively wrapping itself around you. Lot would be aghast to know there's but a sliver of interest in your heart when you look upon Elaine's expectant face, but the again, caring for his opinion is something you've given up a long time ago. She's betrothed to Gareth, but the outlook is not entirely auspicious for their union. Even if it does go on to be officialy sealed, you've got plenty of examples of how these things go; you need only look towards Lot, Morgana and Accolon. So you don't feel bad for indulging this curiosity of yours.
"Sure," your lips curl into a smirk, sharp as the blade you wield, "But I won't go easy on you."
"Oh," Elaine smiles grins, showing teeth, "I'm definitely not asking you to."
<<elseif $chapt5_crush == 4>>
There's curiosity, tightly intertwined with tingling warmth tentatively wrapping itself around you. But you mustn't let it. What good would it be? Elaine's betrothed to Gareth, no matter how much your mother may loathe it. You must banish this feeling that only complicates everything to the deepest, darkest crevice of your heart - you must stomp on any budding notion of romance till it withers and crumbles under your boot. Still, you want to see what she's made of, so you won't refuse to indulge her in a swordfight.
"Of course," you smile.
Elaine's merely grins, showing teeth. If she's as fierce with her sword as she is with her smile, this may prove even more exciting.
<<elseif $chapt5_crush == 5>>
There's curiosity, tightly intertwined with tingling warmth tentatively wrapping itself around you. Lot would be aghast to know there's but a sliver of interest in your heart when you look upon Elaine's expectant face, but the again, caring for his opinion is something you've given up a long time ago. She's betrothed to Gareth, but the outlook is not entirely auspicious for their union. An engagement so hastily sealed, more by the parents than themself, a marriage that Morgaa so strongly opposes...do Gareth and Elaine even want this, or are they caught in the undertows of royal machinations? You won't deny yourself from indulging in your curiosity, then, won't attempt to stomp it out.
"Of course," you smile.
Elaine's merely grins, showing teeth. If she's as fierce with her sword as she is with her smile, this may prove even more exciting.
<<elseif $chapt5_crush == 6>>
There's curiosity, tightly intertwined with tingling warmth tentatively wrapping itself around you. Lot would be aghast to know there's but a sliver of interest in your heart when you look upon Elaine's expectant face, but the again, caring for his opinion is something you've given up a long time ago. She's betrothed to Gareth, but the outlook is not entirely auspicious for their union. Even if it does go on to be officialy sealed, you've got plenty of examples of how these things go; you need only look towards Lot, Morgana and Accolon. So you don't feel bad for indulging this curiosity of yours.
"Of course," you smile.
Elaine's merely grins, showing teeth. If she's as fierce with her sword as she is with her smile, this may prove even more exciting.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, stirring the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, stirring the conversation back on its course, one flashing, withering look your way - meant as a warning - the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You're honestly growing bored.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 3]]</div>She turns over the first card. It brushes against the blanket when flipped, letting out a soft sigh of relief.. She doesn't move on to the next one, however, letting anticipation build-up, denying you the quick release of tension. You ball up your fists to keep your fingers from drumming against your knees and focus your attention on this first card.
<<if $chapt1father1 == "1">>
"Five of cups." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a black-shrouded figure. Their back is turned to you and their obscured face tilted downwards, gazing in the direction of three spilled cups. Behind them, two filled cups stand upright, ignored.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for great sorrow and dejection in your life. Something - someone - in your past, in your life, cast their shadow over you, so huge as to be inescapable, so dark as to blind you. It soured your heart, and when disappoitnment was too much, it spilled into hate."
<<elseif $chapt1father1 == "3">>
"The Star." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a woman with flowing hair. She carries two pitchers which she tips into a pond she's dipping one foot in; above her hangs a great, brilliant star.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow in your life. There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - casted over you. Too huge to escape, yet not so dark as to blind you. Deep within, you created your own light to ward off the shadows and guide you ahead, to give you hope for the future. Even when it hurt, even when the flame flickered, you held on to that hope."
<<else>>
"The Moon." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a nighttime scene: a dog and a wolf, both howling at the moon while behind them, a crayfish emerges from the water. The little unexpected critter takes a hammer to whatever awe Nimue inspired and you almost laugh - until you catch her gaze, so intent and grave it makes any sound wither on your tongue.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow. There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - cast over you. Too huge to escape, dark enough as to blind. You were unsure where to put your next step, unsure what to make of this darkness, of this hurt and sorrow and dejection that stalked you every day. You were told it was a predator - you were told it was dangerous and bad and that you had to keep turning away from it, but you didn't heed so easily. You wanted to find out on your own, to know if things could truly be so."
<</if>>
For one unbalancing moment you are back on Avalon, a little carefree child, back into those times you remember as sun-drenched as they are mist-enshrouded. You forget - want to forget - that shadow, the ever-present absence that has been haunting you ever since you were old enough to understand who Arthur was.
Was there ever a time in your life when you didn't have a shadow or another cast over yourself?
Nimue looks up and meets your eye. She doesn't ask if she was right or not. She already knows the answer. There's a weightless feeling in your stomach, as if all your organs had been replaced by air, the same feeling as when $dragon_name dives towards the ground, that breathless exhilaration of plummeting before you swerve up.
You should probably tell her to stop. Laugh and say this is all vague, mystical drivel and you're bored now, shuffle the two unturned card back into the deck before she can reveal them - but you don't. You want to see where this is headed, fall or flight.
[[Second card|Chapt5CuriousCard2]]<<if $want_revenge == "yes">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"The Chariot," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the proud, helmeted head of the charioteer; in one hand she holds the reins of two great stallions - one white, one black - and with the other brandishes a raised sword.
"You show determination and ambition, the willpower to not just push on, but thrive." She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's a fire burning bright and hot within you, driving you forward. But fire can easily get out of control; feed it, and it may grow to consume everything in its path."
You crack a little smile even as the words worm their way under your skin, squirming restlessly down your back. "Is this about my fire magic?"
Nimue smiles too. "No."
<<elseif $want_revenge == "no">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"Ten of swords," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the figure laying prone and bleeding, speared through by the eponymous ten of swords.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's anguish hollowing you out from the inside. Your skin won't heal over the open gashes in your flesh, but you maintain the hope that with time they will. This strife needn't be permanent, needn't be worsened by continuing to pick at old wounds." There's a softness to her voice - neither pity nor reassurance, but a sort of acknowledgement.
The words bounce inside your skull, repeating over and over like a feverish prayer. Will there truly be a day when the skin has closed, scarred and healed? You'll never forget - you'll have the scars, no mater how faded, always there - but you won't be hurting anymore. It's only the present card - promises you made yourself, not yet to be fulfilled.
<<elseif $add_want_revenge == "justice">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"Justice," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the crowned head of the woman who sits atop a throne, one hand holding a raised sword, the other a scale, perfectly balanced.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's a fire within you, burning bright and hot. Let loose, it would consume everything in its path - but you wish to wield it well and careful, make it illuminate that which has been left to the shadows."
You crack a smile. "It's a bit on the nose this one, don't you think?"
Nimue smiles back. "But it's accurate, isn't it?"
"I only want what's fair."
"And who decides what's fair? You?"
You know the answer one should give in this instance: it is the crown, the king and queen, who decide the boundaries of justice, the rules of judgement. Their word is law. But none of that necessitates the end result be truly fair - if truly fair is something that can ever be achieved.
You just shrug, hiding the shiver coming up your back. "Do you want to divert the reading to a philosophical debate?"
Nimue smiles. "Hmm. Some other time perhaps."
<<else>>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"The Hermit," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps her nail against the hooded figure standing among a shadowy wood, with nothing for company but their cane and lantern.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's uncertainty within you, so you withdraw to ponder and examine that which troubles you, that threatens to tear you in two. You are searching for answers within, but the question posed is too difficult to have solved it yet. And so you stand on the edge of a knife - a knife you were told you were born to wield, unsure whether to grab that blade and do what you're meant to, even if it meants cutting yourself deeper, or take it and hurl it far away from you."
You twist and turn her words in your head, trying to cleave through her dense metaphors, peel away the fanciful dressing to find the bare truth beneath, sieve the oracular till you're left with your practical reality. The knife must be the vengeance Morgana had planned for you to enact in conceiving you, the pensive Hermit reflecting your indecision, standing in the middle of a dark woods and not knowing which path to do down to. This card will offer you no solution, no hint to what your future self might chose - will the next one reveal that?
Part of you wishes for a quick answer, the sudden drop of the executioner's axe - and another wants to keep the mystery, the idea of control.
Nimue watches you patiently, waiting for you to say something, do something. Perhaps she wants you to give an agonized grimace, to silently grapple with the uncertainty in your heart in a way all can see.
Instead you simply crack a smile. "Are you talking about a literal knife?"
"No." Her gaze flickers over your face. "But you already knew that."
<</if>>
Nimue's hand moves to unveil the last card. Gawain gasps.
You don't do anything quite so dramatic: merely stare transfixed at the familiar card as your skin turns to gooseflesh.
A proud tower stands in ruin against a stormy backdrop as lightning cracks its stone and sets it aflame. Two figures have flung themselves from its crumbling, burning heights of certain doom, down towards the tumultuous embrace of the waters beneath. The sea may either rock them to eternal sleep or carry them away to safety. You think it's most likely they'll be bashed on the jagged rocks right below, or crushed beneath the toppling masonry.
//The Tower.// A card of unforeseen catastrophe.
<div class="choice">[[A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells. Yet more evidence of your doomed fate?|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of thing, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed by its appearance.|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Would you be justified in bring about this chaos, after everything you've been through?|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself.|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom.|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 5]]</div><<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
Gareth, Gawain and Elaine all attempt to get you on the dancefloor, but you demure each time. $dragon_name doesn't even try asking - you've felt them slip into your mind to pose the question, only for them to retreat as quickly, sensing the answer you didn't even get to form.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
Gawain attempts to get you on the dancefloor, going so far as to employ his signature puppy eyes on you, but you demure until he's forced to acquiesce defeat. $dragon_name doesn't even try asking - you've felt them slip into your mind to pose the question, only for them to retreat as quickly, sensing the answer you didn't even get to form.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
Gareth attemps to get you on the dancefloor once, but you insists you're having far more fun watching than joining in. $dragon_name doesn't even try asking - you've felt them slip into your mind to pose the question, only for them to retreat as quickly, sensing the answer you didn't even get to form.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
Elaine attempts to get you on the dancefloor but finding you unwilling, moves on to shimmying next to Felix and stealing Isolde away from her husband. $dragon_name doesn't even try asking - you've felt them slip into your mind to pose the question, only for them to retreat as quickly, sensing the answer you didn't even get to form.
<<else>>
$dragon_name doesn't even try asking you to dance - you've felt them slip into your mind to pose the question, only for them to retreat as quickly, sensing the answer you didn't even get to form.
<</if>>
You're far more content here, cup in hand, observing the merry proceedings like a curious fae may stand at the edge of the woods, spying on the daily going-ons of humans. (A far better comparison than thinking of Lot, sitting morosely in his high-backed chair, all-seeing yet so far removed.)
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]The music, which so far has stayed low, a background hum coalescing with the droning of unintelligible chatter and the clatter of cutlery, now swells; a swift, dramatic surge, a shrill pluck of strings commanding everyone's attention. Heads turn towards the band even before the singer raises their voice in the ensuing silence, calling for the first dance of the night.
Elaine sighs audibly at your table.
Gareth offers a commiserating smile and his extended hand. "Shall we?"
"Do we have a choice?"
"Not quite," he brightly replies.
Elaine sighs again, lets her fork clatter onto her plate then takes his hand. Her lips curl in an expression that can't decide between being a smile or grimace. "Guess this is what we practiced for yesterday."
You watch them go, hand in hand, all eyes on them. Hundreds of curious eyes - hungry, hungry for something that neither fancy little gold-specked appetizers nor sparkling wine can't satiate. Hungry for gossip, hungry to know how the betrothed couple is getting along, hungry to see the union and what comes of it and how it all unfolds. You've heard the whispers, while you wound your way through the halls, to and fro your chamber; word of Morgana's dissent has reached far and wide. Speculation always thrives within castle walls, always has something to feed on.
Gareth and Elaine take their place at the center of the dancefloor, shoulder to shoulder, facing in opposite directions, arms raised up and palms splayed together, touching ever so slightly. They circle round each other on the axis of their touching hands, speed and slow with the music, pull back and draw close, twirl and turn.
Halfway through the song, others start slowly streaming onto the dancefloor: Raphael and Beatrice, Morgana and Accolon, Isolde and her husband, who's come to spirit her away from your table. The dragons, too, take part in the dancing, though not strictly in pairs - going by themselves, going in groups. While there is a degree of similarity in their dance to that of humans, it's also distinctly //draconic// - as it is expected, when they have such distinctly different anatomies. Anatomy that they can't even make full use of, as they would, as you've seen dragons do before. The presence of the bonfires in such close proximity to highly inflammable opulence renders any wing flapping dangerous and inadvisable. Besides, fire hazard or not, the gusts of wind alone may just send a few humans down on their butt. You catch $dragon_name among the sea of glittering scales, shimmying next to Felix - in rather close proximity, tails brushing ever so slightly.
You could join in the dancing, if you wanted to - and if you found a willing partner, too.
<div class="choice">[[Look at Gawain.|Chapt5DanceWithGawain][$chapt5_dance to "Gawain"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Look at Nimue.|Chapt5DanceWithNimue][$chapt5_dance to "Nimue"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Look at Galahad.|Chapt5DanceWithGally][$chapt5_dance to "Galahad"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to be Elaine's second dance of the night.|Chapt5DanceWithElaine][$chapt5_dance to "Elaine"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Seek out your dragon friend.|Chapt5DanceWithDragon][$chapt5_dance to "dragon"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You feel no current inclination towards dancing.|Chapt5DanceNo][$chapt5_dance to "no"]]</div>You don't even need to form words for your intentions to be conveyed through your connection; $dragon_name's own affirmative answer comes in a bright spark, a tingling of your scalp. You shimmy next to them, half imitation of their draconic moves, half improvisation of your own, letting the music guide your body. Song after song you spend spinning together, dipping under their tail, skipping to the high-tempo tunes and swaying lazily to the slow, mellow melodies.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water [ - guzzling it down as you would after training -] before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water [ - guzzling it down as you would after training -] before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water [ - guzzling it down as you would after training -] before being whisked away by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]You could join in the dancing but unfortunately for you, your desired partner is currently already engaged (quite literally) with someone else. So you wait, watching instead as Elaine dances with your brother under the vine-suffused archways. Gareth is a court dancer through and through, expertly graceful and well-instructed in the steps that were he woken up into the middle of the night and made to recreate them in the dark, he'd still perform them perfectly. Though he might have quite a few questions as to the purpose of such a rude awakening. Elaine, spry and sure-footed, keeps pace with ease.
Once the first dance is over, the betrothed couple returns to the table - cheeks flushed, chests rising in rapid succession. Gareth is visibly more out of breath than Elaine, who looks as brisk and ready for another round as she was before setting out on the dancefloor. She snatches her goblet off the table and downs it in one thirsty gulp. She then proceeds to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand and, with a sweeping, appraising glance round the table, calls out:
"Alright, who's next?"
It's a challenge that falls squarely on you, given you're the only one left safe for your brother, who's slowly sipping his drink and in the process of being whisked away by a group of young courtiers, eager to talk.
<<if $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes">>
<div class="choice">[["I'm up to the task," you grin. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Date][$c5_dance_elaine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll go," you say brightly. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Date][$c5_dance_elaine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, I'm up to it, are you? I'm a great dancer." You smirk.❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Date][$c5_dance_elaine to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No thanks." You'd like to, but you're worried people will catch onto you two. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Date][$c5_dance_elaine to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_romance is true>>
<div class="choice">[["I'm up to the task," you grin. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Wrong][$c5_dance_elaine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll go," you say brightly. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Wrong][$c5_dance_elaine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, I'm up to it, are you? I'm a great dancer." You smirk.❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Wrong][$c5_dance_elaine to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No thanks." You'd like to, but you're rather not, given your infatuation and her upcoming wedding. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Wrong][$c5_dance_elaine to 4]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'm up to the task," you grin. |Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Friend][$c5_dance_elaine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm up to the task," you grin. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Friend][$c5_dance_elaine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll dance with you," you say with a smile.|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Friend][$c5_dance_elaine to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll go," you say brightly. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Friend][$c5_dance_elaine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, I'm up to it, are you? I'm a great dancer." You smirk.|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Friend][$c5_dance_elaine to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, I'm up to it, are you? I'm a great dancer." You smirk.❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Friend][$c5_dance_elaine to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No thanks." You'd like to, but you're rather not, given your infatuation and her upcoming wedding. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithElaine1Friend][$c5_dance_elaine to 7]]</div>
<</if>><<if $c5_dance_elaine == 1>>
You raise one hand in a deliberate, slow motion. "I'm up to the task." A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. "It can't be harder than a duel, can it?"
<<if $chapt5_duel_now == 1 or $chapt5_duel_now == 2>>
<<if $elaine_go_easy is false>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. And this time, unlike our last duel, the winner will be //me//."
<<else>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. In which case, I intend to //actually// win. You know, since last time didn't count."
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. In which case, I intend to win."
<</if>>
Her aplomb gives you a thrill of excitement - tinged with just a little bit of concern. "How does one beat another at dancing - at a couple's dance, no less? Should I be worried for my toes?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "You should." She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. It sooner resembles a fighting stance than invitation to dance and you realize, regardless of whichever it is, you'd just as gladly take her hand.
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
<<if $elaine_chamber_kiss == 1>>
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look dashing tonight." Her hot breath caresses your skin, an airy insinuation of her lips, of a kiss. If only there weren't so many eyes - curious, prying, and far from benign - all around you.
<<else>>
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, breath hot on your skin, she says, "You look dashing tonight."
<</if>>
"You look quite dashing yourself," you return in a breathless whisper.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 2>>
"I'll go," you brightly accept the challenge.
"Then let's see you. I'll have you know," Elaine begins, with assumed importance, "that I've been training very hard, all day yesterday." She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. It's a posture that looks more knightly than courtly, a fighting stance rather than an invitation to dance. You almost expect a dagger to materialize in the extended hand, a weapon supplied for the duel she's challenging you to. A thrill of excitement shoots through down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers - tinged, slightly, by concern, though made no less intoxicating for it. In fact, you might say it's the other way around. What has she in store for you on the dance floor?
"Should I be concerned for my toes?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "You should."
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
<<if $elaine_chamber_kiss == 1>>
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look dashing tonight." Her hot breath caresses your skin, an airy insinuation of her lips, of a kiss. If only there weren't so many eyes - curious, prying, and far from benign - all around you.
<<else>>
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, breath hot on your skin, she says, "You look dashing tonight."
<</if>>
"You look quite dashing yourself," you return in a breathless whisper.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 3>>
A smirk curls your lips, long and slow and over-confident. "Oh I'm up for it - are you? I'm a great dancer. My etiquette teacher wouldn't have it any other way. I have no choice but to be a great dancer."
Elaine chortles. She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. It's a posture that looks more knightly than courtly, a fighting stance rather than an invitation to dance. You almost expect a dagger to materialize in the extended hand, a weapon supplied for the duel she's challenging you to. The grin on her face, at least, has the same dangerous, excited edge as when she asked you to an actual fight. A thrill of excitement shoots through down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers - tinged, slightly, by concern, though made no less intoxicating for it. In fact, you might say it's the other way around.
"Let's see you then. I too had no choice but to become a good dancer. Though - well." She tilts her head from one side to the other, admitting the boldly-made claim as rather debatable. "I don't make any promises. Unlike with a sword, where I know I can deliver."
All this bravado makes you wonder just how much is at stake here. She speaks as if there could be a winner or a loser to a dance, as if it was the same thing as a duel - you have to admit that fighting is, in many ways, rather like dancing, if not even more fun. What are you to expect on the dancefloor then?
"Should I be afraid for my toes, or my ego?" you ask. "Are both going to get bruised? Are we going against each other, or the other couples? Should //they// be afraid for their toes and egos?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "Yes."
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
<<if $elaine_chamber_kiss == 1>>
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look dashing tonight." Her hot breath caresses your skin, an airy insinuation of her lips, of her kiss. If only there weren't so many eyes - curious, prying, and far from benign - all around you.
<<else>>
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, breath hot on your skin, she says, "You look dashing tonight."
<</if>>
"You look quite dashing yourself," you return in a breathless whisper.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 4>>
"No thanks," you say with a smile.
You'd love nothing more than to dance, but you can't shake off those hundreds of eyes, watching, boring, preying. Too many lingering glances shared, too many smiles exchanged, too many dances danced; there's so much that could give you away, and there's only one thing that the Court loves more than gossip and that is being utterly, deliciously scandalized by it.
"Mordred!" Elaine eyes you with a sly smirk. "I didn't take you for a coward."
You want to protest, a small, offended noise rising from somewhere behind your throat before you can stop it. You could say //I'm not a coward// but it would be no more dignified than the sound you just made. So you just pick up your cup and take a sip, pretending you did not hear her goading. Certainly, this is the more dignified thing to do. Elaine, however, keeps on taunting you with her smirk.
She shifts impatiently in place, drums her fingers on the back of her chair. "Come on, Mordred. What are you afraid of?"
You regard her over the rim of your cup, with hooded, serious eyes. "A lot. A lot of things, that maybe you should be afraid of, too."
Her grin falters and she freezes, as if the music has abruptly stopped on a discordant chord. She clenches her hand around the backrest.
"Huh," she snorts, thoughtfully and not entirely without disdain. "I'm done being afraid. Sometimes, you have to take a couple risks."
She's turned utterly earnest now - and viciously firm - matching your gravity. Yet the conversation seems to have gone away from you. Is she talking about potential rumours of you here, or something else entirely - is there an allusion lost on you, context you're missing? You wish you could just outright ask what risks she's talking about, what she's hiding behind that shield of good cheer she's holding up. But you wouldn't get a straight answer, especially not among the opulence of her very own pre-wedding feast. So instead you take another sip of your drink. It tastes contemplative and bitter - like fruit nectar gone wrong, like festering thoughts.
Elaine shakes herself off, shedding the weight of her demeanor as if it were a burden easily tossed away. "Alright," she briskly says, "if you won't dance with me I'll go steal Izzy from her husband."
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<</if>><<if $c5_dance_elaine == 1>>
You raise one hand in a deliberate, slow motion. "I'm up to the task." A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. "It can't be harder than a duel, can it?"
<<if $chapt5_duel_now == 1 or $chapt5_duel_now == 2>>
<<if $elaine_go_easy is false>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. And this time, unlike our last duel, the winner will be //me//."
<<else>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. In which case, I intend to //actually// win. You know, since last time didn't count."
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. In which case, I intend to win."
<</if>>
You tilt your head to the side. "How does one beat another at dancing - at a couple's dance, no less? Should I be worried for my toes?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "You should." She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. It looks more fighting stance than invitation to dance.
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look good tonight."
"You don't look bad yourself," you return.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 2>>
You raise one hand in a deliberate, slow motion. "I'm up to the task." A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. "It can't be harder than a duel, can it?"
<<if $chapt5_duel_now == 1 or $chapt5_duel_now == 2>>
<<if $elaine_go_easy is false>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. And this time, unlike our last duel, the winner will be //me//."
<<else>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. In which case, I intend to //actually// win. You know, since last time didn't count."
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. In which case, I intend to win."
<</if>>
Her aplomb gives you a thrill of excitement - tinged with just a little bit of concern. "How does one beat another at dancing - at a couple's dance, no less? Should I be worried for my toes?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "You should." She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. It sooner resembles a fighting stance than invitation to dance, and you realize you'd gladly take her hand, whichever the case.
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look dashing tonight." Her smile is crooked, playful - is it an insinuation of more or just your wishful thinking?
Your thoughts scramble to make sense of her expression, of her words, clamoring towards the conclusion //you// want to come to, the one that would make your heart swell even higher than the music. You pull yourself out of the eddy of speculation once her braid whirls for a second time at your face, and you duck just in time.
"You look quite dashing yourself," you return on a breathless whisper.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 3>>
"I'll go," you brightly accept the challenge.
"Then let's see you. I'll have you know," Elaine begins, with assumed importance, "that I've been training very hard, all day yesterday."
She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. t's a posture that looks more knightly than courtly, a fighting stance rather than a dancing one/an invitation to dance. You almost expect a dagger to materialize in the extended hand, a weapon supplied for the duel she's challenging you to.
"Should I be concerned for my toes?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "You should."
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look good tonight."
"You don't look bad yourself," you return.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 4>>
"I'll go," you brightly accept the challenge.
"Then let's see you. I'll have you know," Elaine begins, with assumed importance, "that I've been training very hard, all day yesterday."
She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. t's a posture that looks more knightly than courtly, a fighting stance rather than an invitation to dance. You almost expect a dagger to materialize in the extended hand, a weapon supplied for the duel she's challenging you to. A thrill of excitement shoots through down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers - tinged, slightly, by concern, though made no less intoxicating for it. In fact, you might say it's the other way around. What has she in store for you on the dance floor?
"Should I be concerned for my toes?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "You should."
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circle, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look dashing tonight." Her smile is crooked, playful - is it an insinuation of more or just your wishful thinking?
Your thoughts scramble to make sense of her expression, of her words, clamoring towards the conclusion //you// want to come to, the one that would make your heart swell even higher than the music. You pull yourself out of the eddy of speculation once her braid whirls for a second time at your face, and you duck just in time.
"You look quite dashing yourself," you return on a breathless whisper.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 5>>
A smirk curls your lips, long and slow and over-confident. "Oh I'm up for it - are you? I'm a great dancer. My etiquette teacher wouldn't have it any other way. I have no choice but to be a great dancer."
Elaine chortles. She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. t's a posture that looks more knightly than courtly, a fighting stance rather than an invitation to dance. You almost expect a dagger to materialize in the extended hand, a weapon supplied for the duel she's challenging you to. The grin on her face, at least, has the same dangerous, excited edge as when she asked you to an actual fight.
"Let's see you then. I too had no choice but to become a good dancer. Though - well." She tilts her head from one side to the other, admitting the boldly-made claim as rather debatable. "I don't make any promises. Unlike with a sword, where I know I can deliver."
All this bravado makes you wonder just how much is at stake here. She speaks as if there could be a winner or a loser to a dance, as if it were the same thing as a duel - you have to admit that fighting is, in many ways, rather like dancing, if only perhaps even more fun. What are you to expect on the dancefloor then?
"Should I be afraid for my toes, or my ego?" you ask. "Are both gonna get bruised? Are we going against each other, or the other couples? Should //they// be afraid for their toes and egos?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "Yes."
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look good tonight."
"You don't look bad yourself," you return.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 6>>
A smirk curls your lips, long and slow and over-confident. "Oh I'm up for it - are you? I'm a great dancer. My etiquette teacher wouldn't have it any other way. I have no choice but to be a great dancer."
Elaine chortles. She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. t's a posture that looks more knightly than courtly, a fighting stance rather than a an invitation to dance. You almost expect a dagger to materialize in the extended hand, a weapon supplied for the duel she's challenging you to. The grin on her face, at least, has the same dangerous, excited edge as when she asked you to an actual fight. A thrill of excitement shoots through down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers - tinged, slightly, by concern, though made no less intoxicating for it. In fact, you might say it's the other way around.
"Let's see you then. I too had no choice but to become a good dancer. Though - well." She tilts her head from one side to the other, admitting the boldly-made claim as rather debatable. "I don't make any promises. Unlike with a sword, where I know I can deliver."
All this bravado makes you wonder just how much is at stake here. She speaks as if there could be a winner or a loser to a dance, as if it were the same thing as a duel - you have to admit that fighting is, in many ways, rather like dancing, if only perhaps even more fun. What are you to expect on the dancefloor then?
"Should I be afraid for my toes, or my ego?" you ask. "Are both gonna get bruised? Are we going against each other, or the other couples? Should //they// be afraid for their toes and egos?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "Yes."
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look dashing tonight." Her smile is crooked, playful - is it an insinuation of more or just your wishful thinking?
"You look quite dashing yourself," you return on a breathless whisper.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 7>>
"No thanks," you say with a smile.
You'd love nothing more than to dance, but you can't shake off those hundreds of eyes, watching, boring, preying. Too many lingering glances shared, too many smiles exchanged, too many dances danced; there's so much that could give you away, and there's only one thing that the Court loves more than gossip and that is being utterly, deliciously scandalized by it.
And besides, what of your poor, poor heart? Disillusion will do you no good, and neither will dancing with someone else's betrothed.
"Mordred!" Elaine eyes you with a sly smirk. "I didn't take you for a coward."
You want to protest, a small, offended noise rising from somewhere behind your throat before you can stop it. You could say //I'm not a coward// but it would be no more dignified than the sound you just made. So you just pick up your cup and take a sip, pretending you did not hear her goading. Certainly, this is the more dignified thing to do. Elaine, however, keeps on taunting you with her smirk.
She shifts impatiently in place, drums her fingers on the back of her chair. "Come on, Mordred. What are you afraid of? I promise I won't step on your toes."
You could just take the plunge. You should just go, who cares she's getting married to your brother tomorrow-
You shake your head. "Really, go on without me."
Her smile falters, but she relents. "Alright, if you won't dance I'll go steal Izzy from her husband." She gives you a small salute on her way off.
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<</if>><<if $c5_dance_elaine == 1>>
You raise one hand in a deliberate, slow motion. "I'm up to the task." A grin tugs at the corners of your mouth. "It can't be harder than a duel, can it?"
<<if $chapt5_duel_now == 1 or $chapt5_duel_now == 2>>
<<if $elaine_go_easy is false>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. And this time, unlike our last duel, the winner will be //me//."
<<else>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. In which case, I intend to //actually// win. You know, since last time didn't count."
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Well-" Elaine blows a stray strand of flaxen hair out of her face, "-this implies the possibility of winning or losing. In which case, I intend to win."
<</if>>
Her aplomb gives you a thrill of excitement - tinged with just a little bit of concern. "How does one beat another at dancing - at a couple's dance, no less? Should I be worried for my toes?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "You should." She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. It sooner resembles a fighting stance than invitation to dance and you realize, regardless of whichever it is, you'd just as gladly take her hand.
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look dashing tonight." Her smile is crooked, playful - is it an insinuation of more or just your wishful thinking?
"You look quite dashing yourself," you return in a breathless whisper.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 2>>
"I'll go," you brightly accept the challenge.
"Then let's see you. I'll have you know," Elaine begins, with assumed importance, "that I've been training very hard, all day yesterday." She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. t's a posture that looks more knightly than courtly, a fighting stance rather than an invitation to dance. You almost expect a dagger to materialize in the extended hand, a weapon supplied for the duel she's challenging you to. A thrill of excitement shoots through down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers - tinged, slightly, by concern, though made no less intoxicating for it. In fact, you might say it's the other way around. What has she in store for you on the dance floor?
"Should I be concerned for my toes?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "You should."
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look dashing tonight." Her smile is crooked, playful - is it an insinuation of more or just your wishful thinking?
"You look quite dashing yourself," you return in a breathless whisper.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 3>>
A smirk curls your lips, long and slow and over-confident. "Oh I'm up for it - are you? I'm a great dancer. My etiquette teacher wouldn't have it any other way. I have no choice but to be a great dancer."
Elaine chortles. She proffers her hand, straight out and palm up, the other folded behind her back and her feet set wide apart. It's a posture that looks more knightly than courtly, a fighting stance rather than an invitation to dance. You almost expect a dagger to materialize in the extended hand, a weapon supplied for the duel she's challenging you to. The grin on her face, at least, has the same dangerous, excited edge as when she asked you to an actual fight. A thrill of excitement shoots through down your spine, all the way to the tips of your fingers - tinged, slightly, by concern, though made no less intoxicating for it. In fact, you might say it's the other way around.
"Let's see you then. I too had no choice but to become a good dancer. Though - well." She tilts her head from one side to the other, admitting the boldly-made claim as rather debatable. "I don't make any promises. Unlike with a sword, where I know I can deliver."
All this bravado makes you wonder just how much is at stake here. She speaks as if there could be a winner or a loser to a dance, as if it were the same thing as a duel - you have to admit that fighting is, in many ways, rather like dancing, if only perhaps even more fun. What are you to expect on the dancefloor then?
"Should I be afraid for my toes, or my ego?" you ask. "Are both gonna get bruised? Are we going against each other, or the other couples? Should //they// be afraid for their toes and egos?"
She grins, a sharp flash of white teeth. "Yes."
You weave your way between the tables, almost sprinting - she's far more excited to depart with you in tow than she was with her betrothed. The song playing now is far more high-tempo than the first one, too, which seems to suit her better.
Elaine has a limberness, an agility that lends itself well to dancing, one she's not too concerned in employing to keep perfect pace or follow the precise steps - unlike during her dance with Gareth. She must have checked herself, which she no longer finds necessary, instead throwing her limbs into the rhythm with careless abandon. She runs you in circles, arms linked, skips and bounds and whoops with the swells of violin as if it were a victory call. Whenever you draw away she pulls you back in close - //rather// close - with enthusiasm. Her braid too swings about wildly, swishing like a whip that catches you sharply - once, twice, thrice - in the shoulder, and one time almost across the face. You're saved only by grace of your cat-like, fighting-honed reflexes.
Leaning close to talk directly in your ear, she says, "You look dashing tonight." Her smile is crooked, playful - is it an insinuation of more or just your wishful thinking?
"You look quite dashing yourself," you return in a breathless whisper.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look very comfortable as well," she goes on. "Airy. I reckon the only one dressed like this, too. Maybe I should try on some Avalonian fashion myself."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You've got such huge sleeves too!" she adds.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Gawain. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gawain for a couple dances. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_elaine == 4>>
"No thanks," you say with a smile.
You'd love nothing more than to dance, but you can't shake off those hundreds of eyes, watching, boring, preying. Too many lingering glances shared, too many smiles exchanged, too many dances danced; there's so much that could give you away, and there's only one thing that the Court loves more than gossip and that is being utterly, deliciously scandalized by it.
"Mordred!" Elaine eyes you with a sly smirk. "I didn't take you for a coward."
You want to protest, a small, offended noise rising from somewhere behind your throat before you can stop it. You could say //I'm not a coward// but it would be no more dignified than the sound you just made. So you just pick up your cup and take a sip, pretending you did not hear her goading. Certainly, this is the more dignified thing to do. Elaine, however, keeps on taunting you with her smirk.
She shifts impatiently in place, drums her fingers on the back of her chair. "Come on, Mordred. What are you afraid of? I promise I won't step on your toes. You know-" she leans in, voice dropping to herald the secret meaning of her next words "-it doesn't have to be awkward."
It's what she said this morning, too. You squeeze your fingers around your cup, teetering on a precipice, wishing very hard to just take the plunge-
You shake your head. "Really, go on without me."
Her smile falters, but she relents. "Alright, if you won't dance I'll go steal Izzy from her husband." She gives you a small salute on her way off.
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<</if>>Your lips twist in a sardonic smirk - that mocking slit that cuts sharply and awry across your cheeks and shows teeth, the kind of smile that reminds everyone of Morgana. "Do you even dance that well, //Gally//?"
Galahad's brow furrows, more confused than insulted. "Of course I know. You've seen me dance before."
You square your shoulders, realizing only now that the insult sounded far wittier in the privacy of your own head, where your imagined Galahad had the decency of acting ego-bruised and humbled. Think of something better, and do it quick!
"Well," you say, pushing up your chin, propelled forward by sheer spite and unwarranted confidence, "how would you know if I've seen you? I don't find you so interesting as to keep a close eye on, Galahad. That's sort of conceited of you, don't you think?"
His mouth thins. "And I think," he flatly responds, "that you only speak to hear yourself talk." He makes to drink, intent on severing the conversation here with that one decisive, precise, biting cut. Then thinks better of it and adds: "Unless it's you who cannot dance."
Gawain and Nimue, who were in the process of leaving, have stopped short to witness your exchange: the former equal parts concerned and dismayed, the latter rather entertained. Nothing livens up a party like two nobles fighting (especially if it's no mere petty squabble, but true rancour, the sort messily chronicled through rumor and gossip) even though some courtiers will act scandalized or mortified by such public displays, to conceal their own morbid curiosity. At least Nimue doesn't dress up hers.
You //have not// spent countless hours repeating the same steps, again and again, at the behest of your stringent, lemon-acrid etiquette tutor, dancing to nothing else but the rhythmic clap of his paper-dry, wrinkled hands, a sombre drum of war, of misery, only for Galahad du Lac to insult your skill.
"Oh, I'm a great dancer. I had no choice but to become a great dancer."
"A bit conceited, don't you think?" he hurls back at you, not missing a beat.
"I bet you're all talk, no bite, Galahad."
His fingers tighten round his goblet till they blanch. A terrible screech, wood on wood, and Galahad's on his feet, hand brusqully thrust out. Thrust out in your direction to sooner stab you than invite you to dance, though it's the latter he's challenging you to.
"Let's see you then. Or are you just talk?"
You raise to the challenge with an imperious scoff. "You wish."
<<if $c5_dance_gally == 2>>
You take Galahad's hand, fingers clasping decisively round his, trying to think nothing of the tingling in your palms. It's just the itching of your fire, tell-tale, familiar and furious, is the lie you console yourself with. And so you head out together, hands joined in loathsome union, not to dance but to duel, your dignity hanging in the balance. No matter how much you want to step on his toes, watch that confidence be wiped off by a grimace, you know that would only count against you. It's imperative you give your best and thus his metaphorical toes with your metaphorical boot.
You take up position among the other pairs - all smiling and merry, or at least pretending to be so - standing shoulder to shoulders, palms splayed against each other, the free arms folded at your back. They're empty, though they might as well be holding daggers, ready to plunge into the other at the first misstep.
Galahad //is// a good dancer, indeed. He must have memorized the steps as diligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but looks so much more alive, with resolute, gleaming eyes and obstinately thinned mouth. His gaze only strays from yours when the dance steps leave no other choice, seizing your attention in the vice-like grip of his iron gray eyes. You cannot look away - worse, you don't //want// to.
<<elseif $c5_dance_gally == 3>>
You take Galahad's hand, fingers clasping decisively round his, trying to think nothing of the tingling in your palms - warm and familiar, just a tell-tale itching of your fire. And so you head out together, hands joined in loathsome union, not to dance but to duel, your dignity hanging in the balance. No matter how much you want to step on his toes, watch that confidence be wiped off by a grimace, you know that would only count against you. It's imperative you give your best and thus his metaphorical toes with your metaphorical boot.
You take up position among the other pairs - or smiling and merry, or at least pretending to be so - standing shoulder to shoulders, palms splayed against each other, the free arms folded at your back. They're empty, though they might as well be holding daggers, ready to plunge into the other at the first misstep.
Galahad //is// a good dancer, indeed. He must have memorized the steps as diligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but looks so much more alive, with resolute, gleaming eyes and obstinately thinned mouth. His gaze only strays from yours when the dance steps leave no other choice, seizing your attention in the vice-like grip of his iron gray eyes.
<<else>>
You get up, ignoring his extended hand to march off ahead of him, grimly determined to see this - not dance, but duel of yours - through. No matter how much you want to step on his toes, watch that confidence be wiped off by a grimace, you know that would only count against you. It's imperative you give your best and thus his metaphorical toes with your metaphorical boot.
You take up position among the other pairs - all smiling and merry, or at least pretending to be so - standing shoulder to shoulders, palms splayed against each other, the free arms folded at your back. They're empty, though they might as well be holding daggers, ready to plunge into the other at the first misstep.
Galahad //is// a good dancer, indeed. He must have memorized the steps as diligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but looks so much more alive, with resolute, gleaming eyes and obstinately thinned mouth.
<</if>>
As the song draws to an end, you and Galahad stand facing each other, chests rising in rapid, breathless succession.
You flash him a grin. "So maybe you're not a horrible dancer after all. But still not better than me."
"Who made you judge?"
"I just did." Spinning on your heels, you leave before he can further protest.
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]It must have been unwitting, the way your gaze slides in Galahad's direction. He'd be the last you'd ever entertain as a potential dancing partner, a feeling you're sure is mutual.
Galahad himself is oblivious to your attention, whereas a different - and sharper - pair of eyes takes careful note of where your sights are set. The corner of Nimue's mouth twitches up. You can't say you like the looks of it.
"Galahad," she says, "you don't have to wait for Gawain. Why not dance with Mordred?" She turns to you, smile wider now. "If Mordred's willing."
Galahad's jaw sets. "I'd rather sit," he stiffly says.
<div class="choice">[["Mordred is very much not willing," you roundly say.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadNo1][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yeah, no thank you. I bet Galahad's not even that good of a dancer, anyway."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadNo1][$c5_chore to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Now you just want to dance out of spite. "Why not dance with me?"|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadNo1][$c5_chore to 3]]</div><<if $c5_chore == 1>>
"Mordred is very much not willing," you roundly say.
A tinkle of a laugh. "You both sound like I've suggested you do some unsavory chore."
The idea of dancing with Galahad is rather unsavory. And preposterous. You'd only end up squabbling with each other on the dance floor, stepping on the other's toes - very literally.
Galahad stares doggedly into his goblet of wine, refusing to further comment - possibly entertaing the unwise prospect of downing it in one go - while you just snort, answer enough for Nimue.
She departs arm in arm with Gawain, leaving behind you, Galahad and the uneasy silence between you.
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_chore == 2>>
"Yeah, no thank you." Your lips twist in a sardonic smirk - that mocking slit that cuts sharply and awry across your cheeks and shows teeth, the kind of smile that reminds everyone of Morgana. "I bet Galahad's not even that good of a dancer, anyway."
Galahad's brow furrows, more confused than insulted. "You've seen me dance before," he says, as if that were irrefutable proof.
You square your shoulders, realizing only now that the insult sounded far wittier in the privacy of your own head, where your imagined Galahad had the decency of acting ego-bruised and humbled. Think of something better, and do it quick!
"Well," you say, pushing up your chin, propelled forward by sheer spite and unwarrented confidence, "how would you know if I've seen you? I don't find you so interesting as to keep a close eye on, Galahad. That's sort of conceited of you, don't you think?"
His mouth thins. "And I think," he flatly responds, "that you only speak to hear yourself talk." He makes to drink, intent on severing the conversation here with that one decisive, precise, biting cut. Then thinks better of it and adds: "Unless it's you who cannot dance."
Gawain and Nimue, who were in the process of leaving, have stopped short to witness your exchange: the former equal parts concerned and dismayed, the latter rather entertained. Nothing livens up a party like two nobles fighting (especially if it's no mere petty squabble, but true rancour, the sort messily chronicled through rumor and gossip) even though some courtiers will act scandalized or mortified by such public displays, to conceal their own morbid curiosity. At least Nimue doesn't dress up hers.
You //have not// spent countless hours repeating the same steps, again and again, at the behest of your stringent, lemon-acrid etiquette tutor, dancing to nothing else but the rhythmic clap of his paper-dry, wrinkled hands, a sombre drum of war, of misery, only for Galahad du Lac to insult your skill.
"Oh, I'm a great dancer. I had no choice but to become a great dancer."
"A bit conceited, don't you think?" he hurls back at you, not missing a beat.
"I bet you're all talk, no bite, Galahad."
His fingers tighten round his goblet till they blanch. A terrible screech, wood on wood, and Galahad's on his feet, hand bruesqully thrust out. Thrust out in your direction to sooner stab you than invite you to dance, though it's the latter he's challenging you to.
"Let's see you then. Or are you just talk?"
You raise to the challenge with an imperious scoff. "You wish."
<<if $c5_dance_gally == 11>>
You take Galahad's hand, fingers clasping decisively round his, trying to think nothing of the tingling in your palms. It's just the itching of your fire, tell-tale, familiar and furious, is the lie you console yourself with. And so you head out together, hands joined in loathsome union, not to dance but to duel, your dignity hanging in the balance. No matter how much you want to step on his toes, watch that confidence be wiped off by a grimace, you know that would only count against you. It's imperative you give your best and thus his metaphorical toes with your metaphorical boot.
You take up position among the other pairs - or smiling and merry, or at least pretending to be so - standing shoulder to shoulders, palms splayed against each other, the free arms folded at your back. They're empty, though they might as well be holding daggers, ready to plunge into the other at the first mistep
Galahad //is// a good dancer, indeed. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but looks so much more alive, with resolute, gleaming eyes and obstinately thinned mouth. His gaze only strays from yours when the dance steps leave no other choice, seizing your attention in the vice-like grip of his iron gray eyes. You cannot look away - worse, you don't //want// to.
<<elseif $c5_dance_gally == 12>>
You take Galahad's hand, fingers clasping decisively round his, trying to think nothing of the tingling in your palms - warm and familiar, just a tell-tale itching of your fire. And so you head out together, hands joined in loathsome union, not to dance but to duel, your dignity hanging in the balance. No matter how much you want to step on his toes, watch that confidence be wiped off by a grimace, you know that would only count against you. It's imperative you give your best and thus his metaphorical toes with your metaphorical boot.
You take up position among the other pairs - or smiling and merry, or at least pretending to be so - standing shoulder to shoulders, palms splayed against each other, the free arms folded at your back. They're empty, though they might as well be holding daggers, ready to plunge into the other at the first mistep.
Galahad //is// a good dancer, indeed. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but looks so much more alive, with resolute, gleaming eyes and obstinately thinned mouth. His gaze only strays from yours when the dance steps leave no other choice, seizing your attention in the vice-like grip of his iron gray eyes.
<<else>>
You get up, ignoring his extended hand to march off ahead of him, grimly determined to see this - not dance, but duel of yours - through. No matter how much you want to step on his toes, watch that confidence be wiped off by a grimace, you know that would only count against you. It's imperative you give your best and thus his metaphorical toes with your metaphorical boot.
You take up position among the other pairs - or smiling and merry, or at least pretending to be so - standing shoulder to shoulders, palms splayed against each other, the free arms folded at your back. They're empty, though they might as well be holding daggers, ready to plunge into the other at the first mistep.
Galahad //is// a good dancer, indeed. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but looks so much more alive, with resolute, gleaming eyes and obstinately thinned mouth.
<</if>>
As the song draws to an end, you and Galahad stand facing each other, chests rising in rapid, breathless succession.
You flash him a grin. "So maybe you're not a horrible dancer after all. But still not better than me."
"Who made you judge?"
"I just did." Spinning on your heels, you leave before he can further protest.
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_chore == 3>>
His dogged refusal nettles you. It's only out of pure, sheer, poorly veiled spite that you ask: "Why not dance with me?"
"As I said," he replies, "I'd rather sit. You needn't bother dancing with me."
"How mindful," Nimue remarks, paper-dry, but you ignore her.
"Am I not an appropiate partner - would you hate to be seen next to me?"
His gaze snaps in your direction, a tiny furrow creasing his brow. "What makes you an appropiate partner? Because I think you're only trying to vex, not dance."
"Vex? No, no," you say with a tone too vehement to convince anyone. "I'm just saying, I'm a perfectly good dancing partner, and a perfectly good dancer."
"I know," he says. "You don't have to prove yourself." There's no overt sarcasm or disdain in the compliment, just dry sincerity.
"Then dance with me," you challenge - your tone impatient, your features resolute.
Gawain and Nimue, who were in the process of leaving, have stopped short to witness your exchange: the former equal parts concerned and dismayed, the latter rather entertained. Nothing livens up a party like two nobles fighting (especially if it's no mere petty squabble, but true rancour, the sort messily chronicled through rumor and gossip) even though some courtiers will act scandalized or mortified by such public displays, to conceal their own morbid curiosity. At least Nimue doesn't dress up hers.
Galahad stares down into his glass, seeking an answer in the depths of his wine. From your observations, alcohol is not necessarily conductive to the wisest decisions being made, but it this case, you don't need him to choose the sensible option.
A terrible screech, wood on wood, and Galahad's on his feet, hand bruesqully thrust out. Thrust out in your direction to sooner stab you than invite you to dance.
"If you insist."
<<if $c5_dance_gally == 11>>
You take Galahad's hand, fingers clasping decisively round his, trying to think nothing of the tingling in your palms. It's just the itching of your fire, tell-tale, familiar, is the lie you console yourself with. And so you head out together, hands joined in sour union, to dance, a strange sort of challenge. Now that you got him out of his seat, you //must// prove to be the appropiate dancer you promoted yourself as - or rather, not give Galahad anything to change his mind on you being a good dancer.
You take up position among the other pairs - or smiling and merry, or at least pretending to be so - standing shoulder to shoulders, palms splayed against each other, the free arms folded at your back. They're empty, though they might as well be holding daggers, ready to plunge into the other at the first mistep.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but looks so much more alive, with resolute, gleaming eyes and obstinately thinned mouth. His gaze only strays from yours when the dance steps leave no other choice, seizing your attention in the vice-like grip of his iron gray eyes. You cannot look away - worse, you don't //want// to.
<<elseif $c5_dance_gally == 12>>
You take Galahad's hand, fingers clasping decisively round his, trying to think nothing of the tingling in your palms - warm and familiar, just a tell-tale itching of your fire. And so you head out together, hands joined in sour union, to dance, a strange sort of challenge. Now that you got him out of his seat, you //must// prove to be the appropiate dancer you promoted yourself as - or rather, not give Galahad anything to change his mind on you being a good dancer.
You take up position among the other pairs - or smiling and merry, or at least pretending to be so - standing shoulder to shoulders, palms splayed against each other, the free arms folded at your back.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but looks so much more alive, with resolute, gleaming eyes and obstinately thinned mouth. His gaze only strays from yours when the dance steps leave no other choice, seizing your attention in the vice-like grip of his iron gray eyes.
<<else>>
You get up, ignoring his extended hand to march off ahead of him, grimly determined to see this strange challenge through. Now that you got him out of his seat, you //must// prove to be the appropiate dancer you promoted yourself as - or rather, not give Galahad anything to change his mind on you being a good dancer.
You take up position among the other pairs - or smiling and merry, or at least pretending to be so - standing shoulder to shoulders, palms splayed against each other, the free arms folded at your back. They're empty, though they might as well be holding daggers, ready to plunge into the other at the first mistep.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but looks so much more alive, with resolute, gleaming eyes and obstinately thinned mouth.
<</if>>
As the song draws to an end, you and Galahad stand facing each other, chests rising in rapid, breathless succession.
"Satisfied?" he asks.
"Very." And with that, you spin on your heels and leave him among the crowd.
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
You'd ask Galahad to dance if you didn't fear it being a pointless endeavour, an execise in rejection. So you keep your mouth shut, even as your gaze slides in the boy's direction.
<<else>>
You'd ask Galahad to dance if you knew it wouldn't be a pointless endeavour. It'd only be an execise in rejection, and so you keep your mouth shut, even as your gaze slides in the boy's direction.
<</if>>
He seems oblivious to your attention. Gawain, however, catches it, considers your expression and smiles. You can just see it, the spark of an idea igniting in his head. "Hey, Gally," he says, "why don't you dance with Mordred? If Mordred's willing of course."
<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
Galahad hastily says, "You don't have to." Not unkindly, not aloofly - if anything, he seems faintly //alarmed//.
"You don't have to, unless you want to!" Gawain brightly amends for his friend.
<<else>>
Galahad hastily, woodenly replies: "It's not necesarry."
"Unless you want to!" Gawain brightly amends for his friend.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I'd like to," you admit, "but I don't think Galahad feels the same."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless1][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Mortified heat creeps up your neck. Gawain, why? "I wouldn't want to force Galahad."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless1][$c5_chore to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I wouldn't want to force Galahad," you simply say, "who clearly doesn't want to dance with me."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless1][$c5_chore to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well I don't want to dance with Galahad," you defensively say.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless1][$c5_chore to 4]]</div><<if $c5_chore == 1>>
"I'd like to," you admit, "but I don't think Galahad feels the same."
Gawain banishes the thought with one grand sweep of his bejewelled hand. "Gally's just being shy. Right?"
The presumption of shyness gives shape to a crease on Galahad's brow. "You shouldn't feel obliged to dance. I'm fine sitting at the table."
"But Mordred just said ?they want to."
"Gawain," Galahad gently admonishes.
The boy just throws up his arms. "?They did though! Come on, Gally, have some fun."
Galahad stares down, seeking an answer in the depths of his wine. From your observations, alcohol is not necessarily conductive to the wisest decisions being made, but it his case, a little something might actually help to strip away some of his pesky reticence.
"Alright."
It's Gawain who celebrates most vocally. "That's the spirit, Gally! Now let's all get out there before the song ends."
<<if $c5_dance_gally == 8>>
Galahad offers you his hand, a gesture you didn't expect - and one he seemingly didn't, either. His gaze flickers between his open palm and your expression, the former of which might as well have sprung out of its own accord, a mechanical act of politesse. Still, he doesn't retract it. You take it before he can rethink his decision.
His skin is warm and ever so slightly clammy against yours. You head out, joined hands held up between you two as to create distance. If you were to let them hang loose, you could - Goddess forbid - bump shoulders. Wouldn't that be so //scandalous//.
Although his fingers curl around yours with the same uncertainty a young squire would grip their first sharply whetted blade - faintly sweaty palms included - the touch still manages to render your skin gooseflesh from the wrist to the shoulder. The fact that you're about to dance with Galahad is enough to make your heart surge higher than the swell of violins.
Ahead of you, Gawain and Nimue have no issues about casual proximity, happily walking arm in arm, chattering and snickering.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but his eyes are gleaming and alive, cheeks faintly ruddying with the exertion.
As the song comes to an end and you slow down to a standstill, you give Galahad a bright smile. "That was fun, wasn't it? Maybe we should to it again some time."
<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
He gives you the slightest of nods, the corner of his mouth twitching with what you think might be an attempt at a smile. It never quite finds the courage to come out of its shell, though. Still, you'll take this as a yes.
<<else>>
He neither agrees nor disagrees. The slightest of furrows appears between his brows, with a twin crease in one corner of his mouth, the twitch of a smile. You'll take this as a tentative yes.
<</if>>
As the music picks up again, the first few notes already promosing a far higher-tempo tune, you pluck up your courage and venture to say, "Why not do this again right now? This one's more lively."
He glances around - looking for an escape route, a break in the crowd to scurry through like a mouse when it finally realizes that maybe playing with the cat was not the wisest idea - but then, to your surprise, he says "Yes" and your chest expands with an intoxicating lungful of triumph.
"Alright," you say, voice a just a tad too pitched with excitement.
You dance again, and this time he seems more at ease - you even catch him smiling, mirroring your expression, a splendid sight you'll keep in your mind to replay as you lay in bed for the nights ahead. You don't push for a third dance but you leave the dancefloor with a light step and a smile still stuck on your lips.
<<elseif $c5_dance_gally == 9>>
Galahad offers you his hand, a gesture you didn't expect - and one he seemingly didn't, either. His gaze flickers between his open palm and your expression, the former of which might as well have sprung out of its own accord, a mechanical act of politesse. Still, he doesn't retract it. You take it before he can rethink his decision.
His skin is warm and ever so slightly clammy against yours. You head out, joined hands bent at the elbow/held up between you two as to create space/distance. If you were to let them hang loose, you could - Goddess forbid - bump shoulders. Wouldn't that be so //scandalous//.
Although his fingers curl around yours with the same uncertainty a young squire would grip their first sharply whetted blade - faintly sweaty palms included - you don't find the touch uncomfortable. If anything, it's almost pleasant, having this reassurance that he won't suddenly flee and abandon you on the dancefloor. At any rate, it's more than you expected from Galahad.
Ahead of you, Gawain and Nimue have no issues about casual proximity, happily walking arm in arm, chattering and snickering.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but his eyes are gleaming and alive, cheeks faintly ruddying with the exertion.
As the song comes to an end and you slow down to a standstill, you give Galahad a bright smile. "That was fun, wasn't it? Maybe we should to it again some time."
<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
He gives you the slightest of nods, the corner of his mouth twitching with what you think might be an attempt at a smile. It never quite finds the courage to come out of its shell, though. Still, you'll take this as a yes.
<<else>>
He neither agrees nor disagrees. The smallest/slightest of furrows appears between his brows, with a twin crease in one corner of his mouth, the twitch of a smile. You'll take this as a tentative yes.
<</if>>
As the music picks up again, the first few notes already promosing a far higher-tempo tune, you pluck up your courage and venture to say, "Why not do this again right now? This one's more lively."
He glances around - looking for an escape route, a break in the crowd to scurry through like a mouse realizing that maybe playing with the cat was not the wisest idea - but then, to your surprise, he says "Yes" and your chest expands with an intoxicating lungful of triumph.
"Alright," you say, voice a just a tad too pitched with excitement.
You dance again, and this time he seems more at ease - you even catch him smiling, mirroring your expression. You don't push for a third dance but you leave the dancefloor with a light step and a smile still stuck on your lips.
<<else>>
You head out with Galahad, who is tense and quiet at your side. Ahead of you, Gawain and Nimue walk arm in arm, chattering and snickering.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attentionl. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but his eyes are gleaming and alive, cheeks faintly ruddying with the exertion.
As the song comes to an end and you slow down to a standstill, you give Galahad a bright smile. "That was fun, wasn't it? Maybe we should to it again some time."
<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
He gives you the slightest of nods, the corner of his mouth twitching with what you think might be an attempt at a smile. It never quite finds the courage to come out of its shell, though. Still, you'll take this as a yes.
<<else>>
He neither agrees nor disagrees. The smallest/slightest of furrows appears between his brows, with a twin crease in one corner of his mouth, the twitch of a smile. You'll take this as a tentative yes.
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_chore == 2>>
Mortified heat creeps up your neck. Why, Gawain, why? You were fine with your imagined rejection, you didn't need to see it become awkward reality. "I wouldn't want to force Galahad."
Gawain banishes the thought with one grand sweep of his bejewelled hand. "No one's feeling forced! Right?"
The tiny furrow in Galahad's brow seems to indicate the opposite. "You shouldn't feel obliged to dance. I'm fine sitting at the table."
"See? He's just being thoughtful of you."
"How sweet," Nimue remarks, paper-dry.
<div class="choice">[["I'd like to," you admit.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless2][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine sitting too," you say.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless2][$c5_chore to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_chore == 3>>
"I wouldn't want to force Galahad," you simply say, "who clearly doesn't want to dance with me."
Gawain banishes the thought with one grand sweep of his bejewelled hand. "No one's feeling forced! Right?"
The tiny furrow in Galahad's brow seems to indicate the opposite. "What I meant," he carefully says, "is that you shouldn't feel obliged to dance. I'm fine sitting at the table."
"See? He's just being thoughtful of you."
"How sweet," Nimue remarks, paper-dry.
<div class="choice">[["I'd like to," you admit.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless2][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine sitting too," you say.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless2][$c5_chore to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_chore == 4>>
You were fine with your imagined rejection, you didn't need to see it become awkward reality. What else can you do to salvage this situation, to alleviate the sting, other than making sure Galahad knows that you definitely, never ever even entertained the idea of dancing with him. That would be preposterous. "Well, //I// don't want to dance with Galahad," you say.
Galahad doesn't quite look at either you or Gawain, frowning down at the table. "And that's why you shouldn't feel obliged to do it."
Gawain's mouth forms a surprised, crestfallen 'o'. "I just thought-" He clamps down on whatever he wanted to say and shakes his head. "I thought wrong. Sorry." Still, he lingers by his chair, contemplating the two of you unwilling dance partners. "Gally's just being coy. And mindful of you, of course."
"Gawain," Galahad gently admonishes.
<div class="choice">[["Alright, whatever, let's dance," you give in.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless2][$c5_chore to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm fine sitting, Gawain," you insist.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless2][$c5_chore to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<if $c5_chore == 1>>
"I'd like to dance, though," you admit.
Galahad's eyes widen, as if this was the revelation he feared. He stares down, seeking an answer in the depths of his wine. From your observations, alcohol is not necessarily conductive to the wisest decisions being made, but it his case, a little something might actually help to strip away some of his pesky reticence.
"Alright."
It's Gawain who celebrates most vocally. "That's the spirit, Gally! Now let's all get out there before the song ends."
<<elseif $c5_chore == 2>>
Gawain deflates, but Nimue hooks one arm around his and leads him away before he can further protest, leaving behind you, Galahad and the uneasy silence between you.
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_chore == 3>>
"Alright, fine, whatever. Let's dance already, Galahad." You make an exasperated show out of giving in, though a part of you is shrewedly gleeful to do so. At least now you can't look like a fool for wanting it in the first place - since, well, by all your protestations, you clearly didn't want it, did you? Not at all.
Galahad stares down, seeking an answer in the depths of his wine. From your observations, alcohol is not necessarily conductive to the wisest decisions being made, but it his case, a little something might actually help to strip away some of his pesky reticence.
"Alright."
It's Gawain who celebrates most vocally. "That's the spirit! Now let's all get out there before the song ends."
<<elseif $c5_chore == 4>>
Gawain deflates, but Nimue hooks one arm around his and leads him away before he can further protest, leaving behind you, Galahad and the uneasy silence between you.
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<</if>>
<<if $c5_chore == 1 or $c5_chore == 3>>
<<if $c5_dance_gally == 8>>
Galahad offers you his hand, a gesture you didn't expect - and one he seemingly didn't, either. His gaze flickers between his open palm and your expression, the former of which might as well have sprung out of its own accord, a mechanical act of politesse. Still, he doesn't retract it. You take it before he can rethink his decision.
His skin is warm and ever so slightly clammy against yours. You head out, joined hands held up between you two as to create distance. If you were to let them hang loose, you could - Goddess forbid - bump shoulders. Wouldn't that be so //scandalous//.
Although his fingers curl around yours with the same uncertainty a young squire would grip their first sharply whetted blade - faintly sweaty palms included - the touch still manages to render your skin gooseflesh from the wrist to the shoulder. The fact that you're about to dance with Galahad is enough to make your heart surge higher than the swell of violins.
Ahead of you, Gawain and Nimue have no issues about casual proximity, happily walking arm in arm, chattering and snickering.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but his eyes are gleaming and alive, cheeks faintly ruddying with the exertion.
As the song comes to an end and you slow down to a standstill, you give Galahad a bright smile. "That was fun, wasn't it? Maybe we should to it again some time."
<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
He gives you the slightest of nods, the corner of his mouth twitching with what you think might be an attempt at a smile. It never quite finds the courage to come out of its shell, though. Still, you'll take this as a yes.
<<else>>
He neither agrees nor disagrees. The slightest of furrows appears between his brows, with a twin crease in one corner of his mouth, the twitch of a smile. You'll take this as a tentative yes.
<</if>>
As the music picks up again, the first few notes already promosing a far higher-tempo tune, you pluck up your courage and venture to say, "Why not do this again right now? This one's more lively."
He glances around - looking for an escape route, a break in the crowd to scurry through like a mouse when it finally realizes that maybe playing with the cat was not the wisest idea - but then, to your surprise, he says "Yes" and your chest expands with an intoxicating lungful of triumph.
"Alright," you say, voice a just a tad too pitched with excitement.
You dance again, and this time he seems more at ease - you even catch him smiling, mirroring your expression, a splendid sight you'll keep in your mind to replay as you lay in bed for the nights ahead. You don't push for a third dance but you leave the dancefloor with a light step and a smile still stuck on your lips.
<<elseif $c5_dance_gally == 9>>
Galahad offers you his hand, a gesture you didn't expect - and one he seemingly didn't, either. His gaze flickers between his open palm and your expression, the former of which might as well have sprung out of its own accord, a mechanical act of politesse. Still, he doesn't retract it. You take it before he can rethink his decision.
His skin is warm and ever so slightly clammy against yours. You head out, joined hands bent at the elbow/held up between you two as to create space/distance. If you were to let them hang loose, you could - Goddess forbid - bump shoulders. Wouldn't that be so //scandalous//.
Although his fingers curl around yours with the same uncertainty a young squire would grip their first sharply whetted blade - faintly sweaty palms included - you don't find the touch uncomfortable. If anything, it's almost pleasant, having this reassurance that he won't suddenly flee and abandon you on the dancefloor. At any rate, it's more than you expected from Galahad.
Ahead of you, Gawain and Nimue have no issues about casual proximity, happily walking arm in arm, chattering and snickering.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but his eyes are gleaming and alive, cheeks faintly ruddying with the exertion.
As the song comes to an end and you slow down to a standstill, you give him a wry smile and say, "This wasn't so bad, was it? Maybe we should to it again some time."
<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
He gives you the slightest of nods, the corner of his mouth twitching with what you think might be an attempt at a smile. It never quite finds the courage to come out of its shell, though. Still, you'll take this as a yes.
<<else>>
He neither agrees nor disagrees. The slightest of furrows appears between his brows, with a twin crease in one corner of his mouth, the twitch of a smile. You'll take this as a tentative yes.
<</if>>
As the music picks up again, the first few notes already promosing a far higher-tempo tune, you pluck up your courage and venture to say, "Why not do this again right now? This one's more lively."
He glances around - looking for an escape route, a break in the crowd to scurry through like a mouse realizing that maybe playing with the cat was not the wisest idea - but then, to your surprise, he says "Yes" and your chest expands with an intoxicating lungful of triumph.
"Alright," you say, voice a just a tad too pitched with excitement.
You dance again, and this time he seems more at ease - you even catch him smiling, mirroring your expression. You don't push for a third dance but you leave the dancefloor with a light step and a smile still stuck on your lips.
<<else>>
You head out with Galahad, who is tense and quiet at your side. Ahead of you, Gawain and Nimue walk arm in arm, chattering and snickering.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attentionl. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but his eyes are gleaming and alive, cheeks faintly ruddying with the exertion.
As the song comes to an end and you slow down to a standstill, you give Galahad a bright smile. "That was fun, wasn't it? Maybe we should to it again some time."
<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
He gives you the slightest of nods, the corner of his mouth twitching with what you think might be an attempt at a smile. It never quite finds the courage to come out of its shell, though. Still, you'll take this as a yes.
<<else>>
He neither agrees nor disagrees. The slightest of furrows appears between his brows, with a twin crease in one corner of his mouth, the twitch of a smile. You'll take this as a tentative yes.
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
You feel confident in making this proposal, given your small talk previous, and this time he won't even need to worry about saying the right things.
"Galahad," you smile, "I could be your first dance of the night, if you want me to."
He hastily says, "You don't have to." Not unkindly, not aloofly - if anything, he seems faintly //alarmed//.
A tinkle of a laugh. "Goddess, Galahad," Nimue says, "you make it sound as if it were a //chore// for Mordred to perform."
<div class="choice">[["It's not," you assure him. "I want to dance with you."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet1][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Mortified heat creeps up your neck. "You know what, forget I asked."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet1][$c5_chore to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe it's the other way around," you say drily. "A chore for Galahad."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet1][$c5_chore to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's not just a pity dance, Galahad," you say. "I really do want to dance. Does it surprise you?"|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet1][$c5_chore to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I won't force you," you say, voice tight. Why, why do your tears arrive at such inconvenient times? "I just wanted to dance."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet1][$c5_chore to 5]]</div>
<<else>>
A dance should be simpler than conversation - no need to worry over saying the right things, no awkward, drawn-out pauses as you wait for his responses.
"Galahad," you smile, "I could be your first dance of the night, if you want me to."
He hastily, woodenly replies: "It's not necesarry."
A tinkle of a laugh. "Goddess, Galahad," Nimue says, "you make it sound as if it were a //chore// for Mordred to perform."
<div class="choice">[["It's not," you assure him. "I want to dance with you."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet1][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Mortified heat creeps up your neck. "You know what, forget I asked."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet1][$c5_chore to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe it's the other way around," you say drily. "A chore for Galahad."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet1][$c5_chore to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's not just a pity dance, Galahad," you say, a tiny bit peeved. "I really do want to dance. Does it surprise you?"|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet1][$c5_chore to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I won't force you," you say, voice tight. Why, why do your tears arrive at such inconvenient times? "I just wanted to dance."|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet1][$c5_chore to 5]]</div>
<</if>><<if $c5_chore == 1>>
"It's not a chore" you assure him. "I want to dance with you. Do you?"
Galahad stares down, seeking an answer in the depths of his wine. From your observations, alcohol is not necessarily conductive to the wisest decisions being made, but it his case, a little something might actually help to strip away some of his pesky reticence.
"Alright."
It's Gawain who celebrates most vocally. "That's the spirit, Gally! Now let's all get out there before the song ends."
<<elseif $c5_chore == 2>>
Mortified heat creeps up your neck. Neither Nimue's teasing smile nor Gawain's sympathetic one particularly help. Nothing short of the floorboards swallowing you whole would help. "You know what, forget I asked."
You're not the only one seemingly regretting their words, though. Galahad's eyes widen as if he's just realized that knocking down a porcelain vase does, indeed, crack it into pieces.
"I meant," he says slowly, carefully picking up the smashed bits, "that you shouldn't feel obliged. I'm fine sitting at the table."
"I'm sure Mordred wasn't asking just out of polite obligation!" Gawain pipes in. "Were you, Mordred?"
You shake your head, not taking your eyes off Galahad. "I do think it'd be fun to dance with you."
Galahad stares down, seeking an answer in the depths of his wine. From your observations, alcohol is not necessarily conductive to the wisest decisions being made, but it his case, a little something might actually help to strip away some of his pesky reticence.
"Alright."
It's Gawain who celebrates most vocally. "That's the spirit, Gally! Now let's all get out there before the song ends."
<<elseif $c5_chore == 3>>
"Maybe it's the other way around," you say drily. "A chore for Galahad."
"No," he says abruptly then pauses, choosing his words with more care this time. "I meant that you shouldn't feel obliged. I'm fine sitting at the table."
'Come on, Gally!" Gawain jostles his shoulder, almost causing the wine to slosh all over his lavender doublet sleeve. "Have some fun."
Galahad stares down, seeking an answer in the depths of his wine. From your observations, alcohol is not necessarily conductive to the wisest decisions being made, but it his case, a little something might actually help to strip away some of his pesky reticence.
"Alright."
<<elseif $c5_chore == 4>>
"It's not just a pity dance, Galahad," you say, a touch peeved and making no effort to hide it. Must your every intention be so scrutinized? "I really do want to dance. Does it surprise you?"
"There are far better dance partners than me," he dully says. "I'm fine sitting at the table, regardless."
"Ah, so you'll stomp on my toes? I guess I'll take the risk."
Galahad stares down, seeking an answer in the depths of his wine. From your observations, alcohol is not necessarily conductive to the wisest decisions being made, but it his case, a little something might actually help to strip away some of his pesky reticence.
"Alright."
It's Gawain who celebrates most vocally. "That's the spirit, Gally! Now let's all get out there before the song ends."
<<else>>
"I won't force you to dance," you say tightly. "I just wanted to dance, that's all."
It was stupid to ask, stupid to //think// that it'd be something Galahad would actually say yes to. It'll be even stupider if you start crying now, but you can't help that onrush of tears, that embarrassed, threatening pressure behind your eyes, nor can you hide that little traitorous crack in your voice.
Gawain shoots him a reprimanding look, and you a sympathetic smile. "Come on, Gally, dance! Have some fun!" Nimue chides him as well, though the effect is belied by barely-veiled amusement.
Galahad, for his own part, has the wide-eyed alarm of one who's just bumped and broken a porcelain heirloom. "I meant," he says slowly, carefully picking up the smashed bits, "that you shouldn't feel obliged. I'm fine sitting at the table."
"But Mordred says ?they want to," Gawain reminds him.
A beat, then Galahad nods. "Alright."
<</if>>
<<if $c5_dance_gally == 5>>
Galahad offers you his hand, a gesture you didn't expect - and one he seemingly didn't, either. His gaze flickers between his open palm and your expression, the former of which might as well have sprung out of its own accord, a mechanical act of politesse. Still, he doesn't retract it. You take it before he can rethink his decision.
His skin is warm and ever so slightly clammy against yours. You head out, joined hands held up between you two as to create distance. If you were to let them hang loose, you could - Goddess forbid - bump shoulders. Wouldn't that be so //scandalous//.
Although his fingers curl around yours with the same uncertainty a young squire would grip their first sharply whetted blade - faintly sweaty palms included - the touch still manages to render your skin gooseflesh from the wrist to the shoulder. The fact that you're about to dance with Galahad is enough to make your heart surge higher than the swell of violins.
Ahead of you, Gawain and Nimue have no issues about casual proximity, happily walking arm in arm, chattering and snickering.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but his eyes are gleaming and alive, cheeks faintly ruddying with the exertion.
As the song comes to an end and you slow down to a standstill, you give Galahad a bright smile. "That was fun, wasn't it? Maybe we should to it again some time."
<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
He gives you the slightest of nods, the corner of his mouth twitching with what you think might be an attempt at a smile. It never quite finds the courage to come out of its shell, though. Still, you'll take this as a yes.
<<else>>
He neither agrees nor disagrees. The slightest of furrows appears between his brows, with a twin crease in one corner of his mouth, the twitch of a smile. You'll take this as a tentative yes.
<</if>>
As the music picks up again, the first few notes already promosing a far higher-tempo tune, you pluck up your courage and venture to say, "Why not do this again right now? This one's more lively."
He glances around - looking for an escape route, a break in the crowd to scurry through like a mouse when it finally realizes that maybe playing with the cat was not the wisest idea - but then, to your surprise, he says "Yes" and your chest expands with an intoxicating lungful of triumph.
"Alright," you say, voice a just a tad too pitched with excitement.
You dance again, and this time he seems more at ease - you even catch him smiling, mirroring your expression, a splendid sight you'll keep in your mind to replay as you lay in bed for the nights ahead. You don't push for a third dance but you leave the dancefloor with a light step and a smile still stuck on your lips.
<<elseif $c5_dance_gally == 6>>
Galahad offers you his hand, a gesture you didn't expect - and one he seemingly didn't, either. His gaze flickers between his open palm and your expression, the former of which might as well have sprung out of its own accord, a mechanical act of politesse. Still, he doesn't retract it. You take it before he can rethink his decision.
His skin is warm and ever so slightly clammy against yours. You head out, joined hands bent at the elbow/held up between you two as to create space/distance. If you were to let them hang loose, you could - Goddess forbid - bump shoulders. Wouldn't that be so //scandalous//.
Although his fingers curl around yours with the same uncertainty a young squire would grip their first sharply whetted blade - faintly sweaty palms included - you don't find the touch uncomfortable. If anything, it's almost pleasant, having this reassurance that he won't suddenly flee and abandon you on the dancefloor. At any rate, it's more than you expected from Galahad.
Ahead of you, Gawain and Nimue have no issues about casual proximity, happily walking arm in arm, chattering and snickering.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attention. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but his eyes are gleaming and alive, cheeks faintly ruddying with the exertion.
As the song comes to an end and you slow down to a standstill, you give Galahad a bright smile. "That was fun, wasn't it? Maybe we should to it again some time."
<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
He gives you the slightest of nods, the corner of his mouth twitching with what you think might be an attempt at a smile. It never quite finds the courage to come out of its shell, though. Still, you'll take this as a yes.
<<else>>
He neither agrees nor disagrees. The smallest/slightest of furrows appears between his brows, with a twin crease in one corner of his mouth, the twitch of a smile. You'll take this as a tentative yes.
<</if>>
As the music picks up again, the first few notes already promosing a far higher-tempo tune, you pluck up your courage and venture to say, "Why not do this again right now? This one's more lively."
He glances around - looking for an escape route, a break in the crowd to scurry through like a mouse realizing that maybe playing with the cat was not the wisest idea - but then, to your surprise, he says "Yes" and your chest expands with an intoxicating lungful of triumph.
"Alright," you say, voice a just a tad too pitched with excitement.
You dance again, and this time he seems more at ease - you even catch him smiling, mirroring your expression. You don't push for a third dance but you leave the dancefloor with a light step and a smile still stuck on your lips.
<<else>>
You head out with Galahad, who is tense and quiet at your side. Ahead of you, Gawain and Nimue walk arm in arm, chattering and snickering.
Galahad is a good dancer. He must have memorized the steps as dilligently as he did the politesse motions of Court, and he goes about enacting them with the samewise clinical attentionl. Moving like a carved figure in a music box, unfailing yet mechanical, a simulacra of life, all painted faces. Unlike most of those little figurines, Galahad doesn't smile - but his eyes are gleaming and alive, cheeks faintly ruddying with the exertion.
As the song comes to an end and you slow down to a standstill, you give Galahad a bright smile. "That was fun, wasn't it? Maybe we should to it again some time."
<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
He gives you the slightest of nods, the corner of his mouth twitching with what you think might be an attempt at a smile. It never quite finds the courage to come out of its shell, though. Still, you'll take this as a yes.
<<else>>
He neither agrees nor disagrees. The smallest/slightest of furrows appears between his brows, with a twin crease in one corner of his mouth, the twitch of a smile. You'll take this as a tentative yes.
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]Galahad nurses his drink - white wine, Astolatian, of whose fermentation process you know far too many details. He's been taking slow, measured, responsible sips, spaced out between forkfuls of appetizer. Unlike Gawain, who happily tips back his glass in big gulps, and whose cup of water Galahad makes sure to always refill and push close - close enough that he might mistake it for the wine one, instead.
For Galahad, the wine goblet functions more like an accessory, something to hold onto while he listens to the others talk. He sparsely speaks himself, and only half the time unprompted. Now he holds it halfway to his lips as one might sit for a painting, wearing the same blank kind of expression nobles are so insistent on posing with, and watches the dancers with dim interest, although in no hurry to join himself.
Gawain, however, seems one spry jump away from climbing up the table to dance, drumming his fingers on the chiffon cloth in rhythm to the song. His gaze sweeps over the rest of you and settles with determination on Nimue. "Let's dance. Don't worry Gally," he throws a smile over his shoulder, "I'll save my second dance for you."
<div class="choice">[["Do you even dance that well, Gally?" You take the opportunity to nettle him.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadConfront][$c5_dance_gally to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do you even dance that well, Gally?" You take the opportunity to nettle him. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadConfront][$c5_dance_gally to 2, $gally_crush to $gally_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Do you even dance that well, Gally?" You take the opportunity to nettle him. 💕|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadConfront][$c5_dance_gally to 3, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I could be your first dance of the night, Galahad," you offer with a smile.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet][$c5_dance_gally to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I could be your first dance of the night, Galahad," you offer with a smile. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet][$c5_dance_gally to 5, $gally_crush to $gally_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["I could be your first dance of the night, Galahad," you offer with a smile. 💕|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadSweet][$c5_dance_gally to 6, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd ask Galahad to dance, if it wasn't such a pointless endeavor.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless][$c5_dance_gally to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd ask Galahad to dance, if it wasn't such a pointless endeavor. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless][$c5_dance_gally to 8, $gally_crush to $gally_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd ask Galahad to dance, if it wasn't such a pointless endeavor. 💕|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadPointless][$c5_dance_gally to 9, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt5_gally_table != 2>>
<div class="choice">[[Why are you even staring at Galahad? Dancing with him is a preposterous idea. He can't stand you, and neither can you stand him.|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadNo][$c5_dance_gally to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Why are you even staring at Galahad? Dancing with him is a preposterous idea. He can't stand you, and neither can you stand him. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadNo][$c5_dance_gally to 11, $gally_crush to $gally_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[Why are you even staring at Galahad? Dancing with him is a preposterous idea. He can't stand you, and neither can you stand him. 💕|Chapt5DanceWithGalahadNo][$c5_dance_gally to 12, $gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<</if>><<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain thumps his bejewelled fingers in rhythm with the sanguine music, swaying at the end of his chair, looking about ready to spring up onto the table and dance.
Your eyes meet over empty silver platters and half-drunk goblets. Before you can even open your mouth to release him of the sweetly-agonizing anticipation, a question already bursts out of him, propelled forward by a force too strong to stand: "Do you want to dance?"
"I was about to ask the same thing."
He leads you away towards the dance floor, fingers twined with yours, head bent close to your own. "Did I mention how absolutely lovely you look tonight?"
"You did, but you can mention it however much you like."
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
He snickers, silvery and delighted. "I love how...//flowy// your clothes look. Simple yet elegant."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
He snickers, silvery and delighted. "I love the dagged sleeves. They're flouncy," he says, raising your joined hands to demonstrate that //flounciness//.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_pants" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_robe">>
He snickers, silvery and delighted. "I love the elaborate embroidery," he says, "it's very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, far more eye-catching than any embroidery, no matter how lovely, could be.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_dress">>
He snickers, silvery and delighted. "I love the skirt. It has a high degree of - twirliness," he says, raising your joined hands to spin you beneath the bridge they form, demonstrating said //twirliness//. You laugh, almost colliding with a poor reveler, in their own eager hurry to get to the dancefloor.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_jerkin">>
He snickers, silvery and delighted. "I love the sleeves. Very puffed and proud. And the peplum! It's flouncy," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_doublet" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_stomacher">>
He snickers, silvery and delighted. "I love how...brilliant you look," he says. "You //gleam//. Very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any gems, no matter how lovely, could be.
"I gleam with an inner light." You wave a hand to vaguely encompass yourself. "And possibly because of all these gems."
<</if>>
Gawain is a skillful, enthusiastic dancer. He capers about like a grasshopper through a meadow, like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. He dips under your arm with ease, pulls you close into him with eagerness, and adds his own little flourishes to the moves, less concerned with rigorously following the steps of the dance and more with having fun. And fun he's most certainly having: flushed pink like his doublet, eyes sheened with a tireless joy. You can't keep a grin off your face, either, each breath you take shorter and sharper with the effort, filling your lungs with the sweet smell of roses that wafts from Gawain.
You remain on the dancefloor for quite a few songs; you lose count at some point. You throw yourself into the upbeat tempos with reckless abandon and catch your breath on the slow, mellow melodies that allow you to pull close together, close enough to feel each other's labored exhalations on the cheek, a balmy summer breeze caress. Gawain's breath carries a faint, dulcet whiff of wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exes_like" or $gawain_kid == "exes_like" or $gawain_teen == "exfriends" or $gawain_kid == "exfriends">>
Gawain thumps his bejewelled fingers in rhythm with the sanguine music, swaying at the end of his chair, looking about ready to spring up onto the table and dance.
He catches your eye over empty silver platters and half-drunk goblets. His gaze has drifted in your direction - perhaps unwittingly, perhaps against his better judgement, perhaps rudely arrested by your sight in a nonchalant sweep of the party, forced to reckon yet again with your presence. The cheery drumming of his fingers peters out to a sluggish, contemplative cadence till its ceases completely. He stands frozen, staring at you as if his vision has tapered down to only encompass you, your face, and whatever it is that conjures up within him. The moment is both endless and fleeting. A small misstep, a quick readjusment - now the dancing goes on as if nothing happened, his fingers tapping away merrily.
<div class="choice">[[Ask him to dance. |Chapt5DanceWithGawain1][$c5_dance_gawain to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ask him to dance. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithGawain1][$c5_dance_gawain to 7, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You wish to dance, yet don't ask him. It'd be a bad idea.|Chapt5DanceWithGawain1][$c5_dance_gawain to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You wish to dance, yet don't ask him. It'd be a bad idea. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithGawain1][$c5_dance_gawain to 9, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<<else>>
Gawain thumps his bejewelled fingers in rhythm with the sanguine music, swaying at the end of his chair, looking about ready to spring up onto the table and dance.
Your eyes meet over empty silver platters and half-drunk goblets. Before you can even open your mouth to ask what you know is already on his mind, a question bursts out of him, propelled forward by a force too strong to stand: "Do you want to dance?"
<div class="choice">[[You grin. "Let's go." |Chapt5DanceWithGawain1][$c5_dance_gawain to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you say, cheeks heated. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithGawain1][$c5_dance_gawain to 2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you say with a sweet, long smile. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithGawain1][$c5_dance_gawain to 3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You grin. "Let's go." ❤|Chapt5DanceWithGawain1][$c5_dance_gawain to 4, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You grin. "Let's go." 💕|Chapt5DanceWithGawain1][$c5_dance_gawain to 5, $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+2]]</div><</if>>
<</if>><<if $c5_dance_gawain == 1>>
You spring out of your seat with a big grin. "Let's go."
You weave your way to the dancefloor, arms looped.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look great, by the way," Gawain says. "I love how...//flowy// your clothes are. Simple yet elegant."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You look great, by the way. I love the dagged sleeves. They're flouncy," he says, jostling your linked arms to demonstrate that //flounciness//.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_pants" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_robe">>
"You look great by the way," Gawain says. "I love the elaborate embroidery, it's very eye-catching. Very pretty."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_dress">>
"You look great by the way," Gawain says. "I love the skirt. It has a high degree of - twirliness."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_jerkin">>
"You look great by the way," Gawain says. "I love the sleeves. Very puffed and proud. And the peplum! It's flouncy."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_doublet" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_stomacher">>
"You look great by the way," Gawain says. "Very brilliant. You //gleam//."
"I gleam with an inner light." You wave a hand to vaguely encompass yourself. "And possibly because of all these gems."
<</if>>
Gawain is a skillful, enthusiastic dancer. He capers about like a grasshopper through a meadow, like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. He dips under your arm with ease, clicks his heels with eagerness, and adds his own little flourishes to the moves, less concerned with rigorously following the steps of the dance and more with having fun. And fun he's most certainly having: cheeks flushed pink like his doublet, eyes sheened with a tireless joy. You can't keep a grin off your face, either, each breath you take shorter and sharper with the effort, pulse galloping with its own thrilling tune.
You remain on the dancefloor for quite a few songs, throwing yourself into the upbeat tempos with reckless abandon and catching your breath on the slow, mellow melodies that allow you to lazily twirl around each other, switching partners before reuniting again, clammy palm against clammy palm.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_gawain == 2>>
Warmth pools in your chest, floods your cheeks. Gawain extends one hand, palm up, and your fingers twitch, palms itching with sweet anticipation. You join your hands with him - gooseflesh blooming all the way to your shoulder - and together you walk towards the dancefloor, drawn close to each other.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love how...//flowy// your clothes look. Simple yet elegant."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the dagged sleeves. They're flouncy," he says, raising your joined hands to demonstrate that //flounciness//.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_pants" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_robe">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the elaborate embroidery," he says, "it's very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any embroidery, no matter how lovely.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_dress">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the skirt. It has a high degree of - twirliness," he says, raising your joined hands to spin you beneath them/the bridge they form, demonstrating said //twirliness//.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_jerkin">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the sleeves. Very puffed and proud. And the peplum! It's flouncy," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_doublet" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_stomacher">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love how...brilliant you look," he says. "You //gleam//. Very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any gems, no matter how lovely.
"I gleam with an inner light." You wave a hand to vaguely encompass yourself. "And possibly because of all these gems."
<</if>>
Gawain is a skillful, enthusiastic dancer. He capers about like a grasshopper through a meadow, like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. He dips under your arm with ease, pulls you close into him with eagerness, and adds his own little flourishes to the moves, less concerned with rigorously following the steps of the dance and more with having fun. And fun he's most certainly having: cheeks flushed pink like his doublet, eyes sheened with a tireless joy. You can't keep a grin off your face, either, each breath you take shorter and sharper with the effort, filling your lungs with the sweet smell of roses that wafts from Gawain.
You remain on the dancefloor for quite a few songs; you lose count at some point. You throw yourself into the upbeat tempos with reckless abandon and catch your breath on the slow, mellow melodies that allow you to pull close together, close enough to feel each other's labored exhalations on the cheek, a balmy summer breeze caress. Gawain's breath carries a faint, dulcet whiff of wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_gawain == 3>>
You smile, a long, slow smile, raise your cup to him and wink. "I'd love nothing more."
His face, limned by the warm, gentle candlelight, ruddies to a lovely, rosy flush. Gawain offers his hand, palm up, and you take it - gooseflesh blooming all the way to your shoulder - and together you walk towards the dancefloor, drawn close to each other.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love how...//flowy// your clothes look. Simple yet elegant."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the dagged sleeves. They're flouncy," he says, raising your joined hands to demonstrate that //flounciness//.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_pants" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_robe">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the elaborate embroidery," he says, "it's very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any embroidery, no matter how lovely.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_dress">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the skirt. It has a high degree of - twirliness," he says, raising your joined hands to spin you beneath them/the bridge they form, demonstrating said //twirliness//.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_jerkin">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the sleeves. Very puffed and proud. And the peplum! It's flouncy," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_doublet" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_stomacher">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love how...brilliant you look," he says. "You //gleam//. Very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any gems, no matter how lovely.
"I gleam with an inner light." You wave a hand to vaguely encompass yourself. "And possibly because of all these gems."
<</if>>
Gawain is a skillful, enthusiastic dancer. He capers about like a grasshopper through a meadow, like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. He dips under your arm with ease, pulls you close into him with eagerness, and adds his own little flourishes to the moves, less concerned with rigorously following the steps of the dance and more with having fun. And fun he's most certainly having: cheeks flushed pink like his doublet, eyes sheened with a tireless joy. You can't keep a grin off your face, either, each breath you take shorter and sharper with the effort, filling your lungs with the sweet smell of roses that wafts from Gawain.
You remain on the dancefloor for quite a few songs; you lose count at some point. You throw yourself into the upbeat tempos with reckless abandon and catch your breath on the slow, mellow melodies that allow you to pull close together, close enough to feel each other's labored exhalations on the cheek, a balmy summer breeze caress. Gawain's breath carries a faint, dulcet whiff of wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_gawain == 4>>
You jump out of your seat with a big grin. "Let's go."
Your heart already gallops out of synch with the music - faster, wilder, your blood singing with an exhilarating tune of its own, one of sweet, thrilling anticipation. Gawain opens his hand, palm up, and you take it - gooseflesh blooming all the way from your wrist to your shoulder. Together you walk towards the dancefloor, drawn close to each other.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love how...//flowy// your clothes look. Simple yet elegant."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the dagged sleeves. They're flouncy," he says, raising your joined hands to demonstrate that //flounciness//.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_pants" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_robe">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the elaborate embroidery," he says, "it's very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any embroidery, no matter how lovely, could be.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_dress">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the skirt. It has a high degree of - twirliness," he says, raising your joined hands to spin you beneath them/the bridge they form, demonstrating said //twirliness//.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_jerkin">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the sleeves. Very puffed and proud. And the peplum! It's flouncy," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_doublet" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_stomacher">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love how...brilliant you look," he says. "You //gleam//. Very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any gems, no matter how lovely.
"I gleam with an inner light." You wave a hand to vaguely encompass yourself. "And possibly because of all these gems."
<</if>>
Gawain is a skillful, enthusiastic dancer. He capers about like a grasshopper through a meadow, like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. He dips under your arm with ease, pulls you close into him with eagerness, and adds his own little flourishes to the moves, less concerned with rigorously following the steps of the dance and more with having fun. And fun he's most certainly having: cheeks flushed pink like his doublet, eyes sheened with a tireless joy. You can't keep a grin off your face, either, each breath you take shorter and sharper with the effort, filling your lungs with the sweet smell of roses that wafts from Gawain.
You remain on the dancefloor for quite a few songs; you lose count at some point. You throw yourself into the upbeat tempos with reckless abandon and catch your breath on the slow, mellow melodies that allow you to pull close together, close enough to feel each other's labored exhalations on the cheek, a balmy summer breeze caress. Gawain's breath carries a faint, dulcet whiff of wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_gawain == 5>>
You jump out of your seat with a big grin. "Let's go."
Gawain offers his hand, palm up, and you take, your pulse picking up a tempo faster than the music. His fingers are soft and warm, tenderly curled around your own as you walk towards the dancefloor.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love how...//flowy// your clothes look. Simple yet elegant."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the dagged sleeves. They're flouncy," he says, raising your joined hands to demonstrate that //flounciness//.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_pants" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_robe">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the elaborate embroidery," he says, "it's very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any embroidery, no matter how lovely, could be.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_dress">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the skirt. It has a high degree of - twirliness," he says, raising your joined hands to spin you beneath them, demonstrating said //twirliness//.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_jerkin">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love the sleeves. Very puffed and proud. And the peplum! It's flouncy," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_doublet" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_stomacher">>
He tilts his head in your direction, his smile a little bashful. "You look great, by the way. I love how...brilliant you look," he says. "You //gleam//. Very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any gem, no matter how lovely.
"I gleam with an inner light." You wave a hand to vaguely encompass yourself. "And possibly because of all these gems."
<</if>>
Gawain is a skillful, enthusiastic dancer. He capers about like a grasshopper through a meadow, like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. He dips under your arm with ease, pulls you close into him with eagerness, and adds his own little flourishes to the moves, less concerned with rigorously following the steps of the dance and more with having fun. And fun he's most certainly having: cheeks flushed pink like his doublet, eyes sheened with a tireless joy. You can't keep a grin off your face, either, each breath you take shorter and sharper with the effort, filling your lungs with the sweet smell of roses that wafts from Gawain.
You remain on the dancefloor for quite a few songs; you lose count at some point. You throw yourself into the upbeat tempos with reckless abandon and catch your breath on the slow, mellow melodies that allow you to pull close together, close enough to feel each other's labored exhalations on the cheek, a balmy summer breeze caress. Gawain's breath carries a faint, dulcet whiff of wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_gawain == 6>>
You wouldn't even need to ask, before. It'd be a given that you'd dance with Gawain. He always makes sure to save a couple songs for each of his friends. And since you excluded yourself from that list, so has he rescinded the invitations - not maliciously, of course. On the contrary, you feel it's a show of politeness, him not imposing himself on someone who's made it clear his presence is undesired.
Which means you probably shouldn't try to make things any more difficult and confusing for either of you. You should let rest in its unquiet grave the friendship you buried and look away. Instead, you open your mouth. You do pose the question even though you're not sure, not now, not yet, if you want this to remain but a dance invitation. All you know is that you want your friend back, at least for one song.
Surprise suffuses Gawain's face at your query. You feel a second pair of eyes on you, less shocked, more suspicious. Galahad's gray gaze, a dagger drawn but not yet pointed at you, that you notice out of the corner of you eye. You pay him no mind, focusing on Gawain and Gawain alone. On those kind brown eyes of his, burnished bronze in the candlelight. He nods, still looking surprised; he shakes it off enough to make space for a small smile. A tentative, timid one, a willingness to follow you, at least on the dancefloor.
Gawain offers you his arm and you loop yours around his. He walks with you in silence, your hands loosely joined between you - a brittle link, you feel, that less connects than it delineates, a line not yet to be crossed. The quiet is uncharacteristic, //wrong//, like a woods devoid of the humming of birds and the droning of insects.
As you fall into position on the dancefloor, he looks at you and smiles, wider this time, more like himself.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look great. I love how...//flowy// your clothes look. Simple yet elegant."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You look great. I love the dagged sleeves. They're flouncy," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_pants" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_robe">>
"You look great. I love the elaborate embroidery," he says, "it's very eye-catching."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_dress">>
"You look great. I love the skirt. It has a high degree of - twirliness," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_jerkin">>
"You look great. I love the sleeves. Very puffed and proud. And the peplum. It's flouncy," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_doublet" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_stomacher">>
"You look great. Very eye-catching."
"I gleam with an inner light." You wave a hand to vaguely encompass yourself. "And possibly because of all these gems."
<</if>>
Gawain is a skillful, enthusiastic dancer, capering about like a grasshopper through a meadow, like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. He dips under your arm with ease, spins you around on the axis on your linked arms, adds his own little flourishes to the moves. Yet you distinguish a vague retincence in his manners, as if he was reluctant to get too close, to let loose too much, as if he might forget himself, forget all that transpired between you. As the song progresses though, so does the strange restraint gradually dissolve. After a while he looks to be having fun, genuine fun: cheeks flushed pink like his doublet, eyes sheened with a tireless joy. You can't keep a smile off your face, either, each breath you take shorter and sharper with the effort.
The spell breaks once the song ends and you both remember yourselves. His grins falters to a more demure smile. He hardly has a chance to thank you for the dance before he is whisked away by Galahad, to be his partner for the second song.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_gawain == 7>>
You pluck up your courage, find your voice and ask - even though this might be unwise, even though you're not quite sure what you're doing and what you're hoping to achieve. You're kindling a flame, but are you ready to take it all the way to that snuffed candle, that half-burned candle, with its dripping wax long cold, and reignite it, or will you let the spark die out on the way? Let it fade into the dark, damning the two of you to continue stumbling round, avoiding each other.
You don't know. You're not sure, not now, not yet - all you know in this moment is that you're going to ask Gawain to dance.
Surprise suffuses his face at your query. You feel a second pair of eyes on you, less shocked, more suspicious. Galahad's gray gaze, a dagger drawn but not yet pointed at you, that you notice out of the corner of you eye. You pay him no mind, focusing on Gawain and Gawain alone. On those kind brown eyes of his, burnished bronze in the candlelight. He nods, still looking surprised; he shakes it off enough to make space for a small smile. A tentative, timid one, a willingness to follow you, at least on the dancefloor.
Gawain extends his hand, palm up. Your fingers twitch under the table, itching with sweet anticipation. He walks with you in silence, your hands loosely joined between you - a brittle link, you feel, that less connects than it delineates, a line not yet to be crossed. The quiet is uncharacteristic, //wrong//, like a woods devoid of the humming of birds and the droning of insects.
As you fall into your positions on the dancefloor, he looks at you and smiles, wider this time, more like himself. The apples of his cheeks are powdered a soft pink to match his garments - and yet, there seems to be a second layer of rosiness beneath, spreading all the way to the ears, faint enough to make you question whether it's only your wishful thinking.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
"You look great. I love how...//flowy// your clothes look. Simple yet elegant."
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
"You look great. I love the dagged sleeves. They're flouncy," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_dress" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_pants" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_robe">>
"You look great. I love the elaborate embroidery," he says, "it's very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any embroidery, no matter how lovely.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_dress">>
"You look great. I love the skirt. It has a high degree of - twirliness," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_jerkin">>
"You look great. I love the sleeves. Very puffed and proud. And the peplum. It's flouncy," he says.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_doublet" or $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_stomacher">>
"You look great. Very eye-catching." Despite the claim, his gaze is quick to flit from your outfit back up to your face, as if the latter was far more eye-catching than any gems, no matter how shiny.
"I gleam with an inner light." You wave a hand to vaguely encompass yourself. "And possibly because of all these gems."
<</if>>
Gawain is a skillful, enthusiastic dancer, capering about like a grasshopper through a meadow, like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower. He dips under your arm with ease, spins you around on the axis on your linked arms, adds his own little flourishes to the moves. Yet you distinguish a vague retincence in his manners, as if he was reluctant to get too close, to let loose too much, as if he might forget himself, forget all that transpired between you. As the song progresses though, so does the strange restraint gradually dissolve. Soon enough he looks to be having fun, genuine fun: cheeks flushed pink like his doublet, eyes sheened with a tireless joy. You can't keep a smile off your face, either, each breath you take shorter and sharper with the effort, filling your lungs with the sweet smell of roses that whafts from Gawain.
The spell breaks once the song ends and you both remember yourselves. His grins falters to a more demure smile. He hardly has a chance to thank you for the dance, hardly has the chance to utter the beginning of a question, one that remains, cut off, tattered, ripped, desolately sinking in the silence left behind as he is whisked away by Galahad for the second song.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances, then passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
It's a long while before you make it back to your chair, though you do manage to reach your cup of water before being whisked away by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_gawain == 8>>
You turn your head away, trying to cast away from mind that expression of his, hoping to escape those uneasy, regretful thoughts inside your head, lurking just behind a corner, peeking round ready to slink out, creep closer, take over. You've made your decision long ago, no need to pick at the scabs of your wound.
You can't help but wonder what's going on in //his// mind. What that faltering meant, what he'd say to you if he could, if there were no one around to hear, no inner restraints to stay one's tongue. What he'd say, if he'd pluck those words directly from deep within, raw and unpolished.
Would he admonish you for being such a lousy, dismal friend? Would he tell you how much you have hurt him, dropping him off so unceremonously, that he often thinks back on your friendship and were it might have went wrong, where it might have been mended? Or would he admit it never really stung that much, that he never really cared enough? That he never thinks back on you with a twinge of melancholy tucked somewhere in his chest, not even for a flitting, brief moment. That it's just as well you severed something he would have, himself.
What would be worse, really?
You reach for your glass, force yourself to swallow the water, force down as well all this useless, terrible introspection.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
You're not left to your own devices for long, however. You're soon picked up from the table by Gareth, partnered up for a good few songs before you're passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
You're not left to your own devices for long, however. You're soon picked up by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
You're not left to your own devices for long, however. You're soon picked up by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
You're not left to your own devices for long, however. You're soon picked up by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<<elseif $c5_dance_gawain == 9>>
You turn your head away, trying to cast away from mind that expression of his, hoping to escape those uneasy, regretful thoughts inside your head, lurking just behind a corner, peeking round ready to slink out, creep closer, take over. You've made your decision long ago, no need to pick at the scabs of your wound.
You can't help but wonder what's going on in //his// mind. What that faltering meant, what he'd say to you if he could, if there were no one around to hear, no inner restraints to stay one's tongue. What he'd say, if he'd pluck those words directly from deep within, raw and unpolished.
Would he admonish you for being such a lousy, dismal friend and sweetheart? Would he tell you how much you have hurt him, dropping him off so unceremonously, that he often thinks back on your friendship and budding romance and were it might have went wrong, where it might have been mended? Or would he admit it never really stung that much, that he never really cared enough? That he never thinks back on you with a twinge of melancholy tucked somewhere in his chest, not even for a flitting, brief moment. That it's just as well you severed something he would have, himself.
What would be worse, really?
You reach for your glass, force yourself to swallow the water, force down as well all this useless, terrible introspection.
<<if $Gareth >= 60 and $Elaine >= 60>>
You're not left to your own devices for long, however. You're soon picked up from the table by Gareth, partner up for a good few songs before you're passed down to Elaine. The two of them are polar opposites; your brother moves with expert grace and embellishes little while Elaine all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night.
You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
You're not left to your own devices for long, however. You're soon picked up by Gareth for a couple dances. Your brother is a court dancer through and through, moving with the same expert grace he navigates social situations. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>>
You're not left to your own devices for long, however. You're soon picked up by Elaine for a couple dances. She throws herself into the high-tempo tunes with gusto and all but invents her own steps, letting loose in a way she kept tightly in check during the first dance of the night. You save a fair share of the songs to $dragon_name too, shimmying along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<<else>>
You're not left to your own devices for long, however. You're soon picked up by $dragon_name. Song after song you shimmy along with them, letting the music guide your limbs.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]
<</if>><<if $nimue_crush >= 3>>
Like a hooked fish reeled in, your attention slowly, inexorably shifts onto Nimue, who in turn has her sights turned on the dancers as she sips on her red wine. She went for the one with a deep, rich flavor, with floral notes and a teasingly spicy taste - one of many descriptions you've unintentionally got imprinted in your brain from Raphael's passionate, in-depth ramblings.
In another world, in a different time, Nimue told you she loves people-watching. She told you it was an especially fascinating exercise to employ at court, which presented an entirely different habitat, a brand new environment from the island you both knew so well. That's what you imagine her doing now, as she casts a sweeping gaze over the chiffon-and-vines scenery, unfatomable thoughts lurking behind a face that refuses to yield anything.
You do, however, have a good, unobscured view of her profile. With her striking features and serenly blank expression, Nimue reminds you of the proud faces embossed upon coins. Your examination doesn't go unnoticed for long. She turns her head, meets your gaze head-on and cocks her head to the side, a slight, inquisitive tilt.
<<else>>
Your attention slowly turns onto Nimue, who in turn has her sights turned on the dancers as she sips on her red wine. She went for the one with a deep, rich flavor, with floral notes and a teasingly spicy taste - one of many descriptions you've unintentionally got imprinted in your brain from Raphael's passionate, in-depth ramblings.
In another world, in a different time, Nimue told you she loves people-watching. She told you it was an especially fascinating exercise to employ at court, which presented an entirely different habitat, a brand new environment from the island you both knew so well. That's what you imagine her doing now, as she casts a sweeping gaze over the chiffon-and-vines scenery, unfathomable thoughts lurking behind a face that refuses to yield anything.
You do, however, have a good, unobscured view of her profile, limned by the golden light. With her striking features and serenely blank expression, she reminds you of the proud faces embossed upon coins. Your examination doesn't go unnoticed for long. She turns her head, meets your gaze head-on and cocks her head to the side, a slight, inquisitive tilt.
<</if>>
"Are you going to ask me to dance?" It's a question - it's a //challenge//.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
<div class="choice">[[You can't help but grin. She's right on mark. "Ha! How did you know? Was it your foresight?"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueGrin][$c5_dance_nimue to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can't help but grin. She's right on mark. "Ha! How did you know? Was it your foresight?" ❤|Chapt5DanceWithNimueGrin][$c5_dance_nimue to 2, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can't help but grin. She's right on mark. "Ha! How did you know? Was it your foresight?" 💕|Chapt5DanceWithNimueGrin][$c5_dance_nimue to 3]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, actually." You'd like to dance with an old friend.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueYes][$c5_dance_nimue to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you reply, heat creeping up your neck. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithNimueYes][$c5_dance_nimue to 5, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, actually." 💕|Chapt5DanceWithNimueYes][$c5_dance_nimue to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you lie. "What gave you the idea?" She's scarily accurate.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea][$c5_dance_nimue to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you lie. "What gave you the idea?" She's scarily accurate.❤|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea][$c5_dance_nimue to 8, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you lie. "What gave you the idea?" She's scarily accurate.💕|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea][$c5_dance_nimue to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Is it a trick question? "I wasn't about to ask. Do you want me to dance with you?" You do want to dance, but this way if she says no, you won't look stupid.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueNo][$c5_dance_nimue to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Is it a trick question? "I wasn't about to ask. Do you want me to dance with you?" You do want to dance, but this way if she says no, you won't look stupid. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithNimueNo][$c5_dance_nimue to 11, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Is it a trick question? "I wasn't about to ask. Do you want me to dance with you?" You do want to dance, but this way if she says no, you won't look stupid.💕|Chapt5DanceWithNimueNo][$c5_dance_nimue to 12]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You can't help but grin. She's right on mark. "Ha! How did you know? Was it your foresight?"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueGrin][$c5_dance_nimue to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can't help but grin. She's right on mark. "Ha! How did you know? Was it your foresight?" ❤|Chapt5DanceWithNimueGrin][$c5_dance_nimue to 2, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can't help but grin. She's right on mark. "Ha! How did you know? Was it your foresight?" 💕|Chapt5DanceWithNimueGrin][$c5_dance_nimue to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, actually." You'd like to dance with an old friend.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueYes][$c5_dance_nimue to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes," you reply, heat creeping up your neck. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithNimueYes][$c5_dance_nimue to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, actually." You'd like to dance with an old friend. 💕|Chapt5DanceWithNimueYes][$c5_dance_nimue to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Is it a trick question? "No, what gave you the idea?" you say, even though you'd like to dance. Catch up with an old friend.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea][$c5_dance_nimue to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Is it a trick question? "No, what gave you the idea?" You do want to dance though. ❤|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea][$c5_dance_nimue to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Is it a trick question? "No, what gave you the idea?" You do want to dance, though.💕|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea][$c5_dance_nimue to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I wasn't about to ask. Do you want me to dance with you?" You do want to dance with an old friend. This way if she says no, you won't look stupid.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueNo][$c5_dance_nimue to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I wasn't about to ask. Do you want me to dance with you?" You do want to dance, but this way if she says no, you won't look stupid.❤|Chapt5DanceWithNimueNo][$c5_dance_nimue to 11, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I wasn't about to ask. Do you want me to dance with you?" You do want to dance, but this way if she says no, you won't look stupid.💕|Chapt5DanceWithNimueNo][$c5_dance_nimue to 12]]</div>
<</if>><<if $c5_flap == 1>>
"Pff, those moves?" You puff out your chest in aggrandized pride. "The Court wouldn't be able to handle them."
"No," Nimue agrees, "because you'd be hitting them all with your flailing hands."
"Hey now, I remember the way you used to dance too. Moving your hands as if you were picking fruit, waving your arms as if you were pretending they were swimming fish or whatever."
She replies, unfazed, "I was moving like water. Feeling the music like the flow of a river, the currents of the sea."
You make a little humoring hum and bite back a smile. "Whatever you say, Nimue."
<<elseif $c5_flap == 2>>
The music is far too dulcet and low to cover up the sound of groaning, so you keep it inwards, each and every muscle wounding up in unison, involuntary discomfiture. "I mean," you weakly protest, "I was a little child. I, uh, didn't have that good of a control over my limbs yet. Just like a baby dragon, I suppose."
"Precisely," she agrees. "Clumsy and uncoordinated. But you did seem to be having a great time."
"I remember the way you used to dance too, you know. Moving your hands as if you were picking fruit, waving your arms as if you were pretending they were swimming fish or whatever."
Unlike you, Nimue is unfazed. "I was moving like water. Feeling the music like the flow of a river, the currents of the sea."
<<elseif $c5_flap == 3>>
You laugh, an explosive, surprised, genuine laugh. "You remember!"
"Of course I do," she says, "it was quite remarkable. There were times I expected you to almost take flight, so frantically you were flapping your arms."
"Hey now, I remember the way you used to dance too. Moving your hands as if you were picking fruit, waving your arms as if you were pretending they were swimming fish or whatever."
She replies, unfazed, "I was moving like water. Feeling the music like the flow of a river, the currents of the sea."
You shake your head and dip her under your joined hands. "Well, let's just say you also improved your technique since I last saw you."
<<elseif $c5_flap == 4>>
"Good thing I improved indeed," you smoothly reply.
"Hmm," Nimue hums, "I shiver to think of all the courtiers with broken noses who would have fallen victim to your frantic flapping."
"Hey now, I remember the way you used to dance too. Moving your hands as if you were picking fruit, waving your arms as if you were pretending they were swimming fish or whatever."
She replies, unfazed, "I was moving like water. Feeling the music like the flow of a river, the currents of the sea."
You shake your head and dip her under your joined hands. "Well, let's just say you also improved your technique since I last saw you."
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5AfterDancingIntermission]]<<if $c5_dance_nimue == 1>>
"Ha!" A delighted grin splits your face. "How did you know? Was it your foresight?" It's half tease, half query.
"One doesn't need foresight to tell things that can be so readily read on a face," she says.
"Oh? Is my face such an open book?"
She hums, a little trill of amusement. "Even now, you look positively eager."
"Then prithee don't keep me waiting, old friend-" you splay a dramatic hand over your chest "-and say if you shall indeed dance with me."
"How could I refuse an old friend?"
You make your way towards the dancefloor arm in arm. Murmurs of conversation ripple in your wake and eyes follow you - curious, suspicious, interested. Your parents' long-standing feud, Morgana's rancor and Merlin's mistrust, they're all well-known by the public. What a fascinating picture the two of you present then, for all to marvel at and postulate about. You tune them out as Nimue does, her face as serene as before, her chin held high and sights set ahead.
And still a tendril of speculation prods at your mind, wondering, questioning, what your parents must be making of this. Morgana's in the crowd, dipping in and out of view, twirling and spinning with Accolon; she hasn't spotted you yet. Merlin you see not far off, seated at Arthur's left, sipping his wine, expression a mirror reflection of his daughter's.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
The courtiers' attention is easily ignored - your own spiraling thoughts, not so much. You wish matters where as uncomplicated as simply dancing with an old friend, as uncomplicated as waking up every day to the briny breeze and Avalon mist; but doubt hunkers in the back of your mind, a creeping shadow you cannot completely banish. You shall dance and you shall enjoy it and shall think nothing more of it. For now.
<<else>>
You don't let your thoughts linger too much on the matter; you're finally been reunited with an old friend, and won't let any amount of unwanted attention and salacious gossip get in the way of you having fun.
<</if>>
You take up positions among the other pairs, standing shoulder to shoulder, hands raised and palms splayed. Her skin is cool, as if she's just dipped it in snow. You're almost tempted to ask if you should summon a bit of fire-warmth in your palm to melt the iciness away. Dancing should be enough to put her blood in motion, though.
Nimue's a nimble dancer, water-like in her motions - fluid and effortless, circling around you like an eddy, pulling away and coming back in with the rhythmic, easy flow of the tide. Her steps come less from practice, from measured grace and more out of an understanding of the melody, of its pattern and its cadence.
As the song draws to an end, you ask her to stay for a couple more tunes. She happily indulges you, the same way she would indulge you back in Avalon - playing along with your knightly games, telling you more of curious mythical creatures, showing you how to pick up crabs without getting pinched - when you'd ask and plead, giving you that samewise conspiratorial, slightly teasing smile. The kind of smile that says //Of course you want that, and I might just humour you//.
The next song playing is higher tempo, the chaotic energy of stirring waters before a storm. She keeps up pace well, though the final notes find she's short-breathed, temples sheened by sweat. You both get to catch your breath on the third dance, a mellow, slow melody that allows you to make quiet conversation as you sway.
"I see you've improved your dancing skills since I last saw you," Nimue says with a low chime of a chuckle. "You used to skip and hop and flap your arms as if you were a baby dragon learning how to fly - and failing amazingly."
Oh Goddess, she remembers.
<div class="choice">[["Pff, those moves?" you say. "The Court wouldn't be able to handle them."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're screaming internally. "I mean, I was a little child."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh. "You remember!"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Good thing I improved indeed," you reply.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_dance_nimue == 2>>
"Ha!" A delighted grin splits your face. "How did you know? Was it your foresight?" It's half teasing, half query.
"One doesn't need foresight to tell things that can be so readily read on a face," she says.
"Oh? Is my face such an open book?"
She hums, a little trill of amusement. "Even now, you look positively eager."
"Then prithee don't keep me waiting-" you splay a dramatic hand over your chest; beneath it, your heart beats with thrilled anticipation "-and say if you shall indeed dance with me."
"How could I refuse an old friend?"
You proffer your hand. As she takes it, a chill shoots up your arm in a trail of gooseflesh, not wholly a thrill of excitement. Her skin is soft and cool, as if she's just dipped in snow, a stark contrast to the familiar warmth that simmers beneath your palm.
Murmurs of conversation ripple in your wake and eyes follow you - curious, suspicious, interested. Your parents' long-standing feud, Morgana's rancor and Merlin's mistrust, they're all well-known by the public. What a fascinating picture the two of you present then, for all to marvel at and postulate about. You tune them out as Nimue does, her face as serene as before, her chin held high and sights set ahead.
And still a tendril of speculation prods at your mind, wondering, questioning, what your parents must be making of this. Morgana's in the crowd, dipping in and out of view, twirling and spinning with Accolon; she hasn't spotted you yet. Merlin you see not far off, seated at Arthur's left, sipping his wine, expression a mirror reflection of his daughter's.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
The courtiers' attention is easily ignored - your own spiraling thoughts, not so much. You wish matters where as uncomplicated as simply dancing with an old friend, as uncomplicated as waking up every day to the briny breeze and Avalon mist; but doubt hunkers in the back of your mind, a creeping shadow you cannot completely banish. You shall dance and you shall enjoy it and shall think nothing more of it. For now. You'll focus on the feel of Nimue's fingers in yours, their iciness gradually thawing away, and anchor yourself in the moment.
<<else>>
You don't let your thoughts linger too much on the matter; they keep fleeing from it either way, shattered over and over into shards all too preocuppied with the girl next to you, with the smooth coolness of her skin against yours, with the crooked, small smile she angles your way, with the way her cinammon brown strands falls across her cheek, with all the questions you can barely corral into order to ask.
<</if>>
You take up positions among the other pairs, standing shoulder to shoulder, hands raised and palms splayed. Nimue's a nimble dancer, water-like in her motions - fluid and effortless, circling around you like an eddy, pulling away and coming back in with the rhythmic, easy flow of the tide. Her steps come less from practice, from measured grace and more out of an understanding of the melody, of its pattern and its cadence.
As the song draws to an end, you ask her to stay for a couple more tunes. She happily indulges you, the same way she would indulge you back in Avalon - playing along with your knightly games, telling you more of curious mythical creatures, showing you how to pick up crabs without getting pinched - when you'd ask and plead, giving you that samewise conspiratorial, slightly teasing smile. The kind of smile that says //Of course you want that, and I might just humour you//.
The next song playing is higher tempo, the chaotic energy of stirring waters before a storm. She keeps up pace well, though the final notes find her short-breathed, temples sheened by sweat, eyes gleaming like wet-slick, sea-polished rocks. You both get to catch your breath on the third dance, a mellow, slow melody that allows you to make quiet conversation as you sway.
"I see you've improved your dancing skills since I last saw you," Nimue says with a low chime of a chuckle. "You used to skip and hop and flap your arms as if you were a baby dragon learning how to fly - and failing amazingly."
Oh Goddess, she remembers.
<div class="choice">[["Pff, those moves?" you say. "The Court wouldn't be able to handle them."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're screaming internally. "I mean, I was a little child."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh. "You remember!"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Good thing I improved indeed," you reply.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_dance_nimue == 3>>
"Ha!" A delighted grin splits your face. "How did you know? Was it your foresight?" It's half teasing, half query.
"One doesn't need foresight to tell things that can be so readily read on a face," she says.
"Oh? Is my face such an open book?"
She hums, a little trill of amusement. "Even now, you look positively eager."
"Then prithee don't keep me waiting, old friend-" you splay a dramatic hand over your chest "-and say if you shall indeed dance with me."
"How could I refuse an old friend?"
You proffer your hand. As she takes it, a chill shoots up your arm in a trail of gooseflesh, not wholly unpleasant. Her skin is soft and cool, as if she's just dipped in snow, a stark contrast to the familiar warmth that simmers beneath your palm.
Murmurs of conversation ripple in your wake and eyes follow you - curious, suspicious, interested. Your parents' long-standing feud, Morgana's rancor and Merlin's mistrust, they're all well-known by the public. What a fascinating picture the two of you present then, for all to marvel at and postulate about. You tune them out as Nimue does, her face as serene as before, her chin held high and sights set ahead.
And still a tendril of speculation prods at your mind, wondering, questioning, what your parents must be making of this. Morgana's in the crowd, dipping in and out of view, twirling and spinning with Accolon; she hasn't spotted you yet. Merlin you see not far off, seated at Arthur's left, sipping his wine, expression a mirror reflection of his daughter's.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
The courtiers' attention is easily ignored - your own spiraling thoughts, not so much. You wish matters where as uncomplicated as simply dancing with an old friend, as uncomplicated as waking up every day to the briny breeze and Avalon mist; but doubt hunkers in the back of your mind, a creeping shadow you cannot completely banish. You shall dance and you shall enjoy it and shall think nothing more of it. For now. You do your best to anchor yourself in the moment - focus on Nimue's presence, on her fingers in yours, their iciness gradually thawing away.
<<else>>
You don't let your thoughts linger too much on the matter; they keep fleeing from it either way, turning back onto the girl next to you, onto the hand holding yours, iciness gradually thawing away, onto all the question you can barely corral into order to ask.
<</if>>
You take up positions among the other pairs, standing shoulder to shoulder, hands raised and palms splayed. Nimue's a nimble dancer, water-like in her motions - fluid and effortless, circling around you like an eddy, pulling away and coming back in with the rhythmic, easy flow of the tide. Her steps come less from practice, from measured grace and more out of an understanding of the melody, of its pattern and its cadence.
As the song draws to an end, you ask her to stay for a couple more tunes. She happily indulges you, the same way she would indulge you back in Avalon - playing along with your knightly games, telling you more of curious mythical creatures, showing you how to pick up crabs without getting pinched - when you'd ask and plead, giving you that samewise conspiratorial, slightly teasing smile. The kind of smile that says //Of course you want that, and I might just humour you//.
The next song playing is higher tempo, the chaotic energy of stirring waters before a storm. She keeps up pace well, though the final notes find her short-breathed, temples sheened by sweat, eyes gleaming like wet-slick, sea-polished rocks. You both get to catch your breath on the third dance, a mellow, slow melody that allows you to make quiet conversation as you sway.
"I see you've improved your dancing skills since I last saw you," Nimue says with a low chime of a chuckle. "You used to skip and hop and flap your arms as if you were a baby dragon learning how to fly - and failing amazingly."
Oh Goddess, she remembers.
<div class="choice">[["Pff, those moves?" you say. "The Court wouldn't be able to handle them."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're screaming internally. "I mean, I was a little child."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh. "You remember!"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Good thing I improved indeed," you reply.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<if $c5_dance_nimue == 7>>
She's hit bullseye with scary precision, which means you can only respond by raising your shield to deflect any other onrushing arrows. The provocation in her tone, in her question, reminds you of the times when she'd first dangle what you asked for - whether it was a prediction, her participation in your games or whatever random knowledge you sought - above your head before relenting. Of the way she'd give her replies drip by drip. Will she do the same now, if you admit you would like dancing with her?
"No," you lie through your teeth with assumed nonchalance. "What gave you the idea?"
"Your face," Nimue flatly replies.
"Well, you read my face wrong."
The corner of her mouth twitches up. "A pity then. I was looking forward to dancing with an old friend."
Dancing with an old friend, the way you used to back in Avalon at those bonfire parties on the beach where you'd end the night laid on the cold sand, gazing up at the patchwork of stars and constellations and planets, far-off lands you know nothing about. Nimue liked to speculate about those.
<div class="choice">[["If you insist," you relent, more excited than you let on.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry to disappoint," you say, digging your heels in.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_dance_nimue to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_dance_nimue == 8>>
She's hit bullseye with scary precision, which means you can only respond by raising your shield to deflect any other onrushing arrows. The provocation in her tone, in her question, reminds you of the times when she'd first dangle what you asked for - whether it was a prediction, her participation in your games or whatever random knowledge you sought - above your head before relenting. Of the way she'd give her replies drip by drip. Will she do the same now, if you admit you would like dancing with her?
"No," you lie through your teeth with assumed nonchalance. "What gave you the idea?"
"Your face," Nimue flatly replies.
"Well, you read my face wrong."
The corner of her mouth twitches up. "A pity then. I was looking forward to dancing with an old friend."
Dancing with an old friend, the way you used to back in Avalon at those bonfire parties on the beach where you'd end the night laid on the cold sand, gazing up at the patchwork of stars and constellations and planets, far-off lands you know nothing about. Nimue liked to speculate about those,.
Your fingers twitch in your lap, itching to reach out for her and pull her over on the dancefloor. It could spell a good time - or you might just end up stepping on her toes and making a fool of yourself. You can't imagine her letting you live that down.
<div class="choice">[["If you insist," you relent, more excited than you let on.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry to disappoint," you say, digging your heels in.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_dance_nimue to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_dance_nimue == 9>>
She's hit bullseye with scary precision, which means you can only respond by raising your shield to deflect any other onrushing arrows. The provocation in her tone, in her question, reminds you of the times when she'd first dangle what you asked for - whether it was a prediction, her participation in your games or whatever random knowledge you sought - above your head before relenting. Of the way she'd give her replies drip by drip. Will she do the same now, if you admit you would like dancing with her?
"No," you lie through your teeth with assumed nonchalance. "What gave you the idea?"
"Your face," Nimue flatly replies.
"Well, you read my face wrong."
The corner of her mouth twitches up. "A pity then. I was looking forward to dancing with an old friend."
Dancing with an old friend, the way you used to back in Avalon at those bonfire parties on the beach where you'd end the night laid on the cold sand, gazing up at the patchwork of stars and constellations and planets, far-off lands you know nothing about. Nimue liked to speculate about those.
You could ask her now, take off together for the dancefloor - it could spell a good time. Or you might just end up stepping on her toes and making a fool of yourself. You can't imagine her letting you live that down.
<div class="choice">[["If you insist," you relent, more excited than you let on.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry to disappoint," you say, digging your heels in.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_chore to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $c5_chore == 1>>
You shrug one shoulder, slow, casual. "If you insist," you say with the tone of one magnanimously granting a favor - reversing your roles, even if only on the surface, of you being the one indulging her this one time instead of the other way around.
<<if $c5_dance_nimue == 7>>
You make your way towards the dancefloor arm in arm. Murmurs of conversation ripple in your wake and eyes follow you - curious, suspicious, interested. Your parents' long-standing feud, Morgana's rancor and Merlin's mistrust, they're all well-known by the public. What a fascinating picture the two of you present then, for all to marvel at and postulate about. You tune them out as Nimue does, her face as serene as before, her chin held high and sights set ahead.
And still a tendril of speculation prods at your mind, wondering, questioning, what your parents must be making of this. Morgana's in the crowd, dipping in and out of view, twirling and spinning with Accolon; she hasn't spotted you yet. Merlin you see not far off, seated at Arthur's left, sipping his wine, expression a mirror reflection of his daughter's.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
The courtiers' attention is easily ignored - your own spiraling thoughts, not so much. You wish matters where as uncomplicated as simply dancing with an old friend, as uncomplicated as waking up every day to the briny breeze and Avalon mist; but doubt hunkers in the back of your mind, a creeping shadow you cannot completely banish. You shall dance and you shall enjoy it and shall think nothing more of it. For now.
<<else>>
You don't let your thoughts linger too much on the matter; you're finally been reunited with an old friend, and won't let any amount of unwanted attention and salacious gossip get in the way of you having fun.
<</if>>
You take up positions among the other pairs, standing shoulder to shoulder, hands raised and palms splayed. Her skin is cool, as if she's just dipped it in snow. You're almost tempted to ask if you should summon a bit of fire-warmth in your palm to melt the iciness away. Dancing should be enough to put her blood in motion, though.
Nimue's a nimble dancer, water-like in her motions - fluid and effortless, circling around you like an eddy, pulling away and coming back in with the rhythmic, easy flow of the tide. Her steps come less practice, measured grace and more out of an understanding of the melody, of its pattern and its cadence.
As the song draws to an end, you airily suggest you might as well remain for a couple more songs if you're already on the dancefloor. She happily indulges you, the same way she would indulge you back in Avalon - playing along with your knightly games, telling you more of curious mythical creatures, showing you how to pick up crabs without getting pinched - when you'd ask and plead, giving you that samewise conspiratorial, slightly teasing smile. The kind of smile that says //Of course you want that, and I might just humour you//.
The next song playing is higher tempo, the chaotic energy of stirring waters before a storm. She keeps up pace well, though the final notes find her short-breathed, temples sheened by sweat; you both get to catch your breath on the third dance, a mellow, slow melody that allows you to make quiet conversation as you sway.
"I see you've improved your dancing skills since I last saw you," Nimue says with a low chime of a chuckle. "You used to skip and hop and flap your arms as if you were a baby dragon learning how to fly - and failing amazingly."
Oh Goddess, she remembers.
<div class="choice">[["Pff, those moves?" you say. "The Court wouldn't be able to handle them."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're screaming internally. "I mean, I was a little child."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh. "You remember!"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Good thing I improved indeed," you reply.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_dance_nimue == 8>>
You proffer your hand. As she takes it, a chill shoots up your arm in a trail of gooseflesh, not wholly a thrill of excitement. Her skin is soft and cool, as if she's just dipped in snow, a stark contrast to the familiar warmth that simmers beneath your palm.
Murmurs of conversation ripple in your wake and eyes follow you - curious, suspicious, interested. Your parents' long-standing feud, Morgana's rancor and Merlin's mistrust, they're all well-known by the public. What a fascinating picture the two of you present then, for all to marvel at and postulate about. You tune them out as Nimue does, her face as serene as before, her chin held high and sights set ahead.
And still a tendril of speculation prods at your mind, wondering, questioning, what your parents must be making of this. Morgana's in the crowd, dipping in and out of view, twirling and spinning with Accolon; she hasn't spotted you yet. Merlin you see not far off, seated at Arthur's left, sipping his wine, expression a mirror reflection of his daughter's.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
The courtiers' attention is easily ignored - your own spiraling thoughts, not so much. You wish matters where as uncomplicated as simply dancing with an old friend, as uncomplicated as waking up every day to the briny breeze and Avalon mist; but doubt hunkers in the back of your mind, a creeping shadow you cannot completely banish. You shall dance and you shall enjoy it and shall think nothing more of it. For now. You'll focus on the feel of Nimue's fingers in yours, their iciness gradually thawing away, and anchor yourself in the moment.
<<else>>
You don't let your thoughts linger too much on the matter; they keep fleeing from it either way, shattered over and over into shards all too preocuppied with the girl next to you, with the smooth coolness of her skin against yours, with the crooked, small smile she angles your way, with the way her cinammon brown strands falls across her cheek, with all the questions you can barely corral into order to ask.
<</if>>
You take up positions among the other pairs, standing shoulder to shoulder, hands raised and palms splayed. Nimue's a nimble dancer, water-like in her motions - fluid and effortless, circling around you like an eddy, pulling away and coming back in with the rhythmic, easy flow of the tide. Her steps come less practice, measured grace and more out of an understanding of the melody, of its pattern and its cadence.
As the song draws to an end, you airily suggest you might as well remain for a couple more songs if you're already on the dancefloor. She happily indulges you, the same way she would indulge you back in Avalon - playing along with your knightly games, telling you more of curious mythical creatures, showing you how to pick up crabs without getting pinched - when you'd ask and plead, giving you that samewise conspiratorial, slightly teasing smile. The kind of smile that says //Of course you want that, and I might just humour you//.
The next song playing is higher tempo, the chaotic energy of stirring waters before a storm. She keeps up pace well, thought the final notes find her short-breathed, temples sheened by sweat, eyes gleaming like wet-slick, sea-polished rocks. You both get to catch your breath on the third dance, a mellow, slow melody that allows you to make quiet conversation as you sway.
"I see you've improved your dancing skills since I last saw you," Nimue says with a low chime of a chuckle. "You used to skip and hop and flap your arms as if you were a baby dragon learning how to fly - and failing amazingly."
Oh Goddess, she remembers.
<div class="choice">[["Pff, those moves? The Court wouldn't be able to handle them."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're screaming internally. "I mean, I was a little child."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh. "You remember!"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Good thing I improved indeed," you reply.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 4]]</div>
<<else>>
You proffer your hand. As she takes it, a chill shoots up your arm in a trail of gooseflesh, not wholly unpleasant. Her skin is soft and cool, as if she's just dipped in snow, a stark contrast to the familiar warmth that simmers beneath your palm.
Murmurs of conversation ripple in your wake and eyes follow you - curious, suspicious, interested. Your parents' long-standing feud, Morgana's rancor and Merlin's mistrust, they're all well-known by the public. What a fascinating picture the two of you present then, for all to marvel at and postulate about. You tune them out as Nimue does, her face as serene as before, her chin held high and sights set ahead.
And still a tendril of speculation prods at your mind, wondering, questioning, what your parents must be making of this. Morgana's in the crowd, dipping in and out of view, twirling and spinning with Accolon; she hasn't spotted you yet. Merlin you see not far off, seated at Arthur's left, sipping his wine, expression a mirror reflection of his daughter's.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
The courtiers' attention is easily ignored - your own spiraling thoughts, not so much. You wish matters where as uncomplicated as simply dancing with an old friend, as uncomplicated as waking up every day to the briny breeze and Avalon mist; but doubt hunkers in the back of your mind, a creeping shadow you cannot completely banish. You shall dance and you shall enjoy it and shall think nothing more of it. For now. You do your best to anchor yourself in the moment - focus on Nimue's presence, on her fingers in yours, their iciness gradually thawing away.
<<else>>
You don't let your thoughts linger too much on the matter; they keep fleeing from it either way, turning back onto the girl next to you, onto the hand holding yours, iciness gradually thawing away, onto all the question you can barely corral into order to ask.
<</if>>
You take up positions among the other pairs, standing shoulder to shoulder, hands raised and palms splayed. Nimue's a nimble dancer, water-like in her motions - fluid and effortless, circling around you like an eddy, pulling away and coming back in with the rhythmic, easy flow of the tide. Her steps come less practice, measured grace and more out of an understanding of the melody, of its pattern and its cadence.
As the song draws to an end, you airily suggest you might as well remain for a couple more songs if you're already on the dancefloor. She happily indulges you, the same way she would indulge you back in Avalon - playing along with your knightly games, telling you more of curious mythical creatures, showing you how to pick up crabs without getting pinched - when you'd ask and plead, giving you that samewise conspiratorial, slightly teasing smile. The kind of smile that says //Of course you want that, and I might just humour you//.
The next song playing is higher tempo, the chaotic energy of stirring waters before a storm. She keeps up pace well, though the final notes find her short-breathed, temples sheened by sweat, eyes gleaming like wet-slick, sea-polished rocks. You both get to catch your breath on the third dance, a mellow, slow melody that allows you to make quiet conversation as you sway.
"I see you've improved your dancing skills since I last saw you," Nimue says with a low chime of a chuckle. "You used to skip and hop and flap your arms as if you were a baby dragon learning how to fly - and failing amazingly."
Oh Goddess, she remembers.
<div class="choice">[["Pff, those moves? The Court wouldn't be able to handle them."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're screaming internally. "I mean, I was a little child."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh. "You remember!"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Good thing I improved indeed," you reply.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 4]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
"I'm sorry to disappoint," you say, digging your heels in as to not make a fool of yourself now.
Nimue remains unfazed, simply shrugging. "As I said, a pity."
Gawain, who's been quietly watching your exchange, swoops in to smooth over the moment and ask her to a dance himself. They depart arm in arm, chatting happily.
<</if>><<if $c5_dance_nimue == 10>>
"I wasn't about to ask," you say, and it's not wholly untrue. You had yet to make your mind up about it, despite the seams of the idea taking shape in your head. "Do //you// want to dance with me?"
The provocation in her tone, in her question, reminds you of the times when she'd first dangle what you asked for - whether it was a prediction, her participation in your games or whatever random knowledge you sought - above your head before relenting. Of the way she'd give her replies drip by drip. Will she do the same now, if you admit you would like to dance with her? Well, you won't give her the opportunity. It's time you play that little game yourself. (Besides, you'd rather the floorboards open up and swallow you than have to plead the way you did as a little child.)
"I was going by your expression," Nimue smoothly replies, "it seemed...expectant, to me."
"A misreading."
The corner of her mouth twitches up. "A pity then. I wouldn't have been opposed to a dance with an old friend."
You shrug one shoulder, continuing to play nonchalant. "I could be persuaded."
Her brow quirks up. "Could be persuaded? Do I have to draw you out onto the dance floor with a piece of cake, as if you were a horse with a carrot?"
Next to her, Gawain muffles a titter in his glass of wine.
"Maybe if the cake is good enough." Your reply is quiet, dubious yourself of its wittiness.
Nimue smiles. "Unfortunately I don't have any. I suppose we find ourselves at an impasse, unless you're willing to follow me without a sweet incentive."
<div class="choice">[["If you insist," you relent, more excited than you let on.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry to disappoint," you say, digging your heels in.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_dance_nimue to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_dance_nimue == 11>>
"I wasn't about to ask," you say, and it's not wholly untrue. You had yet to make your mind up about it, despite the seams of the idea taking shape in your head, and your heart beating ever so faster, ready to betray you with its excited gallop. "Do //you// want to dance with me?"
The provocation in her tone, in her question, reminds you of the times when she'd first dangle what you asked for - whether it was a prediction, her participation in your games or whatever random knowledge you sought - above your head before relenting. Of the way she'd give her replies drip by drip. Will she do the same now, if you admit you would like dancing with her? Well, you won't give her the opportunity. It's time you play that little game yourself. (Besides, you'd rather the boards open up and swallow you then have to plead the way you did as a little child.)
"I was going by your expression," Nimue smoothly replies, "it seemed...expectant, to me."
"A misreading."
The corner of her mouth twitches up. "A pity then. I wouldn't have been opposed to a dance with an old friend."
You shrug one shoulder, continuing to play nonchalant even as your pulse throbs in your fingertips. "I could be persuaded."
Her brow quirks up. "Could be persuaded? Do I have to draw you out onto the dance floor with a piece of cake, as if you were a horse with a carrot?"
Next to her, Gawain muffles a titter in his glass of wine.
"Maybe if the cake is good enough." Your reply is quiet, dubious yourself of its wittiness.
Nimue smiles. "Unfortunately I don't have any. I suppose we find ourselves at an impasse, unless you're willing to follow me without a sweet incentive."
You have incentive enough already - it's standing before you, all black taffeta and taunting smile. But you also have your pride.
<div class="choice">[["If you insist," you relent, more excited than you let on.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry to disappoint," you say, digging your heels in.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_dance_nimue to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_dance_nimue == 12>>
"I wasn't about to ask," you say, and it's not wholly untrue. You had yet to make your mind up about it, despite the seams of the idea taking shape in your head, and your heart beating ever so faster, ready to betray you with its excited gallop. "Do //you// want to dance with me?"
The provocation in her tone, in her question, reminds you of the times when she'd first dangle what you asked for - whether it was a prediction, her participation in your games or whatever random knowledge you sought - above your head before relenting. Of the way she'd give her replies drip by drip. Will she do the same now, if you admit you would like dancing with her? Well, you won't allow her that. It's time you play that little game yourself. (Besides, you'd rather the boards open up and swallow you then have to plead the way you did as a little child.)
"I was going by your expression," Nimue smoothly replies, "it seemed...expectant, to me."
"A misreading."
The corner of her mouth twitches up. "A pity then. I wouldn't have been opposed to a dance with an old friend."
You shrug one shoulder, continuing to play nonchalant even as your pulse throbs in your fingertips. "I could be persuaded."
Her brow quirks up. "Could be persuaded? Do I have to draw you out onto the dance floor with a piece of cake, as if you were a horse with a carrot?"
Next to her, Gawain muffles a titter in his glass of wine.
"Maybe if the cake is good enough." Your reply is quiet, dubious yourself of its wittiness.
Nimue smiles. "Unfortunately I don't have any. I suppose we find ourselves at an impasse, unless you're willing to follow me without a sweet incentive."
You don't need any sweet incentive, you realize, but you would need to relent to your own pride.
<div class="choice">[["If you insist," you relent, more excited than you let on.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_chore to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry to disappoint," you say, digging your heels in.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueIdea1][$c5_chore to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $c5_dance_nimue ==4>>
Was it a whisper of intuition, or is your face simply that easily read? Whatever the case, you do want to share a couple dances with her, the way you used to back in Avalon at those bonfire parties on the beach where you'd end the night laid on the cold sand, gazing up at the patchwork of stars and constellations and planets, far-off lands you know nothing about. Nimue liked to speculate about those.
"Yes, actually," you say. "If you'd like that."
"Why not?" she smiles, showing the faintest flash of teeth.
You make your way towards the dancefloor arm in arm. Murmurs of conversation ripple in your wake and eyes follow you - curious, suspicious, interested. Your parents' long-standing feud, Morgana's rancor and Merlin's mistrust, they're all well-known by the public. What a fascinating picture the two of you present then, for all to marvel at and postulate about. You tune them out as Nimue does, her face as serene as before, her chin held high and sights set ahead.
And still a tendril of speculation prods at your mind, wondering, questioning, what your parents must be making of this. Morgana's in the crowd, dipping in and out of view, twirling and spinning with Accolon; she hasn't spotted you yet. Merlin you see not far off, seated at Arthur's left, sipping his wine, expression a mirror reflection of his daughter's.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
The courtiers' attention is easily ignored - your own spiraling thoughts, not so much. You wish matters where as uncomplicated as simply dancing with an old friend, as uncomplicated as waking up every day to the briny breeze and Avalon mist; but doubt hunkers in the back of your mind, a creeping shadow you cannot completely banish. You shall dance and you shall enjoy it and shall think nothing more of it. For now.
<<else>>
You don't let your thoughts linger too much on the matter; you're finally been reunited with an old friend, and won't let any amount of unwanted attention and salacious gossip get in the way of you having fun.
<</if>>
You take up positions among the other pairs, standing shoulder to shoulder, hands raised and palms splayed. Her skin is cool, as if she's just dipped it in snow. You're almost tempted to ask if you should summon a bit of fire-warmth in your palm to melt the iciness away. Dancing should be enough to put her blood in motion, though.
Nimue's a nimble dancer, water-like in her motions - fluid and effortless, circling around you like an eddy, pulling away and coming back in with the rhythmic, easy flow of the tide. Her steps come less practice, measured grace and more out of an understanding of the melody, of its pattern and its cadence.
As the song draws to an end, you ask her to stay for a couple more tunes. She happily indulges you, the same way she would indulge you back in Avalon - playing along with your knightly games, telling you more of curious mythical creatures, showing you how to pick up crabs without getting pinched - when you'd ask and plead, giving you that samewise conspiratorial, slightly teasing smile. The kind of smile that says //Of course you want that, and I might just humour you//.
The next song playing is higher tempo, the chaotic energy of stirring waters before a storm. She keeps up pace well, though the final notes find her short-breathed, temples sheened by sweat; you both get to catch your breath on the third dance, a mellow, slow melody that allows you to make quiet conversation as you sway.
"I see you've improved your dancing skills since I last saw you," Nimue says with a low chime of a chuckle. "You used to skip and hop and flap your arms as if you were a baby dragon learning how to fly - and failing amazingly."
Oh Goddess, she remembers.
<div class="choice">[["Pff, those moves?" you say. "The Court wouldn't be able to handle them."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're screaming internally. "I mean, I was a little child."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh. "You remember!"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Good thing I improved indeed," you reply.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_dance_nimue ==5>>
Was it a whisper of intuition, or is your face simply that easily read?Whatever the case, you do want to share a couple dances with her, the way you used to back in Avalon at those bonfire parties on the beach where you'd end the night laid on the cold sand, gazing up at the patchwork of stars and constellations and even planets, far-off lands you know nothing about. Nimue liked to speculate about those, too.
"Yes, actually," you say, wondering if there's anything else to betray just how strong a want is behind that //yes// - could your tone or smile or even the frenzied beating of your heart give it away? "If you'd like that."
"Why not?" she smiles, showing the faintest flash of teeth.
You proffer your hand. As she takes it, a chill shoots up your arm in a trail of gooseflesh, not wholly a thrill of excitement. Her skin is soft and cool, as if she's just dipped in snow, a stark contrast to the familiar warmth that simmers beneath your palm.
Murmurs of conversation ripple in your wake and eyes follow you - curious, suspicious, interested. Your parents' long-standing feud, Morgana's rancor and Merlin's mistrust, they're all well-known by the public. What a fascinating picture the two of you present then, for all to marvel at and postulate about. You tune them out as Nimue does, her face as serene as before, her chin held high and sights set ahead.
And still a tendril of speculation prods at your mind, wondering, questioning, what your parents must be making of this. Morgana's in the crowd, dipping in and out of view, twirling and spinning with Accolon; she hasn't spotted you yet. Merlin you see not far off, seated at Arthur's left, sipping his wine, expression a mirror reflection of his daughter's.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
The courtiers' attention is easily ignored - your own spiraling thoughts, not so much. You wish matters where as uncomplicated as simply dancing with an old friend, as uncomplicated as waking up every day to the briny breeze and Avalon mist; but doubt hunkers in the back of your mind, a creeping shadow you cannot completely banish. You shall dance and you shall enjoy it and shall think nothing more of it. For now. You'll focus on the feel of Nimue's fingers in yours, their iciness gradually thawing away, and anchor yourself into the moment.
<<else>>
You don't let your thoughts linger too much on the matter; they keep fleeing from it either way, shattered over and over into shards all too preocuppied with the girl next to you, with the smooth coolness of her skin against yours, with the crooked, small smile she angles your way, with the way her cinammon brown strands falls across her cheek, with all the questions you can barely corral into order to ask.
<</if>>
You take up positions among the other pairs, standing shoulder to shoulder, hands raised and palms splayed. Nimue's a nimble dancer, water-like in her motions - fluid and effortless, circling around you like an eddy, pulling away and coming back in with the rhythmic, easy flow of the tide. Her steps come less practice, measured grace and more out of an understanding of the melody, of its pattern and its cadence.
As the song draws to an end, you ask her to stay for a couple more tunes. She happily indulges you, the same way she would indulge you back in Avalon - playing along with your knightly games, telling you more of curious mythical creatures, showing you how to pick up crabs without getting pinched - when you'd ask and plead, giving you that samewise conspiratorial, slightly teasing smile. The kind of smile that says //Of course you want that, and I might just humour you//.
The next song playing is higher tempo, the chaotic energy of stirring waters before a storm. She keeps up pace well, though the final notes find her short-breathed, temples sheened by sweat, eyes gleaming like wet-slick, sea-polished rocks. You both get to catch your breath on the third dance, a mellow, slow melody that allows you to make quiet conversation as you sway.
"I see you've improved your dancing skills since I last saw you," Nimue says with a low chime of a chuckle. "You used to skip and hop and flap your arms as if you were a baby dragon learning how to fly - and failing amazingly."
Oh Goddess, she remembers.
<div class="choice">[["Pff, those moves?" you say. "The Court wouldn't be able to handle them."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're screaming internally. "I mean, I was a little child."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh. "You remember!"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Good thing I improved indeed," you reply.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $c5_dance_nimue == 6>>
Was it a whisper of intuition, or is your face simply that easily read?Whatever the case, you do want to share a couple dances with her, the way you used to back in Avalon at those bonfire parties on the beach where you'd end the night laid on the cold sand, gazing up at the patchwork of stars and constellations and even planets, far-off lands you know nothing about. Nimue liked to speculate about those.
"Yes, actually," you say, with a strange fluttering of your heart. A part of you is just the tiniest bit afraid she might say no. "If you'd like that."
"Why not?" she smiles, showing the faintest flash of teeth.
You proffer your hand. As she takes it, a chill shoots up your arm in a trail of gooseflesh, not wholly unpleasant. Her skin is soft and cool, as if she's just dipped in snow, a stark contrast to the familiar warmth that simmers beneath your palm.
Murmurs of conversation ripple in your wake and eyes follow you - curious, suspicious, interested. Your parents' long-standing feud, Morgana's rancor and Merlin's mistrust, they're all well-known by the public. What a fascinating picture the two of you present then, for all to marvel at and postulate about. You tune them out as Nimue does, her face as serene as before, her chin held high and sights set ahead.
And still a tendril of speculation prods at your mind, wondering, questioning, what your parents must be making of this. Morgana's in the crowd, dipping in and out of view, twirling and spinning with Accolon; she hasn't spotted you yet. Merlin you see not far off, seated at Arthur's left, sipping his wine, expression a mirror reflection of his daughter's.
<<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1 or $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
The courtiers' attention is easily ignored - your own spiraling thoughts, not so much. You wish matters where as uncomplicated as simply dancing with an old friend, as uncomplicated as waking up every day to the briny breeze and Avalon mist; but doubt hunkers in the back of your mind, a creeping shadow you cannot completely banish. You shall dance and you shall enjoy it and shall think nothing more of it. For now. You do your best to anchor yourself in the moment - focus on Nimue's presence, on her fingers in yours, their iciness gradually thawing away.
<<else>>
You don't let your thoughts linger too much on the matter; they keep fleeing from it either way, turning back onto the girl next to you, onto the hand holding yours, iciness gradually thawing away, onto all the question you can barely corral into order to ask.
<</if>>
You take up positions among the other pairs, standing shoulder to shoulder, hands raised and palms splayed. Nimue's a nimble dancer, water-like in her motions - fluid and effortless, circling around you like an eddy, pulling away and coming back in with the rhythmic, easy flow of the tide. Her steps come less practice, measured grace and more out of an understanding of the melody, of its pattern and its cadence.
As the song draws to an end, you ask her to stay for a couple more tunes. She happily indulges you, the same way she would indulge you back in Avalon - playing along with your knightly games, telling you more of curious mythical creatures, showing you how to pick up crabs without getting pinched - when you'd ask and plead, giving you that samewise conspiratorial, slightly teasing smile. The kind of smile that says //Of course you want that, and I might just humour you//.
The next song playing is higher tempo, the chaotic energy of stirring waters before a storm. She keeps up pace well, though the final notes find her short-breathed, temples sheened by sweat, eyes gleaming like wet-slick, sea-polished rocks. You both get to catch your breath on the third dance, a mellow, slow melody that allows you to make quiet conversation as you sway.
"I see you've improved your dancing skills since I last saw you," Nimue says with a low chime of a chuckle. "You used to skip and hop and flap your arms as if you were a baby dragon learning how to fly - and failing amazingly."
Oh Goddess, she remembers.
<div class="choice">[["Pff, those moves?" you say. "The Court wouldn't be able to handle them."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're screaming internally. "I mean, I was a little child."|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You laugh. "You remember!"|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Good thing I improved indeed," you reply.|Chapt5DanceWithNimueFlap][$c5_flap to 4]]</div>
<</if>>Dessert comes along with the eventual, anticipated reveal of the plan Gawain hinted of as his arrival. His proposal? An escapade to the woods, a prolonging of the festivities with your very own little party. He's met with a mix of amusement, surprise and hesitation, but no outright disagreement.
"I think it's a great idea," Elaine says, speaking round a mouthful of cake.
And so it is decreed - the betrothed have given their approval, and logicstics are discussed while you finish dessert.
"We'll get some leftover food from the kitchen," Gawain says. "And we can smuggle booze from the cellars."
Gareth raises an eyebrow, that slow, questioning arch that reminds you of Morgana. "More booze?"
<div class="choice">[["Why not?" You grin.|Chapt5Booze][$chapt5_more_booze to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["That's a lot of booze," you agree.|Chapt5Booze][$chapt5_more_booze to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Why the cellar?" You feel bold, fearless, reckless. "Why not snatch a bottle from Lot's cabinet?"|Chapt5Booze][$chapt5_more_booze to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't care. You're not joining them, anyway.|Chapt5Booze][$chapt5_more_booze to 4]]</div><<if $chapt5_passionate == 1>>
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
You never thought too much of them. It felt right, talking and spending time with Elaine, though they were all moments passed under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
Thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
Thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
<</if>>
You lean in, almost involuntarily. The sudden motion gives Elaine pause; her smile falters as your eyes lock, faces so close your breath flutters the strands of hair that frame her face, and hers blows warm over your lips. She inhales sharply, gaze dipping down to your mouth.
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine leaps back, clattering into a cabinet in her haste. She flattens herself against it as if wishing to become one with it. You almost expect her to open the door and crawl inside. "Yeah!" she calls back, voice thin with emotion.
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
<<elseif $chapt5_passionate == 2>>
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
You never thought too much of them. It felt right, talking and spending time with Elaine, though they were all moments passed under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
Thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
Thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
<</if>>
You swallow thickly as your heart batters against your chest. You want to lean in, bridge the distance between you, yet can't find the courage to shift forward, to simply inch, bit by bit, till you can feel her breath on your lips.
Your focused attention catches Elaine's notice, who does draw closer to you, ever so slightly. "What?" she asks, voice but a whisper.
You open your mouth, though you don't even know what you'll answer.
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine leaps back, clattering into a cabinet in her haste. She flattens herself against it as if wishing to become one with it. You almost expect her to open the door and crawl inside. "Yeah!" she calls back, voice thin with emotion.
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
<<elseif $chapt5_passionate == 3>>
As the tension slowly eases and dispels, you allow yourself a sigh of relief. You couldn't stand the thought of Elaine being mad at you, not when everything between you feels so right, easy, fun. You could talk for hours - if the adults didn't always so tactfully steer her back towards your brother. The Beauregards are supportive of your friendship, but you doubt they'd be as appreciative if they knew the way her smile mellows your insides, the way you lay in bed at night replaying your conversations and all the times you made her laugh. The silence between you has settled like the calm, comforting quiet after a storm, bringing the same relief as when the rain stops pouring down.
A questioning, confused smile pulls at her lips. "What is it?" she asks.
"Huh?"
"You're staring at me."
"And you're staring back."
She snorts. "We //are// facing each other." She tilts her head, examining you now more earnestly. "Is there something you want to-"
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine straightens, shifting away from you. "Yeah!"
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
<<elseif $chapt5_passionate == 4>>
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them; which always struck you as odd they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, as tension slowly dispels, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
Thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, as tension slowly dispels, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
Thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, as tension slowly dispels, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<</if>>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
You lean in, almost involuntarily. The sudden motion gives Elaine pause; she pulls back, uncertainity and confusion flickering over her face. You don't have time to wallow in shame and hurt, however, as a rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine straightens, shifting farther away from you. "Yeah!"
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
<<elseif $chapt5_passionate == 5>>
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, as tension slowly dispels, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
Thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, as tension slowly dispels, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
Thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, as tension slowly dispels, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<</if>>
You swallow thickly as your heart batters against your chest. You want to lean in, bridge the distance between you, yet can't find the courage to shift forward, to simply inch, bit by bit, till you can feel her breath on your lips.
Your focused attention catches Elaine's notice, who frowns in confusion. "What?"
You open your mouth, though you don't even know what you'll answer.
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine straightens, shifting away from you. "Yeah!"
<<elseif $chapt5_passionate == 6>>
As the tension slowly eases and dispels, you allow yourself a sigh of relief. You couldn't stand the thought of Elaine being mad at you, not when everything between you feels so right, easy, fun. You could talk for hours - if the adults didn't always so tactfully steer her back towards your brother. The Beauregards are supportive of your friendship, but you doubt they'd be as appreciative if they knew the way her smile mellows your insides, the way you lay in bed at night replaying your conversations and all the times you made her laugh. The silence between you has settled like the calm, comforting quiet after a storm, bringing the same relief as when the rain stops pouring down.
She looks at you questioningly. "What is it?"
"Huh?"
"You're staring at me."
"And you're staring back."
She snorts. "We //are// facing each other." She tilts her head, examining you now more earnestly. "Is there something you want to-"
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine straightens, shifting away from you. "Yeah!"
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
<</if>>
They go about the consultation in their usual manner: efficient and precise like the cut of a surgeon's knife. While it could have easily come across as brusque and uncaring, Robin's no-nonsense questions and inscrutable, placid expression lend themselves to a soothing effect. Their responses are comforting in their bluntness, and their touch is gentle and careful.
"Nothing to worry about," they say as they move their splayed, wet palms over your chest, hovering just above your skin. The magic tickles, a sensation not unpleasant. It's almost comforting, a feather-like caress like the faint touch of a breeze. "Some bruising, nothing broken or fractured. I'll apply some healing balm and you're good to go." They fix you with a stern look. "That is, good to go to your quarters for some rest, not back on the training ground. I've heard of the...new dummies Sir Accolon brought in," they add meaningfully. They then trot away to a cabinet and grab the required tin can without a moment's hesitation or thought; they could navigate the consultation chamber blindfolded, and treat you just as well.
Once all slathered with the camphor-smelling cream, Robin calls on Elaine to jump on the bed. If your bruising was nothing to worry about, then Elaine's is nothing to even think about. Robin stills recommends her rest, though, to which Elaine bites back a smile that does not inspire confidence she'll actually do so.
"I've had so much worse," Elaine reminisces, the dreamy, far-away look on her face more suggestive of pleasant memories than the injuries she prattles on about: "Like broken bones. And ribs. Well I mean, the ribs are bones, right?"
Ronbin keeps a calm, impassive face as they say, "I see," and "Yes," but you know that look. That flashing flick of the eye that encompasses Elaine from head to toe, scanning as if they could find whatever's amiss as they would a cut or bruise, to clue them in as to why someone would speak like that. It's the same kind of look they turn on Morgana when she says the most threatening of things with the sweetest smile.
Robin scoops the pungent cream onto their fingers and slathers it generously over the reddened skin. "I take it you swordfight often then, Your-" they quickly and smoothly correct themselves, "-Elaine."
"Yeah," Elaine says around a grimace as Robin moves on to the nastier of bruises.
"Should I expect to see you in my study frequently from now on?" they ask.
"Hopefully." When Robin shoots them a strange look, she rushes to add: "Not that I plan on injuring myself! I just hope I'll have the opportunity to swordfight."
By the way their shoulders draw taut, it must take all their willpower not to sigh. "You're both good to go."
You part ways with Elaine, heading off towards opposing quarters. You part ways with Elaine, heading off towards opposing quarters. She seems rather anxious to get away, taking off with a quick "Bye" and "See you at dinner" and awkward, tight smile tossed your way.
[[A few days later|Chapt5Storm]]<<if $chapt5_why == 1>>
She knows; there's no other way to salvage this than to apologize. All this effort to avoid hurting her, and you've ended up upsetting her. She's talked about sustaining injuries in the past, in the aftermath of swordfight training or other such adventurous activities. You couldn't gauge though if it were the result of poor skill on her part, or brutal viciousness from her opponent - or a mixture of both. With the nonchalant way she talked about it all, you should have taken your chance with breaking bones. She might have actually thanked you then.
"I'm sorry I held back," you say. "I was afraid of hurting you."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm not made of porcelain, Mordred. Besides, we have healers to...heal. It's not like training swords do that much damage anyway." She searches for something in your face, brow creasing deeper the more she stares. "You wouldn't have held back against a fellow squire, would you?"
You open your mouth but any protest you might have had withers away on your tongue. "No," you admit.
She sighs. "There you have it." She sucks her lips in and tilts her head back, angling her frown at the ceiling. "I still gave my all, though."
"Yeah," you massage at your shoulder. "I could tell."
Elaine whips her head back down. "Good." She crosses her arms, shifts from foot to foot, uncrosses them. "I just, I just really hate when people do this, when," she starts and stops and starts again, fighting to find the words. "When they hold back, or throw matches. Simply because I'm not a squire, so what? I'm not to be taken seriously? So this all turns into some play pretend fight?"
"Your skills surpass all I anticipated," you confess, "for someone who only practices in their pastime. In fact, I'd same you come closer to a squire." Which you don't admit outloud, but it is curious; it must be a very intensive pastime for her.
She nods, still looking miffed. "Thanks. I...know I'm not a squire, as I ever get reminded," she says, mouth twisting in a grimace, "but I am passionate about it."
"I could remedy my mistake...with a rematch?" you offer, hope evident in your tone.
The shadow of a smile plays over her lips. "I'd accept that. Though maybe not right now."
"And here I was rushing to put my armor back on."
She sticks her tongue out at you and bumps your knee with her fist.
<div class="choice">[[A thrill courses through you at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 1, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your heart flutters at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 2, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Relief and warmth floods you. Hopefully, she's not too mad at you.|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 3, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_why == 2>>
She knows; there's no other way to salvage this than to apologize. All this effort to avoid hurting her feelings, only to end up doing it anyway. "I'm sorry I held back," you say. "I was afraid of upsetting you if I went too hard."
"What, think I'm a sore loser? That I'd throw a tantrum on the training ground? Toss my sword away, go cry to someone that you're a meanie? I'm a swordman, not a toddler, Mordred."
"In my defense," you hold up your hands, "there are adults who throw tantrums, if I've learned anything from tournaments and fairs."
"I have sportsmenship." Elaine scoffs. "And dignity." She searches for something in your face, brow creasing deeper the more she stares. "You wouldn't have held back against a fellow squire, would you?"
You open your mouth but any protest you might have had withers away on your tongue. "No," you admit.
She sighs. "There you have it." She sucks her lips in and tilts her head back, angling her frown at the ceiling. "I still gave my all, though."
"Yeah," you massage at your shoulder. "I could tell."
Elaine whips her head back down. "Good." She crosses her arms, shifts from foot to foot, uncrosses them. "I just, I just really hate when people do this, when," she starts and stops and starts again, fighting to find the words. "When they hold back, or throw matches. Simply because I'm not a squire, so what? I'm not to be taken seriously? So this all turns into some play pretend fight? I don't need to be coddled."
"Your skills surpass all I anticipated," you confess, "for someone who only practices in their pastime. In fact, I'd same you come closer to a squire." Which you don't admit outloud, but it is curious; it must be a very intensive pastime for her.
She nods, still looking miffed. "Thanks. I...know I'm not a squire, as I ever get reminded," she says, mouth twisting in a grimace, "but I am passionate about it."
"I could remedy my mistake...with a rematch?" you offer, hope evident in your tone.
The shadow of a smile plays over her lips. "I'd accept that. Though maybe not right now."
"And here I was rushing to put my armor back on."
She sticks her tongue out at you and bumps your knee with her fist.
<div class="choice">[[A thrill courses through you at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 1, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your heart flutters at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 2, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Relief and warmth floods you. Hopefully, she's not too mad at you.|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 3, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_why == 3>>
If you don't budge, if you're convincing enough, you could still salvage this. "I wasn't holding back," you say, "I was just tired from training. It was the second time fighting those two dummies, and they're really a pain in the butt."
Elaine crosses her arms and shakes her head. "No," she roundly says. "No, don't do this. You held back. I'd really rather you just admit to it, Mordred."
If it means so much to her. "Alright, I did."
She takes a deep, long breath and expels it in one harsh exhale. "I'm not made of porcelain. And I don't need my feelings to be coddled." She searches for something in your face, brow creasing deeper the more she stares. "You wouldn't have held back against a fellow squire, would you?"
You open your mouth but any protest you might have had withers away on your tongue. "No," you admit.
She sighs. "There you have it." She sucks her lips in and tilts her head back, angling her frown at the ceiling. "I still gave my all, though."
"Yeah," you massage at your shoulder. "I could tell."
Elaine whips her head back down. "Good." She crosses her arms, shifts from foot to foot, uncrosses them. "I just, I just really hate when people do this, when," she starts and stops and starts again, fighting to find the words. "When they hold back, or throw matches. Simply because I'm not a squire, so what? I'm not to be taken seriously? So this all turns into some play pretend fight?"
"Your skills surpass all I anticipated," you confess, "for someone who only practices in their pastime. In fact, I'd same you come closer to a squire." Which you don't admit outloud, but it is curious; it must be a very intensive pastime for her.
She nods, still looking miffed. "Thanks. I...know I'm not a squire, as I ever get reminded," she says, mouth twisting in a grimace, "but I am passionate about it."
"I could remedy my mistake...with a rematch?" you offer, hope evident in your tone.
A smile flits over her lips, gone as quick as it came; feeble enough to barely be called a smile. "We'll see." She bumps your knee with her fist. "I'm still kind of mad, you know."
<div class="choice">[[Despite the tension, a thrill courses through you at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Despite the tension, your heart flutters at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your chest constricts. Hopefully, she's not too mad at you.|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 6]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_distracted == 1>>
Damp flaxen hair sticks to her temples that furrowed in frustration, and her lips move tirelessly with an increasingly creative string of insults targeted at the knot whose honor, quality and performance all being under seige. You can't take your eyes off her, and neither do you want to.
"Having trouble?" you ask.
Not looking up, she grumbles something incoherent in response. It might have been a yes, it might have been a no, it might have been the noise of some ancient beast. It makes her even cuter.
Then her eyes light up, and she lets out a triumphant: "A-ha!" She quickly removes the greave off your foot as if the knot might tie itself back up just to spite her, and looks up at you with a grin. "Cunning little shit."
She heaves herself up, dumping the plates next to you on the bed. "Speaking of cunning little-" she fixes you with a pointed look, running you through like a sword, "-squires, I know you held back during the duel. Though I specifically asked you not to. Why?"
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry, I was afraid of hurting you," you say.|Chapt5DistractedRomanticEasy][$chapt5_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry, I didn't want to upset you if I went too hard," you say.|Chapt5DistractedRomanticEasy][$chapt5_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I wasn't holding back," you insist. "I was just tired."|Chapt5DistractedRomanticEasy][$chapt5_why to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_distracted == 2>>
Damp flaxen hair sticks to her temples that furrowed in frustration, and her lips move tirelessly with an increasingly creative string of insults targeted at the knot whose honor, quality and performance all being under seige. You can't take your eyes off her, and neither do you want to, a realization that comes at you like a pommel blow to the head.
Now you have your own messy knot to untangle. "Having trouble?" you ask in an attempt to distract yourself.
Not looking up, she grumbles something incoherent in response. It might have been a yes, it might have been a no, it might have been the noise of some ancient beast. Oh no, it makes her even cuter.
Then her eyes light up, and she lets out a triumphant: "A-ha!" She quickly removes the greave off your foot as if the knot might tie itself back up just to spite her, and looks up at you with a grin. "Cunning little shit."
She heaves herself up, dumping the plates next to you on the bed. "Speaking of cunning little-" she fixes you with a pointed look, running you through like a sword, "-squires, I know you held back during the duel. Though I specifically asked you not to. Why?"
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry, I was afraid of hurting you," you say.|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy1][$chapt5_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry, I didn't want to upset you if I went too hard," you say.|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy1][$chapt5_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I wasn't holding back," you insist. "I was just tired."|Chapt5DistractedCluelessEasy1][$chapt5_why to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_distracted == 3>>
"Having trouble?" you ask.
Not looking up, she grumbles something incoherent in response. It might have been a yes, it might have been a no, it might have been the noise of some ancient beast. You can't help but chuckle.
Then her eyes light up, and she lets out a triumphant: "A-ha!" She quickly removes the greave off your foot as if the knot might tie itself back up just to spite her, and looks up at you with a grin. "Cunning little shit."
She heaves herself up, dumping the plates next to you on the bed. "Speaking of cunning little-" she fixes you with a pointed look, running you through like a sword, "-squires, I know you held back during the duel. Though I specifically asked you not to. Why?"
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry, I was afraid of hurting you," you say.|Chapt5DistractedPlatonicEasy][$chapt5_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry, I didn't want to upset you if I went too hard," you say.|Chapt5DistractedPlatonicEasy][$chapt5_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I wasn't holding back," you insist. "I was just tired."|Chapt5DistractedPlatonicEasy][$chapt5_why to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_why == 1>>
She knows; there's no other way to salvage this than to apologize. All this effort to avoid hurting her, and you've ended up upsetting her. She's talked about sustaining injuries in the past, in the aftermath of swordfight training or other such adventurous activities. You couldn't gauge though if it were the result of poor skill on her part, or brutal viciousness from her opponent - or a mixture of both. With the nonchalant way she talked about it all, you should have taken your chance with breaking bones. She might have actually thanked you then.
"I'm sorry I held back," you say. "I was afraid of hurting you."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm not made of porcelain, Mordred. Besides, we have healers to...heal. It's not like training swords do that much damage anyway." She searches for something in your face, brow creasing deeper the more she stares. "You wouldn't have held back against a fellow squire, would you?"
You open your mouth but any protest you might have had withers away on your tongue. "No," you admit.
She sighs. "There you have it." She sucks her lips in and tilts her head back, angling her frown at the ceiling. "I still gave my all, though."
"Yeah," you massage at your shoulder. "I could tell."
Elaine whips her head back down. "Good." She crosses her arms, shifts from foot to foot, uncrosses them. "I just, I just really hate when people do this, when," she starts and stops and starts again, fighting to find the words. "When they hold back, or throw matches. Simply because I'm not a squire, so what? I'm not to be taken seriously? So this all turns into some play pretend fight?"
<<elseif $chapt5_why == 2>>
She knows; there's no other way to salvage this than to apologize. All this effort to avoid hurting her feelings, only to end up doing it anyway. "I'm sorry I held back," you say. "I was afraid of upsetting you if I went too hard."
"What, think I'm a sore loser? That I'd throw a tantrum on the training ground? Toss my sword away, go cry to someone that you're a meanie? I'm a swordman, not a toddler, Mordred."
"In my defense," you hold up your hands, "there are adults who throw tantrums, if I've learned anything from tournaments and fairs."
"I have sportsmenship." Elaine scoffs. "And dignity." She searches for something in your face, brow creasing deeper the more she stares. "You wouldn't have held back against a fellow squire, would you?"
You open your mouth but any protest you might have had withers away on your tongue. "No," you admit.
She sighs. "There you have it." She sucks her lips in and tilts her head back, angling her frown at the ceiling. "I still gave my all, though."
"Yeah," you massage at your shoulder. "I could tell."
Elaine whips her head back down. "Good." She crosses her arms, shifts from foot to foot, uncrosses them. "I just, I just really hate when people do this, when," she starts and stops and starts again, fighting to find the words. "When they hold back, or throw matches. Simply because I'm not a squire, so what? I'm not to be taken seriously? So this all turns into some play pretend fight? I don't need to be coddled."
<<elseif $chapt5_why == 3>>
If you don't budge, if you're convincing enough, you could still salvage this. "I wasn't holding back," you say, "I was just tired from training. It was the second time fighting those two dummies, and they're really a pain in the butt."
Elaine crosses her arms and shakes her head. "No," she roundly says. "No, don't do this. You held back. I'd really rather you just admit to it, Mordred."
If it means so much to her. "Alright, I did."
She takes a deep, long breath and expels it in one harsh exhale. "I'm not made of porcelain. And I don't need my feelings to be coddled." She searches for something in your face, brow creasing deeper the more she stares. "You wouldn't have held back against a fellow squire, would you?"
You open your mouth but any protest you might have had withers away on your tongue. "No," you admit.
She sighs. "There you have it." She sucks her lips in and tilts her head back, angling her frown at the ceiling. "I still gave my all, though."
"Yeah," you massage at your shoulder. "I could tell."
Elaine whips her head back down. "Good." She crosses her arms, shifts from foot to foot, uncrosses them. "I just, I just really hate when people do this, when," she starts and stops and starts again, fighting to find the words. "When they hold back, or throw matches. Simply because I'm not a squire, so what? I'm not to be taken seriously? So this all turns into some play pretend fight?"
<</if>>
"Your skills surpass all I anticipated," you confess, "for someone who only practices in their pastime. In fact, I'd same you come closer to a squire." Which you don't admit outloud, but it is curious; it must be a very intensive pastime for her.
She nods, still looking miffed. "Thanks. I...know I'm not a squire, as I ever get reminded," she says, mouth twisting in a grimace, "but I am passionate about it."
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine steps back from you, turning to face the window and conceal her troubled expression. "Yeah!"
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
They go about the consultation in their usual manner: efficient and precise like the cut of a surgeon's knife. While it could have easily come across as brusque and uncaring, Robin's no-nonsense questions and inscrutable, placid expression lend themselves to a soothing effect. Their responses are comforting in their bluntness, and their touch is gentle and careful.
"Nothing to worry about," they say as they move their splayed, wet palms over your chest, hovering just above your skin. The magic tickles, a sensation not unpleasant. It's almost comforting, a feather-like caress like the faint touch of a breeze. "Some bruising, nothing broken or fractured. I'll apply some healing balm and you're good to go." They fix you with a stern look. "That is, good to go to your quarters for some rest, not back on the training ground. I've heard of the...new dummies Sir Accolon brought in," they add meaningfully. They then trot away to a cabinet and grab the required tin can without a moment's hesitation or thought; they could navigate the consultation chamber blindfolded, and treat you just as well.
Once all slathered with the camphor-smelling cream, Robin calls on Elaine to jump on the bed. If your bruising was nothing to worry about, then Elaine's is nothing to even think about. Robin stills recommends her rest, though, to which Elaine bites back a smile that does not inspire confidence she'll actually do so.
"I've had so much worse," Elaine reminisces, the dreamy, far-away look on her face more suggestive of pleasant memories than the injuries she prattles on about: "Like broken bones. And ribs. Well I mean, the ribs are bones, right?"
Ronbin keeps a calm, impassive face as they say, "I see," and "Yes," but you know that look. That flashing flick of the eye that encompasses Elaine from head to toe, scanning as if they could find whatever's amiss as they would a cut or bruise, to clue them in as to why someone would speak like that. It's the same kind of look they turn on Morgana when she says the most threatening of things with the sweetest smile.
Robin scoops the pungent cream onto their fingers and slathers it generously over the reddened skin. "I take it you swordfight often then, Your-" they quickly and smoothly correct themselves, "-Elaine."
"Yeah," Elaine says around a grimace as Robin moves on to the nastier of bruises.
"Should I expect to see you in my study frequently from now on?" they ask.
"Hopefully." When Robin shoots them a strange look, she rushes to add: "Not that I plan on injuring myself! I just hope I'll have the opportunity to swordfight."
By the way their shoulders draw taut, it must take all their willpower not to sigh. "You're both good to go."
You part ways with Elaine, heading off towards opposing quarters.
[[A few days later|Chapt5Storm]]<<if $chapt5_why == 1>>
She knows; there's no other way to salvage this than to apologize. All this effort to avoid hurting her, and you've ended up upsetting her. She's talked about sustaining injuries in the past, in the aftermath of swordfight training or other such adventurous activities. You couldn't gauge though if it were the result of poor skill on her part, or brutal viciousness from her opponent - or a mixture of both. With the nonchalant way she talked about it all, you should have taken your chance with breaking bones. She might have actually thanked you then.
"I'm sorry I held back," you say. "I was afraid of hurting you."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm not made of porcelain, Mordred. Besides, we have healers to...heal. It's not like training swords do that much damage anyway." She searches for something in your face, brow creasing deeper the more she stares. "You wouldn't have held back against a fellow squire, would you?"
You open your mouth but any protest you might have had withers away on your tongue. "No," you admit.
She sighs. "There you have it." She sucks her lips in and tilts her head back, angling her frown at the ceiling. "I still gave my all, though."
"Yeah," you massage at your shoulder. "I could tell."
Elaine whips her head back down. "Good." She crosses her arms, shifts from foot to foot, uncrosses them. "I just, I just really hate when people do this, when," she starts and stops and starts again, fighting to find the words. "When they hold back, or throw matches. Simply because I'm not a squire, so what? I'm not to be taken seriously? So this all turns into some play pretend fight?"
"Your skills surpass all I anticipated," you confess, "for someone who only practices in their pastime. In fact, I'd same you come closer to a squire." Which you don't admit outloud, but it is curious; it must be a very intensive pastime for her.
She nods, still looking miffed. "Thanks. I...know I'm not a squire, as I ever get reminded," she says, mouth twisting in a grimace, "but I am passionate about it."
"I could remedy my mistake...with a rematch?" you offer, hope evident in your tone.
The shadow of a smile plays over her lips. "I'd accept that. Though maybe not right now."
"And here I was rushing to put my armor back on."
She sticks her tongue out at you and bumps your knee with her fist.
<div class="choice">[[A thrill courses through you at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5RomanticEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 1, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your heart flutters at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5RomanticEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 2, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Relief and warmth floods you. Hopefully, she's not too mad at you.|Chapt5RomanticEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 3, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_why == 2>>
She knows; there's no other way to salvage this than to apologize. All this effort to avoid hurting her feelings, only to end up doing it anyway. "I'm sorry I held back," you say. "I was afraid of upsetting you if I went too hard."
"What, think I'm a sore loser? That I'd throw a tantrum on the training ground? Toss my sword away, go cry to someone that you're a meanie? I'm a swordman, not a toddler, Mordred."
"In my defense," you hold up your hands, "there are adults who throw tantrums, if I've learned anything from tournaments and fairs."
"I have sportsmenship." Elaine scoffs. "And dignity." She searches for something in your face, brow creasing deeper the more she stares. "You wouldn't have held back against a fellow squire, would you?"
You open your mouth but any protest you might have had withers away on your tongue. "No," you admit.
She sighs. "There you have it." She sucks her lips in and tilts her head back, angling her frown at the ceiling. "I still gave my all, though."
"Yeah," you massage at your shoulder. "I could tell."
Elaine whips her head back down. "Good." She crosses her arms, shifts from foot to foot, uncrosses them. "I just, I just really hate when people do this, when," she starts and stops and starts again, fighting to find the words. "When they hold back, or throw matches. Simply because I'm not a squire, so what? I'm not to be taken seriously? So this all turns into some play pretend fight? I don't need to be coddled."
"Your skills surpass all I anticipated," you confess, "for someone who only practices in their pastime. In fact, I'd same you come closer to a squire." Which you don't admit outloud, but it is curious; it must be a very intensive pastime for her.
She nods, still looking miffed. "Thanks. I...know I'm not a squire, as I ever get reminded," she says, mouth twisting in a grimace, "but I am passionate about it."
"I could remedy my mistake...with a rematch?" you offer, hope evident in your tone.
The shadow of a smile plays over her lips. "I'd accept that. Though maybe not right now."
"And here I was rushing to put my armor back on."
She sticks her tongue out at you and bumps your knee with her fist.
<div class="choice">[[A thrill courses through you at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5RomanticEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 1, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your heart flutters at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5RomanticEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 2, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Relief and warmth floods you. Hopefully, she's not too mad at you.|Chapt5RomanticEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 3, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_why == 3>>
If you don't budge, if you're convincing enough, you could still salvage this. "I wasn't holding back," you say, "I was just tired from training. It was the second time fighting those two dummies, and they're really a pain in the butt."
Elaine crosses her arms and shakes her head. "No," she roundly says. "No, don't do this. You held back. I'd really rather you just admit to it, Mordred."
If it means so much to her. "Alright, I did."
She takes a deep, long breath and expels it in one harsh exhale. "I'm not made of porcelain. And I don't need my feelings to be coddled." She searches for something in your face, brow creasing deeper the more she stares. "You wouldn't have held back against a fellow squire, would you?"
You open your mouth but any protest you might have had withers away on your tongue. "No," you admit.
She sighs. "There you have it." She sucks her lips in and tilts her head back, angling her frown at the ceiling. "I still gave my all, though."
"Yeah," you massage at your shoulder. "I could tell."
Elaine whips her head back down. "Good." She crosses her arms, shifts from foot to foot, uncrosses them. "I just, I just really hate when people do this, when," she starts and stops and starts again, fighting to find the words. "When they hold back, or throw matches. Simply because I'm not a squire, so what? I'm not to be taken seriously? So this all turns into some play pretend fight?"
"Your skills surpass all I anticipated," you confess, "for someone who only practices in their pastime. In fact, I'd same you come closer to a squire." Which you don't admit outloud, but it is curious; it must be a very intensive pastime for her.
She nods, still looking miffed. "Thanks. I...know I'm not a squire, as I ever get reminded," she says, mouth twisting in a grimace, "but I am passionate about it."
"I could remedy my mistake...with a rematch?" you offer, hope evident in your tone.
A smile flits over her lips, gone as quick as it came; feeble enough to barely be called a smile. "We'll see." She bumps your knee with her fist. "I'm still kind of mad, you know."
<div class="choice">[[Despite the tension, a thrill courses through you at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5RomanticEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Despite the tension, your heart flutters at the touch. You realize now, she's standing kind of close...|Chapt5RomanticEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Your chest constricts. Hopefully, she's not too mad at you.|Chapt5RomanticEasy][$chapt5_passionate to 6]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_fun == 1>>
//'This will be fun,'// you send your dragon's way, no small amount of irony flooding your connection. $dragon_name is lucky; a perk of not being nobility means one gets to evade standing primly in line to receive guests whose arrival is sure to ignite a fire - hopefully, not //literally//, but you never know with Morgana. Your bitter words reach $dragon_him all the way to $dragon_his chamber, where $dragon_name can lounge carelessly in a shaft of autumn sunlight, though not even $dragon_he can escape the gossip that's been going around.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//'If only,'// $dragon_name sighs. //'I admit, I'm sort of worried regarding...whatever could happen,'//, which is a very tactful way of alluding to whatever Morgana may have brewing beneath that calm facade. //'Maybe they'll be able to talk things out,'// $dragon_he optimistically adds. You can't say you share the sentiment.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//'If your brother doesn't want to go forward with this engagement, he should just say it,'// $dragon_name says with the decisiveness $dragon_he implies Gareth should possess. //'It's clear he'd have your mother's wholehearted support. In fact it seems she's almost begging him to say anything.'//
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
//'Maybe he does want to marry,'// you doubtfully concede. If he truly wants, the question comes whether the reason of doing so compromises his own happiness - a duty towards Lothia or fear of Lot he feels overrides any other feelings he might have on the matter. If it does, you cannot in good conscience let it happen.
<<else>>
//'Maybe he does want to marry,'// you concede.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//'I think they should fight it out,'// $dragon_name idly suggests.
It's not surprising. //'You always suggest that,'// you point out.
//'And am I wrong? Turn this into some sort of tournament trial and figure it out.'//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//'Oh, this is so nerve-wrecking,'// $dragon_name says - thinks - fretfully. //'I'm afraid of what could happen in the coming fortnight,'// $dragon_he confesses, which is a tactful way of alluding to whatever Morgana may have brewing beneath that calm facade.
You say: //'Chaos, I expect,'// which does not appease $dragon_him.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_fun == 2>>
//'This will be fun,'// you send your dragon's way, wicked delight seeping through your connection. It's far from a //good// kind of fun - it's the entertainment found in utter, ridiculous chaos, the same sort of amusement one derives from melodrama. Unlike you, $dragon_name does not have a front row seat to the spectacle. Whether it be considered a perk or not, it's merely the reality of not being nobility: one gets to evade standing primly in line to receive guests whose arrival is sure to ignite a fire - not //literally//, but you never know with Morgana. It'd definitely liven things up. Your words reach $dragon_him all the way to $dragon_his chamber, where $dragon_name can lounge carelessly in a shaft of autumn sunlight, though not even $dragon_he can escape the gossip that's been going around.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//'This doesn't sound like fun at all,'// $dragon_name sighs. //'I admit, I'm sort of worried regarding...whatever could happen,'//, which is a very tactful way of alluding to whatever Morgana may have brewing beneath that calm facade. //'Maybe they'll be able to talk things out,'// $dragon_he optimistically adds. You can't say you share the sentiment.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//'If your brother doesn't want to go forward with this engagement, he should just say it,'// $dragon_name says with the decisiveness $dragon_he implies Gareth should possess. //'It's clear he'd have your mother's wholehearted support. In fact it seems she's almost begging him to say anything.'//
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
//'Maybe he does want to marry,'// you doubtfully concede. If he truly wants, the question comes whether the reason of doing so compromises his own happiness - a duty towards Lothia or fear of Lot he feels overrides any other feelings he might have on the matter. If it does, you cannot in good conscience let it happen.
<<else>>
//'Maybe he does want to marry,'// you concede.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//'I'd be more fun if they settled this whole affair by fighting it out,'// $dragon_name idly suggests.
It's not surprising. //'You always suggest that,'// you point out. //'I suppose it'd be more exciting, if nothing else.'//
//'Exactly. Turn this into some sort of tournament trial and figure it out.'//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//'Speak for yourself. Oh, this is so nerve-wrecking,'// $dragon_name says - thinks - fretfully. //'I'm afraid of what could happen in the coming fortnight,'// $dragon_he confesses, which is a tactful way of alluding to whatever Morgana may have brewing beneath that calm facade.
Your skin tingles with excitement as you say: //'Chaos, I expect,'// which does not appease $dragon_him.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_fun == 3>>
//'This will be awful,'// you send your dragon's way, floored by weariness before your guests can even properly arrive. $dragon_name is lucky; a perk of not being nobility means one gets to evade standing primly in line to receive guests whose arrival is sure to ignite a fire - hopefully, not //literally//, but you never know with Morgana. Your bitter words reach $dragon_him all the way to $dragon_his chamber, where $dragon_name can lounge carelessly in a shaft of autumn sunlight, though not even $dragon_he can escape the gossip that's been going around.
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//'Unfortunately,'// $dragon_name sighs. //'I admit, I'm sort of worried regarding...whatever could happen,'//, which is a very tactful way of alluding to whatever Morgana may have brewing beneath that calm facade. //'Maybe they'll be able to talk things out,'// $dragon_he optimistically adds. You can't say you share the sentiment.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//'If your brother doesn't want to go forward with this engagement, he should just say it,'// $dragon_name says with the decisiveness $dragon_he implies Gareth should possess. //'It's clear he'd have your mother's wholehearted support. In fact it seems she's almost begging him to say anything.'//
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
//'Maybe he does want to marry,'// you doubtfully concede. If he truly wants, the question comes whether the reason of doing so compromises his own happiness - a duty towards Lothia or fear of Lot he feels overrides any other feelings he might have on the matter. If it does, you cannot in good conscience let it happen.
<<else>>
//'Maybe he does want to marry,'// you concede.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//'I think they should fight it out,'// $dragon_name idly suggests.
It's not surprising. //'You always suggest that,'// you point out.
//'And am I wrong? Turn this into some sort of tournament trial and figure it out.'//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//'Oh, this is so nerve-wrecking,'// $dragon_name says - thinks - fretfully. //'I'm afraid of what could happen in the coming fortnight,'// $dragon_he confesses, which is a tactful way of alluding to whatever Morgana may have brewing beneath that calm facade.
You say: //'Chaos, I expect,'// which does not appease $dragon_him.
<</if>>
<</if>>
The galloping patter of hooves against cobblestone grows louder, like a relentless deluge of hail. Mighty beasts of shiny white rush towards the castle grounds, drawing lavish carriages painted blue and white, like a crystalline sky and the snow sprawling underneath it. The crest of the Beauregards is etched into the doors: the graceful silhouette of a swan poised with equanimity, as if floating.
The reins snap and the horses slow down to a halt in front of you. As the footman jumps down to attend to her masters, you eye the snow-colored creatures stomping their feet and shaking their manes braided with sapphire-blue ribbon in a demonstration of both vanity and prowess. Staring into their gazes brewing with unfathomable thoughts, you doubt it's either.
First to appear out of the shadowed alcove of the carriage is a blue-gloved hand, extending towards the footman's. The Duchess of Astolat, Beatrice Beauregard, gingerly steps out, taking her time to emerge as if to allow all to rest their gaze on her - or perhaps to avoid stumbling over the unspooling trail of her skirt and sleeves. They pool in lakes of blue silk on the grass, turning to wavering rivulets as she approaches. The Duchess is a woman of imposing height whose sandy curls, pinned at the top of her head in al elaborate hairdo, only add to the stately effect. She faces you with a beatific smile, hitched slightly in one corner as if to suggest a certain levity of character, even amid such a formal event. Next out of the carriage comes her husband, head of golden locks out first. An elfin, short man with an expression of unrestrained cheerfulness that not even the long road could diminish - or perhaps the arrival at his destination only stoked it. It's the sort of beaming smile that indicates that everything at all times in his life is going the way he wants it. There's a certain ease of conduct that contrasts with the carefully constructed poise of your party.
<<if $chapt3_isolde != "">>
Next you expect to see the anticipated and dreaded alike betrothed. Instead you are met with a young woman, the simulacrum of her mother in all but stature, which comes closer to her father's. You recognize Isolde immediately - her kind smile and gesture, such a rarity for you to encounter, were branded into your brain all those years ago when she brought you sweets at the tournament Lothia hosted.
<<else>>
Next you expect to see the anticipated and dreaded alike betrothed. Instead you are met with a young woman, the simulacrum of her mother in all but stature, which comes closer to her father's. It must be Isolde, you decide as you study her face, vaguely familiar from the few events you were formally introduced to the Beauregards - those dizzying parades of Royal families that start feeling repetitive and never-ending after the first few Houses you're presented to.
<</if>>
The next - and last - guest ignores both the steps and hand proffered in support, gamely leading out of the carriage with a jump. Looking ready to join the fray of action rather than a pompous royal affair where the sharpest weapon one can wield is their tongue.
Elaine Beauregard of Astolat, youngest child of the Ducal family and your brother's betrothed, adjusts her cerulean blue doublet and sidles up to her sister's side. Of limber build, she towers over all but her mother. When you were first introduced years ago, she had been addressed as //young lady// Elaine, a title that was shortly dropped and never mentioned again. Because she is not a lady nor a lord, neither woman nor man, and just herself freed of any expectations and assumptions of these terms, as you've been informed she prefers to be considered.
Rolling back her shoulders, Elaine folds her hands behind her back in a stance that wants itself dignified, though the effect is belied by her constantly shifting expression. Different emotions parade over her face in rotation: wide, polite smiles that, upon realizing they may come off as strained after a while, slacken to flat, blank looks. She circles backs to the smile as soon as eyes fall on her, for fear of appearing rude or disinterested. At times, her lips vanish entirely, sucked inward in a pensive line.
[[Continue|Chapt5Arrival]]<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
<<if $chamber_confess_elaine == "no">>
You don't hold the answer to that question, so have no reply to make. Instead, your mind wanders to Elaine.
"I can't blame you for hesitating to confess," you say, sinking your fingers in a handful of grass. The blades tickle your palm. "I couldn't bring myself to tell Elaine how I feel, either."
"The...circumstances aren't the easiest, either," $dragon_name kindly supplies. You merely nod, staring unfocused at the ground. A cool, wet snoot pushes against your cheek. "I'm sorry."
You smile and bring your other hand up against their face, pressing them closer.
//'You can be braver than me though,'// you tell $dragon_name, sending an emboldening surge through your connection. //'Take your chance with Felix.'//
The echos of the war between their reluctance and their yearning can be heard in yourself; yet with your encouragement, one is growing stronger than the other.
//'Maybe I will.'//
<<elseif $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes">>
You don't hold the answer to that question, so have no reply to make. Instead, your mind wanders to Elaine.
"Well, I did confess to Elaine and it was definitely worth it," you say, watching $dragon_name's eyes widen, "but...it's made a bit complicated given the circumstances."
"You confessed?" The question is heard both through your ears and link, ringing loudly around your skull.
There's no need to articulate words to recount what's transpired. You let the stream of your thoughts do the work.
"I'm happy for you," $dragon_name says, "but...the wedding."
You nod. "The wedding." There's no need to elaborate.
"Is it really happening?"
"I think so. It seems so, at least. Unless someone stops it last moment."
$dragon_name lets out a sharp, hot exhale through the nose. "That'd be something for sure."
"There are no complicated circumstances for you and Felix, though," you tell $dragon_name, sending an emboldening surge through your connection. "Take your chance with them."
The echos of the war between their reluctance and their yearning can be heard in yourself; yet with your encouragement, one is growing stronger than the other.
"Maybe I will."
<<elseif $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes1">>
You don't hold the answer to that question, so have no reply to make. Instead, your mind wanders to Elaine.
"Well, I can't blame you for hesitating. My own confession to Elaine didn't go quite so well...though I think it should be forgiven given the circumstances."
"You confessed?" The question is heard both through your ears and link, ringing loudly around your skull.
There's no need to articulate words to recount what's transpired. You let the stream of your thoughts do the work.
"She did say she liked you" $dragon_name says encouragingly, "but there's...the wedding."
You nod. "The wedding."
"Is it really happening?"
"I think so. It seems so, at least. Unless someone stops it at last moment."
$dragon_name lets out a sharp, hot exhale through the nose. "That'd be something for sure."
"There's no complicated circumstances for you and Felix, though," you tell $dragon_name, sending an emboldening surge through your connection. "Take your chance with them."
The echos of the war between their reluctance and their yearning can be heard in yourself; yet with your encouragement, one is growing stronger than the other.
"Maybe I will."
<<else>>
"Take your chance with them," you tell $dragon_name, sending an emboldening surge through your connection.
The echos of the war between their reluctance and their yearning can be heard in yourself; yet with your encouragement, one is growing stronger than the other.
"Maybe I will."
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
<<if $chamber_confess_elaine == "no">>
"I wish I had your courage," you say, sinking your fingers in a handful of grass. The blades tickle your palm. "I couldn't bring myself to tell Elaine how I feel."
"The...circumstances aren't the easiest in your case," $dragon_name kindly supplies. You merely nod, staring unfocused at the ground. A cool, wet snoot pushes against your cheek. "I'm sorry."
You smile and bring your other hand up against their face, pressing them closer.
"But they're not complicated for you," you say after a moment, trying your best to assume a light tone.
<<elseif $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes">>
"Speaking of confessions, I told Elaine how I feel and it was definitely worth it. But...it's made a bit complicated given the circumstances."
$dragon_name's eyes widen. "You confessed?" The question is heard both through your ears and link, ringing loudly around your skull.
There's no need to articulate words to recount what's transpired. You let the stream of your thoughts do the work.
"I'm happy for you," $dragon_name says, "but...the wedding."
You nod. "The wedding." There's no need to elaborate.
"Is it really happening?"
"I think so. It seems so, at least. Unless someone stops it at last moment."
$dragon_name lets out a sharp, hot exhale through the nose. "That'd be something for sure."
<<elseif $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes1">>
"Speaking of confessions, I told Elaine how I feel and it was definitely worth it. But...it's made a bit complicated given the circumstances."
$dragon_name's eyes widen. "You confessed?" The question is heard both through your ears and link, ringing loudly around your skull.
There's no need to articulate words to recount what's transpired. You let the stream of your thoughts do the work.
"She did say she liked you" $dragon_name says encouragingly, "but there's...the wedding."
You nod. "The wedding."
"Is it really happening?"
"I think so. It seems so, at least. Unless someone stops it last moment."
$dragon_name lets out a sharp, hot exhale through the nose. "That'd be something for sure."
<<else>>
"Anyway, I'll take my chance with them," $dragon_name declares, to which you offer a mental whoop.
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $chamber_confess_elaine == "no">>
You don't hold the answer to that question, so have no reply to make. Instead, your mind wanders to Elaine.
"I can't blame you for hesitating to confess," you say, sinking your fingers in a handful of grass. The blades tickle your palm. "I couldn't bring myself to tell Elaine how I feel, either."
"The...circumstances aren't the easiest, either," $dragon_name kindly supplies. You merely nod, staring unfocused at the ground. A cool, wet snoot pushes against your cheek. "I'm sorry."
You smile and bring your other hand up against their face, pressing them closer.
//'There's no complicated circumstances with you and Felix, though,'// you say $dragon_name, sending an emboldening surge through your connection. //'Take your chance with them.'//
They reply with confidence: //'I will.'//
<<elseif $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes">>
You don't hold the answer to that question, so have no reply to make. Instead, your mind wanders to Elaine.
"Well, I did confess to Elaine and it was definitely worth it," you say, watching $dragon_name's eyes widen, "but...it's made a bit complicated given the circumstances."
"You confessed?" The question is heard both through your ears and link, ringing loudly around your skull.
There's no need to articulate words to recount what's transpired. You let the stream of your thoughts do the work.
"I'm happy for you," $dragon_name says, "but...the wedding."
You nod. "The wedding." There's no need to elaborate.
"Is it really happening?"
"I think so. It seems so, at least. Unless someone stops it last moment."
$dragon_name lets out a sharp, hot exhale through the nose. "That'd be something for sure."
"There's no complicated circumstances with you and Felix, though," you say $dragon_name, sending an emboldening surge through your connection. "Take your chance with them."
They reply with confidence: "I will."
<<elseif $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes1">>
You don't hold the answer to that question, so have no reply to make. Instead, your mind wanders to Elaine.
"Well, I can't blame you for hesitating. My own confession to Elaine didn't go quite so well...though I think it should be forgiven given the circumstances."
"You confessed?" The question is heard both through your ears and link, ringing loudly around your skull.
There's no need to articulate words to recount what's transpired. You let the stream of your thoughts do the work.
"She did say she liked you" $dragon_name says encouragingly, "but there's...the wedding."
You nod. "The wedding."
"Is it really happening?"
"I think so. It seems so, at least. Unless someone stops it last moment."
$dragon_name lets out a sharp, hot exhale through the nose. "That'd be something for sure."
"There's no complicated circumstances with you and Felix, though," you say $dragon_name, sending an emboldening surge through your connection. "Take your chance with them."
They reply with confidence: "I will."
<<else>>
"Take your chance with them," you say $dragon_name, sending an emboldening surge through your connection.
They reply with confidence: "I will."
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Felix returns|Chapt5FelixReturns]]"Ah, we have company," Felix drawls, making $dragon_name turn.
You don't need any verbal greeting from your companion - it's directly beamed into your mind, warm and bright.
"Isn't there a dance practice you should be attending?" Felix asks. "Elaine bemoaned their existence all day yesterday."
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "cautious">>
"I've had enough dancing lessons in the last weeks, so I've been spared." It's as good an excuse as any for both you and Lot. Soon, he'll be able to shed the family facade and you can all go back to evading each other like you did before, thank Goddess. Every evening you walk to his parlor for dinner you were accompanied by an inkling of dread hard to shake off.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
"I've had enough dancing lessons in the last weeks, so I've been spared." It's as good an excuse as any for both you and Lot. Soon, he'll be able to shed the family facade and you can all go back to evading each other like you did before. It's been fun stomping all over his nerves in the last fortnight, but you've grown tired of seeing his vile self so often.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "ignore">>
"I've had enough dancing lessons in the last weeks, so I've been spared." It's as good an excuse as any for both you and Lot. Soon, he'll be able to shed the family facade and you can all go back to evading each other like you did before, thank Goddess. You are growing tired of seeing his vile self so often.
<</if>>
"What about you two? Shouldn't you be rehearsing your moves?" You lift your chin upwards to where just moments ago they were tracing elegant whorls through the air. "Was that a prelude?"
<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
"We were just playing around," $dragon_name says, still laid down on the grass. They've kicked their limbs up in the air, stretching. You've noticed them moving and talking less practised, less guarded - less nervous, in short - the more time they spend around Felix.
<<else>>
"We were just playing around," $dragon_name says, still laid down on the grass. They've kicked their limbs up in the air, stretching.
<</if>>
"Mm," Felix hums, a low rumbling, "we don't need dance practice anyway. You witnessed us. We've got some impressive moves, don't we?" They wink at $dragon_name.
Through the open channel bridging your minds comes a delighted thrum. It's not the first time it happened in the past days, either.
<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
You glance at $dragon_name, who's preocuppied with twitching their tail timidly, gaze flitting from Felix to the sky to the glass then back at them. You don't even need your connection to pick up on it.
$dragon_name is enamoured.
//'I am,'// they silently confirm as Felix leaves to fetch water having declared themself as parched as parchment.
You're bombarded with a series of memories, all welling from $dragon_name: a display of Felix's cocky smile and sparkling eyes, of their confident, quick maneuvers in the air and of their dry quips. Images that have utterly captured their thoughts.
The next question you pose comes out your mouth: "Have you told them?"
You might as well have suggested $dragon_name slap Felix in the face with their tail. "No! And I might not even tell them." Their eyes dart around looking for Felix, as if they could have heard you from across the castle grounds. "I just-What if they don't feel the same way? I mean, you've seen them. Felix's amazing."
You cross your arms, dubious. "A dragon more amazing than //you//?"
They prod you with one talon. "Seriously, Mordred. They're a professional racer - and one with quite the treasure trove of wins."
"And you're a squire," you counter.
"Felix has already been courted for important scouting jobs and high-security deliveries."
"And you're on the path to becoming a knight. All I'm saying, you're quite amazing yourself. Besides, I'd be disappointed if they only liked you for your feats and achievements."
"Maybe they like me for my gorgeous scales?" $dragon_name teases, then deflates with a sigh, head bowed as if in prayer. Maybe they should pray - find some fae to lend them the needed confidence. "I want to tell Felix so badly - I need to know if they feel the same - but I can't. I think they might like me too, but what if I'm imagining it? What if it's just harmless fun to them?"
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
You glance at $dragon_name, who's preoccupied with leveling a toothy grin towards Felix. Gleaming eyes locked in a lingering glance.
You don't even need your connection to pick up on it.
$dragon_name is enamoured.
//'I am,'// $dragon_he silently confirm as Felix leaves to fetch water, having declared themself as parched as parchment.
You're bombarded with a series of memories, all welling from $dragon_name: a display of Felix's cocky smile and sparkling eyes, of their confident, quick maneuvers in the air and of their dry quips. Images that have utterly captured their thoughts.
The next question you pose comes out your mouth: "Have you told them?"
"Not yet, but soon," $dragon_name says, preening a bit as they do. "Just...thinking of how best to do it, I suppose. Should it be some sweeping, romantic gesture that will either utterly impress them or leave us both embarrassed, or should I simply ask the question?"
"The sweeping gesture," you say, then pause to consider Felix, a blue, scaly figure in the distance. "I think they'd be the type to appreciate it."
$dragon_name nods sagely in agreement. "You know, I have an inkling they do feel the same way. Or it could be that it's just harmless fun for them. I don't know. But I will find out."
"That's the spirit," you say, even though it doesn't look like $dragon_name needs a lot of encouragement.
"Felix is quite impressive," they continue. "It almost accounts for their smugness."
Elaine has extolled the feats of her friend at dinner before as well - all the prizes Felix has amassed from professional dragon racing, and all the career offerings it's opened for them, from scouting or high-security deliveries.
"And you're quite impressive yourself," you counter.
$dragon_name opens their maw in a smirk. "Of course. Though I hope if they like me it's for more than my achievements. Or my gorgeous scales."
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
You glance at $dragon_name, who's preoccupied with leveling a wide smile towards Felix. Gleaming eyes locked in a lingering glance.
You don't even need your connection to pick up on it.
$dragon_name is enamoured.
//'I am,'// they silently confirm as Felix leaves to fetch water, having declared themself as parched as parchment. //'Why wouldn't I be?'//
You're bombarded with a series of memories, all welling from $dragon_name: a display of Felix's cocky smile and sparkling eyes, of their confident, quick maneuvers in the air and of their dry quips. Images that have utterly captured their thoughts completely.
The next question you pose comes out your mouth: "Have you told them?"
"Not yet, so shhhhh!" $dragon_name presses their tail against their snoot, eyes darting in the direction Felix went off. "I just-I'm not sure how to tell them. What if they don't feel the same way? I mean, you've seen them. They're amazing."
You cross your arms, dubious. "A dragon more amazing than //you//?"
They prod you with one talon. "Seriously, Mordred. They're a professional racer - and one with quite the treasure trove of wins."
"And you're a squire," you counter.
"Felix has already been courted for important scouting jobs and high-security deliveries."
"And you're on the path to becoming a knight. All I'm saying, you're quite amazing yourself. Besides, I'd be disappointed if they only liked you for your feats and achievements."
"Maybe they like me for my gorgeous scales?" $dragon_name teases, then deflates with a sigh. "I want to tell them so badly - I need to know if they feel the same. I think they might, but what if I'm imagining it? What if it's just harmless fun to them?"
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5DragonCrush]]<<if $chapt5_jealous == 1>>
A smile pulls at your lips. How could it not, when you see $dragon_name so blissful? Yet it's followed by a tug of guilt.
It's not that $dragon_name knows no other friendly face than your own in Lothia - though you are, and always will be, the friendliest and most welcome of them all, as $dragon_he assured you - but finding them can be difficult.
<<else>>
A smile pulls at your lips, but it vanishes as quickly as it came. You're happy to see $dragon_name so blissful, happy to see $dragon_him smile. And yet a claw seizes your heart and squeezes mercilessly at the sound of them laughing at someone else's jokes. It should be //you// by their side and not Felix who, a fortnight ago, was little more than a stranger. The claw tightens again, this time with horrified guilt.
You should be wholeheartedly delighted for $dragon_him. Isn't that what a good friend does? But there's a frenzied squirming within, of a fish on a hook dragged away from its pond. $dragon_name is happy, and you're far removed from that picture.
<<if $Elaine_friend >= 4>>
You try to swallow the bitter taste only for it to get stuck as a lump in your throat. You hate this feeling, you hate how it makes you feel, you hate how selfish it is considering that $dragon_name knows so few friendly faces other than your own in Lothia, and finding new ones can be difficult.
And you hate how much of a hypocrite it makes you, when you yourself have been spending all this time with Elaine, and $dragon_name has never reproached your budding friendship.
<<else>>
You try to swallow the bitter taste only for it to get stuck as a lump in your throat. You hate this feeling, you hate how it makes you feel, you hate how selfish it is considering that $dragon_name knows so few friendly faces other than your own in Lothia, and finding new ones can be difficult.
<</if>>
<</if>>
The treatment $dragon_name has received from Court differs from what you know. $dragon_He find themself in a curious, delicate position: $dragon_his close assosiation with you has left its marks, especially in interactions with those who ardently seek Lot's approval. Yet $dragon_him being the child of a Dragons' Council member puts weight to their name and ensures some respect is given - lest Lot wishes to anger the dragons of Lothia. $dragon_He have been met with more kindness in $dragon_his community that you have been among your peers, but there's still a certain wariness about getting too close with $dragon_him. The miasma of your family's reputation hanging around $dragon_name is hard to dispel.
[[Felix notices you approach|Chapt5DragonHangout]]The carriage now pulling before you bears two emblems, equally split across its door: embossed on the left is an apple tree with ripe, red fruit hanging from proud branches, and on the right, imprinted against bronze, is a bundle of lavender, elegant in its simplicity.
Yet the serious, golden-haired man exiting the carriage sports neither his own house emblem nor that of his wife. No, Lancelot du Lac wears his King's colors. He is properly adorned for his status, though his elegance puts you less in mind of princes and dukes and more of celebrated warriors. Perhaps it's the cut of the clothes - but rather it's the cut of the man himself, of what he's become, of what he represents. Melded perfectly into his role that even out of armor, out of duty, he looks the part of Champion Knight, and carries himself with the firm, confident posture he might wear striding onto the battlefield.
Coupled with his hard-set expression, Lancelot becomes a heroic figure out of a portrait. One which sits high and lofty on the wall as a trophy, as a testament of greatness.
With her look of blank serenity, Lady Elena too gives the impression of being cut out of a portrait - a portrait that'd sit framed and dignified in an equally stately long gallery. Unlike her husband, she wears her family's violet and bronze and a headdress of lavender flowers, its gauzy veil cascading over her ginger hair.
Last out of the carriage is Galahad - less serene or heroic, more straight-faced and boyish. Just like his father, he is garbed in the Royal red and gold - the gild of his doublet matches that of his slicked-back, chin-long hair, and the crimson renders the light violet of his eyes paler. He's assumed the same posturing as Lancelot, too. Back straight, head up, step self-assured. Yet he fails to reach the same lofty, grand effect that his father has achieved. Galahad strikes both such a stark contrast and startling similarity to him, placed side by side as they are. You could see in him a younger version of the latter, before he became the Champion of the land, the right-hand of the crown.
Your encounters after the tournament have been rare, your interactions scarce, and throughout it all Galahad has stolidly remained his cool, apprehensive self with you.
<<if $gally_river == "friend_good">>
Back then, you'd found him playing by the river with Callum, right at your favorite spot. You came down with the intention of befrieding him and by the time he left, you got the impression you've thawed at least a little of his icy defenses.
<div class="choice">[[You're still determined to befriend him.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "befriend"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You eventually gave up on trying to befriend him. Perhaps you could find the motivation and opportunity to try again, perhaps not.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "no_befriend"]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "charm_good">>
Back then, you'd found him playing by the river with Callum, right at your favorite spot. You came down with the intention of charming him and by the time he left, you got the impression you've thawed at least a little of his icy defenses.
<div class="choice">[[You're still determined to charm him.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "charm"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You eventually gave up on trying to charm him. Perhaps you could find the motivation and opportunity to try again, perhaps not.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "no_charm"]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "friend">>
Back then, you'd found him playing by the river with Callum, right at your favorite spot. You came down with the intention of befrieding him but quickly abandoned the plan once you hit yourself again and again against the icy wall he put up.
<div class="choice">[[You're still determined to befriend him.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "befriend"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You eventually gave up on trying to befriend him. Perhaps you could find the motivation and opportunity to try again, perhaps not.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "no_befriend"]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "charm">>
Back then, you'd found him playing by the river with Callum, right at your favorite spot. You came down with the intention of charming him but quickly abandoned the plan once you hit yourself again and again against the icy wall he put up.
<div class="choice">[[You're still determined to charm him.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "charm"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You eventually gave up on trying to charm him. Perhaps you could find the motivation and opportunity to try again, perhaps not.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "no_charm"]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "confront">>
Back then, you'd found him playing by the river with Callum, right at your favorite spot. You came down with the intention of a reckoning. You demanded that he respond for his antagonism - and he did, with more hostility. That run-in left both of you ruffled.
<div class="choice">[[You're still determined to confront and challenge him at any step.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "confront"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You've preferred avoiding him entirely, if possible.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "avoid"]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "stubborn" and $chapt3_staring_contest is true>>
Back then, you'd found him playing by the river with Callum, right at your favorite spot. //Your// spot! Perhaps it was righteous vexation. Perhaps it was childish pettishness. But you couldn't let Galahad of all people steal it from you for even just one afternoon. You'd challenged him to a staring contest, which was clearly the best way of solving the issue.
<div class="choice">[[You're still determined to confront and challenge him at any step.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "confront"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You've preferred avoiding him entirely, if possible.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "avoid"]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "stubborn">>
Back then, you'd found him playing by the river with Callum, right at your favorite spot. //Your// spot! Perhaps it was righteous vexation. Perhaps it was childish pettishness. But you couldn't let Galahad of all people steal it from you for even just one afternoon - though that's exactly what you ended up doing. He was far too vexing to deal with.
<div class="choice">[[You're still determined to confront and challenge him at any step.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "confront"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You've preferred avoiding him entirely, if possible.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "avoid"]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "spite">>
Back then, you'd found him playing by the river with Callum, right at your favorite spot. He was far too vexing to deal with directly but you wouldn't let yourself chased away from your place either. So you settled comfortably on the opposite bank and waited til he left. The easiest interaction you'd had until then.
<div class="choice">[[You've started to confront and challenge him in more overt ways.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "confront"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You've continued to avoiding him, whenever possible.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "avoid"]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "afraid">>
Back then, you'd found him playing by the river with Callum, right at your favorite spot. His hostility frayed your nerves and raised your guard, so you flew away and let him steal your place for one day.
<div class="choice">[[You've started to confront and challenge him in more overt ways.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "confront"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You've continued to avoiding him, whenever possible.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "avoid"]]</div>
<<elseif $gally_river == "nerve">>
Back then, you'd found him playing by the river with Callum, right at your favorite spot. He was far too vexing and tiring to deal with so you flew away, letting him steal your place for one day.
<div class="choice">[[You've started to confront and challenge him in more overt ways.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "confront"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You've continued to avoiding him, whenever possible.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "avoid"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[Over the past few years you've been avoiding him, whenever possible.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "avoid"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Over the past few years you've been confronting and challenging him.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "confront"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Over the past few years you've been trying to befriend him.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "befriend"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Over the past few years you've been trying to win him over.|Chapt5GalahadArrives][$chapt5_gally_attitude to "charm"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_duel == 1>>
Elaine Beauregard has the luxury of playing at being knight, can put down her weapon whenever she wants. Swinging a sword around to show off to the other nobles and release whatever tension sitting too much on cushy pillows spawns. It's not a game for you, though. Your sword will accompany you in combat, it'll keep you safe and strike and rend actual foes instead of hay-stuffed dummies. If she wants - if she can handle it - you can show her how it's done.
"Sure," you smirk, the curl of your lips sharp enough to morph into a sneer. "But I won't go easy on you."
"Oh," Elaine grins, showing teeth, "I'm definitely not asking you to."
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, stirring the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, stirring the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You're honestly growing bored.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 2>>
You won't deny that your interest has been piqued. Of course, there are plenty of nobles in the Lothian Court who've taken up the sword as one might take up swimming, or running laps for sport, but few would extend the same offer to duel as Elaine did. Her features look so much more animated once the subject was brought up; her passion is clear, and you're wondering if there's skill to back it up. She might even be able to keep up with you.
"Sure," your lips curl into a smirk, sharp as the blade you wield, "But I won't go easy on you."
"Oh," Elaine grins, showing teeth, "I'm definitely not asking you to."
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You're honestly growing bored.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 3>>
Her features look so much more animated once the subject was brought up. Her passion is clear, so it seems like a perfect opportunity to befriend Elaine. Colliding swords may not be what's first conjured up to mind when one thinks of bonding, but for a squire, the dance of the sword is like a second language, one that speaks all too loud. Still, you won't compromise your ability just to indulge her. If she wants to have a go at it, truly test her own skills against one who's trained to rely on the sword for their own survival, she'll need to contend with the fact you won't hold back.
"Sure," your lips curl into a smirk, sharp as the blade you wield, "But I won't go easy on you."
"Oh," Elaine grins, showing teeth, "I'm definitely not asking you to."
Your smile widens till your cheeks smart. You're off to a great start.
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 4>>
Her features look so much more animated once the subject was brought up - any lingering awkwardness was swiftly dispelled, replaced by a bright enthusiasm that makes her brown eyes sparkle like twin gems. Her passion is clear, so it seems like a perfect opportunity to get to know Elaine better. Perhaps swordfighting isn't the first thing that would be conjured up when one thinks of building friendships, but for those who wield the sword, they know it to be akin to a dance - a second language only they can understand, which you'd like to speak wit her and she what she's made of. Besides, you can't help but say yes when she fixes you with such gleaming excitement, your curiosity piqued.
"Sure," your lips curl into a smirk, sharp as the blade you wield, "But I won't go easy on you."
"Oh," Elaine grins, showing teeth, "I'm definitely not asking you to."
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, stirring the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, stirring the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way - meant as a warning - the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 5>>
Induling Elaine in her interests - and this one elicits a great deal of excitement, if her liveliness is anything to go by. This would be the perfect opportunity to accrue favor from someone as highly-positioned as a child of one Duchal family, soon to marry into another. So you embrace it with a genial smile and slight tilt of your head.
"Of course," you say. You will even soften your blows and tame your strikes to stroke her ego if that's what it takes to endear yourself to her.
Elaine's merely grins, showing teeth. If she's as fierce with her sword as she is with her smile, it may actually prove exciting.
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You're honestly growing bored.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 6>>
Her features look so much more animated once the subject was brought up. Her passion is clear, so it seems like the perfect opportunity to befriend Elaine. Colliding swords may not be what's first conjured up to mind when one thinks of bonding, but for a squire, the dance of the sword is like a second language, one that speaks all too loud. It'll be fun to indulge her, whether she can keep up with you or you soften up your strikes. After all, it's rare that someone at the Lothian Court would extend a similar offer to you.
"Of course," you smile.
Elaine's merely grins, showing teeth. If she's as fierce with her sword as she is with her smile, this may prove even more exciting.
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 7>>
Her features look so much more animated once the subject was brought up - any lingering awkwardness was swiftly dispelled, replaced by a bright enthusiasm that makes her brown eyes sparkle like twin gems. Her passion is clear, so it seems like a perfect opportunity to get to know Elaine better. Perhaps swordfighting isn't the first thing that would be conjured up when one thinks of building friendships, but for those who wield the sword, they know it to be akin to a dance - a second language only they can understand, which you'd like to speak wit her and she what she's made of. Besides, you can't help but say yes when she fixes you with such gleaming excitement, your curiosity piqued.
"Of course," you smile.
Elaine's merely grins, showing teeth. If she's as fierce with her sword as she is with her smile, this may prove even more exciting.
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, stirring the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, stirring the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way - meant as a warning - the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 8>>
Does she expect you to indulge her? Play pretend as if you were children, clattering swords - //dull// ones, most likely, lest you injure a Ducal kid and soon to be Duke's spouse. You have no patience or desire for it; if she looks for entertainment let her look elsewhere.
"Not interested in fighting an amateur," you say curtly, not caring if she takes issue with your tone.
Elaine's smile turns sharp. "Well, this amateur may surprise you."
You eye her dubiously, unconvinced: sure, the curl of her lips may cut as much as the edge of a blade, but it may be nothing more than empty words and an inflated ego.
"I assure you," Isolde intervenes, "that Elaine is far from a novice."
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You're honestly growing bored.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 9>>
You have no desire to indulge her - noble kids who take up the sword on a whim often have far bigger of an ego than actual skill, and you simply have no interest in spending time with her - yet you'd rather soften your refusal as you'd soften your blow around an amateur.
"Oh, I don't know now," you say politely, mind racing to find the right words. "I'm rather busy usually. I'm sure teaching Gareth will keep you just as preocuppied."
"Oh." Elaine studies you closely for a moment, then: "If you're afraid I won't be able to keep up, I can manage. But if you're too busy..." She leaves it up in the air, placing the responsability to answer back in your unwilling hands.
You plaster a pleasant smile on your face and concede you might find the time, but can make no promises.
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You're honestly growing bored.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 10>>
You'd love nothing more than to say yes - your interest has been piqued, and on top of that, the offer to spar just for fun is not one usually extended to you at the Lothian Court. Perhaps swordfighting isn't the first thing that would be conjured up when one thinks of building friendships, but for those who wield the sword, they know it to be akin to a dance - a second language only they can understand. Yet there's something holding you back, sharp claws of doubt lodged in your back, sinking deeper the closer you are to uttering the words. Elaine is Gareth's betrothed, and you don't reckon most would be too happy about her devoting time to //you//, the bastard, instead of your brother.
"Oh, I don't know," you say, mustering the nicest way of turning her down, even as a twinge of pain blooms in your chest. "I'm rather busy usually. I'm sure teaching Gareth will keep you just as preocuppied."
"I can keep up with you, if that's what you're worried about," she assured you. "But if you're too busy..." She leaves it up in the air, placing the responsability to answer back in your unwilling hands.
You give her a small smile. "We'll see."
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 11>>
You'd love nothing more than to say yes - your interest has been piqued, and on top of that, the offer to spar just for fun is not one usually extended to you at the Lothian Court. Perhaps swordfighting isn't the first thing that would be conjured up when one thinks of building friendships, but for those who wield the sword, they know it to be akin to a dance - a second language only they can understand. And you'd love nothing more than to speak it with her - Elaine, whose whole face lit up at the mention of swords, whose brown eyes sparkle like twin gems, fixing you with such enthusiasm. Yet there's something holding you back, sharp claws of doubt lodged in your back, sinking deeper the closer you are to uttering the words. Elaine is Gareth's betrothed, and you don't reckon most would be too happy about her devoting time to //you//, the bastard, instead of your brother.
"Oh, I don't know," you say, mustering the nicest way of turning her down, even as a twinge of pain blooms in your chest. "I'm rather busy usually. I'm sure teaching Gareth will keep you just as preocuppied."
"I can keep up with you, if that's what you're worried about," she assures you. "But if you're too busy..." She leaves it up in the air, placing the responsability to answer back in your unwilling hands.
You give her a small smile. "We'll see."
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 12>>
Her features look so much more animated once the subject was brought up - any lingering awkwardness was swiftly dispelled, replaced by a bright enthusiasm that makes her brown eyes sparkle like twin gems. Her passion is clear, so it seems like a perfect opportunity to get to know Elaine better. Perhaps swordfighting isn't the first thing that would be conjured up when one thinks of building friendships, but for those who wield the sword, they know it to be akin to a dance - a second language only they can understand, which you'd like to speak wit her and she what she's made of.
"Sure," your lips curl into a smirk, sharp as the blade you wield, "But I won't go easy on you."
"Oh," Elaine grins, showing teeth, "I'm definitely not asking you to."
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 13>>
Her features look so much more animated once the subject was brought up - any lingering awkwardness was swiftly dispelled, replaced by a bright enthusiasm that makes her brown eyes sparkle like twin gems. Her passion is clear, so it seems like a perfect opportunity to get to know Elaine better. Perhaps swordfighting isn't the first thing that would be conjured up when one thinks of building friendships, but for those who wield the sword, they know it to be akin to a dance - a second language only they can understand, which you'd like to speak wit her and she what she's made of.
"Of course," you smile.
Elaine's merely grins, showing teeth. If she's as fierce with her sword as she is with her smile, this may prove even more exciting.
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_duel == 14>>
You'd love nothing more than to say yes - your interest has been piqued, and on top of that, the offer to spar just for fun is not one usually extended to you at the Lothian Court. Perhaps swordfighting isn't the first thing that would be conjured up when one thinks of building friendships, but for those who wield the sword, they know it to be akin to a dance - a second language only they can understand. And you'd love nothing more than to speak it with her - Elaine, whose whole face lit up at the mention of swords, whose brown eyes sparkle like twin gems, fixing you with such enthusiasm. Yet there's something holding you back, sharp claws of doubt lodged in your back, sinking deeper the closer you are to uttering the words. Elaine is Gareth's betrothed, and you don't reckon most would be too happy about her devoting time to //you//, the bastard, instead of your brother.
"Oh, I don't know," you say, mustering the nicest way of turning her down, even as a twinge of pain blooms in your chest. "I'm rather busy usually. I'm sure teaching Gareth will keep you just as preocuppied."
"I can keep up with you, if that's what you're worried about," she assures you. "But if you're too busy..." She leaves it up in the air, placing the responsability to answer back in your unwilling hands.
You give her a small smile. "We'll see."
<<if $Gareth >= 20>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course.
<<else>>
"What else do you like to do?" Gareth asks, steering the conversation back on its course, one flashing, pointed look your way the only sign he's displeased by where the chatter strayed. That smouldering fire reminds you so much of Morgana.
<</if>>
Elaine twines her fingers, stretching her arms before her - unfurling like a blossoming flower as she grows more at ease - and crosses her right ankle over her left knee. "Fighting with lances? Archery too - longbow //and// shortbow. It's fun, but not as fun as smacking things with a blade," she chuckles. "Though in terms of weapons nothing beats the sword for me."
<div class="choice">[["Two-hander or arming sword?" you ask. You want to know more about her, and Gareth isn't likely to even think of these details.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let them converse. You feel bad to stick your nose, though you'd like to know more about Elaine.|Chapt5SwordAsk][$chapt5_sword_ask to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<</if>>Elaine takes a deep breath; it comes out in a sharp exhale. "Well, there's not much else we can see here, is there?" She points vaguely towards the emptiness around her. "What's next on our tour?"
You nod. "Follow me."
<<include Chapt5ElaineTour>><<silently>>
<<if $Elaine >= 56>>
<<set $elaine_said_more to true>>
<<else>>
<<set $elaine_said_more to false>>
<</if>>
<</silently>>
You walk farther into the Great Hall, surveying the dais and empty throne upon it, along with Elaine. Your boots reverberate in the enormous space, rising high to the unlit chandeliers.
"Your thoughts on the engagement?" you ask, tilting your head to watch her expression, any minute twitch or change that may reveal what hides beneath. "I reckon it was hastily arranged."
"I suppose," Elaine says. "I know it was officially announced only a couple months ago, but the correspondece with Duke Lot started a month prior; and talk among us even sooner than that." She fiddles with a silver button, the thread keeping it attached to the cuff perilously thin. "But I think the idea planted itself in their head since Isolde's wedding."
Elaine lets her head loll back and eyes flutter close; she rolls her neck from side to side with a satisfying pop and small crack. In the still silence of the Great Hall, it sounds like breaking bones.
"And you've agreed from the start? Did you have any input over the choice?"
Her eyes snap open. "I was asked my opinion, yes." There's a pause; the silence within it as weighy as the conversation Elaine seems reluctant to engage with. She spins to fully face you, and you angle to meet her just as directly. "All the marriages in my family have been arranged. It worked out great for my parents, and they think it can for the rest of us too."
"Well, your siblings are already married; has it?"
Her face softens. "My brother and his husband have been in love long before the union was officiated."
"And your sister?"
Her frame stiffens ever so slightly, and she looks away. "She's happy too. So yeah," she continues, chipper and louder now, as if the strength in her voice alone may chase away all doubts and gloom that have settled uneasily in the great empty space between you and the arched ceiling, in the nooks and crevices unseen. "My parents say if we too work at it, we can persevere. And well, marriage is about one's security and comfort and the good of the land and people and all that."
"Still, this doesn't tell me what //you// think of it?"
Elaine's brown pinches, and she gives you a strange smile. "Doesn't it? Well, I think everyone's mighty eager to see us married and settled," she says tersely.
Oh, perhaps you finally found a loose thread to pull and pull at until all comes unraveling. In any case, you cling to it and tug again. "Would you like the date of the wedding to be pushed back, then?"
<<if $Elaine >= 56>>
"No, it's..." Elaine stumbles to a halt before she can even properly begin, dithering on the edge of the unfinished sentence with her face all scrunched up in conflict. She trundles forward and heaves herself up on the dais - a gesture you doubt Lot would like very much - and looks at you with weary eyes. "It's just overwhelming, that's all. That and...this isn't just any arranged marriage, is it?" You slowly walk up to her, listening intently to her. "Gareth's expected to be Duke. In my family, that fell to my brother; I never had to worry about it. Papa is planning on stepping down when Augustin turns 25, and I heard Lot has similar plans. Which would make your brother Duke, and me, as his consort..." She cocks her head, pursing her lips as she quietly muses. "Duke. I guess that's the most neutral term I can find."
You silently sit down next to her. Your vantage point is a bit lower than Lot's would be from his fancy chair, but still already so much more elevated than what it was before. Giving you new eyes to see the Great Hall through. It looks strange without the courtiers to fill it up - like a long forgotten temple frozen in time.
"Have you told Gareth your concerns?"
"What, in front of our parents?" she scoffs. "It's not like we got a moment to talk for ourselves." She dangles her feet off the dais, thumping her heels against the sturdy wood. It resonates with a dull sound, like the beat of a war drum. "But I will. Tell him."
Elaine shakes her head, as if to shake off all troubling thoughts and pressing worries, and jumps down from the dais with renewed energy. "I'll manage," she says with such vehemence you could almost believe her, if it didn't sound so much like an attempt to convince herself of the fact.
With that declaration, she takes back to roaming the place, surveying the banners hanging above, all the deep, intense green of moss atop which the Leudonous symbol was embroidered in brown thread: the bear, with its menacing maw open and beady eyes keeping watch. You linger on the dais a moment longer, watching Elaine shifting between the shafts of shadow and light strapped across the flagstone. You can't help but think, despite her tall, lean figure, how small she looks in this chamber.
Then you jump off too, feeling small yourself again.
<<else>>
"No, it's..." Elaine stumbles to a halt before she can even properly begin, dithering on the edge of the unfinished sentence with her face all scrunched up in conflict. "It's just overwhelming, that's all." She doesn't elaborate on that confession. You get the impression there's more to that, but whatever dam she's consolidated to keep it all together holds strong and well. She shakes her head and turns away, surveying the banners hanged above you.
You look up at them too, all of them that deep, intense green of moss atop which the Leudonous symbol was embroidered in brown thread: the bear, with its menacing maw open and beady eyes keeping watch.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_ask_family_check != true>><div class="choice">[["What do you think of my family?" Inquire her opinions on Gareth, Morgana and Lot. Approach this tactfully.|Chapt5ElaineAskFamily][$chapt5_ask_family to 1, $chapt5_ask_family_check to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt5_ask_family_check != true>><div class="choice">[["What do you think of my family?" Inquire her opinions on Gareth, Morgana and Lot. Approach this bluntly.|Chapt5ElaineAskFamily][$chapt5_ask_family to 2, $chapt5_ask_family_check to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Move on.|Chapt5ElaineAskContinue][$chapt5_ask_family to 4]]</div><<if $chapt5_ask_family == 1>>
No curious ears and no prying eyes yet you still find yourself softly calling out to Elaine, as if the walls themselves may stand witness and hang onto your every word. Elaine stops in the shadowed space between two shafts of light and tilts her head inquisitively, inviting you to say what's on your mind.
<<if $Elaine >= 53>>
You take a deep breath and step forward; perhaps closing the distance between you will inspire some sort of familiarity that will loosen her tongue, too. Conversation has been flowing easily up until now; she's looked far more at ease than yesterday, where she seemed under the pressure of performing for company, or finding something to discuss with Gareth while the adults deftly pretended not to listen in or observe them. As if they were two strange creatures they've dropped in the same room to interact, waiting to see if they'll take to one another or jump at each other's throats. Well, possibly no one thought of the latter; Morgana might have liked that though. Would have ended the engagement quickly.
<<else>>
You take a deep breath and step forward; perhaps closing the distance between you will inspire some sort of familiarity that will loosen her tongue, too.
<</if>>
"What do you think of my family so far? I know you have yet to get to know them too well," you raise one shoulder in a half-shrug, dressing everything from your tone to manner in nonchance, "but I was wondering about first impressions and all that."
"Your family's been...very welcoming," Elaine cagily answers. The strained smile she gives suggests that may be all you're getting out of her, at least for now.
"What about your betrothed?" you gently prod.
"Gareth's nice." You wait for her to continue but as the seconds drag on, she breaks the silence with an equally unsatisfying: "Really nice."
Well, they haven't spent all that much time together, yet; perhaps you should return to the question later.
"I'm surprised //your// family has been so welcoming of us," you say instead. "Of me and Morgana specifically, I mean."
She presses the tip of her boot in the space between the tiles, as if squishing an invisible bug, hands folded behind her back. "My parents are of the mind that we should always extend kindess. Bring an open mind to any matter. Not judge people too harshly, especially not on rumour alone, and things out of their control." Elaine shifts her weigh from a foot to the other, looking up at you with a small, rueful smile. "We know you and your mother have been through...a lot. And we know people have not been the nicest to you. Which isn't fair."
<<elseif $chapt5_ask_family == 2>>
<<if $Elaine >= 53>>
You take a confident step forward; perhaps closing the distance between you will inspire some sort of familiarity that will loosen her tongue, too. Conversation has been flowing easily up until now; she's looked far more at ease than yesterday, where she seemed under the pressure of performing for company, or finding something to discuss with Gareth while the adults deftly pretended not to listen in or observe them. As if they were two strange creatures they've dropped in the same room to interact, waiting to see if they'll take to one another or jump at each other's throats. Well, possibly no one thought of the latter; Morgana might have liked that, though. It would have ended the engagement quickly.
<<else>>
You take a confident step forward; perhaps closing the distance between you will inspire some sort of familiarity that will loosen her tongue, too.
<</if>>
"Alright, I want your honest opinion; no need to hold back, be direct, be brutal. Thoughts on my family?"
Elaine looks surprised, but not displeased by your forwardness. "Your family's nice. Very welcoming."
"And Gareth?" you prod.
"Gareth's nice."
"Just nice?"
Elaine offers a strained smile. "Really nice." It doesn't sound like you'll get more out of her. Perhaps later.
"Well, I'm surprised //your// family's been so welcoming of me and Morgana," you say instead.
She presses the tip of her boot in the space between the tiles, as if squishing an invisible bug, hands folded behind her back. "My parents are of the mind that we should always extend kindess. Bring an open mind to any matter. Not judge people too harshly, especially not on rumour alone, and things out of their control." Elaine shifts her weigh from a foot to the other, looking up at you with a small, rueful smile. "We know you and your mother have been through...a lot. And we know people have not been the nicest to you. Which isn't fair."
<</if>>
A shadow falls briefly over the Great Hall, deepening the strange gloom that's settled in the wake of her words. Through the closed windows, you hear the muffled thumping of wings, and you turn to behold the tawny dragon quickly departing. Elaine watches their flight, shoulders slumping with an inaudible sigh.
<<if $chapt5_ask_engagement_check != true>><div class="choice">[["Your thoughts on the engagement?" you ask. "I reckon it was settled very quickly."|Chapt5ElaineAskEngagement][$chapt5_ask_engagement_check to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Move on.|Chapt5ElaineAskContinue][$chapt5_ask_family to 4]]</div><<if $elaine_chamber == 1>>
You've started out only intending to be nice and polite to Elaine, hoping to gain her favor in the process - an endeavor that's bore fruit. And one that you've enjoyed, too. As it turns out, Elaine is fun to be around. "You're alright too," you say with a smile.
Despite the hubbub and tumult that's defined life at Court ever since the announcement of the engagement, the friendship that's been building between the two of you has softened it. All of the evenings you've had to dine in Lot's dreadful company, all of the days you've had to parade about playing family, made better by her presence.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. From what Gareth told you, it seems she's none too eager but merely following the motions she's constricted to. Yet if she hasn't approached Gareth to stop the wedding, is it really your place to prod and comment?
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. From what Morgana's told you, it seems she's none too eager but merely following the motions she's constricted to. Yet if she hasn't approached Gareth to stop the wedding, is it really your place to prod and comment?
<<else>>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. Her attitude towards the wedding has ranged from antsy to dismissive and you could easily blame it on nerves, but to you it evinces reluctance that may well from a different place.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Do you really want to marry?" you ask.|Chapt5ElaineFriend1][$elaine_chamber1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't prod. Don't even mention the wedding.|Chapt5ElaineFriend1][$elaine_chamber1 to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $elaine_chamber == 2>>
You don't share the sentiment quite as strongly, but you do find her company agreeable. You've merely tried to be nice to her and gain her favor in the process - an endeavor that's proved fruitful. You look up from the shell you're tearing through with your knife and offer her a smile. "You make for very pleasant company likewise."
You chat while you continue munching on chestnuts, mostly straying from any topics involving the upcoming wedding. You can't blame her - she did join you here to avoid all that hubbub in the first place. Once the bowl's emptied, Elaine gets up reluctantly, trundling over to the door as if the movement pained her.
"Guess I have to go now," she says with a grimace. It softens to a smile as she continues, "Thanks for the company. And the chestnuts."
<<elseif $elaine_chamber == 3>>
Your smile mirrors her. "You're alright too."
Despite the hubbub and tumult that's defined life at Court ever since the announcement of the engagement, the friendship that's been building between the two of you has softened it. All of the evenings you've had to dine in Lot's dreadful company, all of the days you've had to parade about playing family, made better by her presence.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. From what Gareth told you, it seems she's none too eager but merely following the motions she's constricted to. Yet if she hasn't approached Gareth to stop the wedding, is it really your place to prod and comment?
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. From what Morgana's told you, it seems she's none too eager but merely following the motions she's constricted to. Yet if she hasn't approached Gareth to stop the wedding, is it really your place to prod and comment?
<<else>>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. Her attitude towards the wedding has ranged from antsy to dismissive and you could easily blame it on nerves, but to you it evinces reluctance that may well from a different place.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Do you really want to marry?" you ask.|Chapt5ElaineFriend1][$elaine_chamber1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't prod. Don't even mention the wedding.|Chapt5ElaineFriend1][$elaine_chamber1 to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "ok" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "talk" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "guilty" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "dangerous">>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[[You know Gareth would be alright with this. So what if Elaine's marrying someone else? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5ElaineChamberFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineChamberFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineChamberFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineChamberFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineChamberFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If Elaine and you really do amount to anything, you'll talk things out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5ElaineChamberFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineChamberFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineChamberFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If Elaine and you really do amount to anything, you'll talk things out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5ElaineChamberFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
Gooseflesh blossoms across your back at her gentle, hushed words, as if someone traced a feather down your spine. Elaine's eyes - dark brown like the chestnuts in the bowl - pin you with that same keen, scrutinizing look she's leveled so many times before your way, searching for something in your face. An answer to an unsaid question, perhaps?
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "ok" or $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "talk">>
So you offer her one: "The feeling is mutual," yet keep the rest you want to say to yourself. It's mutual, and so much more but you don't find what it takes to say it. Part of you doesn't want to. Not here, not now, not as doubt coils around you.
The air between you is fraught with unspoken words, smouldering in the silence. You get the impression you're not the only one holding back, the only one with a confession simmering on their tongue, choking up their throat. It may just be wishful thinking; speculations and conjectures born only of your own fancy, welling from a desire to see reflected your own infatuation.
Elaine unceremoniously smashes the tension with a grin: "That's great!" Her smile splits her face so wide it seems to hurt, just like her voice is too loud, a rude intrusion meant to thoroughly rattle the both of you. Perhaps...it's all quite intentional, to snap the threads of whatever that shared look and quiet was weaving between you two.
You take a sharp breath through the mouth and expel it, slowly, then muster up a grin of your own. You exchange a series of smile and nods that are more or less awkward. From an outside perspective, it must look like some sort of pantomime: two fools dancing around each other, both reluctant to make a decisive move.
Elaine proves firmly committed to acting reluctant. She turns her attention fully towards the chestnuts and knife, hacking away at shells as if it was her duty to fulfill. You take her lead and try your best to smother those flames within you as you did with the ones burning in the hearth. But while the embers slowly die, your metaphorical ones keep on stalwartly simmering.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
So you offer her one: "The feeling is mutual," yet keep the rest you want to say to yourself. It's mutual, and so much more but you know you can't say it. Yearning and guilt alike are gnawing at you from the inside. Clawing at each other like vicious creatures, achieving nothing but drawing blood with no resolution in sight.
The air between you is fraught with unspoken words, smouldering in the silence. You get the impression you're not the only one holding back, the only one with a confession simmering on their tongue, choking up their throat. It may just be wishful thinking; speculations and conjectures born only of your own fancy, welling from a desire to see reflected your own infatuation.
Elaine unceremoniously smashes the tension with a grin: "That's great!" Her smile splits her face so wide it seems to hurt, just like her voice is too loud, a rude intrusion meant to thoroughly rattle the both of you. Perhaps...it's all quite intentional, to snap the threads of whatever that shared look and quiet was weaving between you two.
You take a sharp breath through the mouth and expel it, slowly, then muster up a grin of your own. You exchange a series of smile and nods that are more or less awkward. From an outside perspective, it must look like some sort of pantomime: two fools dancing around each other, both reluctant to make a decisive move.
Elaine proves firmly committed to acting reluctant. She turns her attention fully towards the chestnuts and knife, hacking away at shells as if it was her duty to fulfill. You take her lead and try your best to smother those flames within you as you did with the ones burning in the hearth. But while the embers slowly die, your metaphorical ones keep on stalwartly simmering.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
So you offer her one: "The feeling is mutual," yet keep the rest you want to say to yourself. It's mutual, and so much more but you know you can't say it. No matter how strong your yearning - no matter how hard the confession tries to claw its way to the surface - you push it all back down. Your chamber may be safe from prying, dangerous eyes and ears, but you know whatever you'd share here would soon overflow past these walls.
The air between you is fraught with unspoken words, smouldering in the silence. You get the impression you're not the only one holding back, the only one with a confession simmering on their tongue, choking up their throat. It may just be wishful thinking; speculations and conjectures born only of your own fancy, welling from a desire to see reflected your own infatuation.
Elaine unceremoniously smashes the tension with a grin: "That's great!" Her smile splits her face so wide it seems to hurt, just like her voice is too loud, a rude intrusion meant to thoroughly rattle the both of you. Perhaps...it's all quite intentional, to snap the threads of whatever that shared look and quiet was weaving between you two.
You take a sharp breath through the mouth and expel it, slowly, then muster up a grin of your own. You exchange a series of smile and nods that are more or less awkward. From an outside perspective, it must look like some sort of pantomime: two fools dancing around each other, both reluctant to make a decisive move.
Elaine proves firmly committed to acting reluctant. She turns her attention fully towards the chestnuts and knife, hacking away at shells as if it was her duty to fulfill. You take her lead and try your best to smother those flames within you as you did with the ones burning in the hearth. But while the embers slowly die, your metaphorical ones keep on stalwartly simmering.
<</if>>
You couldn't bring yourself to bare your heart to Elaine, but there is one question you need to spit out: "Do you really want to marry?"
Her hands still, sharp tip of the blade dipped beneath the shell. The way she tensed, you wonder if that's how she feels to - as if a dagger pressed against her skin. It was, after all, quite the keen-edged question for you to throw. "In general," she asks, "or with your brother specifically?"
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
"Either," you reply. "Both. Gareth told me what arrangement the two of you arrived at, but we're still both concerned you're not too eager about it all."
She tilts her head, already angled downwards, to the side as if to hide her face. Yet you still catch the pinch in her brow, just before a sheet of blonde hair comes down to conceal it like a curtain drawing close. "And then you know my answer."
Yes, the evasive answer that heavily implied she's not content at all with the turn of events.
Before you can further prod, she says: "I'm going along with it, aren't I?" Her tone's as dry as the chestnuts' shell and ready to snap just as easily. Elaine shakes herself off and squares up her shoulders. "Speaking off, I should head back to the rehearsals for said wedding."
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
"Either," you reply. "Both. I don't know what you and Gareth spoke about, but...I understood there's a concern that you're not all that eager to go through with this."
She tilts her head, already angled downwards, to the side as if to hide her face. Yet you still catch the pinch in her brow, just before a sheet of blonde hair comes down to conceal it like a curtain drawing close. "But I'm going along with it, aren't I?" Her tone's as dry as the chestnuts' shell and ready to snap just as easily.
Elaine shakes herself off and squares up her shoulders. "Speaking off," she says, forcibly shifting away from further prodding, "I should head back to the rehearsals for said wedding."
<<else>>
"Either," you reply. "Both."
She tilts her head, already angled downwards, to the side as if to hide her face. Yet you still catch the pinch in her brow, just before a sheet of blonde hair comes down to conceal it like a curtain drawing close. "Well I'm going along with it, aren't I?" Her tone's as dry as the chestnuts' shell and ready to snap just as easily.
Elaine shakes herself off and squares up her shoulders. "Speaking off," she says, forcibly shifting away from your question, "I should head back to the rehearsals for said wedding."
<</if>>
She's on her feet and headed for the door before you can even decide whether to try to stop her or not. She stops on the threshold, hand on the knob, and finally meets your eye again. The troubled pucker is still etched between her brows. "Thank you for the company. And the chestnuts." Then she's out.
You heave out a bone-weary sigh and flop back against the rug, rubbing your palms down your face. You hit a nerve. A very sensitive one indeed.
[[Continue|Chapt5RunIntoDragon]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_compliment == 1>>
<<if $elaine_crush >= 3>>
You bend with a flourish in a mock little bow. One hand folded behind your back, the other placed over your heart, tone as dramatic as it befits the gesture. "I aim to please," you say, locking eyes with her as you do.
"Well then," a smile splits her face, "there's something that would please me even more."
"Anything you want," you reply, keener this time.
<<elseif $elaine_oblivious >= 3>>
You bend with a flourish in a mock little bow. One hand folded behind your back, the other placed over your heart, tone as dramatic as it befits the gesture. "I aim to please," you say, locking eyes with her as you do.
"Well then," a smile splits her face, "there's something that would please me even more."
"Anything you want," you reply with an eagerness that takes even yourself by surprise.
<<else>>
You bend with a flourish in a mock little bow. One hand folded behind your back, the other placed over your heart, tone as dramatic as it befits the gesture. "I aim to please," you say, locking eyes with her as you do.
"Well then," a smile splits her face, "there's something that would please me even more."
You eye her askance. "Oh? I have a hunch I know what it is."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_compliment == 2>>
<<if $elaine_crush >= 3>>
She seems to mean it genuinely - or does she? Maybe that tilt of her lips is less playful, and rather amused at your ridiculous performance, more at home on the stage of some comedy play. Embarrassment grips your insides and twists.
"Was it...the good kind of entertainment?" you ask, mouthing the words around a grimace.
"The best kind!" she assures you.
Something else, far sweeter, knots your insides now. "Thanks," you say, flexing your fingers tightly around the hilt of your sword to ease the heady mix of joy, relief and self-consciousness that overcomes you.
<<elseif $elaine_oblivious >= 3>>
She seems to mean in genuinely - or does she? Maybe that tilt of her lips is less playful, and rather amused at your ridiculous performance, more at home on the stage of some comedy play. Embarrassment grips your insides, and twists.
"Was it...the good kind of entertainment?" you ask, mouthing the words around a grimace.
"The best kind!" she assures you.
"Thanks," you say, flexing your fingers tightly around the hilt of your sword to ease the heady mix of joy, relief and self-consciousness that overcomes you.
<<else>>
She seems to mean in genuinely - or does she? Maybe that tilt of her lips is less playful, and rather amused at your ridiculous performance, more at home on the stage of some comedy play. Embarrassment grips your insides, and twists..
"Was it...the good kind of entertainment?" you ask, mouthing the words around a grimace.
"The best kind!" she assures you.
You hesitate, surveying her expression for any clue she might just be trying to spare your feelings. Then you huff a relieved sigh and finally find the confidence to give her a smile in return.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_compliment == 3>>
"I see," you impassively nod. You couldn't care less for her opinion on your performance, or her presence for that matter. You know what she's here for.
Her enthusiasm dampens at your glaring lack of any, but she doesn't back down.
<<elseif $chapt5_compliment == 4>>
You politely incline your head. "Thank you. You're too kind."
"I liked it so much so that now I want to see you do it again." Her fingers wrap around her sheathed sword. "Closer this time."
<<elseif $chapt5_compliment == 5>>
<<if $elaine_crush >= 3>>
You match her smile with your own beaming one. "Thanks!" The fight replays in your mind, a flurry of blurry action in your mind's eye. "So..." you trace a gloved finger up the length of your sword's hilt. "You liked that? The way I fight?" Your victory against the Misery Twins has just been rendered far sweeter and better than you could have imagined.
"Yeah," Elaine nods. "So much so that I'd like to see you do it again." Her fingers wrap around her sheathed sword. "Closer this time."
<<elseif $elaine_oblivious >= 3>>
You match her smile with your own beaming one. "Thanks!" The fight replays in your mind, a flurry of blurry action in your mind's eye. "So..." you trace a gloved finger up the length of your sword's hilt. "You liked that? The way I fight?" Your victory against the Misery Twins has just been rendered far sweeter and better than you could have imagined.
"Yeah," Elaine nods. "So much so that I'd like to see you do it again." Her fingers wrap around her sheathed sword. "Closer this time."
<<else>>
You match her smile with your own beaming one. "Thanks!"
"I liked it so much so that now I want to see you do it again." Her fingers wrap around her sheathed sword. "Closer this time."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_compliment == 6>>
<<if $elaine_crush >= 3>>
Your victory against the Misery Twins has just been rendered far sweeter and better than you could have imagined. "Well, if I knew I had such eager audience I would have put on more of a show," you say with a wink.
"Oh?" Elaine seizes you up with interest. "Well, you have your chance not only to give me a better, closer show," her hand closes around the hilt of her sheathed sword, "but to include me in it, as well."
A smirk settles on your lips. "What an alluring proposal."
"Is that a yes?" she asks, hand shifting up to reveal to you a sliver of naked blade. "Or are you afraid?"
"Oh, I enjoy a challenge. The question is: are you one?"
She grins, baring her teeth now. "You'd be surprised."
<<elseif $elaine_oblivious >= 3>>
Your victory against the Misery Twins has just been rendered far sweeter and better than you could have imagined. "Well, if I knew I had such eager audience I would have put on more of a show," you say with a wink.
"Oh?" Elaine seizes you up with interest. "Well, you have your chance not only to give me a better, closer show," her hand closes around the hilt of her sheathed sword, "but to include me in it, as well."
A smirk settles on your lips. "What an alluring proposal." //Alluring// is the best way to put it, the way excitements snakes up your skin.
"Is that a yes?" she asks, hand shifting up to reveal to you a sliver of naked blade. "Or are you afraid?"
"Oh, I enjoy a challenge. The question is: are you one?"
She grins, baring her teeth now. "You'd be surprised."
<<else>>
Your victory against the Misery Twins has just been rendered far sweeter and better than you could have imagined. "Well, if I knew I had such eager audience I would have put on more of a show," you say with a wink.
"Oh?" Elaine seizes you up with interest. "Well, you have your chance not only to give me a better, closer show," her hand closes around the hilt of her sheathed sword, "but to include me in it, as well."
A smirk settles on your lips. "What an exciting proposal."
"Is that a yes?" she asks. "Or are you afraid?"
"Me? Maybe //you// should be afraid."
Elaine snorts. "Shaking in my greaves."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_compliment == 7>>
<<if $elaine_crush >= 3>>
You're hit with a dizzying bout of self-consciousness, urgently leafing through your memory of the fight for any moment where you might have looked like an idiot. It's almost embarrassing how keen your need to impress is, burning hot along the nape of your neck.
You shift from one foot to another, your amor clattering too loudly in your ears. "Thanks," you fumble out the word.
<<elseif $elaine_oblivious >= 3>>
You're hit with a dizzying bout of self-consciousness, urgently leafing through your memory of the fight for any moment where you might have looked like an idiot. Knowing Elaine was watching is somehow worse than having an experienced knight behold you; you feel a keener need to impress her.
You shift from one foot to another, your amor clattering too loudly in your ears. "Thanks," you fumble out the word.
<<else>>
You're hit with a dizzying bout of self-consciousness, urgently leafing through your memory of the fight for any moment where you might have looked like an idiot. Her enthusiastic expression eases your worries.
You shift from one foot to another, your armor clattering too loudly in your ears. "Thanks," you fumble out the word.
<</if>>
<</if>>
Elaine unsheathes her sword.
<<if $chapt5_duel == 8>>
"Mordred," she says, smile as bright as her plates and as sharp as her blade, "will you duel me?" She raises her two-hander; it catches the sun with a dangerous gleam. "Take a chance on an amateur."
<<else>>
"Mordred," she says, smile as bright as her plates and as sharp as her blade, "will you duel me?" She raises her two-hander; it catches the sun with a dangerous gleam.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Match her smile, just as sharp. "Sure."|Chapt5ElaineDuelNow][$chapt5_duel_now to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course," you eagerly agree.|Chapt5ElaineDuelNow][$chapt5_duel_now to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Perhaps another time? I'm in no shape after training," you try to gently extricate yourself. You have no interest in dueling with her.|Chapt5ElaineDuelNow][$chapt5_duel_now to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you bluntly refuse.|Chapt5ElaineDuelNow][$chapt5_duel_now to 4]]</div><<if $elaine_chamber_kiss1 == 2>>
Your fingers tighten round the knife till they smart. There are plenty of chestnuts still left in the bowl but you've lost your appetite and doubt you'll regain it soon. All you can taste is bile and disappointment on your tongue, acid coming up your throat. It only makes you feel worse looking at her, clearly reluctant about this whole marriage charade yet playing along like a puppet on strings.
You might have managed to move past the awkwardness, to tread carefully across the thin ice till you were back on solid ground and everything you said was left behind to be forgotten. Instead, you toss the question to shatter the ice underneath you.
"Do you really want to marry?"
You might as well have actually sunk Elaine in biting-cold waters. She freezes. Her features harden. She doesn't meat your eye as she says, voice strained: "It's not easy."
"It's not," you concede, "but you can call this whole thing off. It'll be messy, but you'll have support, and you'd be free to make your choice."
Her jaw clenches tighter. In the silence of the chamber, you can hear her teeth gnash together. "Look, Mordred, it's complicated," Elaine pushes back, a sliver of frustration bleeding through. "I should just go."
She's on her feet and headed for the door before you can even decide whether to try to stop her or not. She halts on the threshold, hand on the knob, and cuts her gaze to you. A deeply troubled pucker is etched between her brows. "Thank you for the company. And sorry." Then she's out.
You heave out a bone-weary sigh and flop back against the rug, rubbing your palms down your face.
<<else>>
You chat while you continue munching on chestnuts, mostly straying from any topics involving the upcoming wedding. You can't blame her - she did join you here to avoid all that hubbub in the first place. Once the bowl's emptied, Elaine gets up reluctantly, trundling over to the door as if the movement pained her.
"Guess I have to go now," she says with a grimace. It softens to a smile as she continues, "Thanks for the company. And the chestnuts."
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5RunIntoDragon]]<<if $elaine_chamber_kiss1 == 1>>
You hesitated before but now you won't. "I do," you say.
Elaine sucks in a breath - quick and sharp, like the draw of a sword. You've unsheathed yours, challenged her for a response, and now it's up to her to strike back or block. Her gaze dips to your mouth and she lunges.
<div class="choice">[[Let her kiss you. You want this so much.|Chapt5ElaineConfessKiss][$elaine_chamber_kiss to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let her kiss you, though you quickly realize kissing may not be for you.|Chapt5ElaineConfessKiss1][$elaine_chamber_kiss to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull back, startled.|Chapt5ElaineConfessStartle][$elaine_chamber_kiss to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
"I like you as a friend," you lie, hoping there's nothing to give you away. Your heart drums in your ears but you doubt she can hear it.
"Oh," she sounds dejected. "Sorry. I just thought, you know-" instead of giving any coherent explanation she launches into a series of hand gesticulations as if pointing you down a ridiculously convoluted road. You nod along, eager to smooth over this moment. She concludes with a half-hearted: "Yeah. That's good then. Because of the wedding."
<div class="choice">[[Just move over. Talk about something else.|Chapt5ElaineComplimentAsk][$elaine_chamber_kiss1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Yet a question sizzles on your tongue. "Do you really want to marry?"|Chapt5ElaineComplimentAsk][$elaine_chamber_kiss1 to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "ok" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "talk" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "guilty" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "dangerous">>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[[You know Gareth would be alright with this. So what if Elaine's marrying someone else? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5ElaineConfessCompliment][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineConfessCompliment][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineConfessCompliment][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineConfessCompliment][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineConfessCompliment][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If Elaine and you really do amount to anything, you'll talk things out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5ElaineConfessCompliment][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineConfessCompliment][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineConfessCompliment][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If Elaine and you really do amount to anything, you'll talk things out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5ElaineConfessCompliment][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "ok" or $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "talk">>
Gooseflesh blooms across your skin. You're sizzling like embers under her gaze, skin heated and tingling, insides pooling with warmth. You only need the kindling to be set aflame now. You only need say outloud the words smouldering on your tongue for the fire to engulf you both. You could get scorched - or you could blaze so bright and beautiful.
You're not quite ready to let this wildfire loose, but you do want to stoke the flames.
Your own voice stays a whisper as you say: "The feeling is mutual." You hold her gaze - that warm, dark, lush brown that reminds you of the earth and tree bark and...something even closer at hand.
You pick up a chestnut between thumb and index and remark, mustering all your charm: "Your eyes look like chestnuts."
Elaine lets out a chortle - an unfettered, explosive sound of amusement that makes you want to crawl unde the covers and never resurface.
"Wait, wait," she says, voice still thick with laughter and waving a hand before your face. "I'm sorry, that was cute."
You eye her dubiously. "Really?"
"Really. Unless you meant it as some weird insult, in which case, //ouch//."
"It wasn't an insult," you softly say. "They're beautiful."
She considers you with an unreadable expression. Then she blurts out: "Do you like me?"
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
Gooseflesh blooms across your skin. You're sizzling like embers under her gaze, skin heated and tingling, insides pooling with warmth. You only need the kindling to be set aflame now. You only need say outloud the words smouldering on your tongue for the fire to engulf you both. You could get scorched - or you could blaze so bright and beautiful.
You're not quite ready to let this wildfire loose, but you do want to stoke the flames, even though you know you shouldn't. Whatever hold guilt had on you is starting to loosen, melting in the fire of an yearning much stronger.
Your own voice stays a whisper as you say: "The feeling is mutual." You hold her gaze - that warm, dark, lush brown that reminds you of the earth and tree bark and...something even closer at hand.
You pick up a chestnut between thumb and index and remark, mustering all your charm: "Your eyes look like chestnuts."
Elaine lets out a chortle - an unfettered, explosive sound of amusement that makes you want to crawl unde the covers and never resurface.
"Wait, wait," she says, voice still thick with laughter and waving a hand before your face. "I'm sorry, that was cute."
You eye her dubiously. "Really?"
"Really. Unless you meant it as some weird insult, in which case, //ouch//."
"It wasn't an insult," you softly say. "They're beautiful."
She considers you with an unreadable expression. Then she blurts out: "Do you like me?"
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
Gooseflesh blooms across your skin. You're sizzling like embers under her gaze, skin heated and tingling, insides pooling with warmth. You only need the kindling to be set aflame now. You only need say outloud the words smouldering on your tongue for the fire to engulf you both. You could get scorched - or you could blaze so bright and beautiful.
You're not quite ready to let this wildfire loose, but you do want to stoke the flames, even though you would do well to bite your tongue. caution doesn't anchor you anymore. Whatever sway caution had on you has been loosened, melting away in the fire of an yearning far stronger.
Your own voice stays a whisper as you say: "The feeling is mutual." You hold her gaze - that warm, dark, lush brown that reminds you of the earth and tree bark and...something even closer at hand.
You pick up a chestnut between thumb and index and remark, mustering all your charm: "Your eyes look like chestnuts."
Elaine lets out a chortle - an unfettered, explosive sound of amusement that makes you want to crawl unde the covers and resurface never.
"Wait, wait," she says, voice still thick with laughter and waving a hand before your face. "I'm sorry, that was cute."
You eye her dubiously. "Really?"
"Really. Unless you meant it as some weird insult, in which case, //ouch//."
"It wasn't an insult," you softly say. "They're beautiful."
She considers you with an unreadable expression. Then she blurts out: "Do you like me?"
<</if>>
You're too taken aback to offer anything else than a barely articulate, "What?"
"Because I've been wondering," she pushes on, "ever since that time in the healing room, if you did."
<div class="choice">[["I do," you say.|Chapt5ElaineComplimentKiss][$elaine_chamber_kiss1 to 1, $chamber_confess_elaine to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like you as a friend," you lie.|Chapt5ElaineComplimentKiss][$elaine_chamber_kiss1 to 2, $chamber_confess_elaine to "no"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "ok" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "talk" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "guilty" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "dangerous">>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[[You know Gareth would be alright with this. So what if Elaine's marrying someone else? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5ElaineConfessFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineConfessFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineConfessFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineConfessFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineConfessFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If Elaine and you really do amount to anything, you'll talk things out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5ElaineConfessFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineConfessFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineConfessFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If Elaine and you really do amount to anything, you'll talk things out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5ElaineConfessFlirt][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "ok" or $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "talk">>
Gooseflesh blooms across your skin. You're sizzling like embers under her gaze, skin heated and tingling, insides pooling with warmth. You only need the kindling to be set aflame now. You only need say outloud the words smouldering on your tongue for the fire to engulf you both. You could get scorched - or you could blaze so bright and beautiful.
You're ready to let this wildfire loose.
Your own voice stays a whisper as you say: "The feeling is mutual. But for me, there's more to it. I like you, and not just as a friend."
Elaine sucks in a breath - quick and sharp, like the draw of a sword. You've unsheathed yours, challenged her for a response, and now it's up to her to strike back or block. Her gaze dips to your mouth and she lunges.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
Gooseflesh blooms across your skin. You're sizzling like embers under her gaze, skin heated and tingling, insides pooling with warmth. You only need the kindling to be set aflame now. You only need say outloud the words smouldering on your tongue for the fire to engulf you both. You could get scorched - or you could blaze so bright and beautiful.
You should stop. It's not fair to either Elaine or Gareth to complicate matters like this, and yet the tug of guilt is not strong enough to make you swallow the words. Whatever hold it had on you has burned away in the flames of an yearning much stronger.
Your own voice stays a whisper as you say: "The feeling is mutual. But for me, there's more to it. I like you, and not just as a friend."
Elaine sucks in a breath - quick and sharp, like the draw of a sword. You've unsheathed yours, challenged her for a response, and now it's up to her to strike back or block. Her gaze dips to your mouth and she lunges.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
Gooseflesh blooms across your skin. You're sizzling like embers under her gaze, skin heated and tingling, insides pooling with warmth. You only need the kindling to be set aflame now. You only need say outloudt the words smouldering on your tongue for the fire to engulf you both. You could get scorched - or you could blaze so bright and beautiful.
You would do well to bite your tongue and swallow your words, yet caution doesn't anchor you anymore. Whatever sway it had on you has been subdued by an yearning far stronger.
Your own voice stays a whisper as you say: "The feeling is mutual. But for me, there's more to it. I like you, and not just as a friend."
Elaine sucks in a breath - quick and sharp, like the draw of a sword. You've unsheathed yours, challenged her for a response, and now it's up to her to strike back or block. Her gaze dips to your mouth and she lunges.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Let her kiss you. You want this so much.|Chapt5ElaineConfessKiss][$elaine_chamber_kiss to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let her kiss you, though you quickly realize kissing may not be for you.|Chapt5ElaineConfessKiss1][$elaine_chamber_kiss to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Pull back, startled.|Chapt5ElaineConfessStartle][$elaine_chamber_kiss to 3]]</div>
<</if>>The collision of your lips was violent and painful yet you kiss Elaine back, mouth sore and hungry. She moves like she wields her blade, with decisive enthusiasm. Her hands shoot up to cup your face, splaying across your flaming cheeks, the pads of her fingers five pressure points sending thrills down your spine. You grip her waist and dig your nails into her jerkin. You //need// to be close - even if your lips bruise and your teeth clatter and your skin smarts. It all gets turned into a heady buzz, a pleasant jolt coursing through your body.
At first, it's nothing more than a desperate crushing of mouth against mouth, like a child would smash together the faces of two dolls. You're not sure what you're doing or how you're supposed to move, so you let Elaine take the lead. Let her catch your bottom lip between her, let her tongue move along the soft skin and her teeth graze over it. You mirror her, savouring every sensation. Clinging on to her like a thistle, fingers sinking deeper into her sides. Elaine pushes closer and you pull - momentum sends you sprawling back but you don't stop. There's a dull thud, followed by a cascade of clinking, and you yet don't stop. Like fire to kindling, there's only the need to consume.
When you finally part, you're gasping and heaving for air. Elaine hovers over you, hair rippling over her shoulder and tickling your neck.
"Oh wow," she breathes out. Cheeks flushed, lips swollen, bright eyes staring you down.
"I suppose this means you like me back?" you ask.
A bark of a laugh rips from her throat. "Yeah. I kind of wanted to do this back in the healing room, you know. Theeeen-" she drawls in a lilting tone, gaze sweeping over everything but your face "-I realized how impulsive and stupid that was with the healer next door. The sort of situation it would land us in."
Elaine shifts back in a sitting position and gives you a tug up too. For all the unbridled passion of your kiss, she looks sheepishly subdued now.
"The wedding," you say, just as somber. The mention of the event - looming so close it's not just hanging on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely - is enough to douse the flames within you. Soon enough, you're left as cold and bereft as the hearth before you.
She blows out her cheek in one dejected puff. "Yep. I know Gareth said he'd be alright with all of this, but the rest of the court won't. I imagine Duke Lot would be the least happy about it and I really don't want to put you in that spot."
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
Something about the way she said it - that naked concern - makes your stomach flutter, enough to overcome the bile rising from its depth. Of course it'd circle back to Lot's scorn. Whatever you do, down to your mere existence, is an affront to the Duke. He mostly keeps out of your way but when he does crawl out of his withered shell to turn his detestable attention on you, he's not shy to show his disapproval. And this - this feat of having captured Elaine's fondness as she had yours - will surely be too much for him. You almost want to march up to him right now and spill it all just to see him bristle.
<<else>>
Something about the way she said it - that naked concern - makes your stomach flutter, enough to overcome the dread nestling in its pit. She's right. Of course she is. Lot would throw a fit the likes to rival Morgana's own wrathful magic. You wouldn't want to be near if he were to find out about you and Elaine; like a fisherman catching sight of dark clouds on the sky, you'd be paddling away to safety. Safety, however, is relative as long as you're still living in Lot's wretched court.
<</if>>
You appreciate her worry for you, but you nurse your own regarding her. You ask: "Do you really want to marry?"
Her shoulders draw taut like a pulled rope. She considers you as if you've just put a knife to her throat after she trusted you with her guard down. It is a sharp-edged question after all. "It's complicated, Mordred."
"I'm asking out of a place of concern," you continue as Elaine shakes her head, shields already rising, flapping her hands as if she can swat away your concerns. "I really do care, and not just to keep kissing you. Though I'd like that. I fear you're going along with this all despite what you really want."
And now your dagger of a question has drawn blood. "What do you know about what I want?" Elaine snaps. She then sees your face and winces.
She's up on her feet and at the door two big strides, but doesn't leave. Hand clutched on the knob, she turns to you with a rueful, wry curl of the lip - it's closer to the grimace from before than a smile. "Look, let's just...wait a bit? Wait for the wedding to pass, for everything to simmer down, and then we can talk things out." She doesn't wait to hear a response before she's out the door.
[[Continue|Chapt5RunIntoDragon]]The collision of your lips was violent and painful yet you kiss Elaine back, mouth sore and clumsy. She moves like she wields her blade, with decisive enthusiasm that, unlike in a duel, you can't match now. It seems to you that she knows what she's doing and enjoying herself too. You can't say so for yourself, though.
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but kissing just isn't for you. It's starting to feel kind of queasy. You'd rather stop.|Chapt5ElaineConfessNoKiss][$elaine_chamber_nokiss to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's not bad, but it does nothing for you. You're content going on if it pleases Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineConfessNoKiss][$elaine_chamber_nokiss to 2]]</div><<if $elaine_chamber_nokiss == 1>>
The kiss is...bad. It's not that Elaine is atrocious at kissing - at least, you don't think so. Someone else may appreciate what she's doing with her lips but for you it's all a peculiar, wet and sloppy smashing of mouths that doesn't bring any burst of winged insects in your stomach - even though, just moments ago, you were buzzing to pour your heart out to her. And despite the awkwardness of it all, a part of you is happy that this clinches her own feelings about you. You only wished it involved less lips. In honesty, whatever joy you have is quickly overwhelmed by an increasing unease.
Her hands shoot up to cup your face but you slide your own over them and draw away, breaking the kiss. Elaine stares at you with wide-eyed confusion, then alarm.
"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry," she scrambles to pull away, the flush on her cheeks deepening to a mortified red. "I didn't even ask you before I just jumped on you."
"It's alright," you say, still holding on to her fingers. "I wanted to try it. Don't want to do it anymore, though."
"Got it," Elaine nods.
"But what I said before stands," you say. "I like you...I just don't want to kiss."
She nods along with your words, the color in her face slowly reverting to a healthier shade. "Again, I'm sorry. I just thought - you were looking at me -" she cuts herself off and takes in a deep breath. Then she smiles. "I like you too. A lot. I've been wondering if you did, too, since that time in the healing room. Theeeen-" she drawls in a lilting tone, glancing down at your twined hands "-I realized how it complicates everything. The sort of situation it would land us in. And I didn't want to say anything."
Elaine shifts uneasily on the rug. For all the unbridled enthusiasm from before, she looks sheepishly subdued now.
<<else>>
The kiss...isn't bad. It's just not as you you've seen described in most books. Leading up to it, you did feel that pleasant buzz of butterflies in your stomach but there was no explosion of fluttering wings upon the meeting of your mouths, no winged insects bursting out of you at the continued smashing of your lips as one particular story put it. It's alright. It must mean Elaine likes you back and the gesture stands in lieu of the admission - actions speak louder than words and all that - which //does// bring about a burst of joy within you, like a dam breaking and letting it all overspill.
Her hands shoot up to cup your face, fingers pressing into your skin, and you slide your palms over them. Her eagerness is enough to make you want to go on, so you let her take the lead while you follow her moves.
When you finally part, Elaine doesn't pull far back. Cheeks flushed, lips swollen, bright eyes pinned on you. "Oh wow," she breathes out, warm air tickling your lips.
"I suppose this means you like me back?" you ask.
A bark of a laugh rips from her throat. "Yeah. I kind of wanted to do this back in the healing room, you know. Theeeen-" she drawls in a lilting tone, gaze sweeping over everything but your face "-I realized how impulsive and stupid that was with the healer next door. The sort of situation it would land us in."
Elaine shifts back. For all the unbridled enthusiasm of her kissing, she looks sheepishly subdued now.
<</if>>
"The wedding," you say, just as somber. The mention of the event - looming so close it's not just hanging on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely - is enough to douse the flames within you. Soon enough, you're left as cold and bereft as the hearth before you.
She blows out her cheek in one dejected puff. "Yep. I know Gareth said he'd be alright with all of this, but the rest of the court won't. I imagine Duke Lot would be the least happy about it and I really don't want to put you in that spot."
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
Something about the way she said it - that naked concern - makes your stomach flutter, enough to overcome the bile rising from its depth. Of course it'd circle back to Lot's scorn. Whatever you do, down to your mere existence, is an affront to the Duke. He mostly keeps out of your way but when he does crawl out of his withered shell to turn his detestable attention on you, he's not shy to show his disapproval. And this - this feat of having captured Elaine's fondness as she had yours - will surely be too much for him. You almost want to march up to him right now and spill it all just to see him bristle.
<<else>>
Something about the way she said it - that naked concern - makes your stomach flutter, enough to overcome the dread nestling in its pit. She's right. Of course she is. Lot would throw a fit the likes to rival Morgana's own wrathful magic. You wouldn't want to be near if he were to find out about you and Elaine; like a fisherman catching sight of dark clouds on the sky, you'd be paddling away to safety. Safety, however, is relative as long as you're still living in Lot's wretched court.
<</if>>
You appreciate her worry for you, but you nurse your own regarding her. You ask: "Do you really want to marry?"
Her shoulders draw taut like a pulled rope. She considers you as if you've just put a knife to her throat after she trusted you with her guard down. It is a sharp-edged question after all. "It's complicated, Mordred."
"I'm asking out of a place of concern," you continue as Elaine shakes her head, shields already rising, flapping her hands as if she can swat away your concerns. "I fear you're going along with this all despite what you really want."
And now your dagger of a question has drawn blood. "What do you know about what I want?" Elaine snaps. She then sees your face and winces.
She's up on her feet and at the door two big strides, but doesn't leave. Hand clutched on the knob, she turns to you with a rueful, wry curl of the lip - it's closer to the grimace from before than a smile. "Look, let's just...wait a bit? Wait for the wedding to pass, for everything to simmer down, and then we can talk things out." She doesn't wait to hear a response before she's out the door.
[[Continue|Chapt5RunIntoDragon]]You pull back and she topples over you with a small, surprised //umph//.
"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry," she scrambles to get off you, the flush on her cheeks deepening to a mortified red. "I didn't even ask you before I just jumped on you. I like you too. A lot. And you were looking at me, and I thought-" she cuts herself off and takes a deep breath. With a sheepish smile, she says: "I should have asked."
<div class="choice">[["That would have been nice," you say with a tight smile. "You can ask now. You might find me inclined to say yes." You want to kiss.|Chapt5ElaineConfessStartleKiss][$elaine_chamber_kiss to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["That would have been nice," you say. "I like you, but I'm not sure I want to kiss."|Chapt5ElaineConfessStartleKiss][$elaine_chamber_kiss to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["That would have been nice," you say. "I like you, but kissing isn't for me."|Chapt5ElaineConfessStartleKiss][$elaine_chamber_kiss to 3]]</div><<if $elaine_chamber_kiss == 1>>
"That would have been nice," you say with a tight smile. "You can ask now." The curl of your lips loosens and hitches higher. "You might find me inclined to say yes."
Elaine gamely plays along. "Alright. May I kiss you, Mordred?"
A shiver runs from the crown of your head to your toes. "Yes."
She's back on you, gentler yet no less eager. She moves slow at first, then picks up the pace, kissing you like she wields her blade - with decisive confidence. Her hands shoot up to cup your face, splaying across your flaming cheeks, the pads of her fingers five pressure points sending thrills down your spine. You grip her waist and dig your nails into her jerkin. You //need// to be close - even if your lips bruise and your teeth clatter and your skin smarts. It all gets turned into a heady buzz, a pleasant jolt coursing through your body.
At first, it's nothing more than a desperate crushing of mouth against mouth, like a child would smash together the faces of two dolls. You're not sure what you're doing or how you're supposed to move, so you let Elaine take the lead. Let her catch your bottom lip between her, let her tongue move along the soft skin and her teeth graze over it. You mirror her, savouring every sensation. Clinging on to her like a thistle, fingers sinking deeper into her sides. Elaine pushes closer and you pull - momentum sends you sprawling back but you don't stop. There's a dull thud, followed by a cascade of clinking, and you yet don't stop. Like fire to kindling, there's only the need to consume.
When you finally part, you're gasping and heaving for air. Elaine hovers over you, hair rippling over her shoulder and tickling your neck.
"Oh wow," she breathes out. Cheeks flushed, lips swollen, bright eyes staring you down. "I kind of wanted to do this back in the healing room, you know. Theeeen-" she drawls in a lilting tone, gaze sweeping over everything but your face "-I realized how impulsive and stupid that was with the healer next door. The sort of situation it would land us in."
Elaine shifts back in a sitting position and gives you a tug up too. For all the unbridled passion of your kiss, she looks sheepishly subdued now.
<<elseif $elaine_chamber_kiss == 2>>
"That would have been nice," you say with a tight smile. "I like you, a lot, but I'm not sure I want to kiss."
"Sorry." She folds one leg to her chest and loops her arms around it. "So..." she drawls, a smile curling her lips. "You like me too? I've been wondering, you know." She reaches out, then hesitates. "Can I take your hand?" You nod and she goes for it, twinning her fingers with yours. Her smile widens. For a while, you just bask in this moment - gazes and hands locked, her skin warm against yours.
"I figured I shouldn't say anything," Elaine continues, "because it would complicate things."
<<elseif $elaine_chamber_kiss == 3>>
"That would have been nice," you say with a tight smile. "I like you, a lot, but kissing isn't for me."
"Sorry." She folds one leg to her chest and loops her arms around it. "So..." she drawls, a smile curling her lips. "You like me too? I've been wondering, you know." She reaches out, then hesitates. "Can I take your hand?" You nod and she goes for it, twinning her fingers with yours. Her smile widens. For a while, you just bask in this moment - gazes and hands locked, her skin warm against yours.
"I figured I shouldn't say anything," Elaine continues, "because it would complicate things."
<</if>>
"The wedding," you say, turning somber. The mention of the event - looming so close it's not just hanging on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely - is enough to douse the flames within you. Soon enough, you're left as cold and bereft as the hearth before you.
She blows out her cheek in one dejected puff. "Yep. I know Gareth said he'd be alright with all of this, but the rest of the court won't. I imagine Duke Lot would be the least happy about it and I really don't want to put you in that spot."
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
Something about the way she said it - that naked concern - makes your stomach flutter, enough to overcome the bile rising from its depth. Of course it'd circle back to Lot's scorn. Whatever you do, down to your mere existence, is an affront to the Duke. He mostly keeps out of your way but when he does crawl out of his withered shell to turn his detestable attention on you, he's not shy to show his disapproval. And this - this feat of having captured Elaine's fondness as she had yours - will surely be too much for him. You almost want to march up to him right now and spill it all just to see him bristle.
<<else>>
Something about the way she said it - that naked concern - makes your stomach flutter, enough to overcome the dread nestling in its pit. She's right. Of course she is. Lot would throw a fit the likes to rival Morgana's own wrathful magic. You wouldn't want to be near if he were to find out about you and Elaine; like a fisherman catching sight of dark clouds on the sky, you'd be paddling away to safety. Safety, however, is relative as long as you're still living in Lot's wretched court.
<</if>>
You appreciate her worry for you, but you nurse your own regarding her. You ask: "Do you really want to marry?"
Her shoulders draw taut like a pulled rope. She considers you as if you've just put a knife to her throat after she trusted you with her guard down. It is a sharp-edged question after all. "It's complicated, Mordred."
"I'm asking out of a place of concern," you continue as Elaine shakes her head, shields already rising, flapping her hands as if she can swat away your concerns. "I really do care. Though I'd like that. I fear you're going along with this all despite what you really want."
And now your dagger of a question has drawn blood. "What do you know about what I want?" Elaine snaps. She then sees your face and winces.
She's up on her feet and at the door two big strides, but doesn't leave. Hand clutched on the knob, she turns to you with a rueful, wry curl of the lip - it's closer to the grimace from before than a smile. "Look, let's just...wait a bit? Wait for the wedding to pass, for everything to simmer down, and then we can talk things out." She doesn't wait to hear a response before she's out the door.
[[Continue|Chapt5RunIntoDragon]]<<if $chapt5_blood == 1>>
"Yes," Elaine breathes out, voice hushed to a respectful, almost awed whisper as if she truly found herself in the presence of Cadmus and Ieronimus. She draws in a sharp inhale before turning to you, speaking normally once again: "Doesn't it amaze you? Our history with the dragons? What the dragonbloods stand for - what they've achieved? How much dragon hunter ass they kicked?"
A smile pulls at your lips. Oh, she has no idea. "It does fascinate me, too."
"We have a painting of Clotilde Dracon displayed," Elaine continues, oblivious to the secrets lurking behind your perfectly innocent smile, "right in the main hall, so anyone passing can see it and remember one of the original dragon-bloods was Astolatian."
"Isn't Corbenic trying to claim her too?" As you've learnt during your history lessons, there wasn't any Astolat or Corbenic then as you know them today; instead there was the vaster kingdom of Lorraine.
Elaine's smile turns smug. "Still Astolatian." She spins on the heel of her feet and angles towards your destination. "Anyway, the Great Hall was next on our tour, right?"
"Right," you say.
Before you go on your way though, your gaze wanders back to the painting, as if bewitched. You look over it despite the image being branded into your brain, every brushstroke, every line. Pensively taking in Dida's smiling lips, mellow, dark eyes and the vibrant emerald of scales against deep, warm brown skin, scales that perfectly match that of the dragon posing close to him, purple eyes filled with mirth.
Once, there were four bloodlines. Once, there were so many of you, working alongside dragons and humans to shape the world into one where the two could peacefully co-exist. Now, all that remains is a desolate count of two dragon-bloods - one of which now stands in an empty hall in a castle that's never quite felt like home. Representing one of the last of a legacy so great it threatens to swallow them up, always yearning to fit into it yet so weirdly estranged from it. Unknown to the world around them, the wretched survivor of ruined bloodlines.
<<if $chapt4_success_opinion == 1>>
You're a dragonblood adrift in a world that may not even need them anymore. Do you still stand for all Elaine imagines you to stand for? Do you deserve the same awed tone as she reserved for Cadmus? What have you done, really; what's there for you to do, anyway?
<<else>>
Though unknown, you're a dragonblood that may be the only hope left to keep the Continent from sinking into chaos; the one to remind everyone why they looked up to the dragonbloods, and why the peace is worth maintaining if their faith ever wavers. Someone people could whisper about with as much awe as Elaine had. You could be that, if you only wanted to.
<</if>>
Once, the dragonbloods were created for peace. One fateful night fifteen years ago, you were conceived to destroy.
You believe that's the sort of thing poets like to go wild with.
Shaking off the strange, wistful disposition that's wrapped around you, you call out to Elaine who, upon finding you not yet ready to resume your role as her guide, has taken to studying the portraits of the Leudonus, among them one you could barely place as Lot. The painted, younger simulacrum peering down at you from the portrait with serious eyes does not have the sour, deep creases of the Duke you know etched in his face; though grave an expression, it bears the brightness of someone who's just taken the throne. He wasn't even a Duke, then, but a King. A young king who resembles less the man he's become, and more the boy he's sired.
Except Gareth smiles more in portraits.
"Let's go," you thrust your chin ahead and Elaine falls in step next to you.
<<else>>
"That's Dida Cadmus alright," you re-affirm as if that were necessary, briskly tapping your foot once to punctuate your words, and relieve the boredom setting in. "The Great Hall is next on our tour now."
"Right," Elaine nods, angling back towards your destination.
Before you go on your way though, your gaze wanders back to the painting, as if bewitched. You look over it despite the image being branded into your brain, every brushstroke, every line. Pensively taking in Dida's smiling lips, mellow, dark eyes and the vibrant emerald of scales against deep, warm brown skin, scales that perfectly match that of the dragon positing close to him, purple eyes filled with mirth.
Once, there were four bloodlines. Once, there were so many of you, working alongside dragons and humans to shape the world into one where the two could peacefully co-exist. Now, all that remains is a desolate count of two dragon-bloods - one of which now stands in an empty hall in a castle that's never quite felt like home. Representing one of the last of a legacy so great it threatens to swallow them up, always yearning to fit into it yet so weirdly estranged from it. Unknown to the world around them, the wretched survivor of ruined bloodlines.
<<if $chapt4_success_opinion == 1>>
You're a dragonblood adrift in a world that may not even need them anymore. Do you still stand for all Elaine imagines you to stand for? Do you deserve the same awed tone as she reserved for Cadmus? What have you done, really; what's there for you to do, anyway?
<<elseif $chapt4_success_opinion == 2>>
Though unknown, you're a dragonblood that may be the only hope left to keep the Continent from sinking into chaos; the one to remind everyone why they looked up to the dragonbloods, and why the peace is worth maintaining if their faith ever wavers. Someone people could whisper about with as much awe as Elaine had. You could be that, if you only wanted to.
<</if>>
Shaking off the strange, wistful disposition that's wrapped around you, you call out to Elaine who, upon finding you not yet ready to resume your role as her guide, has taken to studying the portraits of the Leudonus, among them one you could barely place as Lot. The painted, younger simulacrum peering down at you from the portrait with serious eyes does not have the sour, deep creases of the Duke you know etched in his face; though grave an expression, it bears the brightness of someone who's just taken the throne. He wasn't even a Duke, then, but a King. A young king who resembles less the man he's become, and more the boy he's sired.
Except Gareth smiles more in portraits.
"Let's go," you thrust your chin ahead and Elaine falls in step next to you.
<</if>>
You reach the double doors at the end of the corridor - an imposing, tall set, wide enough to let a carriage pass through - flanked by dour-looking guards.
<div class="choice">[[Your breath catches and you dither before you remember Lot is not in there right now. Ever since that revelation on your twelfth birthday, you've been cautious in his presence.|Chapt5GreatHallEntry][$chapt5_lot_attitude to "cautious"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd love to see Lot's expression upon you striding in with Elaine, but unfortunately you know him not to be here right now.|Chapt5GreatHallEntry][$chapt5_lot_attitude to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Good thing you won't have to see Lot's face in there right now. He's dreadful, and you'd rather just avoid him as much as possible.|Chapt5GreatHallEntry][$chapt5_lot_attitude to "ignore"]]</div>You spin around only to find Accolon approaching the both of you. He wears an easygoing smile, as he usually does.
"Will the two of you be sparring?"
Elaine's smirk dissolves into the earnest look of a child asking a parent to let their peer play with them. "Yes! I hope it's no trouble, Sir Accolon. If it is, I can wait until Mordred is done with training, or we could do it later..." By the way she trails off, it's clear she doesn't want that, but politeness drags the suggestion out of her anyway.
"No, no, it's no trouble at all. Please, have fun."
This time, Elaine doesn't hide her unbridled enthusiasm. "We will."
You leave her wandering aimlessly around the training grounds, prodding with her boot at the collapsed Twins, while you head towards the bench with Accolon.
You head straight for your flask, swooping down on it with the same viciousness you struck the Twins. You take gulp after gulp and only part your lips from the bottle once you've drained half of it.
"Mordred," Accolon smiles as you wipe your mouth with the back of your palm. "You've done admirably well this morning."
<<if $morgana_closeness == "distant">>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you stifly say. The relationship between you has been cold and tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5AccolonAccept][$accolon_closeness to "distant", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just nod, not looking at him. The relationship between you has been cold and tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5AccolonAccept][$accolon_closeness to "distant", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say with a weak smile. The relationship between you has been tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday, but you still yearn to be close to Accolon. It's just difficult at times.|Chapt5AccolonAccept][$accolon_closeness to "lukewarm", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I showed those dummies, didn't I?" you say with a small smile. The relationship between you has been tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday, but you still yearn to be close to Accolon. It's just difficult at times.|Chapt5AccolonAccept][$accolon_closeness to "lukewarm", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "lukewarm">>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say with a weak smile. The relationship between you has been tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday, but you still yearn to be close to Accolon. It's just difficult at times.|Chapt5AccolonAccept][$accolon_closeness to "lukewarm", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I showed those dummies, didn't I?" you say with a small smile. The relationship between you has been tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday, but you still yearn to be close to Accolon. It's just difficult at times.|Chapt5AccolonAccept][$accolon_closeness to "lukewarm", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thanks," you smile. The relationship between you has remained close in the wake of all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5AccolonAccept][$accolon_closeness to "close", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I showed those dummies, didn't I?" you grin. The relationship between you has remained close in the wake of all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5AccolonAccept][$accolon_closeness to "close", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 6]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["Thanks," you smile. The relationship between you has remained close in the wake of all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5AccolonAccept][$chapt5_accolon_closeness to "close", $accolon_relationship to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I showed those dummies, didn't I?" you grin. The relationship between you has remained close in the wake of all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5AccolonAccept][$chapt5_accolon_closeness to "close", $accolon_relationship to 6]]</div>
<</if>>You're huffing and sweating, breath short and hot within your helmet. She's running you ragged, yet you wonder how long she can go on herself. The end of the duel is approaching.
Elaine must be thinking the same thing. She's more aggressive in her attacks, but they come in shorter, more concentrated spells, and her guards are weaker. As are yours. She's worn you down, and you slip more than you'd like to admit. She's wearing you down, grinding at you, chipping away your strength with each new relentless strike which you refuse to reply to in kind.
Then she swoops down on you and delivers the finishing blow.
Your sword flies out of your gauntleted hands as you teeter on weary feet. It skitters to the ground with a dull thud that marks her victory. And you're about to join the weapon.
You totter back, armor clanking with a warning ring. Through the slit in your helmet you lock eyes with her alarmed ones.
Her gauntleted hand shoots out and clasps down on your vambrace. But your knees are weak and the bulking armor affords you no favors. Your stomach lurches to your throat and Elaine's wide brown eyes are replaced by a flashing view of the blue sky as you topple over, tugging her along. You land heavily and noisily, groans drowned out by the clangour.
For a moment you just lay there, faintly aware of Accolon's voice and hurried footsteps, spent and stupefied, feeling about as senseless as one of the dummies. Then you explode in a mix of grunting and hacking.
Gauntlets come down on your plated armors. "Are you alright?" Elaine asks, breathless. She scrambles to get off, rolling onto the ground.
You take deep breaths through the mouth, in and out - crawling their way up your parched throat - till you calm down. You find Elaine's eyes through your visor, staring back at you with uncertainty. Then, as unceremoniously as your fall, she breaks into a chortle.
<div class="choice">[[You laugh too.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoEasyFall][$chapt5_fall_laugh to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't see what's amusing," you lament.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoEasyFall][$chapt5_fall_laugh to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Are you alright?" you fuss, turning the question on her.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoEasyFall][$chapt5_fall_laugh to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just wordlessly lay there.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoEasyFall][$chapt5_fall_laugh to 4]]</div><<if $chapt5_go_easy == 2>>
Your brow raises in surprise. Elaine can't see it for your helmet, but your disbelieving tone works towards the same effect. "Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."
"Alright," you say, still dubious. You're convinced it's for the best to go easy on her. She may not know what she's asking for, and you might end up with broken egos or broken bones.
<<elseif $chapt5_go_easy == 5>>
"Alright," you reply, but you're convinced it's for the best to go easy on her. She may not know what she's asking for, and you might end up with broken egos or broken bones.
<</if>>
You face off in the middle of the training ground, which Accolon has cleared of the two defeated dummies. The man himself is now standing near the sidelines, waiting to give you your start.
"Everyone ready?" he asks and upon getting shouted, muffled responses from the both of you, holds up his arm. "Then the duel begins!"
There's a beat, like the strum of a tightly-coiled cord.
Neither of you move.
<div class="choice">[[You charge at her.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoEasyAttack][$chapt5_charge to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You wait.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoEasyAttack][$chapt5_charge to 2]]</div><<if $chapt5_charge == 1>>
Elaine makes no move, so you take the initiative.
You charge at her, not as fast or as hard as you could have. She holds steadfast and undaunted, parrying your strike with much more force that your hit carried. You're shoved back, gasping behind your helmet.
<<else>>
You wait. Elaine shifts with a chime. Your muscles tense in anticipation, but nothing happens. She simply sets into motion, moving to the side.
Circling you.
You move along with her, always keeping Elaine at your front. You can only see a strip of her face, brown eyes framed by a slit in the helmet - dark eyes that are alive and alight, unlike the featureless faces of the mindless dummies.
You both steadfastly hold your stance, slowly shifting around each other like predators seizing the other up. Gauging out who is prey and predator.
She charges at you, but doesn't come at you straight. You were moving to the left, weight shifted for your next step, but she hits from your right. You have your guard up in time to meet her sword, but you sway underneath the brunt force of the strike. She's got force.
You push back - not as hard as you could have, but enough to put some space between you.
Once she's thrown herself at you, she's relentless.
<</if>>
The duel is more demanding that you anticipated. Elaine is not only good - she's exceeding all your expectations. You thought she might make up for skill with determination, but she has enough of both to prove a capable opponent. You check the strenght you put behind your strikes and where you land them, but it still feels like matching prowess with someone on even ground.
You hold back, but she doesn't. She doesn't shy away from banging her sword against her armor and takes advantage of any opening that arises, continuing to rattle and surprise you. Both literally and figuratively.
You wonder how she'd fare if you threw yourself into it as earnestly as you did with the Misery Twins, if you swooped down on her as heavily as she does instead of just guarding and parrying. The way she lunges and sidesteps and ripostes leads you to believe she could handle herself quite well.
She seems to think the same thing.
"You're holding back!" she yells out over the raucous din of metal. "Or is this all you have?"
<div class="choice">[[Remember: broken bones, broken egos. Hold back.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoEasyAttack1][$chapt5_easy to 1, $elaine_go_easy to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give her what she wants.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoEasyAttack2][$chapt5_easy to 2, $elaine_go_easy to false]]</div>You'd rather not injure your brother's betrothed so close to the wedding, even if Robin can work magic.
You don't respond to her taunting, and Elaine's reaction is to test your guard even more relentlessly than before.
[[Guard. Parry. Sidestep.|Chapt5ElaineDuelEasyFinish]]"Alright," you shout back and throw yourself at her as relentless as she wants you to be.
She does manage well against you, and it does feel better to be matching her like this. You both know the steps, the rhythm, the pace and so the duel becomes a dance where she parries your strikes as smoothly as you parry hers, where your blades sing with a sweet, raucous din.
[[Strike. Parry. Block.|Chapt5ElaineGoHardNowFinish]]<<if $chapt5_fall_laugh == 1>>
Your laugh comes out but a moment delayed to hers, coalescing in wheezing merriment. You laugh as you slide off her and roll down on your back against the hard earth, as Accolon's concerned face peeping overhead.
"I take it you're fine if you're laughing," he remarks, smile strained.
<<elseif $chapt5_fall_laugh == 2>>
You grimace and grunt as you heave yourself off her and roll down on your back against the hard earth. "I don't see what's so amusing," you lament as she keeps on wheezing and laughing as if she was watching the best comedy play ever put to stage.
"Everything?" she offers, but you're still not sold on it.
Accolon's concerned face that pops up overhead wears the fitting reaction, at least.
<<elseif $chapt5_fall_laugh == 3>>
You heave yourself off her in a panic and roll down to the hard earth. Questions pour out of your mouth, breathless: "Are you alright? Are you hurting? Did you hurt your head?" You squint your eyes and try to peek through the slit in her helmet, expecting to see rivulets of bright red slither down her forehead.
"I'm alright, I'm alright!" she insists, still shaking with laughter.
You eye her dubiously. "You don't seem alright."
She only laughs harder at that. You decide that damage to the head should not be ruled out. Accolon may be thinking the same, giving the concerned expression he levels at you.
<<elseif $chapt5_fall_laugh == 4>>
With a grunt, you heave yourself off her and roll down onto the hard earth. Elaine's armored frame continues to shake with laughter until Accolon's concerned face pops up overhead.
<</if>>
He helps the both of you up and inspects you with a critical eye, as if he could see any injury through the plating if he stared hard enough at it.
"It still counts as my win," Elaine says as you lumber to retrieve your sword. "Even if we both ended up on the ground."
"You fought well." You proffer your gauntled hand to her, which she gives a vigorous shake. So vigorous, it sends a shock of pain down your ribs and pushes an expletive past your lips.
"You both did fight well," Accolon smoothly steps in, "And I think now you should both pay Robin a visit."
"I'm fine," you insists, but any attempt to further protest withers away under his intensely worried scrutiny. "Alright, we'll go."
[[To the healer's study|Chapt5Robin]]<<if $chapt5_go_easy == 1>>
Your brow raises in surprise. Elaine can't see it for your helmet, but your disbelieving tone works towards the same effect. "Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."
"Alright then," you agree.
<<elseif $chapt5_go_easy == 3>>
"Oh, I wasn't going to," you reply, drawing out your sword with a sharp hiss of metal.
You can't see, but you can hear the smile in her voice. "Good."
<<elseif $chapt5_go_easy == 4>>
'Alright," you readily agree, drawing out your sword with a sharp hiss of metal.
<</if>>
You face off in the middle of the training ground, which Accolon has cleared of the two defeated dummies. The man himself is now standing near the sidelines, waiting to give you your start.
"Everyone ready?" he asks and upon getting shouted, muffled responses from the both of you, holds up his arm. "Then the duel begins!"
There's a beat, like the strum of a tightly-coiled cord.
Neither of you move.
<div class="choice">[[You charge at her.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHardAttack][$chapt5_charge to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You wait.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHardAttack][$chapt5_charge to 2]]</div><<if $chapt5_charge == 1>>
Elaine makes no move, so you take the initiative.
You charge at her with the ferocious speed of an attacking bear. She holds steadfast and undaunted, parrying your strike with just as much force. You're shoved back, grinning behind your helmet.
<<else>>
You wait.
Elaine shifts with a chime. Your muscles tense in anticipation, but nothing happens. She simply sets into motion, moving to the side.
Circling you.
You move along with her, always keeping Elaine at your front. You can only see a strip of her face, brown eyes framed by a slit in the helmet - dark eyes that are alive and alight, unlike the featureless faces of the mindless dummies.
You both steadfastly hold your stance, slowly shifting around each other like predators seizing the other up. Gauging out who is prey and predator.
Elaine's intent on being predator.
She charges at you, but doesn't come at you straight. You were moving to the left, weight shifted for your next step, but she hits from your right. You have your guard up in time to meet her sword, but you sway underneath the brunt force of the strike. She's got force.
You've got it too.
You shove against her blade with your own, sending her back and putting space between the two of you.
Once she's thrown herself at you, she's relentless.
<</if>>
The duel is tight. Elaine is not only good - she's exceeding all your expectations. You thought she might make up for skill with determination, but she has enough of both to prove a worthy and fun opponent. It feels like matching prowess with someone on equal footing. It's not something you often get to do, and it feels utterly exhilarating.
You both know the steps, the rhythm, the pace and so the duel becomes a dance where she parries your strikes as smoothly as you parry hers, where your blades sing with a sweet, raucous din.
You don't hold back, and neither does she. You don't shy away from banging your sword into her armor, and she takes advantage of any opening that arises, keeping you on your toes. continuing to rattle and surprise you. Both literally and figuratively.
[[Strike. Parry. Block.|Chapt5ElaineGoHardFinish]]<<if $chapt5_catch_her is true>>
Your gauntled hand shoots out and clasps down on her vambrace. You've got her, but now you're both toppling over. You land heavily and noisily, groans drowned out by the clangour.
<<elseif $chapt5_catch_her is false>>
Her gauntled hand shoots out and clasps down on your vambrace. You're dragged down after her, toppling over her cuirass with a thunderous clangour that drowns out your groans.
<</if>>
For a moment you just lay there, faintly aware of Accolon's voice and hurried footsteps, spent and stupefied, feeling about as senseless as one of the dummies. Elaine's grunting and hacking underneath you rouses you, and drags your gaze up till you meet her eyes through the visor.
You stare, and she stares back. Then, as unceremoniously as your fall, she breaks into a chortle.
<div class="choice">[[You laugh too.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHardFall][$chapt5_fall_laugh to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't see what's amusing," you lament.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHardFall][$chapt5_fall_laugh to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Are you alright?" you fuss.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHardFall][$chapt5_fall_laugh to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just wordlessly get off her.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHardFall][$chapt5_fall_laugh to 4]]</div><<if $chapt5_fall_laugh == 1>>
Your laugh comes out but a moment delayed to hers, coalescing in wheezing merriment. You laugh as you slide off her and roll down on your back against the hard earth, Accolon's concerned face peeping overhead.
"I take it you're fine if you're laughing," he remarks, smile strained.
<<elseif $chapt5_fall_laugh == 2>>
You grimace and grunt as you heave yourself off her and roll down on your back against the hard earth. "I don't see what's so amusing," you lament as she keeps on wheezing and laughing as if she was watching the best comedy play ever put to stage.
"Everything?" she offers, but you're still not sold on it.
Accolon's concerned face that pops up overhead wears the fitting reaction, at least.
<<elseif $chapt5_fall_laugh == 3>>
You heave yourself off her in a panic and roll down to the hard earth. Questions pour out of your mouth, breathless: "Are you alright? Are you hurting? Did you hurt your head?" You squint your eyes and try to peek through the slit in her helmet, expecting to see rivulets of bright red slither down her forehead.
"I'm alright, I'm alright!" she insists, still shaking with laughter.
You eye her dubiously. "You don't seem alright."
She only laughs harder at that. You decide that damage to the head should not be ruled out. Accolon may be thinking the same, giving the concerned expression he levels at you.
<<elseif $chapt5_fall_laugh == 4>>
With a grunt, you heave yourself off her and roll down onto the hard earth. Elaine's armored frame continues to shake with laughter until Accolon's concerned face pops up overhead.
<</if>>
He helps the both of you up and inspects you with a critical eye, as if he could see any injury through the plating if he stared hard enough at it.
"Does this still count as your win if we both ended up on the ground?" Elaine teases as she lumbers to retrieve her sword.
"Yes," you say without hesitation. "But you fought well."
You proffer your gauntleted hand to her, which she gives a vigorous shake. "Fuck," she breathes out with a grimace.
"You both did fight well," Accolon smoothly steps in, "And I think now you should both pay Robin a visit."
"What about my training?" you ask.
He smiles indulgently. "I think you deserve some rest, Mordred. Besides, you can always work twicefold next session, if you're so worried."
"I'm fine," Elaine insists, waving a hand dismissively. The gesture would have had better effect if she didn't wince immediately after. "I can manage on my own, if Mordred wants to keep training." There's a pause, then she says: "Unless ?their ribs hurt like mine do too. In which case I think ?they should accompany me."
[[To the healer's study|Chapt5Robin]]<<if $chapt5_duel_now == 1>>
You match her smile with one just as sharply whetted as hers: "Sure. Let's see what you're capable of." You lick your lips - they taste of salt and sweat. "Just let me grab some water."
[[Continue|Chapt5ElaineDuelAccept]]
<<elseif $chapt5_duel_now == 2>>
You give her a brisk nod. "Of course." You lick your lips - they taste of salt and sweat. "Just let me grab some water."
[[Continue|Chapt5ElaineDuelAccept]]
<<elseif $chapt5_duel_now == 3>>
"Perhaps another time? I'm in no shape after training," you try to gently extricate yourself. You have no interest in dueling her, now or later.
"You've only just begun training, though," she says, tone light. "Not much of a squire if you tire so easily." She sighs and gives you a thin smile. "It's alright if you don't want to spar. I'll just go find someone else. Maybe someone who tires less."
She's out the training field when she's halted by a voice calling out to her.
[[Continue|Chapt5ElaineDuelRefuse]]
<<elseif $chapt5_duel_now == 4>>
"No," you bluntly refuse. There's no need to dance around you - you simply have no interest in entertaining her, now or later.
She snorts. "Are you nervous?"
"I'm a squire. I've no reason to be nervous."
She considers you for a moment, then gives you a thin smile. "I get it, you don't want to spar. It's alright, I'll find someone willing."
She's out the training field when she's halted by a voice calling out to her.
[[Continue|Chapt5ElaineDuelRefuse]]
<</if>>"Wait!" Accolon calls out. "Are you leaving already, Elaine?"
He has remained seated on the bench until now, kindly allowing you to converse while he pretended to be invested in the shortsword you left next to him.
Elaine's gaze flickers between you and Accolon before it settles back on him with a small, sheepish smile. "Yes, I wouldn't want to further interrupt Mordred's training."
Accolon pushes on with his kind smile and understanding tone: "Ah, but you came here all ready for a fight."
Elaine glances down at her armor. "I did..."
"Would you accept my offer to duel, then?"
Her mouth opens but all that comes out is a very articulate: "Oh." Her armor clatters and clinks as she shoots forward, almost drowning her out: "I mean, yes! I'd like that. Thank you, Sir."
Accolon just nods. "Allow me to prepare."
He returns back to the bench, and you follow hot on his heels: intent on getting both an explanation and the flask of water waiting for you. The latter is more urgent, with your parched mouth; you take a long, hearty swig before turning to Accolon.
"Mordred," he smiles. "You've done admirably well this morning."
<<if $morgana_closeness == "distant">>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you stifly say. The relationship between you has been cold and tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5Accolon][$accolon_closeness to "distant", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just nod, not looking at him. The relationship between you has been cold and tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5Accolon][$accolon_closeness to "distant", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say with a weak smile. The relationship between you has been tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday, but you still yearn to be close to Accolon. It's just difficult at times.|Chapt5Accolon][$accolon_closeness to "lukewarm", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I showed those dummies, didn't I?" you say with a small smile. The relationship between you has been tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday, but you still yearn to be close to Accolon. It's just difficult at times.|Chapt5Accolon][$accolon_closeness to "lukewarm", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "lukewarm">>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say with a weak smile. The relationship between you has been tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday, but you still yearn to be close to Accolon. It's just difficult at times.|Chapt5Accolon][$accolon_closeness to "lukewarm", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I showed those dummies, didn't I?" you say with a small smile. The relationship between you has been tense ever since all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday, but you still yearn to be close to Accolon. It's just difficult at times.|Chapt5Accolon][$accolon_closeness to "lukewarm", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thanks," you smile. The relationship between you has remained close in the wake of all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5Accolon][$accolon_closeness to "close", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I showed those dummies, didn't I?" you grin. The relationship between you has remained close in the wake of all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5Accolon][$accolon_closeness to "close", $chapt5_accolon_relationship to 6]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["Thanks," you smile. The relationship between you has remained close in the wake of all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5Accolon][$chapt5_accolon_closeness to "close", $accolon_relationship to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I showed those dummies, didn't I?" you grin. The relationship between you has remained close in the wake of all you've learned on the night of your twelfth birthday.|Chapt5Accolon][$chapt5_accolon_closeness to "close", $accolon_relationship to 6]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_fly == 1>>
You must admit, you didn't expect for Elaine to be a dragon-rider, and have as a partner a dragon who seems quite skilled at the sport. It's surprising and impressive, in your curiosity finding yourself drawn out of the woods' edge.
"They really are," $dragon_name whispers in response to the thoughts you broadcast across your connection.
<<elseif $chapt5_fly == 2>>
So she has a passion for flying, and a friend who seems skilled at the sport. So what? There's nothing impressive about it - you and $dragon_name are capable of the same and much more. You bet you could beat them in a race.
"I'd love to race them," $dragon_name whispers in response to the thoughts you broadcast across your connection.
<<elseif $chapt5_fly == 3>>
Good for them; they seem to be enjoying themselves greatly, and look rather skilled, too.
"I know," $dragon_name whispers in response to the thoughts you broadcast across your connection.
<</if>>
Once Felix and Elaine are far, disappearing behind the Castle, you and $dragon_name take your leave in the opposite direction.
You relay the events and various brewing schemes to $dragon_name as you lounge about on the grass by the river, letting the rush of the river fill the contemplative pauses that settle every now and then between you. You stay there until it's time to return to the Castle to get ready for your dreaded etiquette lesson.
[[Meanwhile, in Lot's parlor|Chapt5GarethPOV]]<<if $elaine_chamber == 1>>
You've started out only intending to be nice and polite to Elaine, hoping to gain her favor in the process - an endeavor that's bore fruit. Yet there are some unexpected blossoms of genuine friendship, too. You look up from the shell you're tearing through with your knife and offer her a smile. "The feeling is mutual."
Despite the hubbub and tumult that's defined life at Court ever since the announcement of the engagement, the friendship that's been building between the two of you has softened it. All of the evenings you've had to dine in Lot's dreadful company, all of the days you've had to parade about playing family, made better with her there.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. From what Gareth told you, it seems she's none too eager but merely following the motions she's constricted to. Yet if she hasn't approached Gareth to stop the wedding, is it really your place to prod and comment?
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. From what Morgana's told you, it seems she's none too eager but merely following the motions she's constricted to. Yet if she hasn't approached Gareth to stop the wedding, is it really your place to prod and comment?
<<else>>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. Her attitude towards the wedding has ranged from antsy to dismissive and you could easily blame it on nerves, but to you it evinces reluctance that may well from a different place.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Do you really want to marry?" you ask.|Chapt5ElaineFriend1][$elaine_chamber1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't prod. Don't even mention the wedding.|Chapt5ElaineFriend1][$elaine_chamber1 to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $elaine_chamber == 2>>
You don't share the sentiment quite as strongly, but you do find her company agreeable. You've merely tried to be nice to her and gain her favor in the process - an endeavor that's proved fruitful. You look up from the shell you're tearing through with your knife and offer her a smile. "You make for very pleasant company likewise."
You chat while you continue munching on chestnuts, mostly straying from any topics involving the upcoming wedding. You can't blame her - she did join you here to avoid all that hubbub in the first place. Once the bowl's emptied, Elaine gets up reluctantly, trundling over to the door as if the movement pained her.
"Guess I have to go now," she says with a grimace. It softens to a smile as she continues, "Thanks for the company. And the chestnuts."
<<elseif $elaine_chamber == 3>>
Your smile mirrors her. "The feeling is mutual."
Despite the hubbub and tumult that's defined life at Court ever since the announcement of the engagement, the friendship that's been building between the two of you has softened it. All of the evenings you've had to dine in Lot's dreadful company, all of the days you've had to parade about playing family, made better by her presence.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. From what Gareth told you, it seems she's none too eager but merely following the motions she's constricted to. Yet if she hasn't approached Gareth to stop the wedding, is it really your place to prod and comment?
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. From what Morgana's told you, it seems she's none too eager but merely following the motions she's constricted to. Yet if she hasn't approached Gareth to stop the wedding, is it really your place to prod and comment?
<<else>>
And it's because you've come to see her as a friend that you worry now about her willingness to go along with the engagement. Her attitude towards the wedding has ranged from antsy to dismissive and you could easily blame it on nerves, but to you it evinces reluctance that may well from a different place.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Do you really want to marry?" you ask.|Chapt5ElaineFriend1][$elaine_chamber1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't prod. Don't even mention the wedding.|Chapt5ElaineFriend1][$elaine_chamber1 to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $elaine_chamber1 == 1>>
"Do you really want to marry?"
Her hands still, sharp tip of the blade dipped beneath the shell. The way she tensed, you wonder if that's how she feels to - with a dagger pressed against her skin. It was, after all, quite the keen-edged question for you to throw. "In general," she asks, "or with your brother specifically?"
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
"Either," you reply. "Both. Gareth told me what arrangement the two of you arrived to, but we're still both concerned you're not too eager about it all."
She tilts her head, already angled downwards, to the side as if to hide her face. Yet you still catch the pinch in her brow, just before a sheet of blonde hair comes down to conceal it like a curtain drawing close. "And then you know my answer."
Yes, the evasive answer that heavily implied she's not content at all with the turn of events.
Before you can further prod, she says: "I'm going along with it, aren't I?" Her tone's as dry as the chestnuts' shell and ready to snap just as easily. Elaine shakes herself off and squares up her shoulders. "Speaking off, I should head back to the rehearsals for said wedding."
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
"Either," you reply. "Both. I don't know what you and Gareth spoke about, but...I understood there's a concern that you're not all that eager to go through with this."
She tilts her head, already angled downwards, to the side as if to hide her face. Yet you still catch the pinch in her brow, just before a sheet of blonde hair comes down to conceal it like a curtain drawing close. "But I'm going along with it, aren't I?" Her tone's as dry as the chestnuts' shell and ready to snap just as easily.
Elaine shakes herself off and squares up her shoulders. "Speaking off," she says, forcibly shifting away from further prodding, "I should head back to the rehearsals for said wedding."
<<else>>
"Either," you reply. "Both."
She tilts her head, already angled downwards, to the side as if to hide her face. Yet you still catch the pinch in her brow, just before a sheet of blonde hair comes down to conceal it like a curtain drawing close. "Well I'm going along with it, aren't I?" Her tone's as dry as the chestnuts' shell and ready to snap just as easily.
Elaine shakes herself off and squares up her shoulders. "Speaking off," she says, forcibly shifting away from your question, "I should head back to the rehearsals for said wedding."
<</if>>
She's on her feet and headed for the door before you can even decide whether to try to stop her or not. She stops on the threshold, hand on the knob, and finally meets your eye again. The troubled pucker is still etched between her brows. "Thank you for the company. And the chestnuts." Then she's out.
You heave out a bone-weary sigh and flop back against the rug, rubbing your palms down your face. You hit a nerve. A very sensitive one indeed.
<<else>>
You chat while you continue munching on chestnuts, mostly straying from any topics involving the upcoming wedding. You can't blame her - she did join you here to avoid all that hubbub in the first place. Once the bowl's emptied, Elaine gets up reluctantly, trundling over to the door as if the movement pained her.
"Guess I have to go now," she says with a grimace. It softens to a smile as she continues, "Thanks for the company. And the chestnuts."
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5RunIntoDragon]]<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "ok" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "talk" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "guilty" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "dangerous">>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[[You know Gareth would be alright with this. So what if Elaine's marrying someone else? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If Elaine and you really do amount to anything, you'll talk things out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If Elaine and you really do amount to anything, you'll talk things out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5ElaineFriendConfess][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $elaine_chamber == 5>>
Her smile is wide and genuine and crinkles the corners of her eyes. How could you not cave at that sight? Your hand freezes in the process of bringing a chestnut to your lips and you stare at her, lips parted, stomach twisted, chest constricted. It's a double-edged sword: the thrill of joy at her words, dampened immediately by the painful reminder that all you're meant to be is her //friend//. But...what if she craved more, just like you?
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "ok" or $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "talk">>
This would be the perfect moment to ask. Well, perhaps //perfect// is an overstatement, with the wedding so close it's not just looming on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely. Yet the circumstances have all the markings of a good confession. It's private and cozy and she's made an opening for you to share your sentiments. You could so easily let out the words but once you do, you must contend with the consequences, be them good or bad.
And you're ready for it.
"The feeling is mutual," you say, to which Elaine's smile grows wider and fonder. You don't stop here, though. Gazes locked, voice softer, you add: "But for me, there's more to it."
Her smile drops, giving way to slacken-mouth bewilderment. "What?" It's less a interrogation and more an interjection.
You don't let her response discourage you. You've started talking, so you gamely plow on: "I like you, a //lot//. More than a friend."
Elaine opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a chocked sound of surprise. It's followed by a couple barely articulated words that go nowhere - like a carriage with its wheels stuck in the mud, horses pulling with all their might while the contraption never budges.
You too feel stuck in an awful state of anticipation; time lumbers on as if trudging itself through treacherous sludge and slush.
Finally she draws a sharp breath in and says: "Thank you?" then winces immediately, lips squished together so hard they vanish. "I mean-I'm flattered. Really. And I think...I like you too. I'd love to give this a chance." She smiles and for a moment, your heart soars up - unshackled from whatever caution anchored it in place. It plummets back down just as swiftly. "But the circumstances. They aren't the best." She looks none too pleased by it herself.
"The wedding."
She grunts in acknowledgement. Of course. What else hangs over you, oppressive and heavy, other than that damned wedding? You wouldn't be standing next to Elaine in the cozy intimacy of your bedchamber, hacking at chestnuts and pouring out your heart - wouldn't even be harboring these feelings - if it weren't for the engagement. This is the sort of confession that was hoped for between her and Gareth.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
But that would never happen. It's simply not what your brother wants or seeks.
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
But from what Morgana vaguely told you, it doesn't seem likely to come from your brother's side.
<<else>>
You don't even know how they feel about each other. They've never turned sweet eyes to each other, never lingered too close together. Maybe there were little moments you missed, intimate one that would only be known to them, like this one here, a confession made in the shelter of your quarters.
<</if>>
Your fingers tighten round the knife till they smart. There are plenty of chestnuts still left in the bowl but you've lost your appetite and doubt you'll regain it soon. All you can taste is bile and disappointment on your tongue, acid coming up your throat. You can barely take heart in the fact that Elaine actually likes you too. And it only makes you feel worse looking at her, clearly reluctant about this whole marriage charade yet playing along like a puppet on strings.
You might have managed to move past the tension, to tread carefully across the thin ice till you were back on solid ground and everything you said was left behind to be forgotten. Instead, you toss the question to shatter the ice underneath you.
"Do you really want to marry?"
You might as well have actually sunk Elaine in biting-cold waters. She freezes. Her features harden. She doesn't meet your eye and her tone is as unyielding and flat as the blade of a sword as she says: "It's not easy."
"It's not," you concede, "but you can try to call this whole thing off. It'll be messy, but you'd be free to make your choice."
Her jaw clenches tighter. In the silence of the chamber, you can hear her teeth gnash together. "Look, Mordred, it's complicated," Elaine pushes back, a sliver of frustration bleeding through. "I should just go."
She's on her feet and headed for the door before you can even decide whether to try to stop her or not. She halts on the threshold, hand on the knob, and cuts her gaze to you. A deeply troubled pucker is etched between her brows. "Thank you for the company. And sorry." Then she's out.
You heave out a bone-weary sigh and flop back against the rug, rubbing your palms down your face.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
This would be the perfect moment to ask. Well, perhaps //perfect// is an overstatement, with the wedding so close it's not just looming on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely. Yet the circumstances have all the markings of a good confession. It's private and cozy and she's made an opening for you to share your sentiments. You could so easily let out the words but once you do, you must contend with the consequences, be them good or bad.
You should stop. It's not fair to either Elaine or Gareth to complicate maters like this, and yet the tug of guilt is not strong enough to make you swallow the words. Whatever hold it had on you has burned away in the flames of a yearning much stronger.
"The feeling is mutual," you say, to which Elaine's smile grows wider and fonder. You don't stop here, though. Gazes locked, voice softer, you add: "But for me, there's more to it."
Her smile drops, giving way to slacken-mouth bewilderment. "What?" It's less a interrogation and more an interjection.
You don't let her response discourage you. You've started talking, so you gamely plow on: "I like you, a //lot//. More than a friend."
Elaine opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a chocked sound of surprise. It's followed by a couple barely articulated words that go nowhere - like a carriage with its wheels stuck in the mud, horses pulling with all their might while the contraption never budges.
You too feel stuck in an awful state of anticipation; time lumbers on as if trudging itself through treacherous sludge and slush.
Finally she draws a sharp breath in and says: "Thank you?" then winces immediately, lips squished together so hard they vanish. "I mean-I'm flattered. Really. And I think...I like you too. I'd love to give this a chance." She smiles and for a moment, your heart soars up - unshackled from whatever caution anchored it in place. It plummets back down just as swiftly. "But the circumstances. They aren't the best." She looks none too pleased by it herself.
"The wedding."
She grunts in acknowledgement. Of course. What else hangs over you, oppressive and heavy, other than that damned wedding? You wouldn't be standing next to Elaine in the cozy intimacy of your bedchamber, hacking at chestnuts and pouring out your heart - wouldn't even be harboring these feelings - if it weren't for the engagement. This is the sort of confession that was hoped for between her and Gareth.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
But that would never happen. It's simply not what your brother wants or seeks. You know this very well yet you're still racked with guilt for having brought this up and putting Elaine in this situation. What else did you expect her to say?
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
But from what Morgana vaguely told you, it doesn't seem likely to to come from your brother's side. Yet all this aside, you're still racked with guilt for putting Elaine in this situation. You should have bit your tongue and never said anything.
<<else>>
You don't even know how they feel about each other. They've never turned sweet eyes to each other, never lingered too close together. Maybe there were little moments you missed, intimate one that would only be known to them, like this one here, a confession made in the shelter of your quarters. You're racked with guilt - you never should have brought this up, never should have put Elaine in this position.
<</if>>
Your fingers tighten round the knife till they smart. There are plenty of chestnuts still left in the bowl but you've lost your appetite and doubt you'll regain it soon. All you can taste is bile and disappointment on your tongue, acid coming up your throat. You can barely take heart in the fact that Elaine actually likes you too. And it only makes you feel worse looking at her, clearly reluctant about this whole marriage charade yet playing along like a puppet on strings.
You might have managed to move past the tension, to tread carefully across the thin ice till you were back on solid ground and everything you said was left behind to be forgotten. Instead, you toss the question to shatter the ice underneath you.
"Do you really want to marry?"
You might as well have actually sunk Elaine in biting-cold waters. She freezes. Her features harden. She doesn't meet your eye and her tone is as unyielding and flat as the blade of a sword as she says: "It's not easy."
"It's not," you concede, "but you can try to call this whole thing off. It'll be messy, but you'd be free to make your choice."
Her jaw clenches tighter. In the silence of the chamber, you can hear her teeth gnash together. "Look, Mordred, it's complicated," Elaine pushes back, a sliver of frustration bleeding through. "I should just go."
She's on her feet and headed for the door before you can even decide whether to try to stop her or not. She halts on the threshold, hand on the knob, and cuts her gaze to you. A deeply troubled pucker is etched between her brows. "Thank you for the company. And sorry." Then she's out.
You heave out a bone-weary sigh and flop back against the rug, rubbing your palms down your face.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
This would be the perfect moment to ask. Well, perhaps //perfect// is an overstatement, with the wedding so close it's not just looming on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely. Yet the circumstances have all the markings of a good confession. It's private and cozy and she's made an opening for you to share your sentiments. You could so easily let out the words but once you do, you must contend with the consequences, be them good or bad.
The consequences have the potential to be disastruous. It should be enough to make you bite your tongue and swallow your words, yet caution doesn't anchor you anymore. Whatever sway it had on you has been subdued by a yearning far stronger.
"The feeling is mutual," you say, to which Elaine's smile grows wider and fonder. You don't stop here, though. Gazes locked, voice softer, you add: "But for me, there's more to it."
Her smile drops, giving way to slacken-mouth bewilderment. "What?" It's less a interrogation and more an interjection.
You don't let her response discourage you. You've started talking, so you gamely plow on: "I like you, a //lot//. More than a friend."
Elaine opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a chocked sound of surprise. It's followed by a couple barely articulated words that go nowhere - like a carriage with its wheels stuck in the mud, horses pulling with all their might while the contraption never budges.
You too feel stuck in an awful state of anticipation; time lumbers on as if trudging itself through treacherous sludge and slush.
Finally she draws a sharp breath in and says: "Thank you?" then winces immediately, lips squished together so hard they vanish. "I mean-I'm flattered. Really. And I think...I like you too. I'd love to give this a chance." She smiles and for a moment, your heart soars up - unshackled from whatever caution anchored it in place. It plummets back down just as swiftly. "But the circumstances. They aren't the best." She looks none too pleased by it herself.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
But that would never happen. It's simply not what your brother wants or seeks. But it's not what matters here; love or not, the marriage goes through and you baring yourself like this only put both of you in a precarious situation. At least Elaine has more sense than you.
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
But from what Morgana vaguely told you, it doesn't seem likely to come from your brother's side. But it's not what matters here; love or not, the marriage goes through and you baring yourself like this only put both of you in a precarious situation. At least Elaine has more sense than you.
<<else>>
You don't even know how they feel about each other. They've never turned sweet eyes to each other, never lingered too close together. Maybe there were little moments you missed, intimate one that would only be known to them, like this one here, a confession made in the shelter of your quarters. But it's not what matters here; love or not, the marriage goes through and you baring yourself like this only put both of you in a precarious situation. At least Elaine has more sense than you.
<</if>>
Your fingers tighten round the knife till they smart. There are plenty of chestnuts still left in the bowl but you've lost your appetite and doubt you'll regain it soon. All you can taste is bile and disappointment on your tongue, acid coming up your throat. You can barely take heart in the fact that Elaine actually likes you too. And it only makes you feel worse looking at her, clearly reluctant about this whole marriage charade yet playing along like a puppet on strings.
You might have managed to move past the tension, to tread carefully across the thin ice till you were back on solid ground and everything you said was left behind to be forgotten. Instead, you toss the question to shatter the ice underneath you.
"Do you really want to marry?"
You might as well have actually sunk Elaine in biting-cold waters. She freezes. Her features harden. She doesn't meet your eye and her tone is as unyielding and flat as the blade of a sword as she says: "It's not easy."
"It's not," you concede, "but you can try to call this whole thing off. It'll be messy, but you'd be free to make your choice."
Her jaw clenches tighter. In the silence of the chamber, you can hear her teeth gnash together. "Look, Mordred, it's complicated," Elaine pushes back, a sliver of frustration bleeding through. "I should just go."
She's on her feet and headed for the door before you can even decide whether to try to stop her or not. She halts on the threshold, hand on the knob, and cuts her gaze to you. A deeply troubled pucker is etched between her brows. "Thank you for the company. And sorry." Then she's out.
You heave out a bone-weary sigh and flop back against the rug, rubbing your palms down your face.
<</if>>
<<elseif $elaine_chamber == 6>>
Her smile is wide and genuine and crinkles the corners of her eyes. How could you not cave at that sight? Your hand freezes in the process of bringing a chestnut to your lips and you stare at her, lips parted, stomach twisted, chest constricted. It's a double-edged sword: the thrill of joy at her words, dampened immediately by the painful reminder that all your meant to be is her //friend//. But...what if she craved more, just like you?
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "ok" or $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "talk">>
This would be the perfect moment to ask. Well, perhaps //perfect// is an overstatement, with the wedding so close it's not just looming on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely. Yet the circumstances have all the markings of a good confession. It's private and cozy and she's made an opening for you to share your sentiments. You could let out the words - if you only summoned the courage - but once you do, you must contend with the consequences, be them good or bad.
You're ready for it.
"The feeling is mutual," you say, to which Elaine's smile grows wider and fonder. You don't stop here, though. Gazes locked, pulse quickening, you add: "But for me, there's more to it."
Her smile drops, giving way to slacken-mouth bewilderment. "What?" It's less a interrogation and more an interjection.
You don't let her response discourage you, even as your throat grows dry and tight. You plow on: "I like you, a //lot//. More than a friend."
Elaine opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a chocked sound of surprise. It's followed by a couple barely articulated words that go nowhere - like a carriage with its wheels stuck in the mud, horses pulling with all their might while the contraption never budges.
You too feel stuck in an awful state of anticipation; time lumbers on as if trudging itself through treacherous sludge and slush.
Finally she draws a sharp breath in and says: "Thank you?" then winces immediately, lips squished together so hard they vanish. "I mean-I'm flattered. Really. And I think...I like you too. I'd love to give this a chance." She smiles and for a moment, your heart soars up - unshackled from whatever caution anchored it in place. It plummets back down just as swiftly. "But the circumstances. They aren't the best." She looks none too pleased by it herself.
"The wedding."
She grunts in acknowledgement. Of course. What else hangs over you, oppressive and heavy, other than that damned wedding? You wouldn't be standing next to Elaine in the cozy intimacy of your bedchamber, hacking at chestnuts and pouring out your heart - wouldn't even be harboring these feelings - if it weren't for the engagement. This is the sort of confession that was hoped for between her and Gareth.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
But that would never happen. It's simply not what your brother wants or seeks.
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
But from what Morgana vaguely told you, it doesn't seem likely to come from your brother's side.
<<else>>
You don't even know how they feel about each other. They've never turned sweet eyes to each other, never lingered too close together. Maybe there were little moments you missed, intimate one that would only be known to them, like this one here, a confession made in the shelter of your quarters.
<</if>>
Your fingers tighten round the knife till they smart. There are plenty of chestnuts still left in the bowl but you've lost your appetite and doubt you'll regain it soon. All you can taste is bile and disappointment on your tongue, acid coming up your throat. You can barely take heart in the fact that Elaine actually likes you, too. And it only makes you feel worse looking at her, clearly reluctant about this whole marriage charade yet playing along like a puppet on strings.
You might have managed to move past the tension, to tread carefully across the thin ice till you were back on solid ground and everything you said was left behind to be forgotten. Instead, you toss the question to shatter the ice underneath you.
"Do you really want to marry?"
You might as well have actually sunk Elaine in biting-cold waters. She freezes. Her features harden. She doesn't meet your eye and her tone is as unyielding and flat as the blade of a sword as she says: "It's not easy."
"It's not," you concede, "but you can try to call this whole thing off. It'll be messy, but you'd be free to make your choice."
Her jaw clenches tighter. In the silence of the chamber, you can hear her teeth gnash together. "Look, Mordred, it's complicated," Elaine pushes back, a sliver of frustration bleeding through. "I should just go."
She's on her feet and headed for the door before you can even decide whether to try to stop her or not. She halts on the threshold, hand on the knob, and cuts her gaze to you. A deeply troubled pucker is etched between her brows. "Thank you for the company. And sorry." Then she's out.
You heave out a bone-weary sigh and flop back against the rug, rubbing your palms down your face.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
This would be the perfect moment to ask. Well, perhaps //perfect// is an overstatement, with the wedding so close it's not just looming on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely. Yet the circumstances have all the markings of a good confession. It's private and cozy and she's made an opening for you to share your sentiments. You could so easily let out the words but once you do, you must contend with the consequences, be them good or bad.
You should stop. It's not fair to either Elaine or Gareth to complicate maters like this, and yet the tug of guilt is not strong enough to make you swallow the words. Whatever hold it had on you has burned away in the flames of an yearning much stronger.
"The feeling is mutual," you say, to which Elaine's smile grows wider and fonder. You don't stop here, though. Gazes locked, voice softer, you add: "But for me, there's more to it."
Her smile drops, giving way to slacken-mouth bewilderment. "What?" It's less a interrogation and more an interjection.
You don't let her response discourage you. You've started talking, so you gamely plow on: "I like you, a //lot//. More than a friend."
Elaine opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a chocked sound of surprise. It's followed by a couple barely articulated words that go nowhere - like a carriage with its wheels stuck in the mud, horses pulling with all their might while the contraption never budges.
You too feel stuck in an awful state of anticipation; time lumbers on as if trudging itself through treacherous sludge and slush.
Finally she draws a sharp breath in and says: "Thank you?" then winces immediately, lips squished together so hard they vanish. "I mean-I'm flattered. Really. And I think...I like you too. I'd love to give this a chance." She smiles and for a moment, your heart soars up - unshackled from whatever caution anchored it in place. It plummets back down just as swiftly. "But the circumstances. They aren't the best." She looks none too pleased by it herself.
"The wedding."
She grunts in acknowledgement. Of course. What else hangs over you, oppressive and heavy, other than that damned wedding? You wouldn't be standing next to Elaine in the cozy intimacy of your bedchamber, hacking at chestnuts and pouring out your heart - wouldn't even be harboring these feelings - if it weren't for the engagement. This is the sort of confession that was hoped for between her and Gareth.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
But that would never happen. It's simply not what your brother wants or seeks. You know this very well yet you're still racked with guilt for having brought this up and putting Elaine in this situation. What else did you expect her to say?
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
But from what Morgana vaguely told you, it doesn't seem likely to come from your brother's side. Yet all this aside, you're still racked with guilt for putting Elaine in this situation. You should have bit your tongue and never said anything.
<<else>>
You don't even know how they feel about each other. They've never turned sweet eyes to each other, never lingered too close together. Maybe there were little moments you missed, intimate one that would only be known to them, like this one here, a confession made in the shelter of your quarters. You're racked with guilt - you never should have brought this up, never should have put Elaine in this position.
<</if>>
Your fingers tighten round the knife till they smart. There are plenty of chestnuts still left in the bowl but you've lost your appetite and doubt you'll regain it soon. All you can taste is bile and disappointment on your tongue, acid coming up your throat. You can barely take heart in the fact that Elaine actually likes you too. And it only makes you feel worse looking at her, clearly reluctant about this whole marriage charade yet playing along like a puppet on strings.
You might have managed to move past the tension, to tread carefully across the thin ice till you were back on solid ground and everything you said was left behind to be forgotten. Instead, you toss the question to shatter the ice underneath you.
"Do you really want to marry?"
You might as well have actually sunk Elaine in biting-cold waters. She freezes. Her features harden. She doesn't meet your eye and her tone is as unyielding and flat as the blade of a sword as she says: "It's not easy."
"It's not," you concede, "but you can call this whole thing off. It'll be messy, but you'll have support, and you'd be free to make your choice."
Her jaw clenches tighter. In the silence of the chamber, you can hear her teeth gnash together. "Look, Mordred, it's complicated," Elaine pushes back, a sliver of frustration bleeding through. "I should just go."
She's on her feet and headed for the door before you can even decide whether to try to stop her or not. She halts on the threshold, hand on the knob, and cuts her gaze to you. A deeply troubled pucker is etched between her brows. "Thank you for the company. And sorry." Then she's out.
You heave out a bone-weary sigh and flop back against the rug, rubbing your palms down your face.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
This would be the perfect moment to ask. Well, perhaps //perfect// is an overstatement, with the wedding so close it's not just looming on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely. Yet the circumstances have all the markings of a good confession. It's private and cozy and she's made an opening for you to share your sentiments. You could so easily let out the words but once you do, you must contend with the consequences, be them good or bad.
The consequences have the potential to be disastruous. It should be enough to make you bite your tongue and swallow your words, yet caution doesn't anchor you anymore. Whatever sway it had on you has been subdued by an yearning far stronger.
"The feeling is mutual," you say, to which Elaine's smile grows wider and fonder. You don't stop here, though. Gazes locked, voice softer, you add: "But for me, there's more to it."
Her smile drops, giving way to slacken-mouth bewilderment. "What?" It's less a interrogation and more an interjection.
You don't let her response discourage you. You've started talking, so you gamely plow on: "I like you, a //lot//. More than a friend."
Elaine opens her mouth to respond, but all that comes out is a chocked sound of surprise. It's followed by a couple barely articulated words that go nowhere - like a carriage with its wheels stuck in the mud, horses pulling with all their might while the contraption never budges.
You too feel stuck in an awful state of anticipation; time lumbers on as if trudging itself through treacherous sludge and slush.
Finally she draws a sharp breath in and says: "Thank you?" then winces immediately, lips squished together so hard they vanish. "I mean-I'm flattered. Really. And I think...I like you too. I'd love to give this a chance." She smiles and for a moment, your heart soars up - unshackled from whatever caution anchored it in place. It plummets back down just as swiftly. "But the circumstances. They aren't the best." She looks none too pleased by it herself.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
But that would never happen. It's simply not what your brother wants or seeks. But it's not what matters here; love or not, the marriage goes through and you baring yourself like this only put both of you in a precarious situation. At least Elaine has more sense than you.
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
But from what Morgana vaguely told you, it doesn't seem likely to come from your brother's side. But it's not what matters here; love or not, the marriage goes through and you baring yourself like this only put both of you in a precarious situation. At least Elaine has more sense than you.
<<else>>
You don't even know how they feel about each other. They've never turned sweet eyes to each other, never lingered too close together. Maybe there were little moments you missed, intimate one that would only be known to them, like this one here, a confession made in the shelter of your quarters. But it's not what matters here; love or not, the marriage goes through and you baring yourself like this only put both of you in a precarious situation. At least Elaine has more sense than you.
<</if>>
Your fingers tighten round the knife till they smart. There are plenty of chestnuts still left in the bowl but you've lost your appetite, and doubt you'll regain it soon. All you can taste is bile and disappointment on your tongue, acid coming up your throat. You can barely take heart in the fact that Elaine actually likes you, too. And it only makes you feel worse looking at her, clearly reluctant about this whole marriage charade yet playing along like a puppet on strings.
You might have managed to move past the tension, to tread carefully across the thin ice till you were back on solid ground and everything you said was left behind to be forgotten. Instead, you toss the question to shatter the ice underneath you.
"Do you really want to marry?"
You might as well have actually sunk Elaine in biting-cold waters. She freezes. Her features harden. She doesn't meet your eye and her tone is as unyielding and flat as the blade of a sword as she says: "It's not easy."
"It's not," you concede, "but you can try to call this whole thing off. It'll be messy, but you'd be free to make your choice."
Her jaw clenches tighter. In the silence of the chamber, you can hear her teeth gnash together. "Look, Mordred, it's complicated," Elaine pushes back, a sliver of frustration bleeding through. "I should just go."
She's on her feet and headed for the door before you can even decide whether to try to stop her or not. She halts on the threshold, hand on the knob, and cuts her gaze to you. A deeply troubled pucker is etched between her brows. "Thank you for the company. And sorry." Then she's out.
You heave out a bone-weary sigh and flop back against the rug, rubbing your palms down your face.
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5RunIntoDragon]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "ok" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "talk" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "guilty" and $chapt5_feelings_engagement != "dangerous">>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[[You know Gareth would be alright with this. So what if Elaine's marrying someone else? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If Elaine and you really do amount to anything, you'll talk things out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine and you know Gareth would be alright with the fact. Guilt presses down on you nonetheless.|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If Elaine and you really do amount to anything, you'll talk things out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
Her smile is wide and genuine and crinkles the corners of her eyes. How could you not cave at that sight? Your hand freezes in the process of bringing a chestnut to your lips and you stare at her, lips parted, stomach twisted, chest constricted. It's a double-edged sword: the thrill of joy at her words, dampened immediately by the painful reminder that all your meant to be is her //friend//. You don't if she'd want more, and don't dare ask.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "ok" or $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "talk">>
You're too craven to do it, even though this would be the perfect moment. Well, perhaps //perfect// is an overstatement, with the wedding so close it's not just looming on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely, but the circumstances have all the markings of a good confession. It's private and cozy and she's made an opening for you to share your sentiments. You could so easily let out the words but once you do, you must contend with the consequences, be them good or bad.
So instead you just say: "The feeling is mutual," and keep the rest you want to say to yourself.
Elaine's smile only grows wider and fonder. While she turns her attention back to her hacking shells, you munch on your chestnut. It tastes bitter.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
Guilt only serves to further twist your insides, gripping them in a vice-like grip. The circumstances have all the markings of a good confession. It's private and cozy and she's made an opening for you to share your sentiments. Perfect, except for the the wedding so close it's not just looming on the horizon, but eclipsing it entirely. You can't do this to Elaine or yourself.
So instead you just say: "The feeling is mutual," and keep the rest you want to say to yourself.
Elaine's smile only grows wider and fonder. While she turns her attention back to her hacking shells, you munch on your chestnut. It tastes bitter.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
The circumstances have all the markings of a good confession. It's private and cozy and she's made an opening for you to share your sentiments. But while your chamber may be safe from prying, dangerous eyes and ears, you know whatever you'd share here would soon overflow past these walls. You could so easily let out the words but once you do, you must contend with the consequences, be them good or bad.
So instead you just say: "The feeling is mutual," and keep the rest you want to say to yourself.
Elaine's smile only grows wider and fonder. While she turns her attention back to her hacking shells, you munch on your chestnut. It tastes bitter.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
There's one question nagging at your mind, though. It's been hanging there heavily for days. Weeks. Gareth himself had barely got an answer, so you shoudn't harbor hope you'd find more. And yet, you find yourself itching to ask her...
<<else>>
There's one question nagging at your mind, though. It's been hanging there heavily for days. Weeks. You find yourself itching to ask her...
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"Do you really want to marry?\""|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore1][$elaine_chamber1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Bite your tongue. Don't even mention the wedding.|Chapt5ElaineFriendMore1][$elaine_chamber1 to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $elaine_chamber1 == 1>>
You couldn't bring yourself to bare your heart to Elaine, but there is one question you need to spit out: "Do you really want to marry?"
Her hands still, sharp tip of the blade dipped beneath the shell. The way she tensed, you wonder if that's how she feels to - with a dagger pressed against her skin. It was, after all, quite the keen-edged question for you to throw. "In general," she asks, "or with your brother specifically?"
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
"Either," you reply. "Both. Gareth told me what arrangement the two of you arrived to, but we're still both concerned you're not too eager about it all."
She tilts her head, already angled downwards, to the side as if to hide her face. Yet you still catch the pinch in her brow, just before a sheet of blonde hair comes down to conceal it like a curtain drawing close. "And then you know my answer."
Yes, the evasive answer that heavily implied she's not content at all with the turn of events.
Before you can further prod, she says: "I'm going along with it, aren't I?" Her tone's as dry as the chestnuts' shell and ready to snap just as easily. Elaine shakes herself off and squares up her shoulders. "Speaking off, I should head back to the rehearsals for said wedding."
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
"Either," you reply. "Both. I don't know what you and Gareth spoke about, but...I understood there's a concern that you're not all that eager to go through with this."
She tilts her head, already angled downwards, to the side as if to hide her face. Yet you still catch the pinch in her brow, just before a sheet of blonde hair comes down to conceal it like a curtain drawing close. "But I'm going along with it, aren't I?" Her tone's as dry as the chestnuts' shell and ready to snap just as easily.
Elaine shakes herself off and squares up her shoulders. "Speaking off," she says, forcibly shifting away from further prodding, "I should head back to the rehearsals for said wedding."
<<else>>
"Either," you reply. "Both."
She tilts her head, already angled downwards, to the side as if to hide her face. Yet you still catch the pinch in her brow, just before a sheet of blonde hair comes down to conceal it like a curtain drawing close. "Well I'm going along with it, aren't I?" Her tone's as dry as the chestnuts' shell and ready to snap just as easily.
Elaine shakes herself off and squares up her shoulders. "Speaking off," she says, forcibly shifting away from your question, "I should head back to the rehearsals for said wedding."
<</if>>
She's on her feet and headed for the door before you can even decide whether to try to stop her or not. She stops on the threshold, hand on the knob, and finally meets your eye again. The troubled pucker is still etched between her brows. "Thank you for the company. And the chestnuts." Then she's out.
You heave out a bone-weary sigh and flop back against the rug, rubbing your palms down your face. You hit a nerve. A very sensitive one indeed.
<<else>>
You chat while you continue munching on chestnuts, mostly straying from any topics involving the upcoming wedding. She did join you here to avoid all that hubbub in the first place. Once the bowl's emptied, Elaine gets up reluctantly, trundling over to the door as if the movement pained her.
"Guess I have to go now," she says with a grimace. It softens to a smile as she continues, "Thanks for the company. And the chestnuts."
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5RunIntoDragon]]You're huffing and sweating, breath short and hot within your helmet. It's time to finish this, whichever of you comes out on top. Elaine must be thinking the same thing. She's just as aggressive in her attacks, but they come in shorter, more concentrated spells, and her guards are weaker. Both of you have held on well, but you're growing weary. You gather all of your remaining strength, muscles straining with the effort, to deliver the blow to end this duel.
Elaine's sword flies out of her gauntleted hands. It skitters to the ground with a dull thud that marks your victory. And she's about to join her weapon.
Elaine totters back, armor clanking with a warning ring. In the slit of her helmet, her eyes are wide and alarmed.
<div class="choice">[[Reach forward and grab her arm.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHardCatch][$chapt5_catch_her to true, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stare back at her in alarm.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHardCatch][$chapt5_catch_her to false]]</div>You're huffing and sweating, breath short and hot within your helmet. It's time to finish this, whichever of you comes out on top. Elaine must be thinking the same thing. She's just as aggressive in her attacks, but they comes in shorter, more concentrated spells, and her guards are weaker. Both of you have held on well, but you're growing weary. You gather all of your remaining strength, muscles straining with the effort, to deliver the blow to end this duel.
Elaine's sword flies out of her gauntleted hands. It skitters to the ground with a dull thud that marks your victory. And she's about to join her weapon.
Elaine totters back, armor clanking with a warning ring. In the slit of her helmet, her eyes are wide and alarmed.
<div class="choice">[[Reach forward and grab her arm.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHardCatch][$chapt5_catch_her to true, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stare back at her in alarm.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHardCatch][$chapt5_catch_her to false]]</div>You take Elaine down the hall leading up to the Great Hall. There's no one in sight but guards at this time of day, what with Lot being too busy talking wedding details and the rest of the courtiers convening in a set of interlocking chambers not far off from here. With the aromatic fragrance of tea and the potent smell of pipes always permeating the air, along with the peal of laughter and hum of a dozen voices rising to coelesce in a chatter no more intelligible than the lilting song of birds, the courtiers' parlors make for a more intimate and welcoming place. There's something about the tall, arching ceiling of the Great Hall and expense of cold flagstone that imposes a certain air of formality - unless partying and drinking be involved. The parlors, on the other hands, are much like a noble's own living quarters - that is, if they were to have five drawing chambers one after the other to lounge about in - all outfitted with sofas and couches and soft, colorful rugs.
"Are those Dida Cadmus and Ieronim?" Elaine asks, breaking the silence.
She's slowed her step, head craned towards the wall on your right hand, its snowy white surface almost completely hidden by a variety of paintings, painted plates or tapestries. You follow her gaze to a potrait, perched high and mighty, depicting in oil a man and dragon. The beaming light of the noon sun falls on it in such a way as to render the green scales of both glistening, as if they stood right there before you, the frame but a window. You know that painting well; how many times have you sat against the opposite wall, leant in the space between the windows, staring up at the kind face of the dragon-blood and mischevious visage of the dragon? Dida Cadmus may have not been the first dragon-hunter to befriend a dragon and desert from the ranks of those monsters, but he was among the first ever dragon-bloods. And, as Lot often likes to boast, Lothian.
"It is," you affirm, stopping altogether. You sit side by side, studying the painting, set within an embellished frame of dark wood that stands out as the most elaborate and refined among the long wall.
<div class="choice">[["\"You mentioned being interested in dragon bloods yesterday, didn't you?\""|Chapt5ElaineDragonBlood][$chapt5_blood to 1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Anyway," you say, quickly losing interest. "Let's move on."|Chapt5ElaineDragonBlood][$chapt5_blood to 2]]</div>You are heading out when Elaine crashes into you.
She comes hurtling from round an ivy-covered corner and slams the air out of your lungs; you teeter precariously. Hands shoot out - yours, hers - frantic to find purchase. Gripping at railing, bracing against walls, doing all to avoid toppling down the stairs to the stone paving of the courtyard.
Finally, you find balance in each other. Her hands clasp down hard on your shoulders and your fingers close vice-like on her arms. Your soles may be firmly planted on the steps now, but your mind is still spinning with wild conjectures.
"Sorry!" she whispers. It does not help make this encounter any less peculiar.
There's a frantic glint to her eyes, which keep darting up behind her. You follow her gaze and alight on Isolde. She's standing in the gallery with an expression of muted urgency. She cuts her eyes to the side where the corridor snakes within the castle, then brings one hand up to her face, knuckles pressed against her cheek. She mouths something - one syllable, short and dire - but you can't make it out.
<<if $Elaine >= 54>>
Elaine can. Taking hold of your arm, she pulls you down the rest of the stairs and behind them, shielded from view. She flattens herself against the wall, back pressed to the leaves that cover it like a tapestry - less verdant now, corroded by the rust of autumn - and gestures for you to do the same. You oblige, biting back the questions bubbling on your tongue.
Footfalls sound from above, drawing closer. "Izzy?" Raphael asks. "Have you seen Elaine?"
"No," she answers, perfectly composed.
There's a pregnant pause; it deflates with a vanquished sigh from the Duke. "I know you think you're helping her but Elaine should start learning to take responsibility." Said Elaine seems to have completely different opinions, if the roll of her eyes if anything to go by. "I can't go around chasing her as if she were a criminal. Her behaviour is unseemly. The guests are arriving tomorrow. I'm not even asking that much of her; it's simply that I want her to be ready." He falls silent, letting the words sink. If he hoped they'd inspire Isolde to expose Elaine, he's solely mistaken. Nothing but stalwart quiet stretches on, interrupted only by the coos of birds flying overhead.
The Duke sighs yet again. "Please, if you see her, just tell her to make a timely appearance for the rehearsal?" Then comes the patter of retreating footsteps. No one moves or speaks until they've faded completely.
"You can come out," Isolde calls out and Elaine sags in relief by your side.
She swivels round the corner and salutes her sister. "Thanks, Izzy! Tell father I'll be there for that stupid rehearsal, I just need a break."
Isolde nods and smiles down at her. "I'll appease him, don't worry. You lay low for now."
"Will do."
As Isolde leaves, Elaine flops down on the stairs.
"Can I ask?"
She leans her elbows on the steps and tips her head back, letting out a suffering grunt summoned from deep within. Still, she answers: "Wedding related stuff. Gareth and I have been practicing dances all morning, then father wanted me to go through the list of guests and...I'm not in the mood." She taps her boot on the stone in a quick, tetchy succession. "I'll go back for the ceremony rehearsal." She angles a lopsided smile your way. "Say, where can a so-called //criminal// hide?"
<div class="choice">[["My chamber," you suggest. "We could unwind there."|Chapt5MordredChamber][$chapt5_elaine_chamber to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["In the woods," you say. Your tone is light, but you're intent on going your way.|Chapt5Woods][$chapt5_elaine_chamber to false]]</div>
<<else>>
Elaine can. She spins on her heels, races down the stairs and takes cover behind them. You peek down over the railing at where she's flattened herself against the wall, back pressed to the leaves that cover it like a tapestry - less verdant now, corroded by the rust of autumn - then look back up as footfalls sound from the gallery, drawing closer.
"Izzy?" Duke Raphael asks, coming into view in full distraught glory. "Have you seen Elaine?"
"No," she answers, perfectly composed. Oh, but she clearly has.
His gaze sweeps over the inner courtyard. He doesn't find Elaine, but he sees you. The frown gives way to a smile. If you had only just arrived, you wouldn't have been able to tell anything was amiss. "Ah, hello Mordred!"
<div class="choice">[[Just go on your way. This is not your issue to meddle with.|Chapt5RatOut][$chapt5_rat to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Make to go on your way, and call out to Elaine as you go. You feel like causing some trouble today.|Chapt5RatOut][$chapt5_rat to 2]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_sunlit == 1>>
You stare openly up at her, as if she were a faerie king on her dais, with hair spun out of sunlight itself. Wait - her mouth moved, and you heard words, but it's as if they lost all meaning for you, as if truly spoken in some arcane language of the fae. But that's just your useless brain refusing to work.
You clear your throat and dreg something up from memory. A delayed understanding dawns upon you as brightly as the sun, sparing you further embarrassment - that is, if your equally dumb tongue agrees to co-operate. You settle for a hum of agreement, that comes off dangerously close to a squeal, making you wince.
"Good," Elaine gives a quick, firm nod .You get the impression she's excited about more than just scenic views of the Castle and woods. No one's so excited for the Castle grounds - you don't even have one of those lush, painstakingly taken-care of gardens to get lost within. Then she whips her head back towards you. Whatever she sees in your face gives her pause; she blinks, the grin on her lips faltering for a moment.
You spin around, almost stumbling off the steps in your rush to get away from her inquisitive gaze and the awkwardness of the moment. "Let's go!" You resume the descent, taking advantage of your head start to collect yourself. Elaine bounds after you, taking two steps at a time.
[[Continue|Chapt5GroundsTour]]
<<elseif $chapt5_sunlit == 2>>
The question pulls you out of the trance. You realize with a start that you've been staring up at her, as if she were a faerie king on her dais, with hair spun out of sunlight itself. You clear your throat, which suddenly feels tight and dry, and turn your gaze away, fixing the white walls so hard one would think you're preparing to tear it apart with your magic.
"Yeah, we can," you say, louder than intended, the sound of your voice grating in the quiet corridor and against your nerves.
"Good," Elaine gives a quick, firm nod. You get the impression she's excited about more than just scenic views of the Castle and woods. No one's so enthused about the Castle grounds - you don't even have one of thosse lush, painstakingly taken-care of gardens to get lost within. Then she whips her head back to you. It's like you're but a puppet getting its strings pulled; the motion compels your own head to face towards her. Whatever Elaine sees in it gives her pause. Her smile falters for a moment and she blinks, confused, as if while she was distracted you'd taken advantage to sprout a second head.
"Let's go then," you say to break the awkwardness.
That springs Elaine in motinon; she skips down the stairs two at the time, quickly catching up with you.
[[Continue|Chapt5GroundsTour]]
<<elseif $chapt5_sunlit == 3>>
You lean against the white wall, seeping cold into your skin even through your chemise, and stare up at her. Elaine, standing on the landing in a shower of light as if she were a faerie king on her dais, with hair spun out of sunlight itself. A long, sweet smile curls your lips.
"If you want it," you say, shrugging one shoulder, "of course. Anything for you," you add playfully.
"Good," Elaine gives a quick, firm nod. You get the impression she's excited about more than just scenic views of the Castle and woods. No one's so enthused about the Castle grounds - you don't even have one of those lush, painstakingly taken-care of gardens to get lost within. Then, as if only one fully processing your words, she whips her head back to you. "Anything?" she repeats, amused. "Be careful what promises you make, I might just take you up on it."
"The offer still stands."
Elaine hums a small sound of contentment, and skips down the stairs two at a time to catch up with you.
[[Continue|Chapt5GroundsTour]]
<<elseif $chapt5_sunlit == 4>>
"Sure," you smile as you look up at ELaine, standing on the landing in a shower of light as if she were a faerie king on her dais, with hair spun out of sunlight itself. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you take in her focused, longing expression. "We can definitely do that."
"Good," Elaine gives a quick, firm nod. You get the impression she's excited about more than just scenic views of the Castle and woods. No one's so enthused about the Castle grounds - you don't even have one of thosse lush, painstakingly taken-care of gardens to get lost within. Then, as if only one fully processing your words, she whips her head back to you. Upon catching your expression, a bright smile of her own blooms on her lips. "Let's go then," she says and, with renewed energy, skips down the steps two at a time, quickly catching up with you.
[[Continue|Chapt5GroundsTour]]
<<elseif $chapt5_sunlit == 5>>
"Sure," you smile as you look up at ELaine, standing on the landing in a shower of light as if she were a faerie king on her dais, with hair spun out of sunlight itself. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you take in her focused, longing expression. "We can definitely do that."
A strange knot forms itself in your stomach as you say the words -anxiety? The thought of spending more time with Elaine excites you, yet there's an underlying, odd sensation, as if you might fumble things and ruin everything.
Not for now, at least. Elaine looks content as she gives a quick, firm nod and says, "Good." You get the impression she's excited about more than just scenic views of the Castle and woods. No one's so enthused about the Castle grounds - you don't even have one of those lush, painstakingly taken-care of gardens to get lost within. "Let's go then," she says and skips down the steps two at a time, quickly catching up with you.
[[Continue|Chapt5GroundsTour]]
<<elseif $chapt5_sunlit == 6>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true or $chapt3_arthur_library is true>>
"Sure," you agree with a smile. It's such a lovely change of pace to have someone speak so easily and affably to you; someone who doesn't approach as if you were some wild, scared animal who may claw them at one wrong move.
<<else>>
"Sure," you agree with a smile. It's such a lovely change of pace to have someone speak so easily and affably to you; someone who doesn't approach you as if you had leprosy, as if your shameful social status may rub off on them if they simply looked at you too long.
<</if>>
"Good." Elaine gives a quick, firm nod you get the impression she's excited about more than just scenic views of the Castle and woods. No one's so enthused about the Castle grounds - you don't even have one of those lush, painstakingly taken-care of gardens to get lost within. "Let's go then," she says and skips down the steps two at a time, quickly catching up with you.
[[Continue|Chapt5GroundsTour]]
<<elseif $chapt5_sunlit == 7>>
"Of course," you smoothly reply, deeming it best to go along with whatever reasonable wish she has.
"Good." Elaine gives a quick, firm nod you get the impression she's excited about more than just scenic views of the Castle and woods. No one's so enthused about the Castle grounds - you don't even have one of those lush, painstakingly taken-care of gardens to get lost within. "Let's go then," she says and skips down the steps two at a time, quickly catching up with you.
[[Continue|Chapt5GroundsTour]]
<<elseif $chapt5_sunlit == 8>>
You lean against the white wall, its coolness seeping into you even through your chemise. "If you want that," you pettishly say, letting a sigh punctuate your words.
Elaine whips her head towards you, brow furrowed as she studies you. "You know," she says, not unkind, "just point me in the right direction and I can manage the rest. You don't have to accompany me." She gives a small, wry smile. "You clearly don't want to."
"It's just not how I imagined spending my free afternoon," you admit with a shrug.
"Did your parents put you up to it?" Your moue must be answer enough. "Well, I've got some plans of my own too, and a friend to visit. So, we can call it quits now and if they ask me I'll tell them you gave me a nice tour and all that." Her gaze darts over the arched ceiling and white walls. "Which way outside?"
You give her clear, succint instructions, feeling somewhat less crabby now that you've been relieved of this ordeal. Elaine listens intently, nodding her head along to every turn you list for her to follow. She bounds away down the stairs, muttering under her breath, "Hope I don't get lost." You'd take it as an insult towards your direction-giving, but judging by her focused expression, you get the sense it was directed at her more than yourself.
[[Continue|Chapt5EndTour]]
<</if>>You lead the way towards the Court Library, nestled in the central building, south-facing to allow in as much natural light as possible, to ease the strain scholars subject their poor eyes too.
"How do you find Lothia so far?" you ask as you stroll down a wide corridor bustling with scholars and healers and councilors, carrying armfuls of scrolls and tomes to and fro or loitering by the walls - it's no wonder Lot orders they be treated to a fresh coat of snowy paint every few years, with so many people leaning against them. You warily eye a heated scholar, wildly flinging about an inkpot as if the flurry may strenghten the point they're trying to make - barely noticing when the precariously put cork flies off, spraying the pristine wall with dark blue speckles and sending his companions in a mad scurry away. Others are far less engrossed in scholarly debate to miss your advance down the hall, their gazes following you and Elaine with piqued curiosity.
Elaine, who watched the inkpot incident with sparkling, amused eyes, turns to you to pick back up the thread of your conversation. "So, what I think of Lothia? It certainly feels different from Astolat. Especially the architecture," she waves a hand around, luckily holding no liquid to drizzle about. "Of the town, of the Castle. Yours is bigger, too."
<div class="choice">[["Oh, comparing castle sizes now?" you say with a smirk.|Chapt5ScholarsGreet][$chapt5_she_said to true, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Continue listening to Elaine.|Chapt5ScholarsGreet][$chapt5_she_said to false]]</div>"Is my magic fair game or not?"
Elaine stops short of putting on her helmet and seriously considers your question. "Well, you have magic so it's fair game to use it. //But//, this is a duel where we can allow to set rules for ourselves...and while I'm really curious to see you in action as a sorcerer-squire, I do want to see how I measure against you strictly in swordfighting." She nods and drops on her helmet, emitting a tinny clang as decisive-sounding as her conclusion: "So no magic this time."
"This time?"
"Like I said," she grins, "I'd like to see you in action - full-force - at some point." She slips on her helmet and adds: "Don't hold back against me." Her voice rings confident and metallic from within.
<div class="choice">[["Are you sure?" you ask, dubious. You'll oblige her if that's what she wants, though.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHard][$chapt5_go_easy to 1, $elaine_go_easy to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Are you sure?" you ask, dubious. She may say it, but it's best to go easy on her.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoEasy][$chapt5_go_easy to 2, $elaine_go_easy to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I wasn't going to," you reply.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHard][$chapt5_go_easy to 3, $Elaine to $Elaine+1, $elaine_go_easy to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright," you readily reply. This should be fun.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoHard][$chapt5_go_easy to 4, $Elaine to $Elaine+1, $elaine_go_easy to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright," you reply, but plan on going easy regardless.|Chapt5ElaineDuelGoEasy][$chapt5_go_easy to 5, $elaine_go_easy to true]]</div><<silently>><<set $go_talk to false>><</silently>>
<<if $chapt5_no_tour == 1>>
You give Morgana a firm shake of your head and an articulate "No," so that you point gets plainly across.
Seeing you so steadfast in your position, Morgana has no choice but to relent. At least for now. She sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh and says, "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she's made so far. As she departs, you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window. You may not go talk with Elaine, but there is someone you wish to see.
<<elseif $chapt5_no_tour == 2>>
Morgana latches on to whatever feeble affirmation she can extract from your vague answer. "I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As Morgana departs, you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window. You may not go speak with Elaine, but there's someone else you wish to see.
<<elseif $chapt5_no_tour == 3>>
Well, there's no obligation to go see her if you don't want to; you're free to make up and change your mind however you see fit, on whatever whim. Besides, there's someone else you wish to see.
<<elseif $chapt5_no_tour == 4>>
"I'd really rather things were talked out with Gareth instead of" - you sweep one hand, all-encompassing of the scheming and plotting your mother's trying to do right now - "this."
Seeing you so steadfast in your position, Morgana has no choice but to relent. At least for now. She sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh and says, "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
As she departs, you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window. You may not go talk with Elaine, but there is someone you wish to see.
<<elseif $chapt5_no_tour == 5>>
"Sorry, mom, but you can't change my mind," you say, flopping back against the cushions with an apologetic smile.
Seeing you so steadfast in your position, Morgana has no choice but to relent. At least for now. She sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
As she departs, you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window. You may not go talk with Elaine, but there is someone you wish to see.
<<else>>
You may not go speak with Elaine, but there's someone else you wish to see.
<</if>>
You shrug on an embroidered vest over your shirt and set off to find $dragon_name. You promised you'd find them sometime before your etiquette lesson and with Morgana barging in like a storm, you might as well use it as emboldenment to leave your sunny, cozy spot. You really don't look forward to today's lesson; your tutor's threatened to make you rehearse all the dances in the royal repertoire - and the folk party ones too, just in case. It's vital, he said, lest a mistep and hurt toes may incite such a scandal the Beauregards will demand a divorce. And royals never demand a divorce.
You rush down hallways, skipping steps two at a time to liven up your languishing senses - and halt in your track halfway across a gallery as a figure catches your attention below. You slink closer to the railing, taking cover behind a support beam while you peek down into the inner courtyard.
Elaine Beauregard perches on the stone bench by the castle wall with one leg propped up, hands hooked around the ankle. Head tilted back to rest against the white-painted wall, you cannot tell whether she's lost in thought or the scenery before her, whether the relaxed disposition she evinces is mirrored on the inside. What you do know for sure, though, is that she is not at the meeting she's supposed to be attending, just as Morgana said.
Elaine lazily rolls her head, angling towards you - eyes falling without mistake on your face, the wooden beam doing nothing to conceal your position and peeping, curious head.
Elaine waves a hand in greeting.
<div class="choice">[[Wave back awkwardly.|Chapt5ElaineWave][$chapt5_wave to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hide behind the railing.|Chapt5ElaineWave][$chapt5_wave to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Bolt down a corridor.|Chapt5ElaineWave][$chapt5_wave to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stare back impassively.|Chapt5ElaineWave][$chapt5_wave to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and wave back.|Chapt5ElaineWave][$chapt5_wave to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Keep your cool and wave back.|Chapt5ElaineWave][$chapt5_wave to 6]]</div>"I don't know," you say, already giving $dragon_name an apologetic smile in preparation for $dragon_his dismay, "I'd rather take it easy today."
"Alright," Elaine nods, concealing whatever disappointment behind a smile; $dragon_name's own however washes over you like a chill autumn breeze.
//'Sorry'//.
//It's alright. I'm still waking up anyway.//
"Then we could just fly about," Felix proposes, looking up at the Castle. "Spin around some towers, startle some people."
Elaine snorts but doesn't argue.
All ready and strapped in, the four of you get into position near the dragons' lodge. Your preparations have slowly started to attract attention from passing servants, strolling nobles and the poor squire finishing up their training. You agreed on circling around the castle, over the grounds and the sprawling forest. With all that settled, you take off in a thunderous flurry of wings.
Felix makes a steep, bold ascent, shooting up as quickly and smoothly as an arrow set loose. $dragon_name hesitates for a moment, both of you left mystified by the decisive take-off. Then $dragon_he follow with a gentle rise, soaring in their wake just as bemused as you.
//'That's a strong start,// $dragon_name notes. Your stomach lurches as you gain altitude, lodging in your throat - it's just as exhilarating a feeling every time.
Once high in the cool, crisp air, Felix has slowed down, allowing the two of you to catch up. They keep pace with $dragon_name's easy flying, reigning themself in whenever they bolt too far before you in random burst of energy, or will trace large, playful loops in the air to keep themselves entertained. You observe the pair closely: from what you can tell, the acrobatics are either initiated by Felix themself or Elaine, massaging circles with her index against their neck.
Poetically dubbed //the language of flying//, it's only the most obvious solution to create a means of communication that is non-verbal, given that one can't shout and expect to be heard over the din of flapping wings and rushing wind. And so a series of gestures to be traced against the dragon's scales were devised, paired with a repertoire of head movements the rider should memorize to recognize. You and $dragon_name never had such an issue, not when your connection offers such direct communication - so direct that sometimes one doesn't even need to form articulate thoughts for the other to understand. Yet, to keep up appearances, you've both had to learn as all other squires do.
//'Should we do a couple tricks ourselves?'// $dragon_name asks, through said mental link.
//'Sure, let's show them we can do that too!'//
Your flight has brought you to the Castle, swarming around it like the poor birds that now flee in a fright at your uproarious arrival. $dragon_name twirls around Morgana's tower, jutting sharp and proud and pristine white out of the main building. $dragon_He begin from as low as $dragon_he can go, coiling in the air about it like a slithering serpent. $dragon_name ends it with a flourish, shooting up in an elaborate, twice-looping whirl that leaves you dizzy and heady, in the best of ways.
Elaine pumps her fists in the air in silent celebration. The //language of flying// extends to encompass communication between different flying parties too, but this gesture is as universal as it can get.
You glide through the air side by side with Felix and Elaine, circling around the Castle before you take off towards the forest, rustling foliage and scattering loose leaves as you go.
[[Later|Chapt5FlightLand]]<<if $chapt5_not_bad == 1>>
She carried herself so much better than you anticipated. It's surprising coming from someone who supposedly does it as a pastime - must be a very intensive one for her to get so good.
"Not bad," you call out to Elaine as she finally finishes guzzling down water. The flask must be close to empty by now.
Her brow shoots up. "Just //not bad//?" When you only shrug in response, she snorts and gives you a wry smile. "Good luck with training. See you at dinner."
<<elseif $chapt5_not_bad == 2>>
She carried herself so much better than you anticipated. It's surprising coming from someone who supposedly does it as a pastime - must be a very intensive one for her to get so good.
"You're actually quite good," you remark to Elaine as she finally finishes guzzling down water. The flask must be close to empty by now.
She gives you a wry smile. "Who would have thought, right? Good luck with training. See you at dinner." With a small wave, she's off.
<<elseif $chapt5_not_bad == 3>>
"See you at dinner," you call out with a small wave.
She waves back to you, still guzzling down water. "Good luck with training," she shouts over her shoulder when she's finally parted lips with the flask.
<<elseif $chapt5_not_bad == 4>>
She carried herself so much better than you anticipated. It's surprising coming from someone who supposedly does it as a pastime - must be a very intensive one for her to get so good.
She gives you a little wave on her way off, still guzzling down water. "Good luck with training," she shouts over her shoulder when she's finally parted lips with the flask.
<</if>>
You eye the Misery Twins, slumped into each other at the opposite end of the ring.
Good luck indeed.
[[A few days later|Chapt5Storm]]<<silently>><<set $go_talk to true>><</silently>>
You shrug on an embroidered vest over your shirt and set off to find Elaine. As Morgana said, there's currently a meeting taking place meant to settle marriage arrangements and wedding details - whatever else there is left to go over at this point at least, though these pompous events always breed all sundry small matters to resolve - which Elaine is not attending. It's a peculiar decision for one of the soon to be spouses to be absent, a fact you're sure Morgana will find a way to use to her own advantage.
You head first for the most reasonable place to search - Elaine's quarters. They're not //guest// quarters; it's her new home, words that Lot made sure to emphasise as he inquired over dinner how she found the chambers. He was met with a perfunctory "Lovely" and flitting, strained smile, which, given the disappointment that flashed across his face, was far from the enthusiastic answer he expected. Morgana seemed satisfied, though.
The apartment Elaine's been given sits across from Gareth's, and mirrors it in layout too. Sprawling and elegant, you've heard servants whisper, outfitted to harmoniously meld both Lothian and Astolatian details, a visual representation of their union shoved into her face everytime she rises in the morning and goes to bed in the evening, lest she forgets why she came here. May get it confused with a mere vacation, and her quarters taken for mere guestrooms. //"The blue and green clash,"// you'd heard a servant, coming out of Lot's wing, complain to another. Sounding far less pleased with the decor than the Duke himself. Their companion merely gave a tight-lipped smile and said, //"Let's hope Elaine and Gareth don't//." No one would like to have a repeat of Lot's and Morgana's marriage, though you don't think it's as easily replicated - their engagement was a special kind of slimy and insidious.
Upon arriving at Elaine's quarters, the guards inform you that she is not currently residing within, and all that's known of her whereabouts is that she "went out for a breath of fresh air". Despite their stolid miens as they see you off, you know your request to see Elaine has piqued their interest, a soft trickle of murmurs following as you exit the wing. Soon, your encounter with Elaine will be the talk of the Castle.
With the new knowledge received, you change course, deeming now the inner yard as the most reasonable place to seek Elaine out. As you lean far over the balcony rail to scan the cloistered space, once verdant leaves that shroud it now overcome with rust like blood staining cloth, you spot a head of flaxen hair.
<<if $chapt5_motive_tour == 1>>
Elaine Beauregard perches on the stone bench by the castle wall with one leg propped up, hands hooked around the ankle. As you make your way down the stairs, footsteps pattering across the yard, punctuating the lulls between the lilting songbird that fills the air, you're seized by excitement. While you've yet to properly talk with Elaine, she's proved herself friendly towards you. It'll be good to get to know her, even if, by the end of this fortnight, the whole engagement goes awry.
<<elseif $chapt5_motive_tour == 2>>
Elaine Beauregard perches on the stone bench by the castle wall with one leg propped up, hands hooked around the ankle. As you make your way down the stairs, footsteps pattering across the yard, punctuating the lulls between the lilting songbird that fills the air, you're seized by excitement. While you've yet to properly talk with Elaine, she's proved herself friendly towards you - and piqued your interest. It'll be good to get to know her, even if, by the end of this fortnight, the whole engagement goes awry.
<<elseif $chapt5_motive_tour == 3>>
Elaine Beauregard perches on the stone bench by the castle wall with one leg propped up, hands hooked around the ankle. As you make your way down the stairs, footsteps pattering across the yard, punctuating the lulls between the lilting songbird that fills the air, you plaster a smile on your face. Regardless of your feelings - and wherever this fornight heads, be it marriage or disaster - keeping within Elaine's good graces would be advantageous. While you've yet to properly talk with Elaine, endearing yourself to her shouldn't be that difficult a feat, given she's proved herself rather friendly towards you.
<<elseif $chapt5_motive_tour == 4>>
Elaine Beauregard perches on the stone bench by the castle wall with one leg propped up, hands hooked around the ankle. As you make your way down the stairs, footsteps pattering across the yard, punctuating the lulls between the lilting songbird that fills the air, you suppress a weary sigh. This isn't how you imagined spending your noon - no, your vision of it involved more lazying about on cushions in beams of soft light, followed by a visit to $dragon_name to indulge in some more gossip of what's been going on. Instead here you are. At least Elaine has proved herself friendly towards you; it's bound to make things easier for you.
<<elseif $chapt5_motive_tour == 5>>
Elaine Beauregard perches on the stone bench by the castle wall with one leg propped up, hands hooked around the ankle. As you make your way down the stairs, footsteps pattering across the yard, punctuating the lulls between the lilting songbird that fills the air, you're seized by excitement. While you've yet to properly talk with Elaine, she's proved herself friendly towards you. It'll be good to get to know her, even if, by the end of this fortnight, the whole engagement goes awry.
<</if>>
"Out for a breath of fresh air?" Elaine greets you with a wry smile. Head tilted back to rest against the wall, she considers you through half-lidded eyes, looking as relaxed as you felt before Morgana came storming in.
"I was looking for you, actually," you say as you ease next to her. The alcove offered by the overhead balcony has kept the stone cool, its chill seeping through the fabric of your clothes. "Has anyone given you a comprehensive tour of the Castle?"
She shakes her head, playing with the shoelaces of her knee-high boots. Their brown leather is well-worn, bearing all the signs of beloved, reliable and comfortable footwear that's been worn again and again. Upon closer inspection, you realize her entire outfit is far less glamorous and newly tailored than her travel garments from the day before; the lavender doublet has a simple cut and minimal embellishments, two of the silver buttons along the cuffs missing, the fabric threadbare in places, and the black, loose-fitting breeches she wears have an easy-to-miss tear above the right knee. A scruffy yet snug get-up.
You ask: "Would you like one?"
"Wouldn't hurt to get accustomed to the layout," Elaine says, spinning one index in an encompassing, circling motion. "Well then," she jumps to her feet in one fluid, swift motion. "Lead the way."
She cast a gaze about the yard, taking it in with its plants lumbering up the walls - thick, meaty leaves hanging heavy and tinged yellow by autumn - and the well raising modestly out of the cobblestone, sticking up rather unassuming in the middle of it all.
"We can skip the inner yard," Elaine announces with a grin. "Got quite acquainted with it before you came."
<<if $chapt5_motive_tour == 4 and $help_gareth is false>>
"Perfect," you say, happy this tour can be cut shorter, if only by a little.
<<elseif $chapt5_motive_tour == 4 and $help_gareth is true>>
"Alright," you laugh breezily.
<<elseif $chapt5_motive_tour == 2>>
"Oh, I don't know," your lips curl up playfully, "there's quite a few nooks and crannies in here. Shadowy places to hide." You gesture, wriggling your fingers mysteriously.
"Any place I could hide when someone comes to ask me for the hundredth time if I'm alright with hyacinths for the wedding?" Her tone is joking, but there's desperation peeking through in her uneasy laughter. As you reflect on that, Elaine has other ponderings: "Wherever do they find hyacinths in autumn, anyway?"
"Magic," you readily reply to her mumblings.
"Right," Elaine smiles as you head up the stairs. "You're a sorcerer. You must know a lot of stuff. On magic."
"I do!" you say with a bit too much enthusiasm. It pitches your voice and makes you want to wince even as you wonder if she finds that impressive - your magic, not your flailing vocal chords. "I'm no expert in herbiology," you attempt to affect a nonchalant air, as if these were all subjects you're breezing through, "but I do know //stuff//."
Elaine nods slowly, folding her hands behind her back. "Nice."
<<elseif $chapt5_motive_tour == 5>>
"Oh, I don't know," your lips curl up playfully, "there's quite a few nooks and crannies in here. Shadowy places to hide." You gesture, wriggling your fingers mysteriously.
"Any place I could hide when someone comes to ask me for the hundredth time if I'm alright with hyacinths for the wedding?" Her tone is joking, but there's desperation peeking through in her uneasy laughter. As you reflect on that, Elaine has other ponderings: "Wherever do they find hyacinths in autumn, anyway?"
"Magic," you readily reply to her mumblings.
"Right," Elaine smiles as you head up the stairs. "You're a sorcerer. You must know a lot of stuff. On magic."
"I do!" you say, swelling with pride. It's fuzzy and warm in your chest and hitches up higher the tilt of yourlips. "I'm no expert in herbiology," you attempt to affect a nonchalant air, as if these were all subjects you're breezing through, "but I do know //stuff//."
Elaine nods slowly, folding her hands behind her back. "Nice."
<<else>>
"Oh, I don't know," your lips curl up playfully, "there's quite a few nooks and crannies in here. Shadowy places to hide." You gesture, wriggling your fingers mysteriously.
"Any place I could hide when someone comes to ask me for the hundredth time if I'm alright with hyacinth for the wedding?" Her tone is joking, but there's desperation peeking through in her uneasy laughter. As you reflect on that, Elaine has other ponderings: "Wherever do they find hyacinths in autumn, anyway?"
"Magic," you readily reply to her mumblings.
"Right," Elaine smiles as you head up the stairs. "You're a sorcerer. You must know a lot of stuff. On magic."
"I'm not an expert in herbiology," you shrug, "but I do know...//stuff//," you repeat her very articulate, all-encompassing term.
Elaine nods slowly, folding her hands behind her back. "Nice."
<</if>>
You lead her along the gallery, deciding to start with showing her the main points of interest first: the great hall, where court and feast are usually held; the main castle library, that's larger than the one where you and Gareth usually hold lessons and also the one mostly frequented by scholars; the kitchens, if only to take a peek; the small apartment of interconnecting lush parlors where courtiers enjoy lounging about, drinking tea or that bitter, murky brown liquid while pretending to conduct //business//. And of course, throughout the visit she'll have the amazing opportunity to explore all these pristine-white walls, and gawk at the colorfully-painted doors. You've heard Lot is quite proud of showing off those damn doors. Prime example of traditional Lothian art.
"So," you begin, eyes darting to Elaine as you walk side by side down a corridor of just such doors, every one in three adorned with flowery curlicues or sharp, angular patterns. "I heard there's a discussion concerning wedding preparations that you're sitting out on."
"You caught me," Elaine raises her hands in surrender. There's no remorse in her brown eyes, though. "Isolde's there, so it's perfectly fine. They're talking administrative details and financial stuff, I'd just end up staring out the window and blocking out all that tedious chatter. But she loves that," she shakes her head in disbelief, as if unable to comprehend how her sister could possibily find any of that enjoyable. Judging by the fond smile on her lips, she's willing to look past this obvious fault.
This attitude doesn't bode well for one whose role would be filled with //administrative details// and //financial stuff// - all those tedious things which come in frustrating abundancy, as evinced by Morgana's workload. At least she seems thrilled by the organizing part of it all, which Elaine can't even claim.
<<if $help_gareth is true or $help_morgana is true>>
<div class="choice">[[Mention it. A good opportunity to dissuade her from going through with the engagement. Subtly, of course.|Chapt5ElainePaperwork][$chapt5_dissuade to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Then maybe marrying Gareth isn't the best idea," you bluntly say.|Chapt5ElainePaperwork][$chapt5_dissuade to 2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't say anything.|Chapt5ElainePaperwork][$chapt5_dissuade to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[You frown sympathetically. Maybe this engagement isn't that good of an idea. Try to dissuade her...subtly, of course.|Chapt5ElainePaperwork][$chapt5_dissuade to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You frown sympathetically. "Then maybe marrying Gareth isn't the best idea," you bluntly say.|Chapt5ElainePaperwork][$chapt5_dissuade to 5, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You scoff. "Then it's going to be rather difficult for you."|Chapt5ElainePaperwork][$chapt5_dissuade to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't say anything.|Chapt5ElainePaperwork][$chapt5_dissuade to 7]]</div>
<</if>>Morgana smiles. "I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As Morgana departs, you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window.
[[Continue|Chapt5ElaineOpinion]]//Elaine's POV//
"What are you going to do about the wedding?"
It's the same question Isolde posed just yesterday. A question she was asking for the hundredth time, each time with increasing concern and urgency. Elaine answers Felix the same way she did her sister, with a helpless: "I don't know."
"You don't know?" they repeat. If Felix had eyebrows, they'd be flying off their head in disbelief. "Elaine, the wedding's this week."
"I know! All too well!" Her arms shoot out towards the sky; her voice soars upwards, high and sharp to pierce the open sky. Thankfully, there's no one but silent trees and oblivious critters to hear her.
"I know it's in a week. Everyone's intent on reminding me of it." This deep in the woods, the earth is still damp from the rain but her well-worn, trusty boots have seen far worse mud than what's building up on their soles now. They had carried her far, these sturdy boots, and soon she might never wear them again. Once married, her feet would mostly carry her along clean, polished wooden boards, caged in fancy little shoes - after all, when would she have time to go traipsing in the woods? As consort Duke buried in paperwork up to her neck - the way everyone seemed to tell it - she'll barely escape the castle. Elaine scowled, vengefully scuffing her heel through the thick sludge beneath her.
Damn those fancy little shoes and polished wooden boards. If caging wild animals was considered cruel, then so should this. To witness everyone preen over her and pretend otherwise was torture.
Elaine starts pacing, an all-too-familiar restlessness propelling her in aimless circles along the riverbank. "Everyone wants to hear how happy I must be to be married, everyone wants to see me smile when I sit next to Gareth, everyone says how lovely we are and how lovely this is and I want to fucking jump in the river over there and never be seen again!"
She has such a knack for falling into rivers, she might as well do it again and let the water take her far, far away from this mess.
Elaine has always fancied herself courageous. Even as a little child, Isolde counted on her to escort bugs out of sight. Soaring the skies with Felix excited her. Swordfighting thrilled her, and she weathered the bruises and cuts amassed with proud resilience. They were proof of all the hard work she put in and all the ways she needed to improve.
Yet in the face of this engagement, she uncharacteristically, frustratingly, falters. Her entire body screams at her to run away like a coward - but the leash of her parents' expectations tightens around her throat like a noose, lashing her to the unwavering pole of social pressure.
Elaine breathes in through the nose, out through the mouth. "I've been pestered with this wedding shit for months now and it's only getting worse."
At least Felix has none of that to contend with, Elaine thinks. The total obliteration of their dreams is gory enough a wound to nurse.
"It's only going to get worse," he says, striking true as always. "It's going to get worse and worse if you, well, //actually// marry." They shake their head. "Don't do this to us, Elaine. You don't want this. Neither of us do." Sadness bleeds from their words, and yet they speak calmly, firmly; that earnest way of theirs that only emerges once they drop their usual sardonic attitude. When this side comes out, things are very and truly grave. "We won't be happy and we won't be satisfied, and we'll only end up with regret and resentment between us."
Fear sears through her veins; every word rings dreadfully true.
"Don't //you// do this to me!" Desperation spikes through, splintering her voice. "I don't want this for us either, but what would you have me do?"
She knows what Felix wants to hear, what she herself wants - needs - to hear, yet saying it would make it no less impossible.
"I'd have you fight for us," they say.
Elaine has fought. She's fought and pleaded and demanded and bargained and threatened and nothing ever came of it. "I've tried." She forces the words out of herself, half painful admittance of defeat, half defensive plea. "You know I've tried."
Felix shifts forward, closer. One clawed hand sinks into the mud right at her feet. They lower their head to be level with hers, and she meets their eyes headlong. Tension bristles in the air between them, teeming over her skin and underneath it like a thousand frenzied ants.
"Not enough, Elaine. You have to try harder. You're always so relentless on the training ground - where's that now?"
She's always admired Felix's equanimity. In this moment, she resents it. They're on the inside as on the outside - resilient to gales and flames and bad tempers raging within. Their voice doesn't modulate to pain or frustration or anger. It's steady and sure, the tone of one who holds the solution to their trouble.
"What would you have me do, Felix? Talk to my parents again? The embodiment of the most stubborn wall there's ever been?"
A wall she's already banged her fists and head against again and again only to come out bloodied and bruised and hating everyone and herself. She'd sort her frustration by beating the stuffing out of an enchanted dummy, pouring over books of swordfighting techniques and slicing through the skies with Felix. Hoping that if only her parents would see how great they were, they'd have no other choice than to relinquish onto her the path she was made for - the path she made herself for.
Felix's parents had been easier to convince, dubious as they were as to the possibility of their dreams. It wasn't a lack of faith in their skills - just an acknowledgement that they weren't doing things quite the traditional way. They had no sway over her parents, though. With Felix's parent a member of the Dragons' Council, they didn't dare put strain on their diplomatic relationship with the Ducal family. Elaine understands, but it doesn't make her hate it any less. If only someone with power could take their side - then, they could stand a chance.
Yet the person in power that could have done it turned them away. No amount of tact could have made the blow sting less. It tore her apart to be told by Sirs Lancelot du Lac and Melker themselves that they were - respectfully - unfit. That only one who's gone through the steps as customary could become a squire; that rules did not bend that way; that he appreciated their enthusiasm and hoped they'd continue pursuing their interest as a pastime, not ambition.
Felix had come up with inventive new ways of bad-mouthing the two knights and decrying the injustice of their decision, taken without even allowing them a demonstration. Elaine had spent the night going through stance after strike after block, hoping to replace her feelings with soreness.
Her chest raises in a shallow, quick succession, lungs expanding against a ribcage pressing in. "Sir Lancelot and Sir Melker have already turned us down, as I'm sure you damn well remember."
Felix flicks their tail in a sweeping, dismissive arc. "Forget them. I know you admire that man's skills, but I'm sorry to say neither of them have an open mind. Truth be told, I don't even know why knighthood works the way it does - and why us dragons have so readily adopted this human custom of yours."
It's a prelude to a speech Elaine has heard and joined in many times. Why would the parents be choosing the path for the child instead of letting them do so for themselves? They say knighthood isn't a choice, but a duty. What shows greater dedication to the duty, however, than deciding yourself to commit to it?
"I know. It's stupid."
"But there's been exceptions to the rules," Felix says and Elaine scoffs.
"Yeah, and all those - few - people were fighters and heroes in their own right. They'd done astounding, honorable, feats that raised them to knighthood. And all the texts stressed how exceptional a case that was."
Felix lifts their chin, eyes gleaming. "And are we not exceptional?"
Elaine can't help but laugh; an explosive, surprised, bark of a laugh. "I think we could definitely be so."
"So then break the engagement. Gareth said you'll have his support."
Another hurdle in and of itself. The proposal he made so earnestly gave her hope for a flitting moment before it got trashed. She'd get rid of one betrothed, her parents' favorite, but there were still plenty enough to saddle her with. Anything to keep her from achieving her ambition.
Could they really put a stop to the wedding? The guests are packing trunks - if those are not already strapped to their speeding carriages - as they speak. The servants are preparing the castle for the feast. Their parents are overseeing that everything's running smoothly, so whatever they'd do now to stop it would render a bigger circus than the wedding itself. She can easily anticipate her parents' reaction and weather it well, but there's another she can't quite predict.
"Who knows how Lot will react if Gareth breaks the engagement? What if he tries to make things hard on our family - on Gareth? Did you see how bitter he is?" Just talking about the Duke leaves a taste of bile in her mouth.
Felix huffs, breath hot on her cheek. "He's a piece of work."
"He's a piece of shit," she spits. It gives her nerve-racked body a thrill of satisfaction to be able to say it outloud, if not to his face. So many times she'd have rolled her eyes if only her father wouldn't complain about terrible manners. She only found a kindred sentiment in Mordred's face - and Lady Morgana's as well, in those brief moments when her sweet smiles drop and the fire underneath gets a chance to shine, hot and angry.
"I could give him a little bit of a singe for you. No eyebrows and a bald head might suit him better, you reckon?"
Elaine smirks. Now that's a thought.
"I doubt that would help our case," she says. "Not the action of a knight, is it?"
"Well, we're not quite knights."
The spell of levity breaks. "And I don't know if we'll ever be."
"Not with that attitude."
She crosses her arms and crushes her lips together. There it goes again, the noose tightening around her throat. Yet Felix thinks they can chew their way out of it. "Do you want us to go to the King and Queen themselves and ask that they make us knights?" Nearby birds croon, their song a mocking laughter towards her ridiculous, childish fancies.
"Yes!" There's no trace of mockery in Felix's tone, however. "That's exactly what I wanted to suggest."
"The Champion Knight himself told us no."
"Last I checked, the Champion Knight is neither the King or Queen. In fact, he answers to them."
"Yeah, but they're not-" Elaine gestures wildly, as if swatting away an army of flies "-they're not knights. They'll defer to him."
"And you know that because you asked?"
She opens her mouth but all that comes out is a choked sound. She finally says, "Stop making sound arguments."
Felix lets out a small, triumphant huff. But she's yet to agree to anything. As they continue to talk, she gnaws at the inside of her cheek. "They'll be a fuss, yes - but we can approach the King and Queen privately, the night before the wedding."
She nods, going over it herself. Conjuring up the image of them standing before the monarchs. They'll either make fools of themselves or get their dreams realized.
"Elaine." Their voice is softer now, like the rustling of autumn leaves in the wind. Felix presses their forehead against hers, cool scales against heated skin. Her eyes flutter close as she leans into them with all her weary weight. "Fight for us. I'll stand by your side in it all, but I need you to do the same."
Her only response is a sigh.
[[A couple days before the wedding|Chapt5ElaineHides]]<<if $chapt5_dissuade == 1>>
"Well," you say, drawing out the word till Elaine glances at you. Having gained her attention, you put on an innocent mien. "Your future position will involve a lot of aministrative work to take care of. I'm sure you'll manage," you attempt to be encouraging - but not too much, assuming an optimism that's belied by the worry in your voice - "Morgana's learned to manage too, though I'll admit that those piles of paperwork do look daunting."
Elaine chuckles nevously, pulling at a strand of blond hair. "I'll have Gareth's help, too." It sounds more like a question than assertion.
"Sure! Though there's so many responsibilities, they'll have to be split between you two somehow."
She rolls her lips together pensively.
<<elseif $chapt5_dissuade == 2>>
"Then maybe marrying Gareth isn't the best idea," you bluntly say. What's subtlety? You don't want your meaning to be lost under layers of allusions and insinuations. Sneaking up on a foe can give you an advantage - but sometimes hitting them squarely across the face works just as well.
Elaine's head whips in your direction, eyes wide and blinking. Then she snorts out an explosive huff of air, lips twitching with baffled amusement. "Maybe I shouldn't," she says, and leaves it at that, at least for a while. She stares ahead as if actually entertaining the idea, then shakes her head. "I'm sure Gareth can help with that. He seems like the type that can handle all that shit."
<<elseif $chapt5_dissuade == 3>>
Elaine's attention wanders over to the painted doors that break up the otherwise sterile monotony of the white walls.
<<elseif $chapt5_dissuade == 4>>
Your brow pinches with worry. Elaine doesn't seem all that keen on this engagement. Besides this union rushing her into a relationship that would barely even have time to bloom before the wedding, if there's even a seed to plant to start with, it'll saddle her with far more responsibilities than she's had to shoulder until now. You should point that out to her - subtly, of course. Perhaps there's still hope for her to back out of this.
"Well," you say, drawing out the word till Elaine glances at you. Having gained her attention, you put on an innocent mien. "Your future position will involve a lot of administrative work to take care of. I'm sure you'll manage," you attempt to be encouraging - but not too much, assuming an optimism that's belied by the worry in your voice - "Morgana's learned to manage too, though I'll admit that those piles of paperwork do look daunting."
Elaine chuckles nevously, pulling at a strand of blond hair. "I'll have Gareth's help, too." It sounds more like a question than assertion.
"Sure! Though there's so many responsibilities, they'll have to be split between you two somehow."
She rolls her lips together pensively.
<<elseif $chapt5_dissuade == 5>>
Your brow pinches with worry. Elaine doesn't seem all that keen on this engagement. Besides this union rushing her into a relationship that would barely even have time to bloom before the wedding, if there's even a seed to plant to start with, it'll saddle her with far more responsibilities than she's had to shoulder until now. You should point that out to her - as directly as possible, so your meaning does not get lost in allusions and insinuations.
"Then maybe marrying Gareth isn't the best idea," you bluntly say. What's subtlety? Sneaking up on a foe can give you an advantage - but sometimes hitting them squarely across the face works just as well.
Elaine's head whips in your direction, eyes wide and blinking. Then she snorts out an explosive huff of hair, lips twitching with baffled amusement. "Maybe I shouldn't," she says, and leaves it at that, at least for a while. She stares ahead as if actually entertaining the idea, then shakes her head. "I'm sure Gareth can help with that. He seems like the type that can handle all that shit."
<<elseif $chapt5_dissuade == 6>>
You scoff, "Then it's going to be rather difficult for you."
Her brow shoots up to meet her hairline, an explosive puff of air pushed out by disbelief - but she doesn't protest. Instead she rolls her lips together and stares ahead, seeming to ruminate on you words. "I'll have Gareth's help," she says, though there's not much conviction in her voice.
<<elseif $chapt5_dissuade == 7>>
Elaine's attention wanders over to the painted doors that break up the otherwise sterile monotony of the white walls.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt5ElaineTour>>"It does sound fun," you roundly agree. "Let's. Well $dragon_name," you say, twining your fingers and arching your arms above your head. "Time to get stretching."
All stretched out and strapped in, the four of you get into position near the dragons' lodge. Your preparations have slowly started to attract attention from passing servants, strolling nobles and the poor squire finishing up their training. You agreed on beginning near the lodge, circling back to it by going round the castle, giving it as safe a berth as each considers. With all that settled, you take off in a thunderous flurry of wings.
Felix makes a steep, bold ascent, shooting up as quickly and smoothly as an arrow set loose. $dragon_name hesitates for a moment, both of you left mystified by the decisive take-off. Your friend makes up for it with sheer determination.
//'That's a strong start,// $dragon_name notes with no small amount of awe as you follow. Your stomach lurches with the rise, lodging in your throat - it's just as exhilarating every time.
//'Yeah,'// you agree as you keep your eyes on the pair. //'Powerful legs and wings on that one.'// The kind of prowess one gets through thorough training.
You cut through the cool, crisp air with dizzying speed till you catch up with Felix and Elaine, flying side by side with them, each of you fighting to get ahead of the other, locked in a tight race. When one pushes forward, so does the other, never more than a hair's breath difference in your advance. It's as if an invisible thread extended between you, keeping you in line even as $dragon_name strains, the ache of $dragon_his muscles setting your own ablaze through your connection. The wind whips at your exposed patches of skin with such ruthless force you think it's intent on peeling it away. Yet you hold on tight. You and $dragon_name navigate not as if propelled by a gale, but as if you were one with it, moving swiftly and furiously with the sound of cracking thunder as everything around you becomes a blur of colors, like paint smudged on a canvas.
You speed by the castle, a block of white you see out of the corner of your eye as you focus on nothing but your flight, ready to alert $dragon_name of anything that may jump in your way, nudging $dragon_him towards openings $dragon_he may have missed, anything to take you further, faster. You must make for an impressive - and brief - sight in your wild chase for any who happens to look out the window. There's no time or thought to dedicate on a possible audience, not when your blood screams as loud as the wind in your ears. As $dragon_name sweeps around the castle and you see the grounds you started from - green, so distant and sweet, where you'll either descend a winner as one should expect or defeated by someone who isn't even a squire - you realize Felix and Elaine have trailed behind.
Emboldened by this development, $dragon_name pushes with all $dragon_his might, muscles screaming in protest to this abuse, the echo reverberating in your own with dull pain. You pour back your own strength and encouragement to $dragon_him. As the grassy ground below grows bigger and closer - as your stomach twists and coils and knots itself a thousand times - a cloud swoops on you. It replaces the beckoning green with the azure of the sea, swallowing your vision and your thoughts. For a second time since the race started you are left behind. For a second time you are left utterly non-plussed. Just who are you competing against?
Felix is relentless. The dragon's wings flap so fast they've turned invisible, leaving him but a slender, scaly, gleaming shape slithering like a snake, flapping with a fortitude that now has you convinced this is no amateur flyer you're up against.
$dragon_name tries to catch up - up you end up always an arm's way behind Felix, every push forward like throwing yourself against a wall with how far it gets you. It's as if a barrier has raised around the dragon.
$dragon_name's feet hit the ground a few moments after Felix.
[[Continue|Chapt5RaceLand]]<<if $chapt5_tour1 != true>><div class="choice">[[Show her the court library.|Chapt5ElaineLibrary][$chapt5_tour1 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt5_tour2 != true>><div class="choice">[[Show her the great hall.|Chapt5ElaineHall][$chapt5_tour2 to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Continue tour.|Chapt5ContinueTour]]</div><<if $chapt5_wave == 1>>
Dazed at having being spotted, your brain refuses to process the greeting, let alone giving a proper response. Belatedly, you jerk your hand up and give a quick, stiff wave in return. Feeling mighty dumb, you spin around and rush off into a corridor, not bearing to be perceived for a moment longer. Damn that wooden beam!
<<elseif $chapt5_wave == 2>>
Panicked, you do the first thing your dazed brain tells you to do and duck behind the stone, solid railing. It conceals you entirely, yet does not help you escape the mortification of having acted like a spooked, wild animal would. Not bearing the thought of resurfacing again and facing whatever amusement or confusion Elaine may have aimed at you, you hurry down the hallway on your haunches till you're away on a corridor, rushing till you've left the courtyard far behind.
<<elseif $chapt5_wave == 3>>
Like a deer startled by cracking twigs, you bolt into a run, disappearing down a corridor before you can fully process Elaine's greeting or even consider returning it. Your escape, as peculiar as it may appear, has spared you the decision - but not the mortification that follows you at your wild behavior. You just hope you won't receive any weird looks during dinner.
<<elseif $chapt5_wave == 4>>
You blankly stare at her raised hand, then her smiling face, making no movement to mirror her greeting; fixing her with cool eyes so as to impart that such displays of friendliness do not impress you. Elaine lets her hand fall by her side, brow furrowing. You drift away from the wooden beam, turning your back on her confused expression, and resume your walk.
<<elseif $chapt5_wave == 5>>
You wave back with a smile of your own, drifting away from the beam to fully reveal yourself. Relieved that your dubious peering is not being brought up, you resume your walk.
<<elseif $chapt5_wave == 5>>
You take a deep breath before drifting away from the beam to fully reveal yourself, and wave back to Elaine. Then, relieved that your dubious peering is not being brought up, you resume your walk.
<</if>>
Once out of the castle, you don't bother stopping by the lodge to check if $dragon_name's there - it's too pleasant of a day for $dragon_him to be couped up in $dragon_his bedroom. Instead you extend inquisitive tendrils in search of $dragon_him, allowing your eyes to flutter close as you rest against a great oak tree. It is //the// oak tree of the castle grounds, that kids like to challange one another to climb to then laze carelessly on the branches or freeze in sudden realization of the distance to the ground.
You find $dragon_name, your mind prodding gently at $dragon_his sleepy, languid conscience that reminds you of your own disposition before Morgana barged in like a storm. You feel a sudden, powerful urge to stretch till your muscles ache and yawn till your jaw pops, your mind filled with the image of heavy foliage overhead and a bed of fallen, crunchy leaves and moss.
//'Mordred,'// $dragon_name's inner voice travels the distance, reverberating in your brain with relief. //'I fell asleep waiting for you. You promised we'd go flying before your etiquette class.'//
//'Well, here I am now.'//
You agree to meet at the edge of the woods, and take off towards your spot by the river from there, so you make yourself comfortable in a pool of dappled shadow as you wait for $dragon_name. The young squire you've seen toiling on the training ground, throwing themselves with tired desperation into each strike and parry, is finally finishing up for the day. Stablehands mill about, taking out horses to graze and stretch their legs or fetching hay inside. The lilting songbird and drone of insects envelops you, lulling you back into the sense of relaxtion you were forced out of back in your chambers.
You're jolted by a curious observation, however. Elaine Beauregard trots down the grassy expense, making as wide a step as her long legs allow; hurrying with single-minded determination towards the dragons' lodge. She reappears a couple minutes later with a dragon by her side, one you recognize as part of her party.
The dry, sharp snap of a twig arrests your attention. "Who are you spying on?" $dragon_name asks, sidling up to you. "Is that...?"
"Elaine," you confirm, watching her and the dragon perform a series of warm-up exercises, stretching muscles and popping joints. As they do, you're struck by their ease and flexibility that could rival that of your own and $dragon_name. It speaks of one who's been doing this consistently and earnestly and not on mere whim. What you also find curious, though, is the fact that they're warming up to begin with. Are they about to go for a flight? Even that makes this whole display peculiar; you only do so before extensive, demanding training with $dragon_name, but never really bother for casual flights.
<<if $morgana_address == "mother">>
"Mother wanted me to show her around," you explain, "wheedle information out of her, get a sense of her feelings on the engagement, so she can proceed with whatever scheme she has in mind."
"And?"
"Well, I'm here with you, aren't I?" You shake your head and sigh. "Let's just wait for them to take off, alright? I don't want to be spotted //again//."
"Again?" $dragon_name tilts $dragon_his head. "Mordred, you have a lot to fill me in on."
<<elseif $morgana_address == "title" or $morgana_address == "name">>
"Morgana wanted me to show her around," you explain, "wheedle information out of her, get a sense of her feelings on the engagement, so she can proceed with whatever scheme she has in mind."
"And?"
"Well, I'm here with you, aren't I?" You shake your head and sigh. "Let's just wait for them to take off, alright? I don't want to be spotted //again//."
"Again?" $dragon_name tilts $dragon_his head. "Mordred, you have a lot to fill me in on."
<<else>>
"Mother wanted me to show her around," you explain, "wheedle information out of her, get a sense of her feelings on the engagement, so she can proceed with whatever scheme she has in mind."
"And?"
"Well, I'm here with you, aren't I?" You shake your head and sigh. "Let's just wait for them to take off, alright? I don't want to be spotted //again//."
"Again?" $dragon_name tilts $dragon_his head. "Mordred, you have a lot to fill me in on."
<</if>>
You promise to do just so once you're up in the air, above and faraway from all this, cruising the wind.
Elaine hoists herself up on the dragon and buckles her safety harness with practiced motions. Felix makes a steep, bold ascent, shooting up as quickly and smoothly as an arrow set loose. $dragon_name steps out of the alcove of foliage shielding you, craning $dragon_his neck to see their swift rise.
"That's a strong start," $dragon_name notes with no small amount of admiration. $dragon_He insist that you linger just a moment longer on the ground, so that $dragon_he may follow the loops and whorls they trace against the cerulean blue sky.
<div class="choice">[[You must admit, it's surpring and impressive.|Chapt5ElaineFly][$chapt5_fly to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So she does dragon-riding and her friend seems skilled, so what? You and your friend are better anyway.|Chapt5ElaineFly][$chapt5_fly to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Good for them.|Chapt5ElaineFly][$chapt5_fly to 3]]</div><<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
Elewen lands before you with a thump that rattles the silverware and jolts you to the bones. As they shake and fold their mighty wings of glimmering amethyst, each joint crowned with a rounded, filed spike, their gaze finds yours in the welcoming line-up. You smile, your connection to $dragon_name strumming with joy and anticipation.
Lot bows at the middle, hands clasped firmly behind him, ready to helm this welcome.
Unlike humans, dragons don't go by titles of Ladies and Lords. It'd be strange indeed if they did, when the notion of being man or woman or noble has never applied to them.
"Mighty and brave Elewen," Lot begins, going for one of the more respectful ways one can address a dragon: by the traits that recommend them. Turned on its head, praising qualities one clearly lacks, it becomes a most stinging insult to slap in one's face.
Elewen bows their head in response, making the rubies hanging by the web of gold between their horns tinkle. They offer each of your party a formal, polite greeting but it's you their gaze lingers on, you they draw ever so slightly closer to.
You open your mind to theirs. Warmth envelops you; it's akin slipping into a tub of heated water, tension seeping away from your muscles like dirt from your skin.
//'Hello, little one,'// they rasp inside your head.
You shut your eyes briefly, basking in their affection. //'It's good to see you, Elewen.'//
You give a little rueful sigh as their presence withdraws and they move on to greet the members of the Dragons' Council and their families.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Elewen lands before you with a thump that rattles the silverware and jolts you to the bones. As they shake and fold their mighty wings of glimmering amethyst, each joint crowned with a rounded, filed spike, their gaze finds yours in the welcoming line-up. You glance away, chest aching with a pang in stark contrast with $dragon_name's thrum of joy that trickles through your connection.
Lot bows at the middle, hands clasped firmly behind him, ready to helm this welcome.
Unlike humans, dragons don't go by titles of Ladies and Lords. It'd be stranged indeed if they did, when the notion of being man or woman or noble has never applied to them.
"Mighty and brave Elewen," Lot begins, going for one of the more respectful ways one can address a dragon: by the traits that recommend them. Turned on its head, praising qualities one clearly lacks, it becomes a most stinging insult to slap in one's face.
Elewen bows their head in response, making the rubies hanging by the web of gold between their horns tinkle. They offer each of your party a formal, polite greeting but it's you their gaze lingers on, you they draw ever so slightly closer to.
You dither. Your severance from Arthur rippled into your relationship with Elewen. They were upset, but not out of rancor towards you. All Elewen wished was for you to be happy, and hurt to see you otherwise. $dragon_name too respected your choice to distance yourself from Arthur, but they would not do the same with Elewen - not that you'd ask them to. There's no bond of blood between them, yet Elewen has become a mentor and familial figure alike to $dragon_name.
Before the fallout, you would have opened up your mind to theirs without hesitation. Now, you fear it'll only open a bleeding wound.
You're spared a decision when Elewen moves away to greet the other dragons. You shield your thoughts from $dragon_name, let them enjoy the reunion without your sadness pouring through to taint it.
<<else>>
Elewen lands before you with a thump that rattles the silverware and jolts you to the bones. As they shake and fold their mighty wings of glimmering amethysit, each joint crowned with a rounded, filed spike, their gaze finds yours in the welcoming line-up. They hold it steadfast, as if searching for something within your face, then directs their attention to Lot.
The Duke bows at the middle, hands clasped firmly behind him, ready to helm this welcome.
Unlike humans, dragons don't go by titles of Ladies and Lords. It'd be stranged indeed if they did, when the notion of being man or woman or noble has never applied to them.
"Mighty and brave Elewen," Lot begins, going for one of the more respectful ways one can address a dragon: by the traits that recommend them. Turned on its head, praising qualities one clearly lacks, it becomes a most stinging insult to slap in one's face.
Elewen bows their head in response, making the rubies hanging by the web of gold between their horns tinkle. They offer each of your party a formal, polite greeting before moving on to meet the Dragons' Council.
As Elewen stops before $dragon_name's family, you catch a curious ripple of emotion from your friend. It drifts from your mind before you can make sense of it, and you don't pry either. If $dragon_name wants to share, they'll do so themself.
<</if>>
[[The King and Queen arrive.|Chapt5GuinArthurArrive]]You don't bother entering the lodge to check if $dragon_name's there - it's too pleasant of a day for $dragon_him to be couped up in $dragon_his bedroom. Instead you extend inquisitive tendrils in search of $dragon_him, allowing your eyes to flutter close as you rest against a tree at the edge of the woods.
You find $dragon_name, your mind prodding gently at $dragon_his sleepy, languid conscience that reminds you of your own disposition before Morgana barged in like a storm. You feel a sudden, powerful urge to stretch till your muscles ache and yawn till your jaw pops, your mind filled with the image of heavy foliage overhead and a bed of fallen, crunchy leaves and moss.
//'Mordred,'// $dragon_name's inner voice travels the distance, reverberating in your brain with relief. //'I fell asleep waiting for you. You promised we'd go flying before your etiquette class.'//
//'Well, here I am now.'//
You agree to meet at the edge of the woods, and take off towards your spot by the river from there, so you make yourself comfortable in a pool of dappled shadow as you wait for $dragon_name. The young squire you've seen toiling on the training ground, throwing themselves with tired desperation into each strike and parry, is finally finishing up for the day. Stablehands mill about, taking out horses to graze and stretch their legs or fetching hay inside. The lilting songbird and drone of insects envelops you, lulling you back into the sense of relaxtion you were forced out of back in your chambers.
While you wait, Elaine reappears a couple minutes later with a dragon by her side, talking animatedly. You recognize them from yesterday; they arrived with her party and struck you as the youngest among them.
The dry, sharp snap of a twig arrests your attention. "Who are you spying on?" $dragon_name asks, sidling up to you. "Is that...?"
"Elaine," you confirm, watching her and the dragon perform a series of warm-up exercises, stretching muscles and popping joints. As they do, you're suprised by their ease and flexibility that could rival that of your own and $dragon_name. It speaks of one who's been doing this consistently and earnestly and not on mere whim. What also strikes you as curious, though, is the fact that they're warming up to begin with. Are they about to go for a flight? Even that makes this whole display peculiar; you only do so before extensive, demanding training with $dragon_name, but never really bother for casual flights.
"I showed her around the Castle for a while, then we parted ways."
"You'll have to fill me in."
You promise to do just so once you're up in the air, above and faraway from all this, cruising the wind. You'll just wait to take your leave after the other pair has left.
Felix makes a steep, bold ascent, shooting up as quickly and smoothly as an arrow set loose. $dragon_name steps out of the alcove of foliage shielding you, craning $dragon_his neck to see their swift rise.
"That's a strong start," $dragon_name notes with no small amount of admiration. $dragon_He insists that you linger just a moment longer on the ground, so that $dragon_he may follow the loops and whorls they trace against the cerulean blue sky.
<div class="choice">[[You must admit, it's surpring and impressive.|Chapt5ElaineFly][$chapt5_fly to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So she does dragon-riding and her friend seems skilled, so what? You and your friend are better anyway.|Chapt5ElaineFly][$chapt5_fly to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Good for them.|Chapt5ElaineFly][$chapt5_fly to 3]]</div>You roll back your shoulders and step out of the liminal shadows and into the ring of light and revelry.
The feast is a vision in green. Proud iron-wrought arches rise above the tables, reminescent of the vaulted ceilings of great castle halls. But it's neither stone nor wooden board they support atop their mighty structure, but climbing, twisting vines with leaves so lush and flowers so plentiful you can barely spot the iron underneath. They've been selected to match the Leudonus green and Astolatian blue respectively, weaved together in harmonious union.
You run your fingers along a nearby leaf - it's the size of your palm - feeling its sleek surface, testing its pliability between forefinger and thumb.
"Enjoying the decor?"
You turn away from the leaf you were idly fondling to find Nimue, smile crooked on her plum-painted lips.
<div class="choice">[["Just ensuring its good quality," you say cheekily. "Check if I must empty a pitcher of water over it."|Chapt5Leaf][$chapt5_nimue_joke to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It feels smooth and nice," you say truthfully.|Chapt5Leaf][$chapt5_nimue_joke to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nimue, hi!" You step away from the vines, embarrassed.|Chapt5Leaf][$chapt5_nimue_joke to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile. "Hello to you too, Nimue."|Chapt5Leaf][$chapt5_nimue_joke to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hello," you say watching her cautiously.|Chapt5Leaf][$chapt5_nimue_joke to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[At a loss for words, you simply nod.|Chapt5Leaf][$chapt5_nimue_joke to 6]]</div><<if $chapt5_impressive == 1>>
"But you must agree it was impressive," you say, putting a placating hand on $dragon_name's side.
"I-" $dragon_He scan Felix's face, then sigh. "Alright, maybe it was a bit impressive."
<<elseif $chapt5_impressive == 2>>
You cross your arms, a rush of indignant red heating up your chilled skin. "Hey, that's not fair!"
"Ah," Felix says. "So if we had told you, you would have chickened out?"
"That's...not what I said," you protest.
"It's what I understand."
"And now you know," Elaine butts in before it can spiral into an argument.
<<elseif $chapt5_impressive == 3>>
"And impressive," you add with an appreciative nod in Felix's direction.
"And impressive," $dragon_name agrees. "But don't let it get to your head," $dragon_he playfully adds.
Elaine chuckles. "Too late."
<<elseif $chapt5_impressive == 4>>
You cross your arms, a rush of indignant red heating up your chilled skin. "Sly, yes, and also not fair!"
"Ah," Felix says. "So if we had told you, you would have chickened out?"
"That's...not what I said," you protest.
"It's what I understand."
"I suspected you were trained from the moment we took of," $dragon_name butts in, throwing you a narrowed glance. "And I was right. As you can see, we didn't //chicken out//, and we wouldn't have otherwise. Right, Mordred?"
You thrust your chin forward, still glaring at Felix. "Yeah."
<<elseif $chapt5_impressive == 5>>
"I must say I'm impressed," you smile. "Surprised too. Didn't expect I'd have such serious competition."
Felix's maw opens in a grin. "Now you know."
<<elseif $chapt5_impressive == 6>>
You cross your arms, a rush of indignant warmth heating up your chilled skin. "But it doesn't change the fact you deceived us!"
Elaine frowns. "Deceived?"
Felix remains undaunted by your accusation. "Why, would you have chickened out if I had told you?"
"Of course not!" $dragon_name cuts in. "Come on, Mordred. I knew he must be professionally trained from the moment we took off."
You just sigh.
<<elseif $chapt5_impressive == 7>>
"I must say I'm impressed," you smile. "Surprised too. Didn't expect I'd have such serious competition."
Felix's maw opens in a grin. "Now you know."
<<elseif $chapt5_impressive == 8>>
You cross your arms, a rush of indignant warmth heating up your chilled skin. "I'm glad for you, but it doesn't change the fact you deceived us."
Elaine frowns. "Deceived?"
Felix remains undaunted by your accusation. "Why, would you have chickened out if I had told you?"
$dragon_name's gaze darts anxiously between the two of you. "Mordred..." $dragon_He turns beseeching eyes on you, voice a worried whimper. //'Felix could be a friend...'//
That alone sends a pang in your chest and mellows you instantly, convincing you to back down with a defeated sigh. "I was just surprised, that's all," you mumble.
//'Thank you.'//
<<elseif $chapt5_impressive == 9>>
//'Well, that was exciting. Quite the exercise, eh?'//
//'Definitely,'// $dragon_name agrees.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5LoungeTree]]<<if $chapt5_jealous == 1>>
Felix returns with enough water for you all to guzzle down. Light, playful banter kindles up between the two dragons but you mostly keep out of it, watching them interact and ruminating on best ways to help $dragon_name catch the heart of their draconic infatuation.
<<else>>
Felix returns with enough water for you all to guzzle down. Light, playful banter kindles up between the two dragons but you mostly keep out of it. There's barely any space left for you, anyway - you intruded on them, after all. They were having plenty fun without you, and you'd best leave them to it. And you would, if your departure wouldn't be dictated by this knot in your insides. Surely, $dragon_name wants you here. Besides, there's work to do, such as helping them catch the heart of their draconic infatuation.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You surreptiously hold your thumbs up to bolster their confidence.|Chapt5WingmanDragon][$chapt5_wingman to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You wax poetic on their achievements.|Chapt5WingmanDragon][$chapt5_wingman to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You outright declare that they're a great dragon and friend.|Chapt5WingmanDragon][$chapt5_wingman to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You hold quiet, sending only mental waves of encouragement. It's best to let your friend shine.|Chapt5WingmanDragon][$chapt5_wingman to 4]]</div>$dragon_name makes a smooth, easy landing; Felix arrives with earth-shaking purpose. You take a few moments to compose yourself while Elaine unbuckles the security harness and slips down. Sweat sheens her flushed face, rendering a wild brightness to her exhilarated expression; she wipes at her forehead with her sleeve, uncaring of the moist, dark blotches it leaves in the violet fabric. Felix shakes themself from their snout to the tip of their tail, the brief flapping of wings and quiver of scaled skin sounding like a cracked whip.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"You're trained," $dragon_name remarks, fixing Felix with a keen stare, as if $dragon_he might peel the answer right out of his mind.
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
$dragon_name puffs out, "I could tell from that strong start. And you wanted to race us! Without evening a warning?"
Felix affects a look of utter innocence. "I didn't want to intimidate you."
$dragon_name pushes a gush of hot air down $dragon_his nose, but despite $dragon_his miffed antics, you get the impression $ragon_he are not at all displeased. "Well, you might as well share some stories later. Some tricks too."
Felix's tail twitches playfully. "We'll see."
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"You're trained," $dragon_name baldly remarks.
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
"You didn't mention that." $dragon_name considers Felix with fresh eyes - narrowed for good measure too, as if it may sooner reveal what other secrets lurk behind that golden gaze. "And you wanted to race with me! Sly of you. Very sly." $dragon_He make it sound like a compliment. The appreciantion oozing from $dragon_him confirms it is meant to be one.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "playful">>
"That was impressive!" $dragon_name excitedly remarks. "You are definitely trained, though, aren't you? I could tell from that strong start."
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
"Ooh," $dragon_name croons, considering Felix with fresh eyes - fresh and awe-struck eyes, that glimmer almost as brightly as $dragon_his scale in the afternoon sun. "We should race one day - the two of us. I know a great place we could go, with obstacles and all that..."
As $dragon_name rambles on and Felix intently listens, Elaine sidles up to you. "Sounds like they're making plans without us?"
"It sure does," you agree, smiling.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
"That was impressive!" $dragon_name excitedly remarks. "You are definitely trained, though."
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
$dragon_name considers Felix with fresh eyes - fresh and awe-struck eyes, that glimmer almost as brightly as $dragon_his scale in the afternoon sun. "I'd love to hear more about that! Maybe we could race sometime, the two of us? And you could share some stories - maybe some tips and tricks, too?" $dragon_he add with a playful twitch of $dragon_his tail.
Felix winks. "Whenever you have the time, I'm here."
$dragon_name's tail flicks again, this time in excitement.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
$dragon_name eyes Felix, working up $dragon_his courage to speak. "That was impressive. You're trained, aren't you?"
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
$dragon_name considers Felix with fresh eyes - fresh and awe-struck eyes, that glimmer almost as brightly as $dragon_his scale in the afternoon sun. "That's really exciting. Do you have any stories to share? Maybe some tricks too?" $dragon_name pauses, tilting $dragon_his head. "Maybe you'd be willing to race together?"
"Just the two of us?"
"Yes! I mean-" Your friend shifts, pressing down on $dragon_his tail to keep it from fidgeting. "Yes, why not?"
Felix winks. "Whenever you have the time, I'm here."
$dragon_name ducks $dragon_his head, maw opening in a soft, coy smile.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
$dragon_name eyes Felix, working up $dragon_his courage to speak. "That was impressive. You - you are trained, aren't you?"
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
$dragon_name considers Felix with fresh eyes - fresh and awe-struck eyes, that glimmer almost as brightly as $dragon_his scale in the afternoon sun. "That's really exciting. Do you have any stories to share? Maybe some tricks too?" $dragon_name pauses, tilting $dragon_his head. "Maybe you'd be willing to race together?"
"Just the two of us?"
"Yes! I mean-" Your friend shifts, pressing down on $dragon_his tail to keep it from fidgeting. "Yes, why not?"
Felix winks. "Whenever you have the time, I'm here."
$dragon_name ducks $dragon_his head, fixing the grass with worrying intensity.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5LoungeTree]]<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
You accept the invitation, having an inkling as to who the friend might be. Elaine wastes no time pushing open the door and slipping inside; wastes no time waiting for you to catch up either as she bolts down the hall, counting doors under her breath. She stutters to a halt halfway, banging her hands against the closed door she stopped at, calling out: "Felix!"
A peeved voice calls out before //Felix// can even peek their head out. "Have you no manner? What if I was taking a nap? What if my neighbors were?" Their barely concealed mirth belies the assumed exasperation as they berate Elaine. "No one's taking a nap now-" The dragon locks eyes with you and abruptly cuts off into a surprised, simple, "Oh." Narrowed golden yellow eyes turn sharply on Elaine. "You didn't even tell me we have guests."
The dragon before you is about the same height as $dragon_name - no, taller, you decide as they tower over Elaine - with brilliant blue scales, the shade of the sea where the water is deepest and the sky above sunny and cloudless.
Elaine just shakes her head at Felix's antics, a smile caught on her lips. "Felix, this is Mordred. Mordred, this is Felix. My best friend."
In an unexpectedly human fashion, Felix offers you a clawed hand to shake. You take it, closing your fleshy fingers around their scaled ones. Most dragons resume themselves to head nods or, in the case of friends, head bumps - though your own dragon culture professor prefers the handshake, but then Teacher Wyom has always been fond of human habits.
"Nice to meet you, Mordred," Felix says and gives your hand a vigurous shake.
"Felix and I were thinking of going for a flight. Limber up. All that sitting in a carriage was tedious and a nightmare on my back," Elaine bemoans, worrying her fingers against her neck to work out whatever kinks the long journey has left.
"Oh, tedious she says. What about me? I fled all the way here. No sympathy for my poor wings."
"As if you didn't suggest we take a flight around first thing!"
They stare at each other with playfully squinted eyes. Elaine breaks first to turn to you. "Anyway, fancy joining us?" She looks around you as if upon asking, $dragon_name might have materialized behind your shoulder. As if there were anywhere for $dragon_him to hide behind your frame. "If your friend is willing and available too."
"I'll go find $dragon_name." The two of you were thinking of going for a flight, too, so might as well join them.
You let Elaine and Felix catch up on their day as you go search for your own dragon friend. $dragon_His chamber is the first place to look - and a quick question sent through your connection reveals it won't be the last place to search, either. You pretend to be knocking and listening to the door for a reply, though you needn't put on any charade; Elaine and Felix are too engrossed in their own conversation further down the hall. Instead you let your eyes flutter close and you focus on $dragon_name's familiar presence, extending inquisitive tendrils of thought to seek $dragon_him out.
You find $dragon_him, your mind prodding gently at $dragon_his sleepy, languid conscience that reminds you of your own disposition before Morgana barged in like a storm. You feel a sudden, powerful urge to stretch till your muscles ache and yawn till your jaw pops, your mind filled with the image of heavy foliage overhead and a bed of fallen, crunchy leaves and moss.
//'Mordred,'// $dragon_name's inner voice travels the distance, reverberating in your brain with relief. //'I fell asleep waiting for you. You promised we'd go flying before your etiquette class.'//
Oh, not the etiquette class. You've completely, blissfully forgot about it and your tutor's threats to make you rehearse all the dances in the royal repertoire - and the folk party ones too, just in case. It's vital, he said, lest a mistep and hurt toes may incite such a scandal the Beauregards will demand a divorce. And royals never demand a divorce.
//'Well, I'm here now,'// you reply. //'Had to show our guest around first.'// That piques $dragon_his interest, slowly dissipating the haze clinging to $dragon_his thoughts. You answer to $dragon_his curiosity before $dragon_he even has a chance to form a question: //'There's a lot to tell but first: our flight. Care for company?'//
//'Our guest?'//
//'Indeed.'//
Thoroughly intrigued, $dragon_name promises to arrive as soon as $dragon_he can, leaving behind $dragon_his refuge in the woods. You, going to great lengths to keep up with your pretense of being just a regular human, take a quick walk out the lodge so you may pretend to have sent for $dragon_name.
You then wait outside for $dragon_him to arrive; in the meantime Elaine and Felix have taken to doing a series of warm-up exercises, stretching muscles and popping joints. As they do, you're struck by their ease and flexibility that could rival that of your own and $dragon_name. It speaks of one who's been doing this consistently and earnestly and not on mere whim. What you also find curious, though, is the fact that they're warming up to begin with. You only do so before extensive, demanding training with $dragon_name, but never really bother for casual flights. Which you're getting the vague sentiment this may not be the case.
Elaine, in the midst of touching her toes with the perfect form of one who's subdued their hamstrings into obedience, looks up at you. She takes note of your questioning expression, and gives you a grin that only fuels your suspicion.
There's no time for inquiring as $dragon_name finally arives and introductions are made all over again.
[[Continue|Chapt5IntroFelix]]
<<else>>
Her mouth twists briefly in dismay before she bids you goodbye and, pushing the door open, slips inside. You're left standing alone at the entrance, relieved of your tour-giving duty.
[[Continue|Chapt5EndTour]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_laugh == 1>>
You don't even attempt to hold it back. You let it bubble up your throat, let it escape in a bright peal out your mouth. Elaine gives you a pointed look, but it's not long till she's laughing too, mimicking wielding a sword - or rather, an oar that's supposed to be a sword - only feeding into your mirth.
You circle the Court Library, so that you take in all it has to offer before you move on. Elaine decides against bringing the book with her, leaving it in the care of a Librarian until she comes fetch it later.
"Where to next?" Elaine asks as you exit.
<<elseif $chapt5_laugh == 2>>
Laughter bubbles up your throat but you press the back of your palm over your mouth, doing your best to suppress it even as your shoulders shake and you wheeze, hot air tickling your skin. Elaine too bites back a laugh, rolling her lips tightly together.
You circle the Court Library, so that you take in all it has to offer before you move on. Elaine decides against bringing the book with her, leaving it in the care of a Librarian until she comes fetch it later.
"Where to next?" Elaine asks as you exit.
<<elseif $chapt5_laugh == 3>>
"Oh," you blink, finding the explanation terribly anticlimactic.
"Yeah," Elaine nods sheepishly.
You circle the Court Library, so that you take in all it has to offer before you move on. Elaine decides against bringing the book with her, leaving it in the care of a Librarian until she comes fetch it later.
"Where to next?" Elaine asks as you exit.
<<elseif $chapt5_laugh == 4>>
A smile tugs at your lips. "I see. Drunk enough indeed."
"Yeah," Elaine chuckles.
You circle the Court Library, so that you take in all it has to offer before you move on. Elaine decides against bringing the book with her, leaving it in the care of a Librarian until she comes fetch it later.
"Where to next?" Elaine asks as you exit.
<<elseif $chapt5_laugh == 5>>
"Ah, I see," you nod. It wasn't all that crazy a story after all; rather disappointing, if you were to be asked.
"Yeah," Elaine smiles sheepishly.
You circle the Court Library, so that you take in all it has to offer before you move on. Elaine decides against bringing the book with her, leaving it in the care of a Librarian until she comes fetch it later.
"Where to next?" Elaine asks as you exit.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt5ElaineTour>>It's Gabriel Solomon, come to fetch you for your magic lessons. Distancing yourself from Morgana was hard in more ways than the toll it took on your emotions. You were not just severing ties with your mother, but your tutor, too. Of course, that issue had not been at the forefront of your mind as you reckoned with the truth of what she'd done, her purpose for you and where all that left the two of you. It did, however, concern you most ardently when you faced Morgana at your door, trying to coax you out for your lessons. You couldn't bear her presence, though ultimately you had to swallow your bile and contend with it. It's been eased by the Solomons stepping it to cover some of your lessons after you appealed to Sorcerer Adrian. He tutored you at first as he'd tutored Morgana when she was your age, freshly arrived in Lothia, and he still does from time to time - but he'd relegated responsibilities to other members of the family as well.
Luckily, you've never had Alina's mother come teach you. It's been mostly Adrian's daughter, Della, and Gabriel, second oldest of Alina's siblings and, on one fateful ocassion, the oldest of them too, Darius Solomon. Adrian learnt not to make that mistake again, not after Darius spent the whole lecture boasting about his skills and travels and making up for not preparing an actual lesson by trying to teach you lightning tricks that were deemed 'not safe enough to perform in the proximity of the very flammable library books'.
You were supposed to meet Gabriel in the library - the small, cozy one where you conduct all your other, non-magical lessons as well - but once the storm started, you've lost track of time and completely forgot about it. Gabriel figured as much and took the liberty to put their notes and material in order in the meanwhile. When there was nothing else to do but wait, they came for you. There's yet more waiting to do while you pack your satchel. You then shrug on a vest and slip out after them.
The corridors are dim, with scones lit up where the shadows would otherwise be the darkest. You walk in a silent process past black floorboards that swallow the light and white-bone walls dully reflecting it. A desolate atmosphere is conjured, at odds with the unusual liveliness of the place. Even with the stormy weather, you couldn't possibly indulge in imagining yourself wandering the halls of some dismal, forsaken ruins hidden in the deepest forest, not with the commotion of people bustling by every moment in preparation for the wedding guests arriving this week.
In the library is it quiet, as much as the storm will allow. The fire in the hearth crackles gently and the rain drums against the windows as if demanding to be let in.
When Gabriel started taking over your lessons more and more, you've asked if they enjoy this newfound role as your tutor or if the adults had to talk them into it. Their response was that they were easily swayed: they couldn't pass on an opportunity to talk for hours on matters they're so passionate about and show to the family that they're capable and responsible. And, well, it's always nice to help a fellow sorcerer. Truth is, you've barely talked with Gabriel until then. You'd rarely seen them around Court. If they're at the castle, it's for the purpose of camping out in the Great Library. and that hasn't changed; it's just that your paths actually do intersect now.
"Let's get ready. Today we're going to be studying runes and wards and the likes." Gabriel pushes a tome towards you, already opened at a selected page. "Also some rituals that involve them, and how to combine wards. I've tailored the lesson to what would interest you as a future knight, but we'll go over more than just that. I think it's a very fascinating subject. Alright." They twine their fingers and roll their wrist joints. "Flex a bit; we've got a lot to draw, and cramps are no joke."
[[Continue|Chapt5GabrielLessonTalk]]Cramps really are no joke.
More than an hour into your lesson, your hand is starting to dully ache. You push yourself to finish the details of the rune you started - you have to get it right - then set aside your pen and rotate your wrist with a satifying pop.
While you toiled, the raging storm settled down. Rain still drizzles off the roof and trees, and it's not yet brightened up much, but the clouds of the darkest, most severe gray have dispersed. Your scalding hot tea, forgotten in favor of the exercises assigned by Gabriel, must have also cooled down to just the right temperature for you to drink.
No, you decide with a sip, it's just tepid now. You listlessly swallow then place a palm over the cup, skin teeming pleasantly with magic. As you wait for the tea to warm, you glance at Gabriel.
They're oblivious to your attention, gaze set beyond the window as they cradle a cup of their own. A melancholic smile catches on their lips.
<div class="choice">[[Make conversation. "Something on your mind?"|Chapt5GabrielTalk][$chapt5_gabe to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're here to learn, not converse. "I'm done with the exercises."|Chapt5GabrielTalk][$chapt5_gabe to 2]]</div><<if $chapt5_gabe == 1>>
"What's on your mind?" you ask.
"Nothing much," Gabriel replies. "The storm just brings memories of my own magic lessons." They pause, then chuckle. "I don't know why I act like they're a thing of the distant past; just a couple months ago Luca and I went out in the rain with our mothers." They take a long sip of their tea, turning back pensive. "I suppose I //was// thinking of the more distant past. When we were younger and all of us would go out in a storm, bundled up and ready to take on the gloomy clouds. Luca would be so miserable yet earnest and fumble his magic, and Darius was good - but he also complained every minute about mud getting on his boots and water in his socks and tried to play tricks on us. And I had what he called an unnervingly large smile on my face." They make air-quotes around the words. "I was just excited to do some magic."
There is one sibling glaringly missing from Gabriel's recounting: Alina. Of course. She's not a sorcerer; she was probably somewhere inside, conducting her own non-magical lessons, looking out on all her other siblings getting to learn a craft that's unattainable to her. All of them bound by the same magic in their blood - aside from her, sticking out with her impotent and inactive powers.
They shake their head as if wanting to shake off rain. "Are you ready with your exercises? Let me take a look."
<<else>>
You take a sip of your tea and deem it warm enough, then push your workbook towards Gabriel, making them start. "I'm finished with my exercises."
"Right." They pick up their pen and dip it in red ink. "Let's see."
<</if>>
[[The wedding draws closer|Chapt5ElainePOV]]<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "befriend">>
Though your exchanges have stayed brief and sparse you continued on your crusade to befriend the boy, offering him smiles and kind words. He's responded to them with uncertainty and confusion.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_attitude == "charm">>
Though your exchanges have stayed brief and sparse you continued on your crusade to befriend the boy, offering him smiles and amiable words. He's responded to them with uncertainty and confusion.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_attitude == "no_befriend">>
You've avoided him as best you could over the years, an easy feat to achieve. When you first met you wanted to dig underneath all that hostility and find a friend, but it proved too much on you as you were the only one making the effort. Perhaps one day you'll find the motivation to do so again. Perhaps Galahad himself will have a change of heart, however slight, and give it a chance. Or perhaps not.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_attitude == "no_charm">>
You've avoided him as best you could over the years, an easy feat to achieve. When you first met, you wanted to win him over, but it proved too difficult a task. Perhaps one day you'll find the motivation to do so again. Perhaps Galahad himself will have a change of heart, however slight, and give it a chance. Or perhaps not.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_attitude == "confront">>
Though your exchanges have stayed brief and sparse you've taken any given opportunity to challenge and confront Galahad: holding your head high before him, throwing an incisive remark here and there.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_attitude == "avoid">>
You've avoided him as best you could over the years, an easy feat to achieve.
<</if>>
Whatever your feelings on Galahad or Lancelot, you must act your part.
After the Alistairs' enthusiastic entrance, the Du Lac family comes off as oddly stiff and reserved. They're perfectly courteous, yes - too much so, putting on a performance that strictly adheres to the rules of manners but never strays into what you'd call a truly warm greeting, like actors reciting every line with accuracy but no emotion. The three of them stand lined up, bedecked and bejeweled, for all to marvel at.
It would greatly please your etiquette teacher. Lancelot and Galahad especially have mastered that ramrod-straight, sword-up-your-ass stance he loves so much.
Your gaze meets Galahad across the respectable chasm left between your parties.
Galahad is changed from how you remember him. Older, taller, leaner. Features whetted into something sharper by the years.
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
His brow pinches, an all too familiar sight.
<<else>>
The set of his jaw tigthens.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Smile brightly.|Chapt5GalahadReaction][$chapt5_gally_greet to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smirk.|Chapt5GalahadReaction][$chapt5_gally_greet to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Roll your eyes.|Chapt5GalahadReaction][$chapt5_gally_greet to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Look away.|Chapt5GalahadReaction][$chapt5_gally_greet to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Stare back blankly.|Chapt5GalahadReaction][$chapt5_gally_greet to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Sneer.|Chapt5GalahadReaction][$chapt5_gally_greet to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He looks quite dashing in Pendragon colors, actually. ❤|Chapt5GalahadReaction][$chapt5_gally_greet to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[The Pendragon colors don't look too bad on him. 💕|Chapt5GalahadReaction][$chapt5_gally_greet to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Goddess, he looks so pompous in his fancy little clothes. Pompous and and silly and definitely not dashing. ❤|Chapt5GalahadReaction][$chapt5_gally_greet to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Goddess, he looks so pompous in his fancy little clothes. Pompous and and silly, definitely. 💕|Chapt5GalahadReaction][$chapt5_gally_greet to 10]]</div><<if $chapt5_gally_greet == 1>>
You give him a bright smile, far more exhuberant a greeting than any of the Du Lacs offered.
<<if $Galahad >= 15>>
The crease between his brows only deepens. It doesn't look angry, though - but conflicted.
<<else>>
He stares at you for a moment that drags on - you don't expect a smile, you never do, even if you hope for one - before he looks away.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_greet == 2>>
You lift your chin and give him a cheeky little smirk. He rolls his eyes at you. Ha! Not very prim and proper of him, was it?
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_greet == 3>>
You hold his gaze to make sure he sees you rolling your eyes, slowly and deliberately and oh so unimpressed with his presence. He tilts his head to the side with an equally unmoved expression.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_greet == 4>>
Your gaze darts to the side, where it can escape the unpleasant sight of his visage.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_greet == 5>>
You fix with a blank expression, as to evince how little he impresses and intimidates you. He stares back just as steadfast: blade meeting blade, unrelenting, unyielding.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_greet == 6>>
Your brow puckers, the corner of your mouth twists with displeasure - a most clear way of getting your feelings towards Galahad across.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_greet == 7>>
The golden accents sit nicely against his sun-kissed, warm complexion, and even the bright red, while overpowering the gray-violet shade of his eyes, works to mellow his gaze.
He looks dashing. And he's still staring at you. Measuring you in turn.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_greet == 8>>
The golden accents sit nicely against his sun-kissed, warm complexion, and even the bright red, while overpowering the gray-violet shade of his eyes, works to mellow his gaze. It's not a bad look on him.
Galahad stares back, measuring you in turn.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_greet == 9>>
Goddess, he looks so pompous in his fancy little clothes. Gold-trimmed doublet, ruby buttons. It may be proper, fashionable Court attire but he makes it look so silly by virtue of being well, himself. Even if the gold suits his sun-kissed, warm complexion. The bright red overpowers the gray-violet of his eyes, which is a shame, because it's a very lovely shade. It does mellow his gaze, though.
Silly. Definitely silly. You don't find him dashing at all. Why does he keep staring at you?
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_greet == 10>>
Goddess, he looks so pompous in his fancy little clothes. Gold-trimmed doublet, ruby buttons. It may be proper, fashionable Court attire but he makes it look so silly by virtue of being well, himself. Even if the gold suits his sun-kissed, warm complexion. The bright red overpowers the gray-violet of his eyes, which is a shame, because it's a very lovely shade. It does mellow his gaze, though.
Silly. So, so silly. And still staring at you. Measuring you in turn.
<</if>>
Lancelot clasps a hand on his shoulder and pivots him along, away from your pavilion.
[[Another Camelotian carriage approaches.|Chapt5MerlinArrives]]<<if $chapt5_gally_table == 1>>
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "confront" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "avoid">>
You nod back at him, saying "Hello" and nothing more before letting silence settle next to you at the table.
<<else>>
You incline your head towards him, a shallow angle that may still be seen as polite, and offer a perfunctory "Hello" before letting silence settle next to you at the table.
<</if>>
You entertain yourself by watching the other guests - smiling, painted faces, some you know well, some you dimly recognize, some you can't place at all - watching them gather in talking, laughing clusters before converving towards their table. Watching the rippling, gleaming movement of scales as dragons pass by. They don't have tables or chairs - they don't need them - just long stands, buffets, where platters of food will be placed, where goblets now stand empty, ready to be filled, as they stand on your table as well.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_table == 2>>
Say hello, try to make small talk.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_table == 3>>
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "confront" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "avoid">>
Interesting, that Galahad du Lac would actually //greet// you, however curt and clumsy the gesture. Not interesting enough to capture your attention for long, though, and certainly not convincing enough to make you respond in kind. You give him a blank look, then let your gaze slide away, as if he were no more notice-worthy than a small crease in the chiffon table spread.
<<else>>
While Galahad du Lac seemed riveted by your arrival, however enmity-induced/driven that attention might be, you yourself find yourself rather uncurious. You give him a blank look, then let your gaze slide away, as if he were no more notice-worthy than a small crease in the chiffon table spread.
<</if>>
You entertain yourself by watching the other guests - smiling, painted faces, some you know well, some you dimly recognize, some you can't place at all - watching them gather in talking, laughing clusters before converving towards their table. Watching the rippling, gleaming movement of scales as dragons pass by. They don't have tables or chairs - they don't need them - just long stands, buffets, where platters of food will be placed, where goblets now stand empty, ready to be filled, as they stand on your table as well.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_table == 4>>
You could shut up. You could say nothing, ignore him - ignore him despite his burning gaze, despite his enmity-induced/driven attention - and wait in uneasy silence for the others to arrive. But you taste venom on your tongue, sharp and bitter, itching to be spat out. And so you do.
"You know you look like you have a stick up your ass?"
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "used to be friendly/charming">>
The remark catches him like a punch to the face - one that not so much smarts as it staggers/unbalances. Oh, is it strange for him, to not be the one first hurling insults? Back then when you first met, he's called you snake, traitor, villain, and he's been too stubborn to completely, utterly renounce any of those believes, no matter how hard you've tried to prove otherwise. It's high time you started acting as he expects you to.
<<else>>
The remark catches him like a punch to the face - one that not so much smarts as it staggers/unbalances.//Surprise flashes over his face, as if he didn't expect//The remark catches him like a strike that staggers more than smarts, a hit he didn't expect so early in the night - before the food could even arrive. The surprise quickly vanishes/The surprise goes away as quickly as it came - the brief, rapid, tremulous flicker of a flame in a flitting breeze - leaving behind a tight-mouthed, narrowed-eyed irritation.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_table == 5>>
Try to engage him in small talk, only because you know it'll irritate him.
<<elseif $chapt5_gally_table == 6>>
Ignore him. You wish you could talk, banter, but you know it's useless.
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "confront" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "avoid">>
Interesting, that Galahad du Lac would actually //greet// you, however curt and clumsy the gesture. How interesting, and utterly useless. Once, that little thing/crumb of friendliness alone might have ignited such hope in you, might have fanned the flame of your determination - now, you only find yourself cold, disappointed and dimly frustrated. You let the salute go unanswered, let your gaze slide away, as if he were no more notice-worthy than a small crease in the chiffon table spread. Still, why do you feel a distant urge to go and smooth that little crease? It'd be so easy, to reach out your hand and swipe it away - only, would it really be? You know it wouldn't. You know Galahad to be too mullish to be ironed out so quickly, and you know yourself too tired to go through all that effort now. Better take your mind off it, entirely.
<<else>>
He doesn't greet you, which is no suprise. That doesn't stop it from being faintly disappointing and frustrating; a part of you, small and foolish, was still holding out to //something//, something that it shall not receive. Ever, perhaps. Let your gaze slide away, as if he were no more notice-worthy than a small crease in the chiffon table spread. Still, why do you feel a distant urge to go and smooth that little crease? It'd be so easy, to reach out your hand and swipe it away - only, would it really be? You know it wouldn't. You know Galahad to be too mullish to be ironed out so quickly, and you know yourself too tired to go through all that effort now. Better take your mind off it, entirely.
You try to entertain yourself instead by watching the other guests - smiling, painted faces, some you know well, some you dimly recognize, some you can't place at all - watching them gather in talking, laughing clusters before converving towards their table.
(Talking and laughing, unlike you and Galahad, festering in this uncomfortable silence/crushed under the weight of uneasy silence.)
You watch the rippling, gleaming movement of scales as dragons pass by. They don't have tables or chairs - they don't need them - just long stands, buffets, where platters of food will be placed, where goblets now stand empty, ready to be filled, as they stand on your table as well.
<</if>>
<</if>>"Galahad! It's been so long, how have you been?" You speak with an effusiveness so exaggerated it's aggressive, smile cloying sweet - like poisoned cake.
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "befriend" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "charm">>
He looks - disturbed, it's the best way to put it, in a way that both gratifies and puzzles you. Disturbed and somewhat hurt, features warped the same way you imagine they would be once the said poison in the cake kicks in, wreaking its horrible, painful ruin on one's insides. He doesn't start coughing blood though. Instead, his face resolves into tight-lipped, narrow-eyed irritation. "You're mocking me," he pithily concludes.
"Me? Mocking //you//? I would never. We're friends, aren't we."
<<else>>
You're met with tight-lipped, narrow-eyed irritation. "You're mocking me," he pithily concludes.
"Me? Mocking //you//? Galahad, I would never. We're friends, aren't we."
<</if>>
He bridles, but doesn't back down. There's a dangerous glimmer in the silver of his eyes, like the glint of a swiftly-drawn blade - one moment nestled in its sheath, the next burrowed in your neck.
"I've been doing fine," he says, flatly. "What about you - any //scheming// evil plans?"
"Oh," you laugh, silvery and sharp. "Plenty."
He just scoffs.
[[Continue|Chapt5TableArrive]]You could shut up. You could say nothing, ignore him - ignore him despite his burning gaze, despite his enmity-driven attention - and wait in uneasy silence for the others to arrive. But you taste venom on your tongue, sharp and bitter, itching to be spat out, and he looks so straight-backed, so blank-faced, so shoulder-tense; you need to prod, to poke, to //sting//, to find the vulnerable spots between the plates of his armor. And so you do.
"You know you look like you have a stick up your ass?"
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "befriend" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "charm">>
The remark catches him like a punch to the face - one that not so much smarts as it staggers. Oh, is it strange for him to not be the one first hurling insults? Back then when you first met, he's called you snake, traitor, villain, and he's been too stubborn to completely, utterly renounce any of those believes no matter how hard you've tried to prove otherwise. It's high time you started acting as he expects you to.
<<else>>
The remark catches him like a strike that staggers more than smarts, a hit he didn't expect so early in the night -like he couldn't believe you've jumped to insults before appetizers even arrived. The surprise goes away as quickly as it came - the brief, rapid, tremulous flicker of a flame in a flitting breeze - leaving behind tight-mouthed, narrowed-eyed irritation.
<</if>>
He doesn't dignify you with an answer.
You, on the other hand, can't bridle your tongue. "Got no good retort? you taunt. "Not going to say that I look like - a snake, a traitor, a menace?"
"Do I have to say it if you already know it so well?"
"Would make for good conversation."
He only scoffs at that.
[[Continue|Chapt5TableArrive]]It's not the first time he's extended some sort of courtesy, however clumsily and woodenly. You appreciate each little effort he makes, each little change you see. It feels like you've managed to chip away at some of the ice between you - like Galahad himself took a pick to it, and started hitting together with you, from the other side.
You take his gesture as invitation to push on, to break off some more ice.
"How was the road?"
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "befriend" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "charm">>
Galahad glances at you, eyes flickering over your expression. "Long," he says. A beat, a pause, an uncertain look. "Tiring."
<<else>>
Galahad glances at you, nonplussed, and angles his head to the side before catching himself, like he expects someone else to pop up behind his chair, someone you'd actually want to chat with, despite you staring straight at him.
"Long," he finally says. A beat, a pause, an uncertain look. "Tiring."
<</if>>
You try to imagine how he might have filled that long, tiring road: deep in his thoughts, staring out the window, or perhaps lost within the pages of some book? If it's the first, what does he think of, you wonder? His training, or maybe some personal fancies of his, tailored to entertain him during slow, quiet moments. He's not volunteering any information, any detail, anything to move the conversation forward, so you take the plunge instead. Talking with him is like trying to drag along an obstinate mule; luckily, you're stubborn too.
"Did you do anything to pass the time? Read something interesting, maybe?" When he blandly answers, //'a book Gawain lent me'//, you continue, with an enthusiasm that feels exaggerated, compared to Galahad's tentative, hesitant demeanor more suggestive of being interrogated than engaged in friendly conversation. "Oh, what's it about? Is it any fun?"
"It's about knights." The reply, said with a glimmer of interest not prior present, seems to stand for both questions.
You wait for him to elaborate, tracing circles in the slippery, smooth chiffon while you watch him, hoping your gaze alone - open, hopeful, affable - might drag the words out his mouth. Galahad glances away, grabs for the goblet before him and brings it almost all the way to his lips before realizing it's empty, and that there are no pitchers or bottles to be found anywhere near yet. He refuses to put the cup down now, though, holding it up as if he meant to do this all along. In lieu of any liquid he gulps air, throat working heavily against whatever lump is lodged in there, blocking off all his words.
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "befriend" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "charm">>
And seems to altogether swallow it - or at least, dislodge it enough for him to ask: "How have you been?" He speaks as if in a language not his own, one he's freshly started learning the basics and fears not accidently insulting someone, unwittingly switching salutation for invective.
You shrug one shoulder, an easy, nonchalant gesture. Hoping that your casual manner will rub off on him at some point, put him at ease. Poor boy looks as strung-up as he did standing before your welcoming party, all decked in Pendragon regalia. You're sure that were you to touch his shoulders - held so straight, so sure of themselves despite the uncertainty he otherwise exudes - you'd find them unyieldy, muscles turned stone-hard.
"The usual," you say. "Training, lessons; we've got two new bewitched dummies that fight in unison and they're my sworn enemies now." A smile catches on Galahad's lips, cut down as quickly as it bloomed. "Though I suppose the last fornight has been less usual, given we've been entertaining guests."
<<else>>
If there were any words on his tongue, he's surely swallowed them all. You wait another moment - another drawn-out breath, another anticipatory heartbeat - before picking up the conversation yourself.
"How have you been, otherwise?"
"Why do you care?" It's less of an axe, rudely taken to the roots to sever this conversation, and more of a spade - sharp and inquisitive, digging to find a source, an understanding of this peculiar friendliness.
"To be sociable? To be friendly? Because I'm genuinly //curious?//" You give your answers with a faint question mark tacked at the end of each one, an unspoken query - ///which would you prefer?//
He quietly considers your claims, weighing each of them against whatever it is he reads in your face. The silence crawls on - on all fours, slow, tedious, agonizing, giving you time to suffer and wonder whether it'll bring you an acquiescence, an understanding, or a claw to the face to wipe off your smile.
Galahad puts down his goblet with a decisive thud. "I've been fine."
Your shoulders settle with a small, inaudible sigh. "Training and the likes, I assume?" He nods, but doesn't seem in any hurry to add anything, so instead you dive on ahead before he can think better of it and cut off this entire conversation. We've got two new bewitched dummies that fight in unison and they're my sworn enemies now." A smile catches on Galahad's lips, cut down as quickly as it bloomed. "Though I suppose the last fornight has been less usual, given we've been entertaining guests."
<</if>>
You keep on talking while Galahad listens - giving you his undivided, riveted, if slightly nervous attention, the kind of attention you'd turn on something that fascinates despite being told to look away, despite knowing you should step back - telling him of the more mundane happenings of the last weeks, stirring away from matters that may be too sensitive, that may be too revealing of the tensions festering between your castle walls.
[[Continue|Chapt5TableArrive]]<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "confront" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "avoid">>
You nod back at him, saying "Hello" and nothing more before letting silence settle next to you at the table.
<<else>>
You incline your head towards him, a shallow angle that may still be seen as polite, and offer a perfunctory "Hello" before letting silence settle next to you at the table.
<</if>>
You entertain yourself by watching the other guests - smiling, painted faces, some you know well, some you dimly recognize, some you can't place at all - watching them gather in talking, laughing clusters before converging towards their table. Watching the rippling, gleaming movement of scales as dragons pass by. They don't have tables or chairs - they don't need them - just long stands, buffets, where platters of food will be placed, where goblets now stand empty, ready to be filled as those on your table.
[[Continue|Chapt5TableArrive]]<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "confront" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "avoid">>
While Galahad du Lac seemed riveted by your arrival, however enmity-driven that attention might be, you find yourself rather uncurious. You give him a blank look then let your gaze slide away as if he were no more notice-worthy than a small crease in the chiffon table spread.
<<else>>
Interesting, that Galahad du Lac would actually //greet// you, however curt and clumsy the gesture. Not interesting enough to capture your attention for long, though, and certainly not convincing enough to make you respond in kind. You give him a blank look then let your gaze slide away as if he were no more notice-worthy than a small crease in the chiffon table spread.
<</if>>
You entertain yourself by watching the other guests - smiling, painted faces, some you know well, some you dimly recognize, some you can't place at all - watching them gather in talking, laughing clusters before converging towards their table. Watching the rippling, gleaming movement of scales as dragons pass by. They don't have tables or chairs - they don't need them - just long stands, buffets, where platters of food will be placed, where goblets now stand empty, ready to be filled.
[[Continue|Chapt5TableArrive]]<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "confront" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "avoid">>
<<if $gally_crush >= 3>>
He doesn't greet you, which is no suprise. That doesn't stem the wave of disappointment and frustration that comes over you, a cold, briny wave that burns the open wounds it floods. A part of you, a very foolish part of you, was still holding out for //something//, something that it shall not receive. Ever, perhaps.
<<else>>
He doesn't greet you, which is no suprise. That doesn't stop it from being faintly disappointing and frustrating; a part of you, small and foolish, was still holding out for //something//, some semblance of friendship that it shall not receive. Ever, perhaps.
<</if>>
Let your gaze slide away, as if he were no more notice-worthy than a small crease in the chiffon table spread. Still, why do you feel a distant urge to go and smooth that little crease? It'd be so easy, to reach out your hand and swipe it away - to say a friendly word, start a conversation - only, would it really be? You know it wouldn't. You know Galahad to be too mullish to be ironed out so quickly, and you know yourself too tired to go through all that effort now. Better take your mind off it, entirely.
<<else>>
<<if $gally_crush >= 3>>
Interesting, that Galahad du Lac would actually //greet// you, however curt and clumsy the gesture. How interesting, and utterly useless. Once, that little crumb of friendliness alone might have ignited such hope in you, might have fanned the flame of your determination - now, you only find yourself left cold, disappointed and frustrated - more disappointed and frustrated than it warrants.
<<else>>
Interesting, that Galahad du Lac would actually //greet// you, however curt and clumsy the gesture. How interesting, and utterly useless. Once, that little thing/crumb of friendliness alone might have ignited such hope in you, might have fanned the flame of your determination - now, you only find yourself coldly disappointed and dimly frustrated.
<</if>>
You let the salute go unanswered, let your gaze slide away, as if he were no more notice-worthy than a small crease in the chiffon table spread. Still, why do you feel a distant urge to go and smooth that little crease? It'd be so easy, to reach out your hand and swipe it away - to say something friendly - only, would it really be? You know it wouldn't. You know Galahad to be too mullish to be ironed out so quickly, and you know yourself too tired to go through all that effort now. Better take your mind off it, entirely.
<</if>>
You try to entertain yourself instead by watching the other guests - smiling, painted faces, some you know well, some you dimly recognize, some you can't place at all - watching them gather in talking, laughing clusters before converging towards their table. (Talking and laughing, unlike you and Galahad, festering in this uncomfortable silence.) You watch the rippling, gleaming movement of scales as dragons pass by. They don't have tables or chairs - they don't need them - just long stands, buffets, where platters of food will be placed, where goblets now stand empty, ready to be filled, as they stand on your table as well.
[[Continue|Chapt5TableArrive]]<<if $chapt5_gareth_tell == 1>>
You're happy for Gareth, that he's come to this revelation. It does, however, raise your concerns as to how the prospect of the engagement impacts him, in this new light. Is he truly alright with going through with it?
<<elseif $chapt5_gareth_tell == 2>>
You're happy for Gareth, that he's come to this revelation - which you can relate to quite easily, in fact. You've never been infatuated, and neither do you feel like you're missing out on it.
"I understand you perfectly," you say, "on the matter of romance. Or well, lack of any desire for it."
Great as this all may be, it does raise your concerns as to how the prospect of the engagement impacts him, in this new light. Is he truly alright with going through with it?
<<elseif $chapt5_gareth_tell == 3>>
You're happy for Gareth, that he's come to this revelation - which you can relate to perfectly. You've never been infatuated, or seen the appeal of doing what people do when...they get naked and very close, like in those books that people blush and titter over.
"I understand you perfectly," you say, "in both aspects."
Great as this all may be, it does raise your concerns as to how the prospect of the engagement impacts him, in this new light. Is he truly alright with going through with it?
<<elseif $chapt5_gareth_tell == 4>>
You're happy for Gareth, that he's come to this revelation - which you can relate to, in a way. Romance you do crave, but you've never seen the appeal of doing what people do when...they get naked and very close, like in those books that people blush and titter over.
"I can relate to some of those sentiments," you say. "I do want romance but...not much else, you know?"
He nods, smile wider.
Great as this all may be, it does raise your concerns as to how the prospect of the engagement impacts him, in this new light. Is he truly alright with going through with it?
<<elseif $chapt5_gareth_tell == 5>>
You're happy for Gareth, that he's come to this revelation - which you can relate, in a way. Romance you do crave and while there's a certain curiosity about, and perhaps appeal to what people do when...they get naked and very close, you haven't felt it quite as described in those books that people blush and titter over.
"I can somehow relate," you say. "I do want romance, but I'm still...not sure about other aspects."
He smiles softly.
Great as this all may be, it does raise your concerns as to how the prospect of the engagement impacts him, in this new light. Is he truly alright with going through with it?
<</if>>
<<if $elaine_crush >= 3>>
"So," you tentatively start. "Do you want to marry Elaine? Marry at all?" You ignore the stab of pain in your chest. This is no time to let a budding infatuation take roots.
<<else>>
"So," you tentatively start. "Do you want to marry Elaine? Marry at all?"
<</if>>
Gareth smiles. "I don't mind marrying, especially if it benefits Lothia. But," he hesitates, twisting an emerald-set ring around his finger. "I'd want to find companionship and mutual support in my marriage. Not romance, nothing of the kind, as I said. What I want, for my partner and I, is for us to trust each other, care about one another. To be able to discuss and work and make decisions together."
"Do you think you can find that with Elaine?" you ask, not daring to give in to hope. You really wish for Gareth to find all he desires, but you have your doubts of how things could turn out, rushed as they are.
Gareth seems to be of much the same opinion. "I think it's something we could only figure out if we spent more time together," he says, chuckling self-consciously.
"Time you don't have," you say out loud the part he left unspoken.
You let the words fester in the silence between you.
Gareth speaks up again with aplomb: "Besides, I haven't told her all this yet. I wanted to tell you first. I'll talk with her, afterwards, when there's no one else around to eavesdrop. I just fear she won't be candid with me." He sighs and fidgets more with his ring, a crease etched between his brows. "That she may feel pressured, with the wedding so fast approaching. And I feel this reluctance coming from her. I don't want to presume - it's been frustrating to have mother not taking me at my word, even if it comes from a place of concern."
<<if $go_talk is true>>
"She's definitely oozing reluctance," you agree. "Heaps of it."
Gareth smiles wryly at your strange wording, and listens intently as you detail what transpired during the tour of the castle that you gave Elaine. Her anxieties over her newfound responsibilities as Duke, her aversion towards all that entails wedding planning, the general nervousness she evinced.
"What if she does accept, though?" you ask.
<<else>>
"What if she does accept, though?" you ask.
<</if>>
"I'll want her to be confident it's what //she// wants, and not what others wish for her to do." He pulls up one leg, resting ankle against knee as he stares pensively over your shoulder, out the open window. "You know, I've been thinking. About marriage in general, not just what I want out of it. So many people want to treat it so transactional, only to what - compromise their own personal needs and desires? Force //others// to compromise them? Of course, there are plenty of actual love matches, and I'm happy for them, as I'm happy for those who may not have found love as one may expect, but have found happiness. But what bothers me is this...expectation that you get married, and must stay so no matter what. I don't want my spouse to feel trapped. //I// don't want to feel trapped, either."
Gareth glances at you, brown eyes sparkling with contempt. "Like mother - and her case is so much worse." Your stomach roils; most in arranged union are not teens forced to wed men twice their age. "You know, there are those who seek romance and intimacy. And as many can't find it in their arranged marriages, they look for it outside, as mother did. Yet they scorn her. Maybe if they point at her, others won't look at them. Or maybe they even envy her, and her gall to flaunt her love.
"And perhaps things would have been better if father had been kinder. If he had understood why the girl he forced to wed him would loathe him, and find love with someone like Accolon. But I digress," he sighs. "All I'm trying to say, I don't want that for myself, or my partner." He props an elbow up on the table and lightly presses his knuckles against his lips. "I'd call off the wedding the day before if that's what Elaine asked of me."
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
"Lot won't like it," you say with a smirk.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "cautious">>
"Lot won't like it," you say, skin prickling. Gareth told you that Lot has been as kind and caring as he could muster himself to be with him, but you can't help but wonder whether this could seriously test his patience.
<<else>>
"Lot won't like it," you remark, which is as inane a thing to note as the sky being blue.
<</if>>
"Father can deal with it," Gareth says dismissively.
You tilt your head, letting out a small, thoughtful hum. "You look just like Morgana when you do that."
He cuts his gaze to you. "When I speak of father like that?"
"No, when you...think. You look just like her when she's -" you wave a hand vaguely "- scheming."
It's such a striking resemblance, despite the overwhelming way his features coincide with Lot's - the sloped curve of his nose, the deep shade of his combed curls, the strong set of his jaw. Yet that smouldering in his eyes is a twin flame to Morgana's - not as hateful, but just as brilliant and dangerous.
"Speaking of mother and scheming," Gareth says, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. "I need to talk with her as well, alleviate her worries. Tell her to quit it with whatever she may be planning."
<<if $morgana_closeness == "close">>
You agree with him that it's for the best, considering how absolutely consumed with worry she's been over this whole affair. You linger a while longer in the library, talking at length of the impressions each Beauregard has left on you, juicy little tidbits and gossip he's learned, Lot's attempt at joviality that's so eldritch a disposition on him.
[[Next|Chapt5CarriageRide]]
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "lukewarm">>
<<if $gareth_knows is true>>
Gareth has stayed close to Morgana, though, like yours, the relationship is difficult terrain to tread.
<<else>>
Gareth is none the wiser to what Morgana has done, so their relationship is as close as before. He's felt the tension between the two of you, but was left to fill in the possibilities himself as to what led to it.
<</if>>
You agree it's for the best to let her know soon as well, considering how absolutely consumed with worry she's been over this whole affair - and to stop any scheming on her part. You linger a while longer in the library, talking at length of the impressions each Beauregard has left on you, juicy little tidbits and gossip he's learned, Lot's attempt at joviality that's so eldritch a disposition on him.
[[Next|Chapt5CarriageRide]]
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "distant">>
<<if $gareth_knows is true>>
Gareth has stayed close to Morgana, though the relationship is difficult terrain to tread.
<div class="choice">[[You can't help yourself. It bothers you. "I can't believe you can still talk to her after everything she's done."|Chapt5GarethLibraryArgument][$chapt5_argument to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It bothers you, but you understand that it's hard for Gareth too.|Chapt5GarethLibraryArgument][$chapt5_argument to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can't fault Gareth for it..|Chapt5GarethLibraryArgument][$chapt5_argument to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
Gareth is none the wiser to what Morgana has done, so their relationship is as close as before. He's felt the tension between the two of you, but was left to fill in the possibilities himself as to what led to it, which has led to a certain apprehension towards your mother.
You linger a while longer in the library, talking at length of the impressions each Beauregard has left on you, juicy little tidbits and gossip he's learned, Lot's attempt at joviality that's so eldritch a disposition on him.
[[Next|Chapt5CarriageRide]]
<</if>>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 1>>
"She's fun," you say, "someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends." You duck under a low-hanging branch. "That is, if we have the opportunity for it."
"I'm glad to hear so. I hope you get that opportunity." There's a pause, followed by a mischevious twist of his smile. "Marriage or not. The two of you really do have a lot of common interests, though. I can see how you'd easily bond."
"You're welcome to talk more with Elaine, if you'd like," Gareth says. "Perhaps we could gather a better understanding of her thoughts on this engagement."
[[Next|Chapt5GarethTempleReturn]]
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 2>>
"She's fun," you say, "someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends." And so much more, if Elaine was willing - and if matters weren't so entangled. "That is, if we have the opportunity for it."
"I'm glad to hear so. You have a lot in common; I can see how you'd easily bond. I hope you get that opportunity." There's a pause, followed by a mischevious twist of his smile. "Is that all you want, though?"
You play innocent in response. "What else?"
"I saw the way the two of you talk, Mordred; the way you look at her."
"Is it that obvious?"
"For me it is." He veers into you, bumping his shoulder gently into yours. "I know you well, Mordred. And I think the two of you would make a lovely couple. If Elaine returns the interest, of course."
You cross your arms. "Which I don't know. Yet. But doesn't this complicate everything?"
His smile falters, expression turning somber. "I find no issue with it, but...I know what you mean." He sighs. "That's exactly why I'm so wary of this whole matter."
Silence settles heavily around you.
Even if she was to return your feelings, the matter of the engagement //does// complicate things.
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, and it's good to know Gareth supports you wholeheartedly. So what if she's marrying him? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["My fondness for her couldn't be more misplaced," you lament. You like Elaine, but guilt does press down on you.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'd be best to keep my feelings to myself," you say. You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 3>>
"She's fun," you say, "someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends." And so much more, if Elaine was willing - and if matters weren't so entangled. "That is, if we have the opportunity for it."
"I'm glad to hear so. You have a lot in common; I can see how you'd easily bond. I hope you get that opportunity." There's a pause, followed by a mischevious twist of his smile. "Is that all you want, though?"
Heat blooms in your chest, spreads up your neck, floods your cheeks. "What else?" you ask and chuckle, the sound thin and pitched by emotion.
"I saw the way the two of you talk, Mordred; the way you look at her."
You let out a long exhale and whisper as if Elaine and the others might hear you all the way from here: "Is it that obvious?"
"For me it is." He veers into you, bumping his shoulder gently into yours. "I know you well, Mordred. And I think the two of you would make a lovely couple. If Elaine returns the interest, of course."
You cross your arms. "Which I don't know if she does. But doesn't this complicate everything?"
His smile falters, expression turning somber. "I find no issue with it, but...I know what you mean." He sighs. "That's exactly why I'm so wary of this whole matter."
Silence settles heavily around you.
Even if she was to return your feelings, the matter of the engagement //does// complicate things.
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, and it's good to know Gareth supports you wholeheartedly. So what if she's marrying him? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["My fondness for her couldn't be more misplaced," you lament. You like Elaine, but guilt does press down on you.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'd be best to keep my feelings to myself," you say. You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 5>>
"I like her," you say, lips hitching up in a timid smile that does not escape Gareth. "I admire her. A lot," you continue, then promptly regret it. You couldn't resume yourself to //admire//, which is already a strong word; no, you had to go on and add an even stronger quantifier.
"I thought as much."
You let out a long exhale and whisper as if Elaine and the others might hear you all the way from here: "Is it that obvious?"
"I saw the way the two of you talk, Mordred; the way you look at her. You have a lot in common; I can see how you'd easily bond." He veers into you, bumping his shoulder gently into yours. "I know you well, Mordred. And I think the two of you would make a lovely couple. If Elaine returns the interest, of course."
You cross your arms. "Which I don't know. Yet. But doesn't this complicate everything?"
His smile falters, expression turning somber. "I find no issue with it, but...I know what you mean." He sighs. "That's exactly why I'm so wary of this whole matter."
Silence settles heavily around you.
Even if she was to return your feelings, the matter of the engagement //does// complicate things.
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, and it's good to know Gareth supports you wholeheartedly. So what if she's marrying him? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["My fondness for her couldn't be more misplaced," you lament. You like Elaine, but guilt does press down on you.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'd be best to keep my feelings to myself," you say. You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 4>>
"She's fun," you say, a fond smile pulling at your lips, "someone I'd like to know better. I quite admire her." You duck under a low-hanging branch. "More than a friend, that is."
"I thought as much."
"Is it that obvious?"
"I saw the way the two of you talk, Mordred; the way you look at her. You have a lot in common; I can see how you'd easily bond." He veers into you, bumping his shoulder gently into yours. "I know you well, Mordred. And I think the two of you would make a lovely couple. If Elaine returns the interest, of course."
You cross your arms. "Which I don't know. Yet. But doesn't this complicate everything?"
His smile falters, expression turning somber. "I find no issue with it, but...I know what you mean." He sighs. "That's exactly why I'm so wary of this whole matter."
Silence settles heavily around you.
Even if she was to return your feelings, the matter of the engagement //does// complicate things.
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, and it's good to know Gareth supports you wholeheartedly. So what if she's marrying him? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["My fondness for her couldn't be more misplaced," you lament. You like Elaine, but guilt does press down on you.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'd be best to keep my feelings to myself," you say. You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings2][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 7>>
"She's fine, I suppose," you reply and shrug. Ducking under a low-hanging branch just as smoothly as you avoid giving a more strong-worded opinion, since you lack any strenght of emotion as well. "I don't think too much of her, one way or another."
"I see," Gareth says, and adds nothing more.
"I will act friendly if you do marry," you add, "I simply don't care to be her friend. You won't hold that against me, will you?"
"Of course not, Mordred. I simply thought the two of you might have bonded over, I don't know," he waves a hand in a poor, haphazard imitation of swinging a sword, looking vaguely amused by his own attempt, "sword-fighting and the likes."
You stare at him. "Sword-fighting isn't enough to be the basis of a friendship."
Now he's outright smiling. "I think Elaine might argue with that." You can only snort in reponse.
"You're welcome to talk more with Elaine, if you'd like," Gareth says. "Perhaps we could gather a better understanding of her thoughts on this engagement."
[[Next|Chapt5GarethTempleReturn]]
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 8>>
"I'm not really fond of her."
"I see," Gareth says, giving as much of a laconic reply as you.
"I won't antagonize her or anything like that if you do marry," you add, "I simply don't care to be her friend. You won't hold that against me, will you?"
"Of course not, Mordred. I simply thought the two of you might have bonded over, I don't know," he waves a hand in a poor, haphazard imitation of swinging a sword, looking vaguely amused by his own attempt, "sword-fighting and the likes."
You stare at him. "Sword-fighting isn't enough to be the basis of a friendship."
Now he's outright smiling. "I think Elaine might argue with that." You can only snort in reponse.
[[Next|Chapt5GarethTempleReturn]]
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 6>>
"She's fun," you say, a fond smile pulling at your lips, "someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends." You duck under a low-hanging branch. "That is, if we have the opportunity for it."
"I'm glad to hear so. You have a lot in common; I can see how you'd easily bond. I hope you get that opportunity." There's a pause, followed by a mischevious twist of his smile. "Is that all you want, though?"
His equestion gives you pause. "Siblings in law, if you're to marry?"
Now it's Gareth's turn to to be confused by your response. He scours your face then seems to come to some conclusion. You're left still puzzled.
"I just thought...That your gaze lingers quite a lot on her."
You stare at him, feeling suddenly as if you're speaking different languages. "Yes," you say. "We do happen to talk enough that I'd also be looking in her direction a lot."
"That's fair." He continues to regard you strange, but decides to moves on.
"You're welcome to talk more with Elaine, if you'd like," Gareth says. "Perhaps we could gather a better understanding of her thoughts on this engagement."
[[Next|Chapt5GarethTempleReturn]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_argument == 1>>
"Speaking of mother," you echo him. "I can't believe you're still close to her, after everything."
It irks you. Befuddles you. Perhaps you shouldn't be bringing it up, especially not now. It's never a good idea to pick at scabs. It only makes you bleed and hurt, though there's un undeniable, grim satisfaction to peeling them off.
Gareth gives you a pained look - at his expense? at yours? - and says: "It's not that easy, and it's not that simple." You huff, and he adds: "What do I have left, Mordred?"
"Me! You have me!" You slap a hand against your chest, hard enough to smart - not enough to rival the anguish that's made a nest for itself in your heart.
"I do have you," Gareth agrees, tone mellowing. "And I'm so grateful for that. But...it's not the same."
You take in a rattling breath - the sage's potent smell invades your senses, coating your nose, the back of your throat. The breeze coming from outside, cool enough to prick your skin, only helps the scent permeate the chamber. Can't you just chuck the sage out the window? You sink your teeth in your bottom lip till you can taste blood, sharp and metallic - to overpower the smell, to keep any bitter words from bubbling up to the surface.
"So you'll talk with Elaine soon," you say, manhandling the subject back on course.
"Yes," Gareth replies, just as resolved to smooth over the moment.
The tension slowly dispels. You linger a while longer in the library, talking at length of the impressions each Beauregard has left on you, juicy little tidbits and gossip he's learned, Lot's attempt at joviality that's so eldritch a disposition on him.
<<elseif $chapt5_argument == 2>>
You bite the inside of your cheek till it smarts and the sharp, metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. It's beffudled you, irked you, pained you to learn that Gareth could stay close to Morgana, despite everything she's done. You feel betrayed sometimes, even though he recognizes all the ways in which she's wounded you. You envy him, sometimes - that he could still look at her and feel something else than overwhelming hurt and frustration. It's a whirlwind of emotions that circle you like shards of glass - cutting and biting and bleeding you dry.
You linger a while longer in the library, talking at length of the impressions each Beauregard has left on you, juicy little tidbits and gossip he's learned, Lot's attempt at joviality that's so eldritch a disposition on him.
<<else>>
Severing ties with Morgana was bloody and brutal but necessary. Gareth knows, and recognizes all the ways in which she's wounded you, but his own relationship with her didn't sustain as huge a hit. You're happy for him - you even envy him, sometimes, that he could still look at her and feel something else than overwhelming hurt and frustration.
You linger a while longer in the library, talking at length of the impressions each Beauregard has left on you, juicy little tidbits and gossip he's learned, Lot's attempt at joviality that's so eldritch a disposition on him.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt5CarriageRide]]//Gareth's POV//
Elaine did not come for the wedding preparations meeting. Gareth wasn't sure whether it was cause for relief, concern, or ultimately nothing of note.
Her parents definitely attempted to act as if it were the latter, brushing off her absence with a mild smile and apologetic, //"She must still be feeling tired after the long journey here."// Which is understandable, though the rest of her party who had undergone the same journey seemed in perfect disposition to attend the meeting - and deceving as appearances may be, Elaine did not give the impression of one so easily bested by an extended trip, not after a good night's sleep, at least.
Perhaps she hasn't had the benefit of a good night's sleep, Gareth thinks, and the possibility allows a pang of ache to spear through his preocupied musings. After all, she did leave her home behind for Lothia - this is no mere travel, no vacation, but a new beginning, in a new place.
If they went through with the wedding, at least.
They all assembled at the table in Lot's parlor, laid out with small appetizers on silver plates and wine in crystal cups, much as lunch started the day prior. The piles of scrolls, books and ordered sheets are a new addition, and definitely not something anyone should eat. Wouldn't taste as good as stuffed, roasted peppers.
They've been discussing the finer details of the upcoming ceremony and the pressing finances attached, double-checking their numbers and making sure all preparations are well-underway and on schedule. The book-keeping is the sort of affair they'd usually run by the royal accountant, a job Gareth has never particularly envied. He's surprised then to see Isolde take the initiative herself, presenting them with her leather-bound journal of neat and tidy notes and calculations. The only reason he's ever heard nobles wishing to be responsible of these matters themselves was out of a keen apprehension of being cheated out of their money, though with Isolde it seems less a fear of potential wrongdoing so much so as a genuine interest and passion for the numbers. He's heard that back in Asolat she's happily taken on full responsability for her husband's businesses, needing little persuasion to get him to relinquish control upon her, by all accounts, capable hands. On top of that, Raphael has mentioned Isolde being a great help to the family's own ventures. It came as no surprise: Raphael is the kind of man to make a sale by intoxicating you with pretty words and moving anecdotes faster than the wine itself, but Isolde is the one who'll make sure the dizzying, numbers involved don't get to your head like the alcohol.
The door opens, admitting inside a surprising guest - not Elaine whom Lot must have hoped to see - but his mother, arriving fashionably late to a meeting no one expected her to attend in the first place. She announces her desire to join them, and the Beauregards warmly receive her, to Lot's chagrin. Up until now, Morgana has excluded herself from all wedding preparations, going so far as to shun giving any advice, cracking only when privately, directly asked by Gareth himself. It seems she's just as adamant to continue that way, adroitly avoiding contributing to anything beside the consumption of appetizers and wine. She offers empty, polite lines of //"Whatever you say, my dear husband"// and //"I defer to your counsel, Lady Beauregard"// whenever asked for her own opinion. She isn't here to talk; she's here to watch and listen.
[[Continue|Chapt5GarethPOV1]]Once they move from numbers to people, Gareth finally feels it's his time to shine. Invitations had been sent two months prior, when the engagement was officially and publicly announced, and replies have been received timely, as requested, and promptly sifted through, which now leaves them with the task of mapping out the seating arrangement, that his mother has always approached with a strategist's guile and pragmatism. Isolde throws herself into it with the same aplomb as him, deferring to Gareth on the matter of sitting Lothian nobles, as he does for her arranging the Astolatian gentry. They engage in animated, cordial arguments over the rest of the guests, each shedding light on information vital to consider for a successful, harmonious seating: whichever nobles find themselves at odds, which families are closely tied, which placement would draw ire. Gareth goes as far as to suggest certain parties should be put at the same table, parties that may have particular interests in wanting the proximity, thus leading to some interesting, favorable outcomes. Isolde agrees with a curious smile.
"And this is merely the wedding seating." Raphael expels a wearied sigh as if it were him pouring over rows upon rows of guests, bent over the map of the venue that might as well have been the chart of an upcoming battle, the crudely drawn tables armies poised to strike from all sides. With Gareth's and Elaine's seats at the forefront, they'd have a beautiful, bloody view to the massacre.
"It could go quicker," Isolde says with a pointed look his way.
"But, ah, you have such a knack for this sort of thing, Izzy. I wouldn't want to ruin your fun. Besides, I shouldn't be handed such a responsibility once I've had wine," - he raises his glass, which is his second and nearing the dregs - "I'll look over the draft tomorrow. Just remember-"
"I know which cousins should be seated in opposing corners, don't worry."
The man settles back in his chair, content, and Gareth returns his attention to the list before him. A guest in particular draws his eye - one Sir Tristan Duval, noted as party from both Astolat and Camelot - and he asks for Isolde's counsel.
With a finger, she delicately slids the list in her direction and mutely reviews it. "We could place him with other attending young knights, or near the Belmonts."
Upon the mention of the name, a spark of recognition ignites in Gareth's mind. Of course, how could it have eluded him? Tristan Duval was a bastard offspring of the Belmonts, never officially claimed but treated far more respectfully than Mordred.
"I see," Gareth nods. "Whichever you think best for him."
Isolde traces the feathery end of her pen across her jaw as she placidly studies the map. "Elaine would love for him to be close by. He's always been like a brother to her." A wistful smile tugs at her lips - so small and faint Gareth can only attribute it to a slip. "He's a good friend of the family." Good friend of the family, yet curiously absent from Isolde's wedding.
Gareth takes note on paper of her seating suggestion - and in mind, of the curl of her mouth.
Though trudging through the lists and debating arrangements seems like a never-ending task as outside, the sun rises higher and higher in its cradle of cloudless blue, Gareth is confident they are making good progress. Besides, the discussion to determine the best seats leads to some interesting revelations and tidbits of delicious gossip. Ripe scandals, long-standing feuds, secret romances everyone knows of but chooses to ignore, and strong friendships - Isolde merely alludes to some, speaking in that illusive, deceivingly shallow and pleasantly mild way all artful courtiers do, but Gareth picks up on the rest nonetheless.
Once they're finished with the wedding seating - which Gareth does not forsee happening sooner than two days - they'll need to start all over again, for the feast the night before the ceremony proper. The welcoming feast, as they dubbed it, meant to ease the guests into the festive air after their long, tiring travels. Isolde pleaded a compelling argument in favor of the plan, arguing that it would be clever and innovative to not place the grooms at the front table before the wedding proper, so that it may be more impactful once the union is officiated. //A visual representation of it, if you may,// she said. His father tried his best to hide his confusion, but it was plain that he questioned the value of all this hassle. He acquiesced in the wake of Gareth's approval. Upon inquiring whether this was Elaine's desire too, he was assured it whole-heartedly was. Gareth wondered whatever sentiment lent itself to such peculiar seating arrangements.
Their parents have long turned their attention to their own affairs which, Gareth notes, are of no concern to the wedding and slowly, Isolde and he find themselves straying more and more from their task, too. It's only right they allow themselves a small break, after all.
Isolde seems to be of the same mind, setting down her weapon of war - her blue-feathered pen - and picking up her goblet of untouched wine. With a brilliant smile, she slowly swirls the crimson liquid and asks, "I've been wondering, now that you met with Elaine again, what impression has she left on you?" She sipped on her drink, peering at him over the rim of the glass. Her eyes are so alike Elaine's, round and lively, the brown of dark honey.
He's formed many thoughts on Elaine - some opinions, some speculations - but not much he could share without filtering and tailoring carefully. He seized his own cup of wine, thus far ignored and almost completely forgotten, buying himself a couple moments of pondering as he mimicks the graceful twirl of her wrist. Raphael explained at length, with no small amount of gravity and flowery vocabulary, the importance of this little motion prior to drinking. Gareth can't help but admire such passion.
"She's a lovely person," he says. A perfectly nice descriptor, but also extremly vague, enough to be impersonal for one he's supposed to marry in a fornight. This is what you'd say of a casual acquiantance which, at the end of the day, is what Elaine is. "We haven't spent much time together, but she's very fun to be around." This is warmly genuine an assertion; though few, he did enjoy the occasions they got to talk. It bodes well for a friendship, as it does for an arranged marriage.
"That she is," Isolde agrees with a fond smile, "and I'm glad you think so. But is it solid foundation for a marriage?"
Gareth presses his fingertips against his mouth, with gentle pressure to help quell his surprise. Isn't it late to be asking such questions? "It may not be a foundation," he says, "but it is a building block."
"Oh, it is indeed a good thing; but there are other matters of import to consider. Do you know what you can bring and what you want in this marriage? And I do not mean what we discuss here," she sweeps an arm over the piles of ledgers and invitations and signed treaties that are to be validated with their union, "not business and fortune and security. I mean what you can be for Elaine, and what you look for in a partner. Have you asked yourself?"
Gareth has thought of what this marriage could mean politically, socially, financially. Personally, it helped him come to a liberating revelation. When people spoke of marriage among the nobility, they always warned against charming ideations that romance will take precedence over convenience and politics, as to avoid disillusion. Some of his peers truculently announced they'd never give in to that pressure and strive for love; others rolled their eyes and embraced their duty and roles to play in these courtly games. Gareth found himself alright with there being no sweeping romanticism involved.
He's read of love stories in his books, some compelling and moving, others a nuisance to the narrative. He couldn't quite relate, not in the way he reckoned others did. He always thought it was a matter of finding that one who'd stir all those feelings the poets wrote about. That one day, one person would sweep him off his feet like the protagonist and their charming, dashing romance. But he didn't feel like he'd miss it, if it never happened. Friendship, understanding and compassion are all far more valuable feelings to harbor, especially in such arranged betrothals. At least, that's what he wants for himself. If he fears one thing, is ending up like his parents, though their marriage has always been a doomed one, from the moment Uther even brought it up; it makes him sick sometimes to think of his mother at his age and all she had already endured by then.
What concerns him most is Elaine's own feelings, which are still obscure to him, every bit of information he unravels, every spoke and unspoken thing causing him to question her supposed willingness. He couldn't condemn her to a marriage she didn't want. Isolde was right: they both needed to know their expectations of the other.
As he searches for an answer, Isolde searches his face. All he'll relinquish is an indulgent smile, well-guarded, as he turns the question on her. "Has Elaine talked about what she wants from our marriage?"
If she's displeased by his obliqueness, she doesn't show it. Isolde opens her mouth to reply but any response she may have given is swallowed up in the tumult outside. It's a racket everyone at the castle is accustomed too, though most dragons have the decency of not flying as close as this one sounds, the flapping of wings made all the more loud by the open window. All conversation cut rudely short by the din, heads turn to the window, either in idle curiosity or indignant exasperation, Gareth's own sentiments weighing towards the former. Until he catches glimpse of the sight outside, at which point it tips all the way into utter surprise.
[[Continue|Chapt5GarethPOV2]]Lot, who's finally quelled his seething displeasure at Morgana's intrusion and patched it over with a smile, ruins all his hard work to face this new interruption with a scowl, as if whoever's at fault may feel the heat of it boring into them all the way from here. He doesn't even deign to fully turn and face the offensive clangor, throwing the glare over his shoulder. Then he whips back around and freezes. Staring, along with everyone else, at the familiar blue dragon and their fair-haired human.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
Lot's fingers clench on the crystal goblet till the swirling engravings must be imprinted into his skin. There's little doubt to their identities - even in the flurry of motion, Gareth could recognize Elaine, and place the dragon - Felix - as part of her arriving party. If that is not enough, the unease glances exchanged by her family would convince him of it.
Elaine and Felix are not alone, though. It takes Gareth no time at all to recognize this pair, and Lot comes to the same quick revelation. His knuckles whiten to the point he fears the glass will give out in a shower of shards, his father's anger too consumed on Mordred and $dragon_name to notice Morgana settle back in her chair with her cup of wine and self-satisfied smile.
As they pass and the din fades away to defeaning silence, no one speaks. Like prey sensing danger close, no one wants to move and precipitate the spill of blood.
But there's always that one rabbit that bolts away first.
"Oh, it seems like Elaine is feeling better!" Raphael chuckles, the peal of laughter ringing like shattering glass. "Fresh air always clears the mind and senses, is what I believe. Felix must have convinced her to go for a flight. You know these professional racers - can't keep still for long." Then, unwittingly leaping straight into the wolf's path, he goes on: "Isn't it wonderful to see she's already befriending Mordred too?"
Morgana nods in agreement, looking far too gleeful.
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
A wonderful prospect for everyone but Lot.
<<else>>
Gareth isn't as quick to agree. Something about the whole affair raises his apprehension.
<</if>>
Gareth can tells it's an effort for Lot to loosen his fingers and place down the glass without slamming it down. He turns slowly back to his guests, most likely buying himself time to reconstruct an expression that may not offend - and says, voice tight: "I hope that now she's had time to clear her mind, she will join us for the next wedding preparations."
Rapahel nods vehemently, almost sloshing his wine. "Of course, of course! I'm sure she'll be glad to do so. Can't let all the hard work fall on Isolde, can she?"
Isolde does not offer the helping hand the man thought she would; she folds the metaphorical hands behind her back and lets him dangle. "Elaine's never been fond of these sort of affairs, a lack of interest that bred a lack of expertise. I doubt she would have added much to the meeting, even if she attended."
"She's the one to be married though," Morgana cuts in, "it's only fair that she attends; for herself, and Gareth as well."
Lot looks like he'd sooner have had Morgana's truculent wrangling that this weird concurrence, eyeing her with open suspicion.
Lady Beauregard swoops in with the definitive reassurance, "Elaine will be present from now on," firmly putting an end to the discussion.
<<else>>
Lot's fingers clench on the crystal goblet till the swirling engravings must be imprinted into his skin. There's little doubt to their identities - even in the flurry of motion, Gareth could recognize Elaine, and place the dragon - Felix - as part of her arriving party. If that is not enough, the unease glances exchanged by her family would convince him of it.
As they pass and the din fades away to defeaning silence, no one speaks. Like prey sensing danger close, no one wants to move and precipitate the spill of blood.
But there's always that one rabbit that bolts away first.
"Oh, it seems like Elaine is feeling better!" Raphael chuckles, the peal of laughter ringing like shattering glass. "Fresh air always clears the mind and senses, is what I believe. Felix must have convinced her to go for a flight. You know these professional racers - can't keep still for long."
Gareth can tell it's an effort for Lot to loosen his fingers and place down the glass without slamming it down. He turns slowly back to his guests, most likely buying himself time to reconstruct an expression that may not offend - and says, voice tight: "I hope that now she's had time to clear her mind, she will join us for the next wedding preparations."
Rapahel nods vehemently, almost sloshing his wine. "Of course, of course! I'm sure she'll be glad to do so. Can't let all the hard work fall on Isolde, can she?"
Isolde does not offer the helping hand the man thought she would; she folds the metaphorical hands behind her back and lets him dangle. "Elaine's never been fond of these sort of affairs, a lack of interest that bred a lack of expertise. I doubt she would have added much to the meeting, even if she attended."
"She's the one to be married though," Morgana cuts in, "it's only fair that she attends; for herself, and Gareth as well."
Lot looks like he'd sooner have had Morgana's truculent wrangling that this weird concurrence, eyeing her with open suspicion.
Lady Beauregard swoops in with the definitive reassurance, "Elaine will be present from now on," firmly putting an end to the discussion.
<</if>>
The meeting shortly concludes afterwards.
[[Later|Chapt5ReportMorgana]]As soon as the patter of her boots fades completely, you turn to Gareth. "We need to talk about the engagement, too."
"There's something else we need to talk about before," he says. "Well, something I want to confess."
You nod for him to go on, anticipation settling uneasily in your stomach, like a meal it doesn't know yet if it'll agree with or not.
It must read plainly on your face, too, because Gareth says: "Don't look so glum, Mordred. I promise this bit is actually happy. Or at least, a relief to finally have figured out," he chuckles. "I've come to the realization that the reason I've never had any infatuations over the years is because...I simply do not feel that way. I don't seek - or need - romance, and neither intimacy. The physical kind...you know."
"I know," you say defensively. "I've known for years, I'm not a little kid. But that's not the point." You shake your head, casting away this small deviation. "So what you're saying..."
You leaf through your memory for any instance of Gareth ever confessing a crush, or admiring someone else in a way that was more than friendly; any moonstruck gazes, lingering touches or enamoured blushes, but all you find is empty pages. There were people who had taken an interest in him - there were even confessions, though none went as horribly disastrous as Alina's confession had - and he'd turned them all down gently. You'd simply assumed that your brother could never return their feelings for the same reason he couldn't call most anyone at court a good friend or confidante: they'd either treated you as a pest, or ignored you completely. There were few who tried being friendly. Parents actively discouraged their children from possibly getting on Lot's bad side through something as innocuous as showing kindness to you.
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Arthur's steady presence in your life has shifted their calculations, now being deemed safe enough for more to be amiable to you, but you doubt Gareth can so easily look beyond their past attitudes.
Gareth patiently waits as you corral your thoughts.
<<else>>
Gareth patiently waits as you corral your thoughts.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You're happy for him, though it does raise concerns for how the marriage may impact him. Is he alright with going through with it?|Chapt5GarethConfess][$chapt5_gareth_tell to 1]]</div>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is false and $gawain_crush == 0 and $gally_crush == 0 and $gawain_oblivious == 0 and $gally_oblivious == 0 and $elaine_crush == 0 and $elaine_oblivious == 0>><div class="choice">[[You get Gareth; you've never been infatuated yourself, and neither did you feel the need to experience it.|Chapt5GarethConfess][$chapt5_gareth_tell to 2, $mordred_aro to $mordred_aro+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is false and $gawain_crush == 0 and $gally_crush == 0 and $gawain_oblivious == 0 and $gally_oblivious == 0 and $elaine_crush == 0 and $elaine_oblivious == 0>><div class="choice">[[You get Gareth; you've never been infatuated, or seen the appeal of doing what people do when...they get naked and very close.|Chapt5GarethConfess][$chapt5_gareth_tell to 3, $mordred_aro to $mordred_aro+1, $mordred_ace to $mordred_ace+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You get Gareth; you've never seen the appeal of doing what people do when...they get naked and very close.|Chapt5GarethConfess][$chapt5_gareth_tell to 4, $mordred_ace to $mordred_ace+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You get Gareth, on some level; while there's a certain curiosity about, and perhaps appeal to what people do when...they get naked and very close, you haven't felt it quite as some books describe it.|Chapt5GarethConfess][$chapt5_gareth_tell to 5, $mordred_ace to $mordred_ace+1]]</div>You wind your way back through the trees to join the others before Lot sends out guards and hounds to find your brother. You can see him, still engaged in conversation with the Beauregards by the table, whereas Morgana has drifted off to speak with Isolde, who's relinquished the calico cat to your mother.
You're halted by a piteous, plaintive yowl sounding from ahead and...above? You raise your gaze to the foliage, guided by more urgent, shrill meows till you finally locate the little kitten, hanging on by a branch and looking utterly terrified.
"Mordred," Gareth immediately turns to you, "Can you-"
He's cut off - and you're beaten to the rescue - by a determined "I'm coming for you!" followed by the rustle of leaves. Elaine clambers up the apple tree, with the ease and speed of one who's done this countlessly. She scoops up the scared kitten and cradles it to her chest, then starts shimmying her way down, far more carefully this time.
A priest is quick to care for the kitten once she's made her way to the ground, murmuring something about getting them inside and giving them treats.
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. ❤|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. 💕|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 3, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Well, it's good to see the kitten rescued.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 4]]</div>You see Gawain before the footman even has a chance to leap down from their seat. Having drawn back the velvet curtain of the window, the boy leans out his head with a grin plastered across his face.
He's also the first out of the carriage, hopping out without the aid of the footman's proffered hand or the stepping ladder. He waves at you, Elaine and Gareth, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as he waits for the rest of his family to alight from the carriage.
Between the Beauregards' enthusiasm and the Alistairs' joviality, Lot only needs offer the most perfunctory of greetings - a respectful nod - before the others get swept in their own merry conversations. Everyone seems content with his exclusion including Lot himself, who withdraws into his withered self, a detached observer.
The Alistairs give their well-wishes to the couple and inquire about your well-being; your little canopy rustles with pleasant, friendly conversation like you've just met on the corner of a street.
"Tonight'll be fun," Gawain says. "//Very// fun."
You know he's wont to hyperbole and over-bounding enthusiasm, but there's a sparkle in his eyes suggestive of more going on behind his words. When Elaine questions him though, he demurs; biting and puckering his lips to keep an answer from worming its way out. He's planning something, you think - a conclusion that Elaine echoes out loud, her interest piqued.
Before anyone can further prod Gawain, Hilde calls him over to move along, on to the other nobles and dragons waiting for their chance to mingle with the Royal family. It's a highly anticipated part of such events, for friends and sycophants alike.
You watch them go, then turn your head to lay eyes on your next guests.
[[The Du Lac family.|Chapt5DuLacsArrive]]You see Gawain before the footman even has a chance to leap down from their seat. Having drawn back the velvet curtain of the window, the boy leans out his head with a grin plastered across his face.
Blue ink against bone-white parchment comes to mind, spelling out your disinterest in simple, clear, utterly heartbreaking terms. All a lie - folded, wax-sealed, sent Gawain's way to clinch your fate.
You glance down at your boots, fixing their tips with a frown, as if it were their fault when it was you who took pen to paper and sent off the letter. You wonder if there'll be anything in his expression to clue you in on how he feels about you - does he still hurt from your betrayal, has he moved on, does he even care to speak to you?
Gawain's the first out of the carriage, hopping out without the aid of the footman's proffered hand or the stepping ladder. He waves at you, Elaine and Gareth, bouncing up and down on the ball of his feet as he waits for the rest of his family to alight from the carriage.
Between the Beauregards' enthusiasm and the Alistairs' joviality, Lot only needs offer the most perfunctory of greetings - a respectful nod - before the others get swept in their own merry conversations. Everyone seems content with his exclusion including Lot himself, who withdraws into his withered self, a detached observer.
Kay and Hilde give their well-wishes to the couple and inquire about your well-being; your little canopy rustles with pleasant, friendly conversation like you've just met on the corner of a street.
Gawain's talks with Elaine and Gareth. He says something that makes her snort out a laugh, then he spins on his heels to come towards you.
<div class="choice">[[You fiddle with sleeve. Your mouth is dry. What do you say to the friend you still care about, the one you must distance yourself from to protect?|Chapt5GawainExFriends][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Put on a smile. Act polite. Like nothing transpired.|Chapt5GawainExFriends][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give a quick nod then say nothing else. You said you were no longer interested in his company, so you better act like it.|Chapt5GawainExFriends][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 3]]</div>You see Gawain before the footman even has a chance to leap down from their seat. Having drawn back the velvet curtain of the window, the boy leans out his head with a grin plastered across his face.
Blue ink against bone-white parchment comes to mind, spelling out your disinterest in simple, clear, utterly heartbreaking terms. All a lie - folded, wax-sealed, sent Gawain's way to clinch your fate.
You glance down at your boots, fixing their tips with a frown, as if it were their fault when it was you who took pen to paper and posted the letter. You can't keep your eyes off Gawain for too long, though. You want to see his incandescence, even if it singes.
Gawain's the first out of the carriage, hopping out without the aid of the footman's proffered hand or the stepping ladder. He waves at you, Elaine and Gareth, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet as he waits for the rest of his family to alight from the carriage.
Between the Beauregards' enthusiasm and the Alistairs' joviality, Lot only needs offer the most perfunctory of greetings - a respectful nod - before the others get swept in their own merry conversations. Everyone seems content with his exclusion including Lot himself, who withdraws into his withered self, a detached observer.
Kay and Hilde give their well-wishes to the couple and inquire about your well-being; your little canopy rustles with pleasant, friendly conversation like you've just met on the corner of a street.
Gawain talks with Elaine and Gareth. He says something that makes her snort out a laugh, then he spins on his heels to come towards you.
<<if $gawain_teen == "exes_like">>
<div class="choice">[[Your heart takes off at a gallop. Your mouth is dry. What do you say?|Chapt5GawainExes][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 1, $gawain_crush to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Put on a smile. Act polite. Like nothing transpired.|Chapt5GawainExes][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 2, $gawain_crush to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give a quick nod then say nothing else. You said you were no longer interested in his company, so you better act like it.|Chapt5GawainExes][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 3, $gawain_crush to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
<div class="choice">[[All these years, and you think you may still like Gawain that way. Your heart takes off at a gallop. Your mouth is dry. What do you say? ❤|Chapt5GawainExes][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 1, $gawain_crush to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[All these years, and you think you may still like Gawain that way. Put on a smile. Act polite. Like nothing transpired. ❤|Chapt5GawainExes][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 5, $gawain_crush to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[All these years, and you think you may still like Gawain that way. Give a quick nod then say nothing else. You said you were no longer interested in his company, so you better act like it. ❤|Chapt5GawainExes][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 3, $gawain_crush to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're no longer infatuated, but you do miss his friendship. Give a quick nod then say nothing else. You said you were no longer interested in his company, so you better act like it.|Chapt5GawainExes][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 1, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're no longer infuatuated, but you do miss his friendship. Put on a smile. Act polite. Like nothing transpired.|Chapt5GawainExes][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 2, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're no longer infatuated, but you do miss his friendship. Give a quick nod then say nothing else. You said you were no longer interested in his company, so you better act like it.|Chapt5GawainExes][$chapt5_gawain_greet to 3, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<</if>>You see Gawain before the footman even has a chance to leap down from their seat. Having drawn back the velvet curtain of the window, the boy leans out his head and waves at you with a grin.
Every reunion with Gawain is like the coming of spring. His presence thaws away worries, if only for a bit; he's a welcome breath of fresh air and fun you direly need.
Gawain is the first out of the carriage, hopping out without the aid of the footman's proffered hand or the stepping ladder. He seems intent on bolting all the way to you but reigns himself in and waits for the rest of his family to alight from the carriage.
Between the Beauregards' enthusiasm and the Alistairs' joviality, Lot only needs offer the most perfunctory of greetings - a respectful nod - before the others get swept in their own merry conversations. Everyone seems content with his exclusion including Lot himself, who withdraws into his withered self, a detached observer.
<<if $gawain_crush >= 3>>
Gawain's the first to swoop down on you, enveloping you in a crushing hug. You squeeze him back till your arms smart, laughing and wheezing as you pull back. The embrace pushed the air out of your lungs - but the sight of his gleaming eyes and toothy grin takes your breath away. You wish you could pull him back into your arms and hold on till every fiber of your being is washed clean of tension and all that's left behind is serenity, the warmth of his skin and the sweet scent of his perfume.
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 3>>
Gawain's the first to swoop down on you, enveloping you in a crushing hug. You squeeze him back till your arms smart, laughing and wheezing as you pull back. His brown eyes look burnished gold in the sunlight, sparkling with delight, and his grin only works to make yours wider.
<<else>>
Gawain's the first to swoop down on you, enveloping you in a crushing hug. You squeeze him back till your arms smart, laughing and wheezing as you pull back.
<</if>>
"I've missed you so much!" he says.
It's been a little over two months since you saw each other with the occasion of your fifteenth birthday - far shorter a stretch of time than you're used to, but Gawain would likely say the same with even just a week in between your encounters.
Words gush out his mouth in a torrent as he goes on about his journey, about the book and unfinished puzzles he passed the time with, about the party later tonight that he's beyond excited for.
"It'll be fun," he says, addressing Gareth and Elaine too. "//Very// fun."
Gawain's wont to hyperbole and over-bounding enthusiasm, but there's a sparkle in his eyes suggestive of more going on behind his words. When you question him though, he demurs; biting and puckering his lips to keep an answer from worming its way out. He's planning something, you think - a conclusion that Elaine echoes out loud, her interest piqued.
Before anyone can further prod Gawain, a high-pitched voice demands your attention.
"Mordred!"
You open your arms just in time for Isabel to jump into them. Every time, you're still so struck by how much she's grown over the years. You've known her as a little babe, gurgling and cooing, as a toddler, tottering about and doing her best to articulate words; now she's less wobbly on her feet, sprinting around, talking confidently and scrutinizing the world with inquisitive eyes.
Unfortunately, the Alistairs can't take up more of your time, not when so many guests are yet to arrive. As they move on to greet the others, Gawain lets out a little sigh.
"Just a few more hours," he says, though you're not sure which of the two of you he's trying to embolden, "and we can have fun!"
You watch him go with a smile, then turn your head to lay eyes on your next guests.
[[The Du Lac family.|Chapt5DuLacsArrive]]You see Gawain before the footman even has a chance to leap down from their seat. Having drawn back the velvet curtain of the window, the boy leans out his head and waves at you with a grin, then blows you a kiss.
Every time you meet, Gawain brings spring to your heart: melancholy thaws away and you blossom.
Gawain is first out of the carriage, hopping out without the aid of the footman's proffered hand or the stepping ladder. He seems intent on bolting all the way into your arms but reigns himself in and waits for the rest of his family to alight from the carriage.
Between the Beauregards' enthusiasm and the Alistairs' joviality, Lot only needs offer the most perfunctory of greetings - a respectful nod - before the others get swept in their own merry conversations. Everyone seems content with his exclusion, including Lot himself, who withdraws into his withered self, a detached observer.
You're showered with attention as much as the showpiece couple themselves. Gawain's the first to swoop down on you at the same time you step forward to meet him halfway into a hug - though 'meet' is an understatement for the way you crash into each other, laughing and smiling. He squeezes till your lungs feel ready to pop, and you squeeze back till your arms smart. He presses a kiss on your cheek, then another and another, interweaving each peck with fragmented outpours of gushing exclamations.
"I've missed you so much!"
It's been a little over two months since you saw each other with the occasion of your fifteenth birthday - far shorter a stretch of time than you're used to, but Gawain would say the same with even just a week in between your encounters.
When you're no longer hanging by each other's necks, you're holding hands as he talks about his journey, about the books and unfinished puzzles he passed the time with, about the party later tonight that he's beyond excited for.
"It'll be fun," he says, addressing Gareth and Elaine too. "//Very// fun."
Gawain's wont to hyperbole and over-bounding enthusiasm, but there's a sparkle in his eyes suggestive of more going on behind his words. When you question him though, he demurs; biting and puckering his lips to keep an answer from worming its way out. He's planning something, you think - a conclusion that Elaine echoes out loud, her interest piqued.
Before anyone can further prod Gawain, a high-pitched voice demands your attention.
"Mordred!"
You open your arms just in time for Isabel to jump into them. Every time, you're still so struck by how much she's grown over the years. You've known her as a little babe, gurgling and cooing, as a toddler, tottering about and doing her best to articulate words; now she's less wobbly on her feet, sprinting around, talking confidently and scrutinizing the world with inquisitive eyes.
Unfortunately, the Alistairs can't take up more of your time, not when so many guests are yet to arrive. As they move on to greet the others, Gawain lets go of your hand finger by finger. You assure him he can manage a few more hours till the party, even as time slows down to a honey-dripping pace, just to spite you.
You watch him go with a sigh, then turn your head to lay eyes on your next guests.
[[The Du Lac family.|Chapt5DuLacsArrive]]<<if $chapt5_gawain_greet == 1>>
You clasp your hands behind your back to keep them still. Your palms are clammy and your heart gallops while your mind runs in circles, trying to summon the acceptable thing to say, the correct course of action. What should you say? It feels like nothing will come out right from your dry mouth. You'll just stumble over your words and make everything worse.
Does Gawain even care what you say? It's been a while - you don't know whether he's still nursing a wounded part of him or if he mended it so well he's forgotten all about you. You haven't had a proper chance to talk in person since that last letter.
But you, you still care. He showed you kindness and sympathy and you spurned it all away.
Gawain's smile wanes but he quickly props it back up when he catches you noticing. You're not sure it reaches his eyes, not the way it did before.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," you say.
Then silence. It's worrying and uncharacteristic coming from Gawain. Thankfully, it doens't drag on.
"So," he says, bringing his voice a notch higher and glancing about, roping Gareth and Elaine in the conversation as well. "Are you excited for the party tonight? I am! It'll be fun. Very fun."
You know he's wont to hyperbole and over-bounding enthusiasm, but there's a sparkle in his eyes suggestive of more going on behind his words. When questioned by Elaine though, he demurs; biting and puckering his lips to keep an answer from worming its way out. He's planning something, you think - a conclusion that Elaine echoes out loud, her interest piqued.
Before anyone can further prod Gawain, Hilde calls him over to move along, on to the other nobles and dragons waiting for their chance to mingle with the Royal family. It's a highly anticipated part of such events, for friends and sycophants alike.
You watch them go, then turn your head to lay eyes on your next guests.
<<elseif $chapt5_gawain_greet == 2>>
Maintaining a distance doesn't mean you must act cold towards Gawain. You are acquitances, and should behave accordingly: with a certain degree of cordiality that's expected at court. So you muster up a smile, which is as good a shield as any. You wonder if he too hides something behind his. It's been a while - you don't know whether there's still a wounded part of him or if he mended it so well he's forgotten all about you. You haven't had a proper chance to talk in person since that last letter.
But you, you still care. He showed you kindness and sympathy and you spurned it all away.
His smile wanes as he approaches but he quickly props it back up when he catches you noticing. You're not sure it reaches his eyes, not the way it did before.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," you incline your head. "How was the trip?"
"Long." He dithers, then goes on with more aplomb. "Though not that boring - I had a good book. And Isabel can't read yet so she'd ask me to read aloud to her and I could make all sorts of voices." He inhales sharply, the way that indicates he's about to plunge headlong into an enthused rant. But then he exhales, bites his lip, and falls silent.
It's worrying and uncharacteristic coming from Gawain. Thankfully, the quiet doens't drag on.
"So," he says, bringing his voice a notch higher and glancing about, roping Gareth and Elaine in the conversation as well. "Are you excited for the party tonight? I am! It'll be fun. Very fun."
You know he's wont to hyperbole and over-bounding enthusiasm, but there's a sparkle in his eyes suggestive of more going on behind his words. When questioned by Elaine though, he demurs; biting and puckering his lips to keep an answer from worming its way out. He's planning something, you think - a conclusion that Elaine echoes out loud, her interest piqued.
Before anyone can further prod Gawain, Hilde calls him over to move along, on to the other nobles and dragons waiting for their chance to mingle with the Royal family. It's a highly anticipated part of such events, for friends and sycophants alike.
You watch them go, then turn your head to lay eyes on your next guests.
<<else>>
What could you possibly say? Friendly greeting him as if nothing happened is too much of a charade to entertain, and perhaps one Gawain wouldn't even care for. It's been a while - you don't know whether he's still nursing a wounded part of him or if he mended it so well he's forgotten all about you. You haven't had a proper chance to talk in person since that last letter.
But you, you still care. He showed you kindness and sympathy and you spurned it all away.
You offer him a curt nod and nothing else. His smile wanes but he quickly props it back up. It doesn't reach his eyes, not the way it did before. He nods back, chirps out a "Hi", hesitates then retreats, slidding off to Elaine and Gareth.
"So," he says, mustering his enthusiasm again. "Are you excited for the party tonight? I am! It'll be fun. Very fun."
You know he's wont to hyperbole and over-bounding enthusiasm, but there's a sparkle in his eyes suggestive of more going on behind his words. When questioned by Elaine though, he demurs; biting and puckering his lips to keep an answer from worming its way out. He's planning something, you think - a conclusion that Elaine echoes out loud, her interest piqued.
Before anyone can further prod Gawain, Hilde calls him over to move along, on to the other nobles and dragons waiting for their chance to mingle with the Royal family. It's a highly anticipated part of such events, for friends and sycophants alike.
You watch them go, then turn your head to lay eyes on your next guests.
<</if>>
[[The Du Lac family.|Chapt5DuLacsArrive]]<<if $chapt5_gawain_greet == 1>>
You clasp your hands behind your back to keep them still. Your palms are clammy and your heart gallops while your mind runs in circles, trying to summon the acceptable thing to say, the correct course of action. What should you say? It feels like nothing will come out right from your dry mouth. You'll just stumble over your words and make everything worse.
<<if $gawain_kid == "exes_like" and $gawain_crush >= 5>>
Does Gawain even care what you say? It's been a while - you don't know whether he's still nursing a heart you broke or mended it so well he's forgotten all about you. You haven't had a proper chance to talk in person since that last letter.
You still care. Acutely and painfully so.
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "exes_like" and $gawain_crush == 0>>
Does Gawain even care what you say? It's been a while - you don't know whether he's still nursing a heart you broke or mended it so well he's forgotten all about you. You haven't had a proper chance to talk in person since that last letter.
The infatuation may have faded, but you still care. You miss his company, his friendship.
<<else>>
Does Gawain even care what you say? It's been a while - you don't know whether he's still nursing a heart you broke or mended it so well he's forgotten all about you. You haven't had a proper chance to talk in person since that last letter.
You still care. Acutely and painfully so.
<</if>>
His smile wanes but he quickly props it back up when he catches you noticing. You're not sure it reaches his eyes, not the way it did before.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," you say.
Then silence. It's worrying and uncharacteristic coming from Gawain. Thankfully, it doens't drag on.
"So," he says, bringing his voice a notch higher and glancing about, roping Gareth and Elaine in the conversation as well. "Are you excited for the party tonight? I am! It'll be fun. Very fun."
You know he's wont to hyperbole and over-bounding enthusiasm, but there's a sparkle in his eyes suggestive of more going on behind his words. When questioned by Elaine though, he demurs; biting and puckering his lips to keep an answer from worming its way out. He's planning something, you think - a conclusion that Elaine echoes out loud, her interest piqued.
Before anyone can further prod Gawain, Hilde calls him over to move along, on to the other nobles and dragons waiting for their chance to mingle with the Royal family. It's a highly anticipated part of such events, for friends and sycophants alike.
You watch them go, then turn your head to lay eyes on your next guests.
<<elseif $chapt5_gawain_greet == 2>>
Maintaining a distance doesn't mean you must act cold towards Gawain. You are acquitances, and should behave accordingly: with a certain degree of cordiality that's expected at court. So you muster up a smile, which is as good a shield as any. You wonder if he too hides something behind his. It's been a while - you don't know whether he's still nursing a broken heart or mended it so well he's forgotten all about you. You haven't had a proper chance to talk in person since that last letter.
<<if $gawain_kid == "exes_like" and $gawain_crush >= 5>>
Whatever his feelings, you still care. Acutely and painfully so.
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "exes_like" and $gawain_crush == 0>>
The infatuation may have faded, but you still care. You miss his company, his friendship.
<<else>>
Whatever his feelings, you still care. Acutely and painfully so.
<</if>>
His smile wanes as he approaches but he quickly props it back up when he catches you noticing. You're not sure it reaches his eyes, not the way it did before.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," you incline your head. "How was the trip?"
"Long." He dithers, then goes on with more aplomb. "Though not that boring - I had a good book. And Isabel can't read yet so she'd ask me to read aloud to her and I could make all sorts of voices." He inhales sharply, the way that indicates he's about to plunge headlong into an enthused rant. But then he exhales, bites his lip, and falls silent.
It's worrying and uncharacteristic coming from Gawain. Thankfully, the quiet doens't drag on.
"So," he says, bringing his voice a notch higher and glancing about, roping Gareth and Elaine in the conversation as well. "Are you excited for the party tonight? I am! It'll be fun. Very fun."
You know he's wont to hyperbole and over-bounding enthusiasm, but there's a sparkle in his eyes suggestive of more going on behind his words. When questioned by Elaine though, he demurs; biting and puckering his lips to keep an answer from worming its way out. He's planning something, you think - a conclusion that Elaine echoes out loud, her interest piqued.
Before anyone can further prod Gawain, Hilde calls him over to move along, on to the other nobles and dragons waiting for their chance to mingle with the Royal family. It's a highly anticipated part of such events, for friends and sycophants alike.
You watch them go, then turn your head to lay eyes on your next guests.
<<else>>
What could you possibly say? Friendly greeting him as if nothing happened is too much of a charade to entertain, and perhaps one Gawain wouldn't even care for. It's been a while - you don't know whether he's still nursing a broken heart or mended it so well he's forgotten all about you. You haven't had a proper chance to talk in person since that last letter.
<<if $gawain_kid == "exes_like" and $gawain_crush >= 5>>
Whatever his feelings, you still care. Acutely and painfully so.
<<elseif $gawain_kid == "exes_like" and $gawain_crush == 0>>
The infatuation may have faded, but you still care. You miss his company, his friendship.
<<else>>
Whatever his feelings, you still care. Acutely and painfully so.
<</if>>
You offer him a curt nod and nothing else. His smile wanes but he quickly props it back up. It doesn't reach his eyes, not the way it did before. He nods back, chirps out a "Hi", hesitates then retreats, slidding off to Elaine and Gareth.
"So," he says, mustering his enthusiasm again. "Are you excited for the party tonight? I am! It'll be fun. Very fun."
You know he's wont to hyperbole and over-bounding enthusiasm, but there's a sparkle in his eyes suggestive of more going on behind his words. When questioned by Elaine though, he demurs; biting and puckering his lips to keep an answer from worming its way out. He's planning something, you think - a conclusion that Elaine echoes out loud, her interest piqued.
Before anyone can further prod Gawain, Hilde calls him over to move along, on to the other nobles and dragons waiting for their chance to mingle with the Royal family. It's a highly anticipated part of such events, for friends and sycophants alike.
You watch them go, then turn your head to lay eyes on your next guests.
<</if>>
[[The Du Lac family.|Chapt5DuLacsArrive]]<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
Gawain's been buzzing with excitement ever since his family received the wedding invitations weeks ago. There are many reasons for this excess of enthusiasm. He's looking forward to getting away from his lessons and training for a few days and traveling, tiresome as it can be, always thrills him. Then there's the anticipated reunion with Gareth and Elaine, who he'd last met at Isolde's wedding. Most of all though, he can't wait to see you again.
He misses you greatly, a fact he imparts in highly poetic prose; he yearns to gaze deep into your $eye eyes again, and touch his hand to your cheek, and simply lay by your side as you talk, basking in the warmth of your body next to his.
You smile as you fold the letter, tracing one thumb over the seal wax. Despite itching to tear through it with your knife, you carefully endeavored to open it without ruining the seal; after all, Gawain always chooses such adorable ones. As part of the royal family, he's at liberty to use the Pendragon sigil, in blood red wax. Instead, he opts for ones that can be bought by noble and commoner alike at any stationer's. He often varies the colors and patterns he uses. Last time, it was yellow wax with a daisy symbol pressed into it; now, pink with a stamp of a little kitty face.
The page has also been drizzled with a bit of perfume - his perfume, flowery and sweet and refreshing, a scent that perfectly fits Gawain.
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
Gawain's been buzzing with excitement ever since his family received the wedding invitations, weeks ago. There are many reasons for this excess of enthusiasm. He's looking forward to getting away from his lessons and training for a few days and traveling, tiresome as it can be, always thrills him. Then there's the anticipated reunion with Gareth and Elaine, who he'd last met at Isolde's wedding. And of course - most exciting of all - he can't wait to see you again.
//I love reading all your letters," he writes, "but I can't wait to get into some mischief together in Lothia.// Mischief of a good-natured, harmless, fun nature, he assures you.
You smile as you fold the letter, tracing one thumb over the seal wax. Despite itching to tear through it with your knife, you carefully endeavored to open it without ruining the seal; after all, Gawain always chooses such adorable ones. As part of the royal family, he's at liberty to use the Pendragon sigil, in blood red wax. Instead, he opts for ones that can be bought by noble and commoner alike at any stationer's. He often varies the colors and patterns he uses. Last time, it was yellow wax with a daisy symbol pressed into it; now, pink with a stamp of a little kitty face.
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "ally">>
Gawain's been buzzing with excitement ever since his family received the wedding invitations, weeks ago. There are many reasons for this excess of enthusiasm. He's looking forward to getting away from his lessons and training for a few days and traveling, tiresome as it can be, always thrills him. Then there's the anticipated reunion with Gareth and Elaine - who he'd last met at Isolde's wedding - and you.
He hopes the letter finds you well, and that you may have the opportunity to catch up once he arrives.
You fold the letter and trace one thumb over the broken seal wax. As part of the royal family, he's at liberty to use the Pendragon sigil - in blood red wax. Instead, he opts for ones that can be bought by noble and commoner alike at any stationer's. He often varies the colors and patterns he uses. Last time, it was yellow wax with a daisy symbol pressed into it; now, pink with a stamp of a little kitty face.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_write == 1 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 2>>
That is all the correspondence you've received today. Junia and her fathers sent you a letter a couple weeks ago, so it's too early to expect another one. Otherwise, you don't have too many other people clamoring to send you messages - though your mind slips into the past, to that single letter you addressed to Arthur, and the subsequent reply from him.
Three years ago, you put pen to paper and sealed a letter for Arthur to tell him you learned the dreadful truth of your conceptionm with the full intent of that being the only letter sent. He replied - with a mixture of anguish and sympathy - and you read it, over and over, before shoving it in a drawer.
[[Continue|Chapt5Window]]
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true and $chapt5_arthur_write is false>>
There's no other letter from Camelot addressed to you, like it used to be some years ago.
After the reveal of your conception, you couldn't shake off that terrible, agonizing sentiment that you'd only be hurting Arthur more if you stayed close to him. You feared you'd keep bringing to light painful memories and thoughts for him and he wouldn't even be able to tell you, as to not upset you. You dreaded inadvertedly inflicting harm upon him - after all, vengeance was the purpose that gave you life. So you distanced yourself. You wrote to him that you needed space, that you were offering the same to him.
Arthur wouldn't hear it. He almost travelled all the way back to Lothia, if only to speak to you. There were many letters sent back and forth on the matter - how he did not want you to suffer at his expanse, how he wanted you to know he loved you no matter what, reminding you it had been his choice to approach you in the first place. He said he couldn't lose you again.
Sometimes you'd let his letters go unreplied to, even if it hurt you. You relented many times too - kept up the correspondence, either to talk as you usually would, or to plead with him that it was better to stop communication altogether.
Ultimately, he agreed. He wrote that he'd rather not push you and cause you undue distress. Wounding you further was the last thing he wished to do. He concluded the letter with reassurances that, whatever may come, close or not, he loved you and would be there for you whenever - if - you wanted to reach out again. After that, the letters stopped.
Guinevere, on the other had, has continued writing to you. In the beginning, you weren't sure whether to sever contact with her as well. You faltered; across the years of correspondence, you've grown fond of the Queen. You've kept as irregular a frequency of letters with her as you did with Arthur, till it started to decidedly wane. You realized that you couldn't drag Guinevere into this mess any more than you wanted to involve Arthur. She accommodated your desire to be left alone with tact, compassion and grace. She knows the severity of the situation - and just as she had never pushed Arthur to reach out when it clearly pained him to do it, neither would she push you. Instead, she offered you ample space to figure things out, and the promise of being received with open arms, should you wish to return.
They both still send you birthday gifts, though.
[[Continue|Chapt5Window]]
<<else>>
<<if $chapt4_math == 1>>
You dip your pen in ink and return your attention to the assignment. You've breezed through the easier exercises and moved on eagerly to the more intricate ones you've asked Teacher Canavan to assign to you as a way of challenging yourself.
Your blood may not be pumping with adrenaline, but there's a certain thrill of satisfaction to solving a problem you've been pouring over, turning it this and that way, hoping a new perspective, a new approach may wield success.
<<else>>
You dip your pen in ink and return your attention to the assignment. You've been pouring over them for a while now. You're often interrupted by far more exciting threads of thought, or overwhelmed by frustration at getting stuck midway through an exercise, not knowing how to solve it. Teacher Canavan makes it look so effortless when he demonstrates solutions to you, speaking as if it should have been common sense to apply a certain formula.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5Window]]
<</if>><<if $gawain_teen == "exes_notalk">>
You wrote less, and in response so did Gawain, Then the number of letters dwindled, and the time between their arrival stretched longer and longer till they stopped coming altogether.
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exes_like">>
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
You wrote less lines, sent less letters. It pained you, and it was made all the more worse by Gawain's innocent assumptations that you were simply busy, and by his continual long, cheerful missives. Ultimately, you decided to stop chipping away at it and took the axe to the roots: you told Gawain you were no longer interested in talking. You wrote the letters with a quivering hand and misty eyes, hankerchief held up the entire time to capture any stray tear trying to make its way onto the page.
<<else>>
You wrote less lines, sent less letters. It pained you, and it was made all the more worse by Gawain's innocent assumptations that you were simply busy, and by his continual long, cheerful missives. Ultimately, you decided to stop chipping away at it and took the axe to the roots: you told Gawain you were no longer interested in talking. You wrote the letters with a quivering hand.
<</if>>
When his response came, you left it sealed on the desk for days while you hung back at a distance as if it were a dangerous creature about to leap at you. Oh, but it was - you knew it'd rip right into you the moment you opened it.
Gawain was understanding. Confused, and trying his best to dress up his hurt with pretty words, but understanding. You shoved the letter in a drawer, like you pushed your feelings to some crevice of your being. Some days, you'd sit down at your desk and pick up your pen. You'd dip it in ink - sometimes you got so far as to put it down on paper and begin a letter. But you always reminded yourself you were doing this for his sake.
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exfriends_notalk">>
You wrote less, and in response so did Gawain, Then the number of letters dwindled, and the time between their arrival stretched longer and longer till they stopped coming altogether.
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exfriends">>
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
You wrote less lines, sent less letters. It pained you, and it was made all the more worse by Gawain's innocent assumptations that you were simply busy, and by his continual long, cheerful missives. Ultimately, you decided to stop chipping away at it and took the axe to the roots: you told Gawain you were no longer interested in talking. You wrote the letters with a quivering hand and misty eyes, hankerchief held up the entire time to capture any stray tear trying to make its way onto the page.
<<else>>
You wrote less lines, sent less letters. It pained you, and it was made all the more worse by Gawain's innocent assumptations that you were simply busy, and by his continual long, cheerful missives. Ultimately, you decided to stop chipping away at it and took the axe to the roots: you told Gawain you were no longer interested in talking. You wrote the letters with a quivering hand.
<</if>>
When his response came, you left it sealed on the desk for days while you hung back at a distance as if it were a dangerous creature about to leap at you. Oh, but it was - you knew it'd rip right into you the moment you opened it.
Gawain was understanding. Confused, and trying his best to dress up his hurt with pretty words, but understanding. You shoved the letter in a drawer, like you pushed your feelings to some crevice of your being. Some days, you'd sit down at your desk and pick up your pen. You'd dip it in ink - sometimes you got so far as to put it down on paper and begin a letter. But you always reminded yourself you were doing this for his sake.
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "notalk">>
You wrote less, resuming yourself to sending kind regards with the occasion of his birthday, till the letters stopped altogether.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5Window]]<<if $gawain_teen == "exes_notalk">>
You wrote less, and in response so did Gawain, Then the number of letters dwindled, and the time between their arrival stretched longer and longer till they stopped coming altogether.
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exes_like">>
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
You wrote less line, sent less letters. It pained you, and it was made all the more worse by Gawain's innocent assumptations that you were simply busy and by his continual long, cheerful missives. Ultimately, you decided to stop chipping away at it and took the axe to the roots: you told Gawain you were no longer interested in talking. You wrote the letters with a quivering hand and misty eyes, hankerchief held up the entire time to capture any stray tear trying to make its way onto the page.
<<else>>
You wrote less line, sent less letters. It pained you, and it was made all the more worse by Gawain's innocent assumptations that you were simply busy and by his continual long, cheerful missives. Ultimately, you decided to stop chipping away at it and took the axe to the roots: you told Gawain you were no longer interested in talking. You wrote the letters with a quivering hand.
<</if>>
When his response came, you left it sealed on the desk for days while you hung back at a distance as if it were a dangerous creature about to leap at you. Oh, but it was - you knew it'd rip right into you the moment you opened it.
Gawain was understanding. Confused, and trying his best to dress up his hurt with pretty words, but understanding. You shoved the letter in a drawer, like you pushed your feelings to some crevice of your being. Some days, you'd sit down at your desk and pick up your pen. You'd dip it in ink - sometimes you got so far as to put it down on paper and begin a letter. But you always reminded yourself you were doing this for his sake.
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exfriends_notalk">>
You wrote less, and in response so did Gawain, Then the number of letters dwindled, and the time between their arrival stretched longer and longer till they stopped coming altogether.
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exfriends">>
<<if $crybaby >= 3>>
You wrote less line, sent less letters. It pained you, and it was made all the more worse by Gawain's innocent assumptations that you were simply busy, and by his continual long, cheerful missives. Ultimately, you decided to stop chipping away at it and took the axe to the roots: you told Gawain you were no longer interested in talking. You wrote the letters with a quivering hand and misty eyes, hankerchief held up the entire time to capture any stray tear trying to make its way onto the page.
<<else>>
You wrote less line, sent less letters. It pained you, and it was made all the more worse by Gawain's innocent assumptations that you were simply busy, and by his continual long, cheerful missives. Ultimately, you decided to stop chipping away at it and took the axe to the roots: you told Gawain you were no longer interested in talking. You wrote the letters with a quivering hand.
<</if>>
When his response came, you left it sealed on the desk for days while you hung back at a distance as if it were a dangerous creature about to leap at you. Oh, but it was - you knew it'd rip right into you the moment you opened it.
Gawain was understanding. Confused, and trying his best to dress up his hurt with pretty words, but understanding. You shoved the letter in a drawer, like you pushed your feelings to some crevice of your being. Some days, you'd sit down at your desk and pick up your pen. You'd dip it in ink - sometimes you got so far as to put it down on paper and begin a letter. But you always reminded yourself you were doing this for his sake.
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "notalk">>
You wrote less, resuming yourself to sending kind regards with the occasion of his birthday, till the letters stopped altogether.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_write == 1 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 2>>
You don't have too many other people clamoring to send you messages - though your mind slips into the past, to that single letter you addressed to Arthur, and the subsequent reply from him.
Three years ago, you put pen to paper and sealed a letter for Arthur to tell him you learned the dreadful truth of your conceptionm with the full intent of that being the only letter sent. He replied - with a mixture of anguish and sympathy and bashful hope - and you read it, over and over, before shoving it in a drawer.
[[Continue|Chapt5Window]]
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Gawain's not the only one you cut communication with, though while the severing was clean with him, this one was far more messy and tangled and bloody.
After the reveal of your conception, you couldn't shake off that terrible, agonizing sentiment that you'd only be hurting Arthur more if you stayed close to him. You feared you'd keep bringing to light painful memories and thoughts for him and he wouldn't even be able to tell you, as to not upset you. You dreaded inadvertedly inflicting harm upon him - after all, vengeance was the purpose that gave you life. So you distanced yourself. You wrote to him that you needed space, that you were offering the same to him.
Arthur wouldn't hear it. He almost travelled all the way back to Lothia, if only to speak to you. There were many letters sent back and forth on the matter - how he did not want you to suffer at his expanse, how he wanted you to know he loved you no matter what, reminding you it had been his choice to approach you in the first place. He said he couldn't lose you again.
Sometimes you'd let his letters go unreplied to, even if it hurt you. You relented many times too - kept up the correspondence, either to talk as you usually would, or to plead with him that it was better to stop communication altogether.
Ultimately, he agreed. He wrote that he'd rather not push you and cause you undue distress. Wounding you further was the last thing he wished to do. He concluded the letter with reassurances that, whatever may come, close or not, he loved you and would be there for you whenever - if - you wanted to reach out again. After that, the letters stopped.
Guinevere, on the other had, has continued writing to you. In the beginning, you weren't sure whether to sever contact with her as well. You faltered; across the years of correspondence, you've grown fond of the Queen. You've kept as irregular a frequency of letters with her as you did with Arthur, till it started to decidedly wane. You realized that you couldn't drag Guinevere into this mess any more than you wanted to involve Arthur. She accommodated your desire to be left alone with tact, compassion and grace. She knows the severity of the situation - and just as she had never pushed Arthur to reach out when it clearly pained him to do it, neither would she push you. Instead, she offered you ample space to figure things out, and the promise of being received with open arms, should you wish to return.
They both still send you birthday gifts, though.
[[Continue|Chapt5Window]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt5Window]]
<</if>><<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "romantic" or $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
<div class="choice">[[You often correspond - and your letters always tend on the romantic. You're sweethearts, afterall.|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "romantic", $gawain_teen to "sweethearts", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You often correspond - as friends. Your letters used to be romantic, but you're no longer sweethearts.|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_teen to "friends", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
<div class="choice">[[You often correspond - you've stayed good friends, after all.|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_teen to "friends", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You often correspond - you've stayed good friends, after all. Yet you harbor more than platonic feelings. ❤|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_teen to "friends", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+5, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You often correspond - you've stayed good friends, after all. Yet sometimes, you feel a strange longing. 💕|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_teen to "friends", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+5, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "ally">>
<div class="choice">[[You mostly send each others letters for birthdays and other celebrations - staying cordial but not particularly close.|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_teen to "ally", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_ally to $gawain_ally+3, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_more_booze == 3>>
Course decided, you set out: the human side of your party to gather the food and the booze while your draconic friends handle the pillows and blankets to keep you cozy.
With Gareth in the lead, no one dares question you; doors are promptly flung open to admit you into the dark, lonely, quiet chambers of the Duke. It's but a small act of rebellion, yet so gratifying: intruding upon Lot's quarters, that which should be sacred, that which should be private, his sanctuary, ransacking his altar - in this case, the booze cabinet. You take one bottle only, his prized Lothian plum brandy, but it's enough to make you giddy in the way only harmless, pettish theft can.
Soon you are away from the castle, away from the oasis of lights and vines that sprouts out of the night, a brilliant beacon of opulence you desert for the dark paths of the woods, music replaced with the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot, with the rustling and skittering of unseen creatures and the plaintive hoots of owls.
<<else>>
Course decided, you set out: the human side of your party to gather the food and the booze while your draconic friends handle the pillows and blankets to keep you cozy. No one questions you as you go about the kitchen, nor when you descend down the steep steps to the cool, dim-lit cellar.
Soon you are away from the castle, away from the oasis of lights and vines that sprouts out of the night, a brilliant beacon of opulence you desert for the dark paths of the woods, music replaced with the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot, with the rustling and skittering of unseen creatures and the plaintive hoots of owls.
<</if>>
Nimue and you guide the party, twin flames dancing in the palms of your hands and carving a path through the night.
[[You go deeper and deeper into the woods, headed for the river|Chapter5Gawain Heels]]<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "cautious">>
Your breath catches in your throat as you stop before the doors, hands clenching till your nails dig into your palms as to be as far away from grabbing those ornate, brass handles as possible. It takes a fraught moment for you to remember that Lot is not inside; that the whole reason for you giving Elaine this tour hinges on the Duke and Gareth being too caught up in a wedding meeting Elaine couldn't bother showing up for. You shuddered when you heard that you'd be having dinner every evening in Lot's parlor up until the wedding, but the Beauregards' pleasant demeanor might shield you from the Duke's dreadful presence, at least.
You let out a long, weary exhale before reaching out with both hands and pushing inwards. The doors are heavy, but as a knight in training you refuse to be bested by two planks of fancy wood, no matter how sturdy.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
Oh, if only Duke Lot were inside to witness the glorious moment you'd stride in with Elaine beside you; you'd put on a charming, bright smile just for his eyes, and hope he chokes on his own spite. Unfortunately for you and your little rebellious fantasy, Lot is currently too caught up in wedding preparations Elaine couldn't bother showing up for. At least that knowledge may sting him, if only a little. There'll be plenty of opportunities to get on his nerves during those mandatory dinners in his parlor up until the wedding. If he's willing to put up with you and Morgana so much for the sake of the Beauregards - playing at this farce of a family - you doubt he'd admonish you in front of them. He'd have to sit and simmer with his frustration. If he did act out, you can only imagine it working against him.
You reach out for the ornate, brass hanndles with both hands and push inwards. The doors are heavy, but as a knight in training you refuse to be bested by two planks of fancy wood, no matter how sturdy.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "ignore">>
A small mercy that you won't have to face Lot's scorn. He's a menace you try to avoid as much as possible, which this upcoming fortnight will render unfortunately difficult, what with the wedding and all this cordial pretense he's forcing you to put up. You scoffed when you heard you'll be having dinner in his parlor every evening until the wedding - it must really matter to the Beauregards, if he's willing to put up with you and Morgana so much.
You reach out for the ornate, brass hanndles with both hands and push inwards. The doors are heavy, but as a knight in training you refuse to be bested by two planks of fancy wood, no matter how sturdy.
<</if>>
When not decked for feasts, the Great Hall looks rather barren. It is certainly as great as its name suggests, with its high-arching, beamed ceiling like the cave of some mighty dragon, but it offers little to break up the monotony of its dark wood and pristine walls besides a few hanged banners featuring the Leudonus symbol: brown, fearsome bears against moss green. The furniture they'd bring in for the feasts quickly livens up the atmosphere though, with its cheerful, painted motifs. On all other days, though, it's cleared out and secured in some otherwise forsaken attics. They say it keeps the hall from feeling cluttered; you say it makes anyone having an interview with the Duke feel small and lonely in this cavernous room.
It's almost eerily quiet at this time, the droning of conversation and patter of footstesps distant and muffled, as if belonging to a different world altogether. Light comes in generously through the tall windows, but even then it can't reach all the nooks and crevices of the Hall, its farthest corners still shrouded in darkness, as ever present as the shadows looming over Lot.
"This is where court is held," you say, gesturing towards the dais where Lot's high-backed, spire-crowned, uncomfortable-looking throne presides, as lonely and desolate as its lord. "And where feasts are hosted. Though the wedding party won't be hosted here." From what you understood, both the ceremony and feast will be held out on the Castle grounds, good weather for the event guaranteed by the Solomons.
"I do know that, you know," Elaine says.
<div class="choice">[[Playfully tease her. "So you do know some tedious organizational stuff."|Chapt5Tedious][$chapt5_feign to 1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You quirk an eyebrow, tone flat as you say: "So you do know some tedious organizational stuff."|Chapt5Tedious][$chapt5_feign to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Great." Moving on. You want to get this over with.|Chapt5Tedious][$chapt5_feign to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course," you laugh. "Just caught up in my guide role, I suppose."|Chapt5Tedious][$chapt5_feign to 4]]</div>Carriages roll by one after another in a continuous chorus of hooves, dragons dot the horizon, each of their arrival stirring up a small storm. And so the routine carries on well into the afternoon, chipping away at your nerves.
Most guests are of no consequence to you, though a few faces stand out: Arthur's and Kay's parents, Ector and Elisabeth, who make an affable entrance and leave an overall pleasant impression upon your party.
The sun has long passed its peak high in the sky, slowly descending towards the horizon, when you're jolted out of your monotony-induced stupor. There's nothing particularly special or impressive about the onrushing carriage - many others before have put its embellishments to shame, and neither do its horses come close to the proud creatures you've witnessed today - but its emblem catches your eye. This in and of itself isn't anything so spectacular as to rouse your interest so briskly either, no.
<<if $fire == "yes">>
It rouses, however, splintered shards of memory. Hungry flames eating at skin and a chilling wail - a sound like you'd never heard before, of pure, sheer suffering. Your nose still remembers the scent of scorched flesh.
<<else>>
It rouses, however, splintered shards of memory: a sneering boy and a snatched toy, a serpent wrung from threads on a tunic to slither round a traitor, and your mother incadescent in her anger.
<</if>>
The carriage blazoned with the golden eagle halts before you. A single man climbs down with a grim smile sooner suited for a funeral than a wedding; no one follows behind him.
Duke Henry Allard of Tintal inherited both the title and last name from his predecessor after marrying his way into the position, as Lady Allard had chosen to preserve her late husband's surname as a way of honoring him. He bows before your party, expresses his congratulations and excuses the absence of the Lady and the children by citing a mixture of business and ailment. No one believes a word of it, but you all go along. It's no secret what hides behind the thin, flimsy veil of his justifications.
The rest of the arrivals continue uneventfully. You return to your chambers yearning for your bed, but there's little time to spend lounging about when you have a feast to prepare for.
[[The sun has set, the moon has risen, it's time to head out.|Chapt5PartyBeforeWedding]]<<if $chapt5_merlin_greet == 1>>
Merlin is owed no respect from you, for dreadful reasons aplenty. You could list them all but half of them would be hand-waved by the Court, if not excused, and the other half outright denied. So at least for now you should play along. Act polite.
You say "Likewise," as you're expected, as you've been taught, and hide beneath the simple word everything you truly think and feel.
A third actor joins in your performance. "Do not be fooled, Lord Merlin," Morgana says, coating bitterness in sweetness. "Despite your belated formal introduction, Mordred's well acquainted with your character."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_greet == 2>>
Merlin is owed no respect from you, for dreadful reasons aplenty. You could list them all, but half of them would be hand-waved by the Court, if not excused, and the other half outright denied.
<<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
So you'll keep your cards close to your chest and indulge the Royal Sorcerer in this game of good manners he started, as if history could just be scrubbed away. Will he maintain the act as long as you maintain yours? Perhaps this courtesy is only extended while prying eyes watch, though you question why he even bothers. It could only be for the sake of Arthur and Guinevere.
<<else>>
So you'll keep your cards close to your chest and indulge the Royal Sorcerer in this game of good manners he started, as if history could just be scrubbed away. Will he maintain the act as long as you maintain yours? Perhaps this courtesy is only extended while prying eyes watch, though you question why he even bothers. The Le Fays are the Kingdom's undesirables, after all.
<</if>>
You say "Likewise" like you mean it and smile. "I have heard much about you, Lord Merlin."
An innocuous statement said in a candid tone; it's bait thrown into the pond. A question, an invitation, a challenge, depending on what facet you choose to look at. You may simply be alluding to his reputation - everyone in the Kingdom knows of him and your education, both magical and otherwise, has turned up his name and deeds countless times. But let's not kid yourselves as to what you're truly getting at - he must know he starred in so many of Morgana's stories, always as the villain. His name is at the top of her list, written in bloody, bloody red.
"I expect you would have," Merlin agreeably replies.
A third actor joins in your performance before he can recite more of his lines. "Indeed," Morgana says, coating bitterness in sweetness, "do not be fooled, Lord Merlin. Despite your belated formal introduction, Mordred's well acquainted with your character."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_greet == 3>>
Merlin is owed no respect from you, for dreadful reasons aplenty. You could list them all, but half of them would be hand-waved by the Court, if not excused, and the other half outright denied. So you won't do that, but neither will you trample on your pride and act the gracious one.
You say, "Likewise," with a flat, stiff tone that suggests completely otherwise.
Merlin doesn't appear bothered by your reply; no twitch of muscles tensing in his jaw, no quiver of his perfect smile.
And if he spoke now, you'd expect to find his mild tone just as unaffected; but it's Morgana who steers the conversation forward.
"Do not be fooled, Lord Merlin," she says, coating bitterness in sweetness. "Despite your belated formal introduction, Mordred's well acquainted with your character."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_greet == 4>>
Merlin is owed no respect from you, for dreadful reasons aplenty. You could list them all, but half of them would be hand-waved by the Court, if not excused, and the other half outright denied. So you won't do that, but neither will you trample on your pride and act the gracious one.
You say, "Likewise," with a flat, stiff tone that suggests completely otherwise. "I have heard much about you, Lord Merlin." It is no compliment.
Merlin doesn't appear bothered by your reply, however; no twitch of muscles tensing in his jaw, no quiver of his perfect smile.
His mild tone remains just as unaffected. "I expect you would have."
"Indeed," Morgana joins in. Unlike you, she coats bitterness in sweetness. "Do not be fooled, Lord Merlin. Despite your belated formal introduction, Mordred's well acquainted with your character."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_greet == 5>>
Your mother has his name written in bloody, bloody ink at the top of her list of those who wronged your family. She's catalogued his misdeeds and relayed them upon you. If it's all true - if there's no twist or embellishment - then his exploits are dreary indeed.
You don't believe his hands are clean - he's been a part of the wars Uther waged and so has played a role in your family's downfall, but you hesitate to write him off completely. Perhaps his motivations are not altogether sinister?
So for now you say a polite, "Likewise."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_greet == 6>>
Your mother has his name written in bloody, bloody ink at the top of her list of those who wronged your family. She's catalogued his misdeeds and relayed them upon you. If it's all true - if there's no twist or embellishment - then his exploits are dreary indeed.
You don't believe his hands are clean - he's been a part of the wars Uther waged and so has played a role in your family's downfall, but you hesitate to write him off completely. Perhaps there could be something less sinister about his motivations? To find out, you'll need to probe and pry and ply til something gives. You don't expect it to be easy work, but you must gauge whether you face an enemy or not.
So you dip your head politely and say, "Likewise. I have heard much about you, Lord Merlin."
An innocuous statement said in a candid tone; it's bait thrown into the pond. A question, an invitation, a challenge, a test. You seek his reaction
You may simply be alluding to his reputation - everyone in the Kingdom knows of him and your education, both magical and otherwise, has turned up his name and deeds countless times. You could very well insinuate that which you would not find written in those books.
"I expect you would have," Merlin agreeably replies.
A third actor joins in your play/performance before he can recite more of his lines. "Indeed," Morgana says, coating bitterness in sweetness, "do not be fooled, Lord Merlin. Despite your belated formal introduction, Mordred's well acquainted with your character."
"Am I?" Her unasked for intervention piques you, but you speak lightly. "I believe one must get to know a person before they can say that. Not rely on hearsay alone."
Morgana's gaze flickers to you. "Hearsay," she says and lifts her chin, "or cautionary tale?"
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_greet == 7>>
Your mother has his name written in bloody, bloody ink at the top of her list of those who wronged your family. She's catalogued his misdeeds and relayed them upon you. If it's all true - if there's no twist or embellishment - then his exploits are dreary indeed.
You don't believe his hands are clean - he's been a part of the wars Uther waged and so has played a role in your family's downfall, but you hesitate to write him off completely. Perhaps there could be something less sinister about his motivations? To find out, you'd need to probe and pry and ply til something gives. You don't expect it to be easy work, gauging whether you face an enemy or not.
You say "Likewise" like you mean it and smile. "I have heard much about you, Lord Merlin."
An innocuous statement said in a candid tone; it's bait thrown into the pond. A question, an invitation, a challenge, a test. You seek his reaction
You may simply be alluding to his reputation - everyone in the Kingdom knows of him and your education, both magical and otherwise, has turned up his name and deeds countless times. You could very well insinuate that which you would not find written in those books.
"I expect you would have," Merlin agreeably replies.
A third actor joins in your play/performance before he can recite more of his lines. "Indeed," Morgana says, coating bitterness in sweetness, "do not be fooled, Lord Merlin. Despite your belated formal introduction, Mordred's well acquianted with your character."
"Am I?" Her unasked for intervention piques you, but you speak lightly. "I believe one must get to know a person before they can say that. Not rely on hearsay alone."
Morgana's gaze flickers to you. "Hearsay," she says and lifts her chin, "or cautionary tale?"
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">>
Merlin turns to her, pleasant smile undisturbed. "I hope Court has treated you well, Lady Morgana." There's no different inflection he affects for her - no acidic, venomous or caustic modulation to his tone.
"Oh, I know all too well what you hope, Lord Merlin. But I've been keeping up well, and I shall continue doing so."
"Well, isn't that marvelous." You sound the words out - no sarcasm, not as far as you skim the surface. "We should talk later, Lady Morgana. We have a lot of catching up to do."
"I fear these days are not enough to even begin //catching up//."
<<else>>
Merlin turns to her, pleasant smile undisturbed. "I hope Court has treated you well, Lady Morgana." There's no different inflection he affects for her - no acidic, venomous or caustic modulation to his tone.
Yet Morgana senses the poison, lurking just beneath the surface. "Oh, I know all too well what you hope, Lord Merlin. But I've been keeping up well, and I shall continue doing so."
"Well," he says, "isn't that marvelous." Your mother was right - he performs so effortlessly. "We should talk later, Lady Morgana. We have a lot of catching up to do."
"I fear these days are not enough to even begin //catching up//."
<</if>>
"Speaking of catching up," Merlin shifts the discussion. "Nimue, you remember Mordred, don't you?"
"I remember," she says - answering him yet fixing you with an unwavering gaze. The corner of her mouth hitches up as if you shared jest none of the others here were in on.
Nimue's both an utter stranger and so familiar. You see in her remnants of that girl you knew on Avalon, recognize those striking details that stuck with you over the years, that have managed to pierce the fog of old memories, features that are now mature, sharper. It's those keen eyes, colored that intense green of oak leaves in the summer, and that puckish curl of the lips. Seeing her side by side with Merlin you realize your initial, lightning-quick comparison was not entirely correct; there is a resemblance, strongest in the shape of the eye, faint otherwise.
<div class="choice">[[You were friends once, as little children. Could you still be that - would she even want that? Is it even a wise choice, given who her father is?|Chapt5GreetNimue][$chapt5_nimue_greet to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You were friends once, as little children. Could you still be that? You don't care that Merlin's her father, but would she even want your friendship?|Chapt5GreetNimue][$chapt5_nimue_greet to 2]]</div>
<<if $nimue_childhood_crush is true>><div class="choice">[[You were friends once, as little children. Not only that, but you were infatuated with her, not that you told her. As you look upon her now, you feel something stir in your chest. ❤|Chapt5GreetNimue][$chapt5_nimue_greet to 3, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div><</if>>
<<if $nimue_childhood_crush is true>><div class="choice">[[You were friends once, as little children. Not only that, but you were infatuated with her, not that you told her. As you look upon her now, you feel something stir in your chest. But she's Merlin's daughter - this isn't wise. ❤|Chapt5GreetNimue][$chapt5_nimue_greet to 4, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You were friends once, as little children, but that was a long time ago.|Chapt5GreetNimue][$chapt5_nimue_greet to 5]]</div><<if $chapt5_nimue_greet == 1>>
You were friends once, as little children. You'd bring her your fairy tale books and go together over the illustrations - she always liked the strange creatures and the oddly-shaped monsters, with too many eyes and limbs and razor-sharp mouths - and she'd take you down to the beach to collect seashells and stones and watch the crabs scurry by over water-slick, algae-covered stones.
But you're no longer children.
Once, when the sea was tempestuous and gray and frothing, Morgana told you how the battering waves erode at soil and rock and sand. //'Not only on days like this, though,'// she'd added. //'Water always polishes and whittles away, bit by bit, chip by chip, even when it's not apparent a change.'//
So has time changed the both of you - not into something new, but something transformed, the same block of rock sculpted by every coming year. You may not always perceive the chisel, not until you stop and take a look at yourself, but you can recount every time it hewed away a chunk and hollowed you out or gave new, unexpected, beautiful shapes.
You don't know yet how the blade of time has fashioned Nimue, however.
Perhaps it's been too long, too great a metamorphosis to hope for that same friendship. It's long lost; the tide has risen and it now lies at the bottom of the sea. But a new connection could buoy up to the surface.
<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">>
Unless forces outside of your control sink it. Merlin looms over you, like a gray cloud that may drift by without a raindrop to disturb the sea, or stir it in a frenzy. Whatever intentions he has for you - if at all - you do not know. Nimue could very well be a conduct for them, though, whether she knows it or not. And that's the uncertainty that stings the most. Would any of her sentiments be candid, or would she seek to get something out of you?
<<else>>
Unless forces outside of your control sink it. Merlin looms over you. Whatever intentions he has for you can be nothing but sinister, and Nimue could very well be a conduct for them, whether she knows it or not. And that's the uncertainty that stings the most. Would any of her sentiments be candid, or would she seek to get something out of you?
<</if>>
For now, you offer her a friendly smile. There's no harm in that.
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_greet == 2>>
You were friends once, as little children. You'd bring her your fairy tale books and go together over the illustrations - she always liked the strange creatures and the oddly-shaped monsters, with too many eyes and limbs and razor-sharp mouths - and she'd take you down to the beach to collect seashells and stones and watch the crabs scurry by over water-slick, algae-covered stones.
But you're no longer children.
Once, when the sea was tempetuous and gray and frothing, Morgana told you how the battering waves erode at soil and rock and sand. //'Not only on days like this, though,'// she'd added. //'Water always polishes and whittles away, bit by bit, chip by chip, even when it's not apparent a change.'//
So has time changed the both of you - not into something new, but something transformed, the same block of rock sculpted by every coming year. You may not always perceive the chisel, not until you stop and take a look at yourself, but you can recount every time it hewed away a chunk and hallowed you out or gave new, unexpected, beautiful shapes.
You don't know yet how the blade of time has fashioned Nimue, however.
Perhaps it's been too long, too great a metamorphosis to hope for that same friendship. It's long lost; the tide has risen and it now lies at the bottom of the sea. But a new connection could buoy up to the surface.
For now, you offer her a friendly smile. It's a start.
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_greet == 3>>
You were friends once, as little children. You'd bring her your fairy tale books and go together over the illustrations - she always liked the strange creatures and the oddly-shaped monsters, with too many eyes and limbs and razor-sharp mouths - and she'd take you down to the beach to collect seashells and stones and watch the crabs scurry by over water-slick, algae-covered stones.
You were a little child, infatuated: hanging off her every word, seeking her out when she returned to Avalon. The infatuation dulled and dimmed shortly after leaving the island, til it was nothing more than a memory of a feeling, a shard of your childhood.
But you're no longer children.
Once, when the sea was tempetuous and gray and frothing, Morgana told you how the battering waves erode at soil and rock and sand. //'Not only on days like this, though,'// she'd added. //'Water always polishes and whittles away, bit by bit, chip by chip, even when it's not apparent a change.'//
So has time changed the both of you - not into something new, but something transformed, the same block of rock sculpted by every coming year. You may not always perceive the chisel, not until you stop and take a look at yourself, but you can recount every time it hewed away a chunk and hollowed you out or gave new, unexpected, beautiful shapes.
You don't know yet how the blade of time has fashioned Nimue, however.
Yet something stirs in your chest. A little fish darting through the shallows, a wink of color beneath the waves.
<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">>
Merlin looms over you, like a gray cloud that may drift by without a raindrop to disturb the sea, or stir it in a frenzy. Whatever intentions he has for you - if at all - you do not know. Nimue could very well be a conduct for them, though, whether she knows it or not. And that's the uncertainty that stings the most. Would any of her sentiments be candid, or would she seek to get something out of you?
<<else>>
Beware - the more vibrant the scales, the more potent the poison. Whatever intentions Merlin has for you can be nothing but sinister, and Nimue could very well be a conduct for them, whether she knows it or not. And that's the uncertainty that stings the most. Would any of her sentiments be candid, or would she seek to get something out of you?
<</if>>
For now, you offer her a friendly smile. There's no harm in that.
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_greet == 4>>
You were friends once, as little children. You'd bring her your fairy tale books and go together over the illustrations - she always like the strange creatures and the oddly-shaped monsters, with too many eyes and limbs and razor-sharp mouths - and she'd take you down to the beach to collect seashells and stones and watch the crabs scurry by over water-slick, algae-covered stones.
You were a little child, infatuated: hanging off her every word, seeking her out when she returned to Avalon. The infatuation dulled and dimmed shortly after leaving the island, til it was nothing more than a memory of a feeling, a shard of your childhood.
But you're no longer children.
Once, when the sea was tempetuous and gray and frothing, Morgana told you how the battering waves erode at soil and rock and sand. //'Not only on days like this, though,'// she'd added. //'Water always polishes and whittles away, bit by bit, chip by chip, even when it's not apparent a change.'//
So has time changed the both of you - not into something new, but something transformed, the same block of rock sculpted by every coming year. You may not always perceive the chisel, not until you stop and take a look at yourself, but you can recount every time it hewed away a chunk and hollowed you out or gave new, unexpected, beautiful shapes.
You don't know yet how the blade of time has fashioned Nimue, however.
Yet something stirs in your chest. A little fish darting through the shallows, a wink of color beneath the waves.
For now, you offer her a friendly smile. It's a start.
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_greet == 5>>
You were friends once, as little children. You'd bring her your fairy tale books and go together over the illustrations - she always like the strange creatures and the oddly-shaped monsters, with too many eyes and limbs and razor-sharp mouths - and she'd take you down to the beach to collect seashells and stones and watch the crabs scurry by over water-slick, algae-covered stones.
But you're no longer children.
Once, when the sea was tempetuous and gray and frothing, Morgana told you how the battering waves erode at soil and rock and sand. //'Not only on days like this, though,'// she'd added. //'Water always polishes and whittles away, bit by bit, chip by chip, even when it's not apparent a change.'//
So has time changed the both of you - not into something new, but something transformed, the same block of rock sculpted by every coming year. You may not always perceive the chisel, not until you stop and take a look at yourself, but you can recount every time it hewed away a chunk and hollowed you out or gave new, unexpected, beautiful shapes.
You don't know yet how the blade of time has fashioned Nimue, however.
Your friendship long lost; the tide has risen and it now lies at the bottom of the sea. Buried in the sand, a forsaken relic of the past.
You incline your head and offer a polite smile.
<</if>>
"I look forward to catching up at the party," Nimue says and then she's gone, trailing away with her father to greet the others.
[[The routine continues.|Chapt5GreetGuests]]You show Elaine through a few more important chambers, guiding her down hallway after hallway, passing by the inner yard through the open galleries above. A couple has made themselves comfortable on the stone bench, huddled close together and talking in hushed tones. You take Elaine to the courtiers' parlor, letting yourself enveloped in the fragrance of perfume, coffee and the susurrus of gossip. You do not linger long under their curious scrutiny. You leave the room soon after arriving, your brief apperance stirring the waters nonetheless.
You stop by the small library where you hold your lessons, letting Elaine browse the books there and peek a look out the windows at the castle grounds below. You even take a trip down to the kitchens, where you drink full tankards of water before resuming your tour.
Once finally outside, your eyes are assaulted by the bright sunlight. You blink furiously as you catch up with an undaunted Elaine who, emboldended by the sloped path, has taken the walk to a jog. You plan your tour of the grounds so you pass by all important landmarks: the cluster of trees and flower beds and shrubbery that artfully enclose a cozy, lounging space. You point out to Elaine a wooden swing, currently occupied, and tell her of the times you've swayed till you almost propelled yourself off the bench. You walk by the great oak kids like to challange one another to climb to then laze carelessly on the branches or freeze in sudden realization of the distance to the ground. Then you stop by the training grounds where the young squire is still hard at work, though not for much longer judging by their sluggish, tired parries.
Finally you approach the dragons' lodge, which stands tall and stone-gray against the rusting forest beyond. Elaine's pace, which has slowed down since the descent down the hill from the castle, picks back up again. She's been throwing furtive, impatient glances towards the building ever since you've stepped foot out. You expect her to break into a full run at any moment, but she reigns herself in.
"And this is the dragons' lodge," you say as you arrive at the great doors.
Elaine places a palm against the embossed, sturdy wood. "Thanks for the tour - I suppose you've shown me everything there was, right?"
"Everything important, at least."
<<if $Elaine >= 53>>
"Great." Her eyes dart eagerly towards the door - as if she couldn't keep them off for long - then back to you. "There's a friend I'd like to visit. Would you like to meet him?"
<div class="choice">[["Sure." Besides, it also means more time with Elaine.|Chapt5FriendVisit][$chapt5_friend_visit to true, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure." It's a good opportunity to win her favor.|Chapt5FriendVisit][$chapt5_friend_visit to true, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I should get going, actually.\""|Chapt5FriendVisit][$chapt5_friend_visit to false]]</div>
<<else>>
"Great." Her eyes dart eagerly towards the door, as if she couldn't keep them off for long. "There's a friend I'd like to visit now. I'll see you at dinner."
Pushing the door open, Elaine slips inside and leaves you standing alone at the entrance, relieved of your tour-giving duty.
[[Continue|Chapt5EndTour]]
<</if>>When there's no guests to greet, you take respite under a great, lavish canopy where refreshments abound. You sip on freshly-pressed grape juice that is sweet and just slightly tart and tingles on your tongue, and munch on appetizers that range from slim slices of cheese layered on flatbread to cut fruit painstakingly arranged in swirls and whorls. The passing guests too are offered glasses and bite-sized treats to pick up as they trail towards the castle, talking and laughing and scrutinizing each other.
<<if $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes">>
As you refill your goblet, your gaze meets Elaine's over the refreshment table. She's in the process of stuffing herself, chewing on flatbread with furious vengeance. She stops, swallows heavily and wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, revealing a smile. You almost let your cup overflow - righting the pitcher at the last moment before giving the tablecloth a new dye job.
"Hey," she says.
You put the pitcher far and safe away from you. "How are you holding up?"
Her face scrunches up and it's answer enough.
Your conversation halts, not for a lack of words. There's so much to say but not in this place, not at this time. Last evening in Lot's parlor was just as strange and torturous, pretending away the fateful encounter. Exchanging glances and smiles charged with a conspiratorial air that wasn't there before.
Could your families tell - could they tell that you made a far more convincing pair of betrotheds than her and Gareth? Of course not - they were too busy gushing over the wedding. You caught many a suppressed sigh from Elaine as the topic dominated the night.
"It's not //so// bad," Elaine finally amends, starting to circle the table towards you. "Well, except that it's getting rather boring and tedious." She walks faster, taking big strides upon realizing just how long the table is. "But there's a few people I'm really looking forward to seeing again. Like Tristan. I haven't seen him in so long, it's ridiculous."
Tristan - she's mentioned him before. He's a friend, a confidante, a mentor and like a second big brother to her.
<<if $elaine_chamber_kiss == 1>>
"But," she continues, rolling from the balls of her feet to her toes and leaning in closer to you, "I'd much rather be in your chambers right now. With a bowl of chestnuts, talking and lounging and-" her eyes flit down to your mouth then back up "-more."
"More." Your fingers tighten round your goblet. The memory of her lips on yours is fresh and has been reiterated many times in your mind as you watched her over the table at dinner, as you laid in bed alone. It's especially fresh now, as her breath whispers across your mouth.
"More. More chestnuts, that is." She bumps her shoulder into yours - a thrill shoots down your arm - and you both chuckle.
<<else>>
"But," she continues, rolling from the balls of her feet to her toes and leaning in closer to you, "I'd much rather be in your chambers right now. With a bowl of chestnuts, talking and lounging." She lets out a longing sigh. "Just laid out on the carpet, your head resting on my shoulder...that kind of stuff. Not a care in the world."
"I'd like that," you say, smiling into your goblet.
Elaine returns the smile and bumps her shoulder into yours.
<</if>>
"Looking forward to the party tonight?" you ask.
She snorts, though seems to then give your question some serious consideration. "It's bound to be more fun than this," she gestures at the bustle around you with her half-eaten flatbread. "So yeah. Though it'd be even more fun if it weren't for-Nevermind."
<div class="choice">[["If it weren't for the wedding?" you venture to conclude.|Chapt5NevermindElaine][$chapt5_nevermind to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nevermind then.|Chapt5NevermindElaine][$chapt5_nevermind to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes1">>
As you refill your goblet, your gaze meets Elaine's over the refreshment table. She's in the process of stuffing herself, chewing on flatbread with furious vengeance. She stops, swallows heavily and wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, revealing a small, uncertain smile. You almost let your cup overflow - righting the pitcher at the last moment before giving the tablecloth a new dye job.
"Hey," she says, giving you a little wave with her flatbread.
She's been staying at a distance from you since your confession yesterday, but she can't so easily keep her eyes off you. Throughout dinner - throughout greeting after greeting - her gaze would flit to you every so often, especially when she thinks you're not looking.
There's a moment of silence, then other. You rack your brain for something to say, but everything you come up with cannot be discussed here.
So you ask, "How...are you holding up?" You recognize how it could allude to how your meeting in your chambers concluded, so you promptly patch it over: "I mean, playing host and all."
Her face scrunches up and it's answer enough.
She glances about herself as if to find a quick exit from here. Then she sighs and moves - but instead of fleeing, she rounds the table towards you.
"Look," Elaine says once she's close enough. "I'm sorry if I'm making this awkward. I've been thinking about what you said yesterday - but also not thinking about it, because there's already so fucking much to think about and I just-" she cuts herself off, huffs, then starts again. "We'll talk it out but until then, let's just act like nothing happened. "
"Act like nothing happened," you repeat, nodding. You're good at it, aren't you? After all, your entire life has been defined by this motto, as you pretend you're no dragonblood or child of Arthur. "Alright." And to show just how good at it you are - and ignore the flutter of your heart - you ask: "Looking forward to the party tonight?"
A stupid question, you reckon once it's out of your mouth.
She snorts, though seems to then give it some serious consideration. "It's bound to be more fun than this," she gestures at the bustle around you with her half-eaten flatbread. "So yeah. Though it'd be even more fun if it weren't for-Nevermind."
<div class="choice">[["If it weren't for the wedding?" you venture to conclude.|Chapt5NevermindElaine][$chapt5_nevermind to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nevermind then.|Chapt5NevermindElaine][$chapt5_nevermind to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chamber_confess_elaine == "no">>
As you refill your goblet, your gaze meets Elaine's over the refreshment table. She's in the process of stuffing herself, chewing on flatbread with furious vengeance. She stops, swallows heavily and wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, revealing a smile. You almost let your cup overflow - righting the pitcher at the last moment before giving the tablecloth a new dye job.
"Hey," she says.
You put the pitcher far and safe away from you. "How are you holding up?"
Her face scrunches up and it's answer enough.
Perhaps it really is a good thing that you held your tongue and guarded your feelings from her; one less matter to weigh on her mind.
"It's not //so// bad," Elaine finally amends, starting to circle the table towards you. "Well, except that it's getting rather boring and tedious." She walks faster, taking big strides upon realizing just how long the table is. "But there's a few people I'm really looking forward to seeing again. Like Tristan. I haven't seen him in so long, it's ridiculous."
Tristan - she's mentioned him before. He's a friend, a confidante, a mentor and like a second big brother to her.
"But," she continues, "I'd much rather be in your chambers right now. With a bowl of chestnuts, talking and lounging and just relaxing, really."
You give her a smile as your heart flutters; you'd like that very much. And most of all, you like that she'd like that too. But for now you're anchored in your courtly host duties. Instead, you ask: "Looking forward to the party tonight?"
She snorts, though seems to then give your question some serious consideration. "It's bound to be more fun than this," she gestures at the bustle around you with her half-eaten flatbread. "So yeah. Though it'd b even more fun if it weren't for-Nevermind."
<div class="choice">[["If it weren't for the wedding?" you venture to conclude.|Chapt5NevermindElaine][$chapt5_nevermind to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nevermind then.|Chapt5NevermindElaine][$chapt5_nevermind to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_chamber is true and $Elaine >= 55>>
As you refill your goblet, your gaze meets Elaine's over the refreshment table. She's in the process of stuffing herself, chewing on flatbread with furious vengeance. She stops, swallows heavily and wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, revealing a smile.
"Hey," she says.
"How are you holding up?"
Her face scrunches up, and it's answer enough.
"It's not //so// bad," Elaine amends, starting to circle the table towards you. "Well, except that it's getting rather boring and tedious." She walks faster, taking big strides upon realizing just how long the table is. "But there's a few people I'm really looking forward to seeing again. Like Tristan. I haven't seen him in so long, it's ridiculous."
Tristan - she's mentioned him before. He's a friend, a confidante, a mentor and like a second big brother to her.
"But," she continues, "I'd much rather be in your chambers right now. With a bowl of chestnuts, talking and lounging and just relaxing, really."
You give her a smile; you'd like that very much too, but for now you're anchored in your courtly host duties. So you ask: "Looking forward to the party tonight?"
She snorts, though seems to then give your question some serious consideration. "It's bound to be more fun than this," she gestures at the bustle around you with her half-eaten flatbread. "So yeah. Though it'd be even more fun if it weren't for-Nevermind."
<div class="choice">[["If it weren't for the wedding?" you venture to conclude.|Chapt5NevermindElaine][$chapt5_nevermind to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nevermind then.|Chapt5NevermindElaine][$chapt5_nevermind to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $Elaine >= 52>>
As you refill your goblet, your gaze meets Elaine's over the refreshment table. She's in the process of stuffing herself, chewing on flatbread with furious vengeance. She stops, swallows heavily and wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Hey," she says. "Holding up well?"
"As best as I can," you reply, setting down the pitcher. "You?"
Her face scrunches up, answer enough, but she amends it with a weary, "Same."
"Terribly sorry to interrupt!" Raphael chirps as he interrupts regardless, looking none too remorseful. He's been smiling so widely since early morning it's a wonder he can sustain the expression for so long, and so bright. It's like every new introduced guest reinvigorates him. "There's people to greet."
Elaine abandons her remaining flatbread with regret, dragged away by an overly-eager Raphael. But the incoming carriage is far enough in the distance for you to take your time, idly sipping on grape juice.
[[Watch the approaching carriages.|Chapt5CarriageComes]]
<<else>>
As you refill your goblet, your gaze meets Elaine's over the refreshment table. She's in the process of stuffing herself, chewing on flatbread with furious vengeance. She nods at you in acknowledgment and continues devouring her food.
"Elaine!"
She almost chokes as Raphael rushes her. "There's people to greet," he chirps, smiling as widely as he has throughout the entire morning. It's a wonder he can sustain the expression for so long and so bright. It's like every new guest introduced reinvigorates him.
Elaine abandons her remaining flatbread with regret, dragged away by an overly-eager Raphael. But the incoming carriage is far enough in the distance for you to take your time, idly sipping on grape juice.
[[Watch the approaching carriages.|Chapt5CarriageComes]]
<</if>>You fend off the would be monotony conversing with $dragon_name by way of your link: passing commentary and judgment over the throng of guests parading before you. As the child of a Dragons' Council member, $dragon_name's presence has been deemed mandatory. They stand by their family's side, along with the other dragons of note and the Lothian humans nobles, off to the left where the flow of guests is guided once greeted by you.
<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//'Oh. Oh, I think I spoke too quietly. They'll think I have horrible manners. Do you think they heard me?'//
You'd like to give $dragon_name a reassuring answer, but //you// have definitely heard nothing, given the space awning before you - all filled to the brim with chattering guests.
Your friend bears the proceedings the best they can, while it whittles at their composure and saps their energy. Your mind buzzes with the echo of thoughts not your own, a constant over-examination of every move made, of every work spoken.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//'Did you see that hideous coat?'// Just to make sure you haven't missed it, $dragon_name blasts the gaudy image inside your brain.
They sound so //disgusted//. You have to bite your cheek to keep yourself from laughing in the faces of the oblivious Astolatian guests bowing before you - and thus committing a blunder that would fell your etiquette teacher as surely as a battleaxe.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
//'Oh, here comes Lena! You remember Lena, don't you? They were at the autumn equinox fair last year; travelled all the way across the Duchy.'//
$dragon_name has a knack for retaining names and faces alike, especially friendly ones, and social events like this one is something they always look forward too. Sure, the tension that's been brewing and bubbling for weeks that could potentially explode into one grand mess has cast a bit of a shadow over everything. But not enough to make them any less enthused to see familiar, smiling faces.
<</if>>
[[There's a pause in the ever-running river of arrivals.|Chapt5GuestsBreak]]<<silently>><<if $chapt4_arthur_write == 1 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 2>><<set $opinion_arthur to "understand">><</if>><</silently>>
The grand Royal carriage draws to a stop before you. Its closed door presents you with the Pendragon emblem, embossed in all its shiny glory: the rearing gilded dragon stretches across the entire length of wood, clawed front limbs posed to rend and tear, maw perpetually open in a roar, tail held high and proud. The crimson of this carriage may as well be all the blood spilt by those vicious, sharpened fangs and talons.
<<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
You roll your shoulders, fold your hands, twine your fingers, then do it all over again and again, waiting. The footman is taking too long. Courtly conduct demands that the nobles - especially the monarchs - carry themselves with due dignity and elegance, and demands that the footman treat them as porcelain that might break, too. The simple act of climbing down a carriage thus becomes an excruciatingly slow trudge through the sludge that is Royal etiquette.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Your restless fingers fiddle with the buttons on your cuff as you school your face in a polite expression. Your features may as well be flint, so hard to mold into anything - and when you manage some semblance of a smile, it's feeble and half-hearted.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "understand">>
You heave a weary sigh. You've no interest in seeing or talking with Arthur, but you can't claim to be unaffected by his presence, and the memories it conjures of terrible revelations. You meant it, when you wrote to him all those years ago on your twelfth birthday to let him know you understood his absence and pain. Every now and then, it brings a brief pang to the chest. You shake it off as you always do and put on a polite smile, ready to greet your King and Queen.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
Every time you meet Arthur anew, a small piece of your heart splinters. Years have chipped away at the whole, leaving a misshapen, gory mess - no wonder it pangs like this in your chest. You take a deep breath through your mouth, dig your nails in your palms and dress up the wound with the best polite expression you can muster.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate">>
Your fists clench, nails digging into the soft flesh of your palm. The red is very fitting a representation for your current disposition. Quivers of anger rake your body as a susurration of excited, reverent whispers washes over you from the crowd. Yet again you are made to play polite before the man who abandoned you, yet again forced to show undue respect to the one who denies your rights, your shared blood. You drive your nails in harder and set your jaw, readying yourself to weather both this pompous circus and the storm within your heart.
One day, Arthur will feel its unforgiving, drowning torrent.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "indifference">>
You fiddle with the buttons on your cuffs and assume a look of detached, polite interest. Arthur is no more special to you than the other guests are, a face you recognize but sparks little emotion otherwise. Years ago, his countenance alone - and the mere mention of his name, the slightest thought of him - summoned within you a storm: those contradicting tides of emotion swelling and clashing and twinning into pain, longing, and curiosity you couldn't even put into words. Having met him and dispelled the shroud of mystery, you found him to be so mundane. A man who has failed you, that you would not allow to do so again. Time has eased your anguish, dulled your anger, dampened your interest.
<</if>>
The carriage door opens and Guinevere emerges.
<<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
The first thing to draw your eye is her smile. It dimples her cheeks and crinkles her eyes and has that infectious, unfettered sort of cheeriness about it that can make one's lips twitch up unwittingly. She smiles like she's heard the most comical of jokes, or the most amazing of news which she can't wait but impart upon you. The corners of your mouth hitch up at the sight. When your gazes fleetingly lock, your smile grows even wider, cheeks smarting.
The first time you met her in person, after months of sending back and forth letters, she greeted you with that same smile and promptly won you over.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
The first thing to draw your eye is her smile. It dimples her cheeks and crinkles her eyes and has that infectious, unfettered sort of cheeriness about it that can make one's lips twitch up unwittingly. She smiles like she's heard the most comical of jokes, or the most amazing of news which she can't wait but impart upon you. You can't bear the sight of it.
The first time you met her in person, after months of sending back and forth letters, she greeted you with that same smile and promptly won you over. You wish you could do the same now - turn your head, meet her eye, and let her smile quell your anxities.
<<else>>
The first thing to draw your eye is her smile. It dimples her cheeks and crinkles her eyes and has that infectious, unfettered sort of cheeriness about it that can make one's lips twitch up unwittingly. She smiles like she's heard the most comical of jokes, or the most amazing of news which she can't wait but impart upon you.
It's not the first time you're meeting, but you've never got the occasion to dig deeper beneath that sunny expression and easy-going demeanor of hers. Perhaps you can get the chance to do so now, if you even care to.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
Arthur climbs down to join her side and holds out his hand to her, palm up. Unlike her, his manner and expression are more restrained, careful, practiced, the way he always acts at such pompous public proceedings. Moving like he slipped into shoes that are too tight for him to wear comfortably and need breaking in, shoes that belong to someone he strives to be, one who could do all this effortlessly. The masses are charmed nonetheless - they don't know, or perhaps don't care, about all the energy spent getting into those shoes, or how they rub at the back of the heel, leaving it raw and bloodied and painful.
You do know. Arthur's recounted his efforts and struggles and you saw for yourself, the difference between the man and the king. He gives Guinevere's hand a squeeze - a little self-soothing gesture you almost miss - and together they advance towards your greeting party.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Arthur climbs down to join her side and holds out his hand to her, palm up. Unlike her, his manner and expression are more restrained, careful, practiced, the way he always acts at such pompous public proceedings. Moving like he slipped into shoes that are too tight for him to wear comfortably and need breaking in, shoes that belong to someone he strives to be, one who could do all this effortlessly. The masses are charmed nonetheless - they don't know, or perhaps don't care, about all the energy spent getting into those shoes, or about how they rub at the back of his heels, leaving it raw and bloodied and painful.
You do know. Arthur's recounted his efforts and struggles and you saw for yourself, the difference between the man and the king. He gives Guinevere's hand a squeeze - a little self-soothing gesture you almost miss - and together they advance towards your greeting party.
<<else>>
Arthur climbs down to join her side and holds out his hand to her, palm up. Unlike her, his manner and expression are more restrained, careful, practiced - the way he always acts at such pompous public proceedings. Moving like he slipped into shoes that are too tight for him to wear comfortably and need breaking in, shoes that belong to someone he strives to be, one who could do all this effortlessly. The masses are oh so charmed nonetheless. Perhaps they don't see, or perhaps they don't care to question - but you sometimes wonder how much energy he spends getting into those too-tight shoes. How much do they rub against the back of his heels, is the skin raw and bloodied at the end of the day?
He gives Guinevere's hand a squeeze - a little gesture you almost miss - and together they advance towards your greeting party.
<</if>>
"Welcome, your Majesties. Lothia is honored to have you as our most esteemed guests, once again."
In all the years you've known Lot, you've never seen him act jovial, which has rendered his attitude towards the Beauregards eldritch indeed, a visage more disturbing than any of his scowls and hopefully soon to be dropped entirely. None of the other guests have received quite as warm and jolly an arrival though, and for the Royal pair the mask further slips down.
His stiff posture gains further starch, and while his tone holds no animosity, it rings devoid of any emotion either: flat, functional politeness. He proffers empty pleasantries, distant hospitality, as transactional an affair as an offering of coin. One could even lay the conduct on his dour personality, or the Duke not presuming to be too friendly with those above him. You know, though, the far more personal reason of his scorn - and for all its hateful depths, he's not completely careless in how he displays it.
Cued by Lot's tepid greeting, Raphael steps in to overshadow it with a sunny, candid welcome. The Duke of Astolat throws open his arms and offers a beam the likes that only the Queen can rival. "Your Majesties, it is with utmost pleasure that we receive you for this joyful, proud occasion."
You sneak a peek at Elaine; a muscle twitches in her jaw and her smile is too thin, too strained for any of her father's words - pleasure, joy, pride - to be applied to it.
"The pleasure is ours." Arthur inclines his head with a small smile, then shifts his attention onto Gareth and Elaine. "Congratulations on the union, and all our best wishes. May you find happiness and companionship together."
"Are you excited?" Guinevere asks, her expression more indicative of that sentiment than Gareth's or Elaine's faces. "Nervous, perchance?"
Elaine's awkward, fleeting chuckle lands firmly in the second category. Gareth smoothly pipes in, explaining it's a little bit of both.
"After all," he continues," it's a great change, and a momentous event."
"One that should be joyous," Guinevere says. She's let go of Arthur's hand but now her fingers twitch at her side, reaching out again towards his. They brush against each other and he briefly hooks his index around hers.
<div class="choice">[["It should, shouldn't it?" You throw the betrothed couple a meaningful look. |Chapt5Joy][$chapt5_joyous to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Say nothing.|Chapt5Joy][$chapt5_joyous to 2]]</div><<if $chapt5_guin_hug == 1>>
You fling yourself at them, one arm wrapped around each, and pull them close to you. The impact of it pushes a sharp, surprised inhale out of Arthur; Guinevere is the first to put a hand around your shoulders, immediately followed by him.
It both drives the dagger deeper in the wound and applies healing balm to it. You hold on tight, and for far longer than they held onto Gareth or Elaine.
The red brocade of Arthur's doublet is soft against your cheek, and his earthy, moss-like smell summons bittersweet memories of long walks in the woods, of picnics in meadows, of father and child playing between the trees, brandishing wooden swords and wide grins. It mixes with Guinevere's sweet, clove-tinged perfume which conjures yet more memories; of spending late nights on a settee, cup of tea in hand, listening to her while she knitted.
When you pull back it feels like both an eternity and no time at all has passed, like you were torn asunder than stitched back together - or perhaps it was the other way around.
Arthur meets your gaze with a smile and a flicker of hope flashing across his face. Should you feed that flame? You don't quite know what you want yourself.
<<elseif $chapt5_guin_hug == 2>>
You give them a thin-lipped smile and open your arms. They've already hugged Gareth and Elaine, they might as well hug you too.
As he leans towards you, a flicker of hope flashes over Arthur's features. You keep the embrace quick with both of them, but it's not enough to avert bittersweet memories flooding you. As you breath in Arthur's earthy, moss-like scent, you're reminded of long walks in the woods, of picnics in meadows, of father and child playing between the trees, brandishing wooden swords and wide grins. Then you let Guinevere wrap her arms around you, her sweet, clove-tinged perfume conjuring yet more memories; of spending late nights on a settee, cup of tea in hand, listening to her while she knitted.
<<elseif $chapt5_guin_hug == 3>>
Your insides are in a knot, a lump's stuck in your throat and tears build up behind your eyes. You take a step back and turn your head away, but not quick enough to miss the flicker of sadness flashing over Arthur's face.
<<elseif $chapt5_guin_hug == 4>>
You must ignore the knot of your insides, the lump stuck in your throat, the pressure of tears behind your eyes and instead keep to decorum. You muster up a smile and incline your head, hands folded behind your back. Partly to keep your stance polite and proper, partly to hide the nervous fiddling of your fingers.
A flicker of hurt flashes over Arthur's features, but Guinevere hides well whatever she feels behind her smile.
<</if>>
Arthur and Guinevere depart arm in arm, moving on to greet the other nobles and dragons.
No sooner have they left than a new carriage pulls before your canopy - not as adorned as the Royal one, but by no means modest either.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesRomantic]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exes_like" or $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesExesRomantic]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exfriends" or $gawain_kid == "exfriends">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesExesFriends]]
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesFriend]]
<<else>>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesAlly]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_hate_arthur == 1>>
The flames of your wrath are not hot enough to burn away your sense of decorum. You politely incline your head and Arthur mirrors the gesture.
<<elseif $chapt5_hate_arthur == 2>>
Why hide your distaste, when Arthur himself knows it well, when it's what everyone expects from you anyway? You regale upon him a scathing glare. He should be used to it by now, yet a flicker of hurt still flashes over his features. It only makes you scowl harder.
<<elseif $chapt5_hate_arthur == 3>>
Arthur never cared for you, so why would you care for decorum? You offer no smile, no bow, no greeting and simply turn your head away. It's less overt a show of your distaste than a scowl, but the message is clear enough.
<<elseif $chapt5_hate_arthur == 4>>
Arthur never cared for you, so why would you care for decorum? You meet his eyes then slowly turn your head away, making this a deliberate show of your distaste. Not as overt as a scowl but just as scathing.
<<elseif $chapt5_hate_arthur == 5>>
You offer a perfunctory nod and nothing more, just as Arthur couldn't bother to be more than a shadow in your life.
<</if>>
Arthur and Guinevere depart arm in arm, moving on to greet the other nobles and dragons.
No sooner have they left than a new carriage pulls before your canopy - not as adorned as the Royal one, but by no means modest either.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesRomantic]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exes_like" or $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesExesRomantic]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exfriends" or $gawain_kid == "exfriends">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesExesFriends]]
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesFriend]]
<<else>>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesAlly]]
<</if>><<if $dragon_personality == "playful" or $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
Elaine gives a wave and a smile. Felix doesn't greet $dragon_name with a handshake, opting instead for the usual dragon salutation of a cordial head bow - neither too long or too deep as to be formal. $dragon_name responds much the same, $dragon_his bow snappier - a bit over-familiar, but Felix seems delighted by the eagerness.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Elaine gives a wave and a smile. Felix doesn't greet $dragon_name with a handshake, opting instead for the usual dragon salutation of a cordial head bow - neither too long or too deep as to be formal. $dragon_name responds much the same; when Felix turns away though, you catch $dragon_name seizing them up carefully.
<<else>>
Elaine gives a wave and a smile. Felix doesn't greet $dragon_name with a handshake, opting instead for the usual dragon salutation of a cordial head bow - neither too long or too deep as to be formal. $dragon_name responds much the same, though in $dragon_his timidity, $dragon_he ends up prolonging the bow, tail twitching nervously. Fortunately Felix doesn't seem to miscontrue the gesture as vexation.
<</if>>
"I'll go fetch the security harness," $dragon_name says.
"About the flight." Elaine exchanges a glance with Felix. They may not have telepathy like you and $dragon_name, but you feel like you're witnessing a mind conversation nonetheless. "We were thinking we might...Race each other?"
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful" or $playful == "friendly">>
"Race?" $dragon_name perks up, throwing you a quick look. You don't need telepahty in this instance either to know that they've already made up $dragon_his mind about what $dragon_he want.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $playful == "aggressive">>
"Race?" $dragon_name asks, maw opening in a grin. "Sounds fun."
<<else>>
"Wait-race?" $dragon_name looks alarmed. Still, there's apprehensive interest in $dragon_his $dragon_eyes eyes.
<</if>>
"The two of us weren't going to take it easy anyway," Felix supplies, "had enough of that on the way here."
"We don't have to, though," Elaine assures you. "But I thought it could be fun."
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful" or $playful == "friendly">>
//'Can we? Can we?'// $dragon_name mentally entreats you. //'Please. We can fly so quick you could call in sick for your etiquette lesson afterwards.'//
//'Are you going to throw me off or what?'//
$dragon_He doesn't confirm nor deny.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold" or $playful == "aggressive">>
//'We totally should,'// $dragon_name says through your connection. //'See what they're made of.'//
//'I'm starting to think they may be playing at knights,'// you return pensively. //'Elaine at least seems to. Not sure what she's actually capable of, though.'//
//'Now you made me even more curious.'//
<<else>>
//'It could be fun,'// $dragon_name allows, still somewhat anxious. //'Not racing for training for once. No flying balls to strike us.'// The more $dragon_he talk, the more $dragon_he warm up to the idea. //'It's alright if you don't want, though.'//
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"It does sound fun. Let's.\""|Chapt5ElaineRace][$chapt5_race to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I don't know, I'd rather take it easy.\""|Chapt5ElaineNoRace][$chapt5_race to false]]</div><<if $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 1>>
"She's fun," you say, "someone I'd like to know better." You press your index to one of the soft, pink toebeans sticking up in the air. At the touch, the kitty starts lazily kneading and slowly blinking up at you. "I could see us becoming friends."
"Such a lovely sentiment," Isolde says. "I'm sure Elaine would be delighted."
Before you can continue your conversation, you're halted by a piteous, plaintive yowl sounding from ahead and...above? You both scramble to your feet and raise your gazes to the foliage, guided by more urgent, shrill meows till you finally locate the little kitten, hanging on by a branch and looking utterly terrified.
"Oh, poor baby," Isolde cries out.
Without skipping a beat, you steel yourself and step forward. You're beaten to the rescue by a determined "I'm coming for you!" followed by the rustle of leaves. Elaine clambers up the apple tree with the ease and speed of one who's done this countlessly. She scoops up the scared kitten and cradles it to her chest, then starts shimmying her way down, far more carefully this time.
A priest is quick to care for the kitten once she's made her way to the ground, murmuring something about getting them inside and giving them treats.
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. ❤|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. 💕|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 3, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Well, it's good to see the kitten rescued.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 2>>
"She's fun," you say, "someone I'd like to know better." You press your index to one of the soft, pink toebeans sticking up in the air. At the touch, the kitty starts lazily kneading and slowly blinking up at you. "I could see us becoming friends." What you don't say out loud is that you'd like more than that. It's not the wisest thing to disclose to the sister of your brother's betrothed, however.
"Such a lovely sentiment," Isolde says. "I'm sure Elaine would be delighted." Her gaze lingers on your face as if trying to read more into your features, something that lacked in your answer. For a moment, you tense up - all the food you've stuffed yourself with hangs heavily, like stones, in the pit of your stomach - as you wonder if she //knows//. If you've been obvious. Perhaps this is no harmless questioning, but a veiled interrogation.
You level her with an even smile, betraying nothing. "Well, I'll too be delighted if she's delighted by it," you quip, and Isolde chuckles, dissolving some of the tension built up in your muscles.
Even if Elaine was to return your feelings, the matter of the engagement does complicate things.
<div class="choice">[[So what if she's marrying Gareth? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but guilt does press down on you. You may not be close to Gareth, but it's not fair to him.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If this fondness blooms further, and she reciprocates, you'll simply have to talk it out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 3>>
"She's fun," you say, "someone I'd like to know better." You press your index to one of the soft, pink toebeans sticking up in the air. At the touch, the kitty starts lazily kneading and slowly blinking up at you. "I could see us becoming friends." What you don't say out loud is that you'd like more than that. It's not the wisest thing to disclose to the sister of your brother's betrothed, however.
"Such a lovely sentiment," Isolde says. "I'm sure Elaine would be delighted." Her gaze lingers on your face as if trying to read more into your features, something that lacked in your answer. For a moment, you tense up - all the food you've stuffed yourself with hangs heavily, like stones, in the pit of your stomach - as you wonder if she //knows//. If you've been obvious. Perhaps this is no harmless questioning, but a veiled interogation.
You don't meet her eye, pretending to be thoroughly engrossed by the cat. You gently hook your fingers around one extended paw, and sweep a thumb over the cushion-like toebean, along the retracted claws. You keep your gaze solely trained on the tabby as heat creeps up your neck to flood your cheeks, not trusting yourself to say anything else. With any luck, Isolde will smoothly move the conversation along as she's wont to do.
Even if Elaine was to return your feelings, the matter of the engagement does complicate things.
<div class="choice">[[So what if she's marrying Gareth? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but guilt does press down on you. You may not be close to Gareth, but it's not fair to him.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[If this fondness blooms further, and she reciprocates, you'll simply have to talk it out with Gareth. It's only fair.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 4>>
"She's fun," you say, a fond smile pulling at your lips, "someone I'd like to know better." You press your index to one of the soft, pink toebeans sticking up in the air. At the touch, the kitty starts lazily kneading and slowly blinking up at you. "I could see us becoming friends."
"Such a lovely sentiment," Isolde says. "I'm sure Elaine would be delighted." Her gaze lingers on your face as if trying to read more into your features, something that lacked in your answer. Does she believe you're acting deceitful? That you're hiding some ulterior motive like a knife behind your back - or that you're being simply gracious and spouting polite yet vapid words?
She meets your eye, and only smiles.
Before you can continue your conversation, you're halted by a piteous, plaintive yowl sounding from ahead and...above? You both scramble to your feet and raise your gazes to the foliage, guided by more urgent, shrill meows till you finally locate the little kitten, hanging on by a branch and looking utterly terrified.
"Oh, poor baby," Isolde cries out.
Without skipping a beat, you steel yourself and step forward. You're beaten to the rescue by a determined "I'm coming for you!" followed by the rustle of leaves. Elaine clambers up the apple tree with the ease and speed of one who's done this countlessly. She scoops up the scared kitten and cradles it to her chest, then starts shimmying her way down, far more carefully this time.
A priest is quick to care for the kitten once she's made her way to the ground, murmuring something about getting them inside and giving them treats.
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. ❤|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. 💕|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 3, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Well, it's good to see the kitten rescued.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 5>>
You press your index to one of the soft, pink toebeans sticking up in the air. At the touch, the kitty starts lazily kneading and slowly blinking up at you. "She seems like a lovely person," you say tactfully. You've learned that there's a list of perfectly nice-sounding yet neutral adjectives one can use to both please their interlocutor and avoid saying anything otherwise. And //lovely// is well, the loveliest of the options.
"Ah," Isolde runs her fingers over her cat's fuzzy tummy and levels you with a curious gaze. "That's what your brother said too. Very lovely of an impression that she's making on all of you, isn' she?" Her tone is light, almost teasing. Where she expecting more?
Before you can continue your conversation, you're halted by a piteous, plaintive yowl sounding from ahead and...above? You both scramble to your feet and raise your gazes to the foliage, guided by more urgent, shrill meows till you finally locate the little kitten, hanging on by a branch and looking utterly terrified.
"Oh, poor baby," Isolde cries out.
Without skipping a beat, you steel yourself and step forward. You're beaten to the rescue by a determined "I'm coming for you!" followed by the rustle of leaves. Elaine clambers up the apple tree with the ease and speed of one who's done this countlessly. She scoops up the scared kitten and cradles it to her chest, then starts shimmying her way down, far more carefully this time.
A priest is quick to care for the kitten once she's made her way to the ground, murmuring something about getting them inside and giving them treats.
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. ❤|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. 💕|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 3, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Well, it's good to see the kitten rescued.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 6>>
"She's fun," you say, "someone I'd like to know better." You press your index to one of the soft, pink toebeans sticking up in the air. At the touch, the kitty starts lazily kneading and slowly blinking up at you. "I could see us becoming friends."
"Such a lovely sentiment," Isolde says. "I'm sure Elaine would be delighted."
Before you can continue your conversation, you're halted by a piteous, plaintive yowl sounding from ahead and...above? You both scramble to your feet and raise your gazes to the foliage, guided by more urgent, shrill meows till you finally locate the little kitten, hanging on by a branch and looking utterly terrified.
"Oh, poor baby," Isolde cries out.
Without skipping a beat, you steel yourself and step forward. You're beaten to the rescue by a determined "I'm coming for you!" followed by the rustle of leaves. Elaine clambers up the apple tree with the ease and speed of one who's done this countlessly. She scoops up the scared kitten and cradles it to her chest, then starts shimmying her way down, far more carefully this time.
A priest is quick to care for the kitten once she's made her way to the ground, murmuring something about getting them inside and giving them treats.
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. ❤|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. 💕|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 3, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Well, it's good to see the kitten rescued.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 7>>
You press your index to one of the soft, pink toebeans sticking up in the air. At the touch, the kitty starts lazily kneading and slowly blinking up at you. "She's fine, I guess." You don't try to dress up your answer in some tactful, polite wrapping; you have no interest in playing at that.
Isolde's brow raises ever so slightly. "An eloquent answer," she says. When you glance at her askance, she chuckles and adds: "I do mean it. It's very informative."
"She's not //my// betrothed," you point out. "I'm not the one whose opinion is all that important."
"But you're family. Once married, Elaine will be family, too."
You can only shrug at that.
Before you can continue your conversation, you're halted by a piteous, plaintive yowl sounding from ahead and...above? You both scramble to your feet and raise your gazes to the foliage, guided by more urgent, shrill meows till you finally locate the little kitten, hanging on by a branch and looking utterly terrified.
"Oh, poor baby," Isolde cries out.
Without skipping a beat, you steel yourself and step forward. You're beaten to the rescue by a determined "I'm coming for you!" followed by the rustle of leaves. Elaine clambers up the apple tree with the ease and speed of one who's done this countlessly. She scoops up the scared kitten and cradles it to her chest, then starts shimmying her way down, far more carefully this time.
A priest is quick to care for the kitten once she's made her way to the ground, murmuring something about getting them inside and giving them treats.
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. ❤|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. 💕|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 3, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Well, it's good to see the kitten rescued.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_isolde_wedding == 1>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
The arrival of such friendly guests is a breath of fresh air - one you're planning on fully taking advantage of. "I apologize for missing your wedding," you say. "I heard it was perfectly lovely." A vision in blue, a dream of gossamer and silk and gild. "Congratulations on the union; I hope it's filled with joy and prosperity."
<<else>>
The arrival of guests that do not balk at your mere presence is a breath of fresh air - one you're planning on fully taking advantage of. "I apologize for missing your wedding," you say. "I heard it was perfectly lovely." A vision in blue, a dream of gossamer and silk and gild. "Congratulations on the union; I hope it's filled with joy and prosperity."
<</if>>
Isolde smiles on warmly, inclining her head in gratitude. "Thank you, it's most kind of you." Her brow furrows ever so slightly. "Lady Morgana informed me you were terribly ill at the time - I certainly hope you had a speedy recovery."
Conversation with Isolde flows easily and pleasantly as you exchange polite regards and make small talk.
<<elseif $chapt5_isolde_wedding == 2>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
The arrival of such friendly guests is a breath of fresh air - one you're planning on fully taking advantage of to practice your charm on a receptive audience. "I apologize for missing your wedding," you say. "I heard it was perfectly lovely." A vision in blue, a dream of gossamer and silk and gild. "Congratulations on the union; I hope it's filled with joy and prosperity."
<<else>>
The arrival of guests that do not balk at your mere presence is a breath of fresh air - one you're planning on fully taking advantage of to practice your charm on a receptive audience. "I apologize for missing your wedding," you say. "I heard it was perfectly lovely." A vision in blue, a dream of gossamer and silk and gild. "Congratulations on the union; I hope it's filled with joy and prosperity."
<</if>>
Isolde smiles on warmly, inclining her head in gratitude. "Thank you, it's most kind of you." Her brow furrows ever so slightly. "Lady Morgana informed me you were terribly ill at the time - I certainly hope you had a speedy recovery."
Conversation with Isolde flows easily and pleasantly as you exchange polite regards and make small talk.
<<elseif $chapt5_isolde_wedding == 3>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
The arrival of such friendly guests is a breath of fresh air to which you'd like to reply in kind. "I apologize for missing your wedding," you say slowly, searching for the right words. "I heard it was perfectly lovely." A vision in blue, a dream of gossamer and silk and gild. "You have my well-wishes."
<<else>>
The arrival of guests that do not balk at your mere presence is a breath of fresh air to which you'd like to reply in kind. "I apologize for missing your wedding," you say slowly, searching for the right words. "I heard it was perfectly lovely." A vision in blue, a dream of gossamer and silk and gild. "You have my well-wishes."
<</if>>
Isolde smiles on warmly, inclining her head in gratitude. "Thank you, it's most kind of you." Her brow furrows ever so slightly. "Lady Morgana informed me you were terribly ill at the time - I certainly hope you had a speedy recovery."
You're content to let Isolde do most of the talking, which she does so with genial ease, intervening only when posed a question, or when prompted by propiety - which has been hammered into your head by your etiquette tutor - to ask your own or coyly offer a compliment, trying not to wince at the sound of your voice.
<<elseif $chapt5_isolde_wedding == 4>>
"Yeah, quite a long while," you idly agree, falling silent as you let the Dukes' merry banter coalesce with the Duchesses' pleasant chatter and the halting conversation between Elaine and Gareth, which your brother seems to mostly carry along, all forming a background of chit-chat akin songbird and leaf-rustling and insect chitter in a forest. Isolde takes your cue and stays mostly quiet by your side, content with admiring her surroundings, rarely piping up with some politely inane remark about the architecture or the likes.
<<elseif $chapt5_isolde_wedding == 5>>
You merely nod, content to go the rest of the way in silence, letting the Dukes' merry banter coalesce with the Duchesses' pleasant chatter and the halting conversation between Elaine and Gareth, which your brother seems to mostly carry along, all forming a background of chit-chat akin songbird and leaf-rustling and insect chitter in a forest. Isolde takes your cue and stays mostly quiet by your side, content with admiring her surroundings, rarely piping up with some politely inane remark about the architecture or the likes.
<</if>>
You part ways in the main hall where a group of attendants takes over the Astolatian party to show them to their chambers, situated in Lot's own wing, considered the most esteemed place in the castle to assign your guests. As soon as they're out of view, the friendly facade your family puts on starts crumbling, beginning with Lot's features warping back into their bitter shape. Strangely, it's far more comforting a visage.
"You better not get any insidious ideas in that wretched head of yours," he hisses to Morgana, off to the side yet still loud enough for you and Gareth to clearly hear. Your brother merely arranges his puffy sleeves and flicks imaginary lint off his shoulders, pointedly ignoring them.
"Why would I?" Morgana mockingly wonders, studying her nails with the same cool, unfazed air as Gareth affects.
It only serves to further nettle Lot. "I swear, Morgana," he gruffly warns, "if you do anything to ruin this engagement - if you even consider doing any of your little tricks, like poisoning someone, don't think you can get-"
Gareth freezes, jaw tightening. "I'm sure there's no need for this," he cuts in, voice calm despite the tautness of his frame. "Mother understands that it's my decision, as well, to go through with this engagement. Do you not, mother?"
"Precisely," Morgana agrees, angling a too sweet smile at the Duke.
Lot glances between the two of them - between Gareth's reassuring smile and Morgana's less so one - before shaking his head and grumbling words though unintelligible, intended of some threatening effect. He stalks up the wooden stairs, starkly dark against the shockingly white walls, leaving the three of you alone.
Gareth eyes Morgana uneasily. "You won't poison anyone, will you?"
"Not unless necessary."
"Mom..."
She sighs, dismayed like a child told they can't go out to play with the others. "No, I won't."
<div class="choice">[[Potions - poison - are a viable option, though, if applied well.|Chapt5MorganaPoison][$poison_opinion to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You really hope she's not planning on using any potions or poisons.|Chapt5MorganaPoison][$poison_opinion to "no"]]</div><<if $chapt5_joyous ==1>>
"It should, shouldn't it?" You throw the betrothed couple a meaningful glance, Lot's disapproving gaze be damned. Gareth says and betrays nothing. You can't gauge if Elaine's frown is confused, irked or worried.
"I agree, though not all of us are quite so fortunate," your mother remarks. Her smile is sweet and tone airy, yet a more grim meaning lurks beneath.
<<else>>
"I agree, though not all of us are quite so fortunate," your mother remarks. Her smile is sweet and tone airy, yet a more grim meaning lurks beneath.
<</if>>
"No," Guinevere agrees, utterly earnest. She then straightens and inhales deeply, breaking the surface of these dark waters you've slipped under. "What are we standing so stiffly about for? Like I said, this should be a joyous event."
She steps forward and pulls Gareth in a hug. "My best wishes again." She places a peck on his cheek, then repeats the routine with Elaine.
<<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
When she reaches you, Guinevere takes both your hands in hers. Her lively, kind brown eyes have a comforting effect on you, like a cup of tea on a cold winter day. It thaws away all worries, letting you bask in the moment. "I hope you're well."
"Perfect right about now," you reply.
"I could say the same." Arthur, having given his well-wishes to Gareth and Elaine, now approaches you with open arms.
You fling yourself at him and bury your face in his shoulder. The red brocade of his doublet is soft against your cheek, and his earthy, moss-like smells summons pleasant memories of long walks in the woods, of picnics in meadows, of father and child playing between the trees, brandishing wooden swords and wide grins.
Arthur and Guinevere depart arm in arm with a hushed promise to catch up later, moving on to greet the other nobles and dragons.
No sooner have they left than a new carriage pulls before your canopy - not as adorned as the Royal one, but by no means modest either.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesRomantic]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exes_like" or $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesExesRomantic]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exfriends" or $gawain_kid == "exfriends">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesExesFriends]]
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesFriend]]
<<else>>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesAlly]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
When she reaches you, her smile wanes, only to grow gentler. It's the look of someone who spotted an injured wild creature, approaching carefully so as not to spook it. Arthur, having given his well-wishes to Gareth and Elaine too, dithers behind her, sporting a look that sooner reflects what Guinevere must see in your face.
You //are// injured, and by the quickening of your pulse growing spooked too, rooted in place as your mind races for a solution to your conundrum: hug them or shrink back. If you open your arms, will you strain at your wounds? Perhaps it's better to be guarded.
<div class="choice">[[Hug them. Cling a bit too much, too tight.|Chapt5GuinHug][$chapt5_guin_hug to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Allow them to hug you. Let's just get it over with.|Chapt5GuinHug][$chapt5_guin_hug to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take the slightest step back and turn your head away. Best to keep your distance.|Chapt5GuinHug][$chapt5_guin_hug to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and incline your head, but don't hug them.|Chapt5GuinHug][$chapt5_guin_hug to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "understand" or $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
When she reaches you, Guinevere gives you a quick hug and warm regards. You may not be close to the Queen or acquainted with her beyond the few, scattered encounters you've had along the years, all within formal bounds, but it's easy to see why people talk so well of Guinevere. Her and Arthur's demeanors fit like puzzle pieces to complete the image of a better, kinder, juster era of Camelot, an era of peace and unity they claim to be helming and which is always juxtaposited with Uther's bloody, iron-fisted rule. Not that anyone ever judges Uther's rule as harshly as it deserves to be judged - it's always painted as a necessary stepping point to where you got.
Arthur, having greeted Gareth and Elaine, now approaches you. He dithers, smile faltering as his gaze finds yours. Your relationship is a strange one to navigate - neither too warm and neither too cold; on the surface, you act as you'd expect distant relatives with no piques to act. Acquaintances, you could call yourselves, though it barely defines all that binds and separates you alike, the world of emotions stretching between you.
It all adds up to place you in this present conundrum: how best to greet Arthur.
<div class="choice">[[Smile politely and incline your head.|Chapt5UnderstandGreet][$chapt5_hug_arthur to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hug him. You're not sure why, but you feel suddenly overwhelmed with this bleeding-heart need to do so.|Chapt5UnderstandGreet][$chapt5_hug_arthur to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Simply incline your head then look away.|Chapt5UnderstandGreet][$chapt5_hug_arthur to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate">>
When she reaches you, Guinevere offers a cordial smile and warm regards. You may not be close to the Queen or acquainted with her beyond the few, scattered encounters you've had along the years, all within formal bounds, but it's easy to see why people talk so well of Guinevere. Her and Arthur's demeanors fit like puzzle pieces to complete the image of a better, kinder, juster era of Camelot, an era of peace and unity they claim to be helming and which is always juxtaposited with Uther's bloody, iron-fisted rule. Not that anyone ever judges Uther's rule as harshly as it deserves to be judged - it's always painted as a necessary stepping point to where you got.
Arthur, having greeted Gareth and Elaine, now approaches you. He dithers, smile faltering as his gaze finds yours. You bite the inside of your cheek, pulse quickening with all-too-familiar frustration.
<div class="choice">[[Keep a polite facade. Nod in greeting.|Chapt5HateGreet][$chapt5_hate_arthur to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Glare at Arthur. Why hide your distaste?|Chapt5HateGreet][$chapt5_hate_arthur to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Glance away. You don't even want to look at him.|Chapt5HateGreet][$chapt5_hate_arthur to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Meet his eyes, than sharply look away, a show of your distaste.|Chapt5HateGreet][$chapt5_hate_arthur to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give a curt nod. A perfunctory greeting.|Chapt5HateGreet][$chapt5_hate_arthur to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "indifference">>
When she reaches you, Guinevere offers a cordial smile and warm regards. You may not be close to the Queen or acquainted with her beyond the few, scattered encounters you've had along the years, all within formal bounds, but it's easy to see why people talk so well of her. Her and Arthur's demeanors fit like puzzle pieces to complete the image of a better, kinder, juster era of Camelot, an era of peace and unity they claim to be helming and which is always juxtaposited with Uther's bloody, iron-fisted rule. Not that anyone ever judges Uther's rule as harshly as it deserves to be judged - it's always painted as a necessary stepping point to where you got.
Arthur, having greeted Gareth and Elaine, now approaches you. He dithers, smile faltering as his gaze finds yours. Your relationship - or rather, lack of one - is still onerous to navigate. You're acquaintances, a definition that's not entirely apt, given your complicated and frought past, but barely more than strangers is exactly what you feel like.
So you do your best to be polite, as etiquette sees fit, and otherwise maintain your distance. Arthur, too, seems to remember this unspoken rule of yours. Lips pulled in a thin smile, he bows his head and you mirror the gesture. It suffices as greeting.
Arthur and Guinevere depart arm in arm, moving on to greet the other nobles and dragons.
No sooner have they left than a new carriage pulls before your canopy - not as adorned as the Royal one, but by no means modest either.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesRomantic]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exes_like" or $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesExesRomantic]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exfriends" or $gawain_kid == "exfriends">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesExesFriends]]
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesFriend]]
<<else>>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesAlly]]
<</if>>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_knight_opinion == 1>>
It may not have been your choice - it was made by Morgana, long before you even knew the meaning of the word //knight//, let alone know the weight of your duties - but it's a choice you would have made yourself, given the opportunity. Made a million times over, again and again.
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 2>>
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay. That it'd help you find retribution. And even though you want that, too, all you can think is how it offers //her// a ladder to climb to the throne and powers she covets. Making you out into a pawn on a board, moving in the direction she wants you to.
But you shall blaze your own path.
<<else>>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay. That it'd help you find retribution. And that's exactly what you'll do.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 3>>
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay. That it'd help you find retribution. All you can think is how it offers //her// a ladder to climb to the throne and powers she covets. Making you out into a pawn on a board, moving in the direction she wants you to.
You don't want your mother's brand of bloody, blazing vengeance. You want justice, yes, and reparations, and you intend to seek them.
<<else>>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay. That it'd help you find retribution. And that's exactly what you'll do.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 4>>
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay. All you can think is how it offers //her// a ladder to climb to the throne and powers she covets. Making you out into a pawn on a board, moving in the direction she wants you to.
<<else>>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay.
<</if>>
And truth be told, you don't know what else you could be, but a knight. It feels right to be by $dragon_name's side, and you're handy with a sword. Knighthood has become just an integral part of you that you fear trying to extricate it might just unravel you.
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 5>>
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay. All you can think is how it offers //her// a ladder to climb to the throne and powers she covets. Making you out into a pawn on a board, moving in the direction she wants you to.
<<else>>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay.
<</if>>
Perhaps you wouldn't have chosen this for yourself - if given the chance, if under different circumstances. But as it stands, this offers you an opportunity to finally claim retribution for you and your family.
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 6>>
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay. All you can think is how it offers //her// a ladder to climb to the throne and powers she covets. Making you out into a pawn on a board, moving in the direction she wants you to.
<<else>>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay.
<</if>>
Perhaps you wouldn't have chosen this for yourself - if given the chance, if under different circumstances. But as it stands, this offers you an opportunity to finally claim justice and reparations for you and your family.
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 7>>
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset" or $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry" or $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay. All you can think is how it offers //her// a ladder to climb to the throne and powers she covets. Making you out into a pawn on a board, moving in the direction she wants you to.
<<else>>
Morgana's always wanted you to be a knight. It was decided before you knew what the word meant, before you could even speak it yourself. She told you it was the best choice for you - the most practical. It'd be the easiest and safest way for you to exercise your Pendragon powers. When you were older, she said the title of knight should placate that of unofficial bastard, that it'd restore a sliver of honor to the Le Fay.
<</if>>
But it's all worked out for the best. You enjoy being a knight - and whether you would have made the choice for yourself seems a pointless question now to ask.
<</if>>
Galahad gives his answer unfaltering and succint: "Yes." It brooks no argument, no question, no doubt.
Gawain watches him, pensively dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. "I," he says, the weight of seven pair of eyes shifting onto him, which he meets with a sanguine smile. "I would still have chosen to become a knight. I think it's exciting. I want to - to achieve great feats then come back and write songs about them."
Tristan's answer is more rueful and subdued: "I don't know if I'd have chosen this for myself, but I understand it's become my duty to uphold."
[[Continue|Chapt5KnighthoodCont]]Elaine's mouth thins to a taut line. She makes no comment, but you feel there's a waterfall of words dammed up behind those tightly-sealed lips. Instead, she turns her gaze on you: pointed and unwavering, the keen tip of a blade trained at your throat.
"What about you?" she asks.
<<if $chapt5_knight_opinion == 1>>
"I may not have made the choice myself, but if asked, I'd chose the same."
She scours your expression, and finds no weak point to attack, to pry.
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 2>>
"I may not have made the choice myself, but if asked, I'd chose the same."
She scours your expression, and finds no weak point to attack, to pry.
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 3>>
"I may not have made the choice myself, but if asked, I'd chose the same."
She scours your expression, and finds no weak point to attack, to pry.
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 4>>
"I don't know what else I could be but a knight," you simply respond.
She hums a half-amused, half-bemused "Huh" and says nothing more.
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 5>>
"I don't know what else I could be but a knight," you simply respond.
She hums a half-amused, half-bemused "Huh" and says nothing more.
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 6>>
"I don't know what else I could be but a knight," you simply respond.
She hums a half-amused, half-bemused "Huh" and says nothing more.
<<elseif $chapt5_knight_opinion == 7>>
"I don't know what else I could be but a knight," you simply respond.
She hums a half-amused, half-bemused "Huh" and says nothing more.
<</if>>
"Well," Elaine shrugs bodily and assumes a too bright tone, "it's not like it really matters how any of you feel about it - whether you regret a choice you never got to make - because giving up the position is just not what one does."
"You could do it," Gawain readily counters, "if you //really// wanted to. There's no law forbidding it."
"Why have laws when the shame's enough?"
The boy frowns. "That's not fair." It's an almost childish protestestation, the fretful, helpless way he says it.
"No, it's not," Nimue interjects, cool and serene, the very voice you would imagine for an unfair world that considers itself impartial. "But think, Gawain: what sort of image would it send if a knight - someone who's supposed to abide by honor, by law, by the crown - what would it look like if they decided to renounce their duty?"
Gawain only frowns deeper. "But it's not fair."
"It's not," comes the echo - far stronger, far firmer - from Elaine.
Nimue smiles, her lips the sharp, mean curve of a butcher's knife. "Ah, fairness. Fairness and freedom and choices. You could argue that no decision is made freely, whether the constraints come from within or without. Whether one is aware of them or not." There's no bitterness or graveness to her tone, just a sort of bone-dry amusement, a morbid kind of bemusement.
She goes on, teasingly: "Are you seeking a philosophical debate, Elaine? I find that the most interesting conversations happen over drinks."
Elaine, halfway through a gulp of her own drink, snorts with a gurgling, wet, metal-distorted bubbling from inside her cup. "No, I'm just throwing thoughts out there. Mere observations."
That's what she claims, yet she argues with the fiery conviction of one who's well acquainted with the topic, who's argued this way many times before. It reminds you of Raphael's wine-y rambles, if only he'd been so viciously animated.
"As I said - philosophical debate." She leans forward, smile still fixed on her lips. "How would you have it done, Elaine? At what age should one be able to chose to become a knight? Can they give up the path whenever?"
Elaine considers the wine in her goblet with gravity - you're not sure this is any state for one to make decisions in, but monarchs have made decrees under worse influences.
"Well," Elaine begins, "I guess lots of apprentices - not knights - start at about twelve. If we're talking only about nobles-"
"We are," Nimue cuts in, "since only they can be knights. Are you proposing the rank be opened to commoners?" She's not scandalized, simply interested. Keenly so, the way a cat is intrigued by rustling in the grass.
"We've opened up the ranks to ba-" Gawain swallows back the word before he can finish, but the phantom syllables hang in the air, spelt clearly over your head. Yours, and Tristan's.
<div class="choice">[["It's alright, Gawain," you smoothly say. "You can say bastard."|Chapt5BastardMention][$chapt5_bastard to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Say nothing, unaffected.|Chapt5BastardMention][$chapt5_bastard to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You look towards Tristan, ready to offer a sympathetic smile.|Chapt5BastardMention][$chapt5_bastard to 3]]</div><<if $chapt5_nimue_joke == 1>>
You mirror her wry smile. "Just ensuring its quality," you say with assumed diligence while giving the sleek leaf one more rub for good measure. "Check if I must empty a pitcher of water over it. Not needed, turns out."
"Well-" Nimue gives the tall foot of the iron arch, suffused by green, a once-over "-you better get on with the rest of the leaves. Maybe not all will wither by the time you're done."
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_joke == 2>>
Her question might have been asked with a cheeky little smile and no expectation of a genuine response, yet you find yourself giving her one nonetheless. "It feels nice and smooth. It's actually quite soothing. You should try it."
Nimue slinks closer, running her fingers along the leaves. "They do feel nice." She glances at you. "Are you in need of soothing?"
"Depends on how the night goes."
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_joke == 3>>
"Nimue, hi!" You take a wide step away from the vine, as if the distance might guide conversation away from leafy subjects too.
Nimue decides to head straight into them, however. Slinking closer, she runs her fingers along the leaves. "Beautiful, aren't they? I do prefer them over any other artificial frills or garlands. Though I fear you might just worry a hole through the poor thing if you go on."
A faint, nervous chuckle escapes your lips, fading as quickly as it came.
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_joke == 4>>
A smile blooms on your lips. "Hello to you too, Nimue."
Nimue slinks closer, running her fingers along the leaves. "Beautiful, aren't they? Though I fear you might just worry a hole through the poor thing if you go on."
"Good thing I stopped then."
"Good thing indeed."
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_joke == 5>>
You take a step away from the vine archway, and away from Nimue. You watch her carefully, like you would a predator skulking out of the undergrowth. There's a sharpness to her smile, a keen edge of amusement, quite pointedly directed at you, but otherwise you fail you find any clue of danger. Any overt one, anyway.
"Hello, Nimue."
She slinks closer, running her fingers along the leaves. "Beautiful, aren't they? I do prefer them over any other artificial frills or garlands. Though I fear you might just worry a hole through the poor thing if you go on."
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_joke == 6>>
You scour your mind for an answer - something friendly, witty or even deflective - but when none is yielded, you simply nod.
Nimue slinks closer, running her fingers along the leaves. "Beautiful, aren't they? I do prefer them over any other artificial frills and garlands."
<</if>>
Nimue strikes an elegant figure, with her hoop-supported skirts and partlet of lattice-work and embroidered pearls. Her gown is of a deep, obsidian black, sparsely embellished with rubies and emeralds yet far from dull; the lush material seems to swallow all the light around it, only to then appropiate the brilliance it absorbed.
As you look up into her face, you find...
<div class="choice">[[Nimue's gaze locked on your serpent pendant, the Le Fay symbol brazenly worn against your chest.|Chapt5Serpent][$chapt5_wear_serpent to "pendant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nimue's gaze locked on your serpent circlet, the Le Fay symbol brazenly displayed atop your forehead.|Chapt5Serpent][$chapt5_wear_serpent to "circlet"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nimue's gaze already on your face.|Chapt5Serpent][$chapt5_wear_serpent to "no"]]</div>"How did Uther win the war?" The question is chucked at you like a stone to the head.
"Huh?" you wheeze back.
Teacher Damian smiles and gestures for you to take a moment to compose yourself. It really isn't a choice. You're not capable of articulating anything coherent right now, let alone discuss history. You've barely heaved yourself down on the chair, fighting to squeeze your excuse for being late out between breathless gasps. You think you may have set a new record for yourself, with how quickly you ran all the way here.
You splay your hands on each side of the notebook you haphazardly grabbed out of your satchel, almost sending your inkpot careening over the edge in the process, and attempt to corral your thoughts.
<<if $want_revenge == "yes">>
So, Uther. It's not the first time you're broaching the subject, though it's been a long while since you've went over the timeline of the wars he'd waged, and his reign. Though most that you already knew about them you knew from Morgana; she's hammered all his atrocities into your head, to fuel the fire of your vengeance. Oh, and what plentiful kindle Uther's wretchedness provided. The flames rose higher and higher, fiercer and fiercer with every new awful tidbit you've learned.
You look up at Damian's expectant face. She's studying you back above the rim of her glasses and drumming her fingers on the desk. From anyone else, it may come off as rudely impatient. For Damian, it's merely a way of keeping her energy in check.
"It's fine if you're not up for discussing it today," she says, balling her hand into a fist to quell its restless motions. "It'd be an interesting subject, but I understand it touches on personal matters."
You shake your head. "No, it's alright, I can talk about it." And actually talk, too, now that your frenzied breathing and pulse have settled down.
You've long fortified yourself against any topic involving Uther. He's been an inescapable shadow looming over your childhood, smirking down on you from paintings, taunting you in nightmares. His name always hissed or cursed or spit out by Morgana.
"So," Damian reiterates her question. "How did Uther win the war?"
<div class="choice">[["By being a tyrant who cowed or fought everyone into submission," you say.|Chapt5LectureUther][$chapt5_uther_win to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["By having half a Continent roll over instead of facing him," you say.|Chapt5LectureUther][$chapt5_uther_win to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Military power, I guess?" you say.|Chapt5LectureUther][$chapt5_uther_win to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $want_revenge == "no">>
So, Uther. It's not the first time you're broaching the subject, though it's been a long while since you've went over the timeline of the wars he'd waged, and his reign. Though most that you already knew about them you knew from Morgana; she's hammered all his atrocities into your head, in the hopes of fueling the fire of your vengeance. All it's done is keep the wound open and festering, for the both of you. You just wish to let it heal. You wish Morgana did, too.
You look up at Damian's expectant face. She's studying you back above the rim of her glasses and drumming her fingers on the desk. From anyone else, it may come off as rudely impatient. For Damian, it's merely a way of keeping her energy in check.
"It's fine if you're not up for discussing it today," she says, balling her hand into a fist to quell its restless motions. "It'd be an interesting subject, but I understand it touches on personal matters."
You shake your head. "No, it's alright, I can talk about it." And actually talk, too, now that your frenzied breathing and pulse have settled down.
You've long fortified yourself against any topic involving Uther. He's been an inescapable shadow looming over your childhood, smirking down on you from paintings, taunting you in nightmares. His name always hissed or cursed or spit out by Morgana.
"So," Damian reiterates her question. "How did Uther win the war?"
<div class="choice">[["By being a tyrant who cowed or fought everyone into submission," you say.|Chapt5LectureUther][$chapt5_uther_win to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["By having half a Continent roll over instead of facing him," you say.|Chapt5LectureUther][$chapt5_uther_win to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Military power, I guess?" you say.|Chapt5LectureUther][$chapt5_uther_win to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
So, Uther. It's not the first time you're broaching the subject, though it's been a long while since you've went over the timeline of the wars he'd waged, and his reign. Though most that you already knew about them you knew from Morgana; she's hammered all his atrocities into your head, in the hopes of fueling the fire of your vengeance. All it's done is left you confused - with open, festering wounds, wondering if pursing revenge will help them heal, or deepen the cut to the bone.
<div class="choice">[[There must be a way to find justice - to hold those responsible accountable. You have to find a different way, one that doesn't involve setting fire to those without fault.|Chapt5LectureUtherTangent][$add_want_revenge to "justice"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't want revenge. You don't want to keep digging the knife in the wound. Perhaps there's a way to keep those guilty accountable. Perhaps it'll never happen. What you want most is to heal.|Chapt5LectureUtherTangent][$add_want_revenge to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[But for now that wound is open and bleeding till you find a way to close it, find an answer to satisfy you.|Chapt5LectureUtherTangent][$add_want_revenge to "unsure"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_uther_strike == 1>>
You've read the letter Igraine sent to Morgana, recounting her mounting dread as she watched Camelot pick off its neighbors. The disquiet that slowly seeped through the rest of the Continent as it all waited with bated breath, suspended in painful anticipation, for Uther's next move. There was little bloodshed then, in the beginning. Those countries yielded quickly to avoid it.
You twirl your feathered pen between your fingers. Its sleek, oily black shines like a rainbow where the light catches on it. "Maybe you want them to know," you counter. "You're confident enough you can take them on, so why bother hiding your intentions?"
"Very much in line with his massive ego," Damian says pithily. "Besides, who was to say where Camelot would draw the line? Some couldn't believe he'd go after countries that stood on equal footing with his, or that those lands would fall easily to him." She clasps her hands together with a sharp clap and brings them to her lips, as if in silent prayer. "Alright. They're conquered. Camelot's bigger. Who does he go after, then?"
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_strike == 2>>
You've read the letter Igraine sent to Morgana, recounting her mounting dread as she watched Camelot pick off its neighbors. The disquiet that slowly seeped through the rest of the Continent as it all waited with bated breath, suspended in painful anticipation, for Uther's next move. There was little bloodshed then, in the beginning. Those countries yielded quickly to avoid it.
You twirl your feathered pen between your fingers. Its sleek, oily black shines like a rainbow where the light catches on it. "They're easier to conquer, given they've mostly surrendered," you counter. "You take their soldiers, add them to your army, and prepare to face your stronger enemies."
"That's a way to go about it. Besides, who was to say where Camelot would draw the line? Some couldn't believe he'd go after countries that stood on equal footing with his, or that those lands would fall easily to him." She clasps her hands together with a sharp clap and brings them to her lips, as if in silent prayer. "Alright. They're conquered. Camelot's bigger. Who does he go after, then?"
<</if>>
You let the silence drag on for a few moments, as Teacher Damian remains frozen in her simulacrum of supplication - eyes closed, twined fingers pressed against mouth. Your own hand stills and tightens on the pen as a chill courses through your veins. You've arrived at the point of contention between Morgana and Lot. A delicate subject that's a sure-fire way of stoking her temper.
"Lothia," you finally say.
Damian's eyes shoot open. "Our very own land. How?"
<div class="choice">[["Lord Lot was a coward," you plainly say. Keeping your calm as you drag his name through the mud. "He should have stood up to Uther."|Chapt5LectureStrikeLothia][$chapt5_uther_lothia to 1, $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Lord Lot was a coward," you bitterly say. Slowly losing your temper as you drag his name through the mud. "He should have stood up to Uther."|Chapt5LectureStrikeLothia][$chapt5_uther_lothia to 2, $calm to $calm-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Lord Lot wanted to keep his kingdom safe. Avoid as much bloodshed as he could," you explain. You hate to admit it, but you understand why he did it.|Chapt5LectureStrikeLothia][$chapt5_uther_lothia to 3]]</div><<if $chapt5_uther_lothia == 1>>
She asked for your honest opinion, so it's not treasonous to speak your mind as plainly as you wish to.
"Lord Lot was a coward," you icily say, setting down your feathered pen. Damian tilts her head, mutely prompting you to elaborate. So you do: "He should have stood up to Uther, stood his ground. Instead he bowed his head the moment the Camelotian army showed up at his border. He could have allied himself with others willing to take Camelot on."
"There were those among neighbors that did oppose Uther that he could have joined forces with," Teacher Damian musingly concedes, pacing up and down the carpet. It's been here since you can remember, its once lurid, florid motif worn out by sunlight and shoes and time into a pallid imagery of wilted flowers and vines. "Lord Lot maintains that he was put between a rock and a hard place with Uther's ominous arrival, and made the choice that would benefit the land and its people more. Avoid a bloodbath on Lothian territory."
"And bring it instead to other parts of the Continent," you say.
She halts in her steady circuit of the carpet to offer you a rueful smile. It's quick, gone as soon as it came. "Speaking of other parts of the Continent. Who were those who pushed back against Camelot?"
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_lothia == 2>>
She asked for your honest opinion, so it's not treasonous to speak your mind as plainly as you wish to.
"Lord Lot was a coward," you heatedly say, fist clenching around your feathered pen. Damian tilts her head, mutely prompting you to elaborate. So you do: "He should have stood up to Uther, stood his ground. Instead he bowed his head the moment the Camelotian army showed up at his border. He could have allied himself with others willing to take Camelot on."
"There were those among neighbors that did oppose Uther that he could have joined forces with," Teacher Damian musingly concedes, pacing up and down the carpet. It's been here since you can remember, its once lurid, florid motif worn out by sunlight and shoes and time into a pallid imagery of wilted flowers and vines. "Lord Lot maintains that he was put between a rock and a hard place with Uther's ominous arrival, and made the choice that would benefit the land and its people more. Avoid a bloodbath on Lothian territory."
"Oh wow," you huff. "So instead he helped bring it to other parts of the Continent."
She halts in her steady circuit of the carpet. "We can revisit this discussion at a later date if-"
"No," you cut in. "I'm alright," you insist, in such a forceful manner that would suggest the complete opposite.
"Alright," Damian allows, though it's clear she's not convinced. You're not convinced yourself. "Speaking of other parts of the Continent. Who were those who pushed back against Camelot?"
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_lothia == 3>>
You have little sympathy for the man, after everything he's put your family through - if you were to measure it from the floor to the ceiling, you'd have to scrap it off the wooden boards. Yet, as much as you hate to admit it, you understand why he did what he did.
Swallowing the bile that's risen to your mouth, you say: "Lord Lot wanted to keep his kingdom safe. Avoid as much bloodshed as he could."
"Indeed, that's what Lord Lot maintains was his reasoning," Teacher Damian musingly agrees, pacing up and down the carpet. It's been here since you can remember, its once lurid, florid motif worn out by sunlight and shoes and time into a pallid imagery of wilted flowers and vines. "He said he was put between a rock and a hard place with Uther's ominous arrival, and made the choice that would benefit the land and its people more. He realized that while he may have stood a chance on his own against Camelot, he wouldn't risk it - but what about other countries? Wasn't anyone out there who fought back?"
<</if>>
Your mind immediately jumps to the one country that has evinced the most resilience. Camelot had chipped at its land, tore strips of it to add to its growing Kingdom, but could never reach to its core, could never claim it completely for itself.
That country is Ulm.
All that remains of the once great kingdom, nestled in the north of the Continent, is the former Academy of Magic. It once stood as the place where all sorcerers and magic-users would converge to study and debate and experiment; a wondrous castle in the middle of the forest, guarded by mighty mountains and intricate wards and spells that not even Merlin, with the help of his own retinue of sorcerers, could breach. They are now known as the Rebels, the bane of Camelot.
You say as much to Damian.
"Ulm," she says the name on a wistful suspire. "The home of the Meier sorcerers. I have confidence you remember their role from our previous lessons; they're the ones who facilitated the creation of the dragon bloods." How could you not remember? You absorb any information about dragon bloods like a sponge. "It is a shame what became of it. The Academy of Magic was, before the unifying wars, a place where people from all across the Continent - all across the seas - gathered." She straightens herself. "Good. Who else?"
You slide west of Ulm in your mental map of the Continent. "Cornwallis." At the time, the Queendom was ruled by Yara Hendrik. A Tanwen dragon blood commanded the army, while her twin was consort of the Queen. Cornwallis fought hard, and it fought gamely. It fought until the Queen and the Tanwen twins were killed by Uther - thus ending another line of dragon bloods - and Yara's younger sibling stepped up as monarch. The title was briefly held before they surrendered and exchanged it for another, becoming then //Duke// of Cornwallis, yet another puppet for Camelot.
"And then there was Tintal," you say, unprompted this time.
"Yes," your teacher carefully says.
"Queen Igraine decided not to relent to Uther." Your gaze slides from Damian's face to your hands, balled atop the table, then up to the vase that's been placed in the middle of the table, among books and scrolls and pens. Someone's artfully arranged a bundle of clary sage within - slender, straight stalks jutting out proudly and purple as they fill the air with their grassy, sweet perfume, coalescing with the musty scent of paper and ink. The brass of the vase has been polished into mirror-like clarity; $eye eyes stare back at you, rendered gilded. Igraine's eyes.
"Tintal held off for months," you say. "Before the siege. Before the massacre."
How many times has Morgana recounted the attack, as if it were some horrid, twisted fairy tale to tell before bed? So many times that you found her, eyes red-rimmed and puffy - tears long shed and dried as if scorched by the flame of her wrath - bent over her notebook in the library back in your Avalon home. You were little then, and that desolate sight of your mother brought about a sadness so overwhelming you could barely contain or understand. You couldn't even read the letters written down in her journal, but you needn't to sense the fury oozing out of each scribbled, crossed out, circled name there.
Allard was a noble at Igraine's court, and he betrayed her.
Allard died, and your mother poisoned him.
<div class="choice">[[Stop here. Can you just change the subject?|Chapt5LectureStrikeTintal][$chapt5_uther_tintal to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Plow on: "Before Allard betrayed the whole of Tintal." Let it be said.|Chapt5LectureStrikeTintal][$chapt5_uther_tintal to 2]]</div><<if $chapt5_uther_tintal == 1>>
There's no need to delve into it now. Surely Damian knows that you know about the siege that affected your family. That you have more intimate details than any chronicles or historian out there that will deny that Allard had any implication in the massacre.
No, you wouldn't find it in any chronicles or history book, but your grandmother knew. She found out, and no one else cared to listen but Morgana. With no other evidence but their word on it, nothing ever came of it. There was no trial, no accusation, as Allard was allowed to continue ruling. After all, there was no interest in punishing him - for what? He'd aided Camelot's expansion; there was only to be gained from that.
You fall quiet and shift in your seat. Its cushion feels so thin all of a sudden, as if deflated, no more comfortable than the wooden framing underneath. Why does that damned sage smell so pungent?
Damian weighs your lenghty silence and in tacit understanding veers away from the subject. "What about other countries?" She doesn't let you reply, though. Striding to the table, she scoops up a tome and leafs through it, stirring a breeze that washes over the sage, sending another stifling waft your way. "Let's check some chronicles." She places the book before you and taps a pencil to a passage. "Start here." Then she plops herself down opposite you, chewing on her pencil as you read.
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_tintal == 2>>
Why stop? Damian expects you to give as elaborate and comprehensive an answer as you can, so you're going to give her just that. An account that not even the chronicles have written down.
"Tintal held out, until Allard betrayed it and allowed Uther's army to attack the castle, massacre the Court and take my grandmother as hostage. Then Allard became Duke."
Damian pulls up the chain off her neck to rub her glasses against the sleeve of her chemise, the motion slow and deliberate. "That's not the traditional account of events," she says.
"Of course not." You wouldn't find it in any chronicles or history book, but your grandmother knew. She found out, and no one else cared to listen but Morgana. With no other evidence but their word on it, nothing ever came of it. There was no trial, no accusation, as Allard was allowed to continue ruling. After all, there was no interest in punishing him - for what? He'd aided Camelot's expansion; there was only to be gained from that.
"But it's what happened," you insist.
She holds your gaze meaningfully. "History is written by the victors, isn't it?"
You give a firm nod of agreement.
"What about other countries?" Damian says, abruptly changing the subject. She doesn't let you reply, though. Striding to the table, she scoops up a tome and leafs through it, stirring a breeze that washes over the sage, sending a pungent waft your way. "Let's check some chronicles." She places the book before you and taps a pencil to a passage. "Start here." Then she plops herself down opposite you, chewing on her pencil as you read.
<</if>>
None of her pens and pencils have been spared from pensive biting. She's never used the feather-tipped ones - can't be too much fun to chew on. You can tell her favorite pen by the number of teeth marks. The more defaced, the more beloved.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
[[Read, discuss, take notes|Chapt5lectureInterruption]]
<<else>>
[[Read, discuss, take notes|Chapt5lectureDistraction]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_uther_win == 1>>
"By being a tyrant who cowed or fought everyone into submission," you say, leaning forward in your seat. "A despot who mercilessly allied himself with those too weak to fight back so he could take down those who dared stand up to him." You have a long, long list of injuries, insults and accusations to add to his name, but that may not be within the scope of your lesson. It should be though.
"That he was," Damian agrees. "But let's go in depth with it."
She pushes back her chair with a screech, falling into her usual, chaotic pacing of the library.
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_win == 2>>
"By having half a Continent roll over instead of facing him," you lean forward in your seat. "Cowards who'd rather ally themselves with a monster instead of joining forces with those who stood up to Uther. Together - they could have taken him down."
"Interesting prepositon - it's a discussion that's made the rounds in academic circles. Especially at parties - " you can't imagine how it makes up for party talk " - but we're not talking alternate histories here. Well, not right now."
She pushes back her chair with a screech, falling into her usual, chaotic pacing of the library. "Let's go more in depth."
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_win == 3>>
You scrunch up your face in concentration, dredging up your mind for the grand secret to his bloody success. "Military power, I guess?"
Damian's eyes light up, despite your lackluster answer. "That's a good starting point. It definitely took a strong military to get where he got. Let's go more in depth, shall we?"
She pushes back her chair with a screech, falling into her usual, chaotic pacing of the library.
<</if>>
"As you might remember, Uther was crowned quite young. For some generations then, the Pendragon line had truly shaped Camelot into a force to be reckoned with - after it had..." She searches for a way to put it, twirling her hand in the air so fast you think it may pop off and take flight across the chamber. "After it had fallen into a rut by the grace of the previous dynasty. But! Don't let me do all the talking here. Walk me through it as if I haven't spent years upon years learning and teaching these subjects. What happened then?"
"Well, he didn't just jump into conquering the Continent," you say. Not yet. No, he did plenty in the interim, such as securing Merlin as his right hand man, propositioning your grandmother only to be roundly refused, setting up bedrudging alliances with the leaders of a clan of dragons who lived far away from humans, harboring a particular dislike of them while begrudgingly maintaining peace. The last one especially should have clued people in to something ominous brewing. It was taken as an initiative for a working relationship. Well, that it was.
Morgana told you that while still keeping up pretenses with Lot, she'd tried to wheedle as much information out of him as she could. As it turned out, Uther Pendragon had long dreamt of building himself a bigger, better kingdom, as he'd drunkenly confessed to an equally intoxicated Lot who never thought much of it until he found his old friend's army knocking on his door, asking him to surrender or face their destruction. As it turned out, the //'bigger'// for Uther meant Continent-spanning: gobbling up as much land as one could get their grubby, blood-stained hands on.
You heave out a sigh. Despite yourself, you feel your pulse quickening - and this time, there's no exertion to cause it. "He fortified his army. Gathered his allies. Revised his strategy. Ruled his kingdom to establish himself as King. It took a few years. Then he struck."
Teacher Damian nods along with each of your points, each nod more furious than the other, till her glasses finally slip off her nose to hang against her chest. "Alright. But //why//?"
<div class="choice">[["His massive ego couldn't be filled within one country alone," you quip.|Chapt5LectureUtherWar][$chapt5_uther_why to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He was power-hungry," you baldly say.|Chapt5LectureUtherWar][$chapt5_uther_why to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["To unite the Continent," you say, as that's what Camelot has always claimed. "And because he was power-hungry."|Chapt5LectureUtherWar][$chapt5_uther_why to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["To unite the Continent," you say, as that's what Camelot has always claimed. The completion you don't voice is that he was a power-hungry brute.|Chapt5LectureUtherWar][$chapt5_uther_why to 4]]</div><<if $add_want_revenge == "justice">>
There must be a way to find justice - to hold those responsible accountable. You have to find a different way, one that doesn't involve setting fire to those without fault.
The only pressing question right now is that of your tutor.
<<elseif $add_want_revenge == "no">>
[You don't want revenge. You don't want to keep digging the knife in the wound. Perhaps there's a way to keep those guilty accountable. Perhaps it'll never happen. What you want most is to heal.
and what you need to do know is answer your tutor.
<<else>>
But for now that wound is open and bleeding till you find a way to close it, find an answer to satisfy you.
And that has to wait until after you answer your tutor.
<</if>>
You look up at Damian's expectant face. She's studying you back above the rim of her glasses and drumming her fingers on the desk. From anyone else, it may come off as rudely impatient. For Damian, it's merely a way of keeping her energy in check.
"It's fine if you're not up for discussing it today," she says, balling her hand into a fist to quell its restless motions. "It'd be an interesting subject, but I understand it touches on personal matters."
You shake your head. "No, it's alright, I can talk about it." And actually talk, too, now that your frenzied breathing and pulse have settled down.
You've long fortified yourself against any topic involving Uther. He's been an inescapable shadow looming over your childhood, smirking down on you from paintings, taunting you in nightmares. His name always hissed or cursed or spit out by Morgana.
"So," Damian reiterates her question. "How did Uther win the war?"
<div class="choice">[["By being a tyrant who cowed or fought everyone into submission," you say.|Chapt5LectureUther][$chapt5_uther_win to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["By having half a Continent roll over instead of facing him," you say.|Chapt5LectureUther][$chapt5_uther_win to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Military power, I guess?" you say.|Chapt5LectureUther][$chapt5_uther_win to 3]]</div><<if $chapt5_uther_why == 1>>
"His massive ego couldn't be filled within //one// country alone, could it?" you sardonically say.
Damian huffs out a laugh and leans against a bookcase. "A...very interesting take. And accurate," she adds. "Greed, pride, bloodthirst - these are the sort of sentiments that motivate men like Uther. Though," she lowers her voice to a conspiratorial tone, "the chronicles won't tell as such, not always." She pushes herself off the bookcase and spreads her arms wide. "It was but a venture to unite the Continent! Which, it did achieve - but one must not forget the path carved to get there."
Oh, but the Kingdom looks mighty eager to forget it.
"Why do you think it's like that, Mordred? That so many emphasize the result, but not what it took to get there?"
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_why == 2>>
"He was power-hungry," you baldly put it. Why dance around your words, why hide behind your fingers? The man had a massive ego - there's the need of an entire Continent to contain it.
"A simple yet accurate answer," Damian says, pleased, and leans against a nearby bookcase. "Greed, pride, bloodthirst - these are the sort of sentiments that motivate men like Uther. Though," she lowers her voice to a conspiratorial tone, "the chronicles won't tell as such, not always." She pushes herself off the bookcase and spreads her arms wide. "It was but a venture to unite the Continent! Which, it did achieve - but one must not forget the path carved to get there."
Oh, but the Kingdom looks mighty eager to forget it.
"Why do you think it's like that, Mordred? That so many emphasize the result, but not what it took to get there?"
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_why == 3>>
You repeat the words you've read so many times in chronicles and accounts; that you've heard spoken so many times when the matter was brought up by anyone else other than your mother. "To unite the Continent." You pause before you drily add: "And because he was power-hungry."
Damian huffs out a laugh and leans against a bookcase. "A very comprehensive answer. And accurate," she adds. "Greed, pride, bloodthirst - these are the sort of sentiments that motivate men like Uther. Though," she lowers her voice to a conspiratorial tone, "the chronicles won't tell as such, not always." She pushes herself off the bookcase and spreads her arms wide. "It was but a venture to unite the Continent! Which, it did achieve - but one must not forget the path carved to get there."
Oh, but the Kingdom looks mighty eager to forget it.
"Why do you think it's like that, Mordred? That so many emphasize the result, but not what it took to get there?"
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_why == 4>>
You repeat the words you've read so many times in chronicles and accounts; that you've heard spoken so many times when the matter was brought up by anyone else other than your mother. "To unite the Continent." What you do not mention aloud is the role his massive power for hunger had played in all of this.
Damian nods slowly as she leans against a bookcase. "That is what they all say, isn't it? The message Camelot bore as it conquered its neighbors. But...is that all there is to it? Greed, pride, bloodthirst - these are the sort of sentiments that motivate men like Uther."
You feel vindicated to hear someone else admit to it - especially coming from a Lothian historian. Most people like to sweep all the hideous details they do not like under the rug. Forgetting that once you pull it away, all that dirt and dust will come to choke you up.
"The Continent was united, yes," Damian says, "but one must not forget the path carved to get there. Why do you think it's like that, Mordred? That so many emphasize the result, but not what it took to get there?"
<</if>>
Morgana has quite the extensive, heated, bitter opinion on the matter. But Damian is not asking for her thoughts on this, now.
<<if $chapt5_uther_win == 1>>
"Because it was an awful time for the entire Continent. The allies had it better, but they still had to relinquish their power to become second to Uther, and they still sent their soldiers out to battle on his behalf."
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_win == 2>>
"Because those who opposed Uther suffered; and those who didn't, had to relinquish their power and armies onto him. They hate being reminded that of how they gave in, and the atrocities they helped Camelot commit."
<<elseif $chapt5_uther_win == 3>>
"Because war is awful, so they'd rather just focus on the peace that came after. Not on the countries that fell or surrendered; the soldiers and power they relinquished upon Uther."
<</if>>
"I see," Damian ruminates on your words - always with such a focused expression as if you have said something groundbreaking. It's nice to be listened to, at least. "So he struck. How? Where did he strike first?"
"The smaller, weaker kingdoms. The ones who couldn't strike back as effectively."
She spared a small, commiserating hum for the poor, smaller, weaker kingdoms before diving back into the academic interrogation. "Now, why would Camelot do that? Imagine it. We know now that Uther intended on conquering more, so it's not really a matter of changing his mind on a whim for more land - why would you start with the little players? They add to your armies, yes, but doesn't it put your stronger neighbors in guard?"
<div class="choice">[["Maybe you want them to know," you counter. "You're confident enough you can take them on."|Chapt5LectureStrike][$chapt5_uther_strike to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["They're easier to conquer, given they've mostly surrendered," you counter. "You take their soldiers, add them to your army, and prepare to face your stronger enemies."|Chapt5LectureStrike][$chapt5_uther_strike to 2]]</div><<if $chapt5_tournament == 1>>
"I remember you were there," you say. "But we didn't really talk. I'm glad we're rectifying that now."
Elaine smiles. "It'll be fun." She veers closer to you, catching your eye. "I'm looking forward to our sword duel, too. Whenever you can."
<<elseif $chapt5_tournament == 2>>
"I remember you were there," you say. "But we didn't really talk. I'm glad we're rectifying that now."
Elaine smiles. "It'll be fun." She veers closer to you, catching your eye. "I'm looking forward to our sword duel, too. Whenever you can."
<<elseif $chapt5_tournament == 3>>
"I remember you were there," you say. "But we didn't really talk. I'm glad we're rectifying that now."
Elaine smiles. "It'll be fun." She veers closer to you, catching your eye. "I'm looking forward to our sword duel, too. Whenever you can."
<<elseif $chapt5_tournament == 4>>
"I remember something," you shrug, casting an impassive look over a group of young nobles having a hushed argument over their open books - one of them stabs their finger so hard at the page you'd think it'll break soon.
<</if>>
You push open one of the double doors - covered in fantastical depictions of open books, their pages rustled as if by wind, ribbon bookmarks fluttering like majestic manes - and enter the sprawling, bright Court Library. Towering bookcases line the space, rows upon rows standing like pillars of a temple - silent as one too, yet filled with books containing worlds of words between their leather covers. They stand as sentinels watching over the people milling about, seeking tomes or reading by the desks poised by the large windows, showered in the noon sun.
Despite the vivid admittance the doors offer, the Library itself is devoid of much vibrancy; the bookcases are the same dark wood as the beams supporting the high, arching ceiling, embossed with various abstract patterns as their only adornment. The most colorful pieces of furniture are the tile stoves by the wall - all fitted with metallic doors to hide the flames. The scholars are paranoid around anything that could ruin their precious books, though as long as none of them practiced tossing paper at a hearth to limber up after hours of sitting down reading, you doubt there was much of a threat.
<<if $chapt5_tournament != 4>>
"I believe you'd be interested in the adventure books we have. And all the shelves of dragon-human history."
"I would," she agrees, delighted.
<<else>>
"So," Elaine's eyes roam over the cases, "do you have any good adventure books here?"
"Over there maybe?" you point towards the shelves dedicated to the genre.
<</if>>
A rushing person - or rather, precarious pile of books with legs - shoots from behind a bookcase on a collision course with you. Elaine and you both deftly jump out of their way; a torrent of apologies echos in their wake but they do not slow their step as they disappear into the crowd.
Elaine browses through the selection of adventure books neatly arranged on the shelf, oblivious - or merely ignoring - the inquisitive glances sent your way.
"These are all by Lothian authors?" she asks after thumbing through her forth book. You confirm, and she drums her fingers against the emerald-green cover, emitting a soft, muffled thud. "Gareth recommended me this one."
<div class="choice">[["That one's great," you agree. "You should read it."|Chapt5BookRec][$chapt5_rec to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["This one's better," you say, pulling out another book you don't remember Gareth recommending. Doing your part in stopping this ill-advised marriage.|Chapt5BookRec][$chapt5_rec to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I haven't read it," you say.|Chapt5BookRec][$chapt5_rec to 3]]</div>
<<if $Gareth <= 40>><div class="choice">[["This one's better," you say, pulling out another book you don't remember Gareth recommending. Just to be petty.|Chapt5BookRec][$chapt5_rec to 4]]</div><</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 40>><div class="choice">[["This one's clearly better," you say, pulling out another book. You've had lengthy debates with Gareth on the subject.|Chapt5BookRec][$chapt5_rec to 5]]</div><</if>><<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "cautious">>
You jolt and look away, stubbornly fixing your gaze on the town unfurling beyond the window. You ignore Lot's gaze, which bores into you and sends your insides in a queasy twist, and retreat further. You've made a habit out of avoiding Lot as much as you can. You shuddered when you heard that you'd be having dinner every evening in Lot's parlor up until the wedding, but the Beauregards' pleasant demeanor shields you from the Duke's dreadful presence, at least.
The carriage trundles on.
Then it judders.
Its wood heaves and creaks with a great shake, like the bones of some great beast. To your horror, you're propelled forward, even as your stomach sinks. You brace yourself on the wall, just about managing not to pitch over Lot - though the sheer hateful force of his sneer could have pinned you in place.
You settle back and curl as far into your cushioned corner as you can, wincing as your sore muscles scream in protest with the movement.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
You catch his eye and hold it steadfast and uncowed. If anyone looks away first, it will be him, not you. Lot's not the only one capable of being dreadful. Your mere existence rankles him, and you strive to be even worse a menace to him. The mandatory dinners in his parlor present plenty of opportunities for you to do just so. He's willing to put up with you and Morgana so much for the sake of the Beauregards - playing at this farce of a family - and exercise restrain when it comes to admonishing you, giving you the freedom to gloat while he has to sit and simmer with his frustration.
The carriage trundles on.
Then it judders.
Its wood heaves and creaks with a great shake, like the bones of some great beast. To your horror, you're propelled forward, even as your stomach sinks. You brace yourself on the wall, just about managing not to pitch over Lot - though the sheer hateful force of his sneer could have pinned you in place.
You settle back in your cushioned corner and try to appear as unruffled as you can, biting back a grimace as your sore muscles scream in protest with the movement.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "ignore">>
You turn your impassive gaze on to the town unfurling beyond the window. You won't deign to offer that dreadful man any more attention.
You frankly don't care for the man. Your mere existence rankles him, and you find his presence equally loathsome to be around. As such, you prefer avoiding him; you scoffed when you heard you'd be having dinner in his parlor every evening until the wedding. It just goes to show how much it matters to the Beauregards, if he's willing to put up with you and Morgana so much.
The carriage trundles on.
Then it judders.
Its wood heaves and creaks with a great shake, like the bones of some great beast. To your horror, you're propelled forward, even as your stomach sinks. You brace yourself on the wall, just about managing not to pitch over Lot - though the sheer hateful force of his sneer could have pinned you in place.
You settle back in your cushioned corner and sigh, wincing as your sore muscles scream in protest with the movement.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Gareth offers a commiserating smile from where he's seated next to grouchy Lot.
<<else>>
Gareth flicks his gaze over you, then back outside the window. Hands clasped in his lap over pressed, green trousers, Gareth watches the passing buildings - sturdy residences of stone, shop fronts with open doors - with a placid expression so unlike his father's.
<</if>>
Morgana's lips thin as she looks on at Lot. "I thought we'd discussed re-paving the roads-"
He gnashes his teeth in answer: "It's well underway."
<<if $elaine_crush >= 2>>
Oh Goddess, now they'll argue over administrative nonsense. You wonder what the mood is like in the Astolatian carriage. Whatever the case, yoou're convinced it can't be worse than this. Perhaps you could hitch a ride with them on the way back? The thought of huddling next to Elaine is enough to bring a faint smile to your lips. Talking and laughing with her would definitely make the ride far more tolerable. Enjoyable, even.
<<elseif $elaine_friend >= 2>>
Oh Goddess, now they'll argue over administrative nonsense. You wonder what the mood is like in the Astolatian carriage. Whatever the case, yoou're convinced it can't be worse than this. Talking and laughing with Elaine would definitely make the ride far more tolerable. Enjoyable, even.
<<else>>
Oh Goddess, now they'll argue over administrative nonsense. You wonder what the mood is like in the Astolatian carriage. Whatever the case, you're convinced it can't be worse than this. Perhaps you could hitch a ride with them on the way back? Or better yet, slip away and return on foot.
<</if>>
[[Arrive at the Temple|Chapt5ArriveTemple]]<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "cautious">>
Dinner passes pleasantly enough, if you don't account for Lot's glare, doggedly fixed on you throughout the whole affair. He can't openly display his sentiments over your meeting with Elaine - which must rankle him so - not in such lovely company. Instead, he must resume himself to watching you as if you were a dangerous creature let loose into the parlor. You're certain that were Lot a sorcerer with an affinity for fire like you, you'd have long combusted right where you're standing. As it is, all he can do is render you uncomfortable, each gulp of food struggling to go past the firmly lodged lump in your throat.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
Dinner passes pleasantly enough, if you don't account for Lot's glare, doggedly fixed on you throughout the whole affair. He can't openly display his sentiments over your meeting with Elaine - which must rankle him so - not in such lovely company. Instead, he must resume himself to watching you as if you were a dangerous creature let loose into the parlor. You're certain that were Lot a sorcerer with an affinity for fire like you, you'd have long combusted right where you're standing. As it is, you can meet his eye with no care of blazing consequences, and even smirk behind your goblet with wicked glee at his hidden torment.
<<else>>
Dinner passes pleasantly enough, if you don't account for Lot's glare, doggedly fixed on you throughout the whole affair. He can't openly display his sentiments over your meeting with Elaine - which must rankle him so - not in such lovely company. Instead, he must resume himself to watching you as if you were a dangerous creature let loose into the parlor. You're certain that were Lot a sorcerer with an affinity for fire like you, you'd have long combusted right where you're standing. As it is, you can simply ignore him and go about eating your food in peace, feeling nothing but a strange, cold pity whenever your gaze passes by him - if it can even be called pity, this sentiment he conjures, distilled by all the reasons he gives you to harbor no sympathy for him - that he'd dedicate so much energy to glaring at a fifteen year old.
<</if>>
It's only after you've all moved on towards the seating area, sprawling across the many sofas arrayed before the softly crackling hearth, that Lot acts out on his frustration.
You go to fetch yourself another glass of apple cider from the adjacent chamber, leaving Gareth, Elaine and Isolde to their animated conversation. The lights have been dimmed here, all snuffed out but for a gilded candelabra upon the table, illuminating enough for one to pour themselves a glass of wine they've stopped counting, or snatch one of the appetizers or sweets left.
You idly watch the pale golden liquid flow into your cup, marveling at your exacerbated weariness after training. By now, you'd already have been in your chamber, bathing and slipping into bed.
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "cautious">>
The telltale drum of decisive, heavy boots snaps you out of your reverie. Your muscles tense, and you unceremoniously slam down the pitcher in your haste to flee. Your escape is foiled as Lot blocks your way and tartly says "Mordred," his demanding timber enough to root you to the spot.
The man stands just out of the pool of light spilling from the parlor. You keep within its bounds, as if this intangible delimitation could offer some protection. At least here you can easily be seen, and in such cases Lot can't be tempted to cross any lines.
Not that he's done much of that in the last couple years. If he were intent on avoiding your loathsome presence before, he's made himself even scarcer after the revelation made on the night of your twelfth birthday, and he's never cornered you again.
"I've heard talk," Lot says through gritted teeth, struggling against everything in him to keep calm, "that you've been showing Elaine around."
"I was merely being a welcoming host," you say, inclining your head. Hoping he leaves you alone already.
"Look," Lot says, stepping closer yet not leaving his shadowy alcove. His hand clasps down on the backseat of the chair nearest you and his hissed, hushed voice comes out clipped, sharpened by irritation: "If you dare intervene - if you dare join in on whatever scheme Morgana's planning - "
You glance up at him with a troubled frown. He's been letting out a deluge of threats lately, at anything's Morgana's said or did. Now the course of them is directed at you.
There's a dam promptly put in it.
"Lot!" Raphael calls out, jumping up from his sofa, goblet raised to the ceiling. "What's taking so long? We're all waiting for you."
"Indeed," Morgana agrees, approaching the two of you with a saccharine smile that makes no pretense at being genuine.
She slips a hand over Lot's fingers, their knuckles whitened from gripping the backrest, and squeezes. He pulls his hand away with a hiss, clenching it as his side - far away from her reach, and from the faint sizzling of fire in the air. Oh, that must have burned.
"Leave my child alone," Morgana says, keeping the smile and dropping her tone. "Or do you truly wish to see some wretchedness?"
Lot seethes on the spot, but that's all he does. All he can afford. With a spin, he turns back to his guests, reconstructing that jovial smile that looks so odd on his face.
Morgana sighs and downs the rest of her red wine.
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
The telltale drum of decisive, heavy boots snaps you out of your reverie. Oh, the Duke has such lovely timing, coming to renew his drink or grab food when you're the only other person to do so - lovely and utterly intentional. Your countenance has always been loathsome to him, but in the last years Lot has avoided you even far more than before. The turning point was your twelfth birthday, when he had the nerve to corner you in your own chamber and spoil your night with world-shattering revelations. With the way he's been glaring at you, you expect a few strong words.
You don't hurry, though. Let him come - let him talk. By now, you're not afraid of him. In fact, any way in which you can nettle him is an opportunity to be taken. A challenge to test his already frayed nerves, and watch him fume silently.
As predicted, Lot demands your attention with a tart "Mordred" once arrived at the table. You turn to him slowly, tilting your head in complete disinterest at whatever he has to impart.
"I've heard talk," Lot says through gritted teeth, struggling against everything in him to keep calm, "that you've been showing Elaine around."
"I was merely being a welcoming host," you say, affecting mock, exaggerated seriousness. "Isn't that what you wish of all of us?"
"Look," Lot says, stepping closer yet not leaving his shadowy alcove. His hand clasps down on the backseat of the chair nearest you and his hissed, hushed voice comes out clipped, sharpened by irritation: "If you dare intervene - if you dare join in on whatever scheme Morgana's planning - "
You thrust your chin forward. "You'll what?"
Lot opens his mouth to continue his deluge of threats.
A dam is promptly put in it.
"Lot!" Raphael calls out, jumping up from his sofa, goblet raised to the ceiling. "What's taking so long? We're all waiting for you."
"Indeed," Morgana agrees, approaching the two of you with a saccharine smile that makes no pretense at being genuine.
She slips a hand over Lot's fingers, their knuckles whitened from gripping the backrest, and squeezes. He pulls his hand away with a hiss, clenching it as his side - far away from her reach, and from the faint sizzling of fire in the air. Oh, that must have burned.
"Leave my child alone," Morgana says, keeping the smile and dropping her tone. "Or do you truly wish to see some wretchedness?"
Lot seethes on the spot, but that's all he does. All he can afford. With a spin, he turns back to his guests, reconstructing that jovial smile that looks so odd on his face.
Morgana sighs and downs the rest of her red wine.
<<else>>
The telltale drum of decisive, heavy boots snaps you out of your reverie. You roll back your shoulders and put down the pitcher, then make to leave. Your attention is arrested by Lot's tart "Mordred," and you halt.
The man stands just out of the pool of light spilling from the parlor. He must feel well at ease within shadows, where he can hide and let his shrivelled up heart fester on his woes. They do befit his baleful eyes, measuring you as you placidly study him back.
"I've heard talk," Lot says through gritted teeth, struggling against everything in him to keep calm, "that you've been showing Elaine around."
"I was merely being a welcoming host," you say.
"Look," Lot says, stepping closer yet not leaving his shadowy alcove. His hand clasps down on the backseat of the chair nearest you and his hissed, hushed voice comes out clipped, sharpened by irritation: "If you dare intervene - if you dare join in on whatever scheme Morgana's planning - "
Your brow furrows as you prepare yourself for a deluge of threats.
There's a dam promptly put in it.
"Lot!" Raphael calls out, jumping up from his sofa, goblet raised to the ceiling. "What's taking so long? We're all waiting for you."
"Indeed," Morgana agrees, approaching the two of you with a saccharine smile that makes no pretense at being genuine.
She slips a hand over Lot's fingers, their knuckles whitened from gripping the backrest, and squeezes. He pulls his hand away with a hiss, clenching it as his side - far away from her reach, and from the faint sizzling of fire in the air. Oh, that must have burned.
"Leave my child alone," Morgana says, keeping the smile and dropping her tone. "Or do you truly wish to see some wretchedness?"
Lot seethes on the spot, but that's all he does. All he can afford. With a spin, he turns back to his guests, reconstructing that jovial smile that looks so odd on his face.
Morgana sighs and downs the rest of her red wine.
<</if>>
<<if $morgana_closeness == "distant">>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you tersely say.|Chapt5MorganaThanksDistant][$chapt5_thanks to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you reluctantly say, unsure how to feel.|Chapt5MorganaThanksDistant][$chapt5_thanks to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I didn't need help," you snap.|Chapt5MorganaThanksDistant][$chapt5_thanks to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I didn't need your help," you coldly say.|Chapt5MorganaThanksDistant][$chapt5_thanks to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I could have handled him," you say with a smile.|Chapt5MorganaThanksDistant][$chapt5_thanks to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't say anything. Just leave.|Chapt5MorganaThanksDistant][$chapt5_thanks to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thanks for dragging me into this," you murmur, vexed.|Chapt5MorganaThanksDistant][$chapt5_thanks to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like this," you grimly say.|Chapt5MorganaThanksDistant][$chapt5_thanks to 9]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "lukewarm">>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you tersely say.|Chapt5MorganaThanksLukewarm][$chapt5_thanks to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you smile.|Chapt5MorganaThanksLukewarm][$chapt5_thanks to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you reluctantly say, unsure how to feel.|Chapt5MorganaThanksLukewarm][$chapt5_thanks to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I didn't need help," you snap.|Chapt5MorganaThanksLukewarm][$chapt5_thanks to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I didn't need your help," you coldly say.|Chapt5MorganaThanksLukewarm][$chapt5_thanks to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I could have handled him," you say with a smile.|Chapt5MorganaThanksLukewarm][$chapt5_thanks to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't say anything. Just leave.|Chapt5MorganaThanksLukewarm][$chapt5_thanks to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thanks for dragging me into this," you murmur, vexed.|Chapt5MorganaThanksLukewarm][$chapt5_thanks to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like this," you grimly say.|Chapt5MorganaThanksLukewarm][$chapt5_thanks to 9]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "close">>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you smile.|Chapt5MorganaThanksClose][$chapt5_thanks to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I could have handled him," you say with a smile.|Chapt5MorganaThanksClose][$chapt5_thanks to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thanks for dragging me into this," you murmur, vexed.|Chapt5MorganaThanksClose][$chapt5_thanks to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like this," you grimly say.|Chapt5MorganaThanksClose][$chapt5_thanks to 9]]</div>
<</if>>You lumber over towards a clump of trees extending from the line of the forest, plopping down in the dappled shade they offer. You feel an overwhelming thirst for water, which only works to ignite $dragon_name's own one; unfortunately, neither thought of bringing a flask.
"How long have you two been friends?" $dragon_name asks as Elaine leans into Felix's side with a small sigh.
"Years and years," Felix replies, assuming a dramatic far-away look, gazing over the treetops as if they could see their first meeting projected into the sky.
Elaine simply says, a fond smile on her lips: "Since we were little kids. Felix was training to be a racer, and I loved watching. And then I asked him to take me flying, too."
"She kept pestering me till I gave in," Felix says, earning themself an elbow from her. "She was always spending so much time outside, as was I, so we ended up spending it together."
"Adventuring," Elaine adds, eyes closed.
"Getting into trouble."
"And getting berated. Remember that time we landed in the river and splashed all those nobles?"
"Which one? It was more than once."
Elaine bites back a grin. "Yeah."
You cut into their banter: "You have a thing with falling into rivers, don't you?"
She cracks one eye open. "I like to take a swim."
"So you live at the castle back in Astolat, then?" $dragon_name, who's laid $dragon_his head against your shoulder, asks, directing the question to Felix.
The blue dragon nods. "My mom is on the dragons' council, keeping in touch with Elaine's parents and all that diplomatic stuff."
"Mine too." You get the sense $dragon_name wants to pick up that thread of conversation, but before $dragon_he can even attempt to follow it and see where it goes, Elaine sits up with a languid stretch and a yawn, bemoaning a serious, urgent thirst of water.
Felix's golden eyes linger on $dragon_name a moment longer before turning to Elaine. "Then get up," they say, offering a helpful nudge.
The two depart with a promise to catch you later - Elaine at dinner in Lot's parlor, which now seems somewhat more bearable a prospect, and Felix around the lodge. You can't dawdle for much longer either before you need to get ready for the dreaded etiquette lesson. Now that's an arduous exercise awaiting you.
[[Meanwhile, in Lot's parlor|Chapt5GarethPOV]]Gareth and Elaine are seated side by side, flanked by you and Isolde respectively, with the parents sitting opposite. Lunch commences with appetizers and drinks offered on silver plates and crystal cups.
A servant hands Raphael Beauregard a wine bottle, which the man proudly holds up. "This is one of our finest wines - our famous red. Made out of our finest grapes, that grows close to the place where the Bountiful One is said to have been seen, on multiple occassions; we tend to our grapes carefully and lovingly. We bring adepts of the Bountiful One to draw upon their power to bless them, for weeks on end. This is only the harvesting, however." Lot listens intently as the man goes on about the importance of soil and climate and the likes, as if winemaking was a lifelong passion of his; Elaine merely butters her slice of bread with the tired expression of one who's heard this speech so many times they could reproduce it perfectly.
"Now, we move on to the actual winemaking," the Duke says with a glint in his eye, his tone suggesting things are only going to get more exciting. "There's different fermentation and aging techniques."
"We're fermenting and aging as you speak, darling," Beatrice Beauregard smoothly cuts in with a chuckle. "Why don't you tell us more after you pour the glasses, so we may listen while we savour the wine?"
The man apologizes profusely all throughout fiddling with opening the bottle, though the beaming smile on his face speaks of little actual remorse. It's clear wine-making is more than just a family business - as you've been taught, the famous industry that keeps Astolat running - and more than just tradition, but something that he's ardently enthusiastic about. He pours the crimson liquid in the crystal glasses, filling each generously - aside Elaine's, as she stops him before he gets carried away - then wavers as he reaches your cup.
"Ah," a lop-sided grin splits his face. "Aren't you a bit too young yet?"
<div class="choice">[[You nod in understanding. You didn't want wine anyway, to be honest.|Chapt5Wine][$chapt5_wine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nod in understanding, internally disappointed.|Chapt5Wine][$chapt5_wine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Please? It's a special occasion, after all," you shrewdly argue.|Chapt5Wine][$chapt5_wine to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm fifteen; only one year younger than Elaine and she's drinking." It doesn't seem fair to you.|Chapt5Wine][$chapt5_wine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["So Elaine can drink and get married at sixteen but I can't have a glass of wine at fifteen?" you demand. It's not fair.|Chapt5Wine][$chapt5_wine to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Please?" you ask nicely. "Just a bit."|Chapt5Wine][$chapt5_wine to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like wine anyway," you bitterly say. You wanted some of it.|Chapt5Wine][$chapt5_wine to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't like wine anyway," you say. You tried some, once - nothing special.|Chapt5Wine][$chapt5_wine to 8]]</div>Soon the main course arrives: gilded platters of roasted meats and vegetables, pitchers of thick, savoury sauces, wicker baskets of freshly baked loaves and rolls. The wine flows freely all around the feast, and your table is no exception. The Beauregards have generously supplied you with barrels of the stuff. Wine of their own production, naturally, the staple of the daily dinners in Lot's quarters, both as drink and conversation piece.
<div class="choice">[[You indulge in the wine too, just a little.|Chapt5WineParty][$chapt5_drink_wine to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You indulge in the wine, not so modestly.|Chapt5WineParty][$chapt5_drink_wine to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're not drinking alcohol at all.|Chapt5WineParty][$chapt5_drink_wine to 0]]</div><<if $chapt4_math == 1>>
You dip your pen in ink and return your attention to the assignment. You've breezed through the easier exercises and moved on eagerly to the more intricate ones you've asked Teacher Canavan to assign to you as a way of challenging yourself.
Your blood may not be pumping with adrenaline, but there's a certain thrill of satisfaction to solving a problem you've been pouring over, turning it this and that way, hoping a new perspective, a new approach may wield success.
<<else>>
You dip your pen in ink and return your attention to the assignment. You've been pouring over them for a while now. You're often interrupted by far more exciting threads of thought or overwhelmed by frustration at getting stuck midway through an exercise, not knowing how to solve it. Teacher Canavan makes it look so effortless when he demonstrates solutions to you, speaking as if it should have been common sense to apply a certain formula.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
You make to dip your pen again when your hand brushes against a paper, sending it gliding down. You snatch it up before it can hit the floor. It's the letter from Junia and her dads that came last week. It may be the melancholy nature of the weather or your own damn self, but the sight of lovingly written lines and broken seal sparks a memory. There's no help from then on - something deep within you, that you so carefully and painstackingly tried to solidify, fractures.
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain - you sent each other love letters. But you broke things at some point along the years, and the letters stopped flowing between the two of you too.|Chapt5GawainNoLetter1][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_teen to "exes_notalk", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain - you sent each other love letters. But you broke things with him sometime after the revelation of your conception and your role as weapon in Morgana's revenge; you decided it was for the best to protect Gawain. And so the letters stopped flowing between the two of you too.|Chapt5GawainNoLetter1][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_kid to "exes_like", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
You make to dip your pen again when your hand brushes against a paper, sending it gliding down. You snatch it up before it can hit the floor. It's the letter from Junia and her dads that came last week. It may be the melancholy nature of the weather or your own damn self, but the sight of lovingly written lines and broken seal sparks a memory. There's no help from then on - something deep within you, that you so carefully and painstackingly tried to solidify, fractures.
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain. But you broke the friendship at some point along the years, and the letters stopped flowing between the two of you too.|Chapt5GawainNoLetter1][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_teen to "exfriends_notalk", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_friend to 0, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_ally to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain. But you broke the friendship with him sometime after the revelation of your conception and your role as weapon in Morgana's revenge; you decided it was for the best to protect Gawain. And so the letters stopped flowing between the two of you too.|Chapt5GawainNoLetter1][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_teen to "exfriends", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "ally">>
You make to dip your pen again when your hand brushes against a paper, sending it gliding down. You snatch it up before it can hit the floor. It's the letter from Junia and her dads that came last week. It sparks a memory, as quickly and surprinsing as the strike of lightning.
<div class="choice">[[You used to correspond with Gawain, mostly to send kind regards with the occasion on celebrations. You grew tired even of this, though, and stopped sending letters altogether.|Chapt5GawainNoLetter1][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "no", $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_teen to "notalk", $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_ally to 1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
You make to dip your pen again when your hand brushes against a paper, sending it gliding down. You snatch it up before it can hit the floor. It's the letter from Junia and her dads that came last week. It may be the melancholy nature of the weather or your own damn self, but the sight of lovingly written lines and broken seal sparks a memory. There's no help from then on - something deep within you, that you so carefully and painstackingly tried to solidify, fractures.
Once, you used to receive such letters from Arthur too.
After the reveal of your conception, you couldn't shake off that terrible, agonizing sentiment that you'd only be hurting Arthur more if you stayed close to him. You feared you'd keep bringing to light painful memories and thoughts for him and he wouldn't even be able to tell you, as to not upset you. You dreaded inadvertedly inflicting harm upon him - after all, vengeance was the purpose that gave you life. So you distanced yourself. You wrote to him that you needed space, that you were offering the same to him.
Arthur wouldn't hear it. He almost travelled all the way back to Lothia, if only to speak to you. There were many letters sent back and forth on the matter - how he did not want you to suffer at his expanse, how he wanted you to know he loved you no matter what, reminding you it had been his choice to approach you in the first place. He said he couldn't lose you again.
Sometimes you'd let his letters go unreplied to, even if it hurt you. You relented many times too - kept up the correspondence, either to talk as you usually would, or to plead with him that it was better to stop communication altogether.
Ultimately, he agreed. He wrote that he'd rather not push you and cause you undue distress. Wounding you further was the last thing he wished to do. He concluded the letter with reassurances that, whatever may come, close or not, he loved you and would be there for you whenever - if - you wanted to reach out again. After that, the letters stopped.
Guinevere, on the other had, has continued writing to you. In the beginning, you weren't sure whether to sever contact with her as well. You faltered; across the years of correspondence, you've grown fond of the Queen. You've kept as irregular a frequency of letters with her as you did with Arthur, till it started to decidedly wane. You realized that you couldn't drag Guinevere into this mess any more than you wanted to involve Arthur. She accommodated your desire to be left alone with tact, compassion and grace. She knows the severity of the situation - and just as she had never pushed Arthur to reach out when it clearly pained him to do it, neither would she push you. Instead, she offered you space to figure things out, and the promise of being received with open arms, should you wish to return.
They both still send you birthday gifts, though.
[[Continue|Chapt5Window]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt5Window]]
<</if>>Another carriage dyed crimson, another door embossed with the royal dragon. There are two possibilities presenting themselves as to who your next arrivals could be: Arthur's adopted parents or his //most loyal// Royal Advisor.
You have your answer when the door opens and a gloved hand comes into view. Lord Merlin Wyllt accepts the footman's aid and glides down, one pointy-toe boot at a time.
The former accomplice of a tyrant, scourge on your family and your mother's sworn enemy doesn't look so wicked and vile when he wears that mild smile on his face. Instead of the villains in your childhood books - scowly-faced, palm-rubbing rascals rendered in colorful illustrations - you'd sooner liken Merlin to those soft-spoken, kind-hearted characters that would urge the hero onto the right path.
<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "dread">>
This is exactly what Morgana has warned you about, though. She said you're not to be taken in by whatever honeyed smiles or words he'd angle your way, if he even bothered to do so. No matter how sweet on the surface, you'll always find poison within when you dig your teeth deep enough.
Your insides clench - a painful twist, as if the poison has already seeped within.
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "curious">>
This is exactly what Morgana has warned you about, though. She said you're not to be taken in by whatever honeyed smiles or words he'd angle your way, if he even bothered to do so. No matter how sweet on the surface, you'll always find poison within when you dig your teeth deep enough.
Anticipation simmers in your veins. Indeed, what side is it that you'll get - the pretty, shiny peel, or the rot within?
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">>
If you're to believe your mother, that is all but a facade, a sham. She said you're not to be taken in by whatever honeyed smiles or words he'd angle your way, if he even bothered to do so. No matter how sweet on the surface, you'll always find poison within when you dig your teeth deep enough.
Does it elude her how well it applies to her too?
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "hate">>
This is exactly what Morgana has warned you about, though. She said you're not to be taken in by whatever honeyed smiles or words he'd angle your way, if he even bothered to do so. No matter how sweet on the surface, you'll always find poison within when you dig your teeth deep enough.
If you are to dig your teeth, it's only to rip that man to shreds - and no amount of poison can stop you.
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "avoid">>
This is exactly what Morgana has warned you about, though. She said you're not to be taken in by whatever honeyed smiles or words he'd angle your way, if he even bothered to do so. No matter how sweet on the surface, you'll always find poison within when you dig your teeth deep enough.
Which is why it's best to avoid him altogether.
<</if>>
There's nothing threatening or towering about Merlin. He stands of average height and built; his presence only strikes upon the onlooker a sense of poise. His garb is understated, but not inexpensive. Years by your mother's side, who has a love of fashion and all things pretty, has honed your eye to recognize the tell-tales of wealth in one's presentation. The velvet of his gloves and matching crimson cape, the brocade of his black doublet, they're all of the finest quality, with subtle yet effective details: little precious gems along the hem and painstakingly-woven threads of tasteful patterns.
He waits as the footman aids a second figure down. It's the girl you knew - the girl you know nothing about - the one who used to play with you and seek shells with you, the one who'd listen to you ramble and in turn entertain you with odd marine facts.
[[Nimue|Chapt5NimueArrives]]<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "dread">>
You check your urge to back away, yet the muscles in your legs remain taut like bowstrings, ready to spring you out of this unfortunate circumstance at a moment's notice. Your perceived foe arrives with no apparent weapons drawn, however - just a smile, pleasant and agreeable like of a friend.
"I hope the two of you are getting on well," Merlin continues.
"I hope so too," Nimue says with a meaningful glance your way, "though I believe I must get on on my way now."
Before you can even consider making a similar excuse, Merlin raises a hand and arrests your attention. "A word if I may, Mordred." Behind him, Nimue has already vanished into the crowd.
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "curious">>
Your assumed foe approaches with no apparent weapons drawn, safe for a smile - pleasant and agreeable as that of a friend.
"I hope the two of you are getting on well," Merlin continues.
"I hope so too," Nimue says with a meaningful glance your way, "though I believe I must get on on my way now."
As Nimue vanishes into the crowd, Merlin raises a placating hand. "A word if I may, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">>
Your supposed foe approaches with no apparent weapons drawn, safe for a smile - pleasant and agreeable as that of a friend.
"I hope the two of you are getting on well," Merlin continues.
"I hope so too," Nimue says with a meaningful glance your way, "though I believe I must get on on my way now."
As Nimue vanishes into the crowd, Merlin raises a placating hand. "A word if I may, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "hate">>
Your fists clench instinctively, palms itching just beneath the skin with feverish heat, muscles stiffening with familiar anger. Your foe approaches with no apparent weapons drawn, disguising his intentions behind the lie of a smile. How quickly your flame could melt it off.
"I hope the two of you are getting on well," Merlin continues, oblivious to your inner tumult.
"I hope so too," Nimue says with a meaningful glance your way, "though I believe I must get on on my way now."
Before you might similarly excuse yourself, Merlin raises a hand and arrests your attention. "A word if I may, Mordred." Behind him, Nimue has already vanished into the crowd.
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "avoid">>
Your assumed foe approaches with no apparent weapons drawn, safe for a smile - pleasant and agreeable as that of a friend. Your legs long to take you far away from this circumstance, but you find yourself forced to keep decorum, trapped between Nimue and her father.
"I hope the two of you are getting on well," Merlin continues.
"I hope so too," Nimue says with a meaningful glance your way, "though I believe I must get on on my way now."
Before you might similarly excuse yourself, Merlin raises a hand and arrests your attention. "A word if I may, Mordred." Behind him, Nimue has already vanished into the crowd.
<</if>>
"A pity we meet so belatedly," he says, "though I imagine there's much you might have heard about me.
<<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
"I've heard word of you too, however," he goes on. "Arthur and Guinevere speak fondly and often of you, though I'm sure you're already well aware of the depths of their affection." He clasps his hands before him, candlelight glinting off his bejewelled fingers. "And how wonderful to have inherited the Le Fay powers. I'm sure your mother has assured a most robust magical education for you. And you are also training to be a knight - such an accomplished individual you are bound to become."
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic" or $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
"I've heard word of you too, however," he goes on. "Gawain speaks fondly and often of you - and quire at lenght, too." He clasps his hands before him, candlelight glinting off his bejewelled fingers. "And how wonderful to have inherited the Le Fay powers. I'm sure your mother has assured a most robust magical education for you. And you are also training to be a knight - such an accomplished individual you are bound to become."
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
"I've heard word of you too, however," he goes on. "Arthur and Guinevere speak fondly and highly of you. I understand this is a difficult topic for youn though, so I shall refrain from further broaching it." He clasps his hands before him, candlelight glinting off his bejewelled fingers. "How wonderful to have inherited the Le Fay powers. I'm sure your mother has assured a most robust magical education for you. And you are also training to be a knight - such an accomplished individual you are bound to become."
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "romantic" or $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
"I've heard word of you too, however," he goes on. "Gawain used to speak fondly and often of you - and quire at lenght, too - while you corresponded. He still holds you in his kind regards." He clasps his hands before him, candlelight glinting off his bejewelled fingers. "And how wonderful to have inherited the Le Fay powers. I'm sure your mother has assured a most robust magical education for you. And you are also training to be a knight - such an accomplished individual you are bound to become."
<<else>>
"I've heard word of you too, however," he goes on, "disappointedly little, and filtered through various ears, coming out various mouths/coming off various tongues." He clasps his hands before him, candlelight glinting off his bejewelled fingers. "How wonderful to have inherited the Le Fay powers. I'm sure your mother has assured a most robust magical education for you. And you are also training to be a knight - such an accomplished individual you are bound to become."
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "dread">>
<div class="choice">[[You just smile, nod and offer a polite "Thank you."|Chapt5MerlinReplyDread][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You give a wooden "Thank you."|Chapt5MerlinReplyDread][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You keep silent, waiting for a way out.|Chapt5MerlinReplyDread][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You've heard such good things about me," you say, "but what I know of you is less pleasant, Lord Merlin." There's dread inside you, yes - but also a simmering annoyance at all this pretense politeness.|Chapt5MerlinReplyDread][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say. "I heard far more impressive things about you though, Lord Merlin." If he wishes to keep things overly polite, you'll play along.|Chapt5MerlinReplyDread][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You say I'm accomplished," you reply, unsmiling, "yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"|Chapt5MerlinReplyDread][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You assume a troubled, worried tone, but make no accusations of deceit. Not yet, anyway. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"|Chapt5MerlinReplyDread][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 7]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "curious">>
<div class="choice">[[You just smile, nod and offer a polite "Thank you."|Chapt5MerlinReplyCurious][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I must say, Lord Merlin, I wasn't expecting such a warm, agreeable welcome from you." You're curious what he has to say for himself.|Chapt5MerlinReplyCurious][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You've heard such good things about me," you say, "but what I know of you is less pleasant, Lord Merlin."|Chapt5MerlinReplyCurious][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say. "I heard far more impressive things about you though, Lord Merlin." If he wishes to keep things overly polite, you'll play along.|Chapt5MerlinReplyCurious][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You say I'm accomplished," you reply with a mirthless smile, "yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"|Chapt5MerlinReplyCurious][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You assume a troubled, worried tone, but make no accusations of deceit. Not yet, anyway. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"|Chapt5MerlinReplyCurious][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">>
<div class="choice">[[You just smile, nod and offer a polite "Thank you," unsure of what else to say or believe.|Chapt5MerlinReplyLie][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I must say, Lord Merlin, I wasn't expecting such a warm, agreeable welcome from you." You're going to be honest, and hope for the same in return; and if not, to at least test the limit of this possible facade.|Chapt5MerlinReplyLie][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You've heard such good things about me," you say carefully, "but what I know of you is less pleasant, Lord Merlin."|Chapt5MerlinReplyLie][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say. "I heard far more impressive things about you though, Lord Merlin." You'll play along with him for now; there's no reason to be rude or provoking.|Chapt5MerlinReplyLie][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You say I'm accomplished," you reply, unsmiling, "yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"|Chapt5MerlinReplyLie][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You won't jump to accusations, but you do expect an explanation. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"|Chapt5MerlinReplyLie][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "hate">>
<div class="choice">[[You give a wooden "Thank you."|Chapt5MerlinReplyHate][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I must say, Lord Merlin, I wasn't expecting such a warm, agreeable welcome from you." You keep your voice calm and pleasant.|Chapt5MerlinReplyHate][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You've heard such good things about me," you say flatly, "but what I know of you is less pleasant, Lord Merlin."|Chapt5MerlinReplyHate][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say. "I heard far more impressive things about you though, Lord Merlin." If he wishes to keep things overly polite, you'll play along.|Chapt5MerlinReplyHate][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Let's cut this farce, Lord Merlin," you say tersely. "I know the truth - about you, about the ruin you brought on us."|Chapt5MerlinReplyHate][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You say I'm accomplished," you reply, unsmiling, "yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"|Chapt5MerlinReplyHate][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You assume a troubled, worried tone, but make no accusations of deceit. Not yet, anyway. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"|Chapt5MerlinReplyHate][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You give a fake smile and offer a polite "Thank you." No need to antagonize him openly, not yet.|Chapt5MerlinReplyHate][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 8]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "avoid">>
<div class="choice">[[You give a wooden "Thank you."|Chapt5MerlinReplyAvoid][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just smile, nod and offer a polite "Thank you."|Chapt5MerlinReplyAvoid][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You keep silent, waiting for a way out.|Chapt5MerlinReplyAvoid][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You've heard such good things about me," you say flatly, "but what I know of you is less pleasant, Lord Merlin."|Chapt5MerlinReplyAvoid][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Let's cut this farce, Lord Merlin," you say tersely. "I know the truth - about you, about the ruin you brought on us."|Chapt5MerlinReplyAvoid][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say. "I heard far more impressive things about you though, Lord Merlin." If he wishes to keep things overly polite, you'll play along.|Chapt5MerlinReplyAvoid][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I must say, Lord Merlin, I wasn't expecting such a warm, agreeable welcome from you." You keep your voice calm and pleasant.|Chapt5MerlinReplyAvoid][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You say I'm accomplished," you reply, unsmiling, "yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"|Chapt5MerlinReplyAvoid][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You assume a troubled, worried tone, but make no accusations of deceit. Not yet, anyway. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"|Chapt5MerlinReplyAvoid][$chapt5_merlin_reply to 9]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_merlin_reply == 1>>
You give a wooden "Thank you," and nothing more.
If Merlin is bothered to find his cordiality unmatched, he doesn't show it. Still, there's an edge of gravity to his voice when he speaks next. "I won't retain you for much longer. There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matters, and this is not the time or place to discuss them." He splays one hans against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet. "I know tomorrow shall be a very busy day/eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 2>>
You smile and offer a demure, polite "Thank you," in lieu of the world of questions and accusations that occupies your mind.
"I won't retain you for much longer." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matters, and this is not the time nor place to discuss them." He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet. "I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 3>>
You let Merlin's praise be swallowed up by the warbling of violins and flutes, let it fester in the silence - a proferred hand you refuse to take.
If Merlin is bothered to find his cordiality unmatched, he doesn't show it. He goes on, like an actor smoothing over the gaffe of his fellow thespian.
Still, there's an edge of gravity to his voice when he speaks next. "I won't retain you for much longer. There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matters, and this is not the time or place to discuss them." He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet. "I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 4>>
"You've heard such good things about me," you say flatly, making no pretenses like him, "but what I know of you is less pleasant, Lord Merlin."
"I imagine you must have." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I'd want nothing more than for us to have an open discussion, but these are sensitive topics. Let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 5>>
You're in no mood of his pretenses. The longer he talks, the longer he smiles that honeyed, artificial smile, the closer he is to feeling the singe of your flames.
"Let's cut this farce, Lord Merlin," you tersely say. "I know the truth - about you, about the ruin you brought on us."
Merlin splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You jerk away as if burned.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 6>>
You incline your head with a smile. "Thank you. Though I heard far more impressive things about you, Lord Merlin. You are quite the scholar."
He splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet and offers a humble chuckle in response.
"Now, I would love to converse more, but I won't retain you for much longer." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matter, and this is not the time or place to discuss them. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 7>>
The corner of your mouth twitches; you're not quite sure whether to laugh in disbelief or snort in contempt. Fancy the harbinger of your doom singing you praises.
"I must say, Lord Merlin, I wasn't expecting such a warm, agreeable welcome from you."
"And I reckon I know the reasons why." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I'd want nothing more than for us to have an open discussion, but these are sensitive topics. Let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 8>>
"You say I'm accomplished," you reply, unsmiling, "yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"
Merlin splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You jerk away[ as if burned].
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears.I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 9>>
You assume a troubled tone as to show worry over the prophecy without accusing its heralder. Not yet, anyway. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"
Merlin splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You force yourself not to jerk away.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<</if>>
You do not get a chance to accept or demure or even thoroughly consider his invitation. The Royal Sorcerer retreats with a head bow and allows himself to be swallowed up by the dazzling flow of the crowd.
[[Time to find your table|Chapt5TableFeast]]<<if $chapt5_merlin_reply == 1>>
You smile and offer a polite "Thank you," in lieu of the world of questions that occupy your mind.
"I won't retain you for much longer." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matters, and this is not the time or place to discuss them." He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet. "I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 2>>
The corner of your mouth twitches; you're not quite sure whether to laugh in disbelief or snort in contempt. Fancy the harbinger of your doom singing you praises.
"I must say, Lord Merlin, I wasn't expecting such a warm, agreeable welcome from you."
"And I reckon I know the reasons why." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I'd want nothing more than for us to have an open discussion, but these are sensitive topics. Let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 3>>
"You've heard such good things about me," you say, "but what I know of you is less pleasant, Lord Merlin."
"I imagine you must have." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I'd want nothing more than for us to have an open discussion, but these are sensitive topics. Let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 4>>
You incline your head with a smile. "Thank you. Though I heard far more impressive things about you, Lord Merlin. You are quite the scholar."
He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet and offers a humble chuckle in response.
"Now, I would love to converse more, but I won't retain you for much longer." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matters, and this is not the time nor place to discuss them. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for them between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 5>>
Oh, to have the harbinger of your doom sing you praises, as if you were none the wiser. A mirthless smile slits into your cheeks. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"
Merlin splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You shrug his hand off.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 6>>
You assume a troubled tone as to show worry over the prophecy without accusing its heralder. Not yet, anyway. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"
Merlin splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You force yourself not to jerk away.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<</if>>
You do not get a chance to accept or demure or even thoroughly consider his invitation. The Royal Sorcerer retreats with a head bow and allows himself to be swallowed up by the dazzling flow of the crowd.
[[Time to find your table|Chapt5TableFeast]]<<if $chapt5_merlin_reply == 1>>
You smile - the gesture feels stiff and strained, as if your face has turned to unyieldy stone - and offer a demure, polite "Thank you."
"I won't retain you for much longer." His smile dims to a more earnest, though not less kind expression. "There are certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matter, and this is neither the time nor place to discuss them." He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet. "I know tomorrow shall be a very busy eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 2>>
You give a wooden "Thank you," and nothing more.
If Merlin is bothered to find his cordiality unmatched, he doesn't show it. Still, there's an edge of gravity to his voice when he speaks next. "I won't retain you for much longer. There are certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matter, and this is not the time nor place to discuss them." He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet. "I know tomorrow shall be a very busy eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 3>>
You let Merlin's praise be swallowed up by the warbling of violins and flutes, let it fester in the silence - a proferred hand you refuse to take.
If Merlin is bothered to find his cordiality unmatched, he doesn't show it. He goes on, like an actor smoothing over the gaffe of his fellow thespian.
Still, there's an edge of gravity to his voice when he speaks next. "I won't retain you for much longer. There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matters, and this is not the time nor place to discuss them." He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet. "I know tomorrow shall be a very eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 4>>
"You've heard such good things about me," you say, "but what I know of you is less pleasant, Lord Merlin."
"I imagine you must have." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I'd want nothing more than for us to have an open discussion, but these are sensible topics. Let us not speak of them where they may not be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be a very eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 5>>
You incline your head with a smile. "Thank you. Though I heard far more impressive things about you, Lord Merlin. You are quite the scholar."
He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet and offers a humble chuckle in response.
"Now, I would love to converse more, but I won't retain you for much longer." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matter, and this is not the time or place to discuss them. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 6>>
"You say I'm accomplished," you reply, unsmiling, "yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"
Merlin splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You jerk away as if burned.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 7>>
You assume a troubled tone as to show worry over the prophecy without accusing its heralder. Not yet, anyway. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"
Merlin splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You force yourself not to jerk away.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve the time for a talk between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<</if>>
You do not get a chance to accept or demure or even thoroughly consider his invitation. The Royal Sorcerer retreats with a head bow and allows himself to be swallowed up by the dazzling flow of the crowd.
[[Time to find your table|Chapt5TableFeast]]<<if $chapt5_merlin_reply == 1>>
You give a wooden "Thank you," and nothing more.
If Merlin is bothered to find his cordiality unmatched, he doesn't show it. Still, there's an edge of gravity to his voice when he speaks next. "I won't retain you for much longer. There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matter, and this is not the time or place to discuss them." He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet. "I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 2>>
The corner of your mouth twitches; you're not quite sure whether to laugh in disbelief or snort in contempt. Fancy the harbinger of your doom singing you praises.
"I must say, Lord Merlin," you reply - calm and pleasant, smothering the anger out of your voice - "I wasn't expecting such a warm, agreeable welcome from you."
"And I reckon I know the reasons why." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I'd want nothing more than for us to have an open discussion, but these are sensitive topics. Let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time for them between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea.
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 3>>
"You've heard such good things about me," you say flatly, making no pretenses like him, "but what I know of you is less pleasant, Lord Merlin."
"I imagine you must have." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I'd want nothing more than for us to have an open discussion, but these are sensitive topics. Let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 4>>
You incline your head with a smile. "Thank you. Though I heard far more impressive things about you, Lord Merlin. You are quite the scholar." You hate saying the words - they leave a bitter taste in your mouth.
He splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet and offers a humble chuckle in response.
"Now, I would love to converse more, but I won't retain you for much longer." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matters, and this is not the time or place to discuss them. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 5>>
You're in no mood of his pretenses. The longer he talks, the longer he smiles that honeyed, artificial smile, the hotter your skin burns.
"Let's cut this farce, Lord Merlin," you tersely say. "I know the truth - about you, about the ruin you brought on us."
Merlin splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You jerk away as if burned.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 6>>
Oh, to have the harbinger of your doom sing you praises, as if you were none the wiser. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin." The more you talk, the tighter your voice becomes. "Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"
Merlin splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm, hushing you with the gentleness one might employ to calm an overly-anxious child. You jerk away.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 7>>
You assume a troubled tone as to show worry over the prophecy without accusing its heralder. Not yet, anyway. "You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"
Merlin splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You force yourself not to jerk away.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 8>>
You smile and offer a polite "Thank you," in lieu of the lenghty list of imprecations you could lay upon him.
"I won't retain you for much longer." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matters, and this is not the time or place to discuss them." He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet. "I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<</if>>
You do not get a chance to accept or demure or even thoroughy consider his invitation. The Royal Sorcerer retreats with a head bow and allows himself to be swallowed up by the dazzling flow of the crowd.
[[Time to find your table|Chapt5TableFeast]]<<if $chapt5_merlin_reply == 1>>
You smile and offer a demure, polite "Thank you," in lieu of the world of questions, doubts and confusion that occupies your mind.
"I won't retain you for much longer." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matters, and this is not the time nor place to discuss them." He splays one hand against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet. "I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve the some between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 2>>
The praise Merlin lays upon //feels// genuine, but you're well acquainted with deceit to know how easy it can be to miss, when it's deftly spun by an expert. Still, you decide to adhere to honesty yourself and see how it's received.
"I must say, Lord Merlin, I wasn't expecting such a warm, agreeable welcome from you."
"And I reckon I know the reasons why." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I'd want nothing more than for us to have an open discussion, but these are sensitive topics. Let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 3>>
"You've heard such good things about me," you say, choosing your words carefully, "but what I know of you is less pleasant, Lord Merlin."
"I imagine you must have." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I'd want nothing more than for us to have an open discussion, but these are sensitive topics. Let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 4>>
You incline your head with a smile. "Thank you. Though I heard far more impressive things about you, Lord Merlin. You are quite the scholar."
He splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet and offers a humble chuckle in response.
"Now, I would love to converse more, but I won't retain you for much longer." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "There's certain matters I wish to discuss with you, and which I'm sure you have a vested interest in - but these are private matters, and this is not the time nor place to discuss them. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time netween ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 5>>
He paints a picture of doom with you at the helm, then sings you praises as if you were none the wiser of the dreadful augury. What are you to make of it?
"You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"
Merlin splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You force yourself to stay still.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be an eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_reply == 6>>
He paints a picture of doom with you at the helm, then sings you praises as if you were none the wiser of the dreadful augury. You won't start hurling accusations, but you will demand an explanation.
"You say I'm accomplished, yet you only see a destructive path for me ahead. A vision of ruin. Isn't that right, Lord Merlin?"
Merlin splays one hands against the pearl-embellished breast of his obsidian black doublet, and the other he rests lightly on your arm. You force yourself to stay still.
"It's a...complicated, sensitive matter." His smile doesn't vanish, not entirely, but it dims to a more earnest expression. "I understand you have questions, but let us not speak of them where they may be heard by prying ears. I know tomorrow shall be a very busy day/eventful day, but I believe we could carve some time between ceremony and feast. I should be delighted to have you over for a cup of tea."
<</if>>
You do not get a chance to accept or demure or even thoroughly consider his invitation. The Royal Sorcerer retreats with a head bow and allows himself to be swallowed up by the dazzling flow of the crowd.
[[Time to find your table|Chapt5TableFeast]]<<if $chapt5_dummies == "cry">>
You arrived ready for training this morning but all your resolve crumbled upon seeing the Misery Twins. They looked so deceitfully inoffensive, propped against a rack of weapons and folded in on themselves. Giving away no clue as to the pain they're able to inflict on poor, unsuspecting squires. You too wanted to fling yourself to the ground, hug your knees to your chest and unleash those tears of exasperation bubbling just at the back of your throat. Instead you swallowed them, steeled yourself and proceeded on.
<<elseif $chapt5_dummies == "rematch">>
You arrived to training with no expectations of meeting again, so soon, with the Mistery Twins. The discovery to the contrary filled you with determination. You //will// get your rematch - you have proclaimed them your sworn enemies that you must thoroughly and utterly destroy. Some may reckon it silly, yet while the inanimated dummies can feel no pain and have no concept of your deep animosity, they sure do hit as if they loathed you with every fiber of their hay-and-burlap beings.
<<elseif $chapt5_dummies == "sigh">>
You arrived ready for training this morning only to have your resolve shaken by the sight of the Misery Twins. They were propped against a rack of weapons and folded in on themselves, giving away no clue as to the pain they're able to inflict on poor squires. You contemplated the innocuous sight and grim promise it held, fortified your resolution and proceeded on. You went against the Twins once; you have a better read of their strikes and strength now. This time, you may garner only half the bruises you did last session.
<</if>>
Your magic gives you an obvious advantage, which could render the Misery Twins less intimidating - that is, if Accolon allowed you to consistently employ your powers. Instead, he prefers challenging you to alternate between rounds of fully using them and minimal magical intervention. When you protest, he patiently counters your arguments: it's a powerful aid when you're going toe to toe with foes on your own, but could prove hazardous surrounded by allies to accidentally strike. You must be careful, Accolon tells you time and time again, not just for yourself, but those around you too.
Besides, there's always the off chance you could encounter one of those magic-blocking contraptions that Morgana speaks of with such disdain. After all, she has experience wearing the bracelet variety - //manacles// disguised as accessories.
You shift your feet apart, plates clanging with the motion, and flex your gloved fingers on the hilt of your sword.
"Ready!" you shout, kickstarting the dummies into motion.
[[Fight|Chapt5MiseryTwinsAttack]]They don't charge. They slowly circle around you, closing on you in a manner that is far more unnerving. Especially as they start to drift apart, positioning themselves in opposing directions as to be absolute menaces to deal with once they actually rush you.
<<if $chapt5_dummies == "cry">>
You watch them apprehensively, scouring their armored figures for any tell of an incoming hit. It becomes increasingly hard keeping your eyes on both Twins. You're only outnumbered by one, but it's enough to place you between a rock and a hard place: the former being the dummy striking from the front, effectively distracting you, while the hard place hits from behind.
<<elseif $chapt5_dummies == "rematch">>
You watch them keenly, sword held firmly, knees bended ready to spring into action. You wear a smirk on your lips, concealed by your helmet - not that it would have impressed or intimidated them. They're unmoved by such displays; all they know is they must wreck you. Which they're getting at now as they take their strategic positioning, making it increasingly difficult for you to keep both in your sights. You're only outnumbered by one, but it's enough to place you between a rock and a hard place: the former being the dummy striking from the front, effectively distracting you, while the hard place hits from behind.
<<elseif $chapt5_dummies == "sigh">>
You keep your gaze trained on them, but it's becoming increasingly difficult to have both Twins in your sights. Your eyes have to dart over a continuously-expanding distance, till you have to turn your head from side to side to watch them. You're only outnumbered by one, but it's enough to place you between a rock and a hard place: the former being the dummy striking from the front, effectively distracting you, while the hard place hits from behind.
<</if>>
Armor clinks. Boots thud against the ground.
[[The Twin attacks.|Chapt5MiseryTwinsFight]]You're growing weary, and while your enemies feel no fatigue, there's signs of wear and tear on them, too. This should be the perfect time to land a finishing strike - if you have the opening for one. You're stuck between the two of them circling you like hungry wolves, sun glinting dully off their helmets.
<<if $chapt5_dummies == "cry">>
Your breath comes short, and the chemise beneath the layers of plating and padding is slick to your skin. You want to finish this off already. Preferably with you taking them down, and not the either way around as last time. But you can't go for both Twins at once, not like they assault you in tandem. So you must pick one, and pick wisely.
The choice is made for you when an opportunity presents itself. You don't think too much about it. Exhaustion and desperation to win push you forward with renewed speed.
<<elseif $chapt5_dummies == "rematch">>
Your breath comes short, and the chemise beneath the layers of plating and padding is slick to your skin. You want to finish this off. Preferably with you taking them down, and not the either way around as last time. But you can't go for both Twins at once. The thought of pirouetting between them with abandon, recklessly swinging your sword across both of them as you go makes for a compelling image in your head. Unfortunately, they are too far apart for you to achieve it. You must pick one.
The choice is made for you when an opportunity presents itself. You don't think too much about it. Exhaustion and the blood-red thrill of winning push you forward with renewed speed.
<<elseif $chapt5_dummies == "sigh">>
Your breath comes short, and the chemise beneath the layers of plating and padding is slick to your skin. You want to finish this off. Preferably with you taking them down, and not the either way around as last time. But you can't go for both Twins at once, not like they assault you in tandem. So you must pick one, and pick wisely.
The choice is made for you when an opportunity presents itself. You don't think too much about it. Exhaustion and determination to win push you forward with renewed speed.
<</if>>
The Twins react immediately - one putting up its guard, the other moving on the offensive - but you give neither the time to do much more. You take one hand off your two-hander and sweep it in a wide arc. The resulting gale shoves both dummies back.
You don't hesitate.
The tip of your blade slides through the Twin's armpit and into the hay. You thrust deep and hard, watching the dummy sag against your sword.
"Behind you!"
Your honed instincts win over any surprise at hearing the familiar voice. You swing around, using momentum to make up for your draining strength. Your blade comes down hard against the other Twin's shoulder. The dummy staggers back with a clang, swaying precariously on its armored feet. The featureless face peeking through the visor remains perpetually unperturbed and placid as it weathers damage and pain it doesn't feel, taking hit after hit, dealing in return injuries you very much do feel. Not this time. You won't give it time to strike back.
You swoop down on the dummy with vicious intent and slam the pommel of your sword against its hay-stuffed head. Its knees buckle, and it crumbles at your feet with a satisfying clank.
You stand over it, heaving and sweating yet victorious. Your blood rushes in a song of triumph through your veins, lifting the soreness for you to bask in your knightly feat.
Then you remember the reason why you even succeeded.
[[Elaine grins at you from the sidelines.|Chapt5TrainingElaineArrives]]You whirl around and meet the Twin's blade with your own. The impact sends a shockwave down your arm and through your spine, but you hold steadfast. With all your weight, you push back against the dummy. It stumbles back, but there's no time to celebrate your small victory. There's a menacing clatter at your back, and you spin to meet the other Twin in full.
The fight goes on much like that - you turning and twisting and wheeling around, pinned in a tight circle around the two relentless dummies. Your inattention and slowness are punished with painful strikes. You have little time to savor the hits you land, always getting ready for the next attack.
Accolon has asked that you use your magic sparingly this round. Despite the infrequent use, the gust of winds you send every now and then do give you an advantage. You have enough space to collect yourself between batterings, rattle your enemies back or evade an onrushing blade.
[[Fight|Chapt5MiseryTwinsContinue]]"Does my chamber sound good?" you ask.
Elaine grins. "Perfect." She jumps to her feet but instead of making her way up, holds up an index. "Although...do you want a bite? Gareth mentioned something about chestnuts being brought over this morning."
Your mouth waters at the mere mention. Of course! It's about time sweet chestnuts were getting ripe and ready. You cheerfully take the lead and show Elaine to the kitchen where you grab a bowl of the nuts and a pan to roast them in. You then scurry to your chamber, listening out for voices and footsteps, and muffling your laughter in fists and palms, relishing the joy of sneaking about. There's an intoxicating rush of joy to conducting affairs that may seem so illicit - veritable thieves you were, kindly requesting to grab a bit of treats - yet are ultimately harmless. You grab one of your daggers, the truly incisive, practical kind, and give each of the nuts a nick before dumping your spoils into the pan, which you then hook up within the stone awning of your hearth. Elaine watches as you ignite the logs with a sweep of your hand - remarking "Nice," with a wry smile - then sets about meandering through the chamber.
<<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
"Snake," she says, standing before your vividly painted wardrobe. "The Le Fay symbol, right?"
"Right."
She glances at you where you sit crossed-legged on the rug by the fire; her hair cascades over the back of her jerkin in flaxen ripples. "Why a snake?"
Well, if you were to ask many at court nowadays, it was conceived in a bout of conveniently dreadful divination for the sole purpose of suiting Morgana's current status as Camelot's number one undesirable. While surely a very creative take on the origin, the actual story contains a literal serpent rather than the metaphorical one they consider your mother.
"It's said the fae that gave our line magic - and, well, our name - first showed themself as a serpent." Elaine makes a series of hums as she studies the wardrobe with more interest. You turn the question on her. "Why a swan?"
"Because they make for a vicious symbol?" When you stare at her pointedly, she relents with a chuckle. "It comes from the Swan Knight." She rolls her eyes and pulls at a loose thread of her sleeve, grumbling, "Because I guess we have the most risible of names."
Grace to your etiquette tutor's pedantic nature, the name rings familiar. When he couldn't get Teacher Damian to take time out of one of her history lessons to refresh your memory of Astolat - on grounds of having her own planned lectures, more captivating and thought-provoking than reciting facts - he took it upon himself to run you through a list of important events. Given the gravity with which he imposed the issue on you, you'd think fumbling the name of one of their heroes or a decree of one of their monarchs could call for the dissolution of the engagement. So //Swan Knight// conjures up memories of staring down your stern professor as he droned on about the first Beauregard to take the throne in the middle of a political crisis.
Elaine turns to you, leaning back on the balls of her feet. She's biting back a smile. "Swan, because he came riding a boat pulled by swans to defend his right to the throne, and replaced whatever evil cousin wanted it." She waves a hand, as if the details were unimportant. "I don't know if it makes for an impressive or ridiculous sight."
She moves away from the wardrobe to marvel at the various trinkets adorning your shelves. Tall as she is, she doesn't need to crane her neck; she could easily reach out even to the topmost shelf without strain.
"Lots of wooden figurines," she says. "You...have a passion for them?"
"I do like them a lot," you reply, joining her in admiring the woodwork. And such fine woodwork it is - every groove and angle hewed by expert hands. By someone who channeled all his affection and attention into fashioning the sculptures. It's a testament of his skills, and a testament of his love for you. "They're gifts from Arthur."
"Oh! I did hear he's a skilled carver."
<<else>>
"Snake," she says, standing before your vividly painted wardrobe. "The Le Fay symbol, right?"
"Right."
She glances at you where you sit crossed-legged on the rug by the fire; her hair cascades over the back of her jerkin in flaxen ripples. "Why a snake?"
Well, if you were to ask many at court nowadays, it was conceived in a bout of conveniently dreadful divination for the sole purpose of suiting Morgana's current status as Camelot's number one undesirable. While surely a very creative take on the origin, the actual story contains a literal serpent rather than the metaphorical one they consider your mother.
"It's said the fae that gave our line magic - and, well, our name - first showed themself as a serpent." Elaine makes a series of hums as she studies the wardrobe with more interest. You turn the question on her. "Why a swan?"
"Because they make for a vicious symbol?" When you stare at her pointedly, she relents with a chuckle. "It comes from the Swan Knight." She rolls her eyes and pulls at a loose thread of her sleeve, grumbling, "Because I guess we have the most risible of names."
Grace to your ettiquete tutor's pedantic nature, the name rings familiar. When he couldn't get Teacher Damian to take time out of one of her history lessons to refresh your memory of Astolat - on grounds of having her own planned lectures, more captivating and thought-provoking than reciting facts - he took it upon himself to run you through a list of important events. Given the gravity with which he imposed the issue on you, you'd think fumbling the name of one of their heroes or a decree of one of their monarchs could call for the dissolution of the engagement. So //Swan Knight// conjures up memories of staring down your stern professor as he droned on about the first Beauregard to take the throne in the middle of a political crisis.
Elaine turns to you, leaning back on the balls of her feet. She's biting back a smile. "Swan, because he came riding a boat pulled by swans to defend his right to the throne, and replaced whatever evil cousin wanted it." She waves a hand, as if the details were unimportant. "I don't know if it makes for an impressive or ridiculous sight."
<</if>>
There's spitting and hissing coming from the hearth, like the sounds of a small, vicious critter. You leave Elaine to explore further as you go stir in the pan of chestnuts and check the strength of the flames.
<div class="choice">[["I found your lute," Elaine calls out.|Chapt5MordredChamberLute][$lute to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is this your whittle work?" Elaine asks.|Chapt5MordredChamberWhittle][$whittle to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is this your painting?" Elaine asks.|Chapt5MordredChamberPaint][$draw to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is this your writing?" Elaine asks.|Chapt5MordredChamberWrite][$write to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Are these music sheets?" Elaine asks. She's looking at the songs you composed.|Chapt5MordredChamberSong][$music to "yes"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is this what you're reading right now?" Elaine asks.|Chapt5MordredChamberRead][$read to "yes"]]</div><<if $chapt5_play_lute == 1>>
"Haven Inn. I haven't read this one," Elaine says, leafing through the book. "What's it about?"
"The guests of Haven Inn - nobles and their servants, merchants, a knight, a healer - get stuck at the tavern by a heavy snowstorm. A nobleman is found murdered and everyone's a suspect; the crime is being investigated by a former guard with a proclivity for solving mysteries."
"I think it's a running series of novels, isn't it? Same person doing the solving, different mysteries?"
"Yes," you smile, thinking of the other books you've got stashed in a cabinet. "They're all very gripping."
Elaine nods and gives a little hum of curiosity. "Perhaps I should try one. Gawain recommended me a mystery book once, but it was more...on the humorous side. Very good one."
You speak some more about books, getting so caught up in conversation you almost forget about the chestnuts. Luckily, they haven't charred. They're coming along nicely: the notches you made splitting and curling back like blooming buds, revealing an interior that's burnishing to a lovely golden. Soon enough you're able to remove them from over the fire and extinguish the flames, settling comfortably on the rug as you wait for the food to cool.
<<elseif $chapt5_play_lute == 2>>
It's a swashbuckling romance that follows a noble who, unsatisfied with his life, flees home to pursue his dream of becoming a pirate. He earns his crew's trust and loyalty along the way and meets an infamous, fearsome pirate captain whom he falls in love with. It's an amusing, endearing tale.
"Pirate's delight." A smile tugs at Elaine's mouth. "I read this one. Very fun. Which part did you get to?"
You talk about the book, your favorite bits and opinions on the characters; Elaine is careful not to spoil anything you haven't read already. You get so caught up in conversation you almost forget about the chestnuts. Luckily, they haven't charred. They're coming along nicely: the notches you made splitting and curling back like blooming buds, revealing an interior that's burnishing to a lovely golden. Soon enough you're able to remove them from over the fire and extinguish the flames, settling comfortably on the rug as you wait for the food to cool.
<<else>>
It's an epic about a mismatch group setting out to destroy a powerful, evil artefact by chucking it in a specific volcano; the journey is gripping and exciting, and the bonds they forge along the way strong.
"The daring adventures of the fellowship." A smile tugs at Elaine's mouth. "I love it. Which part did you get to?"
You talk about the book, your favorite bits and opinions on the characters; Elaine is careful not to spoil anything you haven't read already. You get so caught up in conversation you almost forget about the chestnuts. Luckily, they haven't charred. They're coming along nicely: the notches you made splitting and curling back like blooming buds, revealing an interior that's burnishing to a lovely golden. Soon enough you're able to remove them from over the fire and extinguish the flames, settling comfortably on the rug as you wait for the food to cool.
<</if>>
[[Dig in|Chapt5ChamberChestnuts]]<<if $chapt5_play_lute == 1>>
"It's a jaunty little tune to dance to," you explain, pulling out the two pages in question.
Elaine glances over them, then back up at you with a grin. "Can I hear it? I //love// jaunty little tunes."
About a week ago, Lot had a fiddle-player come up to the castle to perform in his parlor at dinner, to entertain the Beauregards with Lothian songs. He'd invited the guests to request tunes, and Elaine had asked for something //jaunty and merry, something you can hop to//.
<<elseif $chapt5_play_lute == 2>>
"It's a ballad, slow and sentimental," you explain, pulling out the two pages in question.
Elaine glances over them, then back up at you with a grin. "Can I hear it?"
<<else>>
"It's the sort of bold, uplifting melody that would accompany a daring hero on stage," you explain, pulling out the two pages in question.
Elaine glances over them, then back up at you with a grin. "Can I hear it?"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you say.|Chapt5MordredChamberCompose1][$chapt5_play_lute1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I-uh, sure." You're nervous.|Chapt5MordredChamberCompose1][$chapt5_play_lute1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I still think it needs a bit of work," you turn her down. "Maybe some other time."|Chapt5MordredChamberCompose1][$chapt5_play_lute1 to 3]]</div><<if $chapt5_play_lute1 == 1>>
<<if $chapt5_play_lute == 1>>
You hook your ankle around a chair leg, pulling it out to sit down. As you tune the lute, fiddling with the knobs of the pegbox to tighten or loosen the strings till it sounds right, Elaine makers herself comfortable on the edge of your bed.
"Alright," you say, ready. "Here I go."
You jump into the song with fervor. Your hand shifts fluidly up and down along the neck, pressing down strings, while your other fingers lively strum at the cords. Elaine shimmies her shoulders to the music, and you can't help but chuckle.
"Is that what you were practicing this morning?" you tease, and she sticks her tongue out as you.
"I like it," Elaine grins as you finish. "Truly jaunty."
You incline your head. "Thanks."
<<elseif $chapt5_play_lute == 2>>
You hook your ankle around a chair leg, pulling it out to sit down. As you tune the lute, fiddling with the knobs of the pegbox to tighten or loosen the strings till it sounds right, Elaine makers herself comfortable on the edge of your bed.
"Alright," you say, ready. "Here I go."
The song starts quiet and calm, and builds up slowly. You've composed it with a desire to achieve a soothing, lulling melody with just a tang of wistfulness, much like a pleasant autumn day. Your hand shifts fluidly up and down along the neck, pressing down strings as your other fingers strum at the cords. Elaine listens intently, the shadow of a smile playing over her lips.
"It's beautiful," she says as you finish.
You incline your head. "Thanks."
<<else>>
You hook your ankle around a chair leg, pulling it out to sit down. As you tune the lute, fiddling with the knobs of the pegbox to tighten or loosen the strings till it sounds right, Elaine makers herself comfortable on the edge of your bed.
"Alright," you say, ready. "Here I go."
The melody starts strong and decisive - like a bold hero setting out on their journey - and only swells as it goes on, rising to dramatic heights. Your hand shifts fluidly up and down along the neck, pressing down strings as your other fingers strum with confidence at the cords. Elaine shimmies her shoulders to the music and you can't help but chuckle.
"Is that what you were practising this morning?" you tease, and she sticks her tongue out as you.
"I like it," Elaine grins as you finish. "Very inspiring."
You incline your head. "Thanks."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_play_lute1 == 2>>
<<if $chapt5_play_lute == 1>>
You hook your ankle around a chair leg, pulling it out to sit down. As you tune the lute, fiddling with the knobs of the pegbox to tighten or loosen the strings till it sounds right, Elaine makers herself comfortable on the edge of your bed. You, on the other hand, feel like you're seating atop a jagged rock, fingers unsure as you strum at the cords. Each and every sound it emits rings either too deep or high-pitched in your ears, discordant and wrong.
"Alright," you say, not at all ready. "Here I go."
You nod, take a deep breath and start. Your hand shifts fluidly up and down along the neck, pressing down strings, while your other fingers lively strum at the cords. Elaine shimmies her shoulders to the music and you can't help but smile.
As you finish, she offers an enthusiastic round of applause. "I like it. Truly jaunty."
You incline your head. "Thanks."
<<elseif $chapt5_play_lute == 2>>
You hook your ankle around a chair leg, pulling it out to sit down. As you tune the lute, fiddling with the knobs of the pegbox to tighten or loosen the strings till it sounds right, Elaine makers herself comfortable on the edge of your bed. You, on the other hand, feel like you're seating atop a jagged rock, fingers unsure as you strum at the cords. Each and every sound it emits rings either too deep or high-pitched in your ears, discordant and wrong.
"Alright," you say, not at all ready. "Here I go."
The song starts quiet and calm, and builds up slowly. You've composed it with a desire to achieve a soothing, lulling melody with just a tang of wistfulness, much like a pleasant autumn day. Your hand shifts fluidly up and down along the neck, pressing down strings as your other fingers strum at the cords. Elaine listens intently, the shadow of a smile playing over her lips.
"It's beautiful," she says as you finish.
You incline your head. "Thanks."
<<else>>
You hook your ankle around a chair leg, pulling it out to sit down. As you tune the lute, fiddling with the knobs of the pegbox to tighten or loosen the strings till it sounds right, Elaine makers herself comfortable on the edge of your bed. You, on the other hand, feel like you're seating atop a jagged rock, fingers unsure as you strum at the cords. Each and every sound it emits rings either too deep or high-pitched in your ears, discordant and wrong.
"Alright," you say, not at all ready. "Here I go."
The melody starts strong and decisive - like a bold hero setting out on their journey - and only swells as it goes on, rising to dramatic heights. Your hand shifts fluidly up and down along the neck, pressing down strings as your other fingers strum with confidence at the cords. Elaine shimmies her shoulders to the music, and you can't help but smile.
As you finish, she gives you an enthusiastic round of applause. "I like it. Very inspiring."
You incline your head. "Thanks."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_play_lute1 == 3>>
"I think it still needs a bit of work," you say with a sheepish smile, slipping the sheets in a drawer. You close it with a decisive click so Elaine knows not to insist. "Maybe some other time."
"Some other time, then," she relents.
<</if>>
You turn your attention back onto the roasting chestnuts. They're coming along nicely: the notches you made splitting and curling back like blooming buds, revealing an interior that's burnishing to a lovely golden. Soon enough you're able to remove them from over the fire and extinguish the flames, settling comfortably on the rug as you wait for the food to cool.
[[Dig in|Chapt5ChamberChestnuts]]<<if $chapt5_play_lute == 1>>
"I could sketch you something," you offer, already digging through your drawer for charcoal and a notebook.
"Like what?"
"Anything you want." You leaf through the various sketches made - lots of them $dragon_name - till you find a blank page. "Just...maybe not hands. I could sketch you."
"I'd like that. How should I pose?" Elaine pulls your desk chair out and straddles it backwards. "Is this good?" she asks, crossing her arms atop the backrest.
"That's good, though it'll be a portrait so," you run the side of your hand from one shoulder to the other, "from here and up."
You go back to rummaging, and find the box you were looking for - it clatters with a plinky, tinny tone. You pick one of the thinner sticks of charcoal within, then make yourself comfortable on the edge of your bed.
"Alright. Ready?"
Elaine straightens in the chair and gives you a grin. "Ready."
There's something so soothing about sketching - the soft scratching of the pen against the page, the comfortable silence that settles over the chamber as you work. Elaine seems to enjoy it just as much. She keeps quiet, every now and then trying to peer into your notebook to see your progress. By the time you go check on the food, you have a quick sketch of Elaine with her playful smile.
The chestnuts are coming along nicely: the notches you made splitting and curling back like blooming buds, revealing an interior that's burnishing to a lovely golden. Soon enough you're able to remove them from over the fire and extinguish the flames, settling comfortably on the rug as you wait for the food to cool.
<<else>>
Elaine looks over the framed pictures: paintings done in oil or tempura, drawings traced with charcoal. These are your personal favorites and pieces you're most proud of, so having someone examine and compliment them as candidly as Elaine does gives you a sense of gratification you allow yourself to bask in.
You then go to check on the chestnuts, which are coming along nicely: the notches you made splitting and curling back like blooming buds, revealing an interior that's burnishing to a lovely golden. Soon enough you're able to remove them from over the fire and extinguish the flames, settling comfortably on the rug as you wait for the food to cool.
<</if>>
[[Dig in|Chapt5ChamberChestnuts]]"I found your lute," Elaine calls out.
You leave the chestnuts to roast and approach her. "Not a difficult venture," you say, given that its leather case is placed on the desk in plain view where you left it after playing this morning, with the intention of resuming just before dinner. It's not an inconspicuous thing either - fairly big and particularly shaped to accommodate the neck of the instrument that bends sharply at the top to give way to the pegbox.
"Can I take a look?" she asks, wriggling her fingers over the clasps.
"Be my guest."
She unbolts the case and studies the instrument nestled atop the velvet upholstery like some peacefully slumbering creature. The lute was custom made for you, its wooden facade painted according to your desires. You gently take it out of its casing so Elaine can take a better look and even hold it. She gives it an off-tune, pitiful strum.
"I'm a master player, as you can see," she says as she hands it back to you. "I bet you can't outdo me, but I'd love to hear you try."
<div class="choice">[[You gladly indulge her.|Chapt5MordredChamberPlay][$chapt5_play_lute to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'll play a fragment of a song; you feel self-conscious playing like this.|Chapt5MordredChamberPlay][$chapt5_play_lute to 2]]</div>"Is this your painting?" Elaine asks, pointing at a small canvas resting against a stack of books on your desk. She bends down to peer closer at it and you encourage her to pick it up; the oil colors have dried a while ago. "It's $dragon_name, isn't it?"
It is, caught in flight - majestic and elegant as they dive from the skies downwards, wings widespread, scales glinting in the bright sun, tail and long neck held straight and confident. The result is beautiful, but the process was both amusing and tiring. You had $dragon_name doing the dive repeatedly so you could get references to the point they got dizzy - but they're always delighted to be your model, and this pose was their idea in the first place.
"You paint very well," Elaine says, setting the painting back in its place. She sweeps a hand towards the frames on the wall. "Those are yours too?"
"Those ones, yeah, though I have more in my workshop."
Her brow shoots up with interest. "You have a workshop?"
You do, set up in a parlor a few doors down the hall. You needed space to put your easel, spread your utensils, store your creations. Besides, painting can get messy - and smelly, in the case of oil colors. Turpentine floods a room in no time with its potent, sharp, overwhelming odor, though it's nothing a good, magic-powered airing couldn't get rid of. Unfortunately, the gales you stir don't differentiate between vapor and canvas though, so unless you wish for a storm-ravaged, albeit, cleansed chamber, you need to resort to the non-magical solution of open windows.
Aside from the obvious practical perks, there's a certain charm to having your own worksop, where you feel like a renowned artist working on ?their next masterpiece.
<div class="choice">[["I could draw you something," you offer.|Chapt5MordredChamberDraw][$chapt5_play_lute to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You tell her a bit about your paintings and drawings.|Chapt5MordredChamberDraw][$chapt5_play_lute to 2]]</div><<if $chapt5_play_lute == 1>>
You hook your ankle around a chair leg, pulling it out to sit down. As you tune the lute, fiddling with the knobs of the pegbox to tighten or loosen the strings till it sounds right, Elaine makes herself comfortable on the edge of your bed.
"Alright," you say, ready. "What should I play? A jaunty little tune?"
About a week ago, Lot had a fiddle-player come up to the castle to perform in his parlor at dinner, to entertain the Beauregards with Lothian songs. He'd invited the guests to request tunes, and Elaine had asked for something //jaunty and merry, something you can hop to//. You know just what to play then; it's a favorite among both the noble and commoner crowds.
You jump into the song with fervor. Your hand shifts fluidly up and down along the neck, pressing down strings while your other fingers lively strum at the cords. Elaine shimmies her shoulders to the music and you can't help but chuckle.
"Is that what you were practicing this morning?"
"No, it was more like this." She leaps to her feet and proceedes to do a mock bow followed by some dramatic, exaggerated sweeps about the chamber. Swirling around and flapping her arms wildly in the air. Truly charming. She is sure to impress everyone at the feast.
"Now for the grand finale," you say, fingers moving even quicker on the strings.
Elaine leaps up. Feet raised up high, long hair flying all around. She lands on the rug with a dull thud, falling gracefully into a genuflection at the same time you end the song with a flourish.
"You play very well," she says, pulling her disheveled hair out of her face with both hands.
"And you dance very well," you retort, to which she only snorts.
<<else>>
You hook your ankle around a chair leg, pulling it out to sit down. As you tune the lute, fiddling with the knobs of the pegbox to tighten or loosen the strings till it sounds right, Elaine makes herself comfortable on the edge of your bed. You, on the other hand, feel like you're seating atop a jagged rock, fingers unsure as you strum at the cords. Each and every sound it emits rings either too deep or high-pitched in your ears, discordant and wrong.
"Alright," you say, not at all ready. "What should I play? A jaunty little tune?"
About a week ago, Lot had a fiddle-player come up to the castle to perform in his parlor at dinner, to entertain the Beauregards with Lothian songs. He'd invited the guests to request tunes, and Elaine had asked for something //jaunty and merry, something you can hop to//. You know just what to play then; it's a favorite among both the noble and commoner crowds.
You nod, take a deep breath and start. You're not going to play the whole of it, just a fragment to appease Elaine. And appeased she looks; as your hand shifts quickly up and down, pressing on the strings, Elaine shimmies her shoulders to the music. It brings a small, tentative smile to your lips.
"And that's it," you say, ending the song before you're even halfway.
She gives you a round of enthusiastic applause. "You play very well."
You just duck your head and mumble a thanks.
<</if>>
You put your lute away and turn your attention back onto the roasting chestnuts. They're coming along nicely: the notches you made splitting and curling back like blooming buds, revealing an interior that's burnishing to a lovely golden. Soon enough you're able to remove them from over the fire and extinguish the flames, settling comfortably on the rug as you wait for the food to cool.
[[Dig in|Chapt5ChamberChestnuts]]"Is this what you're reading right now?" Elaine asks, pointing at the book on your desk.
It stands out as distinctly fiction among stacks of magical treatises and historical chronicles, its gilded title winking up at you in the sunlight. Elaine picks it up and reads the name outloud:
<div class="choice">[["Haven Inn." It's a murder mystery.|Chapt5MordredChamberBook][$chapt5_play_lute to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Pirate's delight." It's a swashbuckling romance. |Chapt5MordredChamberBook][$chapt5_play_lute to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["The daring adventures of the fellowship." It's an adventure book.|Chapt5MordredChamberBook][$chapt5_play_lute to 3]]</div>"Are these music sheets? For the lute?" Elaine asks, peering at the papers strewn across your desk.
"Yes," you say, gathering the sheets in one neat stack. "I composed them, actually."
Her eyes widen with enthusiasm. "Are they finished?"
"Some of them." You glance down at the series of symbols written in black ink over the bars. "Well, only one of them here is finished and polished; I was working on it this morning."
"Really? What..." she gestures about as if the motion might summon the right words, "sort of song is it?"
<div class="choice">[["It's a jaunty little tune to dance to."|Chapt5MordredChamberCompose][$chapt5_play_lute to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's a ballad, slow and sentimental."|Chapt5MordredChamberCompose][$chapt5_play_lute to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's the sort of bold, uplifting melody that would accompany a daring hero on stage."|Chapt5MordredChamberCompose][$chapt5_play_lute to 3]]</div>Morgana's always been supportive of your passion for writing, though she's also taught you how to take precautions if you wished to write things of a more personal nature or draw too heavily from experience - especially pertaining to those facets of your life that should remain a secret. And so, she's shown you long ago how to ward your notebooks, in a similar fashion used to protect letters.
<<if $chapt5_play_lute == 1>>
This one that Elaine found is not enchanted. You've kept it strictly for fictional stories.
"It's just a short story," you say, shrugging. "About an encounter with the fae."
Her brow shoots up with interest. "Is it finished?"
"For the most part. I still need to polish it further."
She tilts her head, smile lopsided. "So, what exactly is it about? Can I read? If it's alright with you."
<<elseif $chapt5_play_lute == 2>>
This one that Elaine found is not enchanted. You've kept it strictly for verses too flowery and abstract to reveal anything.
"It's just some poems," you say, shrugging. "Rather...sentimental, I suppose."
Her brow shoots up with interest. "Are they finished?"
"For the most part. I still need to polish them further."
She tilts her head, smile lopsided. "Can I read? If it's alright with you."
<<elseif $chapt5_play_lute == 3>>
This one that Elaine found is not enchanted. You've kept it strictly for verses that even if personal, never delve into specifics.
"It's just some poems," you say, shrugging. "About autumn. I felt inspired."
Her brow shoots up with interest. "Are they finished?"
"For the most part. I still need to polish them further."
She tilts her head, smile lopsided. "Can I read? If it's alright with you."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you say.|Chapt5MordredChamberStory1][$chapt5_play_lute1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure," you say nervously.|Chapt5MordredChamberStory1][$chapt5_play_lute1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you say evasively, "they still need work, so maybe some other time."|Chapt5MordredChamberStory1][$chapt5_play_lute1 to 3]]</div><<if $chapt5_play_lute1 == 1>>
"Sure," you smile, proffering the notebook.
"Thanks." Elaine makes herself comfortable on the edge of your bed and leans against a poster. She reads with a focused expression that betrays little of her emotions, every so often nodding her head slowly or wetting her lips. A couple times, flitting smiles pass over her lips.
When she's finally done, she hands the notebook back with a smile. It looks candid. "Really nice."
<<elseif $chapt5_play_lute1 == 2>>
You hug the notebook at your chest, reluctant to hand it over. You're torn; part of you would love for someone to read what you've written and another absolutely dreads it. What if she dislikes it? You're not sure what would be worse - Elaine plainly telling you it's awful, or trying to pretend it's good while clearly not enjoying it.
You take a deep breath in, then out, and proffer the notebook. "Here," you say with a strained smile.
"Thanks." Elaine makes herself comfortable on the edge of your bed and leans against a poster. She reads with a focused expression that betrays little of her emotions, every so often nodding her head slowly or wetting her lips. A couple times, flitting smiles pass over her lips. Does she find your writing good? Ridiculous? The expression merely stokes your anxities.
When she's finally done, she hands the notebook back with a smile. It looks candid. "Really nice."
<<elseif $chapt5_play_lute1 == 3>>
"I don't know," you say evasively, already opening a drawer to shove in the notebook. "It still needs work, so maybe some other time."
"Some other time, then," she relents.
<</if>>
You turn your attention back onto the roasting chestnuts. They're coming along nicely: the notches you made splitting and curling back like blooming buds, revealing an interior that's burnishing to a lovely golden. Soon enough you're able to remove them from over the fire and extinguish the flames, settling comfortably on the rug as you wait for the food to cool.
[[Dig in|Chapt5ChamberChestnuts]]"Were you whittling?" Elaine asks, pointing to a crude wooden figure on your desk.
You've been working on it this morning and while you cleaned the chips and bits you hewed away, you left the sculpture-in-the-making and your carving knife on your desk. It sits there now, limned by the bright light in all its rough glory. It's a bigger piece of block you've started with this time - a more ambitious, detailed project to unwind.
"Yeah. It's supposed to be $dragon_name," you say, picking it up so she can examine it closer. "I've only just started working on it today."
"It's...definitely vaguely dragon-shaped," she says. "How you do it? How do you go about carving?"
<div class="choice">[[Show her how you do it.|Chapt5MordredChamberWhittleShow][$chapt5_play_lute to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Put it back on the desk.|Chapt5MordredChamberWhittleShow][$chapt5_play_lute to 2]]</div><<if $chapt5_play_lute == 1>>
"Sure. So, like you said, it's very rough right now, so it just resembles $dragon_name - or a dragon's form in general."
"It also kind of looks like a swan."
You hold it further from you, tilting your head to better survey it. "Kind of. Anyway." You grab your carving knife and grip it with the confidence you've gained over years of practice and accidental decapitations of wooden figures. "I'll go here," you place your blade to the side and shave off a bit, "and I keep going on both parts, and with each new incision you can see...change. Also," you put down the knife to search for a pencil, "it's good to trace a scheme over it."
You do this for a bit, chiseling and walking her through it as you do, the way Arthur did when he was teaching you. You doubt Elaine is learning much, but she listens intently to the explanations and stories of your first attempts and misshapen results. She then asks you to show her through some of your finished pieces, so you present her different ones, from those that hold a certain meaning - like the fanning seashell that reminds you of Avalon - to the ones you merely thought looked nice or interesting. Simple sculptures to unwind, or more intricate ones to challenge yourself.
<<else>>
"You just...carve," you say, very vaguely and unhelpfully while wiggling your fingers around the rough sculpture as if the process itself were simple magic.
"Alright," Elaine nods. "How about your finished works?"
You present her different ones, from those that hold a certain meaning - like the fanning seashell that reminds you of Avalon - to the ones you merely thought looked nice or interesting. Simple sculptures to unwind, or more intricate ones to challenge yourself.
<</if>>
You then turn your attention back onto the roasting chestnuts. They're coming along nicely: the notches you made splitting and curling back like blooming buds, revealing an interior that's burnishing to a lovely golden. Soon enough you're able to remove them from over the fire and extinguish the flames, settling comfortably on the rug as you wait for the food to cool.
[[Dig in|Chapt5ChamberChestnuts]]"Is this your writing?" Elaine asks, peering at an open notebook on the desk.
"Yes," you say, rushing to scoop it up before she can browse through it. "I was just working on something this morning."
"Really? What?"
<div class="choice">[["A fictional short story," you say. "About an encounter with the fae."|Chapt5MordredChamberStory][$chapt5_play_lute to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's just poetry." Your maudlin poetry.|Chapt5MordredChamberStory][$chapt5_play_lute to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's just poetry. Particularly about autumn."|Chapt5MordredChamberStory][$chapt5_play_lute to 3]]</div><<if $chapt5_morgana_tell == 1>>
You're eager to recount your findings - there was much to glean from what was said and what was not, from the silences and the looks.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit. She cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<<else>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased, and cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<</if>>
"Elaine seems very nervous about this whole affair," you say, recounting her little rant on hyacinths and tedious organizational //stuff// back in the inner courtyard. "Especially regarding her taking up the responsibilities and expectations attached to her new station."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully, hands folded in front of her. One thumb slowly traces circles over the ruby twinkling blood red on her index. "Well, explains why she didn't come to the wedding preparations. Her parents tried to pass it off as her simply feeling tired - as to not hurt anyone's feelings or egos, of course - but their excuses all fell apart when she came speeding by the window with Felix."
"Wait, //you// went to the wedding preparations?"
"Of course," she smoothly replies, flicking invisible lint off her crimson gown. "I decided to hunt for some information myself. Did Elaine say anything of Gareth?"
"Not much. Just that //he's nice//, which doesn't really tell us a lot."
Morgana nods, pressing her knuckles against her lips in thought. "Indeed. It could be a number of things - starting from the very fact that they barely know each other - but it doesn't inspire much hope." A sharp smile cuts across her face. "For Lot, that is. Anything else?"
<<if $elaine_said_more is true>>
"She thinks everyone's rushing to see them married; she maintains her opinion on the engagement was taking into consideration, but..." you trail off, watching the shadows cast by the sconces lining the hall. "I get the impression she's riddled with doubts."
Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred."
<<else>>
You sigh and shake your head. Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred."
<</if>>
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
You let the low sizzling of the flames fill the silence as you ruminate on all you've learned, and all that you yet do not know. Then you ask: "Now what? What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. We'll talk more. With Elaine, her sister, her parents. And Gareth himself. Watch them, too. I just want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement. It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely know each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
You let the low sizzling of the flames fill the silence as you ruminate on all you've learned, and all that you yet do not know. Then you ask: "Now what? What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, a smile tugging at your lips.
"Poison is quite the versatile solution," she says musingly, then shakes her head as if to dispel a tempting thought. "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. We'll talk more. With Elaine, her sister, her parents. And Gareth himself. Watch them, too. I just want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement. It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely know each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
[[Continue|Chapt5LotWarning]]
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 2 or $chapt5_morgana_tell == 4>>
<<if $chapt5_morgana_tell == 2>>
You've agreed to helping Morgana but as you stand about to talk to her, you decide to keep silent. You won't partake in her schemes, won't play her spy; you'll do what you will with what you found out.
<<else>>
You've met with Elaine, as Morgana would have had you, but you did not do it to benefit any of her plans, and so won't tell her anything that you've found out.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips. She cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor.
All you offer is an apologetic smile and shake of your head. "I don't have anything to share."
<<else>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased, and cocks her head, inviting the two of you to talk side by side down the corridor.
All you offer is an apologetic smile and shake of your head. "I don't have anything to share."
<</if>>
Morgana studies your face, thumb tracing slow circles on her ring of blood red ruby, betraying no emotion of her own. "Nothing of interest? Surely she must have revealed something - even if not through words."
You shake your head again.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
"Ah." A mirthless smile curls her lips. "Do you not want to share anymore? Well, I was hoping you'd be willing to help your brother and I, but I see how it is. No matter - you did help, after all. The four of you provided quite the animated distraction from our meeting, with your little flight around the castle."
You blank completely for a moment, your brain refusing to understand what it's hearing. Distraction? Our meeting? She couldn't possibly mean... "You went to the wedding organizing meeting?"
"Of course," she glibly admits, flicking invisible lint off her sleeve. "I should get invovled for Gareth's sake, shouldn't I? Get to know my future relatives better. It's a good opportunity to glean more information - what the Beauregards, especially Elaine, think of the engagement. Though, well, Elaine was not present at the preparations, which is just as interesting bit of knowledge."
<<else>>
"I ended up attending the wedding preparations," she glibly admits, flicking invisible lint off her sleeve. "I should get invovled for Gareth's sake, shouldn't I? Get to know my future relatives better. It's a good opportunity to glean more information - what the Beauregards, especially Elaine, think of the engagement. Though, well, Elaine was not present at the preparations, which is just as interesting bit of knowledge."
<</if>>
You let the low sizzling of the flames fill the silence as you ruminate on all you've learned, and all that you yet do not know.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
Then you ask: "Now what? What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. We'll talk more. With Elaine, her sister, her parents. And Gareth himself. Watch them, too. I just want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement. It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely know each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
Then you ask: "Now what? What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, a smile tugging at your lips.
"Poison is quite the versatile solution," she says musingly, then shakes her head as if to dispel a tempting thought. "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. We'll talk more. With Elaine, her sister, her parents. And Gareth himself. Watch them, too. I just want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement. It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely know each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
<div class="choice">[["Elaine does seem under quite a lot of pressure," you say.|Chapt5MorganaCloseTell][$chapt5_intervene to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You keep silent; if you even are to intervene, it won't be by involving Morgana.|Chapt5MorganaCloseTell][$chapt5_intervene to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 3>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. You eagerly meet her halfway, looping your arm with her as you set off down the hallway. Your step is light, buoyed by your success talking with Elaine. There was much to glean from what was said and what was not, from the silences and the looks.
"My talk with Elaine yielded some...interesting information," you begin.
Your mother slows you down to a leisured pace. Lot and dinner can wait. This conversation is far more delicious than any small, tasty appetizers laid out for you, though your stomach does twist, painfully demanding, at the thought of them.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
"You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips. "What did you find you?"
<<else>>
"You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "What did you find you?"
<</if>>
"Elaine seems very nervous about this whole affair," you say, recounting her little rant on hyacinths and tedious organizational //stuff// back in the inner courtyard. "Especially regarding her taking up the responsibilities and expectations attached to her new station."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully, hands folded in front of her. One thumb slowly traces circles over the ruby twinkling blood red on her index. "Well, explains why she didn't come to the wedding preparations. Her parents tried to pass it off as her simply feeling tired - as to not hurt anyone's feelings or egos, of course - but their excuses all fell apart when she came speeding by the window with Felix."
"Wait, //you// went to the wedding preparations?"
"Of course," she smoothly replies, flicking invisible lint off her crimson gown. "I decided to hunt for some information myself. Did Elaine say anything of Gareth?"
"Not much. Just that //he's nice//, which doesn't really tell us a lot."
Morgana nods, pressing her knuckles against her lips in thought. "Indeed. It could be a number of things - starting from the very fact that they barely know each other - but it doesn't inspire much hope." A sharp smile cuts across her face. "For Lot, that is. Anything else?"
<<if $elaine_said_more is true>>
"She thinks everyone's rushing to see them married; she maintains her opinion on the engagement was taking into consideration, but..." you trail off, watching the shadows cast by the sconces lining the hall. "I get the impression she's riddled with doubts."
Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred."
<<else>>
You sigh and shake your head. Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred."
<</if>>
You let the low sizzling of the flames fill the silence as you ruminate on all you've learned, and all that you yet do not know. Then you ask:
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Now what? What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. We'll talk more. With Elaine, her sister, her parents. And Gareth himself. Watch them, too. I just want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement. It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely know each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
Then you ask: "Now what? What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, a smile tugging at your lips.
"Poison is quite the versatile solution," she says musingly, then shakes her head as if to dispel a tempting thought. "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. We'll talk more. With Elaine, her sister, her parents. And Gareth himself. Watch them, too. I just want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement. It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely know each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
[[Continue|Chapt5LotWarning]]
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 5>>
You approach Morgana with a smile that's mirrored on her face.
She elegantly folds her hands before her. "I had really hoped you'd show Elaine around." Her light rebuttal is further mellowed out by curious satisfaction. "Nevertheless, I've gleaned some...interesting information."
"What do you mean?"
A hint of a mischevious smile plays on her lips. "I decided to attend the wedding preparations which Elaine did not deign to show up for. Her parents attempted to excuse her absence, but it's hard to believe she was so tired once we all saw her and Felix flying about carefree."
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You fall into step with her, letting the low sizzling of the flames fill the silence as you ruminate on what you've learned. Then you ask:
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Now what? What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. We'll talk more. With Elaine, her sister, her parents. And Gareth himself. Watch them, too. I just want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely know each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
Then you ask: "Now what? What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, a smile tugging at your lips.
"Poison is quite the versatile solution," she says musingly, then shakes her head as if to dispel a tempting thought. "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. We'll talk more. With Elaine, her sister, her parents. And Gareth himself. Watch them, too. I just want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely know each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
[[Continue|Chapt5Lecture]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_morgana_tell == 1>>
It's too late, though. The gentle swishing of your opening door has alerted Morgana to your presence, and now she's turning to you with an expectant smile. It'd be stupid to hide now so you make to move forward - but you've already drawn back, resulting in you foolishly teetering over the threshold, holding on to the door to avoid getting closely acquianted with the floor. The wooden boards don't look very welcoming. You stabilize, a flush of heat blooming in comingled mortification and trepidation, palm smarting where the knob's decorative motif was imprinted on your skin.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
"Mordred, are you alright?" Morgana proffers a hand, but one scathing look is enough to make her reconsider the offer of help. Instead, she elegantly folds her hands before her. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit.
"I didn't do it for //you//."
"Hmm," she hums contently, undaunted by your hostility. "You didn't, but you were of help still. The four of you provided quite the...animated distraction from our meeting."
You blank completely for a moment, your brain refusing to understand what it's hearing, fogging up with ill-defined unease. Distraction? Our meeting? She couldn't possibly mean... "You went to the wedding organizing meeting?"
"Of course," she imperiously says, flicking invisible lint off her sleeve. "I should get involved for Gareth's sake, shoudln't I? Get to know my future relatives better."
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Mordred, are you alright?" Morgana proffers a hand, but one scathing look is enough to make her reconsider the offer of help. Instead, she elengantly folds her hands before her. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased.
"I didn't do it for //you//."
"Hmm," she hums contently, undaunted by your hostility. "You didn't, but you were of help still. This morning has proved quite fruitful," she concludes with a subtle curl of her lips that you don't like one bit.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "Is it truly just concern for Gareth? Why do you even care? Is this not a good political move? You sure love your scheming - or do you wish to sabotage Lothia perhaps?" You wouldn't particularly care if Lot suffered, but if whatever befalls the Duchy drags Gareth down along with it, then it's not worth it.
<<else>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "Is it truly just concern for Gareth? Why do you even care? Is this not a good political move? You sure love your scheming - or do you wish to sabotage Lothia perhaps?" You wouldn't particularly care if Lot suffered, truth be told.
<</if>>
She scoffs. "Why I care about my son's wellbeing and happiness, you mean? When Lot clearly doesn't as long as it secures a good alliance?"
<div class="choice">[[That's rich coming from her - when she's made you solely as a weapon - and you will tell her just that.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So Gareth she loves; and you're the one who was made to be a weapon.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So she's truly concerned for Gareth, and there's no scheme. This doesn't mean she won't go about helping him with some insidious ploy as is her way.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's her own fault you can't trust her word; of course you're questioning her motivation.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 2>>
It's too late, though. The gentle swishing of your opening door has alerted Morgana to your presence, and now she's turning to you with an expectant smile. It'd be stupid to hide now so you make to move forward - but you've already drawn back, resulting in you foolishly teetering over the threshold, holding on to the door to avoid getting closely acquianted with the floor. The wooden boards don't look very welcoming. You stabilize, a flush of heat blooming in comignled mortification and trepidation, palm smarting where the knob's decorative motif was imprinted into your skin.
"Mordred, are you alright?" Morgana proffers a hand, but one scathing look is enough to make her reconsider the offer of help. Instead, she elengantly folds her hands before her. "I had really hoped you'd show Elaine around. Nevertheless, I've gleaned some...interesting information."
You narrow your eyes, regarding her warily. "What do you mean?" Did your refusal to assist her inadvertedly benefit her, anyway?
Morgana merely shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. You do not like the sight of it. She's concocting a scheme, that you're sure of. The question stands - does it involve any actual //concocting//? After all, Morgana has a predilection for the poisonous kind.
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "Is it truly just concern for Gareth? Why do you even care about this engagement? Is this not a good political move? You sure love your scheming - or do you wish to sabotage Lothia perhaps?" You wouldn't particularly care if Lot suffered, but if whatever befalls the Duchy drags Gareth down along with it, then it's not worth it.
<<else>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "Is it truly just concern for Gareth? Why do you even care about the engagement? Is this not a good political move? You sure love your scheming - or do you wish to sabotage Lothia perhaps?" You wouldn't particularly care if Lot suffered, truth be told.
<</if>>
She scoffs. "Why I care about my son's wellbeing and happiness, you mean? When Lot clearly doesn't as long as it secures a good alliance?"
<div class="choice">[[That's rich coming from her - when she's made you solely as a weapon - and you will tell her just that.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So Gareth she loves; and you're the one who was made to be a weapon.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So she's truly concerned for Gareth, and there's no scheme. This doesn't mean she won't go about helping him with some insidious ploy as is her way.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's her own fault you can't trust her word; of course you're questioning her motivation.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 3>>
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
You might have hastened back into your chamber, silently drawn the door close - but Morgana has already spotted you, alerted by the gentle swishing of your opening door - so you step outside, steeling yourself.
She approaches with an expectant smile, though she'll quickly be disappointed to find your answer lacking.
"You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," Morgana says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit.
"I did," you agree, "but I didn't do it for //you//."
"Hmm," she hums contently, undaunted by your hostility. "You didn't, but you were of help still. The four of you provided quite the...animated distraction from our meeting. I'm still very curious about what you learned from your little talk, though."
You blank completely for a moment, your brain refusing to understand what it's hearing, fogging up with ill-defined unease, ignoring completely the implied question of the second part. Distraction? Our meeting? She couldn't possibly mean... "You went to the wedding organizing meeting?"
"Of course," she imperiously says, flicking invisible lint off her sleeve. "I should get involved for Gareth's sake, shouldn't I? Get to know my future relatives better."
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
"I'm very curious what you've learned from your little talk," Morgana repeats, as if you might have missed it the first time.
"And curious you shall stay," you say, sidestepping her.
Yet Morgana is persistent, like a stubborn, annoying thistle refusing to part with your skin. Clinging on painfully. She falls into step with you, the hem of her crimson gown brushing softly against the carpet.
"I'm not asking much," she reasons with you. Always trying to make it sound as if you were the ridiculous one for not wishing to yield to her logic. "I just want to know if she's revealed anything of her sentiments on the engagement."
<<else>>
You might have hastened back into your chamber, silently drawn the door close - but Morgana has already spotted you, alerted by the gentle swishing of your opening door - so you step outside, steeling yourself.
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile, though she'll quickly be disappointed to find your answer lacking.
"You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased.
"I did," you agree, "but I didn't do it for //you//."
"Hmm," she hums contently, undaunted by your hostility. "You didn't, but you were of help still. This morning has proved quite fruitful," she concludes with a subtle curl of her lips that you don't like one bit.
She's concocting a scheme, that you're sure of. The question stands - does it involve any actual //concocting//? After all, Morgana has a predilection for the poisonous kind.
"I'm very curious what you've learned from your little talk," Morgana continues.
"And curious you shall stay," you say, sidestepping her.
Yet Morgana is persistent, like a stubborn, annoying thistle refusing to part with your skin. Clinging on painfully. She falls into step with you, the hem of her crimson gown brushing softly against the carpet.
"I'm not asking much," she reasons with you. Always trying to make it sound as if you were the ridiculous one for not wishing to yield to her logic. "I just want to know if she's revealed anything of her sentiments on the engagement."
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Instead of replying, you round on her with the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "Is it truly just concern for Gareth? Why do you even care about this engagement? Is this not a good political move? You sure love your scheming - or do you wish to sabotage Lothia perhaps?" You wouldn't particularly care if Lot suffered, but if whatever befalls the Duchy drags Gareth down along with it, then it's not worth it.
<<else>>
Instead of replying, you round on her with the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "Is it truly just concern for Gareth? Why do you even care about the engagement? Is this not a good political move? You sure love your scheming - or do you wish to sabotage Lothia perhaps?" You wouldn't particularly care if Lot suffered, truth be told.
<</if>>
She scoffs. "Why I care about my son's wellbeing and happiness, you mean? When Lot clearly doesn't as long as it secures a good alliance?"
<div class="choice">[[That's rich coming from her - when she's made you solely as a weapon - and you will tell her just that.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So Gareth she loves; and you're the one who was made to be a weapon.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So she's truly concerned for Gareth, and there's no scheme. This doesn't mean she won't go about helping him with some insidious ploy as is her way.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's her own fault you can't trust her word; of course you're questioning her motivation.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 4>>
You might have hastened back into your chamber, silently drawn the door close - but Morgana has already spotted you, alerted by the gentle swishing of your opening door - so you step outside, steeling yourself.
She approaches you, looking none too disappointed in you. "I had really hoped you'd show Elaine around. Nevertheless, I've gleaned some...interesting information."
You narrow your eyes, regarding her warily. "What do you mean?" Did your refusal to assist her inadvertedly benefit her, anyway?
Morgana merely shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. You do not like the sight of it. She's concocting a scheme, that you're sure of. The question stands - does it involve any actual //concocting//? After all, Morgana has a predilection for the poisonous kind.
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "Is it truly just concern for Gareth? Why do you even care about this engagement? Is this not a good political move? You sure love your scheming - or do you wish to sabotage Lothia perhaps?" You wouldn't particularly care if Lot suffered, but if whatever befalls the Duchy drags Gareth down along with it, then it's not worth it.
<<else>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "Is it truly just concern for Gareth? Why do you even care about the engagement? Is this not a good political move? You sure love your scheming - or do you wish to sabotage Lothia perhaps?" You wouldn't particularly care if Lot suffered, truth be told.
<</if>>
She scoffs. "Why I care about my son's wellbeing and happiness, you mean? When Lot clearly doesn't as long as it secures a good alliance?"
<div class="choice">[[That's rich coming from her - when she's made you solely as a weapon - and you will tell her just that.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So Gareth she loves; and you're the one who was made to be a weapon.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So she's truly concerned for Gareth, and there's no scheme. This doesn't mean she won't go about helping him with some insidious ploy as is her way.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's her own fault you can't trust her word; of course you're questioning her motivation.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 5>>
It sends cool shivers licking down your spine, scheming with Morgana like this, but you've set your mind to it and now it's time to share your findings. There was much to glean from what was said and what was not, from the silences and the looks.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit. She cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<<else>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased, and cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<</if>>
"Elaine seems very nervous about this whole affair," you say, recounting her little rant on hyacinths and tedious organizational //stuff// back in the inner courtyard. "Especially regarding her taking up the responsabilities and expectations attached to her new station."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully, hands folded in front of her. One thumb slowly traces circles over the ruby twinkling blood red on her index. "Well, explains why she didn't come to the wedding preparations. Her parents tried to pass it off as her simply feeling tired - as to not hurt anyone's feelings or egos, of course - but their excuses all fell apart when she came speeding by the window with Felix."
"Wait, //you// went to the wedding preparations?"
"Of course," she smoothly replies, flicking invisible lint off her crimson gown. "I decided to hunt for some information myself. Did Elaine say anything of Gareth?"
"Not much. Just that //he's nice//, which doesn't really tell us a lot."
Morgana nods, pressing her knuckles against her lips in thought. "Indeed. It could be a number of things - starting from the very fact that they barely know each other - but it doesn't inspire much hope." A sharp smile cuts across her face. "For Lot, that is. Anything else?"
<<if $elaine_said_more is true>>
"She thinks everyone's rushing to see them married; she maintains her opinion on the engagement was taking into consideration, but..." you trail off, watching the flickering flames within the sconces lining the hall. "I get the impression she's riddled with doubts."
Morgana touches your shoulder, the gesture flitting and feather-like, so much so you've barely registered it. "You did great, Mordred."
<<else>>
You sigh and shake your head. Morgana touches your shoulder, the gesture flitting and feather-like, so much so you've barely registered it. "You did great, Mordred."
<</if>>
You cross your arms and look away, look anywhere else but at that tenderly smiling face. It twists your stomach to gaze into those $eye eyes, filled with an affection that used to be so comforting. Now all that it summons is resentment, misery and anger - worse of it all, it brings an aching, keening longing that it weren't so.
"I'll talk to Elaine as well, privately, and see what I can get out of her. You're welcome to speak more to her, too."
You just nod your head, gaze fixed on the ondulating flames of the sconces, arms crossed over your stomach that's still tightly coiled, severely tangled on complicated feelings.
You spend the rest of the way to Lot's parlor in silence.
[[Continue|Chapt5LotWarning]]
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 6>>
You've agreed to helping Morgana but as you stand about to talk to her, you decide to keep silent. You won't partake in her schemes, won't play her spy; you'll do what you will with what you found out.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit. She cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor.
You, however, don't budge, firmly planting yourself before her. "I don't have anything to share," you say.
<<else>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased, and cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor.
You, however, don't budge, firmly planting yourself before her. "I don't have anything to share," you say.
<</if>>
Morgana studies your face, thumb tracing slow circles on her ring of blood red ruby, betraying no emotion of her own. "Nothing of interest? Surely she must have revealed something - even if not through words."
You merely shake your head.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
"Ah." A mirthless smile curls her lips. "Do you not want to share anymore? Well, I was hoping you'd be willing to help your brother and I, but I see how it is. No matter - you did help, after all. The four of you provided quite the animated distraction from our meeting, with your little flight around the castle."
You blank completely for a moment, your brain refusing to understand what it's hearing, fogging up with ill-defined unease. Distraction? Our meeting? She couldn't possibly mean... "You went to the wedding organizing meeting?"
"Of course," she imperiously says, flicking invisible lint off her sleeve. "I should get involved for Gareth's sake, shouldn't I? Get to know my future relatives better."
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Ah." A mirthless smile curls her lips. "Do you not want to share anymore? Well, I was hoping you'd be willing to help your brother and I, but I see how it is. No matter - this morning has proved quite fruitful."
She's concocting a scheme, that you're sure of. The question stands - does it involve any actual //concocting//? After all, Morgana has a predilection for the poisonous kind.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "Is it truly just concern for Gareth? Why do you even care? Is this not a good political move? You sure love your scheming - or do you wish to sabotage Lothia perhaps?" You wouldn't particularly care if Lot suffered, but if whatever befalls the Duchy drags Gareth down along with it, then it's not worth it.
<<else>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "Is it truly just concern for Gareth? Why do you even care? Is this not a good political move? You sure love your scheming - or do you wish to sabotage Lothia perhaps?" You wouldn't particularly care if Lot suffered, truth be told.
<</if>>
She scoffs. "Why I care about my son's wellbeing and happiness, you mean? When Lot clearly doesn't as long as it secures a good alliance?"
<div class="choice">[[That's rich coming from her - when she's made you solely as a weapon - and you will tell her just that.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So Gareth she loves; and you're the one who was made to be a weapon.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[So she's truly concerned for Gareth, and there's no scheme. This doesn't mean she won't go about helping him with some insidious ploy as is her way.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's her own fault you can't trust her word; of course you're questioning her motivation.|Chapt5MorganaWeapon][$chapt5_weapon to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_morgana_tell == 7>>
It sends cool shivers licking down your spine, scheming with Morgana like this, but you've set your mind to it, if only to spite Lot, and now it's time to share your findings. There was much to glean from what was said and what was not, from the silences and the looks.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit. She cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<<else>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased, and cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<</if>>
"Elaine seems very nervous about this whole affair," you say, recounting her little rant on hyacinths and tedious organizational //stuff// back in the inner courtyard. "Especially regarding her taking up the responsabilities and expectations attached to her new station."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully, hands folded in front of her. One thumb slowly traces circles over the ruby twinkling blood red on her index. "Well, explains why she didn't come to the wedding preparations. Her parents tried to pass it off as her simply feeling tired - as to not hurt anyone's feelings or egos, of course - but their excuses all fell apart when she came speeding by the window with Felix."
"Wait, //you// went to the wedding preparations?"
"Of course," she smoothly replies, flicking invisible lint off her crimson gown. "I decided to hunt for some information myself. Did Elaine say anything of Gareth?"
"Not much. Just that //he's nice//, which doesn't really tell us a lot."
Morgana nods, pressing her knuckles against her lips in thought. "Indeed. It could be a number of things - starting from the very fact that they barely know each other - but it doesn't inspire much hope." A sharp smile cuts across her face. "For Lot, that is. Anything else?"
<<if $elaine_said_more is true>>
"She thinks everyone's rushing to see them married; she maintains her opinion on the engagement was taking into consideration, but..." you trail off, watching the flickering flames within the sconces lining the hall. "I get the impression she's riddled with doubts."
Morgana touches your shoulder, the gesture flitting and feather-like, so much so you've barely registered it. "You did great, Mordred."
<<else>>
You sigh and shake your head. Morgana touches your shoulder, the gesture flitting and feather-like, so much so you've barely registered it. "You did great, Mordred."
<</if>>
You cross your arms and look away, look anywhere else but at that tenderly smiling face. It twists your stomach to gaze into those $eye eyes, filled with an affection that used to be so comforting. Now all that it summons is resentment, misery and anger - worse of it all, it brings an aching, keening longing that it weren't so.
"I'll talk to Elaine as well, privately, and see what I can get out of her. You're welcome to speak more to her, too."
You just nod your head, gaze fixed on the ondulating flames of the sconces, arms crossed over your stomach that's still tightly coiled, severely tangled on complicated feelings.
You spend the rest of the way to Lot's parlor in silence.
[[Continue|Chapt5LotWarning]]
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 8>>
It sends cool shivers licking down your spine, scheming with Morgana like this, but you've set your mind to it, if only for the sake of the two poor betrothed fools caught in the middle of this all. So now it's time to share your findings. There was much to glean from what was said and what was not, from the silences and the looks.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit. She cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<<else>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased, and cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<</if>>
"Elaine seems very nervous about this whole affair," you say, recounting her little rant on hyacinths and tedious organizational //stuff// back in the inner courtyard. "Especially regarding her taking up the responsabilities and expectations attached to her new station."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully, hands folded in front of her. One thumb slowly traces circles over the ruby twinkling blood red on her index. "Well, explains why she didn't come to the wedding preparations. Her parents tried to pass it off as her simply feeling tired - as to not hurt anyone's feelings or egos, of course - but their excuses all fell apart when she came speeding by the window with Felix."
"Wait, //you// went to the wedding preparations?"
"Of course," she smoothly replies, flicking invisible lint off her crimson gown. "I decided to hunt for some information myself. Did Elaine say anything of Gareth?"
"Not much. Just that //he's nice//, which doesn't really tell us a lot."
Morgana nods, pressing her knuckles against her lips in thought. "Indeed. It could be a number of things - starting from the very fact that they barely know each other - but it doesn't inspire much hope." A sharp smile cuts across her face. "For Lot, that is. Anything else?"
<<if $elaine_said_more is true>>
"She thinks everyone's rushing to see them married; she maintains her opinion on the engagement was taking into consideration, but..." you trail off, watching the flickering flames within the sconces lining the hall. "I get the impression she's riddled with doubts."
Morgana touches your shoulder, the gesture flitting and feather-like, so much so you've barely registered it. "You did great, Mordred."
<<else>>
You sigh and shake your head. Morgana touches your shoulder, the gesture flitting and feather-like, so much so you've barely registered it. "You did great, Mordred."
<</if>>
You cross your arms and look away, look anywhere else but at that tenderly smiling face. It twists your stomach to gaze into those $eye eyes, filled with an affection that used to be so comforting. Now all that it summons is resentment, misery and anger - worse of it all, it brings an aching, keening longing that it weren't so.
"I'll talk to Elaine as well, privately, and see what I can get out of her. You're welcome to speak more to her, too."
You just nod your head, gaze fixed on the ondulating flames of the sconces, arms crossed over your stomach that's still tightly coiled, severely tangled on complicated feelings.
You spend the rest of the way to Lot's parlor in silence.
[[Continue|Chapt5LotWarning]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_morgana_tell == 1>>
You'd rather not have to contend with Morgana's coaxing right now, so you withdraw within the safety of your chamber. It's too late, though. The gentle swishing of your opening door has alerted Morgana to your presence, and she's turning to you with an expectant smile. It'd be stupid to hide now so you make to move forward - but you've already drawn back, resulting in you foolishly teetering over the threshold, holding on to the door to avoid getting closely acquianted with the floor. The wooden boards don't look very welcoming. You stabilize, a flush of heat blooming in comingled mortification and trepidation, palm smarting where the knob's decorative motif was imprinted on your skin.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
"Mordred, are you alright?" Morgana proffers a hand. You merely wave it away, feet alread firmly planted on the ground, if quivering from the dreadful thrill shot through your veins at the near fall.
She elegantly folds her hands before her. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that sets you ill at ease.
"I didn't do it so I can play spy for you, though."
"Hmm," she hums contently, undaunted by your protest. "You didn't, but you were of help still. The four of you provided quite the...animated distraction from our meeting."
You blank completely for a moment, your brain refusing to understand what it's hearing, fogging up with ill-defined unease. Distraction? Our meeting? She couldn't possibly mean... "You went to the wedding organizing meeting?"
"Of course," she imperiously says, flicking invisible lint off her sleeve. "I should get involved for Gareth's sake, shouldn't I? Get to know my future relatives better."
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your apprehension. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your apprehension. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Mordred, are you alright?" Morgana proffers a hand. You merely wave it away, feet alread firmly planted on the ground, if quivering from the dreadful thrill shot through your veins at the near fall.
She elegantly folds her hands before her. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased.
"I didn't do it so I can play spy for you, though."
"Hmm," she hums contently, undaunted by your protest. "You didn't, but you were of help still. This morning has proved quite fruitful," she concludes with a subtle curl of her lips that sets you ill at ease.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your apprehension. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your apprehension. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
<</if>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know. Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
<div class="choice">[["Elaine does seem under quite a lot of pressure," you say.|Chapt5MorganaLukewarmTell][$chapt5_intervene to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You keep silent; if you even are to intervene, it won't be by involving Morgana.|Chapt5MorganaLukewarmTell][$chapt5_intervene to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 2>>
You'd rather not have to face Morgana right now. Whether she'll have rebuttals for you not meeting with Elaine as she would have had you, or merely more coaxing to rope you in on her schemes, you have no energy for it and withdraw within the safety of your chamber. It's too late, though. The gentle swishing of your opening door has alerted Morgana to your presence, and she's turning to you with an expectant smile. It'd be stupid to hide now so you make to move forward - but you've already drawn back, resulting in you foolishly teetering over the threshold, holding on to the door to avoid getting closely acquianted with the floor. The wooden boards don't look very welcoming. You stabilize, a flush of heat blooming in comingled mortification and trepidation, palm smarting where the knob's decorative motif was imprinted on your skin.
"Mordred, are you alright?" Morgana proffers a hand. You merely wave it away, feet alread firmly planted on the ground, if quivering from the dreadful thrill shot through your veins at the near fall.
She elegantly folds her hands before her. "I had really hoped you'd show Elaine around. Nevertheless, I've gleaned some...interesting information."
"What do you mean?" Did your refusal to assist her inadvertedly benefit her, anyway?
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
Morgana merely shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. You do not like the sight of it. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
Morgana merely shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. You do not like the sight of it. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know. Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
[[Continue|Chapt5Lecture]]
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 3>>
You might have hastened back into your chamber, silently drawn the door close - but Morgana has already spotted you, alerted by the gentle swishing of your opening door - so you step outside, steeling yourself.
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile, though she'll quickly be disappointed to find your answer lacking.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
"You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit.
"I didn't do it so I can play spy for you, though."
"Hmm," she hums contently, undaunted by your protest. "You didn't, but you were of help still. The four of you provided quite the...animated distraction from our meeting."
You blank completely for a moment, your brain refusing to understand what it's hearing, fogging up with ill-defined unease. Distraction? Our meeting? She couldn't possibly mean... "You went to the wedding organizing meeting?"
"Of course," she imperiously says, flicking invisible lint off her sleeve. "I should get involved for Gareth's sake, shouldn't I? Get to know my future relatives better."
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your apprehension. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your apprehension. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
<<else>>
She elegantly folds her hands before her. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased.
"I didn't do it so I can play spy for you, though."
"Hmm," she hums contently, undaunted by your protest. "You didn't, but you were of help still. This morning has proved quite fruitful," she concludes with a subtle curl of her lips that sets you ill at ease.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
<</if>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she ammends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know. Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
<div class="choice">[["Elaine does seem under quite a lot of pressure," you say.|Chapt5MorganaLukewarmTell][$chapt5_intervene to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You keep silent; if you even are to intervene, it won't be by involving Morgana.|Chapt5MorganaLukewarmTell][$chapt5_intervene to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 4>>
You might have hastened back into your chamber, silently drawn the door close - but Morgana has already spotted you, alerted by the gentle swishing of your opening door - so you step outside, steeling yourself.
She elegantly folds her hands before her, looking none too disappointed. "I had really hoped you'd show Elaine around. Nevertheless, I've gleaned some...interesting information."
"What do you mean?" Did your refusal to assist her inadvertedly benefit her, anyway?
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
Morgana merely shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. You do not like the sight of it. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
Morgana merely shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. You do not like the sight of it. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know. Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
[[Continue|Chapt5Lecture]]
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 5>>
It feels you with ill-defined unease, aiding Morgana like this. Yet you made a promise and set your mind to fulfill it - now it's time to share your findings. There was much to glean from what was said and what was not, from the silences and the looks.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit. She cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<<else>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased, and cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<</if>>
"Elaine seems very nervous about this whole affair," you say, recounting her little rant on hyacinths and tedious organizational //stuff// back in the inner courtyard. "Especially regarding her taking up the responsibilities and expectations attached to her new station."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully, hands folded in front of her. One thumb slowly traces circles over the ruby twinkling blood red on her index. "Well, explains why she didn't come to the wedding preparations. Her parents tried to pass it off as her simply feeling tired - as to not hurt anyone's feelings or egos, of course - but their excuses all fell apart when she came speeding by the window with Felix."
"Wait, //you// went to the wedding preparations?"
"Of course," she smoothly replies, flicking invisible lint off her crimson gown. "I decided to hunt for some information myself. Did Elaine say anything of Gareth?"
"Not much. Just that //he's nice//, which doesn't really tell us a lot."
Morgana nods, pressing her knuckles against her lips in thought. "Indeed. It could be a number of things - starting from the very fact that they barely know each other - but it doesn't inspire much hope." A sharp smile cuts across her face. "For Lot, that is. Anything else?"
<<if $elaine_said_more is true>>
"She thinks everyone's rushing to see them married; she maintains her opinion on the engagement was taking into consideration, but..." you trail off, watching the flickering flames within the sconces lining the hall. "I get the impression she's riddled with doubts."
Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred."
<<else>>
You sigh and shake your head. Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred."
<</if>>
You let the low sizzling of the flames fill the silence before you poise the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know. Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
[[Continue|Chapt5LotWarning]]
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 6>>
You've agreed to helping Morgana but as you stand about to talk to her, you decide to keep silent. You won't partake in her schemes, won't play her spy; you'll do what you will with what you found out.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit. She cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor.
You, however, don't budge, firmly planting yourself before her. "I don't have anything to share," you say.
<<else>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased, and cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor.
You, however, don't budge, firmly planting yourself before her. "I don't have anything to share," you say.
<</if>>
Morgana studies your face, thumb tracing slow circles on her ring of blood red ruby, betraying no emotion of her own. "Nothing of interest? Surely she must have revealed something - even if not through words."
You merely shake your head.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
"Ah." A mirthless smile curls her lips. "Do you not want to share anymore? Well, I was hoping you'd be willing to help your brother and I, but I see how it is. No matter - you did help, after all. The four of you provided quite the animated distraction from our meeting, with your little flight around the castle."
You blank completely for a moment, your brain refusing to understand what it's hearing, fogging up with ill-defined unease. Distraction? Our meeting? She couldn't possibly mean... "You went to the wedding organizing meeting?"
"Of course," she imperiously says, flicking invisible lint off her sleeve. "I should get involved for Gareth's sake, shouldn't I? Get to know my future relatives better."
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Ah." A mirthless smile curls her lips. "Do you not want to share anymore? Well, I was hoping you'd be willing to help your brother and I, but I see how it is. No matter - this morning has proved quite fruitful."
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
She's concocting a scheme, that you're sure of. The question stands - does it involve any actual //concocting//? After all, Morgana has a dangerous predilection for the poisonous kind.
<<else>>
She's concocting a scheme, that you're sure of. The question stands - does it involve any actual //concocting//? After all, Morgana has a predilection for the poisonous kind.
<</if>>
<</if>>
"What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know. Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
<div class="choice">[["Elaine does seem under quite a lot of pressure," you say.|Chapt5MorganaLukewarmTell][$chapt5_intervene to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You keep silent; if you even are to intervene, it won't be by involving Morgana.|Chapt5MorganaLukewarmTell][$chapt5_intervene to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 7>>
You approach Morgana with a small smile. It does not herald the news she expects out of you though, since you've set your mind to not scheme alongside her, after all.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
She receives you with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit. She cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor.
"I gave her a thorough tour," you pleasantly agree.
Morgana waits for you to continue. When you don't, she prompts: "So? What did she say?"
<<else>>
Morgana receives you with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased, and cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor.
"I gave her a thorough tour," you pleasantly agree.
Morgana waits for you to continue. When you don't, she prompts: "So? What did she say?"
<</if>>
"Not much," you shrug. "Nothing interesting to share," you breezily add.
She studies your face, thumb tracing slow circles on her ring of blood red ruby, betraying no emotion of her own. "Nothing of interest? Surely she must have revealed something - even if not through words."
You shrug your shoulders again, maintaining an airily disintered stance to make it clear there's nothing else to say.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
"Ah." A mirthless smile curls her lips. "Do you not want to share anymore? Well, I was hoping you'd be willing to help your brother and I, but I see how it is. No matter - you did help, after all. The four of you provided quite the animated distraction from our meeting, with your little flight around the castle."
You blank completely for a moment, your brain refusing to understand what it's hearing, fogging up with ill-defined unease. Distraction? Our meeting? She couldn't possibly mean... "You went to the wedding organizing meeting?"
"Of course," she imperiously says, flicking invisible lint off her sleeve. "I should get involved for Gareth's sake, shouldn't I? Get to know my future relatives better."
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
You doubt it's something quite that innocent, and don't bother hiding your suspicion. This is a ploy. An act. A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
<<else>>
"Ah." A mirthless smile curls her lips. "Do you not want to share anymore? Well, I was hoping you'd be willing to help your brother and I, but I see how it is. No matter - this morning has proved quite fruitful."
She's concocting a scheme, that you're sure of. The question stands - does it involve any actual //concocting//? After all, Morgana has a predilection for the poisonous kind.
<</if>>
"What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement. It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know. Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement. It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
<div class="choice">[["Elaine does seem under quite a lot of pressure," you say.|Chapt5MorganaLukewarmTell][$chapt5_intervene to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You keep silent; if you even are to intervene, it won't be by involving Morgana.|Chapt5MorganaLukewarmTell][$chapt5_intervene to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 8>>
You're eager to recount your findings - there was much to glean from what was said and what was not, from the silences and the looks.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased. "Showed her around very thoroughly," she adds with a subtle, crafty curl of her lips that you do not like one bit. She cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<<else>>
Morgana approaches with an expectant smile. "You've been showing Elaine around as I asked," she says, deeply pleased, and cocks her head, inviting the two of you to walk side by side down the corridor, step unharried. Lot can wait, especially seeing as you're conspiring against him.
<</if>>
"Elaine seems very nervous about this whole affair," you say, recounting her little rant on hyacinths and tedious organizational //stuff// back in the inner courtyard. "Especially regarding her taking up the responsibilities and expectations attached to her new station."
"Hmm," Morgana hums thoughtfully, hands folded in front of her. One thumb slowly traces circles over the ruby twinkling blood red on her index. "Well, explains why she didn't come to the wedding preparations. Her parents tried to pass it off as her simply feeling tired - as to not hurt anyone's feelings or egos, of course - but their excuses all fell apart when she came speeding by the window with Felix."
"Wait, //you// went to the wedding preparations?"
"Of course," she smoothly replies, flicking invisible lint off her crimson gown. "I decided to hunt for some information myself. Did Elaine say anything of Gareth?"
"Not much. Just that //he's nice//, which doesn't really tell us a lot."
Morgana nods, pressing her knuckles against her lips in thought. "Indeed. It could be a number of things - starting from the very fact that they barely know each other - but it doesn't inspire much hope." A sharp smile cuts across her face. "For Lot, that is. Anything else?"
<<if $elaine_said_more is true>>
"She thinks everyone's rushing to see them married; she maintains her opinion on the engagement was taking into consideration, but..." you trail off, watching the flickering fires within the sconces lining the hall. "I get the impression she's riddled with doubts."
Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred."
<<else>>
You sigh and shake your head. Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred."
<</if>>
You let the low sizzling of the flames fill the silence before you poise the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement. It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know. Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement. It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
[[Continue|Chapt5LotWarning]]
<<elseif $chapt5_morgana_tell == 9>>
You approach Morgana with a smile that's mirrored on her face.
She elegantly folds her hands before her, looking none too disappointed. "I had really hoped you'd show Elaine around." Her light rebuttal is further mellowed out by curious satisfaction. "Nevertheless, I've gleaned some...interesting information."
"What do you mean?" Did your refusal to assist her inadvertedly benefit her?
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
Morgana merely shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that hopefully doesn't involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<<else>>
Morgana merely shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. This...must be a ploy, right? A scheme she's concocting that may or may not involve any actual //concocting//. Of the poisonous kind, that is.
<</if>>
Morgana sets off down the hall, the hem of her gauzy, crimson gown brushing against the carpet with every step. You rush to catch up, just so you can ask the burning question you've meant to ask ever since she's been stirring such a storm with the engagement. "What are you planning on doing? Gareth specifically asked for no schemes and no...poisonous interventions," you say, knowing your mother's predilections just as well.
<<if $poison_opinion == "no">>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know." At your alarmed expression, she amends: "Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<<else>>
"Poison is quite the versatile solution, you know. Yet there's more ways to handle an issue than with it. I'm just concerned for Gareth. I want to make sure he's not being rushed into this; that he doesn't regret the engagement." Her thumb traces circles over her ring, inlaid with a ruby winking blood red. "It's not as awful a marriage as mine - Elaine is his own age, and she seems like a lovely person - but they barely no each other, and there's a fair deal of pressure put on them." The flames in the sconces quiver with Morgana's suspire.
<</if>>
Pain lances your chest, keen and persistent. Morgana's forced engagement to Lot was simply vile, yet another way for Uther to punish your mother for the mere crime of building as happy a life as she could in Avalon, yet another ordeal inflicted on a Le Fay - a family who he was so cruelly set on tormenting and destroying.
[[Continue|Chapt5Lecture]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_intervene == 1>>
"Elaine seems very nervous about this whole affair," you say, recounting her little rant on hyacinths and tedious organizational //stuff// back in the inner courtyard. "Especially regarding her taking up the responsibilities and expectations attached to her new station."
"Well, explains why she didn't come to the wedding preparations. Her parents tried to pass it off as her simply feeling tired - as to not hurt anyone's feelings or egos, of course - but their excuses all fell apart when she came speeding by the window with Felix. Did she say anything of Gareth?"
"Not much. Just that //he's nice//, which doesn't really tell us a lot."
Morgana nods, pressing her knuckles against her lips in thought. "Indeed. It could be a number of things - starting from the very fact that they barely know each other - but it doesn't inspire much hope." A sharp smile cuts across her face. "For Lot, that is. Anything else?"
<<if $elaine_said_more is true>>
"She thinks everyone's rushing to see them married; she maintains her opinion on the engagement was taking into consideration, but..." you trail off, watching the shadows cast by the sconces lining the hall. "I get the impression she's riddled with doubts."
Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred. I'll talk to Elaine as well, privately, and see what I can get out of her. You're welcome to speak more to her, too."
<<else>>
You sigh and shake your head. Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred. I'll talk to Elaine as well, privately, and see what I can get out of her. You're welcome to speak more to her, too."
<</if>>
You just smile and nod your head, wondering what's in store for the upcoming fornight. It's off to an unsure, fraught start.
<<else>>
You wonder what's in store for the upcoming fornight. It's off to an unsure, fraught start.
<</if>>
<<if $go_talk is true>>
[[Continue|Chapt5LotWarning]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt5Lecture]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 1>>
"She's fun," you say, "someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends." You duck under a low-hanging branch. "That is, if we have the opportunity for it."
Your mother shoots you a small smile. "That sounds lovely, dear. You do have quite a lot to bond over, don't you? Sword-fighting, dragon-riding...It is almost like she is a squire in all but name." The corner of her mouth hitches up in a smile suggestive of this being more than a lighthearted remark.
"Indeed..." you say, slowly enunciating each syllabe. You think back on her dispirited expression when Gareth made the same good-natured observation. "She's not one though, and it's too late for her to become one." Besides, by all accounts you've heard, it's the parents making the decision of whether their children follow the path of knighthood or not.
"Oh, that's true," Morgana says, though her blithe tone indicates she doesn't quite see that as the big hurdle it is. "But you must admit, all the skills she's talked about far better recommend her as a knight than duke."
"Well," you retort, "maybe she should join Lot's military rather than family then."
"I do think she'd prefer that," Morgana says. "Regardless; you are welcome to speak with her more, if you wish, and perhaps get a better grip on her...views and opinions on this whole mess of an engagement. Anything helps."
[[Next|Chapt5MorganaTempleReturn]]
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 2>>
"She's fun," you say, "someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends." And so much more, if Elaine was willing - and if matters weren't so entangled. "That is, if we have the opportunity for it."
Your mother shoots you a small, conspiratorial smile. "//Only// friends?"
You play innocent in response. "Good friends?"
"Oh, you know what I mean, Mordred. I saw the way your gaze lingers on her."
"Is it that obvious?"
"I just know you well, dear. You do have quite a lot to bond over, don't you? Sword-fighting, dragon-riding...It is almost like she is a squire in all but name." The corner of her mouth hitches up in a smile suggestive of this being more than a lighthearted remark.
"Indeed..." you say, slowly enunciating each syllabe. You think back on her dispirited expression when Gareth made the same good-natured observation. "She's not one though, and it's too late for her to become one." Besides, by all accounts you've heard, it's the parents making the decision of whether their children follow the path of knighthood or not.
"Oh, that's true," Morgana says, though her blithe tone indicates she doesn't quite see that as the big hurdle it is. "But you must admit, all the skills she's talked about far better recommend her as a knight than Duke."
"Well," you retort, "maybe she should join Lot's military rather than family then."
"I do think she'd prefer that," Morgana says. "Regardless; you are welcome to speak with her more, if you wish, and perhaps get a better grip on her...views and opinions on this whole mess of an engagement. Anything helps."
As Morgana quietly munches on her apple, your mind returns to Elaine. Even if she was to return your feelings, the matter of the engagement does complicate things.
<div class="choice">[["Aren't you going to dissuade me from my infatuation?" you ask, a smile pulling at your lips. You have no intention of being dissuaded. So what if she's marrying Gareth? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["My fondness for her couldn't be more misplaced," you lament. You like Elaine, but guilt does press down on you. You may not be close to Gareth, but it's not fair to him.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'd be best to keep my feelings to myself," you say. You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I suppose I'll just talk with Gareth, if Elaine and I really do amount to anything," you say. It's only fair.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 3>>
"She's fun," you say, "someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends." And so much more, if Elaine was willing - and if matters weren't so entangled. "That is, if we have the opportunity for it."
Your mother shoots you a small, conspiratorial smile. "//Only// friends?"
Heat blooms in your chest, spreads up your neck, floods your cheeks. "What else?" you ask and chuckle, the sound thin and pitched by emotion.
"Oh, you know what I mean, Mordred. I saw the way your gaze lingers on her."
You let out a long exhale and whisper as if Elaine and the others might hear you all the way from here: "Is it that obvious?"
"I just know you well, dear. You do have quite a lot to bond over, don't you? Sword-fighting, dragon-riding...It is almost like she is a squire in all but name." The corner of her mouth hitches up in a smile suggestive of this being more than a lighthearted remark.
"Indeed..." you say, slowly enunciating each syllabe. You think back on her dispirited expression when Gareth made the same good-natured observation. "She's not one though, and it's too late for her to become one." Besides, by all accounts you've heard, it's the parents making the decision of whether their children follow the path of knighthood or not.
"Oh, that's true," Morgana says, though her blithe tone indicates she doesn't quite see that as the big hurdle it is. "But you must admit, all the skills she's talked about far better recommend her as a knight than Duke."
"Well," you retort, "maybe she should join Lot's military rather than family then."
"I do think she'd prefer that," Morgana says. "Regardless; you are welcome to speak with her more, if you wish, and perhaps get a better grip on her...views and opinions on this whole mess of an engagement. Anything helps."
As Morgana quietly munches on her apple, your mind returns to Elaine. Even if she was to return your feelings, the matter of the engagement does complicate things.
<div class="choice">[["Aren't you going to dissuade me from my infatuation?" you ask, a smile pulling at your lips. You have no intention of being dissuaded. So what if she's marrying Gareth? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["My fondness for her couldn't be more misplaced," you lament. You like Elaine, but guilt does press down on you. You may not be close to Gareth, but it's not fair to him.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'd be best to keep my feelings to myself," you say. You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I suppose I'll just talk with Gareth, if Elaine and I really do amount to anything," you say. It's only fair.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 4>>
"I like her," you say, lips hitching up in a meaningful smile that does not escape Morgana. "I admire her...quite a lot."
"Oh," your mother matches your smile. "I can tell as much."
"Is it that obvious?"
"I just know you well, dear. You do have quite a lot to bond over, don't you? Sword-fighting, dragon-riding...It is almost like she is a squire in all but name." The corner of her mouth hitches up in a smile suggestive of this being more than a lighthearted remark.
"Indeed..." you say, slowly enunciating each syllabe. You think back on her dispirited expression when Gareth made the same good-natured observation. "She's not one though, and it's too late for her to become one." Besides, by all accounts you've heard, it's the parents making the decision of whether their children follow the path of knighthood or not.
"Oh, that's true," Morgana says, though her blithe tone indicates she doesn't quite see that as the big hurdle it is. "But you must admit, all the skills she's talked about far better recommend her as a knight than duke."
"Well," you retort, "maybe she should join Lot's military rather than family then."
"I do think she'd prefer that," Morgana says. "Regardless; you are welcome to speak with her more, if you wish, and perhaps get a better grip on her...views and opinions on this whole mess of an engagement. Anything helps."
As Morgana quietly munches on her apple, your mind returns to Elaine. Even if she was to return your feelings, the matter of the engagement does complicate things.
<div class="choice">[["Aren't you going to dissuade me from my infatuation?" you ask, a smile pulling at your lips. You have no intention of being dissuaded. So what if she's marrying Gareth? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["My fondness for her couldn't be more misplaced," you lament. You like Elaine, but guilt does press down on you. You may not be close to Gareth, but it's not fair to him.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'd be best to keep my feelings to myself," you say. You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I suppose I'll just talk with Gareth, if Elaine and I really do amount to anything," you say. It's only fair.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 5>>
"I like her," you say, lips hitching up in a timid smile that does not escape Morgana. "I admire her. A lot," you continue, then promptly regret it. You couldn't resume yourself to //admire//, which is already a strong word; no, you had to go on and add an even stronger quantifier.
"Oh," your mother smriks. "I can tell as much."
You let out a long exhale and whisper as if Elaine and the others might hear you all the way from here: "Is it that obvious?"
"I just know you well, dear. You do have quite a lot to bond over, don't you? Sword-fighting, dragon-riding...It is almost like she is a squire in all but name." The corner of her mouth hitches up in a smile suggestive of this being more than a lighthearted remark.
"Indeed..." you say, slowly enunciating each syllabe. You think back on her dispirited expression when Gareth made the same good-natured observation. "She's not one though, and it's too late for her to become one." Besides, by all accounts you've heard, it's the parents making the decision of whether their children follow the path of knighthood or not.
"Oh, that's true," Morgana says, though her blithe tone indicates she doesn't quite see that as the big hurdle it is. "But you must admit, all the skills she's talked about far better recommend her as a knight than duke."
"Well," you retort, "maybe she should join Lot's military rather than family then."
"I do think she'd prefer that," Morgana says. "Regardless; you are welcome to speak with her more, if you wish, and perhaps get a better grip on her...views and opinions on this whole mess of an engagement. Anything helps."
As Morgana quietly munches on her apple, your mind returns to Elaine. Even if she was to return your feelings, the matter of the engagement does complicate things.
<div class="choice">[["Aren't you going to dissuade me from my infatuation?" you ask, a smile pulling at your lips. You have no intention of being dissuaded. So what if she's marrying Gareth? It's all arranged by their parents; why should there be an expection of love and loyalty? You and Elaine should be free to make your choices.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "ok"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["My fondness for her couldn't be more misplaced," you lament. You like Elaine, but guilt does press down on you. You may not be close to Gareth, but it's not fair to him.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "guilty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'd be best to keep my feelings to myself," you say. You like Elaine, but you've seen how people treat Morgana and Accolon. You wouldn't want for you and her to be put in the same difficult position, if she really does like you back.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "dangerous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I suppose I'll just talk with Gareth, if Elaine and I really do amount to anything," you say. It's only fair.|Chapt5TempleElaineFeelings1][$chapt5_feelings_engagement to "talk"]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 6>>
"She's fun," you say, a fond smile pulling at your lips, "someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends." You duck under a low-hanging branch. "That is, if we have the opportunity for it."
Your mother shoots you a small, conspiratorial smile. "//Only// friends?"
Bafflement draws a chuckle out of you. "What else would we be? Siblings by law, if this whole marriage comes through?"
Morgana's brow furrows, her expression curious as she surveys your own. "No, far from that. I saw how your gaze lingers on her."
It's time for you to frown now. "Does it?"
Your mother scours your increasingly confused face a moment longer, before she makes a little, high-pitched, "Huh," as if coming to some new revelation. You don't get a chance to inquire as she goes on, ignoring this strange diversion: "You do have quite a lot to bond over, don't you? Sword-fighting, dragon-riding...It is almost like she is a squire in all but name." The corner of her mouth hitches up in a smile suggestive of this being more than a lighthearted remark.
"Indeed..." you say, slowly enunciating each syllabe. You think back on her dispirited expression when Gareth made the same good-natured observation. "She's not one though, and it's too late for her to become one." Besides, by all accounts you've heard, it's the parents making the decision of whether their children follow the path of knighthood or not.
"Oh, that's true," Morgana says, though her blithe tone indicates she doesn't quite see that as the big hurdle it is. "But you must admit, all the skills she's talked about far better recommend her as a knight than duke."
"Well," you retort, "maybe she should join Lot's military rather than family then."
"I do think she'd prefer that," Morgana says. "Regardless; you are welcome to speak with her more, if you wish, and perhaps get a better grip on her...views and opinions on this whole mess of an engagement. Anything helps."
[[Next|Chapt5MorganaTempleReturn]]
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 7>>
"She's fine, I suppose," you reply and shrug. Ducking under a low-hanging branch just as smoothly as you avoid giving a more strong-worded opinion, since you lack any strenght of emotion as well. "I don't think too much of her, one way or another."
"I see," your mother nods. "Well, one would think there's plenty for you to bond over. Sword-fighting, dragon-riding...It is almost like she is a squire in all but name." The corner of her mouth hitches up in a smile suggestive of this being more than a lighthearted remark.
"Indeed..." you say, slowly enunciating each syllabe. You think back on her dispirited expression when Gareth made the same good-natured observation. "She's not one though, and it's too late for her to become one." Besides, by all accounts you've heard, it's the parents making the decision of whether their children follow the path of knighthood or not.
"Oh, that's true," Morgana says, though her blithe tone indicates she doesn't quite see that as the big hurdle it is. "But you must admit, all the skills she's talked about far better recommend her as a knight than duke."
"Well," you retort, "maybe then she should join Lot's military rather than family then."
"I do think she'd prefer that," Morgana says. "Regardless; you are welcome to speak with her more, if you wish, and perhaps get a better grip on her...views and opinions on this whole mess of an engagement. Anything helps."
[[Next|Chapt5MorganaTempleReturn]]
<<elseif $chapt5_elaine_opinion == 8>>
"I don't quite care for her."
"I see," your mother nods at your laconic reply. "Well, one would think there's plenty for you to bond over. Sword-fighting, dragon-riding...It is almost like she is a squire in all but name." The corner of her mouth hitches up in a smile suggestive of this being more than a lighthearted remark.
"Indeed..." you say, slowly enunciating each syllabe. You think back on her dispirited expression when Gareth made the same good-natured observation. "She's not one though, and it's too late for her to become one." Besides, by all accounts you've heard, it's the parents making the decision of whether their children follow the path of knighthood or not.
"Oh, that's true," Morgana says, though her blithe tone indicates she doesn't quite see that as the big hurdle it is. "But you must admit, all the skills she's talked about far better recommend her as a knight than duke."
"Well," you retort, "maybe she should join Lot's military rather than family then."
"I do think she'd prefer that," Morgana says. "Regardless; you are welcome to speak with her more, if you wish, and perhaps get a better grip on her...views and opinions on this whole mess of an engagement. Anything helps."
[[Next|Chapt5MorganaTempleReturn]]
<</if>>You lounge on the window seat in a shaft of sunlight that caresses your face, rendering your eyelids heavy and drowsy despite it being well into the day. Having had your lunch - right in the kitchen, famished as you were after an intensive training session - you crawled up on your perching spot like a cat which, content with their full stomach, is ready to get to the most important business of the day: taking a nap. You idly gaze out the window at the young squire clashing swords with a dummy in the desperate frenzy of someone who's realized they've been paired with an enemy far above them. The hay-brained, enchanted opponent moves swiftly and precisely; it's not long until the squire falls back on their plated butt.
A sharp patter rudely interrupts your noon repose. It heralds Morgana's entrance, stormy as if she were on the run from a mob. Knowing her, you shouldn't rule it out just yet.
<div class="choice">[[Your stomach coils. You always dread her presence, and avoid it as much as possible. Whenever you're forced to interact, you keep things brief and neutral.|Chapt5MorganaPresence1][$chapt5_morgana_presence to 1, $morgana_closeness to "distant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can't say it's a pleasure, and it shows on your face. You usually avoid her presence.|Chapt5MorganaPresence2][$chapt5_morgana_presence to 2, $morgana_closeness to "distant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can't say it's a pleasure, but you force a wary smile. You usually avoid her presence.|Chapt5MorganaPresence3][$chapt5_morgana_presence to 3, $morgana_closeness to "distant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Things between you have been...difficult, a chasm hard to bridge spreading between the two of you. Yet you've tried to cling to some normalcy here and there, and so you smirk and say: "Have you received complains about that dummy I set ablaze? You should tell the knights I did the squires a favor - it was rugged and old anyway."|Chapt5MorganaPresence4][$chapt5_morgana_presence to 4, $morgana_closeness to "lukewarm"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You give her a concerned look. Things between you have been...difficult, yet you can't help but worry. "Did anything happen?" There's a certain distance between you and a reluctance to bridge it.|Chapt5MorganaPresence5][$chapt5_morgana_presence to 5, $morgana_closeness to "lukewarm"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You sketch a cordial smile. Things between you have been...difficult, and you wish it were different. "Hello." There's a certain distance between you and a reluctance to bridge it.|Chapt5MorganaPresence6][$chapt5_morgana_presence to 6, $morgana_closeness to "lukewarm"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You genuinely smile. "Hi, mom." You're stayed close.|Chapt5MorganaPresence7][$chapt5_morgana_presence to 7, $morgana_closeness to "close"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hi mom! Have you received complains about that dummy I set ablaze? You should tell the knights I did the squires a favor - it was rugged and old anyway." You give her a grin. You've stayed close.|Chapt5MorganaPresence8][$chapt5_morgana_presence to 8, $morgana_closeness to "close"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You frown, worried. "Mom, did anything happen?" You've stayed close.|Chapt5MorganaPresence9][$chapt5_morgana_presence to 9, $morgana_closeness to "close"]]</div>It's Morgana, come to fetch you for your magic lessons. Once the storm started, you'd lost track of time - although anyone would be forgiven for doing so, given the dusky gloom outside your window - and you completely forgot you were supposed to meet her in her study. You pack your satchel, shrug on a vest and slip out after your mother.
The corridors are dim, with scones lit up where the shadows would otherwise be the darkest. You walk in a silent process past black floorboards that swallow the light and white-bone walls dully reflecting it. A desolate atmosphere is conjured, at odds with the unusual liveliness of the place. Even with the stormy weather, you couldn't possibly indulge in imagining yourself wandering the halls of some dismal, forsaken ruins hidden in the deepest forest, not with the commotion of people bustling by every moment in preparation for the wedding guests arriving this week.
You leave it all behind as you climb up the winding, narrow staircase to Morgana's tower, but the hubbub stays on her mind.
"It's strange," your mother says as she steps inside the study, heels clicking on the serpent mosaic, "to be so idle with such a grand event looming on the horizon."
"Miss work?"
She makes a small, lilting hum. "Can't say I do, not when I could paint the entire morning, undisturbed." Her brow pinches. "But it's not just any event. I thought I'd be more involved in Gareth's planning. I hoped it'd be under far merrier circumstances than mine."
Your lips twist in a commiserating line - half smile, half grimace. "So...The wedding is going forward, isn't it?"
Morgana shrugs as she appraises one of her bookcases. She pulls out a couple books and sifts through a pile of scrolls. "Elaine hasn't changed her mind." You can't see her face, but you can hear the smile in her voice; it's the sort that promises trouble. "Yet. There's still time for that."
"Yeah," you snort. "Up until they're before everyone and saying their vows."
"Ah," Morgana struts up to her desk, arms full of books. "Wouldn't that be a scene? It would exceed any entertainment the Beauregards could have conceived for the feast." She swipes a palm across one of the covers that had gathered a fine film of dust. "I too have fantasized what it would have been like to stand up during my wedding to Lot and just tear it all down."
Behind her comes a shock of light: for a moment, she's limned by its blaze, rendered both impressive and wrathful, a force to be reckoned with. In that moment, she looks more magical than human, an element of nature herself that, should it be unleashed upon the world, would wreak havoc.
"Let's get started with your lesson, shall we?" She beckons for you to take out ink and paper. "We'll be going over runes today - the more intricate and advanced ones and the way they can be combined for spells and their application in rituals."
[[The wedding draws closer|Chapt5ElainePOV]]<<if $chapt5_intervene == 1>>
"Elaine seems very nervous about this whole affair," you say, recounting her little rant on hyacinths and tedious organizational //stuff// back in the inner courtyard. "Especially regarding her taking up the responsibilities and expectations attached to her new station."
"Well, explains why she didn't come to the wedding preparations. Her parents tried to pass it off as her simply feeling tired - as to not hurt anyone's feelings or egos, of course - but their excuses all fell apart when she came speeding by the window with Felix. Did she say anything of Gareth?"
"Not much. Just that //he's nice//, which doesn't really tell us a lot."
Morgana nods, pressing her knuckles against her lips in thought. "Indeed. It could be a number of things - starting from the very fact that they barely know each other - but it doesn't inspire much hope." A sharp smile cuts across her face. "For Lot, that is. Anything else?"
<<if $elaine_said_more is true>>
"She thinks everyone's rushing to see them married; she maintains her opinion on the engagement was taking into consideration, but..." you trail off, watching the fires flicker within the sconces lining the hall. "I get the impression she's riddled with doubts."
Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred."
<<else>>
You sigh and shake your head. Morgana gently touches your shoulder, lingering there for a moment. "You did great, Mordred."
<</if>>
You cross your arms and look away, look anywhere else but at that tenderly smiling face. It makes your stomach roil to gaze into those $eye eyes, filled with an affection that used to be so comforting - that you're now not so sure how much you can trust. A part of you yearns for nothing more but to bask in it, yet you're held back by so many souring insecurities.
"I'll talk to Elaine as well, privately, and see what I can get out of her. You're welcome to speak more to her, too."
You just nod your head, gaze fixed on the ondulating flames of the sconces, arms crossed over your stomach that's still tightly coiled, severely tangled on complicated feelings.
<<else>>
You cross your arms over your tightly coiled stomach, sickeningly aware of the fact that you're the same age your mother was when Uther forcefully shipped her off to Lothia to be married to Lot.
<</if>>
<<if $go_talk is true>>
[[Continue|Chapt5LotWarning]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt5Lecture]]
<</if>><<if $poison_opinion == "yes">>
She uses poison a couple of times and now everyone calls her a poisoner - though it may work in her favor, too. It should keep people on their toes. Too bad they don't seem to learn. Poisons - potions - come in different sorts, from the harmles to the damaging, and can prove useful in certain circumstances.
<<else>>
You have to agree with Gareth on that. You really, really hope she's not intending on approaching this issue in her usual manner of brewing questionable substances.
<</if>>
Thus reassured - if you can call it that - you follow Lot up the stairs, towards his wing of the castle, where your mother would not usually be caught stepping foot unless visiting Gareth's quarters.
Lot's parlor, adjacent to his bedchamber, sprawls far larger than Morgana's, consisting of two rooms individually accessible from the outside, interconnected by great double doors of moss green, each panel adorned with shocks of lushly detailed, colorful flowers and delineating rows of abstract, geometrical shapes. You gather in the dining chamber of the parlor, waiting for the guests to come and dispel the tension you're stewing in, each of you poised in taut readiness behind your seats. Propiety dictates one should not sit down until after their guests have arrived, yet the wait stretches long and uneasy. You shift from foot to foot, letting your gaze roam over the white expanse of walls, its pristinely monotone broken up by wooden shelves with whorling patterns of dark red and green, holding vibrant porcelainware, and oil paintings of Lothian landscapes - both local and faraway. It's a room formal neccessity brought you to only a couple times over the years; the last occassion lost in muddled memories. From what you've heard, it's a place rarely frequented by anyone else than Lot and Gareth, and even then not quite habitually. It's not surprising; it strikes you as melancholic, having such a vast chamber to one's own devices. Melancholic and lonely, dining at a table meant to host a dozen, reclining on a lounge amid a sea of empty sofas.
You sigh and roll your shoulders, letting your eyes fall longingly on the chair before you, running a finger over its rounded backrest - ebony, dark and sturdy as the long dinner table. Details have been painstakingly etched into its back, forming a pastoral scene of a shepherd with their sheep. You trace the pad of your index through the smooth grooves. The room around you is oppressingly silent, the kind of quiet that rings in your ears and heralds lurking danger - the quiet of a predator ready to spring.
The doors burst open. You startle, shoulders squared and fists clenched, but it is no beast pouncing on you. Your guests have finally arrived, refreshed and changed.
"We decided to surprise you," Raphael explains, motioning towards his new garbs - Lothian ones, white linen with vivid, flowery embroidery.
The surprise is more than just well-received, if Lot's expression is anything to go by. Morgana merely smiles, tight-lipped, while Gareth tilts his head politely, pleasant smile fixed on his lips as securely as the paintings on the wall. Elaine hovers behind Raphael, sporting a similar chemise and trousers as her father, while Isolde and Beatrice both wear gowns of gauzy blue, cinched at the waist - so unlike the dresses they arrived in, with their waist line high above the natural one and heavy, trailing brocade and velvet.
[[Take your seats.|Chapt5Lunch]]<<if $chapt4_revelation == "ok">>
All of your muscles tense at her arrival, as if poised to brace for a strike from a foe. Is she not just that? Your opponent, your enemy, the one who lost your affection upon the terrible deluge of revelations years ago.
<<else>>
All of your muscles tense at her arrival, as if poised to brace for a strike from a foe. Is she not just that? Your opponent, your enemy, the one who abused your trust and lost your affection. You see danger and suspicion in her honeyed words, can't be sure what she hides behind those sweet smiles.
<</if>>
Her arrival is as unexpected as it is unwanted, twisting your stomach in a knot of dread and nerves. Yet you keep your face blank, staring on mutely at her as the tumult of emotions racks your body and frays your nerves; you've become as adept as her at putting on a mask, as a sort of barrier, a barricade, a defense. She's grown accustomed to this distant mien, and learned to cover up the pain that would occasionally flash over her features or bleed into her voice whenever she'd ask you - with varying degrees of exasperation and desperation - to just talk to her again. You won't let her guilt you for the distance you put between the two of you. The fault lies entirely with her and her own actions.
<div class="choice">[["Yes, mother?" The word, spoken so impassively, sounds empty of affection.|Chapt5MorganaPresenceGrimace1][$morgana_address to "mother"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What do you need, Your Grace?" It's a polite and distant address.|Chapt5MorganaPresenceGrimace1][$morgana_address to "title"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What do you want?" you curtly ask. She's just Morgana to you know.|Chapt5MorganaPresenceGrimace1][$morgana_address to "name"]]</div>Her arrival is as unexpected as it is unwanted, and it shows plainly on your face. No need to dress up your displeasure, which she's very much aware of. She'd be wise to take it as a warning sign to leave your chamber as soon as she's finished saying whatever brought her here. Better yet, she should just leave right now, but you have little hope for that.
"There's no need to grimace upon my sight, I get that enough from Lot as is," Morgana says, affecting nonchalance. She's learned to cover up the pain that would usually flash over her features or bleed into her voice, which is just as well; you won't let her guilt you for the distance you put between the two of you. The fault lies entirely with her and her own actions.
<div class="choice">[["What do you want, mother?" The word drips with cold venom.|Chapt5MorganaPresenceGrimace][$morgana_address to "mother"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What do you need, Your Grace?" It's a distant and cold address.|Chapt5MorganaPresenceGrimace][$morgana_address to "title"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What do you want?" you curtly ask. She's just Morgana to you know.|Chapt5MorganaPresenceGrimace][$morgana_address to "name"]]</div>Your muscles stiffen ever so slightly, tensing as if approached by a prowling wolf and not your own mother. Your relationship has been...strained at best, cold at worse. Or rather, it's at its best whenever you manage to keep your distance from Morgana, avoiding her attempts at bridging the gap she dug herself. All those honeyed smiles and hearfelt entreaties, all those exasperated - edging on desperate - arguments that your coolness is unwarranted, all those pained glances that, heart-wrenching as they may be, fill you with bitterness all the same. It's Morgana's own fault you came to this.
Despite it all, you paint on a smile. It's forced, pinched by apprenhension. They'd usually give Morgana pause; cause her to scan your face as if seeing your for the first time, as if for a moment the extent of how much she's hurt you has finally reached her. Like a beam of harsh light lit upon your face revealing in it all of your wounds, plainly written. But then she'd just roll her lips and look away, as if the sight was too much too bear. Now, all that your wary smile gains you is a wearied one mirrored on her own face - though you have an inkling this time her pique wells from someplace else than your issues.
Her presence puts you ill at ease in ordinary circumstances, but now it's made even worse by the engagement. Ever since its announcement, it's as if a cloud of gloom accompanies her everywhere, rendering her continuously frazzled and waspish and cross. While she's never taken it out on you, it's this sort of dark disposition that lends itself to horrible actions committed.
"I need to ask a favor of you," Morgana says, pulling out your desk chair. Oh, this is a bad omen - if her opening words weren't bad enough. A favor for Morgana could mean anything, but given the current circumstances you doubt it's something as innocent as fetching a book. "Someone should show Elaine Beauregard around; entertain our guest for a while."
Something's not right. "Gareth won't?"
"Gareth is otherwise engaged at the moment, whereas you are completely free," she gestures towards you. Your perch now feels less languid sprawl and more coiled alertness.
"Why not wait until he's no longer otherwise enganged, then?" you question, tilting your head, hoping the new perspective may reveal whatever motive she's holding back.
Morgana shrugs, still the perfect image of nonchalance. "Because, as I said, she's our guest and should get to know our family if she's to marry into it?"
"I thought you were against it."
"I am," she smoothly replies. "I think it's inadvisable and rushed, but if Gareth is to truly go forth with this union, we should get to know his future spouse."
"But that's not all, is it?" you prod, suspicious of this seeming change of heart. She'd been hurling insults up and down at Lot, and even almost set a room on fire in her wrath; you doubt it's been so easily quelled by the promise of more of Raphael's wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits it, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "Aren't you worried too?"
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "Do this for him - for me - as a favor. All you need to do is talk to her."
<<else>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "I know you and Gareth aren't too close, but all I'm asking is that you talk with her," she sweetly says, putting on her best beseeching look.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you begrudgingly agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you, and I won't come between them." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to learn more about Elaine's intentions, for your brother's sake. You'll talk with her, but won't play Morgana's spy.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine and show her around. Act welcoming and all that.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you begrudgingly agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." It feels underhanded. You don't want to come between them.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Don't involve me in your schemes," you say. Which is kind of ironic, and a bit too late to ask of her.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help." If only to spite Lot.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine on your own, learn her intentions, for Gareth's sake.. You won't play Morgana's spy though.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 6, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine, show her around.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 7, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You have no interest in this drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." You don't care for the drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<</if>>Your muscles stiffen ever so slightly, tensing as if approached by a prowling wolf and not your own mother. Your relationship has been strained ever since that fateful night when awful revelations were made, when your trust was revealed to have been abused and misplaced. That night, a chasm gaped between the two of you, and years have yet to fill it; all you have is a shabby bridge you fear could give away at any moment, betray you at any mistep, only to be swallowed up by the depths lurking murky beneath, an abyss of suspicion, hurt and bitterness.
Despite it all, you put a carefree mask on. You've had time to practice the curl of your lips till it looks veritable and not too forced, had time to measure your moves and weigh your words. You've learned to guard yourself around her.
You stretch your legs and arms in unison, arching your back till your muscles pull satisfyingly taut and tight, in a manner that keeps well in line with your current feline disposition. It washes away some of the tension that's built up with Morgana's arrival. Her presence puts you ill at ease in ordinary circumstances, but now it's made even worse by the engagement. Ever since its announcement, it's as if a cloud of gloom accompanies her everywhere, rendering her frazzled and waspish and cross. While she's never taken it out on you, it's this sort of dark disposition that lends itself to horrible actions committed.
"Hi, mom!" A long smile curls your lips, making your cheeks smart with its forced, studied wideness. "Have you received complaints about that dummy I set ablaze? You should tell them I did the other squires a favor - it was rugged and old anyway."
A small, surprised smile breaks through the gloom. "Did you burn //another// one?"
You didn't believe this to be the reason of her visit, though it seemed likely she would have heard of the incident, anyway. "Maybe so," you shrug and your mother smiles wider. It quickly fades, dissolving back into a grim, tight-lipped line.
"I need to ask a favor of you," Morgana says, pulling out your desk chair. She's making herself quite comfortable but you sit up straighter, slimy anticipation slinking up your spine. A favor for Morgana could mean anything, but given the current circumstances you doubt it's something as innocent as fetching a book. "Someone should show Elaine Beauregard around; entertain our guest for a while."
Something's not right. "Gareth won't?"
"Gareth is otherwise engaged at the moment, whereas you are completely free," she gestures towards you. Your perch now feels less languid sprawl and more coiled alertness.
"Why not wait until he's no longer otherwise enganged, then?" you question, tilting your head, hoping the new perspective may reveal whatever motive she's holding back.
Morgana shrugs, still the perfect image of nonchalance. "Because, as I said, she's our guest and should get to know our family if she's to marry into it?"
"I thought you were against it."
"I am," she smoothly replies. "I think it's inadvisable and rushed, but if Gareth is to truly go forth with this union, we should get to know his future spouse."
"But that's not all, is it?" you prod, suspicious of this seeming change of heart. She'd been hurling insults up and down at Lot, and even almost set a room on fire in her wrath; you doubt it's been so easily quelled by the promise of more of Raphael's wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits it, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "Aren't you worried too?"
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits it, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "Do this for him - for me - as a favor. All you need to do is talk to her."
<<else>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits it, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "I know you and Gareth aren't too close, but all I'm asking is that you talk with her," she sweetly says, putting on her best beseeching look.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to learn her intentions, for your brother's sake. You'll talk with Elaine, but won't play Morgana's spy.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Don't involve me in your schemes," you say. Which is kind of ironic, and a bit too late to ask of her.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help." If only to spite Lot.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to learn Elaine's intentions, for Gareth's sake. You'll talk with Elaine, but won't play Morgana's spy.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 6, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 7, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You have no interest in this drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<</if>>Your relationship has been strained ever since that fateful night when awful revelations were made, when your trust was revealed to have been abused and misplaced. That night, a chasm gaped between the two of you, and years have yet to fill it. All you have is a shabby bridge you fear could give away at any moment, betray you at any mistep, only to be swallowed up by the depths lurking murky beneath, an abyss of suspicion, hurt and bitterness.
Despite it all, you worry upon seeing her dreary expression. A part of you clings to your mother, to what you used to have. You start, throwing one leg over the window seat, fingers digging anxiously into the cushion.
"Mom," you say, brow creasing. Since the engagement was sealed, you've grown used to seeing her so frazzled and vexed, magic sizzling around her, rendering the air as fraught as in those moments before lightning strikes. It's unsettling both for her and everyone around her - it's the kind of disposition that lends itself to Morgana lashing out, often with disastruous consequences. "Mom, did anything happen?"
Morgana scoffs, running a hand over her ample linen skirt. "What hasn't happened?" She shakes her head and pulls out a desk chair. "I need to ask a favor of you." Slimy anticipation slinks up your spine. A favor for Morgana could mean anything, but given the current circumstances you doubt it's something as innocent as fetching a book. "Someone should show Elaine Beauregard around; entertain our guest for a while."
Something's not right. "Gareth won't?"
"Gareth is otherwise engaged at the moment, whereas you are completely free," she gestures towards you. Your perch now feels less languid sprawl and more tense alertness.
"Why not wait until he's no longer otherwise enganged, then?" you question, tilting your head as if the new perspective may reveal whatever motive she's holding back.
Morgana shrugs, still the perfect image of nonchalance. "Because, as I said, she's our guest and should get to know our family if she's to marry into it?"
"I thought you were against it."
"I am," she smoothly replies. "I think it's inadvisable and rushed, but if Gareth is to truly go forth with this union, we should get to know his future spouse."
"But that's not all, is it?" you prod, suspicious of this seeming change of heart. She'd been hurling insults up and down at Lot, and even almost set a room on fire in her wrath; you doubt it's been so easily quelled by the promise of more of Raphael's wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits it, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "Aren't you worried too?"
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits it, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "Do this for him - for me - as a favor. All you need to do is talk to her."
<<else>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "I know you and Gareth aren't too close, but all I'm asking is that you talk with her," she sweetly says, putting on her best beseeching look.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to learn Elaine's intentions. You'll talk with Elaine, but won't play Morgana's spy.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Don't involve me in your schemes," you say. Which is kind of ironic, and a bit too late to ask of her.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help." If only to spite Lot.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to learn Elaine's intentions. You'll talk with her, but won't play Morgana's spy.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 6, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 7, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You have no interest in this drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<</if>>Your muscles stiffen ever so slightly, tensing as if approached by a prowling wolf and not your own mother. Your relationship has been strained ever since that fateful night when awful revelations were made, when your trust was revealed to have been abused and misplaced. That night, a chasm gaped between the two of you, and years have yet to fill it. All you have is a shabby bridge you fear could give away at any moment, betray you at any mistep, only to be swallowed up by the depths lurking murky beneath, an abyss of suspicion, hurt and bitterness.
Despite it all, you put a smile on. Sometimes your smiles are actually genuine, in those moments where you most crave her affection, desperately so that you're willing to momentarily forget all the hurt inflicted. Those moments when you want nothing more but to be the same you were before the deluge of revelations hit you. Other time, like now, your lips curl in a smile pinched by unease. Subdued and guarded.
Your disposition is all the more apprehensive now, given current circumstances. Ever since the engagement announcement, it's as if a cloud of gloom accompanies her everywhere, rendering her frazzled and waspish and cross. While she's never taken it out on you, it's this sort of dark temper that lends itself to horrible actions committed.
"Hello," you say, lips hitching up feebly, yet not unfriendly.
A small, gentle smile breaks through the gloom of her expression. "I need to ask a favor of you," Morgana says, pulling out your desk chair. She's making herself quite comfortable but you sit up straighter, slimy anticipation slinking up your spine. A favor for her could mean anything, but given the current circumstances you doubt it's something as innocent as fetching a book. "Someone should show Elaine Beauregard around; entertain our guest for a while."
Something's not right. "Gareth won't?"
"Gareth is otherwise engaged at the moment, whereas you are completely free," she gestures towards you. Your perch now feels less languid sprawl and more tense alertness.
"Why not wait until he's no longer otherwise enganged, then?" you question, tilting your head as if the new perspective may reveal whatever motive she's holding back.
Morgana shrugs, still the perfect image of nonchalance. "Because, as I said, she's our guest and should get to know our family if she's to marry into it?"
"I thought you were against it."
"I am," she smoothly replies. "I think it's inadvisable and rushed, but if Gareth is to truly go forth with this union, we should get to know his future spouse."
"But that's not all, is it?" you prod, suspicious of this seeming change of heart. She'd been hurling insults up and down at Lot, and even almost set a room on fire in her wrath; you doubt it's been so easily quelled by the promise of more of Raphael's wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "Aren't you worried too?"
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "Do this for him - for me - as a favor. All you need to do is talk to her."
<<else>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "I know you and Gareth aren't too close, but all I'm asking is that you talk with her," she sweetly says, putting on her best beseeching look.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to learn Elaine's intentions. You'll talk with Elaine, but won't play Morgana's spy.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarm][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Don't involve me in your schemes," you say. Which is kind of ironic, and a bit too late to ask of her.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help." If only to spite Lot.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to learn Elaine's intentions. You'll talk with her, but won't play Morgana's spy.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 6, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 7, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You have no interest in this drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineLukewarmLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<</if>>You give her a half-wave and bright smile, which you hope will work to reach through the gloom of her disposition. She's been brewing with tension ever since the engagement was first discussed. "Hi, mom. What brings you here?"
Her expression softens, just for a moment, to grace you with a warm smile. Then it darkens again, brow pinched and lips turned down in a sour moue. Matters are far from going her way, yet the stubborn set of her jaw tells you she's determined to change the tide.
"I need to ask a favor of you," Morgana says, pulling out your desk chair. She sits down, propping one elbow between your open textbooks, knuckles brushing softly against her jawline as she assumes her //scheming// expression. Focused and unfathomable, $eye eyes sharp as a dagger poised to slice one's throat.
You slowly sit up as blithe lethargy gives way to anticipation; something sizzles in the air, like electricity prickling your skin before lightning strikes.
"Lot is being especially obnoxious," Morgana continues, her other hand drumming against the wooden armrest. It rings sharp, percussive and dangerously patient like the alert tail flicking of a stalking cat about to pounce. "And your brother is being peevishly obstinate." Her gaze finds yours, so serious it prompts you to straighten up. "//We// need to do something to prevent this disaster of a marriage."
You don't say anything, toying silently with one drawstring of your neckline, ruffling its tassel end with your thumb. You're not particularly surprised by her confession, or the steel conviction in her tone. You wonder, however, what role she conceives for you in this whole play.
You needn't ask. Nails still clincking against the wood, your mother says: "I need you to talk with Elaine. Learn more about her, and her thoughts - true thoughts - on this engagement. See if there's anything for us to exploit. She's more likely to talk with you - someone her own age."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll gladly help." For your brother's sake, as well.|Chapt5SpyElaine][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaine][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her, to get to know her," you say carefully, "but I don't know if I want to play spy." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaine][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to fals]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll gladly help." For your brother's sake, as well.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her, to get to know her," you say carefully, "but I don't know if I want to play spy." It feels wrong to come between them.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help." For your mother's sake; you don't really care for this drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Please don't involve me in your schemes," you say. Which is kind of ironic, and a bit too late to ask of her.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'll only draw Lot's ire on me," you decide to refuse.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 6, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll gladly help." If only to spite Lot.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 7, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sorry, mother, but I don't feel like playing spy." You couldn't care less what your brother chooses to do.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<</if>>You stretch your legs and arms in unison, arching your back till your muscles pull satisfyingly taut and tight, in a manner that keeps well in line with your current feline disposition. In your gilded corner of light and warmth, you could almost forget about the thunderstorm brewing on the horizon, just outside your chamber. And even now, with your mother bringing it on your doorstep, you continue languishing unbothered on your cushions.
"Hi mom!" A long smile curls your lips as you let your limbs fall limply, one leg draped over the seat's edge, one elbow propped against the cool glass. Have you received complaints about that dummy I set ablaze? You should tell them I did the squires a favor - it was rugged and old anyway."
A small, surprised smile breaks through the gloom. "Did you burn //another// one?"
Oh, so this isn't the reason of her visit. Not that you were convinced it were; it seemed likely she would have heard of the incident, anyway. "Maybe so," you quip and your mother smiles wider. It quickly fades, dissolving back into a grim, tight-lipped line.
"I need to ask a favor of you," Morgana says, pulling out your desk chair. She sits down, propping one elbow between your open textbooks, knuckles brushing softly against her jawline as she assumes her //scheming// expression. Focused and unfathomable, $eye eyes sharp as a dagger poised to slice one's throat.
You slowly sit up as blithe lethargy gives way to anticipation; something sizzles in the air, like electricity prickling your skin before lightning strikes.
"Lot is being especially obnoxious," Morgana continues, her other hand drumming against the wooden armrest. It rings sharp, percussive and dangerously patient like the alert tail flicking of a stalking cat about to pounce. "And your brother is being peevishly obstinate." Her gaze finds yours, so serious it prompts you to straighten up. "//We// need to do something to prevent this disaster of a marriage."
You don't say anything, toying silently with one drawstring of your neckline, ruffling its tassel end with your thumb. You're not particularly surprised by her confession, or the steel conviction in her tone. You wonder, however, what role she conceives for you in this whole play.
You needn't ask. Nails still clincking against the wood, your mother says: "I need you to talk with Elaine. Learn more about her, and her thoughts - true thoughts - on this engagement. See if there's anything for us to exploit. She's more likely to talk with you - someone her own age."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll gladly help." For your brother's sake, as well.|Chapt5SpyElaine][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaine][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her, to get to know her," you say carefully, "but I don't know if I want to play spy." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaine][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll gladly help." For your brother's sake, as well.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her, to get to know her," you say carefully, "but I don't know if I want to play spy." It feels wrong to come between them.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help." For your mother's sake; you don't really care for this drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Please don't involve me in your schemes," you say. Which is kind of ironic, and a bit too late to ask of her.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'll only draw Lot's ire on me," you decide to refuse.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 6, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll gladly help." If only to spite Lot.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 7, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sorry, mother, but I don't feel like playing spy." You couldn't care less what your brother chooses to do.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<</if>>You start, throwing one leg over the window seat, fingers digging anxiously into the cushion.
"Mom," you say, brow puckering with worry. Since the engagement was sealed, you've grown used to seeing her so ruffled and vexed, magic sizzling around her, rendering the air as fraught as in those moments before lightning strikes. "Mom, did anything happen?"
Morgana scoffs, running a hand over her ample linen skirt. "What hasn't happened?" She shakes her head and pulls out a desk chair. "I need to ask a favor of you," she says as she sits down, propping one elbow between your open textbooks, knuckles brushing softly against her jawline as she assumes her //scheming// expression. Focused and unfathomable, $eye eyes sharp as a dagger poised to slice one's throat.
You slowly sit up as blithe lethargy gives way to anticipation; something charged hangs in the air, like electricity before lightning strikes.
"Lot is being especially obnoxious," Morgana continues, her other hand drumming against the wooden armrest. It rings sharp, percussive and dangerously patient like the alert tail flicking of a stalking cat about to pounce. "And your brother is being peevishly obstinate." Her gaze finds yours, so serious it prompts you to straighten up. "//We// need to do something to prevent this disaster of a marriage."
You don't say anything, toying silently with one drawstring of your neckline, ruffling its tassel end with your thumb. You're not particularly surprised by her confession, or the steel conviction in her tone. You wonder, however, what role she conceives for you in this whole play.
You needn't ask. Nails still clincking against the wood, your mother says: "I need you to talk with Elaine. Learn more about her, and her thoughts - true thought - on this engagement. See if there's anything for us to exploit. She's more likely to talk with you - someone her own age."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll gladly help." For your brother's sake, as well.|Chapt5SpyElaine][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaine][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her, to get to know her," you say carefully, "but I don't know if I want to play spy." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaine][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll gladly help." For your brother's sake, as well.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her, to get to know her," you say carefully, "but I don't know if I want to play spy." It feels wrong to come between them.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help." For your mother's sake; you don't really care for this drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Please don't involve me in your schemes," you say. Which is kind of ironic, and a bit too late to ask of her.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It'll only draw Lot's ire on me," you decide to refuse.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 6, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll gladly help." If only to spite Lot.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 7, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sorry, mother, but I don't feel like playing spy." You couldn't care less what your brother chooses to do.|Chapt5SpyElaineLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_address == "mother">>
"What do you want, //mother//?" The word drips with cold venom - encasing all your anguish and resentment, a twisted caricature of a title that should be affectionate - that once was just that for you, until she hurt you and proved herself undeserving of it. Until she made a bad joke out of it. So now you address her accordingly.
There have been times when her mask cracked, allowing a peek at how your words affect her. They sting, that much is very clear - but it's her who forced you to assume this distance, dig this gaping chasm between you, erect this baricade against her.
If your tone and words wound her now too, she doesn't show.
<<elseif $morgana_address == "title">>
"What do you need, Your Grace?" you ask, tone glacial and flat.
//Her Grace// has quickly stopped correcting you once you evinced your perseverence in addressing her as such, repeating the title as if you never heard her requests to drop it - no demand or plea could move you. This way, there's no mistaking the chasm that stretches between you, that abyss of betrayal, anguish and resentment; it's a barricade erected to always remind her to keep her distance, that she lost the privilege of being held in your affection and trust.
If your tone and words sting now too, she doesn't show.
<<elseif $morgana_address == "name">>
"What do you want?" you curtly ask.
You try your best to assume a blank face and flat tone throughout whatever conversation you're compelled to conduct with Morgana. You put between you a clear barrier - a baricade, a fortress to guard yourself and remind her that she's lost the privilege of being held in your affection and trust.
<</if>>
"Someone should show Elaine Beauregard around; entertain our guest for a while," Morgana says, pulling out your desk chair, making herself more comfortable than warranted - more than you are comfortable with. You send a scathing look her way to convey just that, but she ignores it the same way she weathers Lot's scowls and sneers.
"Why can't Gareth?" you ask, suspicious.
"Gareth is otherwise engaged at the moment, whereas you are completely free," she gestures towards you - you, poised as if to flee. Too bad you don't have wings like $dragon_name - you could throw open the window and escape this conversation.
"Why not wait until he's no longer otherwise enganged, then?" you question, squinting your eyes, hoping this narrowed perspective may reveal her true intentions.
Morgana shrugs, still the perfect image of nonchalance. "Because, as I said, she's our guest and should get to know our family if she's to marry into it?"
"I thought you were against it."
"I am," she smoothly replies. "I think it's inadvisable and rushed, but if Gareth is to truly go forth with this union, we should get to know his future spouse."
"But that's not all, is it?" you prod, doubtful of this seeming change of heart. She'd been hurling insults up and down at Lot, and even almost set a room on fire in her wrath; you doubt it's been so easily quelled by the promise of more of Raphael's wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits it, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "Aren't you worried too?"
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits it, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "All you need to do is talk to her."
<<else>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits it, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "I know you and Gareth aren't too close, but all I'm asking is that you talk with her," she sweetly says, putting on her best beseeching look.
<</if>>
"Dragging me into one of your schemes?" you ask.
She clicks her tongue. "It's for Gareth's sake - and Elaine's too, after all."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you begrudgingly agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you, and I won't come between them." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to learn more about Elaine's intentions, for your brother's sake. You'll talk with her, but won't play Morgana's spy.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine and show her around. Act welcoming and all that.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you begrudgingly agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." It feels underhanded. You don't want to come between them.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Don't involve me in your schemes," you say. Which is kind of ironic, and a bit too late to ask of her.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help." If only to spite Lot.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine on your own, learn her intentions, for Gareth's sake. You won't play Morgana's spy though.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 6, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine, show her around.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 7, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You have no interest in this drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." You don't care for the drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<</if>><<if $morgana_address == "mother">>
"Yes, //mother//?" you impassively ask - it renders the appellation devoid of any affection, an empty word whose meaning vanished for you years ago, replaced by resentment and hollowness.
If your distant tone bothers her now as it has many times, she doesn't show.
<<elseif $morgana_address == "title">>
"What do you need, Your Grace?" you ask, tone distant and flat.
//Her Grace// has quickly stopped correcting you once you evinced your perseverence in addressing her as such, repeating the title as if you never heard her requests to drop it. This way, there's no mistaking the chasm that stretches between you, that abyss of betrayal, anguish and resentment; it's a barricade erected to always remind her to keep her distance, that she lost the privilege of being held in your affection and trust.
If your tone and words sting this time too, she doesn't show.
<<elseif $morgana_address == "name">>
"What do you want?" you impassively ask.
Besides cutting conversation as short as possible, condesing it to what's strictly necessary, you also try your best to assume a blank face and flat tone throughout whatever conversation you're compelled to conduct with Morgana. This way, you put between you a clear barrier - a baricade, a fortress to guard yourself and remind her that she's lost the privilege of being held in your affection and trust.
<</if>>
"Someone should show Elaine Beauregard around; entertain our guest for a while," Morgana says, pulling out your desk chair, making herself more comfortable than warranted - more than you are comfortable with. You send a scathing look her way to convey just that, but she ignores it the same way she weathers Lot's scowls and sneers.
"Why can't Gareth?" you ask, suspicious.
"Gareth is otherwise engaged at the moment, whereas you are completely free," she gestures towards you - you, poised as if to flee. Too bad you don't have wings like $dragon_name - you could throw open the window and escape this conversation.
"Why not wait until he's no longer otherwise enganged, then?" you question, squinting your eyes. The narrowed perspective may reveal her true intentions.
Morgana shrugs, still the perfect image of nonchalance. "Because, as I said, she's our guest and should get to know our family if she's to marry into it?"
"I thought you were against it."
"I am," she smoothly replies. "I think it's inadvisable and rushed, but if Gareth is to truly go forth with this union, we should get to know his future spouse."
"But that's not all, is it?" you prod, doubtful of this seeming change of heart. She'd been hurling insults up and down at Lot, and even almost set a room on fire in her wrath; you doubt it's been so easily quelled by the promise of more of Raphael's wine.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits it, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "Aren't you worried too?"
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "Think of Gareth," she sweetly asks of you, putting on her best beseeching look. "All you need to do is talk to her."
<<else>>
Morgana sighs, propping up one elbow between your open textbooks, leaning cheek in palm. "I'm concerned for your brother, Mordred." As she admits, she truly looks //tired// - these past few weeks must have taken a toll on her. "I want to learn more about Elaine - and before you suggest I talk to her, rest assured I will - but the fact stands that she'll speak differently to someone her own age. Someone like you. Besides, it's best to get various perspectives." She makes it sound like some sort of magic experiment. "I know you and Gareth aren't too close, but all I'm asking is that you talk with her," she sweetly says, putting on her best beseeching look.
<</if>>
"Dragging me into one of your schemes?" you ask.
She clicks her tongue. "It's for Gareth's sake - and Elaine's too, after all."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you begrudgingly agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you, and I won't come between them." It feels underhanded.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to learn more about Elaine's intentions, for your brother's sake. You'll talk with her, but won't play Morgana's spy.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine and show her around. Act welcoming and all that.|Chapt5SpyElaineBad][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help," you begrudgingly agree. For your brother's sake.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 1, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to come between them. If it's Gareth choice to marry, I won't stop him." This subterfuge doesn't feel right.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 2, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say carefully, "but I won't play spy for you." It feels underhanded. You don't want to come between them.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 3, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Don't involve me in your schemes," you say. Which is kind of ironic, and a bit too late to ask of her.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 4, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll help." If only to spite Lot.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 5, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine on your own, learn her intentions, for Gareth's sake. You won't play Morgana's spy though.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 6, $help_gareth to true, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You don't want to encourage Morgana's scheme, but you do want to talk with Elaine, show her around.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 7, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to true, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No." You have no interest in this drama.|Chapt5SpyElaineBadLow][$chapt5_spy to 8, $help_gareth to false, $go_talk to false, $help_morgana to false]]</div>
<</if>>You wind your way back through the trees to join the others, though you highly doubt Lot misses your presence. You can see him, still engaged in conversation with the Beauregards by the table, whereas Gareth has drifted off to speak with Isolde, who's relinquished the calico cat to him.
You're halted by a piteous, plaintive yowl sounding from ahead and...above? You raise your gaze to the foliage, guided by more urgent, shrill meows till you finally locate the little kitten, hanging on by a branch and looking utterly terrified.
"Dear," Morgana immediately turns to you, "Can you-"
She's cut off - and you're beaten to the rescue - by a determined "I'm coming for you!" followed by the rustle of leaves. Elaine clambers up the apple tree, with the ease and speed of one who's done this countlessly. She scoops up the scared kitten and cradles it to her chest, then starts shimmying her way down, far more carefully this time.
A priest is quick to care for the kitten once she's made her way to the ground, murmuring something about getting them inside and giving them treats.
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. ❤|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. 💕|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 3, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Well, it's good to see the kitten rescued.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 4]]</div><<if $chapt5_tirade == 1>>
You can sense the tension not just in the grave faces and heavy words, but as magic, tingling against your skin and sending shivers down your spine. You stand uneasily to the side as chaos unfolds, unable to take your eyes off it.
Raphael does not grow angry, only sadder. "My mother did what was best for us - for our people and our country. We would have otherwise been squashed under Uther's boot."
<<elseif $chapt5_tirade == 2>>
You can sense the tension not just in the grave faces and heavy words, but as magic, tingling against your skin and sending shivers down your spine. You stand mutely to the side, watching with interest as the scene unfolds. What does the Duke have to say for himself?
Raphael does not grow angry, only sadder. "My mother did what was best for us - for our people and our country. "We would have otherwise been squashed under Uther's boot."
<<elseif $chapt5_tirade == 3>>
You intervene to stop this line of truculent questioning. This is neither the time or place to be having this disccusion - no, borderline //interrogation//.
Keeping your calm even as Morgana's magic simmers like a kindled fire in the fraught air, you step forward and say: "I believe we'd be better suited having this conversation elsewhere."
"Mordred, I need you to stay out of this," Morgana's tone, while not unkind, brooks no argument.
Surprisingly, Raphael backs her up: "Yes, Mordred, please. I would like to hear Lady Morgana out." His hands, still gathered over his chest, clasp tightly together as he summons his next words. He does not grow angry, only sadder. "My mother did what was best for us - for our people and our country. We would have otherwise been squashed under Uther's boot."
<<elseif $chapt5_tirade == 4>>
You can sense the tension not just in the grave faces and heavy words, but in Morgana's simmering magic, tingling against your skin and sending shivers down your spine. With a fortifying breath and shoulders pulled back, you step into the conversation to strenghten your mother's voice. "Indeed, why didn't she? It's only fair that we receive an answer."
Raphael looks woefully between the two of you. He does not grow angry, only sadder. "My mother did what was best for us - for our people and our country. We would have otherwise been squashed under Uther's boot."
<<elseif $chapt5_tirade == 5>>
You intervene to stop this line of truculent questioning. This is neither the time or place to be having this disccusion - no, borderline //interrogation//.
You step forward and firmly say: "I think it's best to cut this conversation short."
"Mordred, I need you to stay out of this," Morgana's tone, while not unkind, brooks no argument.
Surprisingly, Raphael backs her up: "Yes, Mordred, please. I would like to hear Lady Morgana out." His hands, still gathered over his chest, clasp tightly together as he summons his next words. He does not grow angry, only sadder. "My mother did what was best for us - for our people and our country. We would have otherwise been squashed under Uther's boot."
<<elseif $chapt5_tirade == 6>>
You can sense the tension not just in the grave faces and heavy words, but in Morgana's simmering magic, tingling against your skin and sending shivers down your spine. Fists clenched at your side and shoulders pulled back, you step into the conversation to strenghten your mother's voice. "Indeed, why didn't she? We have a right to know."
Raphael looks woefully between the two of you. He does not grow angry, only sadder. "My mother did what was best for us - for our people and our country. We would have otherwise been squashed under Uther's boot."
<<elseif $chapt5_tirade == 7>>
You intervene to stop this line of truculent questioning. This is neither the time or place to be having this disccusion - no, borderline //interrogation//.
You take a fortifying breath, stepping forward even as your insides knot in a ball of nerves. "I don't think this is the best time or place to be having this conversation."
"Mordred, I need you to stay out of this," Morgana's tone, while not unkind, brooks no argument.
Surprisingly, Raphael backs her up: "Yes, Mordred, please. I would like to hear Lady Morgana out." His hands, still gathered over his chest, clasp tightly together as he summons his next words. He does not grow angry, only sadder. "My mother did what was best for us - for our people and our country. We would have otherwise been squashed under Uther's boot."
<</if>>
Morgana isn't cowed. For any perceived excuse, she's got a retort at the ready, which she wields as doggedly as a sword: "Not if Astolat had allied itself with Tintal, and others. Not if it had risen higher instead of bowing and groveling at his feet. Instead, your mother allowed Uther to put his boot to Astolat's neck, perpetually applying pressure, not enough to smother, yet never enough to freely fill your lungs."
Her diatribe still doesn't shake him to anger - it seems too foreign an emotion to mold his face, anyway - but he regards her with a peculiar look. "Astolat flourished after the war, though." He smiles faintly, "The whole Continent did."
Morgana hums, that low, disapproving tone that indicates you've made a mistake in your rune drawing. "Yes," she agrees. "In the end, all the traitors and cowards were rewarded."
The river flows on quicker, like a gushing wound.
"But that's all water under the bridge," Morgana repeats, quieter and darker this time, like the gloomy sea settling down in the wake of a tumultuous storm. She musters back her elegant smile, as easily as summoning fire to her fingertips. "That's why we're uniting our families, isn't it? Arranged marriages have worked out so well after all." She throws Lot a pointed look.
Beatrice sees an opportunity to tip the scales and eagerly seizes it: "It has worked out wonderfully in our family. For my husband," she gives him a fond smile which assures you of the sincerity of her words. "For Augustine, Isolde," she waves towards the woman, who's keeping an affable smile plastered on her face as one might cling to a lifeline, "and now Elaine."
All eyes turn on Elaine, who starts to glance around as if there may be a second Elaine hiding behind her back that they're actually talking about.
"Indeed," she says with forced merriment, pushing onto her lips a smile that does not inspire confidence in you - and likely not in her either. It's more akin to a silent scream of help, to be honest. One Gareth promptly answers.
"Did you know the Temple is home to a couple lovely cats? And a new kitten, I believe."
The question resonates better with someone other than the intended target. Isolde's poised smile gives way to a more genuine, delighted surprise. She sweeps on her sibling, looping her arm around Elaine's and asks, "Reckon we may find them?"
"Izzy's terribly fond of cats," Elaine supplies.
"And you?"
"Oh, they're definitely cute," she says. "I suppose I'm just more of a dog person myself."
"So am I," Gareth smiles. "Well, it's no surprise surely; you've met Max."
They begin their search for the cats as a group of priests - counting among them a familiar, beaming face framed by frizzy hair - arrives to set a small table with cider and appetizers, engaging the Ducal heads in animated conversation. You remain by the riverbank with Morgana. She stands at the edge of the altar where the water, now returned to its calm flow, laps at the mosaic. Her back turned on the edifice and chatter, aggrieved expression hidden from prying eyes. Except yours, which she doesn't even attempt to evade.
<<if $morgana_closeness == "close">>
You draw closer by her side. Morgana says nothing, heaving but a small sigh.
<div class="choice">[[You puff a peeved huff. "They can't so much as admit that they were wrong, at the very least."|Chapt5TempleMorganaClose][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't think it's good for you to keep picking at old wounds like that," you say. "Or fair to the Beauregards who weren't even a part of the war."|Chapt5TempleMorganaClose][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know you're mad," you say, "but maybe it's better not to antagonize the Beauregards right now, right here? It won't lead to reperations, just scandal."|Chapt5TempleMorganaClose][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's always excuses with these nobles, isn't it?" you drawl, bitterly sardonic.|Chapt5TempleMorganaClose][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You know, Lord Raphael is right," you say, brow puckered. "His mother only did what she thought was best for Astolat. Just as grandmother made her choices, and everyone else on the Continent."|Chapt5TempleMorganaClose][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Are you alright?" you ask. Old wounds bleeding anew always hurt, and the Beauregards' dogged refusal to even admit they were cowards doesn't help, either.|Chapt5TempleMorganaClose][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "lukewarm">>
You dither close by, glancing between her and the others. Morgana says nothing, heaving but a small sigh.
<div class="choice">[[You puff a peeved huff. "They can't so much as admit that they were wrong, at the very least."|Chapt5TempleMorganaLukewarm][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't think it's good for you to keep picking at old wounds like that," you say. "Or fair to the Beauregards who weren't even a part of the war."|Chapt5TempleMorganaLukewarm][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know you're mad," you say, "but maybe it's better not to antagonize the Beauregards right now, right here? It won't lead to reperations, just scandal."|Chapt5TempleMorganaLukewarm][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's always excuses with these nobles, isn't it?" you drawl, bitterly sardonic.|Chapt5TempleMorganaLukewarm][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You know, Lord Raphael is right," you say, brow puckered. "His mother only did what she thought was best for Astolat. Just as grandmother made her choices, and everyone else on the Continent."|Chapt5TempleMorganaLukewarm][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Are you alright?" you ask. Old wounds bleeding anew always hurt, and the Beauregards' dogged refusal to even admit they were cowards doesn't help, either.|Chapt5TempleMorganaLukewarm][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Keep your distance. You do understand Morgana's frustration. The Beauregards could at least admit they're wrong.|Chapt5TempleMorganaLukewarm][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Keep your distance. It's not good for her - or you - to pick at old wounds like that, but you can't bring yourself to comfort her now. It's not fair to blame Raphael, either.|Chapt5TempleMorganaLukewarm][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Keep your distance. You know Morgana's hurting, but Raphael is right. Astolat did what they thought was best for them.|Chapt5TempleMorganaLukewarm][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Keep your distance. You know Morgana's hurting, but what does antagonizing the Beauregards get her? Certainly not reparations just scandal.|Chapt5TempleMorganaLukewarm][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 10]]</div>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "distant">>
You stay in place, poised with tension, glancing from the others to Morgana.
<div class="choice">[[You hate to admit it, but Morgana's right to be mad. They can't so much as admit that they were wrong, at the very least. It makes you scoff just thinking of it.|Chapt5TempleMorganaDistant][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[This is what she always does - pick at old wounds till they bleed anew. It's not good for her, or those around her. It's not fair to the Beauregards who weren't even a part of the war.|Chapt5TempleMorganaDistant][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You know she's mad, you know she's suffered. But what does this achieve? It won't lead to reperations, just scandal.|Chapt5TempleMorganaDistant][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Raphael is right, though. As much as it may hurt, at the end of the day, his mother did what she thought was best for Astolat, as Igraine did for Tintal.|Chapt5TempleMorganaDistant][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You always do this," you tell Morgana. "Pick at all wounds till they bleed anew. It's not good for you. It's not good for me - and it's not fair to the Beauregards."|Chapt5TempleMorganaDistant][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You know, Lord Raphael is right," you tell Morgana. "His mother only did what she thought was best for Astolat. Just as grandmother made her choices, and everyone else on the Continent."|Chapt5TempleMorganaDistant][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know you're mad," you say. You know she's suffered. "But what does this achieve? It won't lead to reperations, just scandal."|Chapt5TempleMorganaDistant][$chapt5_temple_morgana to 7]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_thanks == 1>>
"Thank you," you say, letting out a relieved sigh.
Morgana smiles back wearily. "I won't let him do anything, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 6>>
You give Morgana a feeble smile. "I could have handled him, you know."
"I know," she gently says, "but I thought Lot must be definitely told I won't tolerate him doing anything to you."
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 8>>
"Thanks for dragging me into this," you huff, bringing your goblet to your lips. Your annoyed puff breaks the cider's surface into fretful waves.
"I won't let him do anything, Mordred," Morgana promises, weary and earnest.
"Too late," you say, heading out of the dining room.
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 9>>
"I don't like this," you grimly say, watching Lot take his seat by the Beauregards. "Not one bit."
"I won't let him do anything, Mordred," Morgana promises, weary and earnest.
"We'll see," you say, heading out of the dining room.
<</if>>
As you and Morgana return back to your places in the parlor, Beatrice Beauregard sends a genial smile your way. "May I just say how delighted I am that you took the time to show Elaine around," she says, reiterating what was said over dinner, and holds your gaze meaningfully. "It's great to see the two of you getting along, already."
It's enough to shut down any further protestation or threat from Lot, hopefully.
[[Next|Chapt5Lecture]]<<if $chapt5_thanks == 1>>
"Thank you," you tersely say, gripping your goblet far too tightly. You don't meet Morgana's eyes, staring instead ahead at the picturesque paintings of the palor.
"I won't let him do anything, Mordred," Morgana says and you merely nod, still not looking at her.
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 3>>
"Thank...you," you tentatively say as you study Morgana - the weary, taut line of her shoulders, the genuine exasperation written over her face now that Lot has left. You appreciate her intervation, even if her presence doesn't fail to stir a storm of emotions in you, none of them too pleasant.
"I won't let him do anything, Mordred," Morgana says and you merely nod.
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 4>>
"I didn't need help," you snap, glaring at Morgana.
Morgana sighs and swirls her wine, raising weary, exasperated eyes to meet yours. "I suppose Raphael's intervention would have sufficied, but I'm just making sure Lot knows not to dare do anything."
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 5>>
"I didn't need help," you say, voice glacial.
Morgana sighs and swirls her wine, raising weary, exasperated eyes to meet yours. "I suppose Raphael's intervention would have sufficied, but I'm just making sure Lot knows not to dare do anything."
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 7>>
You don't say anything, standing in heavy silence with Morgana.
She breaks it, saying: "I won't let him do anything, Mordred."
You make no reply, mutely heading out of the dining room.
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 8>>
"Thanks for dragging me into this," you huff, bringing your goblet to your lips. Your annoyed puff breaks the cider's surface into fretful waves.
"I won't let him do anything, Mordred," Morgana promises, weary and earnest.
"Too late," you say, heading out of the dining room.
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 9>>
"I don't like this," you grimly say, watching Lot take his seat by the Beauregards. "Not one bit."
"I won't let him do anything, Mordred," Morgana promises, weary and earnest.
"We'll see," you say, heading out of the dining room.
<</if>>
As you and Morgana return back to your places in the parlor, Beatrice Beauregard sends a genial smile your way. "May I just say how delighted I am that you took the time to show Elaine around," she says, reiterating what was said over dinner, and holds your gaze meaningfully. "It's great to see the two of you getting along, already."
It's enough to shut down any further protestation or threat from Lot, hopefully.
[[Next|Chapt5Lecture]]<<if $chapt5_thanks == 1>>
"Thank you," you tersely say, gripping your goblet far too tightly. You don't meet Morgana's eyes, staring instead ahead at the picturesque paintings of the palor.
"I won't let him do anything, Mordred," Morgana says and you merely nod, still not looking at her.
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 2>>
"Thank you," you say, letting out a relieved sigh.
Morgana smiles back wearily. "I won't let him do anything, Mordred."
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 3>>
"Thank...you," you tentatively say as you study Morgana - the weary, taut line of her shoulders, the genuine exasperation written over her face now that Lot has left. You appreciate her intervation, even if her presence doesn't fail to stir a storm of emotions in you, none of them too pleasant.
"I won't let him do anything, Mordred," Morgana says and you merely nod.
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 4>>
"I didn't need help," you snap, glaring at Morgana.
Morgana sighs and swirls her wine, raising weary, exasperated eyes to meet yours. "I suppose Raphael's intervention would have sufficied, but I'm just making sure Lot knows not to dare do anything."
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 5>>
"I didn't need help," you say, voice glacial.
Morgana sighs and swirls her wine, raising weary, exasperated eyes to meet yours. "I suppose Raphael's intervention would have sufficied, but I'm just making sure Lot knows not to dare do anything."
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 6>>
You give Morgana a feeble smile. "I could have handled him, you know."
"I know," she gently says, "but I thought Lot must be definitely told I won't tolerate him doing anything to you."
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 7>>
You don't say anything, standing in heavy silence with Morgana.
She breaks it, saying: "I won't let him do anything, Mordred."
You make no reply, mutely heading out of the dining room.
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 8>>
"Thanks for dragging me into this," you huff, bringing your goblet to your lips. Your annoyed puff breaks the cider's surface into fretful waves.
"I won't let him do anything, Mordred," Morgana promises, weary and earnest.
"Too late," you say, heading out of the dining room.
<<elseif $chapt5_thanks == 9>>
"I don't like this," you grimly say, watching Lot take his seat by the Beauregards. "Not one bit."
"I won't let him do anything, Mordred," Morgana promises, weary and earnest.
"We'll see," you say, heading out of the dining room.
<</if>>
As you and Morgana return back to your places in the parlor, Beatrice Beauregard sends a genial smile your way. "May I just say how delighted I am that you took the time to show Elaine around," she says, reiterating what was said over dinner, and holds your gaze meaningfully. "It's great to see the two of you getting along, already."
It's enough to shut down any further protestation or threat from Lot, hopefully.
[[Next|Chapt5Lecture]]<<if $chapt5_weapon == 1>>
You laugh - the sound is explosive, bitter and smothered as abruptly as it came. Even as you stare at her, incredulous, she does not turn to meet your gaze, keeping hers mullishly fixed ahead.
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
"Yet you had no qualms making me your weapon. Fabricating truths at every step to keep me in the dark. Hurting //Arthur//. Are you really doing this for Gareth, or just to feel better?"
<<else>>
"Yet you had no qualms making me your weapon. Fabricating truths at every step to keep me in the dark. Are you really doing this for Gareth, or just to feel better?"
<</if>>
It's the last twist of the knife that Morgana can endure. In a whirl of blood red silk, she rounds on you, cutting your path. She grips your shoulders, loose enough to wrench away if you wanted to. Yet you find yourself rooted to the spot, staring into a face that looks so much like your own.
"I only did what I deemed right for //us//," she says, but what it should be - what she means - is //her//. It always was, no matter what she thinks. "I love the both of you, and it pains me that your brother would have his choice taken away, as with me. That you and I would get to this."
The flames along the hallway quiver in their sconces. The shadows cast writhe and slither across Morgana's face, deepening the creases etched by desperation.
"It pains me too," you say. Your voice comes out quiet and fragile. In this moment, it doesn't feel as if it belongs to you, as you are now, but to a little child. One that would take refuge in those open arms when trouble plagued them, that would look up for comfort in those $eye eyes - eyes angry and smouldering, yet always so soft whenever they rested on you, as if all could burn around you and you'd be safe there with her. But now all there is for you to grasp when you reach out is bitterness. It slips through your fingers like wisps, chokes you like noxious smoke.
You pull away from Morgana's grasp. You can't bear to look at her.
Fists clenched and nails digging into palm, you march down the corridor and slip out the door. Morgana doesn't follow. After a while, you hear the echo of her steps, distant and faint swallowed up by the patter of your own footfalls.
<<elseif $chapt5_weapon == 2>>
Of course. Gareth is the one whose luxury of choice she'll fight to preserve, but you were never given that liberty, were you? Conceived for a goal, it hasn't left you with much of an alternative. You taste bile as you stew on the thought, but don't say anything. Instead you quicken your step, overtaking Morgana so you won't have to endure her presence, not even during the short duration of the way to Lot's parlor. She doesn't try to catch up. She's learned by now you wouldn't want that.
She calls out to you, though, just as you're about to slip out the door of your wing. You stop, fingers tigthening on the doorknob till it bites into your palm - a pain to rival the pang in your chest - and stare down at your boots. Waiting for whatever she wants to say. You're not even sure why you stopped.
"Mordred," she calls out again, voice gentle. You finally deign to drag your gaze in her direction, and she continues: "Whatever it is you're thinking of me, I want you to know that my one intention now is to help my child."
You stare at her, simmering with all the reproaches you've piled on her before, with all the resentment that's grown such thick, sturdy roots within you. Then you shut the door firmly close and march off.
<<elseif $chapt5_weapon == 3>>
Your heart may be embittered, darkened and poisoned by justified resentment and mistrust, yet you will acquiesce Morgana must truly be concerned for Gareth. It doesn't mean she won't go about it in her usual, devious manner - even if your brother specifically asked her not to. There's no trusting Morgana, after all.
"Alright," you flatly say. "Who will you poison to help him, then?"
"I'd delight in poisoning Lot, but I doubt it'll solve my problems." You doubt that, too.
You shake your head, as if to clear it of all the gloomy thoughts this conversation has dredged up. You pick up your pace, overtaking Morgana; slip out the door of your wing, rushing off towards Lot's parlor on your own.
<<elseif $chapt5_weapon == 4>>
Morgana's the one who has made it hard for you to trust her. Years of deceit and schemes have left you wondering just how much you truly know of her, and her intentions - it's only natural that you're questioning her motivation now, for something that should not be so surprising.
"Don't look at me like that," you say, irked by her tone - that calm cadence with that mocking lilt, as if it should be obvious she's only concerned for Gareth's wellbeing. "It's hard to take you at your word, after everything." You chance a quick look at her, to check if your words hit, if the mask slipped. All you find is her cooly poised expression.
Perhaps no response is better than yet another infuriating, obstinate defense; either way, you feel a sudden urge to get away, precipictated by the tingling teeming just beneath your skin. You quicken your pace, making to overtake her.
A hand on your shoulder halts you. It's loose enough a grip that you could wrench away, if you so wished. Instead you stay rooted in place, eyes fixed on the doors ahead, your escape out of here, just out of reach.
"Mordred," Morgana say, voice gentle yet pained. "I have - and always will - care about you and Gareth. So very much."
It's the same voice that used to soothe you, when the weigh of everything came crushing down on you. Those fingers digging into your shoulder, the same that would stroke your cheek and make the troubles go away. Now all they summon is resentment - bitter and biting.
You yank your shoulder out of her grasp, marching out the doors. Morgana doesn't follow.
<</if>>
<<if $go_talk is true>>
[[Continue|Chapt5LotWarning]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|Chapt5Lecture]]
<</if>>She turns over the first card. It brushes against the blanket when flipped, letting out a soft sigh of relief.. She doesn't move on to the next one, however, letting anticipation build-up, denying you the quick release of tension. You ball up your fists to keep your fingers from drumming against your knees and focus your attention on this first card.
<<if $chapt1father1 == "1">>
"Five of cups." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a black-shrouded figure. Their back is turned to you and their obscured face tilted downwards, gazing in the direction of three spilled cups. Behind them, two filled cups stand upright, ignored.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for great sorrow and dejection in your life. Something - someone - in your past, in your life, cast their shadow over you, so huge as to be inescapable, so dark as to blind you. It soured your heart, and when disappoitnment was too much, it spilled into hate."
<<elseif $chapt1father1 == "3">>
"The Star." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a woman with flowing hair. She carries two pitchers which she tips into a pond she's dipping one foot in; above her hangs a great, brilliant star.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow in your life. There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - casted over you. Too huge to escape, yet not so dark as to blind you. Deep within, you created your own light to ward off the shadows and guide you ahead, to give you hope for the future. Even when it hurt, even when the flame flickered, you held on to that hope."
<<else>>
"The Moon." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a nighttime scene: a dog and a wolf, both howling at the moon while behind them, a crayfish emerges from the water. The little unexpected critter takes a hammer to whatever nervous awe Nimue inspired and you almost laugh - until you catch her gaze, so intent and grave it makes any sound wither on your tongue.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow. There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - cast over you. Too huge to escape, dark enough as to blind. You were unsure where to put your next step, unsure what to make of this darkness, of this hurt and sorrow and dejection that stalked you every day. You were told it was a predator - you were told it was dangerous and bad and that you had to keep turning away from it, but you didn't heed so easily. You wanted to find out on your own, to know if things could truly be so."
<</if>>
For one unbalancing moment you are back on Avalon, a little carefree child, back into those times you remember as sun-drenched as they are mist-enshrouded. You forget - want to forget - that shadow, the ever-present absence that has been haunting you ever since you were old enough to understand who Arthur was.
Was there ever a time in your life when you didn't have a shadow or another cast over yourself?
Nimue looks up and meets your eye. She doesn't ask if she was right or not. She already knows the answer. There's a pit in your stomach, a weightless, empty feeling of missing a step on stairs, that horrible second before either finding purchase or breaking your bones.
[[Second card|Chapt5NervousCard2]]<<if $want_revenge == "yes">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"The Chariot," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the proud, helmeted head of the charioteer; in one hand she holds the reins of two great stallions - one white, one black - and with the other brandishes a raised sword.
"You show determination and ambition, the willpower to not just push on, but thrive." She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's a fire burning bright and hot within you, driving you forward. But fire can easily get out of control; feed it, and it may grow to consume everything in its path."
The words worm their way under your skin, squirming restlessly. "And I suppose this isn't in reference to my fire magic?"
Nimue smiles too. "No."
<<elseif $want_revenge == "no">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"Ten of swords," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the figure laying prone and bleeding, speared through by the eponymous ten of swords.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's anguish hollowing you out from the inside. Your skin won't heal over the open gashes in your flesh, but you maintain the hope that with time they will. This strife needn't be permanent, needn't be worsened by continuing to pick at old wounds." There's a softness to her voice - neither pity nor reassurance, but a sort of acknowledgement.
The words bounce inside your skull, repeating over and over like a feverish prayer. Will there truly be a day when the skin has closed, scarred and healed? You'll never forget - you'll have the scars, no mater how faded, always there - but you won't be hurting anymore. It's only the present card - promises you made yourself, not yet to be fulfilled.
<<elseif $add_want_revenge == "justice">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"Justice," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the crowned head of the woman who sits atop a throne, one hand holding a raised sword, the other a scale, perfectly balanced.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's a fire within you, burning bright and hot. Let loose, it would consume everything in its path - but you wish to wield it well and careful, make it illuminate that which has been left to the shadows."
"Is the card entirely what its name suggests?" You will yourself to speak calmly, as much as your heart hammering within your throat will allow.
"It can be applied in different ways to diferrent situations," Nimue replies. "Including quite literally."
She doesn't say what it means for //you// specifically, though it's no grand mystery for anyone gathered here. You just want what's fair.
<<else>>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at.
"The Hermit," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps her nail against the hooded figure standing among a shadowy wood, with nothing for company but their cane and lantern.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's uncertainty within you, so you withdraw to ponder and examine that which troubles you, that threatens to tear you in two. You are searching for answers within, but the question posed is too difficult to have solved it yet. And so you stand on the edge of a knife - a knife you were told you were born to wield, unsure whether to grab that blade and do what you're meant to, even if it meants cutting yourself deeper, or take it and hurl it far away from you."
You twist and turn her words in your head, trying to cleave through her dense metaphors, peel away the fanciful dressing to find the bare truth beneath, sieve the oracular till you're left with your practical reality. The knife must be the vengeance Morgana had planned for you to enact in conceiving you, the pensive Hermit reflecting your indecision, standing in the middle of a dark woods and not knowing which path to do down to. This card will offer you no solution, no hint to what your future self might chose - will the next one reveal that?
Part of you wishes for a quick answer, the sudden drop of the executioner's axe - and another wants to keep the mystery, the idea of control.
Nimue watches you. Oh Goddess, can she - can they all read that uncertainty reflected in your face? Is it an open book to them, as your inner conflicts seem to be to Nimue?
You school your expression in a small polite smile, the same you'd give an unappetizing piece of cake you can't turn down. "Interesting."
<</if>>
Nimue's hand moves to unveil the last card. Gawain gasps.
You don't do anything quite so dramatic: merely stare transfixed at the familiar card as your skin turns to gooseflesh.
A proud tower stands in ruin against a stormy backdrop as lightning cracks its stone and sets it aflame. Two figures have flung themselves from its crumbling, burning heights of certain doom, down towards the tumultuous embrace of the waters beneath. The sea may either rock them to eternal sleep or carry them away to safety. You think it's most likely they'll be bashed on the jagged rocks right below, or crushed beneath the toppling masonry.
//The Tower.// A card of unforeseen catastrophe.
<div class="choice">[[A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells. Yet more evidence of your doomed fate?|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of thing, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed by its appearance.|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Would you be justified in bring about this chaos, after everything you've been through?|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself.|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom.|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 5]]</div><<if $chapt5_nevermind == 1>>
She makes a vague grunting noise before biting with force into the bread. You sip on your grape juice, trying to wash away the bitterness raising up your throat.
<<elseif $chapt5_nevermind == 2>>
She bites with force into the bread, frowning. You sip on your grape juice, trying to wash away the bitterness raising up your throat.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
"Mordred." Elaine grasps your forearm and fixes you with a deeply earnest look. You expect a heartfelt confession; a weighty admission. Instead, you get a puzzling question: "You and King Arthur are rather close, aren't you? I was wondering-"
"Terribly sorry to interrupt!" Raphael chirps as he interrupts regardless, looking none too remorseful. He's been smiling throughout the entire morning, it's a wonder he can sustain the expression for so long and so bright. It's like every new guest introduced reinvigorates him. "There's people to greet."
<<else>>
"I was thinking," Elaine says with no preamble, "Gareth's on good terms with King Arthur, isn't he-"
"Terribly sorry to interrupt!" Raphael chirps as he interrupts regardless, looking none too remorseful. He's been smiling so widely since early morning it's a wonder he can sustain the expression for so long, and so bright. It's like every new introduced guest reinvigorates him. "There's people to greet."
<</if>>
Elaine abandons you - and her remaining flatbread - with regret, dragged away by an overly-eager Raphael. But the incoming carriage is far enough in the distance for you to take your time before joining the formation, idly sipping on grape juice and less idly ruminating on Elaine's words.
[[Watch the approaching carriages.|Chapt5CarriageComes]]It's been so long since you've seen Nimue.
The memory of her was surrounded in mist, much like the island where you last saw her in a time far-off, before Lothia, before the prophecy, before every little truth and lie that shaped you into what you are now.
Back then, you marveled at how much she resembled her mother - now it strikes you that she looks nothing like her father.
As they approach, you dip into a respectful bow along with the others. Lot intones his welcome, solemn and serious.
"It's an honor to have you here, Lord Merlin."
"Thank you, your Grace. I do believe it's been too long since I last visited."
Merlin is possessed of a mellifluous voice. The more he goes on exchanging pleasantries, the more you realize there's an almost musical cadence to his speech, a modulation meant to have you hanging off every note, carried smoothly to the next word. You wonder if the Royal Sorcerer has stood alone in his chamber, listening to the sound of his voice again and again til he could pluck it like a violin.
<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">>
The kind of voice cultivated to not just be heard, but be //listened// to.
<<else>>
Does he expect people to dance to his song?
<</if>>
You study him as he answers Beatrice' polite inquries regarding his journey, as he offers the couple to-be-wed his sincerest congratulations. Wrinkles - made all the more deeper by his smile - fan out at the corners of his eyes, and there are faint lines traced around his mouth. His black hair is spiked with silver, so much so that it'd be more accurate describing it the other way around. Silver drizzled with black, cut to the ear and combed back, not a strand out of place.
Next to him, Nimue speaks little. She keeps her hands twined against her scarlet bodice - which cascades down in an ample skirt of that same vivid hue, opening up to a forepart of printed songbirds perched on branches - and watches.
"There's one of you here I haven't had the pleasure of being formally introduced to until now," Merlin says, gaze drifting over to you. "This isn't our very first encounter, but I doubt you remember much, given you were only a babe then. Mordred," he bows slightly at the waist, "it's a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."
<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie" or $chapt5_merlin_before == "curious">>
His eyes are twin pools of tar - unfathomable and mysterious like the night sky. Whatever lies beyond stars is nothing but guesswork, such as whatever hides behind that seemingly benevolent gaze.
<<else>>
His eyes are twin pools of tar - unfathomable, ready to swallow you up and pull you under. From this distance, in this light, you cannot tell iris and pupil apart.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Play polite. "Likewise," you lie through your teeth.|Chapt5GreetMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_greet to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can play this game too. Smile pleasantly. "Likewise," you lie through your teeth. "I have heard much about you, Lord Merlin."|Chapt5GreetMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_greet to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Likewise," you say with a flat tone that suggests completely otherwise.|Chapt5GreetMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_greet to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Likewise," you say with a flat tone that suggests completely otherwise. "I have heard much about you, Lord Merlin."|Chapt5GreetMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_greet to 4]]</div>
<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">><div class="choice">[[Dip your head politely. "Likewise." It remains to be seen if you change your mind.|Chapt5GreetMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_greet to 5]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">><div class="choice">[[Dip your head politely. "Likewise." It remains to be seen if you change your mind. "I have heard much about you, Lord Merlin." You say the words to test his reaction.|Chapt5GreetMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_greet to 6]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">><div class="choice">[[Smile pleasantly. "Likewise." It remains to be seen if you change your mind. "I have heard much about you, Lord Merlin."|Chapt5GreetMerlin][$chapt5_merlin_greet to 7]]</div><</if>><<if $chapt5_nimue_gossip == 1>>
Ah, so it's gossip time. Talk always winds up there sooner or later, especially the kind of talk coming off smirking, drunken mouths. You keep to your goblet, watching the exchange unfold from across the table.
"Ah!" Percival perks up like a hound - an old, wobbly-footed, drunk hound - catching whiff of prey. "Look at them coming along now! Done smashing faces?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_gossip == 2>>
"So they're together? Courting?" You can't help asking when he so generously extends a serving of gossip.
Percival shrugs his shoulder, together with the attached Luca Solomon. "Whatever you want to call it."
"A-ha," Isolde glibly intones, "Together, courting, or //smashing lips//, as you so elegantly put it?"
"Izzy gets it. Ah! Look at them coming along now! Done smashing faces?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_gossip == 3>>
<<if $chapt5_dance == "Nimue" and $c5_chore != 2>>
You can't fault Brownyn for //smashing lips// with Nimue - you only wish it was you in her place. Stealing away hand in hand to some shadowy, sheltered alcove, giddy with anticipation, ready for exploration. The cool touch of Nimue's fingers is fresh in your mind, as is the wry tilt of her smile. It's so easy to keep spiraling and unraveling from there, imagine those hands against your heated cheeks, those lips (would they be cold, you wonder?) against yours-
<<else>>
You can't fault Brownyn for //smashing lips// with Nimue - you only wish it was you in her place. Stealing away hand in hand to some shadowy, sheltered alcove, giddy with anticipation, ready for exploration...
<</if>>
You take a long sip of your drink, mouth suddenly dry, and root yourself back in the less-than-exciting reality.
"Ah!" Percival perks up like a hound - an old, wobbly-footed, drunk hound - catching whiff of prey. "Look at them coming along now! Done smashing faces?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_gossip == 4>>
As if heeding your heart, the violins begin strumming a woebegone melody, allowing you - encouraging you, even - to silently sulk in your goblet. Talk of the dalliance continues all around you, oblivious to the pangs in your chest.
"Ah!" Percival perks up like a hound - an old, wobbly-footed, drunk hound - catching whiff of prey. "Look at them coming along now! Done smashing faces?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_gossip == 5>>
You can see why Bronwyn would wish to steal away with Nimue to some shadowy, sheltered alcove, giddy with anticipation, to do all the sorts of things you couldn't before prying eyes. Though you can't say you'd be particularly interested in the //smashing lips// part of it, you'd rather like some time alone with Nimue, somewhere you could talk freely and unobserved.
"Ah!" Percival perks up like a hound - an old, wobbly-footed, drunk hound - catching whiff of prey. "Look at them coming along now! Done smashing faces?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_gossip == 6>>
"So they're together? Courting?" you ask with as much nonchalance as you can muster. Not even looking up from your goblet, feigning more interest in its half-drunk contents than the newly-found knowledge pinging round your skull like a spinning coin.
Percival shrugs his shoulder, together with the attached Luca Solomon. "Whatever you want to call it."
"A-ha," Isolde glibly intones, "Together, courting, or //smashing lips//, as you so elegantly put it?"
"Izzy gets it. Ah! Look at them coming along now! Done smashing faces?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_gossip == 7>>
It feels as if the floorboards have suddenly tilted beneath you and now you're tumbling down, spluttering on your drink. If only you were truly tumbling down, away from the table and the eyes turning to watch you hack and wheeze.
Gawain kindly reaches over to pat your back and offer a napkin. "There, there."
"Now," Percival drawls, 'I didn't think it was //that// shocking. Ah!" He perks up like a hound - an old, wobbly-footed, drunk hound - catching whiff of prey. "Look at them coming along! Done smashing faces?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_gossip == 8>>
"So they're together? Courting?" You need to know, you simply must. Something within you - shameless curiosity - demands you do.
Percival shrugs his shoulder, together with the attached Luca Solomon. "Whatever you want to call it."
"A-ha," Isolde glibly intones, "Together, courting, or //smashing lips//, as you so elegantly put it?"
"Izzy gets it. Ah! Look at them coming along now! Done smashing faces?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_gossip == 9>>
You can understand why Bronwyn would wish to steal away with Nimue to some shadowy, sheltered alcove, giddy with anticipation, to do all the sorts of things you couldn't before prying eyes. You understand why someone might want her keen attention all on them, and listen to her talk, freely, openly, where no one else could hear.
"Ah!" Percival perks up like a hound - an old, wobbly-footed, drunk hound - catching whiff of prey. "Look at them coming along now! Done smashing faces?"
<</if>>
Sir Bronwyn only dignifies him with a terse, "You're drunk, Percy."
You give the two girls a quick, curious over-all but find nothing that might indicate any lip-smashing has occurred. Nimue's purple lip paint is as fresh and immaculate as it was at the start of the night, and there's no strange, bruise-like marks on Bronwyn's face, no rumpling of the former's black gown or the latter's leather jerkin.
Come to think of it, though, the pristine lip paint might be all the evidence you need.
"We've just been talking," Nimue says, in apparent utter earnest. "A very engaging conversation."
Percy snorts. "Yeah, yeah, talking like Luca and I did." The boy hanging round his shoulders turns beetroot red and slinks down lower, enough to hide his cheek behind Percy's big sleeve.
"Talking," Percy continues in that smug, grating tone, like the scratching of a fork at the empty bottom of a bowl, trying yet failing to dig up some more remnants of food, "like Izzy and Tristan used to //talk//."
"Percy," Isolde assumes Bronwyn's flat tonality, "you're drunk." Next to her, Tristan soberly shakes his head.
Percy throws up his hands - Luca buoys up and down, still a sickly red. "Am I lying though?"
The only reply he gets is from Elaine. "Fuck off back to your table, Percy."
There's no real harshness behind the words, but this one final heckling finally sends him //fucking off// from the table, together with Luca Solomon who has resolved to dilligently play the part of a thistle tonight. Bronwyn follows soon after them, but not before exchanging a quick smile with Nimue, brushing her fingers ever so slightly against hers.
[[Continue|Chapt5MainCourse]]The earth has dried up since the storm - a time so far-off and removed from you now - and the Solomons have promised you the coming days will be clear and clement, perfect for the wedding.
From up the hill, you see the party: a sea of light in a world of darkness. For as much as the bonfires and candelabra illuminate the revelers, bathing them in a dreamy, fae-like radiance, it doubly shadows all that surrounds it. And in between these two extremes there's a fuzzy, liminal space, where the light strains to reach and colors bleed out into the shapeless, washed-out gloom of night. A solitary, melancholy place to be, that one must pass to enter or leave: a passage along which to wonder what awaits you within that dazzling universe and to later allow reflection as you trudge back to your chamber.
You dither yourself in that space now, weaving speculation and possibility in your mind. You know what to anticipate from strictly Lothian feasts, where the guestlist stays restrained within the borders of your Duchy. Events like this one, so sprawling and bustling and varied, where each reveler that passes you by can be pinned to a different corner of the Continent, here is where things can turn unexpected. Especially now, with new factors, new actors thrown onto the stage of this courtly pantomime you must navigate. At least you'll do so looking fashionable in your new garments.
<div class="choice">[[You donned Lothian clothes. A linen dress with puffed sleeves, cinched at the waist.|Chapt5PartyOutfit][$chapt5_party_outfit to "lothian_dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You donned Lothian clothes. Linen shirt with puffed sleeves and high-waisted breeches.|Chapt5PartyOutfit][$chapt5_party_outfit to "lothian_pants"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You donned Lothian clothes. Linen robe with flared sleeves that falls loose and straight, paired with an open vest.|Chapt5PartyOutfit][$chapt5_party_outfit to "lothian_robe"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You donned Tintalian clothes. Flaring sleeves, a gown that flows along the shape of the body, loosely belted. It'll garner attention, but you don't care.|Chapt5PartyOutfit][$chapt5_party_outfit to "tintal_dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You donned Tintalian clothes. Flaring sleeves, a tunic that flows down to your knees, loosely belted. It'll garner attention, but you don't care.|Chapt5PartyOutfit][$chapt5_party_outfit to "tintal_tunic"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You donned a Camelotian gown. It has a bodiced kirtle, ample skirts and fitted sleeves.|Chapt5PartyOutfit][$chapt5_party_outfit to "camelot_dress"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You donned a Camelotian outfit. A lavish doublet with breeches and knee-high boots.|Chapt5PartyOutfit][$chapt5_party_outfit to "camelot_doublet"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You donned a Camelotian gown. It has puffed sleeves, satin skirts and a highly ornate stomacher.|Chapt5PartyOutfit][$chapt5_party_outfit to "camelot_stomacher"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You donned a Camelotian outfit. A lavish jerkin over a puffed sleeves shirt, breeches and knee-high boots.|Chapt5PartyOutfit][$chapt5_party_outfit to "camelot_jerkin"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You donned an Avalonian outfit. A linen gown pinned at the shoulders, creating an overfold over the bust, cinched at the waist. Since it's sleeveless, you wear a shawl.|Chapt5PartyOutfit][$chapt5_party_outfit to "avalon_outfit"]]</div>For the ceremony itself, a strict dress guide was imposed upon you all by Lot. You are to wear Lothian garbs - whether a gown, robe or breeches is your choice - dyed in the Leudonus colors. For the parties however, you were given free reign to commission whatever attires you desired. You've worked closely with a tailor to transform your rambling descriptions into actual, lovely garments for you to wear.
<<if $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_dress">>
You didn't stray much out of Lot's vision for the parties, either, since you opted for a Lothian linen gown. Vividly colored threads weave an intricate patter down the front and along the puffed sleeves. The dress is cinched at the waist by a thick belt as vibrant as the embroidery and an overskirt of delicate lace covers the linen petticoat.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_pants">>
You didn't stray much out of Lot's vision for the parties, either, since you opted for a Lothian outfit. Vividly colored threads weave an intricate patter down the front of your shirt and along the puffed sleeves. The high-waisted breeches you wear are of a simple, neutral dye as to not overshadow your embroidered leather boots.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "lothian_robe">>
You didn't stray much out of Lot's vision for the parties, either, since you opted for a Lothian outfit. Vividly colored threads weave an intricate pattern down the front of your loose-fitting robe and along sleeves, which flare ever so slightly at the wrist. Atop it you've shrugged on a vest and left it undone.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_dress">>
You've been handed the freedom to choose, so you ran with it and opted for a Tintalian outfit. You doubt it's what Lot had in mind, but he'd likely not be surprised by your choice. It's such a magnificently sewn garb, too, with its ornamental seams. You can't help but run your fingers along the soft fabric. It flows along the shape of your body, with a girdle of silver and pearls loosely tied at the waist as to trail down the front. The bell sleeves flare around the elbows and cascade all the way below your knees. It's a style with more Continental influences rather than Avalonian, and it has been fashionable in Tintal for decades; it's bound to attract attention once people spot who's wearing it.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "tintal_tunic">>
You've been handed the freedom to choose, so you ran with it and opted for a Tintalian outfit. You doubt it's what Lot had in mind, but he'd likely not be surprised by your choice. It's such a magnificiently sewed garb, too; you can't help but run your fingers along the soft fabric. The tunic flows along the shape of your body and stops just below the knees, where snug-fitting breeches become visible. A girdle of silver and pearls is loosely tied around the waist so that the chain trails down the front, and the long bell sleeves flare around the elbows. It's a style with more Continental influences rather than Avalonian, and it has been fashionable in Tintal for decades; it's bound to attract attention once people spot who's wearing it.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_dress">>
You've been handed the freedom to choose, so you ran with it and opted for a Camelotian outfit, a highly fashionable and popular choice. It was a tad more complicated to don than your usual fare of Lothian outfits, though. You slipped into the hooped skirt - which is what lends the dress its ampleness - with ease, as well as into the kirtle. It tied nicely up both sides, but you cannot say the same about the fitted sleeves. You required aid to lace them to the bodice, but you couldn't stop smiling once you saw yourself in the mirror, completely garbed and ready to go.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_doublet">>
You've been handed the freedom to choose, so you ran with it and opted for a Camelotian outfit, a highly fashionable and popular choice. You wear a snug-fitting doublet with sleeves that puff around the shoulder and taper along the forearms; its surface is resplendent with inprinted patterns and fanciful slashes. At the waist, the doublet flares into a short peplum, meant to add flounce to the outfit. Completeting the lush vision are baggy breeches tucked into knee-high leather boots.
A lavish doublet with breeches and knee-high boots.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_stomacher">>
You've been handed the freedom to choose, so you ran with it and opted for a Camelotian outfit, a highly fashionable and popular choice. It was a tad more complicated to don than your usual fare of Lothian outfits, though. After the puffed-sleeved chemise, you slipped into a petticoat, to offer the satin kirtle that came overtop some fullness. This was all quickly done, but then came attaching the stomacher - highly ornate with lush applications and elaborate trimings - and lacing up the front of the dress to secure it in place, an endeavor you found rather time-consuming. It was all worth it once you beheld yourself in the mirror, completely garbed and ready to go.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "camelot_jerkin">>
You've been handed the freedom to choose, so you ran with it and opted for a Camelotian outfit, a highly fashionable and popular choice. You wear a snug-fitting jerkin, sleeveless with elaborate trimming about the shoulders; it's designed so to show off the puffed sleeves of your chemise. The gemstone buttons lining the front wink comely in the candlelight, and the high, starched neck cuts a sharp, elegant look. Completeting the vision are fitted breeches tucked into knee-high leather boots.
<<elseif $chapt5_party_outfit == "avalon_outfit">>
You've been handed the freedom to choose, so you ran with it and opted for an Avalonian outfit. You doubt it's what Lot had in mind - or anyone, for that matter, given the raised brow you received from the tailor - but it shouldn't be a surprising choice. Avalon was an integral part of your childhood, after all, and it still holds a special place in your heart. The garb must have been the easiest the tailor was tasked to do for the event - you could have done it yourself, with some calculations and patience. After all, it's just one grand, rectangular piece of linen that you pin to your shoulders. For that, you used gilded, ornamental clasps. The top of the cloth creates an overfold, and a gold girdle is used to fasten the garment at the waist. Since there's no sleeves, you draped a shawl about your shoulders and slid bracelets on your arms.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt5EnterParty]]You take a few moments to compose yourself. A trickle of sweat licks down the nape of your head, into your already damp shirt. With practiced motions, Elaine unbuckles the security harness and slips down. Felix shakes himself from his snout to the tip of his tail, the brief flapping of wings and quiver of scaled skin sounding like a cracked whip.
<<if $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
"You're trained." It's not a remark, but an accusation. $dragon_name stares Felix down, baleful eyes demanding an explanation for this perceived deception.
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
$dragon_name puffs out, "You didn't mention that!"
Felix affects a look of utter innocence. "I didn't want to intimidate you."
$dragon_name pushes a gush of hot air down $dragon_his nose, then another, rendered speechless.
<div class="choice">[["But you must agree it was impressive," you say.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hey, that's not fair!" you say.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[That was exciting, you send to your dragon mentally.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 9]]</div>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">>
"You're trained," $dragon_name baldly remarks.
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
"You didn't mention that." $dragon_name considers Felix with fresh eyes - narrowed for good measure too, as if it may sooner reveal what other secrets lurk behind that golden gaze. "Sly of you. Very sly." $dragon_he make it sound like a compliment. The appreciantion oozing from $dragon_him confirms it is meant to be one.
<div class="choice">[["And impressive," you say.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sly, and also not fair!" you say.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[That was exciting, you send to your dragon mentally.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 9]]</div>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "playful">>
"That was impressive!" $dragon_name excitedly remarks. "You are definitely trained, though."
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
"Ooh," $dragon_name croons, considering Felix with fresh eyes - fresh and awe-struck eyes, that glimmer almost as brightly as $dragon_his scale in the afternoon sun. "We should do this again. I know a great place we could go, with obstacles and all that..."
As $dragon_name rambles on and Felix intently listens, Elaine sidles up to you. "Is it just me or does it sound like they're making plans without us?"
"It sure does," you agree.
<div class="choice">[["You really impressed me," you say to Felix.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But it doesn't change the fact you deceived us," you add.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[That was exciting, you send to your dragon mentally.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 9]]</div>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
"That was impressive!" $dragon_name excitedly remarks. "You are definitely trained, though."
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
$dragon_name considers Felix with fresh eyes - fresh and awe-struck eyes, that glimmer almost as brightly as $dragon_his scale in the afternoon sun. "I'd love to hear more about that! Share some stories - maybe some tips and tricks, too?" $dragon_he adds with a playful twitch of $dragon_his tail.
Felix winks. "Whenever you have the time, I'm here."
$dragon_name's tail flicks again, this time in excitement.
"It sure does," you agree, smiling.
<div class="choice">[["You really impressed me," you say to Felix.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But it doesn't change the fact you deceived us," you add.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[That was exciting, you send to your dragon mentally.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 9]]</div>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
$dragon_name eyes Felix, working up $dragon_his courage to speak. "That was impressive. You're trained, aren't you?"
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
$dragon_name considers Felix with fresh eyes - fresh and awe-struck eyes, that glimmer almost as brightly as $dragon_his scale in the afternoon sun. "That's really exciting. Do you have any stories to share? Maybe some tricks too?"
Felix winks. "Whenever you have the time, I'm here."
$dragon_name ducks $dragon_his head, maw opening in a soft, coy smile.
<div class="choice">[["You really impressed me," you say to Felix.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But it doesn't change the fact you deceived us," you add.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[That was exciting, you send to your dragon mentally.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 9]]</div>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
$dragon_name eyes Felix, working up $dragon_his courage to speak. "That was impressive. You - you are trained, aren't you?"
The corners of Felix's mouth tug up. "I am. I'm training to become a professional flyer."
"They already //are// one," Elaine corrects, undoing her braid. She runs her fingers through the hair that now falls in loose curls about her flushed face. "They compete in youth races."
Racing is one of the most popular sports among dragons, both as profession and pasttime. It comes in many forms as well, from purely testing speed and energy-reserving techniques on a simple path where all it matters is who gets quicker from point A to point B; other pose more of a challenge by setting up obstacles and clear rules, where one must evince both speed and good reflexes.
$dragon_name considers Felix with fresh eyes - fresh and awe-struck eyes, that glimmer almost as brightly as $dragon_his scale in the afternoon sun. "That's really exciting." $dragon_He fold $dragon_his tail over $dragon_his legs to keep it from fretfully twitching. "Do you have any stories to share? Maybe some tricks too?"
Felix winks. "Whenever you have the time, I'm here."
$dragon_name ducks $dragon_his head, fixing the grass with worrying intensity.
<div class="choice">[["You really impressed me," you say to Felix.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["But it doesn't change the fact you deceived us," you add.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[That was exciting, you send to your dragon mentally.|Chapt5FelixImpressive][$chapt5_impressive to 9]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_rat == 1>>
You go on about your own business, passing by the hidden Elaine, down the arched passage.
The castle is truly in an uproar. With the guests - the royal, the noble and the influential - arriving tomorrow, everything must be in order. Attendants are scrambling to put up decorations and bring on the fine furniture for the feast. Servants are rushing to air guest chambers and deck the beds with freshly pressed linen. The steward and her assistants are ensuring that all supplies have been sourced in the right amount and of the right quality; they secure a place to sleep for each guest, be it at the castle - for the more important - or at the fancy inns close-by. The healers will be taking inventory of their medicine, especially the kind used to treat the effects of alcohol and indigestion and whatever else could mar the noble's fun, and the marshals are preparing the stables to welcome the new deluge of horses.
You're headed out mostly to stretch your legs around the castle grounds. Perhaps you should seek refuge farther out, into the woods. It's the only place nearby that retains a sense of calm and quiet right now. You might even spot some critters hiding in the foliage.
<<elseif $chapt5_rat == 2>>
You have no particular stakes in this situation, and perhaps that's exactly what makes your next move both easy and fun. You climb down the rest of the steps while Raphael wearily pleads with Isolde to disclose Elaine's whereabouts. He keeps his voice hushed, but you still catch a couple stray words, like "unseemly behavior" and "for her own good".
You head towards the archway, rounding the corner where Elaine is hiding, wide eyes meeting yours. A devious smile tugs at your lips, but you bite it back. "Oh, hi Elaine!"
"Elaine?" Raphael calls out immediately, like a hunting dog throwing himself to the chase after catching a whiff of prey. "Are you there?"
Elaine certainly wishes she wasn't. She throws you a confused, irked glare and bolts through the archway. The urgent echo of her boots fills the passage.
Behind you, Raphael sighs and turns to Isolde. "Please just tell Elaine to be there on time for the ceremony rehearsal." Then he leaves, shaking his head in defeat.
Isolde doesn't linger long either. She slices her gaze to you, expression graciously blank. With a curt nod your way, she takes off after her father.
You go on about your own business, down the passage Elaine disappeared in a rush.
The castle is truly in an uproar. With the guests - the royal, the noble and the influential - arriving tomorrow, everything must be in order. Attendants are scrambling to put up decorations and bring on the fine furniture for the feast. Servants are rushing to air guest chambers and deck the beds with freshly pressed linen. The steward and her assistants are ensuring that all supplies have been sourced in the right amount and of the right quality; they secure a place to sleep for each guest, be it at the castle - for the more important - or at the fancy inns close-by. The healers will be taking inventory of their medicine, especially the kind used to treat the effects of alcohol and indigestion and whatever else could mar the noble's fun, and the marshals are preparing the stables to welcome the new deluge of horses.
You're headed out mostly to stretch your legs around the castle grounds. Perhaps you should seek refuge farther out, into the woods. It's the only place nearby that retains a sense of calm and quiet right now. You might even spot some critters hiding in the foliage.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5RunIntoDragon]]Headed towards Lot's parlor, you slip out of your chambers into the corridor at the same time Morgana does.
<<if $morgana_closeness == "distant">>
<<if $go_talk is true>>
<div class="choice">[[Quick! Duck back. You don't want to talk or tell her anything concerning Elaine. She must have learned you've shown her around.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourDistant][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 1]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[Quick! Duck back. You don't want to talk.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourDistant][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 2]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $go_talk is true>>
<div class="choice">[[She's already seen you. Might as well face her. She'll want to know about Elaine, no doubt, but you won't say anything.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourDistant][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[She's already seen you. Might as well face her.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourDistant][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 4]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $help_morgana is true and $go_talk is true>>
<<if $help_gareth is true>><div class="choice">[[You said you'd help her, for Gareth's sake. Time to tell her what you've found.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourDistant][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 5]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You said you'd help her. Yet you've changed your mind - you won't play spy for her.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourDistant][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You said you'd help her, if only to spite Lot. Time to tell her what you've found.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourDistant1][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Tell her what you've found, if only for the sake of Gareth and Elaine.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourDistant1][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 8]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[Tell her what you've found, if only for the sake of Gareth and Elaine.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourDistant][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 5]]</div>
<</if>>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "lukewarm">>
<<if $go_talk is true>>
<div class="choice">[[Quick! Duck back. You don't want to talk or tell her anything concerning Elaine. She must have learned you've shown her around.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourLukewarm][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 1]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[Quick! Duck back. You don't want to talk.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourLukewarm][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 2]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $go_talk is true>>
<div class="choice">[[She's already seen you. Might as well face her. She'll want to know about Elaine, no doubt, but you won't say anything.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourLukewarm][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[She's already seen you. Might as well face her.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourLukewarm][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 4]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $help_morgana is true and $go_talk is true>>
<div class="choice">[[You said you'd help her. Time to tell her what you've found. Even if you're wary of the solution she'll come up with.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourLukewarm][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 5]]</div>
<<if $help_gareth is true>>
<div class="choice">[[You said you'd help her, for Gareth's sake. Yet you've changed your mind - you won't play spy for her.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourLukewarm][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 6]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $go_talk is true>>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and approach her. She'll no doubt have questions regarding Elaine, but you're not saying anything.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourLukewarm][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and approach her. You'll tell her of your meeting with Elaine.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourLukewarm][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 8]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and approach her.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourLukewarm][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 9]]</div>
<</if>>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "close">>
<<if $morgana_help is true and $go_talk is true>>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and approach her. You'll tell her of your meeting with Elaine.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourClose][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 1]]</div>
<<if $help_gareth is true>>
<div class="choice">[[You said you'd help her, for Gareth's sake. Yet you've changed your mind - you won't play spy for her.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourClose][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 2]]</div>
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Loop your arm with hers, eager to tell her of your findings.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourClose][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $go_talk is true>>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and approach her. You'll tell her of your meeting with Elaine.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourClose][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Loop your arm with hers, eager to tell her of your findings.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourClose][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and approach her. She'll no doubt have questions regarding Elaine, but you're not saying anything.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourClose][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 4]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[Smile and approach her.|Chapt5MorganaAfterTourClose][$chapt5_morgana_tell to 5]]</div>
<</if>>
<</if>>You trundle up the hill in silence, too winded to talk. Once inside the castle, you mutely lead Elaine down some less frequented corridors. As a result, you end up scuttling along narrow halls in a weary line, boots scraping along the dark wood.
Robin is not too surprised to see you. Their eyes flicker up from their mountain of paperwork. "You're here rather early. Did something happ-" They straighten up upon seeing Elaine, whatever they were reading completely forgotten. "Your Grace. //Did// something happen?"
Elaine shrugs her shoulders. "Just some bruising. I think. And you can call me Elaine."
Robin's eyes dart dubiously between the two of you, their brows knitted in deep concern as if to make up for Elaine's glib lack of any. "Well, seeing as you walked here, it can't be too bad."
You're thoroughly interrogated then, once Robin was reassured you would not go fainting or collapsing or coughing up blood if they let you out of their sight for a moment, ushered into the healing room.
The chamber is annexed to Robin' study, meant for the formal consulting and treating of patients, where other healers are allowed to tend to them as well. It's far smaller than the study, and devoid of the healer's personal touches; it would feel rather austere were it not for the heavy, blue drapery and beautifully carved basin of water. Its space allows only for shelves and cabinets of medicine, bandages and peculiar-looking apparatus, all centered around a high-raised bed with a hefty, hard mattress always covered in fresh, clean sheets.
"I'll give you privacy," Robin says as they close the door behind you, "to take off your armors."
<<if $elaine_go_easy is true>>
Elaine points at you as the door shuts with a soft click. "You first?"
[[Remove your armors.|Chapt5RobinArmorEasy]]
<<else>>
Elaine cocks her head and holds up her arms. "A little help, please?"
[[Remove your armors.|Chapt5RobinArmorHard]]
<</if>>You make a quick job of unfastening your armors, and landing each other a hand for the tied knots and straps hard to reach on your own. You stack the plates neatly in a corner, along with the layer of padding that feels now more stifling than protective.
You make to prop your heel up on a cabinet's ledge and reach for your greaves' straps, but a sharp pain in your chest has you biting down on your lips to stifle a groan. With a defeated sigh, you plop yourself down on the bed. //By the time you reach your greaves - the last remaining pieces of your armor - you're struck with a sudden, crushing idleness, and give it heed by plopping yourself down on the bed. Robin can consult you just as well with your plated calves. Pulling your legs up or bending down to untie the knot simply requires more energy than you can currently summon as the soreness of the fight starts to make itself known to your body now that the adrenaline has thoroughly washed away.
Elaine gives you a wry smile. "Want help? I can take those off."
<div class="choice">[[You raise your arms, beckoning her forward. "Please and thank you!"|Chapt5ArmorEasy][$chapt5_armor_off to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'd appreciate that, thanks," you say.|Chapt5ArmorEasy][$chapt5_armor_off to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's alright," you say sheepishly. Though if she insists...|Chapt5ArmorEasy][$chapt5_armor_off to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's alright," you wave a hand dismissively.|Chapt5ArmorEasy][$chapt5_armor_off to 4]]</div>You make a quick job of unfastening your armors and landing each other a hand for the tied knots and straps hard to reach on your own. You stack the plates neatly in a corner, along with the layer of padding that feels now more stifling than protective.
You prop your heel up on a cabinet's ledge and remove your greave as you say, "Now that we had our duel, I'll give it to you: you fight very well with a sword."
Elaine can't keep the smugness off her face, and neither does she seem to want to. "Thanks."
"Your skills surpass all I anticipated," you confess, "for someone who only practices in their pastime. In fact, I'd same you come closer to a squire." Which you don't admit outloud, but it is curious; it must be a very intensive pastime for her.
Elaine beams wider at your words, but as she continues to unbuckle plates, her smile tapers off to a more subdued, wistful expression. "I'm just really passionate about it."
Still wearing her greaves, she plops down on the bed with a heaving sigh and shows no intention of making any additional effort.
"Not going to take those off?" you ask.
She raises one leg and stares at it with her nose scrunched up in thought. "Eh. I'm sure I don't have any bruises on my leg, and if I do..." she shrugs as she trails off, so interested in the prospect she can't even be bothered to put it into words.
<div class="choice">[["Don't get lazy!" you tease her. "I was just congratulating you on what a great swordsman you are."|Chapt5ArmorHard][$chapt5_armor_off to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I could land a hand," you offer.|Chapt5ArmorHard][$chapt5_armor_off to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright then," you say. "Suit yourself."|Chapt5ArmorHard][$chapt5_armor_off to 3]]</div>Robin goes about the consultation in their usual manner: efficient and precise like the cut of a surgeon's knife. While it could have easily come across as brusque and uncaring, Robin's no-nonsense questions and inscrutable, placid expression lend themselves to a soothing effect. Their responses are comforting in their bluntness, and their touch is gentle and careful.
"Nothing to worry about," they say as they move their splayed, wet palms over Elaine's chest, hovering just above her skin. "Some bruising, nothing broken or fractured. I'll apply some healing balm and you're good to go." They fix Elaine with a stern look. "That is, good to go to your quarters for some rest, not back on the training ground."
Elaine nods along, but she looks far more amused than earnest. "This is really nothing," she says as Robin trots away to a cabinet. They grab the required tin can without a moment's hesitation or thought; they could navigate the consultation chamber blindfolded, and treat you just as well
"I've had so much worse," Elaine reminisces, the dreamy, far-away look on her face more suggestive of pleasant memories than the injuries she prattles on about: "Like broken bones. And ribs. Well I mean, the ribs are bones, right?"
Robin keeps a calm, impassive face as they say, "I see," and "Yes," but you know that look. That flashing flick of the eye that encompasses Elaine from head to toe, scanning as if they could find whatever's amiss as they would a cut or bruise, to clue them in as to why someone would speak like that. It's the same kind of look they turn on Morgana when she says the most threatening of things with the sweetest smile.
Robin scoops the pungent cream onto their fingers and slathers it generously over the reddened skin. "I take it you swordfight often then, Your-" they quickly and smoothly correct themselves, "-Elaine."
"Yeah," Elaine says around a grimace as Robin moves on to the nastier of bruises.
"Should I expect to see you in my study frequently from now on?" they ask.
"Hopefully." When Robin shoots them a strange look, she rushes to add: "Not that I plan on injuring myself! I just hope I'll have the opportunity to swordfight."
By the way their shoulders draw taut, it must take all their willpower not to sigh. "Mordred, you're next."
<<if $chapt4_heal_romantic is true>>
You part ways with Elaine, heading off towards opposing quarters. She seems rather anxious to get away, taking off with a quick "Bye" and "See you at dinner" and awkward, tight smile tossed your way.
<<else>>
Afterwards you part ways with Elaine, heading off towards opposing quarters.
<</if>>
[[A few days later|Chapt5Storm]]<<if $chapt5_passionate == 1>>
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
In this moment of quiet, as tension slowly dispel, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
Wonderful fantasies to entertain, though that's all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
Wonderful fantasies to entertain, though that's all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
<</if>>
You lean in, almost involuntarily. The sudden motion gives Elaine pause; her smile falters as your eyes lock, faces so close your breath flutters the strands of hair that frame her face, and hers blows warm over your lips. She inhales sharply, gaze dipping down to your mouth.
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine leaps back, clattering into a cabinet in her haste. She flattens herself against it as if wishing to become one with it. You almost expect her to open the door and crawl inside. "Yeah!" she calls back, voice thin with emotion.
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
<<elseif $chapt5_passionate == 2>>
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
In this moment of quiet, as tension slowly dispel, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
Wonderful fantasies to entertain, though that's all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
Wonderful fantasies to entertain, though that's all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
<</if>>
You swallow thickly as your heart batters against your chest. You want to lean in, bridge the distance between you, yet can't find the courage to shift forward, to simply inch, bit by bit, till you can feel her breath on your lips.
Your focused attention catches Elaine's notice, who does draw closer to you, ever so slightly. "What?" she asks, voice but a whisper.
You open your mouth, though you don't even know what you'll answer-
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine leaps back, clattering into a cabinet in her haste. She flattens herself against it as if wishing to become one with it. You almost expect her to open the door and crawl inside. "Yeah!" she calls back, voice thin with emotion.
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
<<elseif $chapt5_passionate == 3>>
As the tension slowly eases and dispels, you allow yourself a sigh of relief. You couldn't stand the thought of Elaine being mad at you, not when everything between you feels so right, easy, fun. You could talk for hours - if the adults didn't always so tactfully steer her back towards your brother. The Beauregards are supportive of your friendship, but you doubt they'd be as appreciative if they knew the way her smile mellows your insides, the way you lay in bed at night replaying your conversations and all the times you made her laugh. The silence between you has settled like the calm, comforting quiet after a storm, bringing the same relief as when the rain stops pouring down.
A questioning, confused smile pulls at her lips. "What is it?" she asks.
"Huh?"
"You're staring at me."
"And you're staring back."
She snorts. "We //are// facing each other." She tilts her head, examining you now more earnestly. "Is there something you want to-"
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine straightens, shifting away from you. "Yeah!"
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
<<elseif $chapt5_passionate == 4>>
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
In this moment of quiet, as tension slowly dispel, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
Wonderful fantasies to entertain, though that's all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
Wonderful fantasies to entertain, though that's all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
<</if>>
You lean in, almost involuntarily. The sudden motion gives Elaine pause. She pulls back, uncertainity and confusion flickering over her face. You don't have time to wallow in shame and hurt, however, as a rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine straightens, shifting farther away from you. "Yeah!"
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
<<elseif $chapt5_passionate == 5>>
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner; your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen /gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them; which always struck you as odd they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
In this moment of quiet, as tension slowly dispel, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
Wonderful fantasies to entertain, though that's all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
Wonderful fantasies to entertain, though that's all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
<</if>>
You swallow thickly as your heart batters against your chest. You want to lean in, bridge the distance between you, yet can't find the courage to shift forward, to simply inch, bit by bit, till you can feel her breath on your lips.
Your focused attention catches Elaine's notice, who frowns in confusion. "What?"
You open your mouth, though you don't even know what you'll answer.
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine straightens, shifting away from you. "Yeah!"
<<elseif $chapt5_passionate == 6>>
As the tension slowly eases and dispels, you allow yourself a sigh of relief. You couldn't stand the thought of Elaine being mad at you, not when everything between you feels so right, easy, fun. You could talk for hours - if the adults didn't always so tactfully steer her back towards your brother. The Beauregards are supportive of your friendship, but you doubt they'd be as appreciative if they knew the way her smile mellows your insides, the way you lay in bed at night replaying your conversations and all the times you made her laugh. The silence between you has settled like the calm, comforting quiet after a storm, bringing the same relief as when the rain stops pouring down.
She looks at you questioningly. "What is it?"
"Huh?"
"You're staring at me."
"And you're staring back."
She snorts. "We //are// facing each other." She tilts her head, examining you now more earnestly. "Is there something you want to-"
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine straightens, shifting away from you. "Yeah!"
Robin slips inside, the sleeves of their robe pulled up and hair braided out of their face. "Mordred, you're first."
<</if>>
They go about the consultation in their usual manner: efficient and precise like the cut of a surgeon's knife. While it could have easily come across as brusque and uncaring, Robin's no-nonsense questions and inscrutable, placid expression lend themselves to a soothing effect. Their responses are comforting in their bluntness, and their touch is gentle and careful.
"Nothing to worry about," they say as they move their splayed, wet palms over your chest, hovering just above your skin. The magic tickles, a sensation not unpleasant. It's almost comforting, a feather-like caress like the faint touch of a breeze. "Some bruising, nothing broken or fractured. I'll apply some healing balm and you're good to go." They fix you with a stern look. "That is, good to go to your quarters for some rest, not back on the training ground. I've heard of the...new dummies Sir Accolon brought in," they add meaningfully. They then trot away to a cabinet and grab the required tin can without a moment's hesitation or thought; they could navigate the consultation chamber blindfolded, and treat you just as well.
Once all slathered with the camphor-smelling cream, Robin calls on Elaine to jump on the bed. If your bruising was nothing to worry about, then Elaine's is nothing to even think about. Robin stills recommends her rest, though, to which Elaine bites back a smile that does not inspire confidence she'll actually do so.
"I've had so much worse," Elaine reminisces, the dreamy, far-away look on her face more suggestive of pleasant memories than the injuries she prattles on about: "Like broken bones. And ribs. Well I mean, the ribs are bones, right?"
Ronbin keeps a calm, impassive face as they say, "I see," and "Yes," but you know that look. That flashing flick of the eye that encompasses Elaine from head to toe, scanning as if they could find whatever's amiss as they would a cut or bruise, to clue them in as to why someone would speak like that. It's the same kind of look they turn on Morgana when she says the most threatening of things with the sweetest smile.
Robin scoops the pungent cream onto their fingers and slathers it generously over the reddened skin. "I take it you swordfight often then, Your-" they quickly and smoothly correct themselves, "-Elaine."
"Yeah," Elaine says around a grimace as Robin moves on to the nastier of bruises.
"Should I expect to see you in my study frequently from now on?" they ask.
"Hopefully." When Robin shoots them a strange look, she rushes to add: "Not that I plan on injuring myself! I just hope I'll have the opportunity to swordfight."
By the way their shoulders draw taut, it must take all their willpower not to sigh. "You're both good to go."
You part ways with Elaine, heading off towards opposing quarters. She seems rather anxious to get away, taking off with a quick "Bye" and "See you at dinner" and awkward, tight smile tossed your way.
[[A few days later|Chapt5Storm]]You spot $dragon_name just as you reach the base of the hill. They swoop in from the woods, glittering in the bright sun. Felix is close at heel and soon flying shoulder to shoulder with $dragon_him.
The commingled flapping of their wings grows louder, resounding deep in your chest as they speed forward, weaving in and out of each other's way in what you recognize as a more blood-pumping, high-tempo version of a dragons' flight dance. Well, one of the many dragons' flying dances that there are - after all, it's not only humans who enjoy twirling and skipping about one another, though a pair of wings do aid in adding more variety.
You stand, head craned and feet firmly planted as the gale they summon whips at your skin and clothes. They land in a scaly heap atop the grass, shaking the ground beneath your feet. Louder still is the chorus of gravelly laughter and conversation you can't quite make out.
<<if $chapt5_friend_visit is true>>
The two dragons have grown close over the fortnight, spending more and more time together. You'd look out the window and catch them flying side by side over the treetops, or you'd reach out through your mental link to $dragon_name only to find them deep in conversation with Felix.
<<else>>
The two dragons have grown close over the fortnight, spending more and more time together. You'd look out the window and catch them flying side by side over the treetops, or you'd reach out through your mental link to $dragon_name only to find them deep in conversation with Felix.
It's a friendship that's suprised you. As it turns out, catching Elaine and Felix take flight that morning when the former was supposed to attend wedding preparations piqued $dragon_name's interest. $dragon_He sought out Felix afterwards and from then on, the two of them got talking.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You're happy they grew close over the fortnight.|Chapt5DragonHasFriend][$chapt5_jealous to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're happy to see the two of them get along so well, yet a possessive, panicked jealousy gnaws at you at the idea that someone else would so thoroughly capture the attention of your friend.|Chapt5DragonHasFriend][$chapt5_jealous to 2]]</div><<if $chapt5_she_said is true>>
You cannnot not take this opportunity, not when Elaine presented it to you - it's low hanging fruit really, ripe and ready to pluck.
"Oh, comparing castle size, are we?" you tease, smirking at her.
Elaine chortles, attracting the attention of a couple nearby courtiers. They measure the two of you carefully, most likely taking minute notes to spread around with others.
"You know," she says, "bigger isn't necessarily better." She pursues her lips in thought. "Well, maybe for swords. At least for me. And before you dare joke about it, yes, I do mean the blades."
You hold up your hands innocently.
<<else>>
You patiently wait for her to go on, each of your leisured, steady steps drawing you closer to the double doors ahead.
<</if>>
"Anyway," Elaine cocks her head and shrugs, "it's not my first time in Lothia. I was here for that tournament a few years back, remember?"
You do remember the tournament, but Elaine herself is but a vague blob in your memory; you spent no time together outside the couple minutes of formal, stuffy introductions and farewells imposed by your ranks, summed over the span of five days.
<div class="choice">[["I remember you were there," you say. "But we didn't really talk. I'm glad we're rectifying that now."|Chapt5LibraryInside][$chapt5_tournament to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I remember you were there," you say. "But we didn't really talk. I'm glad we're rectifying that now." ❤|Chapt5LibraryInside][$chapt5_tournament to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush +1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I remember you were there. But we didn't really talk. I'm glad we're rectifying that now." You say just in the hopes it's what she wants to hear.|Chapt5LibraryInside][$chapt5_tournament to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I remember something," you simply say.|Chapt5LibraryInside][$chapt5_tournament to 4]]</div><<if $chapt5_wear_serpent == "pendant">>
You find Nimue's gaze locked on the serpent pendant brazenly displayed against your chest. She makes no mention of it, though, and you can read nothing in her face safe for the shadow of a smile.
<<elseif $chapt5_wear_serpent == "circlet">>
You find Nimue's gaze locked on the serpent-shaped circlet you so brazenly wear. She makes no mention of it, though, and you can read nothing in her face safe for the shadow of a smile.
<<else>>
Nimue's eyes scour over you slowly, with no pretense of hiding the silent examination. When her gaze meets yours she sketches a smile that betrays nothing of whatever conclusions she drew of you.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[This is as good a time as any to start catching up; you're curious to know what she's been up to. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"|Chapt5CatchUp][$chapt5_quick_catchup to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[She looks so pretty; but you can't stare all night. You should start catching up. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?" ❤|Chapt5CatchUp][$chapt5_quick_catchup to 2, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You should start catching up, shouldn't you? Where do you even start? Silence stretches on and you're grasping desperately for words.|Chapt5CatchUp][$chapt5_quick_catchup to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You should start catching up, shouldn't you? Where do you even start? Silence stretches on and you're grasping desperately for words. It doesn't help having those pretty, keen eyes on your face. ❤|Chapt5CatchUp][$chapt5_quick_catchup to 4, $nimue_crush to $nimue_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You should say something, if only for the sake of politeness. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"|Chapt5CatchUp][$chapt5_quick_catchup to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Say nothing. You're not interested in playing catch up.|Chapt5CatchUp1][$chapt5_quick_catchup to 6]]</div><<if $chapt5_shirtless == 1>>
Your eyes flit up to her bare torso, which slick with sweat, then back to your fingers, and up again to Elaine, drawn as if by a spell. Heat pools in your chest and slithers up your neck; the room feels suddenly sweltering.
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
"Need help?" Elaine asks.
You startle, eyes darting up to meet hers. "What?"
She jerks her chin downwards. "You stopped; do you need help finding the strap?"
<div class="choice">[["Oh no, found it!" you say sheepishly.|Chapt5ShirtOffFlirt][$chapt5_distracted to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I was just distracted," you admit.|Chapt5ShirtOffFlirt][$chapt5_distracted to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I didn't know you were hiding such muscle," you casually remark.|Chapt5ShirtOffFlirt][$chapt5_distracted to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_shirtless == 2>>
Your eyes flit up to her bare torso, which slick with sweat, and slowly drink in every detail. Heat pools in your chest and slithers up your neck as you furtively study her.
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
"Need help?" Elaine asks. All you make in response is a distracted little hum. She jerks her chin downwards. "You stopped; do you need help finding the strap?"
<div class="choice">[["Found it," you say.|Chapt5ShirtOffFlirt][$chapt5_distracted to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I was just distracted," you smirk.|Chapt5ShirtOffFlirt][$chapt5_distracted to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I didn't know you were hiding such muscle," you casually remark.|Chapt5ShirtOffFlirt][$chapt5_distracted to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_shirtless == 3>>
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more: the strong. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
You angle your head up so she can see the exaggerated roll of your eye. "Too hot, huh?" A playful smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "Or are you just trying to show off?"
"Why not both?" She raises both arms and flexes, pulling the muscles taut. "Are you impressed?"
Your gaze shifts from one arm to the other before finally locking with her eyes. "Swooning."
She looks exceedingly pleased with herself, and a tiny bit flushed. It's not from exertion; that ruddiness faded a while ago, during the course of your long-winded journey to Robin's study.
"They are impressive though," you add, more seriously and flattering, as you remove the second greave and heave yourself up. You place the plating down on the bed next to Elaine, not taking your eyes off her.
You're //so// close to her.
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<div class="choice">[[Lean in closer.|Chapt5ShirtOffClose][$chapt5_proximity to 1, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're flustered by the closeness.|Chapt5ShirtOffClose][$chapt5_proximity to 2, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It feels good being with her; just staying like this, enjoying a moment of quiet and calm.|Chapt5ShirtOffClose][$chapt5_proximity to 3, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_shirtless == 4>>
Your eyes flit up to her bare torso, which slick with sweat, then back to your fingers, and up again to Elaine, drawn by a keen sense of curiosity. It comes accompanied by a rush of heat, as if you were once again in the training ring, striking and parrying and sweltering in your armor.
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
"Need help?" Elaine asks.
You startle, eyes darting up to meet hers. "What?"
She jerks her chin downwards. "You stopped; do you need help finding the strap?"
<div class="choice">[["Oh no, found it!" you say sheepishly.|Chapt5ShirtOffFlirt][$chapt5_distracted to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I didn't know you were hiding such muscle," you casually remark.|Chapt5ShirtOffFlirt][$chapt5_distracted to 8]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_shirtless == 5>>
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
You angle your head up so she can see the exaggerated roll of your eye. "Too hot, huh?" You narrow your eyes at her, regarding her dubiously. "Or are you just trying to show off?"
"Why not both?" She raises both arms and flexes, pulling the muscles taut. "Are you impressed?"
You roll your eyes again; so far this time you fear you'll see the back of your head. "Very."
Despite your joking tone, she looks exceedingly pleased with herself.
"All done," you say, moving away to add her greaves to the growing corner of plates just as a rap comes at the door, quick and demanding and impatient.
[[Robin comes in.|Chapt5RobinComes]]
<<elseif $chapt5_shirtless == 6>>
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
"Too hot, huh?" you say, offering a sympathetic smile.
Elaine only grunts in response.
"All done," you say, moving away to add her greaves to the growing corner of plates just as a rap comes at the door, quick and demanding and impatient.
[[Robin comes in.|Chapt5RobinComes]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_shirtless == 1>>
Your gaze flits up and down the expense of her bare torso, which slick with sweat, then over to a cabinet of stoppered bottles where it stay rooted as heat pools in your chest and slithers up your neck. The room feels suddenly sweltering.
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
"I think you can call the healer," Elaine says, making you startle. Seeing your confused expression, she goes on, "Robin, right?"
You swallow and nod, taking advantage of this excuse to stop making a fool of yourself. Peeking your head through the door, you call out to Robin. A shuffle of slippers promptly responds.
[[Robin comes in.|Chapt5RobinComes]]
<<elseif $chapt5_shirtless == 2>>
Your gaze drags up and down the expense of her bare torso, which slick with sweat, then over to a cabinet of stoppered bottles where it stay rooted as heat pools in your chest and a long smile curls your lips.
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
"I think you can call the healer," Elaine says.
"Uh-huh," you hum, biting back a smile.
Peeking your head through the door, you call out to Robin. A shuffle of slippers promptly responds.
[[Robin comes in.|Chapt5RobinComes]]
<<elseif $chapt5_shirtless == 3>>
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
"Too hot, huh?" You wait for her to look in your direction so she can witness the exaggerated roll of your eyes. "Or are you just trying to show off?"
"Why not both?" She raises both arms and flexes, pulling the muscles taut. "Are you impressed?"
Your gaze shifts from one arm to the other before finally locking with her eyes. "Swooning."
She looks exceedingly pleased with herself, and a tiny bit flushed. It's not from exertion; that ruddiness faded a while ago, during the course of your long-winded journey to Robin's study. "Thanks. I think you can call the healer now. Robin, was it?"
"Uh-huh," you hum, biting back a smile as you let your gaze linger on Elaine.
Peeking your head through the door, you call out to Robin. A shuffle of slippers promptly responds.
[[Robin comes in.|Chapt5RobinComes]]
<<elseif $chapt5_shirtless == 4>>
Your gaze flits up and down the expense of her bare torso, slick with sweat, rooted on the sight by a keen sense of curiosity. It comes accompanied by a rush of heat, as if you were once again in the training ring, striking and parrying and sweltering in your armor.
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
"I think you can call the healer," Elaine says, making you startle. Seeing your confused expression, she goes on, "Robin, right?"
You swallow and nod, taking advantage of this excuse to stop making a fool of yourself. Peeking your head through the door, you call out to Robin. A shuffle of slippers promptly responds.
[[Robin comes in.|Chapt5RobinComes]]
<<elseif $chapt5_shirtless == 5>>
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
"Too hot, huh?" You wait for her to look in your direction so she can witness the exaggerated roll of your eyes. "Or are you just trying to show off?"
"Why not both?" She raises both arms and flexes, pulling the muscles taut. "Are you impressed?"
You roll your eyes again; so far this time you fear you'll see the back of your head. "Very."
Despite your joking tone, she looks exceedingly pleased with herself. "I think you can call the healer now. Robin, was it?"
Peeking your head through the door, you call out to Robin. A shuffle of slippers promptly responds.
[[Robin comes in.|Chapt5RobinComes]]
<<elseif $chapt5_shirtless == 6>>
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. You can see so much more. It's a body that can only be chiseled through hard, extensive, diligent exercise. It's not something you often find among the nobility - outside of knights, of course - and it yet another testament to Elaine's passion and prowess.
"Too hot, huh?" you say, offering a sympathetic smile.
Elaine grunts in response. "I think you can call the healer. Robin, was it?"
Peeking your head through the door, you call out to Robin. A shuffle of slippers promptly responds.
[[Robin comes in.|Chapt5RobinComes]]
<</if>><<silently>><<set $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+1>><</silently>>
<<if $chapt5_proximity == 1>>
Your hands on the sheets inch closer to her thighs, thumbs brushing ever so slightly against her breeches as you lean in. Elaine doesn't pull back. She swallows thickly, the sound loud in the silence, and shifts forward, too. She puts her hands on your shoulders - your stomach lurches - and you fear she'll push you away. Instead, her gaze dips down to your lips.
<<if $chapt4_magic == "wild">>
There's but a hair's breadth distance between your face. The air around you hangs heavy and heady, simmering with a tension like magic. It skims over your skin, teems underneath it like your fire - sizzling, tingling, electrifying. Your palms do feel hot, itching to touch Elaine more, and you're vaguely aware of the sound of sloshing water, but you can't think much of either - or anything - when her attention drags back from your mouth to your eyes.
<<else>>
There's but a hair's breadth distance between your face. The air around you hangs heavy and heady, simmering with a tension like magic. It skims over your skin, teems underneath it like your fire - sizzling, tingling, electrifying. You're itching to close the distance, yearning for her to lean in, longing to be released from the sweet, agonizing cusps of anticipation.
<</if>>
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine all but shoves you back into a cabinet, face red. "Yeah!" she shouts back, voice thin with emotion. Then she buries her face into her damp chemise and starts vigorously wiping.
"I think that'll just make your face redder," you mumble.
Elaine groans from within the chemise just as the door opens.
Robin doesn't care about red faces or quickened pulses beyond the scope of one's health; and the //affliction of the heart//, as one poet called infatuation, falls roundly outside their domain. They go about the consultation in their usual manner: efficient and precise like the cut of a surgeon's knife. While it could have easily come across as brusque and uncaring, Robin's no-nonsense questions and inscrutable, placid expression lend themselves to a soothing effect. Their responses are comforting in their bluntness, and their touch is gentle and careful.
<<elseif $chapt5_proximity == 2>>
Your fingers dig into the sheets, resting on either side of Elaine. Her thighs are so close to your hands - if you only shifted them a bit, your thumbs would brush against her breeches. Instead you dig your nails deeper into the fabric as your heart picks up its pace.
Elaine stares back. Her smile has slowly faded away into an expression that's hard to read. There's an earnestness, an intesity that was not there moments ago. Then, slowly, she scoots closer to you, moving as if she might spook you. She swallows thickly, the sound loud in the silence, and puts her hands on your shoulders. Your stomach lurches and you fear she'll push you away. Instead, her gaze dips down to your lips.
<<if $chapt4_magic == "wild">>
There's but a hair's breadth distance between your face. The air around you hangs heavy and heady, simmering with a tension like magic. It skims over your skin, teems underneath it like your fire - sizzling, tingling, electrifying. Your palms do feel hot, itching to touch Elaine, and you're vaguely aware of the sound of sloshing water, but you can't think much of either - or anything - when her attention drags back from your mouth to your eyes.
<<else>>
There's but a hair's breadth distance between your face. The air around you hangs heavy and heady, simmering with a tension like magic. It skims over your skin, teems underneath it like your fire - sizzling, tingling, electrifying. You're itching to close the distance, yearning for her to lean in, longing to be released from the sweet, agonizing cusps of anticipation.
<</if>>
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine all but shoves you back into a cabinet, face red. "Yeah!" she shouts back, voice thin with emotion. Then she buries her face into her damp chemise and starts vigorously wiping.
"I think that'll just make your face redder," you mumble.
Elaine groans from within the chemise just as the door opens.
Robin doesn't care about red faces or galloping quickened pulses beyond the scope of one's health; and the //affliction of the heart//, as one poet called infatuation, falls roundly outside their domain. They go about the consultation in their usual manner: efficient and precise like the cut of a surgeon's knife. While it could have easily come across as brusque and uncaring, Robin's no-nonsense questions and inscrutable, placid expression lend themselves to a soothing effect. Their responses are comforting in their bluntness, and their touch is gentle and careful.
<<elseif $chapt5_proximity == 3>>
Being with Elaine feels right, easy, fun. You could talk for hours - if the adults didn't always so tactfully steer her back towards your brother. The Beauregards are supportive of your friendship, but you doubt they'd be as appreciative if they knew the way her smile mellows your insides, the way you lay in bed at night replaying your conversations and all the times you made her laugh. The silence between you has settled like gently falling snow, bringing you the same serene calm as the wintry scenery does.
Elaine smiles at you, and you smile back. "What is it?" she asks.
"Huh?"
"You're staring at me."
"And you're staring back."
She snorts. "You got me there." She tilts her head, examining you now more earnestly. "Is there something you want to-"
A rap comes at the door: abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine straightens, shifting away from you. "Yeah!"
Robin doesn't question your proximity, but they do stare pointedly at the greaves on the bed until you remove them. They go about the consultation in their usual manner: efficient and precise like the cut of a surgeon's knife. While it could have easily come across as brusque and uncaring, Robin's no-nonsense questions and inscrutable, placid expression lend themselves to a soothing effect. Their responses are comforting in their bluntness, and their touch is gentle and careful.
<</if>>
"Nothing to worry about," they say as they move their splayed, wet palms over Elaine's chest, hovering just above her skin. "Some bruising, nothing broken or fractured. I'll apply some healing balm and you're good to go." They fix Elaine with a stern look. "That is, good to go to your quarters for some rest, not back on the training ground."
Elaine nods along, but she looks far more amused than earnest. "This is really nothing," she says as Robin trots away to a cabinet. They grab the required tin can without a moment's hesitation or thought; they could navigate the consultation chamber blindfolded, and treat you just as well
"I've had so much worse," Elaine reminisces, the dreamy, far-away look on her face more suggestive of pleasant memories than the injuries she prattles on about: "Like broken bones. And ribs. Well I mean, the ribs are bones, right?"
Robin keeps a calm, impassive face as they say, "I see," and "Yes," but you know that look. That flashing flick of the eye that encompasses Elaine from head to toe, scanning as if they could find whatever's amiss as they would a cut or bruise, to clue them in as to why someone would speak like that. It's the same kind of look they turn on Morgana when she says the most threatening of things with the sweetest smile.
Robin scoops the pungent cream onto their fingers and slathers it generously over the reddened skin. "I take it you swordfight often then, Your-" they quickly and smoothly correct themselves, "-Elaine."
"Yeah," Elaine says around a grimace as Robin moves on to the nastier of bruises.
"Should I expect to see you in my study frequently from now on?" they ask.
"Hopefully." When Robin shoots them a strange look, she rushes to add: "Not that I plan on injuring myself! I just hope I'll have the opportunity to swordfight."
By the way their shoulders draw taut, it must take all their willpower not to sigh. "Mordred, you're next."
<<if $chapt4_heal_romantic is true>>
You part ways with Elaine, heading off towards opposing quarters. She seems rather anxious to get away, taking off with a quick "Bye" and "See you at dinner" and awkward, tight smile tossed your way.
<<else>>
Afterwards you part ways with Elaine, heading off towards opposing quarters.
<</if>>
[[A few days later|Chapt5Storm]]<<if $chapt5_distracted == 1>>
"Oh!" You stare down intensely at the strap, fumbling to unfasten it as you feel Elaine's gaze bore into you. "No worries, I found it!" You force a laugh past your constricted throat, and don't dare look up at her; your heart beats as fast as if you had just finished a lap around the castle.
You don't dare peek more than one glance up while you work on the second greave, while Elaine is too preocupied dabbing at her face with the chemise - which you doubt achieves much, given the garment is as damp as her.
"All done," you mumble as you heave yourself up, still avoiding her eyes.
"Hey," Elaine stops you with a hand on your arm just as you're about to make your way to the growing corner of plates.
You glance at her, hugging the greaves at your chest as if to protect your heart - which picked up its wild pace yet again, battering against your ribcage like a vicious blade against metal.
"Thanks for not holding back," she says. "I really hate when people do that."
You merely nod and smile, pulling the plates closer to yourself. You should move, go add the greaves to the growing stack of armor pieces. And yet you find yourself rooted to the spot, staring at Elaine. Her breathing has long steadied, but her eyes are still bright with that gleam that only the thrill of a fight can ignite. It lights her up from within, and sheens her whole face with a satisfied glow. That, and the sweat. It does afford her skin quite a shiny lustre, especially when limned by the sun.
"You can just put those on the bed," Elaine says. Her voice is softer, lower, as if afraid of disturbing that fragile atmosphere that has fallen over you in the spell of silence. You too move mindful of it, gingerly placing the greaves down; they clink quietly, in accordance with you.
You're //so// close to Elaine.
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
But thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
But thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_distracted == 2>>
You think you read a similar line in a book or heard it in a play. One of the dashing heroes makes a charming remark, to which the other replies with an even more winsome comment or endearing fumbling. Sometimes, they jump into each other's arms and the book leaves a suggestive space, or the lights dim on stage, and we return to the heroes in bed, sleeping; other times they hold hands and gaze deep into the other's eyes.
Summoning your courage, you venture to say: "I was just distracted." It doesn't come off quite as charming as those characters said it, and a part of you wishes you could have swallowed the words right back.
Elaine freezes mid-dabbing her face with her chemise. You doubt it was achieving much - the garment is as soaked as her. "By me?" she asks, glancing down at you.
"Yes." You look wildly about yourself, if only to avoid her gaze. "Is there anyone else here?"
She tosses the chemise to the side. "There's you." A smile pulls at her lips. "Maybe your reflection in my greaves was distracting you."
You cut your gaze to your face, staring back at you from the shiny surface twisted and warped and deformed. "It is quite distracting. Distractingly distorted."
Elaine laughs and prods you lightly with the tip of her boot. "Take it off already and you won't have to stare at it anymore."
You make quick work of the armor and heave yourself up, setting them down on the bed next to Elaine. "All done," you briskly announce.
Yet you don't move. As you're standing now, hands resting lightly on the sheets on either side of her, you're //so// close to Elaine.
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinnerm your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
But thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
But thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_distracted == 4>>
You glance back down at the bindings in your fingers and pull at one, teasing the knot loose. "No need," you say, carefully removing the armor piece. "I found it." You can't help but peek yet another look up at her as you feel around to unfasten the second greave, letting your eyes roam over the lenght of her arms. Elaine doesn't notice your attention, too preocupied dabbing at her face with the chemise - which you doubt achieves much, given the garment is as damp as her.
"All done," you briskly announce as you heave yourself up. Yet you don't head for the growing pile of armor pieces in the corner, placing the pair on the next to Elaine instead.
"Hey," Elaine stops you with a hand on your arm just as you're about to move away.
You glance at her, hugging the greaves to your chest as if to protect your heart - which picked up its wild pace yet again, battering against your ribcage like a vicious blade against metal.
You're //so// close to Elaine.
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
But thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
But thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_distracted == 5>>
You think you read a similar line in a book or heard it in a play. One of the dashing heroes makes a charming remark, to which the other replies with an even more winsome comment or endearing fumbling. Sometimes, they jump into each other's arms and the book leaves a suggestive space, or the lights dim on stage, and we return to the heroes in bed, sleeping; other times they hold hands and gaze deep into the other's eyes.
Elaine freezes mid-dabbing her face with her chemise. You doubt it was achieving much - the garment is as soaked as her. "By me?" she asks, glancing down at you.
"Is there anyone else here?"
She tosses the chemise to the side. "There's you." A smile pulls at her lips. "Maybe your reflection in my greaves was distracting you."
You make a show out of checking your face in her shiny plating, tilting your head this and that, inspecting distorted reflections as they twist and warp and deform further with every move. "Oh Goddess," you croon. "It is a very distractingly good-looking face!"
She gives you a playful kick in the stomach with the same foot you're using as a mirror. "All right Sir Good-Looking-Face, can you remove my armor already?"
"Elaine!" You blink rapidly up at her, feigning shock. "You want me to //undress// you?"
Her mouth gapes open as nothing but a series of halting, inarticulate sounds rises from the back of her throat, pleading no convincing case for herself. She settles on a second kick to the stomach; it is quite effective in silencing you, spelling her round victory.
You make quick work of the armor and heave yourself up, setting them down on the bed next to Elaine. "All done," you briskly announce.
Yet you don't move. As you're standing now, hands resting lightly on the sheets on either side of her, you're //so// close to Elaine.
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
But thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
But thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_distracted == 3 or $chapt5_distracted == 6>>
"I didn't know you were hiding such muscle," you remark as you remove the first greave and move on to the second one.
She raises both arms and flexes, pulling the muscles taut. "These?"
"Those," you nod.
"Well, I wasn't going to take off my shirt during dinner with our families, was I?"
"Imagine that!" you laugh.
"My father would be aghast."
You heave yourself up and place the armor pieces on the bed next to Elaine. "They are impressive though," you say, to which Elaine shines with satisfaction - and just a trace of pink that can't be blamed on exertion.
You should pick up the greaves to add to the growing pile of plating in the corner, yet you don't move. Standing like this, you're //so// close to Elaine.
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
But thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
But thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_distracted == 7>>
"Oh!" You stare down intensely at the strap as you feel Elaine's gaze bore into you just as keenly. You fumble with both the lacing and your racing thoughts, trying - and failing - to untangle both. Then your fingers alight on the knot, and you tease it loose. "No worries, I found it!" You force a laugh past your constricted throat, and don't dare look up at her; your heart beats as fast as if you had just finished a lap around the castle.
You don't dare peek more than one glance up while you work on the second greave, while Elaine is too preocupied dabbing at her face with the chemise - which you doubt achieves much, given the garment is as damp as her.
"All done," you mumble as you heave yourself up, still avoiding her eyes.
"Hey," Elaine stops you with a hand on your arm just as you're about to move away.
You glance at her, hugging the greaves to your chest as if to protect your heart - which picked up its wild pace yet again, battering against your ribcage like a vicious blade against metal. You think you're starting to understand its frantic song.
"Thanks for not holding back," she says. "I really hate when people do that."
You merely nod and smile, pulling the plates closer to yourself. You should move, go add the greaves to the growing stack of armor pieces in the corner. And yet you find yourself rooted to the spot, staring at Elaine. Her breathing has long steadied, but her eyes are still bright with that gleam that only the thrill of a fight can ignite. It lights her up from within, and sheens her whole face with a satisfied glow. That, and the sweat. It does afford her skin quite a shiny lustre, especially when limned by the sun.
"You can just put those on the bed," Elaine says. Her voice is softer, lower, as if afraid of disturbing that fragile atmosphere that has fallen over you in the spell of silence. You too move mindful of it, gingerly placing the greaves down; they clink quietly, in accordance with you.
You're //so// close to Elaine.
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner, your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
You never thought too much of them. It felt right, talking and spending time with Elaine, though they were all moments passed under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
But thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
But thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_distracted == 8>>
"I didn't know you were hiding such muscle," you remark as you remove the first greave and move on to the second one.
She raises both arms and flexes, pulling the muscles taut. "These?"
"Those," you nod.
"Well, I wasn't going to take off my shirt during dinner with our families, was I?"
"Imagine that!" you laugh.
"My father would be aghast."
You heave yourself up and place the armor pieces on the bed next to Elaine. "They are impressive though," you say, to which Elaine shines with satisfaction - and just a trace of pink that can't be blamed on exertion.
You should pick up the greaves to that to the growing pile of plating in the corner, yet you don't move. Standing like this, you're //so// close to Elaine.
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark that would have not gone well with your families, prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner; your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
You never thought too much of them. It felt right, talking and spending time with Elaine, though they were all moments passed under scrutiny. The keen gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court that lurk everywhere: staring from the windows like beady-eyed prey birds, eavesdropping behind closed doors like rats in the walls, spreading the seeds of rumours like the wind.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them. Which always struck you as odd that they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
But thoughts are all they should remain. And yet...
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
But thoughts are all they should remain. These walls are lulling you in a false sense of security; Robin could walk in any moment. And yet...
<<else>>
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on these thoughts snaking themselves around you, tentatively, hopefully.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Lean in closer.|Chapt5ShirtOffClose][$chapt5_proximity to 1, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're flustered by the closeness.|Chapt5ShirtOffClose][$chapt5_proximity to 2, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It feels good being with her; just staying like this, enjoying a moment of quiet and calm.|Chapt5ShirtOffClose][$chapt5_proximity to 3, $chapt4_heal_romantic to true]]</div><<if $Gareth >= 40>>
As the others rise and chat amongst themselves, ready to take off into the night, you remain seated. Gareth bothers to politely inquire if you'll be joining them, despite the clear evidence to the contrary. He doesn't insist when he hears your refusal - merely nods, smiles and bids you goodnight. He follows the others, falling into step with Tristan and Isolde.
<<else>>
As the others rise and chat amongst themselves, ready to take off into the night, you remain seated. Gawain bothers to politely inquire if you'll be joining them, despite the clear evidence to the contrary. He doesn't insist when he hears your refusal - merely bobs his head, chirps goodnight and skips away, a bird fleeing after its flock.
<</if>>
Thank you for playing! This is the end of the current demo, but not of chapter 5.<<if $chapt5_spy == 1>>
You nod decisively, accepting with no hesitation. "I'll gladly help." You're just as concerned as Morgana about Gareth and his irritating way of hiding his feelings. So many times that he's stood by your side and extended you his help and support - you just wish he'd allow you to return the favor.
Morgana smiles, looking truly relieved for the first time in days. "Thank you. I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As Morgana departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides looking out for Gareth.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 2>>
As much as you understand Morgana's concern for Gareth - how could you not understand, when you feel just as strongly as her - yet you don't believe subterfuge to be the answer to your problems. You know very well he has an infuriating way of hiding his true feelings and turning down help, but you'd much rather try to talk things out with him than go behind his back, scheming, even if it's only for his own sake. Maybe you're too clouded by your worry for him to see that this engagement is truly what Gareth wants; you'd hate to take his choice away from him.
"I don't want to come between Gareth and Elaine," you say carefully, anticipating Morgana's dismay. "If it's Gareth's decision to marry, I won't stop him. Why don't you try talking with him some more?"
"I //have// talked with him," Morgana protests, fingers wrapping tightly against the armrest. "I advised him against going along with this, but he won't budge."
The corners of your mouth twitch downwards. It's clearly not the answer Morgana hoped for, but perhaps it's the only one either of you will ever get from Gareth. "Then...then that's what he wants," you grimly conclude. This isn't the answer she was hoping to hear from you, either.
Just like with Gareth, she's not about to relent. "Is it what he wants because he thinks it's best for him, or best for Lot and Lothia?" Morgana counters, annoyingly hitting bullseye to rile up your own anxities.
You roll your lips together, staring hard at your mother, wishing you knew that, too.
Morgana goes on, affecting her most compelling tone - that confident cadence that suggests she's being utterly reasonable, and turning her down would be unnecessarily callous and foolish. "All I'm asking of you is to converse with Elaine, learn more about her and her own sentiments about this affair. Even if Gareth is alright with it all, Elaine may not feel the same, and it'd affect your brother, too. I'm not asking to try and break them up; and at the very least, you'd be a welcoming host by showing her around."
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head. "Sorry, mom. I'd rather just talk with Gareth directly."|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 3>>
As much as you understand Morgana's concern for Gareth - how could you not understand, when you feel just as strongly as her - you're not sure subterfuge is the answer to your problems. You know very well he has an infuriating way of hiding his true feelings and turning down help, but you'd much rather try to talk things out with him than go behind his back, scheming, even if it's only for his own sake. Maybe you're too clouded by your worry for him to see that this engagement is truly what Gareth wants; you'd hate to take his choice away from him.
"I'll talk to Elaine, to get to know her," you say carefully, anticipating Morgana's dismay. "But I don't know if I want to play spy."
Her disappointment lasts briefly, promptly replaced by a newfound determination. "That will do. Talk with her, try to gauge out her sentiments, all for your brother's sake. You wouldn't want him to be stuck in an unhappy marriage, would you?"
"Of course not." The very notion makes your chest constrict.
Morgana rises, satisfied. "I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides looking out for Gareth.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_spy == 1>>
You sigh and nod. "I'll help." For Gareth's sake. You're just as concerned as Morgana about him and his irritating way of hiding his feelings. So many times that he's stood by your side and extended you his help and support - you just wish he'd allow you to return the favor.
Morgana smiles, looking truly relieved for the first time in days. "Thank you. I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As Morgana departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides looking out for Gareth.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 2>>
As much as you understand Morgana's concern for Gareth - how could you not understand, when you feel just as strongly as her - you don't believe subterfuge to be the answer to your problems. It has definitely created more issues for Morgana in the past. You'd think she'd learn by now. It's true that Gareth has an infuriating way of hiding his feelings and turning down help, but you'd much rather try to talk things out with him than go behind his back, scheming. Maybe you're too clouded by your worry for him to see that this engagement is truly what Gareth wants; you'd hate to take the choice away from him.
"I don't want to come between Gareth and Elaine," you say carefully, anticipating Morgana's dismay. "If it's Gareth's decision to marry, I won't stop him. Why don't you try talking with him some more?" Instead of talking with //you//, asking to partake in more of her schemes. At least this time she's asked before involving you.
"I //have// talked with him," Morgana protests, fingers wrapping tightly against the armrest of her chair. "I advised him against going along with this, but he won't budge."
The corners of your mouth twitch downwards. It's clearly not the answer Morgana hoped for, but perhaps it's the only one either of you will ever get from Gareth. "Then...then that's what he wants," you grimly conclude. This isn't the answer she wished to hear from you, either.
Just like with Gareth, she's not about to relent. "Is it what he wants because he thinks it's best for him, or best for Lot and Lothia?" Morgana counters, annoyingly hitting bullseye to rile up your own anxities.
You roll your lips together, staring hard at your mother, wishing you knew that, too.
Morgana goes on, affecting her most compelling tone - that confident cadence that suggests she's being utterly reasonable, and turning her down would be unnecessarily callous and foolish. "All I'm asking of you is to converse with Elaine, learn more about her and her own sentiments about this affair. Even if Gareth is alright with it all, Elaine may not feel the same, and it'd affect your brother, too. I'm not asking to try and break them up; and at the very least, you'd be a welcoming host by showing her around."
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You decide to talk. You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk with her. If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head. "No. I'd rather just talk with Gareth directly."|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_noe_tour to 1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 3>>
"I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest" you say, and Morgana's face lights up with relief. Not for long. "But I won't play spy for you." You'd think Morgana has learned by now that secrecy only lends itself to more trouble, but knowing your mother, she seldom learns. She simply plows on, doing as she desires, no matter how it affects others.
"That's what I asked," she says. "That you speak with her."
"And then report to you so you can concote Goddess knows whatever scheme."
Morgana hums, the sound low and disatisfied, similar to how she'd hum when you got an answer wrong during your lessons - except you did not get it amiss this time. "I'm looking out for your brother - and by extension, Elaine too. It's in everyone's best interest."
"Then you talk to them and stop going behind their backs."
Morgana studies your face, as if she may discern among your features a vulnerability, something to prod at so you give in; when she finds none, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to be a nice host.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Actually, you've changed your mind. You won't talk with her.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 4>>
"No," you firmly say. You won't encourage or partake in Morgana's plots - you do, however, have plans of your own to talk to Elaine. All for Gareth's sake; after all, you can't let your brother be rushed into a wedding without ascertaining it's what both parties want. It's been difficult getting an answer from Gareth, but with any luck Elaine's sentiments will be easier to discern.
Morgana studies your face, as if searching for any vulnerability, any sign you might give in if prodded. You meet her head-on, holding her gaze steafast and resolute. Convinced you won't back down, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far, though you doubt she won't find other ways to pursue her schemes. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to help Gareth.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 5>>
"No," you firmly say. You won't encourage or partake in Morgana's plots. You will talk to Elaine, however, to learn more about your brother's future spouse. It's only fair - and would make you a nice host on top of that.
Morgana studies your face, as if searching for any vulnerability, any sign you might give in if prodded. You meet her head-on, holding her gaze steafast and resolute. Convinced you won't back down, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far, though you doubt she won't find other ways to pursue her schemes. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to be a nice host.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[On second thought, you won't talk with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_spy == 1>>
You sigh and nod. "I'll help." For Gareth's sake. You're concerned about him, even if you're not particularly close. It's a delicate, difficult situation, an arrangement that's been rushed as if both parties feared the other would back out.
Morgana smiles, looking truly relieved for the first time in days. "Thank you. I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As Morgana departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides looking out for Gareth.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivous to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 2>>
As much as you understand Morgana's concern for Gareth, you don't believe subterfuge to be the answer to her problems. It has definitely created more issues for Morgana in the past. You'd think she'd learn by now. Maybe she's too clouded by her worry for him to see that this engagement is truly what Gareth wants. You'd hate to take his choice away from him.
"I don't want to come between Gareth and Elaine," you say carefully, anticipating Morgana's dismay. "If it's Gareth's decision to marry, I won't stop him. Why don't you try talking with him some more?" Instead of talking with //you//, asking to partake in more of her schemes. At least this time she's asked before involving you.
"I //have// talked with him," Morgana protests, fingers wrapping tightly against the armrest of her chair. "I advised him against going along with this, but he won't budge."
The corners of your mouth twitch downwards. It's clearly not the answer Morgana hoped for, but perhaps it's the only one she will ever get from Gareth. "Then...then that's what he wants," you conclude. This isn't the answer she was hoping to hear from you, either.
Just like with Gareth, she's not about to relent. "Is it what he wants because he thinks it's best for him, or best for Lot and Lothia?" Morgana counters with a question whose answer you don't hold.
Morgana goes on, affecting her most compelling tone - that confident cadence that suggests she's being utterly reasonable, and turning her down would be unnecessarily callous and foolish. "All I'm asking of you is to converse with Elaine, learn more about her and her own sentiments about this affair. Even if Gareth is alright with it all, Elaine may not feel the same, and it'd affect your brother, too. I'm not asking to try and break them up; and at the very least, you'd be a welcoming host by showing her around."
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You decide to talk. You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk with her. If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head. "No."|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 3>>
"I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest" you say, and Morgana's face lights up with relief. Not for long. "But I won't play spy for you." You'd think Morgana has learned by now that secrecy only lends itself to more trouble, but knowing your mother, she seldom learns. She simply plows on, doing as she desires, no matter how it affects others.
"That's what I asked," she says. "That you speak with her."
"And then report to you so you can concote Goddess knows whatever scheme."
Morgana hums, the sound low and disatisfied, similar to how she'd hum when you got an answer wrong during your lessons - except you did not get it amiss this time. "I'm looking out for your brother - and by extension, Elaine too. It's in everyone's best interest."
"Then you talk to them and stop going behind their backs."
Morgana studies your face, as if she may discern among your features a vulnerability, something to prod at so you give in; when she finds none, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to be a nice host.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Actually, you've changed your mind. You won't talk with her.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 4>>
"Don't involve me in your schemes," you say sharply. The words taste like bile and irony on your tongue; it's a bit too late to ask that of her.
Pain flashes over her expression, only for a moment, so quick you'd think you imagined it. Her features set with determination. "It's all for Gareth's sake; I worry for him. I worry that he's letting himself go along with a marriage that will only brew resentment in him, in time." She sighs, running her fingers along the armrest, glancing down pensively. When she looks up, she's put on her best beseeching look. She won't relent easily. "All I'm asking is for you to talk with Elaine, nothing more. Gauge her sentiments on the engagement. See if she'd be a good match, if they really are to marry." She puts it so articulately, so confidently, in a tone that suggests it's only reasonable to accept.
You shift uneasily, the soft cushions feeling suddenly like pinecones underneath you.
<div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You'll talk. You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You'll talk. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You'll talk. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You'll talk. You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You'll talk. If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You won't.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 5>>
You nod decisively, accepting with no hesitation. "I'll help." It'll be sure to anger Lot. You hope it stings - you hope it //hurts// - like an open wound getting salt rubbed in.
Morgana smiles, looking truly relieved for the first time in days. She rises, satisfied. "I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides spiting Lot
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for it, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 6>>
"No," you firmly say. You won't encourage or partake in Morgana's plots - you do, however, have plans of your own to talk to Elaine. All for Gareth's sake. You two may not be particularly close, but you can't let your brother be rushed into a wedding without ascertaining it's what both parties want.
Morgana studies your face, as if searching for any vulnerability, any sign you might give in if prodded. You meet her head-on, holding her gaze steafast and resolute. Convinced you won't back down, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far, though you doubt she won't find other ways to pursue her schemes. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to help Gareth.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 7>>
"No," you firmly say. You won't encourage or partake in Morgana's plots. You will talk to Elaine, however, to learn more about your brother's future spouse. It's only fair - and would make you a nice host on top of that.
Morgana studies your face, as if searching for any vulnerability, any sign you might give in if prodded. You meet her head-on, holding her gaze steafast and resolute. Convinced you won't back down, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far, though you doubt she won't find other ways to pursue her schemes. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to be a nice host.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[On second thought, you won't talk with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 8>>
"No can do," you say curtly. You've absolutely no interest in getting yourself dragged into this mess. Morgana and Gareth can manage - or not. You don't care either way.
Morgana clicks her tongue and crosses her arms. "It's for Gareth's own good. Besides, a good host would show their guest around." When neither prospects compel you, she says, "I could convince your tutors to ascribe less assignments for the upcoming fortnight." Her smile is honey sweet - the sort of thing that could attract unwitting flies. It's dangerous to accept, though you'd lie if you said you weren't at least a bit tempted.
You shift, reluctant to assent just yet. "Can't //you// talk with him?"
"I've tried," she says, frustration bleeding through. "Believe me. Look, Mordred, all I'm asking is that you have a conversation with Elaine, try to gauge her sentiments on this engagement. Nothing more."
<div class="choice">[["Alright." You can talk, then decide later how much you tell Morgana. You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright." You can talk, then decide later how much you tell Morgana. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Alright." You can talk, then decide later how much you tell Morgana. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Alright." You can talk, then decide later how much you tell Morgana. You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright." You can talk, then decide later how much you tell Morgana. You wouldn't spend time with Elaine if it weren't for this, though.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you stand firm.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 1]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_carriage == 1>>
You nod. "I //despise// carriage rides," you confess with pathos that earns you a surprised snort from Elaine.
"I'm not that fond either," she admits, kicking up one leg to hook a palm around the ankle and pull back. She maintains perfect balance as she bemoans: "My legs are too cramped inside." Over her shoulder, you catch Raphael look positively aghast at the antics she's engaging while wearing trousers and boots that look too fancy to be even thought of as meant for sport. Elaine merely shifts to her other leg, uninhibited by pompous court clothes.
"I think it'd be fun to actually drive a carriage, though," she muses, gaze scanning over the river. She turns to you, looking animated by the prospect. "Do you go horse rid-"
Before she can finish her sentence, she's cut off by Lot's booming, forcefully joyous voice: "Elaine, how do you find the Temple?"
<<elseif $chapt5_carriage == 2>>
You stretch your arms over your head, standing up on tip-toes to better elongate your figure. Your blouse hitches up as you do, exposing a sliver of $complexion skin. Elaine's eyes dart to it, involuntarily drawn, and linger just enough to raise the hairs of your arms with a sweet thrill.
"Yeah," you drawl, leaning to the side. "I //despise// carriage rides." The pathos in your tone earns you a surprised snort from Elaine.
"I'm not that fond either," she admits, kicking up one leg to hook a palm around the ankle and pull back. She maintains perfect balance as she bemoans: "My legs are too cramped inside." Over her shoulder, you catch Raphael look positively aghast at the antics she's engaging while wearing trousers and boots that look too fancy to be even thought of as meant for sport. Elaine merely shifts to her other leg, uninhibited by pompous court clothes.
"I think it'd be fun to actually drive a carriage, though," she muses, gaze scanning over the river. She turns to you, looking animated by the prospect. "Do you go horse rid-"
Before she can finish her sentence, she's cut off by Lot's booming, forcefully joyous voice: "Elaine, how do you find the Temple?"
<<elseif $chapt5_carriage == 3>>
"Y-yeah," you smile, half-heartedly massaging at your shoulder. Fingers tracing mechanical circles into your sore muscles as your mind whirls through a flustered, dizzy haze. Has she been watching you - waiting for an opportunity to approach you and talk?
"I //despise// carriage rides," you add, with a pathos that earns you a surprised snort from Elaine.
"I'm not that fond either," she admits, kicking up one leg to hook a palm around the ankle and pull back. She maintains perfect balance as she bemoans: "My legs are too cramped inside." Over her shoulder, you catch Raphael look positively aghast at the antics she's engaging while wearing trousers and boots that look too fancy to be even thought of as meant for sport. Elaine merely shifts to her other leg, uninhibited by pompous court clothes.
"I think it'd be fun to actually drive a carriage, though," she muses, gaze scanning over the river. She turns to you, looking animated by the prospect. "Do you go horse rid-"
Before she can finish her sentence, she's cut off by Lot's booming, forcefully joyous voice: "Elaine, how do you find the Temple?"
<<elseif $chapt5_carriage == 4>>
"Uh-huh," you give a non-committal hum as you massage the sore muscles of your shoulders, gaze roaming lazily over the apple trees.
"I should, too," she says, kicking up one leg to hook a palm around the ankle and pull back. She maintains perfect balance as she bemoans: "My legs are so cramped inside the carriage." Over her shoulder, you catch Raphael look positively aghast at the antics she's engaging while wearing trousers and boots that look too fancy to be even thought of as meant for sport. Elaine merely shifts to her other leg, uninhibited by pompous court clothes.
Her attention is roundly arrested by Lot's booming, jovial voice - yet one more affect that's hard to reconcile with the man. "Elaine, how do you find the Temple?"
<<elseif $chapt5_carriage == 5>>
Your disposition always brigthens when Elaine approaches you, and you especially needed her presence now, in the aftermath of that dreadful ride. Perhaps you really //should// hitch a ride with them on the way back.
You nod. "I //despise// carriage rides," you confess with pathos that earns you a surprised snort from Elaine.
"I'm not that fond either," she admits, kicking up one leg to hook a palm around the ankle and pull back. She maintains perfect balance as she bemoans: "My legs are too cramped inside." Over her shoulder, you catch Raphael look positively aghast at the antics she's engaging while wearing trousers and boots that look too fancy to be even thought of as meant for sport. Elaine merely shifts to her other leg, uninhibited by pompous court clothes.
"I think it'd be fun to actually drive a carriage, though," she muses, gaze scanning over the river. She turns to you, looking animated by the prospect. "Do you go horse rid-"
Before she can finish her sentence, she's cut off by Lot's booming, forcefully joyous voice: "Elaine, how do you find the Temple?"
<</if>>
Elaine looks put on the spot, as if called on by a teacher in the middle of a lecture she was not paying attention to. She glances about herself, making a show of admiring the tree boughs, heavy and red with ripe apples, as well as the building, statuesque yet simple, which curves out of view to cradle the front yard.
"It's very beautiful," she says with a strained smile and the tone of one who would say anything just to be left alone.
Isolde smoothly sweeps in to take attention off her. "It is truly a lovely place, and has such a peaceful quality to it, as befits a Temple."
"It's a source of pride for our town," Lot says, speaking entirely for the benefit of his own ego, "to host this Temple, and all its skilled adepts."
Morgana smiles sweetly. It's a bad omen. "Yes, the Temple my mother built. It is a great source of pride for the //Le Fay//, to have spread the Goddess' faith beyond Avalon." Morgana leans in closer to Raphael and Beatrice, smile turning shrewd as if about to impart some great conspiracy. "Could you believe that it is quite a rarity for my dear husband to visit the Temple? I don't reckon he's stepped foot inside more than once, when it was erected and inaugurated."
"I would have accompanied you," Lot says, "but you only requested Sir Accolon's company."
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">>
"Perhaps Sir Accolon was better company," Elaine mutters under her breath, loud enough for you and Gareth and no one else to hear. She eyes the Duke critically, an expression both you and your brother take sharp notice of.
This is simply too good a retort to let pass by in a whisper. You echo Elaine's words for everyone to hear, if only to spite Lot: "Indeed, Sir Accolon is better company."
The Beauregards keep politely indulgent expressions, acting as if the remark has truly remained but a murmur that you might mistake for the rustling of leaves. Morgana's eyes flicker to you though, and her lips twitch up ever so briefly. Lot must be exercising all his will not to throw you a withering glance - or throttle you in front of guests.
<<else>>
"Perhaps Sir Accolon was better company," Elaine mutters under her breath, loud enough for you and Gareth and no one else to hear. She eyes the Duke critically, an expression both you and your brother take sharp notice of.
<</if>>
"I did," your mother agrees. "As well as kept the company of healers and adepts. People who appreciate what this," she gestures towards the river, edifice and swirling blue mosaic, "stands for."
Raphael steps in, equable as ever. "You never were the devout type, were you Lot?"
Lot drags his gaze from Morgana to the Duke. "I pay my respects to both the Goddess and the Keepers."
Keepers of Woods and Hills, Protectors of Plains and Roads - the faeries that most Lothians uniquely prayed to, before the introduction of a new fae to celebrate and draw strength from. Unlike the Goddess, they are a triad, first speculated to be siblings, as much as fae can be, until further accounts of sightings have agreed they behaved more akin to lovers. They're a popular choice of prayer to those traveling, especially on roads less trodden, or shepherds in transhumance, to ease their minds and smooth their journeys.
Lot isn't lying; he does include perfunctory mentions to the faeries wherever it befits his already laconic speeches, carried out with the stern dignity of a General recounting a grim attack plan rather than the declamation meant to open festivities. You wonder how long he can - or even cares - to don on this veneer of amiability. Between Morgana's waspish temper and the charade he compels himself to play, surely he must be utterly sapped. Does the mask came off once the marriage is secured, and the Beauregards back on their way to Astolat?
You're left pondering your questions as Raphael drones on. He's the one who suggested this outing in the first place, and the one holding it together like the last, valiant thread of a rope coming undone.
"What about you, Gareth?" he asks.
Your brother smiles. "I too honor our faeries, whether from this land or beyond." He pauses, gaze darting to the tiled floor that makes up the modest altar. "I do have a certain more, ah, personal connection to the Lady of the Lake. It's a family tradition." Then he turns to Elaine, passing along the question Raphael posed. "Are you devout?"
"Eh," is her very articulate response. She hastens to refine it, prompted not by fear of being smitten by some capricious fae bothered by the perceived slight, but her own father, leveling her way a plaintive, disappointed face. "I mean, I pay my //respects//-" she puts emphasis on the word that's not aimed at Gareth, "-to the Grape God, on equinox and harvest and all that. But I don't pray or visit any Temples otherwise."
"Grape God?" Gareth's brows shoot up with amusement. "You mean the Bountiful One?"
Elaine's lips curl up in a playful smile as she leans in and drops her voice. "Yeah, it's less...pompous, but I think both sound silly."
"Well don't let them hear you," he quips.
The smile lingers on her face, bright and genuine, chasing away any awkwardness left. If the Duke of Astolat takes any issue with besmirching the name of the fae whose power renders his wine so intoxicatingly successful, he shows no sign of it, delighted instead by the banter flowing between the two as easily as the river behind them.
The course is abruptly deviated. "Mordred?" Elaine asks. "Do you pray to the Goddess? Or anyone else?"
<<if $water_study == "yes">>
"I do," you nod. In fact, you're craving a reprise from this whole debacle so you may do just that, and let the water and her power wash over you and inspire within you enough equanimity to bear the carriage ride back to the Castle. "I pray, and practice healing through her magic."
"Oh! It could be used in combat like Sir Lancelot does too. Though you already have your Le Fay powers for that, don't you?"
<<elseif $water_study == "sometimes">>
"I do," you nod. In fact, you'd like the opportunity to do so now too; let the water and her power wash over you and inspire within you enough equanimity to bear the carriage ride back to the Castle. "I pray from time to time, and practice a bit of healing through her magic."
"Yeah, that does sound helpful for a knight."
<<else>>
"I don't," you say, which seems to come off as a surprise to Elaine. Your family's honoring of the Goddess fares far back in the past, and is known widely across the Continent. Such was Igraine's reverence - and perhaps, in whatever capacity, spite for Uther - as to bring a legacy so deeply intertwined with the Le Fay to the whole kingdom of Camelot. And here is her grandchild, standing on the altar of her Goddess as ?they nonchalantly claim no particular fondness or alligance.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt5TempleDiscussion]]<<if $chapt5_spy == 1>>
You nod decisively, accepting with no hesitation. "I'll gladly help." The two of you may not be particularly close, but you can't help but worry. You wouldn't wish for Gareth to go along with the arrangement just because he feels he has no choice otherwise, just because he's wary to stir trouble, only to end up in an unhappy, loveless, ill-advised marriage. All it'd earn him is growing resentment, and for what? To please Lot? Your brother - and Elaine too - shouldn't be a bargaining chip in whatever alliance the two Duchies want to secure.
Morgana smiles, looking truly relieved for the first time in days. "Thank you. I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As Morgana departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides looking out for Gareth.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 2>>
As much as you understand Morgana's concern for Gareth, you don't believe subterfuge to be the answer to the problem. She should try to settle it all directly with Gareth, not go behind his back when just yesterday he asked her to refrain from any plotting or scheming. Maybe she's simply too clouded by her worry for him to see that this engagement is truly what Gareth wants. In any case, you'd hate to take his choice away from him.
"I don't want to come between Gareth and Elaine," you say carefully, anticipating Morgana's dismay. "If it's Gareth's decision to marry, I won't stop him. Why don't you try talking with him some more?"
"I //have// talked with him," Morgana protests, fingers wrapping tightly against the armrest. "I advised him against going along with this, but he won't budge."
It's not the answer Morgana hoped for, but perhaps it's the only one she will ever get from Gareth. "Then...then that's what he wants," you grimly conclude. This isn't the answer she was hoping to hear from you, either.
Just like with Gareth, she's not about to relent. "Is it what he wants because he thinks it's best for him, or best for Lot and Lothia? Look, Mordred," she affects her most compelling tone - that confident cadence that suggests she's being utterly reasonable, and turning her down would be unnecessarily callous and foolish. "All I'm asking of you is to converse with Elaine, learn more about her and her own sentiments about this affair. Even if Gareth is alright with it all, Elaine may not feel the same, and it'd affect your brother, too. I'm not asking to try and break them up; and at the very least, you'd be a welcoming host by showing her around."
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head. "Sorry, mom. I'd rather you just talk with Gareth directly."|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 3>>
As much as you understand Morgana's concern for Gareth, you're not sure that subterfuge is the answer to the problem. She should try to settle it all directly with Gareth, not go behind his back when just yesterday he asked her to refrain from any plotting or scheming. Maybe she's simply too clouded by her worry for him to see that this engagement is truly what Gareth wants. In any case, you'd hate to take his choice away from him.
"I'll talk to Elaine, to get to know her," you say carefully, anticipating Morgana's dismay. "but I don't know if I want to play spy."
Her disappointment lasts briefly, promptly replaced by a newfound determination. "That will do. Talk with her, try to gauge out her sentiments. I would really appreciate it, to allay my worries for Gareth."
You nod and Morgana rises, satisfied. "I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides looking out for Gareth.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 4>>
You nod decisively, accepting with no hesitation. "I'll gladly help." It's not out of any concern for Gareth that you accept, though; you simply wish to aid your mother. You couldn't care less about this whole affair, but it's been weighing heavily on Morgana, so if all it takes to alleviate her anxiety is talking with Elaine, you'll happily do just so.
Morgana smiles, looking truly relieved for the first time in days. "Thank you. I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As Morgana departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides looking out for Gareth.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 5>>
"Please don't involve me in your schemes," you plead with her. The words strike you as ridiculously ironic, given that your very conception stands as part of her schemes, too.
This time, you'd really rather not get involved, not in this chaos of an affair. It'll be messy, difficult and unpleasant for everyone and you'd rather watch the fire from the sidelines than join the fray.
Morgana's brow puckers sympathetically. "It's all for Gareth's sake, my dear; I worry for him. I worry that he's letting himself go along with a marriage that will only brew resentment in him, in time." She sighs, running her fingers along the armrest, glancing down pensively. When she looks up, she's put on her best beseeching look to rival yours. She won't relent easily. "All I'm asking is for you to talk with Elaine, nothing more. Gauge out her sentiments on the engagement. See if she'd be a good match, if they really are to marry." She puts it so articulately, so confidently, in a tone that suggests it's only reasonable to accept.
You shift uneasily, the soft cushions feeling suddenly like pinecones underneath you.
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head. "Sorry, mom. I'd rather you just talk with Gareth directly."|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 6>>
Your stomach twists at the mere thought of getting involved in this mess. You've seen how adamant Lot is regarding the marriage, and how nasty a disposition any resistence from Morgana inflicted on him. "It'll only draw Lot's ire on me," you say, shaking your head.
Morgana's lips curl in a mirthless smile. "You already have Lot's ire, dear. Believe me, if he dares do anything to you, I-"
Your fingers dig into the cushion, tightening around the edge of the seat till your knuckles hurt. "No. I can't do it. Sorry."
She studies your face, perhaps to measure the conviction of your words; when she finds no weak spot, she sighs and leans her cheek in her palm. "Lot has been more dreadful than usual, that's true. I understand." Her eyes dart to you, still holding a stubborn flicker of hope. "Though you could talk with Elaine. Simply talk, nothing more. If Lot dares say anything, I'll shut him up."
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head. "Sorry, mom."|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 7>>
You nod decisively, accepting with no hesitation. "I'll gladly help." A sharp smile curls your lips. "It'll be sure to anger Lot."
Morgana mirrors your expression. "Oh, definely."
It's not out of any concern for Gareth that you accept, though; you simply wish to spite Lot - Lot, for who this marriage and alliance means so much, Lot, the one who's never stepped in to stop Alina's nasty treatmeant of you. If there's any way to make things difficult for him, you'll gladly do it, and makes it all the more worse for him - more than asked, more than needed.
Morgana rises, satisfied. "I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides spiting Lot.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for it, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 8>>
You drape one leg over the window seat, swinging it lazily. "Sorry, mother," you begin, leaning back against your cushions, turning your face towards the sun's warm, soft kiss. "I don't feel like playing spy." Truth be told, you couldn't care less about how Gareth feels regarding the engagement and whether he chooses to go through with it. Well, maybe you do care: it'd be quite the chaos if he were to back down now.
Morgana clicks her tongue and crosses her arms. "I'm not asking you to play //spy//." At your pointed look and quirked eyebrow, she corrects: "I am, but it's for Gareth's own good. Besides, a good host would show their guest around." When neither prospects compel you, she says, "Wouldn't you do it for me, dear?" Her smile is honey sweet, meant to wring a sliver of sympathy or guilt, whatever moves you to accept.
You shift and frown, reluctant to assent. "Can't //you// talk with him?"
"I've tried," she says, frustration bleeding through. "Believe me. Look, Mordred, all I'm asking is that you have a conversation with Elaine, try to gauge her sentiments on this engagement. Nothing more."
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright, I'll talk to her, but just talk." If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head. "Sorry, mom."|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 5]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_spy == 1>>
You sigh and nod. "I'll help." For Gareth's sake. You're just as concerned as Morgana about him and his irritating way of hiding his feelings. So many times that he's stood by your side and extended you his help and support - you just wish he'd allow you to return the favor.
Morgana smiles, looking truly relieved for the first time in days. "Thank you. I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As Morgana departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides looking out for Gareth.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 2>>
As much as you understand Morgana's concern for Gareth - how could you not understand, when you feel just as strongly as her - you don't believe subterfuge to be the answer to your problems. It has definitely created more issues for Morgana in the past. You'd think she'd learn by now. It's true that Gareth has an infuriating way of hiding his feelings and turning down help, but you'd much rather try to talk things out with him than go behind his back, scheming. Maybe you're too clouded by your worry for him to see that this engagement is truly what Gareth wants. You'd hate to take his choice away from him.
"I don't want to come between Gareth and Elaine," you say carefully, anticipating Morgana's dismay. "If it's Gareth's decision to marry, I won't stop him. Why don't you try talking with him some more?" Instead of talking with //you//, asking to partake in more of her schemes. At least this time she's asked before involving you.
"I //have// talked with him," Morgana protests, fingers wrapping tightly against the armrest. "I advised him against going along with this, but he won't budge."
The corners of your mouth twitch downwards. It's clearly not the answer Morgana hoped for, but perhaps it's the only one either of you will ever get from Gareth. "Then...then that's what he wants," you grimly conclude. This isn't the answer she was hoping to hear from you, either.
Just like with Gareth, she's not about to relent. "Is it what he wants because he thinks it's best for him, or best for Lot and Lothia?" Morgana counters, annoyingly hitting bullseye to rile up your own anxities.
You roll your lips together, staring hard at your mother, wishing you knew that, too.
Morgana goes on, affecting her most compelling tone - that confident cadence that suggests she's being utterly reasonable, and turning her down would be unnecessarily callous and foolish. "All I'm asking of you is to converse with Elaine, learn more about her and her own sentiments about this affair. Even if Gareth is alright with it all, Elaine may not feel the same, and it'd affect your brother, too. I'm not asking to try and break them up; and at the very least, you'd be a welcoming host by showing her around."
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You decide to talk. You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk with her. If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head. "No. I'd rather just talk with Gareth directly."|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 3>>
"I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest," you say, and Morgana's face lights up with relief. Not for long. "But I won't play spy for you." You'd think Morgana has learned by now that secrecy only lends itself to more trouble, but knowing your mother, she seldom learns. She simply plows on, doing as she desires, no matter how it affects others.
"That's what I asked," she says. "That you speak with her."
"And then report to you so you can concote Goddess knows whatever scheme."
Morgana hums, the sound low and disatisfied, similar to how she'd hum when you got an answer wrong during your lessons - except you did not get it amiss this time. "I'm looking out for your brother - and by extension, Elaine too. It's in everyone's best interest."
"Then you talk to them and stop going behind their backs."
Morgana studies your face, as if she may discern among your features a vulnerability, something to prod at so you give in; when she finds none, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to be a nice host.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Actually, you've changed your mind. You won't talk with her.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 4>>
"No," you firmly say. You won't encourage or partake in Morgana's plots - you do, however, have plans of your own. All for Gareth's sake. After all, you can't let your brother be rushed into a wedding without ascertaining it's what both parties want. It's been difficult to get an answer from Gareth, but with any luck Elaine's sentiments will be easier to discern.
Morgana studies your face, as if seacrhing for any vulnerability, any sign you might give in if prodded. You meet her head-on, holding her gaze steafast and resolute. Convinced you won't back down, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far, though you doubt she won't find other ways to pursue her schemes. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to help Gareth.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 5>>
"No," you firmly say. You won't encourage or partake in Morgana's plots. You will talk to Elaine, however, to learn more about your brother's future spouse. It's only fair - and would make you a nice host on top of that.
Morgana studies your face, as if seacrhing for any vulnerability, any sign you might give in if prodded. You meet her head-on, holding her gaze steafast and resolute. Convinced you won't back down, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far, though you doubt she won't find other ways to pursue her schemes. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to be a nice host.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[On second thought, you won't talk with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_spy == 1>>
You sigh and nod. "I'll help." For Gareth's sake. You're concerned about him, even if you're not particularly close. It's a delicate, difficult situation, an arrangement that's been rushed as if both parties feared the other would back out.
Morgana smiles, looking truly relieved for the first time in days. "Thank you. I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As Morgana departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides looking out for Gareth.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 2>>
As much as you understand Morgana's concern for Gareth, you don't believe subterfuge to be the answer to her problems. It has definitely created more issues for Morgana in the past. You'd think she'd learn by now. Maybe she's too clouded by her worry for Gareth to see that this engagement is truly what he wants. You'd hate to take the choice away from him.
"I don't want to come between Gareth and Elaine," you say carefully, anticipating Morgana's dismay. "If it's Gareth's decision to marry, I won't stop him. Why don't you try talking with him some more?" Instead of talking with //you//, asking to partake in more of her schemes. At least this time she's asked before involving you.
"I //have// talked with him," Morgana protests, fingers wrapping tightly against the armrest. "I advised him against going along with this, but he won't budge."
The corners of your mouth twitch downwards. It's clearly not the answer Morgana hoped for, but perhaps it's the only one either of you will ever get from Gareth. "Then...then that's what he wants," you conclude. This isn't the answer she wished to hear from you, either.
Just like with Gareth, she's not about to relent. "Is it what he wants because he thinks it's best for him, or best for Lot and Lothia?" Morgana counters with a question whose answer you don't hold.
Morgana goes on, affecting her most compelling tone - that confident cadence that suggests she's being utterly reasonable, and turning her down would be unnecessarily callous and foolish. "All I'm asking of you is to converse with Elaine, learn more about her and her own sentiments about this affair. Even if Gareth is alright with it all, Elaine may not feel the same, and it'd affect your brother, too. I'm not asking to try and break them up; and at the very least, you'd be a welcoming host by showing her around."
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You decide to talk. You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk to her. You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll think about it." You'll talk with her. If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shake your head. "No."|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 3>>
"I'll talk to her. Entertain our guest" you say, and Morgana's face lights up with relief. Not for long. "But I won't play spy for you." You'd think Morgana has learned by now that secrecy only lends itself to more trouble, but knowing your mother, she seldom learns. She simply plows on, doing as she desires, no matter how it affects others.
"That's what I asked," she says. "That you speak with her."
"And then report to you so you can concote Goddess knows whatever scheme."
Morgana hums, the sound low and disatisfied, similar to how she'd hum when you got an answer wrong during your lessons - except you did not get it amiss this time. "I'm looking out for your brother - and by extension, Elaine too. It's in everyone's best interest."
"Then you talk to them and stop going behind their backs."
Morgana studies your face, as if she may discern among your features a vulnerability, something to prod at so you give in; when she finds none, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to be a nice host.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Actually, you've changed your mind. You won't talk with her.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 1]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 4>>
"Don't involve me in your schemes," you say sharply. The words taste like bile and irony on your tongue; it's a bit too late to ask that of her.
Pain flashes over her expression, only for a moment, so quick you'd think you imagined it. Then her features set with determination. "It's all for Gareth's sake; I worry for him. I worry that he's letting himself go along with a marriage that will only brew resentment in him, in time." She sighs, running her fingers along the armrest, glancing down pensively. When she looks up, she's put on her best beseeching look. She won't relent easily. "All I'm asking is for you to talk with Elaine, nothing more. Gauge out her sentiments on the engagement. See if she'd be a good match, if they really are to marry." She puts it so articulately, so confidently, in a tone that suggests it's only reasonable to accept.
You shift uneasily, the soft cushions feeling suddenly like pinecones underneath you.
<div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You'll talk. You'd like to befriend Elaine too, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You'll talk. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You'll talk. You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You'll talk. You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You'll talk. If it weren't for Gareth, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinionExtra][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe," you vaguely say. You won't.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 5>>
You nod decisively, accepting with no hesitation. "I'll help." It'll be sure to anger Lot. You hope it stings - you hope it //hurts// - like an open wound getting salt rubbed in.
Morgana smiles, looking truly relieved for the first time in days. She rises, satisfied. "I heard there's a meeting taking place to discuss wedding details but Elaine isn't attending." She stands up, eyes gleaming with a spark more dangerous than the despondend shadows that plagued her expression before. "There's your opportunity."
As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to doing this, besides spiting Lot.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason; honestly, if it weren't for it, you'd have no interest in spending time with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 6>>
"No," you firmly say. You won't encourage or partake in Morgana's plots - you do, however, have plans to talk to Elaine. All for Gareth's sake. After all, you can't let your brother be rushed into a wedding without ascertaining it's what both parties want. You may not be close, but he deserves some help.
Morgana studies your face, as if seacrhing for any vulnerability, any sign you might give in if prodded. You meet her head-on, holding her gaze steafast and resolute. Convinced you won't back down, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far, though you doubt she won't find other ways to pursue her schemes. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to help Gareth.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 7>>
"No," you firmly say. You won't encourage or partake in Morgana's plots. You will talk to Elaine, however, to learn more about your brother's future spouse. It's only fair - and would make you a nice host on top of that.
Morgana studies your face, as if seacrhing for any vulnerability, any sign you might give in if prodded. You meet her head-on, holding her gaze steafast and resolute. Convinced you won't back down, she sits up with a soft rustle of linen like a plaintive sigh. "I'd best leave you to resume your noon repose, then."
The wisest choice she'd made so far, though you doubt she won't find other ways to pursue her schemes. As she departs and you reluctantly part with your sunlit, cozy spot by the window, you consider if there's any motivation to talking with Elaine, besides entertaining a guest.
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[No other reason, just trying to be a nice host.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[On second thought, you won't talk with Elaine.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_spy == 8>>
"No can do," you say curtly. You've absolutely no interest in getting yourself dragged into this mess. Morgana and Gareth can manage - or not. You don't care either way.
Morgana clicks her tongue and crosses her arms. "It's for Gareth's own good. Besides, a good host would show their guest around." When neither prospects compel you, she says, "I could convince your tutors to ascribe less assignments for the upcoming fortnight." Her smile is honey sweet - the sort of thing that could attract unwitting flies. It's dangerous to accept, though you'd lie if you said you weren't at least a bit tempted.
You shift, reluctant to assent just yet. "Can't //you// talk with him?"
"I've tried," she says, frustration bleeding through. "Believe me. Look, Mordred, all I'm asking is that you have a conversation with Elaine, try to gauge her sentiments on this engagement. Nothing more."
<div class="choice">[["Alright." You'd like to befriend Elaine, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 1, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. ❤|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 2, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["Alright." You'd like to get to know Elaine better, all things considered. She seems like an interesting person. 💕|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 5, $Elaine_friend to $Elaine_friend+2, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Alright." You'd like to gain favor with Elaine. The Beauregards seem friendly with you, despite your less than pleasant reputation, and it's always good to have powerful allies.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 3, $Elaine_ally to $Elaine_ally+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Alright." You wouldn't spend time with Elaine otherwise.|Chapt5ElaineOpinion][$chapt5_motive_tour to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No," you stand firm.|Chapt5ElaineNo][$chapt5_no_tour to 1]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_nimue_serious == 1>>
A small, rueful smile twists your mouth as you dig into the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory to find that past version of yourself, so little yet filled with such woe at the thought of leaving Avalon. There were many times when you longer for the Island - especially when Lothia proved too cruel, too cold - but you've thrown yourself into your training with earnest, and your passion for it has only grown over the years.
"Nothing quite so dramatic. Being a squire has proved more exciting than I expected it'd be," you say. "Though I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 2>>
A small, rueful smile twists your mouth as you dig into the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory to find that past version of yourself, so little yet filled with such woe at the thought of leaving Avalon. There were many times when you longer for the Island - especially when Lothia proved too cruel, too cold - but you've thrown yourself into your training with earnest, and your passion for it has only grown over the years.
"Nothing quite so dramatic. Being a squire has proved more exciting than I expected it'd be," you say. "Though I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"However," you go on, drawing out the word, "I can't say the Continent is the way I imagined it'd be."
"It's no Avalon, to be sure."
You don't spell it out and neither does she, but you have no doubts she knows exactly what you mean. After all, if it's as Morgana says, it's her own father who served a role in making Camelot so inimical towards you.
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 3>>
A small, rueful smile twists your mouth as you dig into the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory to find that past version of yourself, so small/little yet filled with such desolation/woe at the thought of leaving Avalon. There were many times when you longer for the Island - especially when Lothia proved too cruel, too cold - but at least you can say knighthood fits you well enough.
"Being a squire suits me," you simply say.
"Yes," Nimue smiles, "I imagine. Having Sir Istrate as role model. And you've always been so interested in dragon culture, too."
A question blasts through your mind, lightning-quick and urgent - //Do you know, Nimue?// - only to fizzle on your tongue. It's not the time, not the place, and you have far safer, less weighty questions to ask, nonetheless.
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 4>>
A small, rueful smile twists your mouth as you dig into the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory to find that past version of yourself, so little yet filled with such woe at the thought of leaving Avalon. There were many times when you longer for the Island - especially when Lothia proved too cruel, too cold - but at least you can say knighthood fits you well enough.
"Being a squire suits me," you simply say.
"Yes," Nimue smiles, "I imagine. Having Sir Istrate as role model. And you've always been so interested in dragon culture, too."
A question blasts through your mind, lightning-quick and urgent - //Do you know, Nimue?// - only to fizzle on your tongue. It's not the time, not the place, and you have more to say, nonetheless.
"I can't say the Continent lived up to my expectations, though."
"It's no Avalon, to be sure."
You don't spell it out and neither does she, but you have no doubts she knows exactly what you mean. After all, if it's as Morgana says, it's her own father who served a role in making Camelot so inimical towards you.
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 5>>
An echo from the past - reaching out through the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory - comes over you: that past version of yourself, so little yet filled with such woe at the thought of leaving Avalon.
"You make it sound so dramatic," you say, infusing your words with manufactured levity. She hit a cord, and that cord rang out dissonant and doleful. "Being a squire suits me, you know."
"Yes," Nimue smiles, "I imagine. Having Sir Istrate as role model. And you've always been so interested in dragon culture, too."
A question blasts through your mind, lightning-quick and urgent - //Do you know, Nimue?// - only to fizzle on your tongue. It's not the time, not the place, and you have more to say, nonetheless.
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 6>>
An echo from the past - reaching out through the misty, fuzzy fabric of memory - comes over you: that past version of yourself, so little yet filled with such woe at the thought of leaving Avalon.
"You make it sound so dramatic," you say, aiming for levity yet falling flat. "Being a squire suits me, you know. But...I do think I may have left a tiny piece of myself back on Avalon when I left."
You wait, somewhat apprenhesive, to see how the confession is received. You wonder if Nimue understads - or if she's well beyond such sentimentality.
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue smiles. "I won'd deny, there's a part of myself that'll always be claimed by Avalon. Perhaps a bigger part than I dare admit."
Maybe it's the quiet way she says it, or the glint in her green eyes as she holds your gaze - but the skin of your nape is rendered gooseflesh.
<<else>>
Nimue smiles. "I won'd deny, there's a part of myself that'll always be claimed by Avalon. Perhaps a bigger part than I dare admit."
<</if>>
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<</if>>
"And more," she replies with unadultered pride.
All around you, revelers continue to move about, an endlessly flowing river, a constant sussuration of voices washing over you. They pass you by, flashing quick, inquisitive glances at you, if not otherwise staring openly at you as if any moment they might stride up to you and ask the subject of your conversation. Nimue pays them no mind; she keeps her attention focused squarely on you.
"Say," Nimue begins, "do you remember how you used to ask me for a vision? Won't you ask me for one now too - for old time's sake?"
"I remember you playing tricks on me," you retort.
"Not always."
"What about now?"
She slides closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper - as soft as the rustle of foliage that shelters a predator about to pounce. 'Would you like to find out?"
You don't get to reply. As you open your mouth, she closes her eyes. She tilts her head from one side to the other as if turning around an image in her mind, looking for a different angle, searching for a better view. The back of your neck prickles. She's often rewarded your childhood requests for a vision with jests and pranks. Few were the times you drew a genuine response from her - but those times were enough to keep you asking, enough to inspire anxious anticipation even when you hardly expected seriousness. Here you are again, pulling closer, ears open, pulse quickened. Waiting.
Her eyes snap open dark beneath the shadow of her lashes. "I see something - something that weighs on your mind, something you know so much yet so little of. It's approaching. Rapidly. Unexpectedly. It's-"
"Why," a mellow voice calls from behind you, "I see you're catching up already."
[[You turn to find Merlin.|Chapt5MerlinParty]]<<if $chapt5_nimue_serious == 1>>
Her words hit a chord, and that chord rings out dissonant and grating, deep in your ribcage. "I like to think I'm at the helm of my own life now," you say.
"Have you?" There's a knife-sharp edge of amusement to her words, and it's clearly pointed at you.
"Yes," you say roundly - end of disccusion. You are more than a mean to an end. Always have been, always will be more than that.
Then a question blasts through your mind, lightning-quick and urgent - //What do you know, Nimue?// - only to fizzle on your tongue. It's not the time, not the place, and you have safer and less weighty questions to ask, nonetheless.
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 2>>
"I suppose," you shrug one shoulder. There seems to be an allusion to her words that you should take offense to; or perhaps the question is a test in itself. "It took me to squirehood, and it fits me well."
"Yes," Nimue smiles, "I imagine. Having Sir Istrate as role model. And you've always been so interested in dragon culture, too."
A question blasts through your mind, lightning-quick and urgent - //Do you know, Nimue?// - only to fizzle on your tongue. It's not the time, not the place, and you have far safer, less weighty questions to ask, nonetheless.
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 3>>
Her words hit a chord, and that chord rings out dissonant and grating, deep in your ribcage. "Well, it took me to squirehood, and it fits me well."
All knights have had the path chosen for them, you're not unique in that aspect. One you do from then on out is completely within your control - isn't it?
"Yes," Nimue smiles, "I imagine it does fit you well. Having Sir Istrate as role model. And you've always been so interested in dragon culture, too."
A question blasts through your mind, lightning-quick and urgent - //Do you know, Nimue?// - only to fizzle on your tongue. It's not the time, not the place, and you have far safer, less weighty questions to ask, nonetheless.
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 4>>
Such a theatrical way of phrasing such a mundane thing. All knights have had the path chosen for them, you're not unique in that aspect. All else about you - well, that's an entirely different story, one you think historians and novelists alike would love to consecrate in ink on paper.
"I was a child then, Nimue," you say. "Of course I've taken //helm of my life// now."
"Have you?" There's a knife-sharp edge of amusement to her words, and it's clearly pointed at you.
A question blasts through your mind, lightning-quick and urgent - //What do you know, Nimue?// - only to fizzle on your tongue. It's not the time, not the place, and you have safer, less weighty questions to ask, nonetheless.
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 5>>
There seems to be an allusion to her words that you should take offense to; or perhaps the question is a test in itself.
"Of course I've taken helm of my life now," you say, keeping your voice light. "And I find being a squire quite exciting. Perhaps I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "but flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted to be?"
<</if>>
"And more," she replies with unadultered pride.
All around you, revelers continue to move about, an endlessly flowing river, a constant sussuration of voices washing over you. They pass you by, flashing quick, inquisitive glances at you, if not otherwise staring openly at you as if any moment they might stride up to you and ask the subject of your conversation. Nimue pays them no mind; she keeps her attention focused squarely on you.
"Say," Nimue begins, "do you remember how you used to ask me for a vision? Won't you ask me for one now too - for old time's sake?"
"I remember you playing tricks on me," you retort.
"Not always."
"What about now?"
She slides closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper - as soft as the rustle of foliage that shelters a predator about to pounce. 'Would you like to find out?"
You don't get to reply. As you open your mouth, she closes her eyes. She tilts her head from one side to the other as if turning around an image in her mind, looking for a different angle, searching for a better view. The back of your neck prickles. She's often rewarded your childhood requests for a vision with jests and pranks. Few were the times you drew a genuine response from her - but those times were enough to keep you asking, enough to inspire anxious anticipation even when you hardly expected seriousness. Here you are again, pulling closer, ears open, pulse quickened. Waiting.
Her eyes snap open dark beneath the shadow of her lashes. "I see something - something that weighs on your mind, something you know so much yet so little of. It's approaching. Rapidly. Unexpectedly. It's-"
"Why," a mellow voice calls from behind you, "I see you're catching up already."
[[You turn to find Merlin.|Chapt5MerlinParty]]<<if $chapt5_nimue_serious == 1>>
"Being a squire has proved as exciting as I hoped it'd be," you say. "Perhaps I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "but flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 2>>
"Being a squire has proved as exciting as I hoped it'd be," you say. "Perhaps I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws," you continue, recalling the vivid illustrations in your storybooks that you always so eagerly shared with Nimue, "but flying through an obstacle course with $dragon_name is one of the most exhilarating things I've done, so I think it all balances out."
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"However," you go on, drawing out the word, "I can't say the Continent is the way I imagined it'd be."
"It's no Avalon, to be sure."
You don't spell it out and neither does she, but you have no doubts she knows exactly what you mean. After all, if it's as Morgana says, it's her own father served a role in making Camelot so inimical towards you.
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 3>>
"Being a squire suits me," you simply say.
"Yes," Nimue smiles, "I imagine. Having Sir Istrate as role model. And you've always been so interested in dragon culture, too."
A question blasts through your mind, lightning-quick and urgent - //Do you know, Nimue?// - only to fizzle on your tongue. It's not the time, not the place, and you have far safer, less weighty questions to ask, nonetheless.
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 4>>
"Being a squire suits me," you simply say.
"Yes," Nimue smiles, "I imagine. Having Sir Istrate as role model. And you've always been so interested in dragon culture, too."
A question blasts through your mind, lightning-quick and urgent - //Do you know, Nimue?// - only to fizzle on your tongue. It's not the time, not the place, and you have more to say, nonetheless.
"I can't say the Continent lived up to my expectations, though."
"It's no Avalon, to be sure."
You don't spell it out and neither does she, but you have no doubts she knows exactly what you mean. After all, if it's as Morgana says, it's her own father who served a role in making Camelot so inimical towards you.
"But what about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nimue_serious == 5>>
"Everything seems far too exciting when you're a child," you say tactfully. "I haven't encountered any creatures with hundreds of legs, fangs as long as stalagmites and dagger-like claws, for example." A note of levity - and perhaps a deflective statement, to ward further questioning.
<<if $nimue_crush >= 2>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh. It sends a little tremor down your spine.
<<else>>
Nimue lets out a small, breathy laugh.
<</if>>
"What about you? Being the apprentice of //the// Royal Sorcerer - is it all you wanted it to be?"
<</if>>
"And more," she replies with unadultered pride.
All around you, revelers continue to move about, an endlessly flowing river, a constant sussuration of voices washing over you. They pass you by, flashing quick, inquisitive glances at you, if not otherwise staring openly at you as if any moment they might stride up to you and ask the subject of your conversation. Nimue pays them no mind; she keeps her attention focused squarely on you.
"Say," Nimue begins, "do you remember how you used to ask me for a vision? Won't you ask me for one now too - for old time's sake?"
"I remember you playing tricks on me," you retort.
"Not always."
"What about now?"
She slides closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper - as soft as the rustle of foliage that shelters a predator about to pounce. 'Would you like to find out?"
You don't get to reply. As you open your mouth, she closes her eyes. She tilts her head from one side to the other as if turning around an image in her mind, looking for a different angle, searching for a better view. The back of your neck prickles. She's often rewarded your childhood requests for a vision with jests and pranks. Few were the times you drew a genuine response from her - but those times were enough to keep you asking, enough to inspire anxious anticipation even when you hardly expected seriousness. Here you are again, pulling closer, ears open, pulse quickened. Waiting.
Her eyes snap open dark beneath the shadow of her lashes. "I see something - something that weighs on your mind, something you know so much yet so little of. It's approaching. Rapidly. Unexpectedly. It's-"
"Why," a mellow voice calls from behind you, "I see you're catching up already."
[[You turn to find Merlin.|Chapt5MerlinParty]]<<if $chapt1eager == "eager">>
"Back then," Nimue says, "when we were little, you'd been so eager to become a knight. Swinging your wooden sword at your menacing plush toy foes. And you'd been so excited to see the Continent. Tell me then, what's it been like?"
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire has proved as exciting as I hoped it'd be," you say.|Chapt5SquireEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire has proved as exciting as I hoped it'd be," you say. "The Continent...is not exciting in the way I imagined it to be."|Chapt5SquireEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire suits me," you simply say.|Chapt5SquireEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire suits me," you say, "but I can't say that the Continent lived up to my expectations."|Chapt5SquireEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Everything seems far too exciting when you're a child," you say tactfully.|Chapt5SquireEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt1eager == "bitter">>
"Back then," Nimue says, "when we were little, you'd seemed to reluctant to leave Avalon and become a squire. As if you might be parting with a piece of yourself. Did you, then? Trade a part of your heart to become a squire?"
<div class="choice">[["Nothing quite so dramatic. Being a squire has proved more exciting than I expected it'd be," you say.|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Nothing quite so dramatic. Being a squire has proved as exciting than I hoped it'd be," you say. "The Continent...is not exciting in the way I imagined it to be."|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire suits me," you simply say.|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire suits me," you say, "but I can't say that the Continent lived up to my expectations."|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You make it sound so dramatic," you say; you're deflecting. The way she said it resonated with something in you. "Being a squire suits me."|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You make it sound so dramatic," you say. "But I suppose I did leave a bit of me behind on Avalon."|Chapt5SquireBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 6]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt1eager == "casual">>
"Back then," Nimue says, "when we were little, you seemed to accept knighthood and leaving Avalon so placidly. Letting the currents take you wherever they will. Is this still what you're doing - going with the flow of water?"
<div class="choice">[["I like to think I'm at the helm of my own life now," you say, almost defensively. After all you've learned on your twelfth birthday, it feels necessary to remind yourself you're more than a mean to an end.|Chapt5SquireCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I suppose," you say. "It took me to squirehood, and it fits me well."|Chapt5SquireCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Something about the phrasing makes you uneasy. Is that what you're doing - letting yourself led? "Well, it took me to squirehood, and it fits me well."|Chapt5SquireCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I was a child then, Nimue. Of course I've taken helm of my life now."|Chapt5SquireCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course I've taken helm of my life now," you say. "And I find being a squire quite exciting."|Chapt5SquireCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 5]]</div>
<</if>>Rain batters your windows, coming down in a relentless deluge of water that shrouds the horizon in misty, dreary gray. The forest sways and bends under the gale, turned into a tempestuous sea of dull, dimmed green and red.
You watch the storm unfold from your desk, where you sit sheltered and cozy; while the walls of the castle may hold against the downpour, a chill has seeped through nonetheless, permeating the shadowy chamber. You keep both the dark and cold at bay with the blazing fire in your hearth, its crackling a soothing melody punctuated by the incessant drumming of rain.
Lightning slices through the clouds. It lights up the sky in a flash of electrifying, baleful silver before plunging the land back in darkness. Thunder follows like the echoing rumbling of a beast that lurks at the depths of a cavernous pit.
<div class="choice">[[There's something almost soothing about storms - and beauty in the rage of nature.|Chapt5Thunder][$storm_opinion to "comforting"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You hate thunderstorms - they're loud and dismal and when you were younger, you'd be so scared of that booming crack.|Chapt5Thunder][$storm_opinion to "hate"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's just weather; you don't feel too strongly about it, unless you have to actually get out in the gloomy, wet gray. Indoors, it's all good.|Chapt5Thunder][$storm_opinion to "mild"]]</div><<if $chapt5_press == 1>>
"Alright," you deflate with a sigh, swallowing your curiosity.
She drags her teeth over her bottom lip, face screwed up as she considers you so intently you'd think she's trying to see right into you. She definitely sees right through your disappointment, at least. "Alright," she relents and drapes herself over the bookcase's corner, pressing her cheek against the wood. "I'll tell you, but don't laugh. I may have...attempted to use the oar as a sword. To duel the air. I had perfect pose, mind you."
<div class="choice">[[Laugh. Don't even bother fighting it.|Chapt5Funny][$chapt5_laugh to 1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Fight back laughter.|Chapt5Funny][$chapt5_laugh to 2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh." It's not even that funny.|Chapt5Funny][$chapt5_laugh to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I see," you smile.|Chapt5Funny][$chapt5_laugh to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I see," you say. It's rather disappointing an explanation.|Chapt5Funny][$chapt5_laugh to 5]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt5_press == 2>>
"Noo," you protest, putting on your best pleading look, puppy eyes and all. "You can't leave me hanging."
"Fine," she drapes herself over the bookcase's corner, pressing her cheek against the wood. "But don't laugh. I may have...attempted to use the oar as a sword. To duel the air. I had perfect pose, mind you."
<div class="choice">[[Laugh. Don't even bother fighting it.|Chapt5Funny][$chapt5_laugh to 1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Fight back laughter.|Chapt5Funny][$chapt5_laugh to 2, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh." It's not even that funny.|Chapt5Funny][$chapt5_laugh to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I see," you smile.|Chapt5Funny][$chapt5_laugh to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I see," you say. It's rather disappointing an explanation.|Chapt5Funny][$chapt5_laugh to 5]]</div>
<<else>>
"Alright," you shrug, whatever interest you managed to summon dispelling like mist.
Elaine's brow raises, but she relents with just as breezy an "Alright," before asking where to next on your tour.
You circle the Court Library, so that you take in all it has to offer before you move on. Elaine decides against bringing the book with her, leaving it in the care of a Librarian until she comes fetch it later. "Where to next?" Elaine asks as you exit.
<<include Chapt5ElaineTour>>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_sword_ask == 1>>
"Which do you prefer: two-hander or arming sword?" you ask.
"Both. But the two-hander //is// my favorite," she adds fondly, as if speaking of a beloved pet.
<<elseif $chapt5_sword_ask == 2>>
You'd like to inquire more, ask Elaine which sword she prefers - two-hander or arming sword? But instead you let the question wither to dust on your tongue. It tastes much like bile, bitter and sharp. You sink deeper into the cushions, resigning yourself to listening to them.
<<elseif $chapt5_sword_ask == 3>>
You're frankly getting bored of this whole affair you were dragged into. Your unofficial status of bastard is far outweighed by the Leudonus name attached to yours - a feeble piece of paper that demands you attend all such social events.
<</if>>
"Sounds to me like you almost have a squire's training," Gareth remarks.
"Yeah," Elaine laughs, but it fades quickly, dimming alongside the shine in her brown eyes. "Almost." Then she shrugs bodily, as if wanting to shrug off the subdued mood too. "Anyway, I generally really like being outside. What about you?"
"I love board games, puzzle boxes. The more intricate the better - I love a good challenge."
Elaine nods along with the self-concious air of someone pretending hard to understand a complicated mathematical theory.
Gareth goes on: "And reading."
Relief washes over her as she finally finds something to cling to. "I like reading too! Adventure books, mostly. And those ridiculous comedies, too."
"I enjoy adventure too," Gareth smiles. "Though really, I read about any genre that falls into my hands, fiction and non-fiction alike."
"What sort of non-fiction?"
Now it's Gareth's time to bloom into a more authentic version of himself, less polished and manufactured like a flower made out of cloth, pretty yet artificial. "History chronicles, political treaties. A bit of battle strategy, too."
"I too read up on history - mostly concerning our history with dragons, and texts on the relationship between us, their culture and how we've come to influence one another."
Gareth's eyes gleam. "It's a topic you're passionate about, then?"
"Yeah! That and dragon bloods."
<<if $chapt5_sword_ask == 1 or $chapt5_sword_ask == 2>>
You shift in your armchair, skin prickling with anticipation.
<<else>>
If your attention previously slipped away, it's now yet again arrested.
<</if>>
"They're part of our whole shared history with dragons, right?" she smiles wryly. "Quite literally. Having dragon blood and all that. It's interesting. And they're born simply knowing the dragon tongue! I toiled so hard to learn it."
From here on out, conversation flows more smoothly. Like one climbing a particularly challenging cliffside finding a crevice to wedge their foot, the two of them stubbornly stick to this common ground they could find, talking of stories they've read and histories they've taken an interest in. For Elaine, the latter mostly consists of dragons and heroes of old, while Gareth gets the opportunity to showcase his vast and colorful knowledge.
Across the carpet you catch Lot looking at the two of them with a smile on his lips, a smile so genuine it's unsettling for you to see, like sun allowed to bathe in light a long-forsaken, cast in shadow crevice.
Lunch concludes on a high note - though you doubt for everyone, as your gaze slips towards Morgana and her veener of equanimity - as well as the promise to converge in Lot's parlor for dinner each evening leading up to the wedding.
[[Next day|Chapt5MorganaKnock]]You and Galahad aren't alone for long. Soon enough you're able to pick out a familiar figure from the crowd - Gawain, draped in rose pink, calf-long train swishing behind, tall heels pattering a cheerful, upbeat chorus that announces his arrival. He comes arm in arm with Nimue, sparkling and effervescent, cleaving through the tension at your table like a gem-adorned knife. Gareth and Isolde are next to arrive, both resplendant in their respective Duchy colors. Two more seats remain vacant.
Elaine sweeps down upon you, weaving between tables and archways as if rushing to complete an obstacle course. A man follows close behind, keeping pace with ease.
This must be the most elegant you've seen Elaine, clad in a doublet of light blue brocade - her family's color - silver-lined with buttons of diamond and big, proud shoulders artfully slit to reveal the puffy chemise underneath. Paired with it are loose-fitting trousers tucked inside black, lacquered knee-high boots, flat-soled and sturdy-looking.
She stops short of a collision with the table, shooting out a hand to steady herself on Isolde's chair. Her toothy grin, however, is unshakable.
"Make way!" Elaine exclaims, breathlessly cheerful. "We have a knight of the Rouble Table sitting with us tonight. Gareth, Mordred, this is Tristan Duval. One of Astolat's best, and well, just in general one of //the// best, isn't that right?"
Her teasing tone only thinly veils the pride beneath. Tristan accepts the praise with a humble, indulgent smile, and bows his head politely towards you and your brother. He's a whole head shorter than Elaine; with a deep brown complexion, kind, deep-set eyes and wide cheekbones framed by dark, short locks. Gilded cuffs, shaped into delicate, blooming roses, adorn his hair.
"Elaine exaggerates."
"Tristan //understates//."
Elaine's shed the jittering nervousness that's clung to her all throughout the day - that same tension that's been there ever since she arrived, bubbling over at the mere mention of marriage. Nothing but glittering good cheer remains now, flightiness and disinterest and panic scrubbed away in the presence of familiar faces. But is her improved disposition genuine, or has she donned protective armor, buffed to a polish to reflect the festive mood around her?
With all the guests now seated at their chiffon-covered tables, Lady Beatrice Beauregard rises from her seat to give the opening speech: short and sweet, the cue for the food and booze to finally be brought out, piling on tables in silver, filigree platters. The appetizers are first: gold-speckled, honey-drizzled figs on leafy beds, rolls of smoked salmon, crumbly goat cheese and so much more, easy, light and bite-sized. They vanish from the plates quickly, eaten with gusto between gulps of wine, liquor and nectar.
During the meal, you watch Elaine carefully, searching for any cracks in her armor. She does seem in a better mood, yes, but the longer you look the more the chinks show. As is normal, she makes easy, familiar conversation with Tristan, Isolde and Gawain. Talking and gesturing - loud, expansive, expressive - the way you've seen her do before, when set loose from under the watchful, critical eye of her parents. A touch too loud, expansive and expressive, you realize, animated by an excess of frantic energy, a spillover of anxiety that hasn't been scrubbed away as you initially thought - far from it - but that propels her forward instead.
[[Continue|Chapt5DanceStarts]]With surprising ease, you locate a footman to escort you to your table, which is currently empty, safe for one seat. Seat taken up by none else than Galahad du Lac.
He's renounced the showy golden-and-scarlet of his traveling garb for a softer lavender, but not his wooden expression, which he wears as his most prized accessory.
<<if $chapt5_wear_serpent == "pendant">>
You take your place a few chairs down from him while his gaze bores into you. There's one place of particular that holds his undivided interest - and such is the intensity of his scorching attention, that you expect to find the gold of your serpent pendant blazing against your skin.
You don't know //what// to make of his expression, beyond a vague sense of discontent, as one might have towards a weird contraption placed in their vicinity, with no instructions given. Should you keep an eye on it, send for an attendant or dare poke at it with the tip of your shoe? Luckily for you, Galahad seems content to resume himself to the first.
<<elseif $chapt5_wear_serpent == "circlet">>
You take your place a few chairs down from him while his gaze bores into you. There's one place of particular that holds his undivided interest - and such is the intensity of his scorching attention, that you expect to find the gold of your circlet blazing, forever marking the serpent against your forehead.
You don't know //what// to make of his expression, beyond a vague sense of discontent, as one might have towards a weird contraption placed in their vicinity, with no instructions given. Should you keep an eye on it, send for an attendant or dare poke at it with the tip of your shoe? Luckily for you, Galahad seems content to resume himself to the first.
<<else>>
You take your place a few chairs down from him while his gaze bores into you. Many are fond of scrutinizing their fellow revel-goers, judging choice of garb, face paint and jewelry, but that idle interest is absent from Galahad's face. In fact, you don't know //what// to make of his expression, beyond a vague sense of discontent, as one might have towards a weird contraption placed in their vicinity, with no instructions given. Should you keep an eye on it, send for an attendant or dare poke at it with the tip of your shoe? Luckily for you, Galahad seems content to resume himself to the first.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "confront" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "avoid">>
You meet his gaze over the table - his cool gray, scrutinizing gaze - for only a moment, before he snaps his head away.
<<else>>
You meet his eye over the table. You expect for him to snap his head away, or perhaps for his scowl to deepen. Instead, after an unsure beat, he nods his head - brusquely, quickly, as if he isn't sure he's doing it right, that it's even allowed for him to do it - in greeting before looking away.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Say hello, and nothing more. Just showing a bit of politeness, a bit of decorum.|Chapt5GallyTableConvoHelloIgnore][$chapt5_gally_table to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Say hello, try to make small talk.|Chapt5GallyTableConvoHello][$chapt5_gally_table to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ignore him. You've no interest in interacting.|Chapt5GallyTableConvoIgnore][$chapt5_gally_table to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You know you look like you have a stick up your ass?" It's as if you can't help it, aggravating him just for your own entertainment.|Chapt5GallyTableConvoAss][$chapt5_gally_table to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Try to engage him in small talk, only because you know it'll irritate him.|Chapt5GallyTableConvoAnnoy][$chapt5_gally_table to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ignore him. You wish you could talk, banter, but you know it's useless.|Chapt5GallyTableConvoSadIgnore][$chapt5_gally_table to 6]]</div><<if $chapt5_tarot_hands == 1>>
Does she think you nervous? You should readjust that misconception, let her know its completely reasonable a reaction, the same one you'd get were you to plunge your arm into the river now.
"Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"
"It's working just fine, thanks for your concern. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 2>>
Your brow furrows in concern. "Your hands are icy." How could she be so cold, decked in all that silk and with the bonfire blazing next to you?
"Perhaps your hands are too warm," she counters. You want to argue that //you//'d know if that were the case, if your magic simmered beneath the skin, feverish, but she cuts you down with a decisive "Shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 3>>
"Do we really need to hold hands," you say with a smirk, "or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?"
"I need to connect to you in some way. It's not necessary but it helps - with cold hands as well. Now shush."
<</if>>
Her eyes flutter close and her face blanks to the mirror stillness of a lake. Her whole body is stock-still, as if her already chilled skin has frozen over, encasing her in ice. That same cold seeps through her fingers into yours, creeping up your arms, down your back.
The chill seems to slither its way into everyone present, dragon and human alike - all rooted to the places, motionless under the ceremonial hush, standing like statues in a hall, idols in a temple, faces suspended in varying degrees of concentration and anticipation. They're all taking this so seriously, and yet you cannot help but see this whole situation as comical. Still, you sit silent and motionless as Nimue clearly wants you to, playing along with her game.
Then there comes a ripple over Nimue's features, and another - scoring creases between her brows, along the line of her mouth. She opens her eyes, lets go of your hands and directs her attention towards the cards.
You can't pick out any pattern or logic to her process. You expect there's only magic guiding her hands, a tingling in the tip of her fingers showing her the right path.
She sometimes goes directly for a certain card, plucking it as quick as a raptor might pluck an unwitting mouse off the ground. Other times her fingers flutter uncertainly above the half-moon of cards, caught in contradicting currents till she's finally swept the right way.
When she's done choosing, three cards stand before you. Three gilded eyes staring up at you. They seem to blink conspiratorially when you tilt your head and the bonfire light catches them just so. How much do they know, how much can they see? Can they peer inside you, see the hidden potential within you - whether that be for goodness or destruction? Can they pierce through time and space, see what you are meant to become - and whether it matches the image Merlin painted of you, or defies it, twists it?
Nimue rests her fingers on each of the downturned cards, left to right. "Past, present, future."
"Past and present? I thought you were reading my future."
"True, I could have done a spread solely for the future. But you see, they're all interconnected. To better understand the future, we must look in the past, learn from it. And the present...it's what currently concerns you, isn't it?"
What does she know of what currently concerns you?
"Ready?" she asks. You get the sense there's a different question hidden beneath. //Are you scared?//
Is she teasing you yet again, or trying to intimidate you? Suggesting there's something to brace yourself against, some horrible or grand realization about your person soon to be revealed. You don't know how distant or accurate a future the cards will spell. They could, in their own coded language of vivid imagery, reveal something of your legacy, of your prophecy. Or they could simply foresee that you'll fail one of your upcoming scholarly assignments.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
You feel $dragon_name's own decisiveness. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
You feel $dragon_name's own decisiveness. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
You feel $dragon_name's own eagerness. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<else>>
A nagging, quiet worry still lingers in the back of your mind - though it's not your own. //"Careful."// You don't turn to look, but you can still feel $dragon_name's concerned gaze boring into you.
<</if>>
"I'm ready," you say, meeting Nimue's gaze headlong and determined.
[[First card|Chapt5CasualCard1]]<<if $chapt5_tarot_tower == 1>>
A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells - yet more evidence of your doomed fate? It lays now bared before your small audience, even though they lack the key knowledge of the prediction. But they know of Morgana's wrought history with the Crown, and it would be easy to piece together what this card could herald for you, for the kingdom.
Yet beyond your nerves, there's a thrill of danger, of taking a risky gamble. Would Nimue truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower mustn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 2>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of things, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed by its appearance.
But now it's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 3>>
As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Staring so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it, tumble along with the two other doomed figures.
But were you to be the lightning instead, setting ablaze and toppling down the tower, would you be justified in bringing about that chaos to a land that's never loved you?
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 4>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself. Change can be good, can be necessary. Destruction needn't be feared, either. Perhaps the tower never had a sturdy foundation, perhaps its structure benefited no one; and where its ruin stands there will be raised a new, brighter, better, prouder tower.
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 5>>
As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom. You stare so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it. But you wouldn't be one of the tumbling, pitiful fools - you'd be the lightning itself, striking down to set ablaze and topple down the tower, dousing it in vengeful fire.
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<</if>>
"The tower." There's a weight to the way Nimue says it. But it's not the damning, bone-breaking weight of tumbling stone, trapping you beneath its debris in a future dark and gruesome; neither is it the accusatory weight of a finger pointed your way, pinning ruin and destruction on your shoulders. No, there's a quiet reverence to her words, like speaking the name of a mighty, admirable foe.
"An interesting one," Nimue goes on, stroking along the frame of the grim image, a gesture more tender than the fate those within are facing. "It's often seen as a bad augur, as one might have inferred from Gawain's reaction-" the boy offers a sheepish apology from behind the handclamped over his shocked mouth "- associated with such things as danger, destruction, chaos. It's also a sign of change - sudden, perhaps brutally so. It can also be a sign of liberation."
"To a watery demise?" you quip.
The corner of her mouth quirks up. "Among other things."
"Well, what does it mean for me?"
You expect Nimue to take your hand again, close her eyes and fetch a vision from whatever unfathomable space she slips into in the process. Instead, she leans forward and intently considers your face as if something in it may reveal the sought-out answers. You don't back down, don't look away.
"I see...you, Camelot and change inextricably linked. Somewhere in your future. Sooner rather than later." She tilts her head, seeking a new, better angle. "You'll be trying out for the Round Table once you're a knight, won't you? There you have it. A move is a rather great change - it's an uprooting, a period of uncertainty."
You have no way of knowing if that's what she truly read within that card, but it's what she's chose to say and that's all that will matter to your audience: a reasonable little explanation to ease the dread of ominous dark clouds on the horizon, telling them the wind will come and blow the clouds the other way. And so she keeps your secrets safe, and spares your reputation further injury. You wonder, were you under the cover of intimacy, would she have divested the reading of her cryptic wording? At least you could have demanded more straightforward answers. Perhaps you would have received entirely different answers. When she came upon the last card, she might have said: //Ah, ruin just as my father foretold// with no attempt at pretense.
But you have eyes on you, so you keep the charade.
"A great change, like moving from a tower room to the bottom of the sea?" you ask, nodding towards the card.
"Precisely."
<<if $gareth_knows_prophecy is true>>
Your gaze darts around Nimue, straight to Gareth. Your brother's expression is as carefully composed as ever; when he meets your eye, he offers a small, reassuring smile.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
Your gaze darts around Nimue, straight to Gareth. Your brother's expression is as carefully composed as ever; when he meets your eye, he offers a small, reassuring smile. Would he do the same, were he to know the truth of it all?
<</if>>
Gawain unclamps his palm from his shocked mouth and offers a smile. The kind of sheepish smile one gives after shrieking and jumping at shadows. The danger is over now, it says - the danger was never there, but the fright was real.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic" or $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a reservoir of pity and sympathy to offer even as he looked upon you as something to fear, something to defeat, but you'd hardly be able to bear it.
<<else>>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a sliver of pity he could spare on you - as one does on a rabid beast that needs to be put down.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "befriend" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "charm">>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. The propehcy would only validate what he's been told about you, what you've been helping him unlearn - could it break the fragile thing you've managed to built between you?
When he catches your eye, he looks away. Is that guilt you read in his face? Or maybe's it's remorse, or just a trick of the light, shadows of the bonfire casting his expression into something marginally more digestible than outright hate, outright disgust.
<<else>>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. You doubt the prophecy would change much about how he sees you - if anything, it should strengthen his belief, validate his suspicions.
<</if>>
On the other side of Gawain, Elaine looks confused more than anything else, face screwed up as if with enough concentration she might permutate the cards and give them a meaning she can make sense of.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//"Do you really believe Nimue?"// $dragon_name's voice is edged with doubt. //"I mean, it sounds reasonable enough, but then everything she says sounds cryptic enough to be easily accepted."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//"Do you think she's telling the truth?"// $dragon_name asks, though the question is more rhetoric than anything else. You don't have any definitive answers to give.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//"So...this isn't about the prophecy?"// $dragon_name's voice sounds wispy, a quiet thought at the back of your mind easily brushed off by bigger doubts.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//"All this cryptic theatrics for what?"// $dragon_name's miffed voice rings in your head. //"This says nothing new."//
<</if>>
Nimue has no way of hearing your friend's silent queries. She turns back towards the three upturned cards and draws one finger along each, a tender caress."Your life so far has been defined by such strong, intense emotions. You've trodden a road with pleasant surprises and heavy tolls alike." She glances up. "And that road is still unfolding before you."
The excitement over, the crowd scatters, leaving you alone by Nimue's side. $dragon_name is the only one who lingers behind, torn between wishing to stay at your side should you need them and wanting to follow Felix, whose tail is loosely curled round their leg, a small yet casually affectionate touch. You prompt them to go and enjoy the night, advice you should take yourself. Yet you don't get up, still shuffling the cards inside your head.
Thank you for playing! This is the end of the current demo, but not of chapter 5.<<if $chapt5_tarot_hands == 1>>
Does she think you nervous? You should readjust that misconception, let her know its completely reasonable a reaction, the same one you'd get were you to plunge your arm into the river now.
"Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"
"It's working just fine, thanks for your concern. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 2>>
Your brow furrows in concern. "Your hands are icy." How could she be so cold, decked in all that silk and with the bonfire blazing next to you?
"Perhaps your hands are too warm," she counters. You want to argue that //you//'d know if that were the case, if your magic simmered beneath the skin, feverish, but she cuts you down with a decisive "Shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 3>>
"Do we really need to hold hands," you say with a smirk, "or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?"
"I need to connect to you in some way. It's not necessary but it helps - with cold hands as well. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 4>>
Does she think you nervous? You should readjust that misconception, let her own its completely reasonable a reaction, the same one you'd get where you to plunge your arm into the river now.
"Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"
"It's working just fine, thanks for your concern. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 5>>
Your brow furrows in concern. "Your hands are icy." How could she be so cold, decked in all that silk and undergarments, with the bonfire blazing so warm and merry next to you?
"Perhaps your hands are too warm," she counters. You want to argue that //you//'d know if that were the case, if the magic simmered beneath the skin, feverish, but she cuts you down with a decisive "Shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 6>>
"Do we really need to hold hands," you say with a smirk, "or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?"
"I need to connect to you in some way. It's not necessary but it helps - with cold hands as well. Now shush."
<</if>>
Her eyes flutter close and her face blanks to the mirror stillness of a lake. Her whole body is stock-still, as if her already chilled skin has frozen over, encasing her in ice. That same cold seeps through her fingers into yours, creeping up your arms, down your back till you're rendered still and cool even as your blood rushes hot with excitement.
The chill seems to slither its way into everyone present, dragon and human alike - all rooted to the places, motionless under the ceremonial hush, standing like statues in a hall, idols in a temple, faces suspended in varying degrees of concentration and anticipation.
Then there comes a ripple over Nimue's features, and another - scoring creases between her brows, along the line of her mouth. She opens her eyes, lets go of your hands and directs her attention towards the cards.
You can't pick out any pattern or logic to her process. You expect there's only magic guiding her hands, a tingling in the tip of her fingers showing her the right path.
She sometimes goes directly for a certain card, plucking it as quick as a raptor might pluck an unwitting mouse off the ground. Other times her fingers flutter uncertainly above the half-moon of cards, caught in contradicting currents till she's finally swept the right way.
When she's done choosing, three cards stand before you. Three gilded eyes staring up at you. They seem to wink conspiratorially up at you when you tilt your head and the bonfire light catches them just so. How much do they know, how much can they see? Can they peer inside you, see the hidden potential within you - whether that be for goodness or destruction? Can they pierce through time and space, see what you are meant to become - and whether it matches the image Merlin painted of you, or defies it, twists it?
Nimue rests her fingers on each of the downturned cards, left to right. "Past, present, future."
"Past and present? I thought you were reading my future."
"True, I could have done a spread solely for the future. But you see, they're all interconnected. To better understand the future, we must look in the past, learn from it. And the present...it's what currently concerns you, isn't it?"
What does she know of what currently concerns you?
"Ready?" she asks. You get the sense there's a different question hidden beneath. //Are you scared?//
Are you? You don't know how distant or accurate a future the cards will spell. They could, in their own coded language of vivid imagery, reveal something of your legacy, of your prophecy. Or they could simply foresee that you'll fail one of your upcoming scholarly assignments. Maybe you should be scared, but you find that the uncertainty only emboldens you.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
$dragon_name shares in your confidence. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
$dragon_name shares in your confidence. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
$dragon_name shares in your confidence. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<else>>
A nagging, quiet worry still lingers in the back of your mind - though it's not your own. //"Careful."// You don't turn to look, but you can still feel $dragon_name's concerned gaze boring into you.
<</if>>
"I'm ready," you say, meeting Nimue's gaze headlong and determined.
[[First card|Chapt5CuriousCard1]]<<if $chapt5_tarot_tower == 1>>
A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells - yet more evidence of your doomed fate? Laying now bared before your small audience, even though they lack the key knowledge of the prediction. But they know of Morgana's wrought history with the Crown, and it would be easy to piece together what this card could herald for you, for the kingdom.
Yet beyond your nerves, there's a thrill of danger, of taking a risky gamble. Would Nimue truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 2>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of things, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed by its appearance.
But now it's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 3>>
As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Staring so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it, tumble along with the two other doomed figures.
But were you to be the lightning instead, setting ablaze and toppling down the tower, would you be justified in bringing about that chaos to a land that's never loved you?
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 4>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself. Change can be good, can be necessary. Destruction needn't be feared, either. Perhaps the tower never had a sturdy foundation, perhaps its structure benefited no one; and where its ruin stands there will be raised a new, brighter, better, prouder tower.
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 5>>
As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom. You stare so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it. But you wouldn't be one of the tumbling, pitiful fools - you'd be the lightning itself, striking down to set ablaze and topple down the tower, dousing it in vengeful fire.
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<</if>>
"The tower." There's a weight to the way Nimue says it. But it's not the damning, bone-breaking weight of tumbling stone, trapping you beneath its debris in a future dark and gruesome; neither is it the accusatory weight of a finger pointed your way, pinning ruin and destruction on your shoulders. No, there's a quiet reverence to her words, like speaking the name of a mighty, admirable foe.
"An interesting one," Nimue goes on, stroking along the frame of the grim image, a gesture more tender than the fate those within are facing. "It's often seen as a bad augur, as one might have inferred from Gawain's reaction-" the boy offers a sheepish apology from behind the handclamped over his shocked mouth "- associated with such things as danger, destruction, chaos. It's also a sign of change - sudden, perhaps brutally so. It can also be a sign of liberation."
"A change? From the top of the tower to a watery demise?" you quip.
The corner of her mouth quirks up. "Among other things."
"Well, what does it mean for me?"
You expect Nimue to take your hand again, close her eyes and fetch a vision from whatever unfathomable space she slips into in the process. Instead, she leans forward and intently considers your face as if something in it may reveal the sought-out answers. You don't back down, don't look away. You raise your chin ever so slightly, daring her to get a good look, see that which is hidden inside you, to a depth even you cannot reach.
"I see...you, Camelot and change inextricably linked. Somewhere in your future. Sooner rather than later." She tilts her head, seeking a new, better angle. "You'll be trying out for the Round Table once you're a knight, won't you? There you have it. A move is a rather great change - it's an uprooting, a period of uncertainty."
You have no way of knowing if that's what she truly read within that card, but it's what she's chose to say and that's all that will matter to your audience: a reasonable little explanation to ease the dread of ominous dark clouds on the horizon, telling them the wind will come and blow the clouds the other way. And so she keeps your secrets safe, and spares your reputation further injury. You wonder, were you under the cover of intimacy, would she have divested the reading of her cryptic wording? At least you could have demanded more straightforward answers. Perhaps you would have received entirely different answers. When she came upon the last card, she might have said: //Ah, ruin just as my father foretold// with no attempt at pretense.
But you have eyes on you, so you keep the charade.
"A great change, like moving from a tower room to the bottom of the sea?" you ask, nodding towards the card.
"Precisely."
<<if $gareth_knows_prophecy is true>>
Your gaze darts around Nimue, straight to Gareth. Your brother's expression is as carefully composed as ever; when he meets your eye, he offers a small, reassuring smile.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
Your gaze darts around Nimue, straight to Gareth. Your brother's expression is as carefully composed as ever; when he meets your eye, he offers a small, reassuring smile. Would he do the same, were he to know the truth of it all?
<</if>>
Gawain unclamps his palm from his shocked mouth and offers a smile. The kind of sheepish smile one gives after shrieking and jumping at shadows. The danger is over now, it says - the danger was never there, but the fright was real.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic" or $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a reservoir of pity and sympathy to offer even as he looked upon you as something to fear, something to defeat, but you'd hardly be able to bear it.
<<else>>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a sliver of pity he could spare on you - as one does on a rabid beast that needs to be put down.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "befriend" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "charm">>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. The propehcy would only validate what he's been told about you, what you've been helping him unlearn - could it break the fragile thing you've managed to built between you?
When he catches your eye, he looks away. Is that guilt you read in his face? Or maybe's it's remorse, or just a trick of the light, shadows of the bonfire casting his expression into something marginally more digestible than outright hate, outright disgust.
<<else>>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. You doubt the prophecy would change much about how he sees you - if anything, it should strengthen his belief, validate his suspicions.
<</if>>
On the other side of Gawain, Elaine looks confused more than anything else, face screwed up as if with enough concentration she might permutate the cards and give them a meaning she can make sense of.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//"Do you really believe Nimue?"// $dragon_name's voice is edged with doubt. //"I mean, it sounds reasonable enough, but then everything she says sounds cryptic enough to be easily accepted."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//"Do you think she's telling the truth?"// $dragon_name asks, though the question is more rhetoric than anything else. You don't have any definitive answers to give.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//"So...this isn't about the prophecy?"// $dragon_name's voice sounds wispy, a quiet thought at the back of your mind easily brushed off by bigger doubts.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//"All this cryptic theatrics for what?//" $dragon_name's miffed voice rings in your head. //"This says nothing new.//"
<</if>>
Nimue has no way of hearing your friend's silent queries. She turns back towards the three upturned cards and draws one finger along each, a tender caress."Your life so far has been defined by such strong, intense emotions. You've trodden a road with pleasant surprises and heavy tolls alike." She glances up. "And that road is still unfolding before you."
The excitement over, the crowd scatters, leaving you alone by Nimue's side. $dragon_name is the only one who lingers behind, torn between wishing to stay at your side should you need them and wanting to follow Felix, whose tail is loosely curled round their leg, a small yet casually affectionate touch. You prompt them to go and enjoy the night, advice you should take yourself. Yet you don't get up, still shuffling the cards inside your head.
Thank you for playing! This is the end of the current demo, but not of chapter 5.<<if $chapt5_tarot_hands == 1>>
Blaming the shiver solely on her cold skin would be slightly disingenous - your restless muscles already ripple with tiny nervous tremors - but she needn't know that.
"Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"
"It's working just fine, thanks for your concern. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 2>>
Your brow furrows in concern. "Your hands are icy." How could she be so cold, decked in all that silk and with the bonfire blazing next to you?
"Perhaps your hands are too warm," she counters. You want to argue that //you//'d know if that were the case, if your magic simmered beneath the skin, feverish, but she cuts you down with a decisive "Shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 3>>
"Do we really need to hold hands," you say with a smile that feels strained, "or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?"
"I need to connect to you in some way. It's not necessary but it helps - with cold hands as well. Now shush."
<</if>>
Her eyes flutter close and her face blanks to the mirror stillness of a lake. Her whole body is stock-still, as if her already chilled skin has frozen over, encasing her in ice. That same cold seeps through her fingers into yours, creeping up your arms and down your back. You fight the urge to sway side to side to dispel the growing tension in your limbs, forcing yourself to sit motionless lest movement interferes with Nimue's view of your future.
The chill seems to slither its way into everyone present, dragon and human alike - all rooted to the places, motionless under the ceremonial hush, standing like statues in a hall, idols in a temple, faces suspended in varying degrees of concentration and anticipation.
Then there comes a ripple over Nimue's features, and another - scoring creases between her brows, along the line of her mouth. She opens her eyes, lets go of your hands and directs her attention towards the cards.
You can't pick out any pattern or logic to her process. You expect there's only magic guiding her hands, a tingling in the tip of her fingers showing her the right path.
She sometimes goes directly for a certain card, plucking it as quick as a raptor might pluck an unwitting mouse off the ground. Other times her fingers flutter uncertainly above the half-moon of cards, caught in contradicting currents till she's finally swept the right way.
When she's done choosing, three cards stand before you. Three gilded eyes staring up at you. They seem to wink conspiratorially up at you when you tilt your head and the bonfire light catches them just so. How much do they know, how much can they see? Can they peer inside you, see the hidden potential within you - whether that be for goodness or destruction? Can they pierce through time and space, see what you are meant to become - and whether it matches the image Merlin painted of you, or defies it, twists it?
Nimue rests her fingers on each of the downturned cards, left to right. "Past, present, future."
"Past and present?"
If the thought of peering into your future unnerved you, the idea of her digging through your memories disturbs you more so. The future, as much as it'll belong to you, feels distant and obscure enough; but your past and present are wholly your own, a house you inhabit that you don't want turned upside down, every hidden drawer opened, their contents dumped in view of everyone, each carpet pulled to reveal what you swept away in hopes of forgetting.
"I thought you were reading my future."
"True, I could have done a spread solely for the future. But you see, they're all interconnected. To better understand the future, we must look in the past, learn from it. And the present...it's what currently concerns you, isn't it?"
What does she know of what currently concerns you?
"Ready?" she asks. You get the sense there's a different question hidden beneath. //Are you scared?//
You are. You realize in this moment, more than before, the exercise in vulnerability that this is. The fire cracks, the river warbles, yet all are silent within your circle, waiting with bated breath. You fear your quickened pulse will give away the truths you're guarding, encoded it in its wild, frantic heartbeats - if the cards don't already lay it all out in their own language of lurid imagery. You should tell Nimue you changed your mind yet your curiosity strives, no matter how much of a fight fear tries to put up - it claws onward with a determination you wish you more reliably possessed.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
$dragon_name approves of your decision. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
$dragon_name approves of your decision. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
$dragon_name approves of your decision. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<else>>
$dragon_name only feeds into your doubs that you're acting reckless. //"Careful."// You don't turn to look, but you can still feel $dragon_name's concerned gaze boring into you.
<</if>>
"I'm ready," you say, gaze still fixed on the golden eyes.
[[First card|Chapt5NervousCard1]]<<if $chapt5_tarot_tower == 1>>
A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells - yet more evidence of your doomed fate? Laying now bared before your small audience.
They'll now all know you for what you truly are, for what you wish you weren't - a monster in the making. They'll know, even though they've never heard the prophecy but oh, are the words of the prediction even neccesary when you have your mother's wrought history with the Crown, have, by all accounts, every reason to want to tear down this kingdom?
You shouldn't have accepted the reading. You should have said no, should have stopped when there was still time. Yet the allure, however dangerous, was there and irresistible, the same force that keeps your eyes riveted on the card, on the wretched image. Catastrophes are so hard to look away from even as your toes curl, even as your hair stands on end.
It's up to Nimue now to save or wreck your reputation. Would she truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 2>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of things, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed but its appearance.
You shouldn't have accepted the reading. You should have said no, should have stopped when there was still time. Yet the allure, however dangerous, was there and irresistible, the same force that keeps your eyes riveted on the card, on the wretched image. Catastrophes are so hard to look away from even as your toes curl, even as your hair stands on end.
It's up to Nimue now to save or wreck your reputation. Would she truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 3>>
As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Staring so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it, tumble along with the two other doomed figures.
But were you to be the lightning instead, setting ablaze and toppling down the tower, would you be justified in bringing about that chaos to a land that's never loved you?
You shouldn't have accepted the reading. You should have said no, should have stopped when there was still time. Yet the allure, however dangerous, was there and irresistible, the same force that keeps your eyes riveted on the card, on the wretched image. Catastrophes are so hard to look away from even as your toes curl, even as your hair stands on end.
It's up to Nimue now to save or wreck your reputation. Would she truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 4>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself. Change can be good, can be necessary. Destruction needn't be feared, either. Perhaps the tower never had a sturdy foundation, perhaps its structure benefited no one; and where its ruin stands there will be raised a new, brighter, better, prouder tower.
But the others don't know that, and it feels, suddenly, as if it were not the card that laid revealed, but yourself, your skull split open to show the shadows of thoughts that lurk within, like the flash of scales beneath dark waters.
You shouldn't have accepted the reading. You should have said no, should have stopped when there was still time. Yet the allure, however dangerous, was there and irresistible, the same force that keeps your eyes riveted on the card, on the wretched image. Catastrophes are so hard to look away from even as your toes curl, even as your hair stands on end.
It's up to Nimue now to save or wreck your reputation. Would she truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 5>>
As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom. Staring so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it. But you wouldn't be one of the tumbling, pitiful fools - you'd be the lightning itself, striking down to set ablaze and topple down the tower, dousing it in vengeful fire.
You've got nothing to be ashamed of - it's the Continent that should bow its head, hide its face in its hands - yet you wish you were not so rudely, so completely exposed. But it feels, suddenly, as if it were not the card that laid revealed, but yourself, your skull split open to show the shadows of thoughts that lurk within, like the flash of scales beneath dark waters.
You shouldn't have accepted the reading. You should have said no, should have stopped when there was still time. Yet the allure, however dangerous, was there and irresistible, the same force that keeps your eyes riveted on the card, on the wretched image. Catastrophes are so hard to look away from even as your toes curl, even as your hair stands on end.
It's up to Nimue now to save or wreck your reputation. Would she truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<</if>>
"The tower." There's a weight to the way Nimue says it. But it's not the damning, bone-breaking weight of tumbling stone, trapping you beneath its debris in a future dark and gruesome; neither is it the accusatory weight of a finger pointed your way, pinning ruin and destruction on your shoulders. No, there's a quiet reverence to her words, like speaking the name of a mighty, admirable foe.
"An interesting one," Nimue goes on, stroking along the frame of the grim image, a gesture more tender than the fate those within are facing. "It's often seen as a bad augur, as one might have inferred from Gawain's reaction-" the boy offers a sheepish apology from behind the handclamped over his shocked mouth "- associated with such things as danger, destruction, chaos. It's also a sign of change - sudden, perhaps brutally so. It can also be a sign of liberation."
"Well, what does it mean for me?"
You expect Nimue to take your hand again, close her eyes and fetch a vision from whatever unfathomable space she slips into in the process. Instead, she leans forward and intently considers your face as if something in it may reveal the sought-out answers.
It's not the cards, with their golden eyes - unblinking yet unseeing - that you need fear, you realize, but Nimue herself, with her knife-sharp gaze, cutting into you to reveal to all the anatomy of your life. There is their beating heart, pumping blood, lies and secrets through their veins! See how scarred it is, a bit hacked off here, another patched over there, molded and remolded again and again by hands both kind and cruel. Heed the song it sings, and the truths that it reveals.
"I see...you, Camelot and change inextricably linked. Somewhere in your future. Sooner rather than later." She tilts her head, seeking a new, better angle. "You'll be trying out for the Round Table once you're a knight, won't you? There you have it. A move is a rather great change - it's an uprooting, a period of uncertainty."
You have no way of knowing if that's what she truly read within that card, but it's what she's chose to say and that's all that will matter to your audience: a reasonable little explanation to ease the dread of ominous dark clouds on the horizon, telling them the wind will come and blow the clouds the other way. And so she keeps your secrets safe, and spares your reputation further injury. You wonder, were you under the cover of intimacy, would she have divested the reading of her cryptic wording? At least you could have demanded more straightforward answers. Perhaps you would have received entirely different answers. When she came upon the last card, she might have said: //Ah, ruin just as my father foretold// with no attempt at pretense.
But you have eyes on you, so you keep the charade and try to make light of the situation. "Such a scary card for such a mundane explanation." Only after talking you realize you might as well have kept your mouth shut. Doesn't this sound //more// suspicious? Yet no one jumps up to accuse you of treason or ruin.
Nimue shrugs one shoulder. "Change itself can be scary."
<<if $gareth_knows_prophecy is true>>
Your gaze darts around Nimue, straight to Gareth. Your brother's expression is as carefully composed as ever; when he meets your eye, he offers a small, reassuring smile.
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>>
Your gaze darts around Nimue, straight to Gareth. Your brother's expression is as carefully composed as ever; when he meets your eye, he offers a small, reassuring smile. Would he do the same, were he to know the truth of it all?
<</if>>
Gawain unclamps his palm from his shocked mouth and offers a smile. The kind of sheepish smile one gives after shrieking and jumping at shadows. The danger is over now, it says - the danger was never there, but the fright was real.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic" or $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a reservoir of pity and sympathy to offer even as he looked upon you as something to fear, something to defeat, but you'd hardly be able to bear it.
<<else>>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a sliver of pity he could spare on you - as one does on a rabid beast that needs to be put down.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "befriend" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "charm">>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. The propehcy would only validate what he's been told about you, what you've been helping him unlearn - could it break the fragile thing you've managed to built between you?
When he catches your eye, he looks away. Is that guilt you read in his face? Or maybe's it's remorse, or just a trick of the light, shadows of the bonfire casting his expression into something marginally more digestible than outright hate, outright disgust.
<<else>>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. You doubt the prophecy would change much about how he sees you - if anything, it should strengthen his belief, validate his suspicions.
<</if>>
On the other side of Gawain, Elaine looks confused more than anything else, face screwed up as if with enough concentration she might permutate the cards and give them a meaning she can make sense of.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//"Do you really believe Nimue?"// $dragon_name's voice is edged with doubt. //'I mean, it sounds reasonable enough, but then everything she says sounds cryptic enough to be easily accepted."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//"Do you think she's telling the truth?"// $dragon_name asks, though the question is more rhetoric than anything else. You don't have any definitive answers to give.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//"So...this isn't about the prophecy?"// $dragon_name's voice sounds wispy, a quiet thought at the back of your mind easily brushed off by bigger doubts.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//"All this cryptic theatrics for what?"// $dragon_name's miffed voice rings in your head. //"This says nothing new."//
<</if>>
Nimue has no way of hearing your friend's silent queries. She turns back towards the three upturned cards and draws one finger along each, a tender caress."Your life so far has been defined by such strong, intense emotions. You've trodden a road with pleasant surprises and heavy tolls alike." She glances up. "And that road is still unfolding before you."
The excitement over, the crowd scatters, leaving you alone by Nimue's side. $dragon_name is the only one who lingers behind, torn between wishing to stay at your side should you need them and wanting to follow Felix, whose tail is loosely curled round their leg, a small yet casually affectionate touch. You prompt them to go and enjoy the night, advice you should take yourself. Yet you don't get up, still shuffling the cards inside your head.
Thank you for playing! This is the end of the current demo, but not of chapter 5.You shrug your shoulders and say, "Why not? Seems like an entertaining way to spend the night."
"Entertaining, yes," Nimue agrees, "and most illuminating."
You'll approach this as you would any other game of cards - albeit it's a weird, simple game, where minimal involvement is needed on your part. So you just sit back and watch Nimue shuffles the cards with the ease of hands that are well accustomed to the motion, then spreads them out in a crescent. Dozens of golden eyes stare up at you, unblinking. It's the Wyllt family banner, designed by Merlin himself: an eye, rendered in black elegant brushstrokes, haloed by sharp, juttings rays, set against a purple background.
"For this," Nimue says, "I need to take your hands."
<<if $chapt5_dance == "Nimue" and $c5_dance_nimue != 2>>
Her skin is cold against yours, as it was during the dance; the coolness seeps into your own flesh this time, forming into a shiver down your back. The corner of her lips tugs up.
<<else>>
Her skin is cold, as if she's just dipped her hands in snow. It sends a shiver down your spine, which makes Nimue smile.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Does she think you nervous? "Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Your hands are so cold," you frown in concern.|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do we really need to hold hands or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?" you jest.|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 3]]</div>Why not?" You won't deny that, whatever her reason for offering, you are intrigued by the prospect of taking a peek at your future, however potentially disastruous it may be.
Nimue shuffles the cards with the ease of hands that are well accustomed to the motion, then spreads them out in a crescent. Dozens of golden eyes stare up at you, unblinking. It's the Wyllt family banner, designed by Merlin himself: an eye, rendered in black elegant brushstrokes, haloed by sharp, juttings rays, set against a purple background.
"For this," Nimue says, "I need to take your hands."
<<if $chapt5_dance == "Nimue" and $c5_dance_nimue != 2>>
Her skin is cold against yours, as it was during the dance; the coolness seeps into your own flesh this time, forming into a shiver down your back. The corner of her lips tugs up.
<<else>>
Her skin is cold, as if she's just dipped her hands in snow. It sends a shiver down your spine, which makes Nimue smile.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Does she think you nervous? "Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Your hands are so cold," you frown in concern.|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do we really need to hold hands or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?" you jest.|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 3]]</div>Curiosity battles fear and wins - the latter defeated but not banished, souring the victory.
"Alright," you say.
Nimue shuffles the cards with the ease of hands that are well accustomed to the motion, then spreads them out in a crescent. Dozens of golden eyes stare up at you, unblinking. The longer you stare back, the more you skin itches.
It's the Wyllt family banner, designed by Merlin himself: an eye, rendered in black elegant brushstrokes, haloed by sharp, juttings rays, set against a purple background.
"For this," Nimue says, "I need to take your hands."
<<if $chapt5_dance == "Nimue" and $c5_dance_nimue != 2>>
Her skin is cold against yours, as it was during the dance; the coolness seeps into your own flesh this time, forming into a shiver down your back. The corner of her lips tugs up.
<<else>>
Her skin is cold, as if she's just dipped her hands in snow. It sends a shiver down your spine, which makes Nimue smile.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You're nervous, but you try not to show it. "Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Your hands are so cold," you frown in concern.|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do we really need to hold hands or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?" you jest, trying to calm yourself.|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 3]]</div><<if $chapt5_tarot == "no">>
"No thank you. I'd rather the future keep me on my toes." And you'd rather your future not be advertised in front of so many.
"Pity," Nimue says, unaffected.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot == "no_nervous">>
You keep the nerves out of your voice as you say: "No thank you. I'd rather the future keep me on my toes." What if the cards show something unsavory or concerning, for all gathered to see?
"Pity," Nimue says, unaffected.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot == "no_mood">>
"No thank you. I'd rather the future keep me on my toes." You're in no mood to entertain Nimue.
"Pity," Nimue says, unaffected.
<</if>>
Thank you for playing! This is the end of the current demo, but not of chapter 5.<<if $chapt5_feign == 1>>
"Ah, so you do know some //tedious organizational stuff//," you brightly reply, feigning ignorance.
<<if $Elaine >= 54>>
She sticks her tongue out at you in childish retaliation that draws a chuckle out of you. "I do. I just don't care for hyacinths. Or the exact hue of the tablecloth and napkins and how they must match each other and not clash." She screws up her face and sighs, as if the thought alone would be enough to bring on a headache. "As if it may construe royal treason or whatever."
You affect a wise, serious air. "Didn't you know that? It's the highest crime you could commit. Straight to prison."
<<else>>
"I do. I just don't care for hyacinths. Or the exact hue of the tablecloth and napkins and how they must match each other and not clash." She screws up her face and sighs, as if the thought alone would be enough to bring on a headache. "As if it may construe royal treason or whatever."
You affect a wise, serious air. "Didn't you know that? It's the highest crime you could commit. Straight to prison."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_feign == 2>>
You quirk an eyebrow, tone flat as you say: "So you do know some //tedious organizational stuff//."
"Excuse me!" Elaine's affront is //mostly// feigned. "I do. I just don't care for hyacinths. Or the exact hue of the tablecloth and napkins and how they must match each other and not clash." She screws up her face and sighs, as if the thought alone would be enough to bring on a headache. "As if it may construe royal treason or whatever."
You shrug. "Maybe if someone came with something hideous enough they'll make it a crime."
<<elseif $chapt5_feign == 3>>
"Great," you curtly say. What would truly be great is getting over with this stupid tour already.
Elaine presses her lips together in an awkward smile - if the compressed, tight line can even be called that. "Not much to see here, is there?" she remarks.
<<elseif $chapt5_feign == 3>>
"Of course," you laugh good-naturedly. "Just caught up in my guide role, I suppose." If becoming a knight never works out, you have a career to turn to: showing people around Castles and making inane statements.
"You're doing great as guide," Elaine assures you.
<</if>>
Elaine wanders off ahead, casting her gaze over the Great Hall, saying: "It definitely looks very different from home..." Her words reverberating in the silent chamber.
//Home//. It catches your attention and latches around your thoughts. Once the wedding is officiated, this has become her new home. According to Lot, it already was from the moment Elaine jumped out of the carriage. The question stands, how does //she// feel about it? Her and Gareth's opinions on the matter are the ones that should have first been requested, the ones that should weigh the most. While your brother has placidly went along with everything, which you're not sure whether to take as a sign of actual consent or simple resignation, you know just as little about Elaine's own sentiments. She seems to have a concerning disinterest in the whole affair. It may be just a dislike for general planning, and not the union itself, but you've found little to indicate actual enthusiasm. Sure, she and Gareth had a pleasant talk last night; but they've talked before, too.
With no curious ears (other than your own) and no prying eyes around, it's the perfect time to discuss with Elaine.
<<if $chapt5_ask_family_check != true>><div class="choice">[["What do you think of my family?" Inquire her opinions on Gareth, Morgana and Lot. Approach this tactfully.|Chapt5ElaineAskFamily][$chapt5_ask_family to 1, $chapt5_ask_family_check to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt5_ask_family_check != true>><div class="choice">[["What do you think of my family?" Inquire her opinions on Gareth, Morgana and Lot. Approach this bluntly.|Chapt5ElaineAskFamily][$chapt5_ask_family to 2, $chapt5_ask_family_check to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt5_ask_engagement_check != true>><div class="choice">[["Your thoughts on the engagement?" you ask. "I reckon it was settled very quickly."|Chapt5ElaineAskEngagement][$chapt5_ask_engagement_check to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Move on.|Chapt5ElaineAskContinue][$chapt5_ask_family to 4]]</div>As the food dwindles and conversation picks up between the nobles and the priests, you drift away from the table - having had your fill of desert and tea - to go play with the cats. Isolde has swept up again the calico one, arms overspilling with its fluffy fur. She coos at the cat as she gently sways and caresses her head, as if holding a babe. Unlike a babe, the cat purrs contentedly in return, a sound that's sure to soothe one's nerves.
As you drop to your haunches to lavish attention onto the gray tabby - who's plead a very vocal and high-pitched case of why you should renounce all other plans and pet her, which you gladly did - you spy Morgana and Gareth stealing off into the orchard. It would seem the two may be finally talking things out; perhaps Morgana decided it was for the best, or maybe Gareth had correctly guessed her attempts at scheming and hoped to cut those short. Whatever's the case, they're off to discuss something they don't want curious ears to hear.
You peek behind your shoulder at Lot, who looks oblivious to their absence. He couldn't care less for your mother's presence, though you highly doubt that seeing Gareth around her ignites anything else but jaundiced uneasiness. He's guarding this engagement as viciously and obsessively as an angry dog, ready to bark or flash his teeth at any threat. You wonder if he'd even bite, if push came to shove.
"Oh, you're lion-hearted, aren't you?" Elaine laughs as the kitten hops around the grass stalk she's swinging on the ground for it, attacking with lightning-quick whacks that would look more intimidating had it not had such tiny, fuzzy paws.
Elaine has sat down cross-legged on a patch of grass where the yard gives way to the orchard, munching away at a corner of pastry. She finishes it in one big gulp and licks the crumbs clean of her fingers. Then, with a furtive glance behind her shoulder, sweeps her palm on her thigh. Raphael is too busy holding court with the priests and adepts to witness her trangression.
Pushing herself to her feet, she decides to make play more interesting for the little kitten. She drags the stalk in larger circles, urging the little critter to follow its every motion.
While Elaine is busy entertaining the kitten, Isolde sidles up to you. She gingerly lowers herself down, mindful of her gauzy, sky-blue gown, and levels you with a mild smile. In her arms, the calico cat keeps on drowsily purring.
"Each to their own cat, hm?"
"So it seems." You've given up on crouching once your legs started protesting and sat down on the tiles; they seep cool into your skin even through the fabric of your clothes. The tabby has taken advantage of the opportunity to curl up in your lap and purr up a storm.
"I see you're fond of cats as well," Isolde remarks, intent on chatting you up.
You shrug and scratch the tabby underneath its chin. It stretches languidly and rumbles on even louder. "It's quite obvious, isn't it?"
"They're such adorable creatures," she says, turning a fond gaze upon the calico. She places a quick kiss on its forehead, as if unable to resist its cuteness, before looking back at you. Her smile has not faltered, but there's a curious gleam in her eyes. Like she's seizing you up behind the pleasant, poised mask of her face. "I apologize if I'm being too forward, Mordred, but I wanted to ask your opinion on something. Or rather, someone." Her gaze drifts away, and you follow her line of sight all the way to Elaine. She's wondered into the orchard, playing with the kitten, oblivious to your attention.
"What do you make of Elaine?"
"I believe the question is far better suited adressed to my brother," you smoothly divert.
She shrugs lightly as to not disturb the cat in her arms, while said cat looks like nothing could perturb her. "Well I've already asked your brother, and I think it's fair to ask that of you, too. So if you will."
<div class="choice">[["She's fun," you say. "Someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends."|Chapt5IsoldeElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 1, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's fun," you say. "Someone I'd like to know better. I could see us being friends." You'd love to see the two of you being more, though. ❤|Chapt5IsoldeElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 2, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, she's fun," you say, growing flustered. "I could see us being friends." You'd love to see the two of you being more, though. ❤|Chapt5IsoldeElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 3, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["She's fun," you say with a smile. "I can see us becoming friends." 💕|Chapt5IsoldeElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 6, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["She seems like a lovely person," you tactfully say.|Chapt5IsoldeElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's a lovely person," you say, if only to accrue favor with the siblings. "I could see us becoming friends."|Chapt5IsoldeElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's fine, I guess," you say. Not the most tactful answer.|Chapt5IsoldeElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 9]]</div>Gareth has indeed found the kitties, and Isolde already has her arms full of the fluffiest of them, a fuzzy ball of contentment that's melting against her as she scratches under its ears. You can hear the purring the closer you get, loud and clear, rumbling on happily. Elaine, on the other hand, has dropped to her haunches, energetically swinging a plucked grass stalk against the ground. The little kitten - not more than six months now, brought on by one of the priests who found it abandoned - watches the motion hypnotized and poised to pounce.
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Gareth himself is stroking a particularly garrulous and aggressively affectionate tabby that yells if he briefly retracts his hand. He doesn't seem too eager to retract it, anyway.
Gareth looks up with a wry smile. "Couldn't stay away from the cats, could you?"
"Never."
The tabby has taken note of your presence, too. It blinks up at you as it continues to industriously knead the ground. Then, with a high-pitched meow, it forsakes your brother in favor of you, headbutting your calf in demand for pets. You lavish them upon it with enthusiasm.
Gareth chuckles. "Cats can't stay away from you, either."
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Gareth himself is stroking a particularly garrulous and aggressively affectionate tabby that yells if he briefly retracts his hand. He doesn't seem too eager to retract it, anyway.
Gareth glances up at you. "No one can stay away from the cats, huh?" he remarks.
The tabby has taken note of your presence, too. It blinks up at you as it industriously kneads the ground. Then, with a high-pitched meow, it forsakes your brother in favor of you, headbutting your calf in demand for pets. You lavish them upon it with enthusiasm.
Gareth just smiles and shakes his head, resigned.
<<else>>
Gareth himself is stroking a particularly garrulous and aggressively affectionate tabby that yells if he briefly retracts his hand. He doesn't seem too eager to retract it, anyway. He's not so eager to acknowledge you either.
Gareth offers but a cursory glance in your direction as you join their group.
The tabby has taken note of your presence, too, with far more interest. It blinks up at you as it industriously kneads the ground. Then, with a high-pitched meow, it forsakes your brother in favor of you, headbutting your calf in demand for pets. You lavish them upon it with enthusiasm.
Gareth gives a small sigh of dismay.
<</if>>
Your visit unfolds uneventfully, and rather pleasantly, once the lingering tension of Morgana's diatribe dispels. You munch on fluffy pastries, drizzled with honey and walnut, and round, fried pastries drenched in blueberry jam and sour cream, the two commingling to achieve a sweet, tart flavor. To go well with the cider, you have pretzels, salty and crunchy and chewy, which Elaine chomps on with relish.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
[[Next|Chapt5TempleGarethDiscussion]]
<<elseif $morgana_closeness != "distant">>
[[Next|Chapt5TempleMorganaDiscussion]]
<<else>>
[[Next|Chapt5TempleAllDiscussion]]
<</if>>Beatrice Beauregard steps forward, the patter of her dainty shoes on the tiles barely audible over the rushing of water. "We have a Temple of the Lady of the Lake too, built on the same river as our Castle is built upon, though it is some way from the grounds."
Gareth's face lights up with keen interest. "There was quite the scandal leading up to its construction, as I remember reading."
Lot cuts his gaze to him, eyes narrowed in sudden alarm. He stands still, like a hunting dog catching whiff of prey, taut with tension and anticipation.
If there's any offense to be derived from Gareth's remark, the Beauregards do not pick up on it. Elaine tilts her head, confused more than anything else. "Was there?" she asks.
"Yes," Gareth says. "Your grandparents considered it disrespectful towards the Bountiful One, fearing it might insult them, thus leading to some form of punishment." There was reason to be wary, especially in such unprecedented circumstances. There's never been an overlap of faerie worship on the map, and while the Bountiful One hasn't been known to go out of their way to reward or punish, people's apprehension has been sharpened by the famous, if rare, accounts of The Trickster playing, well, tricks on the unaware, the foolish, and the reckless. A powerful fae should not be trifled with, is a common sense agreement across the land.
Gareth goes on explaining, "Igraine had to bargain and push and alleviate their worries till they finally relented." He pauses. Then he adds, seemingly innocuous words rendered meaningful by the momentary silence: "At Lord Merlin's intervention, too."
"Oh," Elaine blinks, brows furrowing as if trying to find if she could have dredged up that information from some forgotten crevice of her mind. "I didn't know," she finally says, coming up empty.
"Look at that," The Duke of Astolat beams. "Your future husband has done his lessons."
Elaine's only answer is a small, thin, awkward smile.
"Gareth has extensively read up on his grandmother's deeds," Morgana smoothly supplies. "Bringing the Temple of the Lady of the Lake onto the Continent was one of her greatest achievements as Queen of Camelot. I'm sorry," Morgana corrects herself then, nothing in her tone or smile indicating sheepishness, "as //consort// of Uther, since that's the only title he deigned to give her, though it'd be more accurate to call her his prisoner of war."
The river gurgles on, drowning out the settling, pregnant silence. Though //settle// has too kind an affect to properly describe the scene - the quiet falls unceremoniously, like a boulder sinking to the bottom of the sea.
"But that's all water under the bridge, isn't it?" Morgana asks airily - a deceitful lightness, like the diamantine glimmer over a lake of fathomless, treacherous depths.
The smiles of the Duke and Duchess have been wiped off completely, replaced by a deep sorrow. Lot must be stewing in his mounting rage, but the only sign of displeasure displayed is the stoic hardness that renders the creases of his careworn face more severe. Is there any space left for the slightest form of guilt or shame within him - even a feeble simulacrum, a sliver of a shadow? If there is, there's no light to throw it into relief.
Raphael Beauregard approaches Morgana like a cornered wild animal, afraid she might flee or lash out at any sudden movement. He folds both hands over his chest, as if tending to a bleeding heart, which his pained expression would also suggest. "I know these words can't fix anything, but I wish to offer you my most candid sympathies for you and your family, and all the hardship Lady Igraine had been made to endure. Those were harsh times for the land, but harsher yet for her. I've never had the honor of meeting her highness, but my mother always spoke highly of Lady Igraine."
Morgana is not one to be appeased by such sappy, heartfelt declarations. "Then why did your mother not stand with Igraine against Uther?" she demands instead.
<div class="choice">[[You stay out of it, watching warily as chaos unfolds. Was this really the moment for this?|Chapt5MorganaTempleTirade][$chapt5_tirade to 1, $defiant to $defiant-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You stay out of it, yet are curious to hear Raphael's response and arguments.|Chapt5MorganaTempleTirade][$chapt5_tirade to 2, $defiant to $defiant-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You calmly intervene to stop Morgana before this tirade goes on.|Chapt5MorganaTempleTirade][$chapt5_tirade to 3, $defiant to $defiant+1, $calm to $calm+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You calmly intervene to strengthen Morgana's voice.|Chapt5MorganaTempleTirade][$chapt5_tirade to 4, $defiant to $defiant+1, $calm to $calm+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You forcefully intervene to stop Morgana before this tirade goes on.|Chapt5MorganaTempleTirade][$chapt5_tirade to 5, $defiant to $defiant+1, $calm to $calm-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You forcefully intervene to strengthen Morgana's voice.|Chapt5MorganaTempleTirade][$chapt5_tirade to 6, $defiant to $defiant+1, $calm to $calm-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You nervously intervene to stop Morgana before this tirade goes on.|Chapt5MorganaTempleTirade][$chapt5_tirade to 7, $defiant to $defiant+1, $calm to $calm+1]]</div><<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
Your growing fondness for Elaine finds itself in a precarious balance with your overbearing guilt. The second increases along with the other, attaching itself to those pleasant emotions with shameful, venomous teeth. You and Gareth may not be close, but it's not right to him, if you were to make your feelings known to Elaine. Sometimes, you wonder if that would aid - if she were to thoroughly turn you down, it'd doubtlessly sting, but it'd settle matters. But there's no guarantee she'd do that. A part of you kept help but hope, despite how inadvisable it is, that all those lingering looks and beaming smiles mean Elaine does feel the same.
You are such a fool.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "ok">>
So what if she's to marry Gareth? It's not an engagement they chose for themselves, and while some at court may construe playing along - when there really is little choice otherwise - as assent, you don't quite see it that way. It's not even a marriage built on grounds of love. It's all politics and alliances and duty. Moving pawns across a board. You cannot have an expection of love and loyalty within such an arragement. Elaine should be free to do as she pleases, and if that involves lavishing her affection on you, it would please you very much indeed.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
As much as the court may insist, you don't really think Gareth and Elaine owe themselves love and loyalty given the...forceful, rapid manner of how the engagement came to be. Sure, they assented to it, though it's questionable exactly in what capacity. You're gladly indulge in your growing fondness for Elaine, but the possibility of her truly reciprocating gives you pause. What happens then? Say the marriage goes through; if you wanted to pursue anything together, it'd have to be under the shelter of secrecy. If you were to be found out, well, you've seen how people have treated Morgana and Accolon. Though perhaps Elaine would be spared by virtue of her family - you, however? You'd be made into a villan, more than you already are. The thought leaves a taste of bile in your mouth.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "talk">>
The buds of fondness have already bloomed and unfurled, and if they continue to grow, bigger and stronger - and if Elaine reciprocates - then you'll simply have to talk it out with Gareth. He may not be happy with the revelation, and you might not find the resolution you want, but it's only fair. He deserves to know. But until then, there's nothing wrong with the feelings you harbor close to your chest for Elaine.
<</if>>
Before you can continue your conversation with Isolde, you're halted by a piteous, plaintive yowl sounding from ahead and...above? You both scramble to your feet and raise your gazes to the foliage, guided by more urgent, shrill meows till you finally locate the little kitten, hanging on by a branch and looking utterly terrified.
"Oh, poor baby," Isolde cries out.
Without skipping a beat, you steel yourself and step forward. You're beaten to the rescue by a determined "I'm coming for you!" followed by the rustle of leaves. Elaine clambers up the apple tree with the ease and speed of one who's done this countlessly. She scoops up the scared kitten and cradles it to her chest, then starts shimmying her way down, far more carefully this time.
A priest is quick to care for the kitten once she's made her way to the ground, murmuring something about getting them inside and giving them treats.
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. ❤|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 2, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+2, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["What a daring rescue," you remark to Elaine. 💕|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 3, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1, $Elaine_ro to $Elaine_ro+2]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Well, it's good to see the kitten rescued.|Chapt5TempleElaineRescue][$chapt5_rescue to 4]]</div><<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
Your growing fondness for Elaine finds itself in a precarious balance with your overbearing guilt. The second increases along with the other, attaching itself to those pleasant emotions with shameful, venomous teeth. You and Gareth may not be close, but it's not right to him, if you were to make your feelings known to Elaine. Sometimes, you wonder if that would aid - if she were to thoroughly turn you down, it'd doubtlessly sting, but it'd settle matters. But there's no guarantee she'd do that. A part of you kept help but hope, despite how inadvisable it is, that all those lingering looks and beaming smiles mean Elaine does feel the same.
You are such a fool.
"My fondness for her couldn't be more misplaced," you lament, to which your mother offers a commiserating smile.
"Oh darling, it's not that gloomy. Sure, I'd suggest you practice caution at court, but you should also talk it out with your brother. I don't think he'd quite mind." She doesn't elaborate on the subject, though.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "ok">>
So what if she's to marry Gareth? It's not an engagement they chose for themselves, and while some at court may construe playing along - when there really is little choice otherwise - as assent, you don't quite see it that way. It's not even a marriage built on grounds of love. It's all politics and alliances and duty. Moving pawns across a board. You cannot have an expection of love and loyalty within such an arragement. Elaine should be free to do as she pleases, and if that involves lavishing her affection on you, it would please you very much indeed.
"Aren't you going to dissuade me from my infatuation?" you ask your mother, a devious smile pulling at your lips. You have no intention of being dissuaded, though. You're enjoying yourself enormously, after all.
"I won't," she says, "though if you and Elaine do amount to something, I'd advice you practice caution at court, and encourage you to talk it out with your brother." She hesitates, then goes on with an enigmatic smile. "I don't think he'd mind that much." She doesn't elaborate on the subject, though.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
As much as the court may insist, you don't really think Gareth and Elaine owe themselves love and loyalty given the...forceful, rapid manner of how the engagement came to be. Sure, they assented to it, though it's questionable exactly in what capacity. You're gladly indulge in your growing fondness for Elaine, but the possibility of her truly reciprocating gives you pause. What happens then? Say the marriage goes through; if you wanted to pursue anything together, it'd have to be under the shelter of secrecy. If you were to be found out, well, you've seen how people have treated Morgana and Accolon. Though perhaps Elaine would be spared by virtue of her family - you, however? You'd be made into a villan, more than you already are. The thought leaves a taste of bile in your mouth.
You swallow heavily and say: "It'd be best to keep my feelings to myself. Given how...the court would react."
A devious smile curls Morgana's lips. "Only if they found out. Though caution is advised," she adds, more seriously, "and I'd also encourage talking it out with your brother. I think you'll find he won't mind." She doesn't elaborate on the subject, though.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "talk">>
The buds of fondness have already bloomed and unfurled, and if they continue to grow, bigger and stronger - and if Elaine reciprocates - then you'll simply have to talk it out with Gareth. He may not be happy with the revelation, and you might not find the resolution you want, but it's only fair. He deserves to know. But until then, there's nothing wrong with the feelings you harbor close to your chest for Elaine.
"I suppose I'll just talk with Gareth, if Elaine and I really do amount to anything," you say, shrugging.
"Good," Morgana nods. "I think you'll find he won't mind." She doesn't elaborate on the subject, though.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt5MorganaTempleReturn]]<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
Your growing fondness for Elaine finds itself in a precarious balance with your overbearing guilt. The second increases along with the other, attaching itself to those pleasant emotions with shameful, venomous teeth. You and Gareth may not be close, but it's not right to him, if you were to make your feelings known to Elaine. Sometimes, you wonder if that would aid - if she were to thoroughly turn you down, it'd doubtlessly sting, but it'd settle matters. But there's no guarantee she'd do that. A part of you kept help but hope, despite how inadvisable it is, that all those lingering looks and beaming smiles mean Elaine does feel the same.
You are such a fool.
"My fondness for her couldn't be more misplaced," you lament. "I feel so guilty, but I really do like her."
Gareth sighs. "That is exactly the sort of thing I wanted to avoid."
"I know what you're going to say," you rush to clarify, "I understand that //you// don't mind, and whether Elaine returns my feelings or not, I'd still put the both of you in a difficult situation if I told her how I feel...or if the court caught on."
"I know...we'll figure it out. I promise." His smile is so self-assured, yet you can't help but question if it's only the veneer of confidence. "You're welcome to talk more with Elaine on the matter of the engagement, if you'd like," Gareth says. "Perhaps we could gather a better understanding of her thoughts on this."
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "ok">>
So what if she's to marry Gareth? It's not an engagement they chose for themselves, and while some at court may construe playing along - when there really is little choice otherwise - as assent, you don't quite see it that way. It's not even a marriage built on grounds of love. It's all politics and alliances and duty. Moving pawns across a board. You cannot have an expection of love and loyalty within such an arragement. Elaine should be free to do as she pleases, and if that involves lavishing her affection on you, it would please you very much indeed. Gareth himself thinks so, after all.
"You're welcome to talk more with Elaine on the matter of the engagement, if you'd like," Gareth says. "Perhaps we could gather a better understanding of her thoughts on this."
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
As much as the court may insist, you don't really think Gareth and Elaine owe themselves love and loyalty given the...forceful, rapid manner of how the engagement came to be. Sure, they assented to it, though it's questionable exactly in what capacity. You're gladly indulge in your growing fondness for Elaine, but the possibility of her truly reciprocating gives you pause. What happens then? Say the marriage goes through; if you wanted to pursue anything together, it'd have to be under the shelter of secrecy. If you were to be found out, well, you've seen how people have treated Morgana and Accolon. Though perhaps Elaine would be spared by virtue of her family - you, however? You'd be made into a villan, more than you already are. The thought leaves a taste of bile in your mouth.
You swallow heavily and say: "It'd be best to keep my feelings to myself. Given how...the court would react."
Gareth sighs. "That is exactly the sort of thing I wanted to avoid."
You just press your lips in a taut line; there's nothing for you to add. You can both see the dreary vision of it, luridly clear.
"We'll...figure it out," he says, giving you a self-assured smile. But it's merely a veneer of confidence. "You're welcome to talk more with Elaine on the matter of the engagement, if you'd like," Gareth says. "Perhaps we could gather a better understanding of her thoughts on this."
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt5GarethTempleReturn]]<<if $chapt5_rescue == 1>>
"What a daring rescue," you remark as Elaine dusts herself off.
She just snorts. "It's not even that big of a tree," she says, shaking her fingers through her loose hair to throw off any wayward leaves. "That oak tree on your castle grounds, though? Now that looks like a challenge I'd like to conquer."
Oh, you like her thinking.
For the rest of your visit, she sticks close to your side, making conversation, cracking jokes and inquiring about the Lady of the Lake since you're //a Le Fay and all that//.
<<elseif $chapt5_rescue == 2>>
"What a daring rescue," you remark as Elaine dusts herself off.
As if you needed more reasons to like her - now she goes on saving kittens, which is a sure way of endearing herself to you. And she went so nimbly and effortlessly about it, too. You're growing more and more curious how she might hold herself in a sword-fight against you. There's so much you could learn by that alone, and you'd take any excuse to spend time with her. The more she reveals, the more you crave to know of her.
She just snorts. "It's not even that big of a tree," she says, shaking her fingers through her loose hair to throw off any wayward leaves. "That oak tree on your castle grounds, though? Now that looks like a challenge I'd like to conquer." Oh, you like her thinking.
Despite Elaine's best efforts, a leaf still clings on stubbornly to her hair, its green standing out against the light gold of her hair. Before you can think it through, you step forward and pluck it off.
"Just a stray leaf," you say as you toss it away and meet Elaine's gaze. Sunlight has burnished her eyes to a darker and lusher brown; an earthen shade that puts you in mind of woods and nature and adventure. You think that fits her just perfectly.
"Thanks," Elaine says and you blink, reeling yourself back in.
<<if $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "guilty">>
You step back with a quick nod and smile, but something in your expression has caught her eye. She scrutinizes it as one would their blade for any nicks or chips. Her appraisal is keen, but not critical. A part of you wishes to surrender to it, yearns to let yourself be drunk in by such curious eyes and look back in return - yet you fear that if you peer too closely, you'll find none of your interest reflected. It'd be for the best, you tell yourself as guilt blazes through you, hot-red. It'd spare both of you so much trouble. This situation is one simmering kettle waiting to boil over.
<<elseif $chapt5_feelings_engagement == "dangerous">>
You step back with a quick nod and smile, but something in your expression has caught her eye. She scrutinizes it as one would their blade for any nicks or chips. Her appraisal is keen, but not critical. A part of you wishes to surrender to it, yearns to let yourself be drunk in by such curious eyes and look back in return - yet you fear that if you peer too closely, you'll find none of your interest reflected. It'd sting, but it should relieve you, too. This situation is one simmering kettle waiting to boil over. If the court caught on to your feelings, you'd be sure to get burnt.
<<else>>
You step back with a quick nod and smile, but something in your expression has caught her eye. She scrutinizes it as one would their blade for any nicks or chips. Her appraisal is keen, but not critical. A part of you wishes to surrender to it, yearns to let yourself be drunk in by such curious eyes and look back in return - yet you fear that if you peer too closely, you'll find none of your interest reflected. But if you did - then what? This situation is one simmering kettle waiting to boil over.
<</if>>
For the rest of your visit, she sticks close to your side, making conversation, cracking jokes and inquiring about the Lady of the Lake, since you're //a Le Fay and all that//.
<<elseif $chapt5_rescue == 3>>
"What a daring rescue," you remark as Elaine dusts herself off.
She just snorts. "It's not even that big of a tree," she says, shaking her fingers through her loose hair to throw off any wayward leaves. "That oak tree on your castle grounds, though? Now that looks like a challenge I'd like to conquer."
Despite Elaine's best efforts, a leaf still clings on stubbornly to her hair, its dark green standing out against the light gold of her hair. Before you can think it through, you step forward and pluck it off.
"Just a stray leaf," you say as you toss it away and meet Elaine's gaze. Sunlight has burnished her eyes to a darker and lusher brown; an earthen shade that puts you in mind of woods and nature and adventure. You think that fits her just perfectly.
"Thanks," Elaine says and you blink, reeling yourself back in.
You step back with a quick nod and smile, but something in your expression has caught her eye; she scrutinizes it as one would their blade for any nicks or chips. Her appraisal is keen, but not critical. It sends a wave of prickling down your spine, strangely pleasant.
For the rest of your visit, she sticks close to your side, making conversation, cracking jokes and inquiring about the Lady of the Lake, since you're //a Le Fay and all that//.
<<elseif $chapt5_rescue == 4>>
The kitten was rescued, and it's currently being carried away to safety and treats; had Elaine not gotten to it first, you would have climbed up the tree yourself.
You end up sticking close by Gareth, Elaine and Isolde throughout the rest of your visit, sipping on more cider as you listen to Elaine cracking jokes and making inquiries about the Lady of the Lake, since your brother seems to //know so much about that stuff//, in his betrothed's words.
<</if>>
As you've come to learn ever since the Beauregards' arrival, Elaine truly seems to let loose once the adults' stifling attention turns away and she gets to peel away that feeble veneer of court decorum. She starts recounting her own experience with fae and faith which is, by her own admission, rather restricted.
"I may not be devout," Elaine says, "or know a lot about magic, but I've often ended up in our resident healer's office." She makes a sweeping gesture at herself. "Scraps and cuts and bruises and all that. And-" she slaps her palm over the flat expense of her chest with a grin, "getting rid of unwanted features. It went so smoothly! I was back to flying about with Felix in no time." Her gaze flits up to the clear sky above, as if wishing she could be doing the same right now.
<<if $Elaine >= 58>>
She might get her chance soon, as you're shortly seen back to your carriages by the Temple priests, to return to the Castle in time for lunch - though it's doubtful that you or Elaine have any space left after stuffing yourself with pretzels and pastries. You're waiting to climb last in the wheeled contraption, none too eager to be yet again trapped inside the crammed quarters with Lot and his glum visage, when Elaine grabs your elbow and flashes you a grin.
<<if $chapt5_race is true>>
"Felix and I will be going for a flight," she says. "I thought you and $dragon_name might want to join us. Maybe we could give you a rematch for that race?" she wiggles her eyebrows teasingly at you, then dashes off without hearing your response when called by Beatrice.
<<else>>
"Felix and I will be going for a flight," she says. "I thought you and $dragon_name might want to join us. Maybe we could race this time?" she wiggles her eyebrows teasingly at you, then dashes off without hearing your response when called by Beatrice.
<</if>>
At least the promise of a good flight comforts you as you huddle in your corner of the carriage.
<<else>>
She might get her chance soon, as you're shortly seen back to your carriages by the Temple priests to return to the Castle in time for lunch - though it's doubtful that you or Elaine have any space left after stuffing yourself with pretzels and pastries. You're waiting to climb last in the wheeled contraption, none too eager to be yet again trapped inside the crammed quarters with Lot and his glum visage. At least you have a window of time until your lessons to pay $dragon_name a visit and catch $dragon_him up to speed on the undergoings of this morning. It's a thought that comforts you as you huddle in your corner of the carriage.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt5TrainingSession]]As the food dwindles and conversation picks up between the nobles and the priests, Gareth drifts to your side with a curious smile. "Walk with me through the orchard?" he says.
You slip away mostly unnoticed. Lot is far too entranced by Raphael and Beatrice, who are happily holding court; Isolde and Elaine have their attention roundly arrested by the kitties, fluffing, cooing and playing in turn with all three. Morgana, however, notes your departure with a flick of her gaze in your direction.
In terms of size the orchard is modest, bending to follow the high walls of the Temple, but does not lack for prosperity or beauty. This time of the year, the apple trees are heavy with fruit. You reach up and pluck one, ripe and red, to hand to Gareth, then a second one for yourself.
Gareth cleans the apple on his sleeve, watching with a bemused smile as you chomp down on yours. "You know, the Priests put out quite the generous table. I'm in awe that you can still find room to eat."
You shrug, licking your lips. "Being a squire is hungry work."
"Couldn't fathom doing it myself, honestly." He bites on his own apple, and you both munch in silence. Then: "Great family outing, isn't it?"
You scoff, then choke. As you splutter and hack and wheeze, Gareth pats your back comfortingly.
"Best not to talk about it, then," he says. "There's something else I wanted to tell you, though."
You wipe tears from the corner of your eyes. "Oh?"
He casts a wary glance back to the riverbank, then guides you further away from the altar, into the thicket of trees.
"I talked with mother."
You bring the apple away from your mouth, lest he says something that'll make you choke again.
"We resolved that she won't be scheming - even if it's for //my own good// - unless we're doing it together."
"Lovely," you say.
Gareth cracks a lopsided smile. "It's nothing insidious, of course. I simply asked her to speak to the Beauregards, without insulting them preferably, though they seem impossible to rile up, so far." He takes a pensive bite of his apple. "Perhaps arguing may reveal never-before seen facets?" He shakes his head. "Most of all, I told her to speak with Elaine as well. To get her own...reading of her, I suppose."
"Did //you// speak with her?"
He nods. "Yes. Privately."
"And?" you prompt, munching far too enthusiastically on our apple.
Gareth slows down till he stops altogether, leaning against a tree trunk. "She was relieved once I explained myself and what I want from our marriage. But...Well, when I said I'd break off the engagement whenever at her word, she scoffed and said 'They'll just marry me off to someone else.' Then mumbled that 'a convent would be better', or something to that effect. Does that sound like someone willingly agreeing to this marriage, Mordred?"
<div class="choice">[["The most enthusiastic of answers, actually," you quip.|Chapt5TempleGarethQuip][$chapt5_sarcasm to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"This is worrying, Gareth.\""|Chapt5TempleGarethQuip][$chapt5_sarcasm to 2]]</div><<if $chapt5_sarcasm == 1>>
You dramatically raise your half-eaten apple to the skies and declare, "The most enthusiastic of answers, actually."
It draws a quick smile out of Gareth.
<<else>>
Your mouth purses. "This is worrying, Gareth."
"Hmm," he hums.
<</if>>
You lean against a nearby tree, folding one hand behind you. Seizing your brother up with a serious look. "Do you want to break it off, then?"
"No," he firmly says. "Not without her agreement. Unlike her family, I'll actually respect her decision."
<div class="choice">[["The Beauregards seemed lovely, though" you say.|Chapt5TempleGarethQuip1][$chapt5_nice to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Typical nobles," you huff.|Chapt5TempleGarethQuip1][$chapt5_nice to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe they've never...actually talked this out?" you venture.|Chapt5TempleGarethQuip1][$chapt5_nice to 3]]</div><<if $chapt5_nice == 1>>
You frown down at your apple. "The Beauregards seemed lovely, though."
"They do seem lovely," Gareth agrees. "I...don't want to presume too much. I only know what Elaine lets off, mostly accidently. There may be much we don't know about the situation. Raphael and Beatrice do believe, to a fault, that arranged marriages work perfectly well, and so must expect Elaine to do the same as everyone else in the family. And perhaps Elaine feels she has no other choice."
<<elseif $chapt5_nice == 2>>
You huff, pushing your tongue against a particuarly annoying piece of apple lodged in your teeth. "Typical nobles."
"It is very typical of us," Gareth drily agrees. "I...don't want to presume too much. I only know what Elaine lets off, mostly accidently. There may be much we don't know about the situation. Raphael and Beatrice do believe, to a fault, that arranged marriages work perfectly well, and so must expect Elaine to do the same as everyone else in the family. And perhaps Elaine feels she has no other choice."
<<elseif $chapt5_nice == 3>>
You twirl your apple thoughtfully. "Maybe they've just never...actually talked it out? Maybe everyone has accepted is as the expectation?"
"It is possible," Gareth agrees. "I...don't want to presume too much. I only know what Elaine lets off, mostly accidently. There may be much we don't know about the situation. Raphael and Beatrice do believe, to a fault, that arranged marriages work perfectly well, and so must expect Elaine to do the same as everyone else in the family. And perhaps Elaine feels she has no other choice."
<</if>>
"Anyway," Gareth pushes himself off the tree, setting off through the orchard again. "Perhaps she truly finds the arrangement I offer preferable. And I do think we could be friends," he says, brighter now.
"You do seem to get along well enough."
You walk for a bit in silence, finishing your apples. You lick your fingers clean of the sweet, sticky juice, while Gareth absent-mindedly wipes his hands on a handkerchief embroidered with the Leudonus family name.
"Things are...settled then?" you say, breaking the quiet.
"In a way, you could say that. For the moment, at least, the wedding is afoot." A mischievous smile pulls at his lips. "And if it doesn't work out, I'll be the first to support our divorce."
You can't help but laugh at this bold assertion. "You really want to take the kingdom by storm, don't you?"
Gareth chuckles, but there's an earnest gleam in his eyes as he says, "Making history does sound appealing."
Rustling nearby arrests your attention: a little blackbird hopping on the ground, carrying something in its strikingly yellow beak. As it takes off into the foliage, Gareth turns to you with a small, sheepish smile: "I have yet to ask your feelings on Elaine. Not just in relation to the engagement."
<div class="choice">[["She's fun," you say. "Someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends."|Chapt5GarethElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 1, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's fun," you say. "Someone I'd like to know better. I could see us being friends." You'd love to see the two of you being more, though. ❤|Chapt5GarethElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 2, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, she's fun," you say, growing flustered. "I could see us being friends." You'd love to see the two of you being more, though. ❤|Chapt5GarethElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 3, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like her," you say, lips hitching up in a meaningful smile. "I admire her...quite a lot." ❤|Chapt5GarethElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 4, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like her," you say, lips hitching up in a timid smile. "I admire her. A lot." ❤|Chapt5GarethElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 5, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["She's fun," you say with a smile. "I can see us becoming friends." 💕|Chapt5GarethElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 6, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["She's fine," you say. "I don't feel strongly about her, one way or another."|Chapt5GarethElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not really fond of her," you admit.|Chapt5GarethElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 8]]</div><<if $chapt5_temple_morgana == 1>>
You puff a peeved little huff as you replay Raphael's paltry, pitiful defense. "They can't so much as admit that they were wrong, can they?" you drily remark. "It's the least they could do."
Morgana scoffs, lips twisting in a mirthless smile. "And he dares offer me sympathy too. What am I to do with it?"
"Accept it and shut up, I expect. Sweep it under the rug and never mention it again."
She shakes her head and closes her fingers around her serpent pendant, always hanging around her neck. You've learned it's a self-soothing gesture for her, even when she squeezes till the figure etches faint grooves into her palm. Then she rolls back her shoulders, thrusts her chin forward and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 2>>
"I don't think it's good for you to keep picking at old wounds like that," you say, measuring her pained and resentful expression. "And I don't think it's fair to the Beauregards who weren't even a part of the war."
Her gaze snaps to you. "Raphael could at least admit it," she says, voice low yet heated. "Admit that his mother might have helped, but ultimately chose to be a coward, just like the others."
You shake your head, as if the vehement motion might dispel all this growing tension. It sits, ill-defined and writhing at the pit of your stomach, gnawing at your insides to make space for that muddy, dark bundle of emotions. "It's not about that, mother. Look at you," you say, beseechingly. "You're hurting, and this is not helping you."
Morgana takes in a deep breath but instead of launching herself into another diatribe, expels it through her nose in one harsh exhale. "I am hurting," she slowly says, "because there were no repearations made, and no justice dealt." She meets your eye meaningfully. "But there will be. I'll see to it."
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
She runs a hand through her long, $hair hair, gingerly combing it despite having not a strand out of place, and turns around. She pins a smile to her face, held up like a shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
She gingerly fluffs out her hair, despite not a curl being out of place, and turns around. She pins a smile to her face, held up like a shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<else>>
She runs her fingers along one of the braids artfully framing her face, the touch whisper-like, then pensively checks if the others gathered in an elegant updo are still in place; there's not a braid loose. Satisfied, she turns around, a smile pinned to her face, held up like a shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 3>>
"I know you're mad," you say, "but maybe it's better not to antagonize the Beauregards right now, right here? It won't lead to reperations, just scandal." Ill-defined tension still skims over your skin like electricity. What good is it to make more enemies, if all you get out of it is rage and one very awkward outing?
Morgana scoffs, but doesn't quite protest. She keeps her brooding gaze fixed on the water, its shallows clear enough for you to see the tiles give way to polished rocks; further yet, the river is as unfathomable as your mother's expression. Her fingers close around the serpent pendant always hanging around her neck. You've learned it's a self-soothing gesture for her, even when she squeezes till the figure etches faint grooves into her palm.
"You're right," she carefully says. "Lashing out won't be enough." Having said those vaguely ominous words, she rolls back her shoulders, thrusts her chin forward and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 4>>
"It's always excuses with these nobles, isn't it?" you drawl with a sneer. Listening to Raphael's cloying excuses has done nothing but summon the bitter taste of bile to your mouth.
Morgana scoffs and shakes her head. "Why admit to anything, when you ended the war on the victor's side? Why bother facing it all, when you can try to scrub off the blood staining your clothes. But," Morgana lowers herself down onto the tiles, reaching out to dip her fingers into the river, "water washes it away, yet doesn't forget." With those vaguely ominous words, she gets up and rolls back her shoulders and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 5>>
"You know," you slowly begin, knowing your words won't land well. Troubled tension has already gathered in the creases between your brow. "Lord Raphael is right. His mother only did what she thought was best for Astolat. Just as grandmother made her choice, and everyone else on the Continent made theirs." It may not be what she wants to hear - but that's exacty why she needs to listen.
Morgana rebuffs your assertion with one caustic scoff. "Ah, yes, everyone only did what they could, didn't they? //Their best.// A pity that those whose best aligned with Tintal's found themselves across the other side of the map."
"You mean the Rebels."
A wistful smile twists sher lips. "I suppose 'rebel' has a charming ring to it, though I doubt most people use it kindly." She meets your eye, holding it steadfast. "Rebellion may not be pretty, Mordred, but it is sometimes needed." Before you can get another word in, she rolls back her shoulders and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 6>>
"Are you alright?" you softly ask. You know that look on her face, that tone of hers, that faint prickle of angry, anguished magic in the air; they all speak of old wounds, never quite closed, tearing up again to bleed anew. You wish the Beauregards were not so doggedly set on denying the part they played in such a bloody history - dressing it up in cloying excuses addressed to the one who had suffered the most from this war.
Morgana tenders over a feeble smile and touches your arm. "I'll be alright, darling." She lingers one moment longer in silence, fingers closing around the serpant pendant always hung around her neck. It's a self-soothing gesture for her, even when she squeezes till the figure etches faint grooves into her palm. Then she rolls back her shoulders and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<</if>>
[[Where's the kittens?|Chapt5TempleCats]]As the food dwindles and conversation picks up between the nobles and the priests, Morgana approaches you with a small, meaningful smile curling her lips. "Walk with me through the orchard, darling," she says, loops one arm around yours and gently stirs you away from the hubbub.
You slip away mostly unnoticed. Lot is far too entranced by Raphael and Beatrice, who are happily holding court; Isolde and Elaine have their attention roundly arrested by the kitties, fluffing, cooing and playing in turn with all three. Gareth, however, notices your departure with a flick of his gaze in your direction.
In terms of size the orchard is modest, bending to follow the high walls of the Temple, but does not lack for prosperity or beauty. This time of the year, the apple trees are heavy with fruit. You reach up and pluck one, ripe and red, to hand to Morgana, then a second one for yourself.
Your mother stops short of biting, contemplating the apple's shiny, scarlet peel with a wistful smile. "Remember that story I used to read you when you were little? Of the princess and the poisoned apple and the knight who sought and fought to find a cure for her beloved?"
You do remember. You quite enjoyed the tale, enough to request it be read to you to the point Morgana knew it by heart. The knight's adventures were filled with heroic feats and exhilarating peril and as a little child, you believed that's what all knights did. As an older squire yourself now, you've found reality to be less glamorous - at least on the daily.
"I'm just glad these apples aren't poisoned," you reply, biting with enthusiasm into your own.
As you both silently chew, Morgana guides you deeper among the trees, farther away from the others.
"I spoke with Gareth," she starts, "and settled matters."
You lick your lips. "Oh? Are you finally satisfied with his answer on the engagement?"
"I...understand his reasoning well now, and I'll fully support whatever choice he makes."
You frown. "What do you mean //whatever choice//? I thought the wedding was confirmed to move forward."
Morgana makes a small, lilting hum. "It is going forward, for now." Her tone is light, but the wording lends itself to an ominous nature. It must read plainly on your face, for Morgana elaborates: "We've discussed, and agreed we'd both talk more with the Beauregards to uncover a better view on this whole engagement - especially Elaine's view, which Gareth is concerned about." She brings you to a halt and turns to you, catching your eye with a serious expression. "He talked with Elaine, privately, and assured her they could call off the engagement at any time, at her word. To which she gave an answer that I find very illustrative and informative of the whole situation."
"What did she say?"
Morgana takes a pensive bite of her apple, letting anticipation build up in the stretching silence. "I believe she scoffed and said, 'They'll just marry me off to someone else,' followed by some irate mumbling that 'a convent would be better'. That is not the attitude of one who agreed willingly." Her voice drops to a hush, as soft as a breeze sighing through the trees: "I would know about that."
You swallow heavily your mouthful of apple; it seems to lodge in your throat. "And they'll still marry?"
Morgana somberly nods. "Gareth wishes to respect her choice, and won't do anything without her explicit consent. Perhaps she simply finds this alternative the best. I'd argue," she emphatically adds, "that the best in this situation would be to stop pressing her into any union, as it'd seem she wants."
<<if $wants_revenge is true>>
<div class="choice">[["Why do that to her?" you ask. "Pressure their own child like that."|Chapt5TempleMorganaQuip][$chapt5_nice to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Typical nobles," you huff.|Chapt5TempleMorganaQuip][$chapt5_nice to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe they've never...actually talked this out?" you venture.|Chapt5TempleMorganaQuip][$chapt5_nice to 5]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["Why do that to her?" you ask. "Pressure their own child like that."|Chapt5TempleMorganaQuip][$chapt5_nice to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You watch her carefully. "So it's wrong to pressure your own child into something they don't want, isn't it? Like, let's say revenge."|Chapt5TempleMorganaQuip][$chapt5_nice to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can't help but think of the way Morgana had expections of you wanting revenge, like her. It's an observation you don't voice, however.|Chapt5TempleMorganaQuip][$chapt5_nice to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Typical nobles," you huff.|Chapt5TempleMorganaQuip][$chapt5_nice to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Maybe they've never...actually talked this out?" you venture.|Chapt5TempleMorganaQuip][$chapt5_nice to 5]]</div>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt3_arthur_library is true>>
<div class="choice">[[You watch her carefully. Hasn't she done the same thing, but trying to keep you away from Arthur? You point that out.|Chapt5TempleMorganaQuip][$chapt5_nice to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You watch her carefully. Hasn't she done the same thing, but trying to keep you away from Arthur? You don't voice the thought, though.|Chapt5TempleMorganaQuip][$chapt5_nice to 7]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_temple_morgana == 1>>
Once, you would have went by Morgana's side, offered her your comfort and shared your frustration. But now you're rooted in place, wallowing on your own in that familiar, hot indignation. It bubbles up within you like an over-boiled kettle. Those looming, writhing emotions cast their shadow over the both of you, tying you together despite the distance gaping between you.
The Beauregards could at least //admit// to it. Admit that the choices Queen Josephine made affected more than Astolat, and reflect differently - and far more painfully - on those she helped tear down. Even if the admission carried no weigh or power, it'd offer a sliver of vindication.
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 2>>
Once, you would have went by Morgana's side, offered her your comfort and sought her own. But now you're rooted in place, away from her, nursing alone that keen and familiar pain. These looming, writhing emotions cast their shadow over the both of you, tying you together, traversing the distance gaping between you.
This scratching and picking at old wounds - that never healed, never properly closed - only makes them hurt and bleed anew, for the both of you. Blaming Raphael isn't fair, and achieves nothing. What good is it to berate him for decisions he didn't make, for actions he didn't take?
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 3>>
Once, you would have went by Morgana's side, but now you're rooted in place away from her, nursing alone that keen and familiar pain. These looming, writhing emotions cast their shadow over the both of you, tying you together, traversing the distance gaping between you.
Ill-defined tension still skims over your skin like electricity in the wake of Morgana's growing, fraying temper. You know she's mad, you know she's hurt, but you don't see how antagonizing the Beauregards right now, right here helps anything. It won't lead to reperations, just scandal. What good is it to make more enemies if all you get out of it is rage and one very awkward outing?
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 4>>
Once, you would have went by Morgana's side, but now you're rooted in place away from her, nursing that keen and familiar pain on your own. These looming, writhing emotions cast their shadow over the both of you, tying you together, traversing the distance gaping between you.
Lord Raphael is right. His mother only did what she thought was best for Astolat. Just as your grandmother made her choice, and everyone else on the Continent made theirs.
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 5>>
You stay, rooted in place, fists clenched as a familiar pain washes over you. Your whole frame is strung with tension, poised to flee away from Morgana, to escape those looming, writhing emotions that cast their shadow over the both of you, tying you together, traversing the distance gaping between you.
You follow the thread to Morgana's side.
"You always do this," you say. It's half plea, half accusation. "You always pick at all wounds till they bleed anew. It's not good for you. It's not good for me - and it's not fair to the Beauregards to accuse them for things Raphael had no influence over."
Her gaze snaps to you, brow puckered. "Raphael could at least admit it," she says, voice low yet heated. "Admit that his mother might have helped, but ultimately chose to be a coward, just like the others."
You shake your head, as if the vehement motion might dispel all this mounting tension. It sits uneasily in the pit of your stomach, gnawing at your insides to make space for that muddy, dark bundle of emotions. "It's not about that. Look at yourself," you say. "You're hurting - and you're hurting others, too. This isn't helping anyone."
You might as well just slapped her, the way her face twists. She takes a deep breath but instead of launching herself into another diatribe, expels it through her nose in one harsh exhale. "We are hurting," she slowly says, "because there were no repearations made, and no justice dealt." She meets your eye meaningfully. "But there will be."
"No," you firmly enunciate, wishing you could get through to her, "there may have been no justice dealt, but what you're doing is not justice, either." With those words you stalk off, joining the others.
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 6>>
You stay rooted in place, fists clenched as a familiar pain courses through you. Your whole frame is strung with tension, poised to flee away from Morgana, to escape those looming, writhing emotions that cast their shadow over the both of you, tying you together, traversing the distance gaping between you.
You follow the thread to Morgana's side.
"You know," you slowly begin, knowing your words won't land well. Yet you won't sweeten or soften them. "Lord Raphael is right. His mother only did what she thought was best for Astolat. Just as grandmother made her choice, and everyone else on the Continent made theirs." It may not be what she wants to hear - but that's exacty why she needs to listen.
Morgana rebuffs your assertion with one caustic scoff. "Ah, yes, everyone only did what they could, didn't they? //Their best.// A pity that those whose best aligned with Tintal's found themselves across the other side of the map."
"You mean the Rebels."
A wistful smile twists her lips. "I suppose 'rebel' has a charming ring to it, though I doubt most people use it kindly." She meets your eye, holding it steadfast. "Rebellion may not be pretty, Mordred, but it is sometimes needed." Before you can get another word in, Morgana rolls back her shoulders and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 7>>
You stay rooted in place, fists clenched as a familiar pain courses through you. Your whole frame is strung with tension, poised to flee away from Morgana, to escape those looming, writhing emotions that cast their shadow over the both of you, tying you together, traversing the distance gaping between you.
You follow the thread to Morgana's side.
You're not even sure what compelled you to do this. You suppose it simply confounds you how Morgana will lash out even when she stands to gain nothing but twisting the dagger in her own flesh.
"I know you're mad," you say, "but maybe it's better not to antagonize the Beauregards right now, right here? It won't lead to reperations, just scandal." Ill-defined tension still skims over your skin like electricity. What good is it to make more enemies if all you get out of it is rage and one very awkward outing?
Morgana scoffs, but doesn't quite protest. She keeps her brooding gaze fixed on the water, its shallows clear enough for you to see the tiles give way to polished rocks; further yet, the river is as unfathomable as your mother's expression. Her fingers close around the serpent pendant always hanging by her neck. You've learned it's a self-soothing gesture for her, even when she squeezes till the figure etches faint grooves into her palm.
"You're right," she carefully says. "Lashing out won't be enough." Having said those vaguely ominous words, she rolls back her shoulders, thrust her chin forward and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<</if>>
[[Where are the kittens?|Chapt5TempleCats]]<<if $chapt5_temple_morgana == 1>>
You puff a peeved little huff as you replay Raphael's paltry, pitiful defense. "They can't so much as admit that they were wrong, can they?" you drily remark. "It's the least they could do."
Morgana scoffs, lips twisting in a mirthless smile. "And he dares offer me sympathy too. What am I to do with it?"
"Accept it and shut up, I expect. Sweep it under the rug and never mention it again."
She shakes her head and closes her fingers around her serpent pendant, always hanging around her neck. You've learned it's a self-soothing gesture for her, even when she squeezes till the figure etches faint grooves into her palm. Then she rolls back her shoulders, thrust her chin forward and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 2>>
"I don't think it's good for you to keep picking at old wounds like that," you say, measuring her pained and resentful expression. "And I don't think it's fair to the Beauregards who weren't even a part of the war."
Her gaze snaps to you, brow puckered. "Raphael could at least admit it," she says, voice low yet heated. "Admit that his mother might have helped, but ultimately chose to be a coward, just like the others."
You shake your head, as if the vehement motion might dispel all this growing tension. It sits, ill-defined and writhing at the pit of your stomach, gnawing at your insides to make space for that muddy, dark bundle of emotions. "It's not about that, mom. Look at you," you say, beseechingly. "You're hurting, and this is not helping you."
Morgana takes in a deep breath, but instead of launching into another diatribe, expels it through her nose in one harsh exhale. "I am hurting," she slowly says, "because there were no repearations made, and no justice dealt." She meets your eye meaningfully. "But there will be."
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
She runs a hand through her long, $hair hair, gingerly combing it despite having not a strand out of place, and turns around. She pins a smile to her face, holding it up like a shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
She gingerly fluffs out her hair, despite not a curl being out of place, and turns around. She pins a smile to her face, holding it up like a shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<else>>
She runs her fingers along one of the braids artfully framing her face, the touch whisper-like, then pensively checks if the others gathered in an elegant updo are still in place; there's not a braid loose. Satisfied, she turns around, a smile pinned to her face, held up like a shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 3>>
"I know you're mad," you say, "but maybe it's better not to antagonize the Beauregards right now, right here? It won't lead to reperations, just scandal." Ill-defined tension still skims over your skin like electricity. What good is it to make more enemies if all you get out of it is rage and one very awkward outing?
Morgana scoffs, but doesn't quite protest. She keeps her brooding gaze fixed on the water, its shallows clear enough for you to see the tiles give way to polished rocks; further yet, the river is as unfathomable as your mother's expression. Her fingers close around her serpant pendant. It's a self-soothing gesture for her, you've learned, even when she squeezes till the figure etches faint grooves into her palm.
"You're right," she carefully says. "Lashing out won't be enough." Having said those vaguely ominous words, she rolls back her shoulders, thrust her chin forward and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised sword. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 4>>
"It's always excuses with these nobles, isn't it?" you drawl with a sneer. Listening to Raphael's cloying defense only summoned a bitter taste of bile in your mouth.
Morgana scoffs and shakes her head. "Why admit to anything, when you ended the war on the victor's side? Why bother facing it all, when you can try to scrub off the blood staining your clothes. But," Morgana lowers herself down onto the tiles, reaching out to dip her fingers into the river, "water washes it away, yet doesn't forget." With those vaguely ominous words, she gets up and rolls back her shoulders. She turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 5>>
"You know," you slowly begin, knowing your words won't land well. Troubled tension has already gathered in the creases between your brow. "Lord Raphael is right. His mother only did what she thought was best for Astolat. Just as grandmother made her choice, and everyone else on the Continent made theirs." It may not be what she wants to hear - but that's exacty why she needs to listen.
Morgana rebuffs your assertion with one caustic scoff. "Ah, yes, everyone only did what they could, didn't they? //Their best.// A pity that those whose best aligned with Tintal's found themselves across the other side of the map."
"You mean the Rebels."
A wistful smile twists her lips. "I suppose 'rebel' has a charming ring to it, though I doubt most people use it kindly." She meets your eye, holding it steadfast. "Rebellion may not be pretty, Mordred, but it is sometimes needed." Before you can get another word in, she rolls back her shoulders and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 6>>
"Are you alright?" you softly ask. You know that look on her face, that tone of hers, that faint prickle of angry, anguished magic in the air; they all speak of old wounds, never quite closed, tearing up again to bleed anew. You wish the Beauregards were not so doggedly set on not recognizing the part they played in a bloody history - dressing it up in cloying excuses addressed to the one who had suffered the most from this war.
Morgana tenders over a feeble smile and touches your arm. "I'll be alright, darling." She lingers one moment longer in silence, fingers closing around her serpent pendant, always hanging around her neck. You've learned it's a self-soothing gesture for her, even when she squeezes till the figure etches faint grooves into her palm. Then she rolls back her shoulders and turns around with a smile secured on her face, worn like a raised shield. "We should join the others, shouldn't we? I believe Gareth has located the kittens."
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 7>>
You dither, weight shifted towards Morgana as if to approach her, teetering on the edge of that ever-present chasm between you. If you'd only reach out, you could shorten the distance - not truly close it, but make it seem less like such a gaping wound.
You lean forward, seized by a gloomy resolution, and spin around. Turning your back on the river and her and the looming, writhing shadows cast over the both of you. Some of them have always been there, a burden shared between you that ties you together and traverses the distance between you. Yet now you wallow on your own in that hot indignation, that bubbles up within you like an over-boiled kettle.
The Beauregards could at least //admit// to it. Admit that the choices Queen Josephine made affected more than Astolat, and reflect differently - and far more painfully - on those she helped tear down. Even if the admission carried no weigh or power, it'd offer a sliver of vindication.
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 8>>
You dither, weight shifted towards Morgana as if to approach her, teetering on the edge of that ever-present chasm between you. If you'd only reach out, you could shorten the distance - not truly close it, but make it seem less like such a gaping wound.
You lean forward, seized by a gloomy resolution, and spin around. Turning your back on the river and her and the looming, writhing shadows cast over the both of you. Some of them have always been there, a burden shared between you that ties you together and traverses the distance between you. Yet now you nurse on your own in that keen and familiar pain.
This scratching and picking at old wounds - that never healed, never properly closed - only makes them hurt and bleed anew, for the both of you. Blaming Raphael isn't fair, and achieves nothing. What good is it to berate him for decisions he didn't make, for actions he didn't take?
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 9>>
You dither, weight shifted towards Morgana as if to approach her, teetering on the edge of that ever-present chasm between you. If you'd only reach out, you could shorten the distance - not truly close it, but make it seem less like such a gaping wound.
You lean forward, seized by a gloomy resolution, and spin around. Turning your back on the river and her and the looming, writhing shadows cast over the both of you. Some of them have always been there, a burden shared between you that ties you together and traverses the distance between you. Yet now you nurse on your own in that keen and familiar pain.
Lord Raphael is right. His mother only did what she thought was best for Astolat. Just as your grandmother made her choice, and everyone else on the Continent made theirs.
<<elseif $chapt5_temple_morgana == 10>>
You dither, weight shifted towards Morgana as if to approach her, teetering on the edge of that ever-present chasm between you. If you'd only reach out, you could shorten the distance - not truly close it, but make it seem less like such a gaping wound.
You lean forward, seized by a gloomy resolution, and spin around. Turning your back on the river and her and the looming, writhing shadows cast over the both of you. Some of them have always been there, a burden shared between you that ties you together and traverses the distance between you. Yet now you nurse on your own in that keen and familiar pain.
Ill-defined tension still skims over your skin like electricity in the wake of Morgana's growing, fraying temper. You know she's mad, you know she's hurt, but you don't see how antagonizing the Beauregards right now, right here helps with anything. It won't lead to reperations, just scandal. What good is it to make more enemies, if all you get out of it is rage and one very awkward outing?
<</if>>
[[Where's the kittens?|Chapt5TempleCats]]<<if $chapt5_nice == 1>>
You scowl down at your half-eaten apple, as if the poor fruit was the cause of this whole debacle. "Why do that to her?" you ask. "Pressure their own child like that into a marriage she's reluctant to commit to."
Morgana gives you a mirthless smile. "Raphael and Beatrice are convinced that arranged marriages will miraculously work out for everyone, as attested by their own wonderful experience." She scoffs and and sinks her teeth into the apple with angry abandon. "As if that was the case for everyone."
She sighs and rubs at the corner of her mouth with her thumb, munching pensively as you continue your walk.
"So the wedding goes along, unless Elaine decides otherwise?" When Morgana nods, you push on: "Isn't Gareth worried about Lot's reaction?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nice == 2>>
You study her face intently, watching out for any minute detail, any twist of the lip or crease of the brow that would reveal that she does see the irony in her speaking so, and wilfully overlooks it. Her adamant mien gives little of the sort away.
You huff a small, bemused puff and step away from her to lean against one of the trees, one hand folding behind your back; the bark feels scaly and rough underneath your palm.
"Oh yes," you say, "quite the curious and foreign concept to you, isn't it? Parents who hold certain convictions and opinions that they think their children should have too." It's clear the Beauregards believe that an arranged marriage can work out perfectly fine, as they needed to point out was the case with their family; and failing that, they may simply think a noble must marry for convenience and renounce any other disillusion. "You've never been guilty of that, have you?"
Morgana rolls back her shoulders and thrusts her chin forward. "I'd never pressure you into an engagement. Your decision in the matter is completely yours."
"We both know this isn't about marriage," you wave around your half-eaten apple. "I'm talking about revenge. Just because you want it, doesn't mean I do, too."
You don't want to pick a fight. In fact, you'd love to have a candid conversation on the matter, without the usual guards and parries you're offered upon bringing it up. You just relentlessly hope that the more you say it, the better she'll understand it.
"We've been over this, Mordred," your mother sighs, twisting her apple around in search of a place she'd yet to take a bite. She doesn't eat though; instead she cuts her gaze to you, as fiery as it always is when //revenge// simmers in her mind. "Our family has been wronged in such ways that it comes quite hard not to long for retribution." She seizes you up, as if attempting to work out how it is that you don't share in that desire to blaze and destroy and hurt. Then she spins around in a sigh of silks and says: "Regardless, we were speaking of your brother and his wedding."
You don't immediately follow. You linger by the tree, pressing your fingertips into the bark, into its bumps and ridges. With a dismayed bite of your apple, you take off after Morgana.
"Indeed. So the wedding goes along, unless Elaine decides otherwise?" When Morgana nods, you push on: "Isn't Gareth worried about Lot's reaction?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nice == 3>>
You study her face intently, watching out for any minute detail, any twist of the lip or crease of the brow that would reveal that she does see the irony in her speaking so, and wilfully overlooks it. Her adamant mien gives little of the sort away. It's clear the Beauregards believe that an arranged marriage can work out perfectly fine, as they needed to point out was the case with their family; and failing that, they may simply think a noble must marry for convenience and renounce any other disillusion. Similarly, Morgana has convinced herself that you must long for revenge as much as she does. You share in her pain, and shoulder the burden of being wronged as a Le Fay, yet you can't join in her quest for vengeance as she wishes you did.
You decide to keep these thoughts to yourself, however. It would needlessly divert the discussion now, so you continue munching on your apple, turning your mind back on the matter of the engagement. It is a big enough debacle to immediately capture your attetion.
"So the wedding goes along, unless Elaine decides otherwise?" When Morgana nods, you push on: "Isn't Gareth worried about Lot's reaction?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nice == 4>>
You huff, pushing your tongue against a particuarly annoying piece of apple lodged in your teeth. "Typical nobles."
"It is indeed one of the aspects I'm not fond of," Morgana agrees. "Raphael and Beatrice are convinced that arranged marriages will miraculously work out for everyone, as attested by their own wonderful experience." She scoffs and sinks her teeth into the apple with angry abandon. "As if that was the case for everyone."
She sighs and rubs at the corner of her mouth with her thumb, munching pensively as you continue your walk.
"So the wedding goes along, unless Elaine decides otherwise?" When Morgana nods, you push on: "Isn't Gareth worried about Lot's reaction?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nice == 5>>
You twirl your apple thoughtfully. "Maybe they've just never...actually talked it out? Maybe everyone has accepted is as expectation?"
"It is possible," Morgana concedes. "But I get the sense Elaine might have voice her doubts, at least to a certain degree. If not by words, clearly by actions. Yet Raphael and Beatrice are convinced that arranged marriages will miraculously work out for everyone, as attested by their own wonderful experience." She scoffs and sinks her teeth into the apple with angry abandon. "As if that was the case for everyone."
She sighs and rubs at the corner of her mouth with her thumb, munching pensively as you continue your walk.
"So the wedding goes along, unless Elaine decides otherwise?" When Morgana nods, you push on: "Isn't Gareth worried about Lot's reaction?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nice == 6>>
You study her face intently, watching out for any minute detail, any twist of the lip or crease of the brow that would reveal that she does see the irony in her speaking so, and wilfully overlooks it. Her adamant mien gives little of the sort away.
It rings so much like the bitter stories Morgana would spin of Arthur, fueled by her own sentiments on it that she wished to kindle in you, too. You remember her disbelief and obstinate denial upon voicing your wish to know Arthur. It's not so different than what seems to be unfolding behind the curtains of the Beauregards. It's clear they believe that an arranged marriage can work out perfectly fine, as they needed to point out was the case with their family; and failing that, they may simply think a noble must marry for convenience and renounce any other disillusion.
You step away from Morgana to lean against one of the trees, one hand folding behind your back; the bark feels scaly and roung underneath your palm.
"Oh yes," you say, "quite the curious and foreign concept to you, isn't it? Parents who hold certain convictions and opinions that they think their children should have too." You stare at her pointedly. She meets your gaze headlong, rolling back her shoulders as if bracing for an argument. You don't want to fight - you only wish she'd take a closer look at herself.
"I'd never pressure you into an engagement," Morgana says, and you wholeheartedly believe her. "Your decision in the matter is completely yours."
"We both know this isn't about marriage," you wave around your half-eaten apple. "I'm talking about me meeting Arthur. Which you were very adamantly against. I just thought I'd point that out."
For a moment, Morgana fixes you with an unfathomable expression. Then she swiftly changes the subject: "And you did. I believe we were speaking of your brother and his engagement."
You push yourself off the tree. "Indeed. So the wedding goes along, unless Elaine decides otherwise?" When Morgana nods, you push on: "Isn't Gareth worried about Lot's reaction?"
<<elseif $chapt5_nice == 7>>
You study her face intently, watching out for any minute detail, any twist of the lip or crease of the brow that would reveal that she does see the irony in her speaking so, and wilfully overlooks it. Her adamant mien gives little of the sort away.
It rings so much like the bitter stories Morgana would spin of Arthur, fueled by her own sentiments on it that she wished to kindle in you, too. You remember her disbelief and obstinate denial upon voicing your wish to know Arthur. It's not so different than what seems to be unfolding behind the curtains of the Beauregards. It's clear they believe that an arranged marriage can work out perfectly fine, as they needed to point out was the case with their family; and failing that, they may simply think a noble must marry for convenience and renounce any other disillusion.
You decide to keep these thoughts to yourself, however. It would needlessly divert the discussion now, so you continue munching on your apple, turning your mind back on the matter of the engagement. It is a big enough debacle to immediately capture your attetion.
"So the wedding goes along, unless Elaine decides otherwise?" When Morgana nods, you push on: "Isn't Gareth worried about Lot's reaction?"
<</if>>
"Unlike his father, Gareth is not a coward." She has a fond smile on her lips as she says it. "Besides, I doubt Lot would be too harsh on him. If anything, I think he'd find a way to shift blame on to me, which I'll gladly shoulder." The smile turns sharper. "I'll take any opportunity to spite him."
You walk for a bit in silence, finishing your apples. You lick your fingers clean of the sweet, sticky juice, while Morgana slowly wipes hers on a handkerchief, its corner stitched with the Le Fay serpent. She keeps playing with it, winding and unwinding the dainty, white material around her index.
She asks: "What's your opinion of Elaine?"
<div class="choice">[["She's fun," you say. "Someone I'd like to know better. I could see us becoming friends."|Chapt5MorganaElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 1, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["She's fun," you say. "Someone I'd like to know better. I could see us being friends." You'd love to see the two of you being more, though. ❤|Chapt5MorganaElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 2, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Oh, she's fun," you say, growing flustered. "I could see us being friends." You'd love to see the two of you being more, though. ❤|Chapt5MorganaElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 3, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like her," you say, lips hitching up in a meaningful smile. "I admire her...quite a lot." ❤|Chapt5MorganaElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 4, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I like her," you say, lips hitching up in a timid smile. "I admire her. A lot." ❤|Chapt5MorganaElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 5, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_crush to $elaine_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $elaine_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["She's fun," you say with a smile. "I can see us becoming friends." 💕|Chapt5MorganaElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 6, $elaine_friend to $elaine_friend+1, $elaine_oblivious to $elaine_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["She's fine," you say. "I don't feel strongly about her, one way or another."|Chapt5MorganaElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't quite care for her," you admit.|Chapt5MorganaElaineOpinion][$chapt5_elaine_opinion to 8]]</div><<if $storm_opinion == "comforting">>
The heavy pitter-patter of rain lulls you into a sense of calm. While the clouds outside hang menacingly over the world, there's a soothing quality to the darkness that envelops your chamber in. Storms create the perfect opportunity for you to wrap yourself up in a warm shawl or quilt, light up a softly-glowing fire and watch the raveging beauty of nature unleash itself beyond your window. You often sit by it, hoping to see when the lightning strikes - taking in that moment when it blazes its root-like shape through the sky. Not even the cracking of thunder scares you.
<<elseif $storm_opinion == "hate">>
The heavy pitter-patter of rain would usually lull you into a sense of calm - but add lightning and thunder and you get the exact opposite. The former spears through the sky, root-like and menacing, while the latter rumbles with a horrible crack as if the earth were splitting. When you were a little child, you'd hide under the covers and whimper with every boom that sounded too long and too loud - too close.
<<else>>
It's just weather; like cloudy days and windy days, all taken up to ravaging proportions. Also, very damp. The entirety of the grounds will be drenched and muddy by the time the rain clears. As long as you don't have to step out into that gloomy, wet gray - with winds that look strong enough to sweep you up - then you don't care too much about the storm.
<</if>>
The fire in the hearth does much to fend off the cold, but fares worse against the darkness. The flames cast strange, writhing shadows along the walls and taper off before reaching the crevies or crannies of the room. It's early afternoon but the storm has rendered the ambiance closer to late evening.
Tracing your fingers along the wicks, you've lit up the candles in your desk candelabra - the one with arms fashioned into serpentine coils, twining upwards to hold the candles in their open fanged mouths. As the tapers slowly burn down it gives the impression of the snakes devouring them. You thus have a small pool of light atop your desk, enough to make out the writing on the page before you.
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter != "empty" and $chapt4_read_gawain_letter != "">><div class="choice">[[It's a letter from Arthur; you've got one from Gawain too.|Chapt5TwoLetters][$chapt5_arthur_write to true]]</div><</if>>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_write == 3 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 4>>
<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter != "empty" and $chapt4_read_gawain_letter != "">><div class="choice">[[It's a letter from Arthur; you've got one from Gawain too.|Chapt5TwoLetters][$chapt5_arthur_write to true]]</div><</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter != "empty" and $chapt4_read_gawain_letter != "">><div class="choice">[[It's a letter from Gawain.|Chapt5GawainOneLetter]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
<div class="choice">[[It's a letter from Arthur.|Chapt5ArthurOneLetter][$chapt5_arthur_write to true]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_write == 3 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 4>>
<div class="choice">[[It's a letter from Arthur.|Chapt5ArthurOneLetter][$chapt5_arthur_write to true]]</div>
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[It's the mathematics exercises your tutor has assigned.|Chapt5Maths]]</div>It's no great surprise to see Elaine here. With the frequency and enthusiasm she spoke of sword-fighting - or really, fighting with any sort of weapon, including one's fists - she was bound to wind up on the training grounds at some point. If anything, you're surprised she didn't catch you during training earlier.
No, what piques your interest is the armor she's donned.
She's wearing proper, sturdy, full-body plate armor. It even shines as if to show it means serious business. Bearing clear signs of wear, unavoidable even with rigorous upkeep, Elaine’s set is far from the gaudy showpieces donned by peacocking nobles without the slightest intention of seeing danger. This is the armor of one who takes their sword-fighting very earnestly.
Elaine pumps her fist in the air and whoops for you as you approach. "You showed those dummies, Mordred!"
You yank off your helmet and shake your head. Beads of sweat lick down your forehead and crowd on your lashes. "How long have you been standing here?"
Elaine shrugs; her armor clinks. "Long enough to catch your fight. Which was very exciting, by the way. Thank you for the entertainment."
<div class="choice">[[You give a mock little bow. "I aim to please."|Chapt5ElaineCompliment][$chapt5_compliment to 1, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Was it...the good kind of entertainment?" Or were you the ridiculous, worthy-of-a-comedy-play kind of entertainment?|Chapt5ElaineCompliment][$chapt5_compliment to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I see," you impassively nod.|Chapt5ElaineCompliment][$chapt5_compliment to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Thank you," you say just to be nice.|Chapt5ElaineCompliment][$chapt5_compliment to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You give her a big smile. "Thanks."|Chapt5ElaineCompliment][$chapt5_compliment to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Well, if I knew I had such eager audience I would have put on more of a show," you say with a wink.|Chapt5ElaineCompliment][$chapt5_compliment to 6, $Elaine to $Elaine+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You suddenly feel very self-conscious of your skills and self, and fumble out a "Thanks."|Chapt5ElaineCompliment][$chapt5_compliment to 7]]</div>You ready your sword and stare down your opponents across the field. They stare back, faceless and impassive.
When you arrived for your swordfight training, you thought you'd be returning to sparring with your good old friend Dum-Dum - now with a brand new, freshly sewn and charmed body, joining a line of replacements so long you've lost count of it. Yet Accolon loves keeping you on your toes. He always so kindly explains that it's all to prepare you for the unforgiving harshness of true battle and those foes who look to harm and maim and kill. It does not make it any easier.
The bruises of last training have barely stopped throbbing. Granted, Robin's magic-infused balm has greatly accelerated the healing process which would have otherwise taken your body longer, but it didn't miraculously rid you of the entire soreness left by the bruised skin and strained muscles. You still feel them every time you take a flight with $dragon_name, roll in bed on the wrong side or get juddered in a carriage like you were a coin at the bottom of a shaking cup.
All this pain comes courtesy of your new pair of enemies, introduced the previous session: the Misery Twins.
You coined the name in a state of commingled frustration, awe, and suffering, right after the third harrowing round you went against the dummies.
<div class="choice">[[You almost wanted to cry when you saw them again today.|Chapt5MiseryTwins][$chapt5_dummies to "cry"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A thrill shot down your back when you saw them. You will wreck them today.|Chapt5MiseryTwins][$chapt5_dummies to "rematch"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You just sighed and steeled yourself. You'll give your best.|Chapt5MiseryTwins][$chapt5_dummies to "sigh"]]</div><<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Arthur's written words exude a warmth that rivals that of the fire burning in the hearth. He expresses how excited he is for you to see each other again after your birthday - sooner than you would have otherwise - and says Guinevere is eager to spend some time with you as well. He then goes on to talk a bit about his latest woodwork, and his dog Bo's little adventures around the castle.
Guinevere too has written to let you know she's eager to spend more time together. She remarks, innocuously enough, how close this wedding rides on the tail of Isolde's union - which she regrets you missed - and finishes the letter with the hopes you're faring well through the bustle that must have taken over your castle.
<<elseif $chapt4_arthur_write == 3 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 4>>
Three years ago, you put pen to paper and sealed a letter for Arthur to tell him you learned the dreadful truth of your conception. You expressed, tentatively, that you would not mind if you were to start a back and fort of correspondece. Clearly, there was much unknown and misunderstood between the two of you and while difficult and painful, you wanted to try and tread that strange, shadowy land.
He replied, sharing your hopes, and you spent days pondering what to write in return. Where to start, when so many years he'd been but a face peering down at you from portraits - so familiar a countenance with those eyes, $eye like yours, yet so foreign a person to you. The beginning was awkward and cautious and uncertain as you got to know each other. Speaking of the murkier emotions that loomed over you - the hole his absence dug in you, the reminder you bear for him - has helped you grow closer and you've started to build brighter memories.
He was but a shadow over your life before you met at the tournament, five years ago; now, there's so much you know about him. He's passionate about wood-carving, which he picked up from Ector - he sents you a figure hewed by himself for your every birthday - and he has a little dog called Bo. He cares deeply about the kingdom, but he often feels the weigh of the crown as a burden; for that to be eased, he relies on those around him.
Arthur's written words exude a tender warmth that rivals that of the fire burning in the hearth. He expresses how excited he is for you to see each other again after your birthday - sooner than you would have otherwise - and says Guinevere is eager to spend some time with you as well.
You've welcomed Arthur into your life and he's brought along a guest. The Queen herself sends you letters, inquiring about your health and interests and telling you about her garden and her bunnies which love to munch on the fruits and salad planted there. For months you only knew her as ink on paper, yet she'd painted such a vivid and warm image in your mind of herself. She did not disappoint when you finally met.
Guinevere too has written to let you know she's eager to spend more time together. She remarks, innocuously enough, how close this wedding rides on the tail of Isolde's union - which she regrets you missed - and finishes the letter with the hopes you're faring well through the bustle that must have taken over your castle.
<</if>>
[[As for the letter from Gawain|Chapt5TwoLettersNext]]<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "romantic" or $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
<div class="choice">[[You often correspond - and your letters always tend on the romantic. You're sweethearts, afterall.|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "romantic", $gawain_teen to "sweethearts", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You often correspond - as friends. Your letters used to be romantic, but you're no longer sweethearts.|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_teen to "friends", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
<div class="choice">[[You often correspond - you've stayed good friends, after all.|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_teen to "friends", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_crush to 0, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You often correspond - you've stayed good friends, after all. Yet you harbor more than platonic feelings. ❤|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_teen to "friends", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+5, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You often correspond - you've stayed good friends, after all. Yet sometimes, you feel a strange longing. 💕|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_teen to "friends", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+5, $gawain_friend to $gawain_friend+2]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "ally">>
<div class="choice">[[You mostly send each others letters for birthdays and other celebrations - staying cordial but not particularly close.|Chapt5GawainLetter][$chapt5_read_gawain_letter to "friend", $gawain_teen to "ally", $Gawain to $Gawain+3, $gawain_ally to $gawain_ally+3, $gawain_crush to 0]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt5_hug_arthur == 1>>
Hands folded behind your back and shoulders pulled back, you offer Arthur a smile and incline your head politely. It's a proper, cordial salute which he mirrors back at you.
<<elseif $chapt5_hug_arthur == 2>>
Your muscles twitch with a sudden need to open your arms and throw yourself at Arthur. You're not sure where the surge stems from. Perhaps it's a childhood longing you thought long-buried, or a far more recent, creeping yearning. Whatever the cause, you heed it and spring forward to wrap your arms around him.
The impact of it pushes a sharp, surprised inhale out of Arthur. As your hands lock around his neck, his own raise to rest on your shoulders - slowly, as if he were afraid you'd poof out of existence the moment he touched you. The red brocade of Arthur's doublet is soft against your cheek, and his earthy, moss-like smell soothes your senses, putting you in mind of long days spent in the woods.
As you pull back, Arthur meets your gaze with a smile and a flicker of hope flashing across his face. Should you feed that flame? You don't quite know what you want yourself. You just thought he may have needed the hug - or maybe what you saw in his face is only a reflection of your own heart.
<<elseif $chapt5_hug_arthur == 3>>
You politely incline your head then turn your gaze away. Something in his face stirs within you emotions you'd rather leave be. After all, they're not very pleasant ones.
<</if>>
Arthur and Guinevere depart arm in arm, moving on to greet the other nobles and dragons.
No sooner have they left than a new carriage pulls before your canopy - not as adorned as the Royal one, but by no means modest either.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesRomantic]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exes_like" or $gawain_kid == "exes_like">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesExesRomantic]]
<<elseif $gawain_teen == "exfriends" or $gawain_kid == "exfriends">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesExesFriends]]
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesFriend]]
<<else>>
[[The Alistairs are here.|Chapt5GawainArrivesAlly]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_merlin_before == "dread">>
Ever since you could remember, mother has warned you of his misdeeds and nefarious character. So many times that she's recounted her dreadful experience with him: his polite smiles are sheathed knives, his kind words are mockery. He plays the act of one who cares, of the gallant gentleman, which she's always recognized for the charade it is. That's why his mask cracked around her, she said. There always was an undercurrent of viciousness in the way he spoke and smiled to her.
And then, of course, there's the matter of his involvement in your family's downfall. Morgana relayed it to you as her mother did to her. She had a grim, seething fire in her eyes and a gust of wind sweeping the chamber as she spoke, prickling your skin. The story was not only branded into your brain, but twined into every fiber of your being, like nature hones prey to recognize its predator. As you stand, just a few guests away from meeting this man of terrible myth, as you stare at what could be his very carriage, speeding towards you with the same wild rhythm of your heart, your stomach carves out a pit for dread to nest within.
But it's not his carriage set to reach you first - in fact, it's no carriage at all that swoops down before your lavish canopy.
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "curious">>
Ever since you could remember, mother has warned you of his misdeeds and nefarious character. So many times that she's recounted her dreadful experience with him: his polite smiles are sheathed knives, his kind words are mockery. He plays the act of one who cares, of the gallant gentleman, which she's always recognized for the charade it is. That's why his mask cracked around her, she said. There always was an undercurrent of viciousness in the way he spoke and smiled to her.
And then, of course, there's the matter of his involvement in your family's downfall. Morgana relayed it to you as her mother did to her. She had a grim, seething fire in her eyes and a gust of wind sweeping the chamber as she spoke, prickling your skin. Merlin is an altogether villain, one that has exercised your imagination. It's only natural that you've built up your own picture of the Royal Sorcerer. Morgana has contributed with such vivid, lurid details while others have provided softer facets, yet the truth is that so much of it is cast in obscurity. Which is not fair, given how much Merlin claims to know about your very own self and the future you have ahead.
Your curiosity only growns as you wait - and wait you'll have to, seeing as his carrige is yet to reach you. In fact, it's no carriage at all that swoops down before your lavish canopy.
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "lie">>
Ever since you could remember, mother has warned you of his misdeeds and nefarious character. So many times that she's recounted her dreadful experience with him: his polite smiles are sheathed knives, his kind words are mockery. He plays the act of one who cares, of the gallant gentleman, which she's always recognized for the charade it is. That's why his mask cracked around her, she said. There always was an undercurrent of viciousness in the way he spoke and smiled to her.
But is her account one that you can - //should// - trust? You find it hard to lend weight to her words after all the facts she's hid and distorted. Everything she's told you and will ever tell you is carefully measured to see if it rings off-tune or hollow.
There is, of course, the matter of his involvement in your family's downfall. Morgana relayed it to you as her mother did to her - or so she claimed, telling it all with a grim, seething fire in her eyes as a gust of wind swept the chamber, prickling your skin. But your mother can speak both fact and fiction with passion; she's boasted so herself. How much of what you know is truly Merlin, and how much is the image she's molded to fill the cast of the villain she needs?
She may have embellished little - nothing at all - but there's no way for you to know.
You'll be able to start forming your own thoughts soon, without her influence, but there's still some waiting to do. It's not Merlin's carriage set to reach you first - in fact, it's no carriage at all that swoops down before your lavish canopy.
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "hate">>
Ever since you could remember, mother has warned you of his misdeeds and nefarious character. So many times that she's recounted her dreadful experience with him: his polite smiles are sheathed knives, his kind words are mockery. He plays the act of one who cares, of the gallant gentleman, which she's always recognized for the charade it is. That's why his mask cracked around her, she said. There always was an undercurrent of viciousness in the way he spoke and smiled to her.
And then, of course, there's the matter of his involvement in your family's downfall. Morgana relayed it to you as her mother did to her. She had a grim, seething fire in her eyes and a gust of wind sweeping the chamber, prickling your skin. The story ignited within you that same flame, burning hot and baleful. It's been lying dormant, simmering low, but as you stand here, just a few guests away from meeting this man of terrible myth, as you stare at what could be his very carriage, speeding towards you with the same wild rhythm of your heart, heat suffuses you. Your palms itch. The skin of your back prickles as if with fever. If you were to get your hands on Merlin, he'd go up like kindling.
He's still far away from your wrath. It's not his carriage set to reach you first - in fact, it's no carriage at all that swoops down before your lavish canopy.
<<elseif $chapt5_merlin_before == "avoid">>
Ever since you could remember, mother has warned you of his misdeeds and nefarious character. So many times that she's recounted her dreadful experience with him: his polite smiles are sheathed knives, his kind words are mockery. He plays the act of one who cares, of the gallant gentleman, which she's always recognized for the charade it is. That's why his mask cracked around her, she said. There always was an undercurrent of viciousness in the way he spoke and smiled to her.
And then, of course, there's the matter of his involvement in your family's downfall. Morgana relayed it to you as her mother did to her. She had a grim, seething fire in her eyes and a gust of wind to sweep the chamber, prickling your skin. You then made up your mind that you must stay as far away as possible from this man. He's been a menace to your mother and wreaked havoc on your family; proximity hardly feels advised, and wrath is too overwhelming an emotion to let consume you. You'd rather carve him out of your life, though you doubt it'll be quite as easy as you wish it were.
But he's not here yet. It's not his carriage set to reach you first - in fact, it's no carriage at all that swoops down before your lavish canopy.
<</if>>
[[There are other guests to receive.|Chapt5ElewenArrives]]<<if $chapt5_want_knight == 1>>
There's no dancing round the question - you strike quick and outright, blade to the heart. "Do you want to be a knight, Elaine? Since you seem to have such strong opinions on the matter."
<<if $Elaine >= 60>>
Her eyes flash to you with annoyance she can't immediately conceal, a look that seems to say: //Couldn't you have asked in private?//
She shrugs. "The topic fascinates me. I've grown round knights-" she playfully elbows Tristan "- and like Nimue said. One day I might influence these sort of matters. Better be knowledgeable."
<<else>>
Elaine shrugs. "The topic fascinates me. I've grown round knights-" she playfully elbows Tristan "- and like Nimue said. One day I might influence these sort of matters. Better be knowledgeable."
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_want_knight == 2>>
"You're awfully interested in the topic of knighthood, Elaine," you say, swirling the liquid in your cup.
"Yeah."
"How come?"
"The topic fascinates me. I've grown round knights-" she playfully elbows Tristan "- and like Nimue said. One day I might influence these sort of matters. Better be knowledgeable."
<<elseif $chapt5_want_knight == 3>>
The question seems...far too intimate than might be right to ask, here out in the open. You doubt you'd get anything but a sanatized answer, anyway, the kind that can't cut, can't draw blood. Didn't you blunt your own response after all?
<<else>>
You might have summoned the energy to ask...if only you cared all that much. It's her business to mind, not yours.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_drink_wine == 2>>
The subject of knighthood fizzles out, giving way to less inflammatory matters. Yet the ideas that were bandied about linger at the back of your mind, embers sizzling beneath charred, cooling wood, ready to spring back to blazing life if stoked. Though your mind right now is jsut wet, useless kindle, thoughts turned liquid by the wine; they slip through your fingers, your consciousness a constant changing tide of ideas.
<<elseif $chapt5_drink_wine ==1>>
The subject of knighthood fizzles out, giving way to less inflammatory matters. Yet the ideas bandied about linger at the back of your mind, embers sizzling beneath charred, cooling wood, ready to spring back to blazing life if stoked. You let them simmer for now - you fear to set fire to the pleasant wooziness that's taking over you, that's washing away worry and tension and raising your feet off the floor so you may join the vines and flowers above.
<<else>>
The subject of knighthood fizzles out, giving way to less inflammatory matters. Yet the ideas bandied about linger at the back of your mind, embers sizzling beneath charred, cooling wood, ready to spring back to blazing life if stoked.
<</if>>
[[The feast goes on.|Chapt5Dessert]]The castle grounds are a battlefield, abuzz and abustle, where the latest fashion is one's armor and carefully-weighed words their sword.
The arrival of guests always serves as a dizzying prelude to the even more dizzying, grand affair they've come to attend. It's an ever constant stream of fancy-garbed humans and jewel-decked dragons, a perpetual warbling of pleasantries. It all blurs together after a certain point. Yet you play your part like clockwork, knowing how deep or shallow a bow to take with the same ease you shift between fighting stances. Your tongue repeats lines so well-practiced, the words have lost all meaning.
There's little lull in the hubbub. Hooves trot up the cobblestone road in an endless beat of wardrum; envoys of dragons descend with quakes that rattle you to the bone.
And amongst it all, Lot stands as your beloathed General, overseeing your performance. This is important to him - that the wedding goes forward, that everything runs smoothly. Together with the Beauregards, he carefully orchestrates: placing Gareth and Elaine side by side, center-piece, to greet the guests. The picture of the happy, smiling couple to be drilled into the minds of everyone before the vows can even be exchanged. They've been pushing them like this - as a child might two dolls, willing a romance and a kiss - ever since the day the Beauregards came. Yet the result is rather lacking.
Your brother keeps his wit sharp and smile polished; whatever his genuine feelings on the affair, they're properly hidden behind that gleaming armor of his. Elaine looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here. She'd likely be more comfortable on the training ground, with an actual sword and actual plates instead of that silver-threaded jerkin.
Footsteps patter on the ground as yet another noble group arrives. You turn your head, give a sigh, roll your shoulders back and go back to your routine.
[[Guests keep coming.|Chapt5GuestsKeepComing]]You look up from your desk and out the window again. The rain is not letting up just yet, plowing on with ravaging strength. If anything, it's picking up around the castle. Each new flash of lightning strikes closer, each new crack of thunder booms louder and sharper and longer.
At the edge of the trees where the forest starts, it's dark and murky; you can barely see through the rain that patters against the glass. Paired with the rocking of the trees, it amounts to a peculiar optical illusion, the work of your eyes and mind conspiring to play tricks on you. You could swear, if you squint hard enough, that there are figures - strange and wrong, undulating in impossible ways - just beyond the fringe of the forest. It is times like this when your thoughts turn to the fae. After all, they are said to appear where humans don't walk, and people definitely don't go out in storms like these unless forced by circumstance. But faes rarely stray so far from the shelter of wildnerness and it's not equinox yet, when they have the propensity to come out of their hiding. Though it's drawing closer to it.
<<if $storm_opinion == "comforting">>
There's a flash of light - mighty and bright - then a bellow. It roars on, the cry of an ancient beast, the wrathful voice of nature.
It truly is a sight to behold. You keep your gaze on the scenery beyond, hoping to catch yet another electrifying show of light. Perhaps you should feel helpless in front of such an unrestrained display of destructive force - and maybe you would be, were you not safe and cozy in your chamber - but you can't help but be awed by it all. Awed, a bit humbled, and inspired, knowing that your own magic is so closely related to such forces.
<<elseif $storm_opinion == "hate">>
There's a flash of light then a bellow. It reverberates as if the earth itself was quacking, splitting open underneath you to swallow you whole.
That sounded close. Too close for comfort.
You lean back in your chair, shifting away from the window - the legs screech on the floorboards. Perhaps you should just crawl into bed and hide under the covers with a book until the storm passes. Logically, you know that there's nothing that could hurt you - the Solomons have taken precautions so that lightning cannnot hit the castle - yet a prodding at the back of your mind tells you the quilt and sea of pillows on your bed are the ones that can truly protect you.
<<else>>
There's a flash of light then a bellow. It reverberates as if the earth itself was quacking, splitting open underneath you to swallow you whole.
Well, that confirms it; the thunderstorm is drawing closer and heavier on the castle. Good thing you weren't rushing to go anywhere out.
<</if>>
<<if $morgana_closeness == "distant">>
[[There's a rap at the door.|Chapt5GabrielLesson]]
<<else>>
[[There's a rap at the door.|Chapt5MorganaLesson]]
<</if>><<if $chapt5_wine == 1>>
You nod in earnest understanding. Truth be told, it's more of a relief; you didn't want wine to begin with, and now you won't have to pretend to be nursing the glass out of politeness, or even attempt to sip the liquid.
The Duke laughs good-naturedly. "I was merely teasing! How could we leave you out - Elaine's drinking too, and she's just one year older." Elaine freezes in the middle of stuffing her face with buttered bread at the mention of her name, eyes darting towards you. "Admittedly she's not drinking much; last time she indulged she fell into the river."
"Father!" The objection has no power behind it, muffled by a mouthful of bread.
"At Isolde's wedding, no less."
Gareth turns to her, bemused: "You did?"
Elaine hurries to chew - though it's questionable how much she actually does with how quickly she swallows - while Isolde atempts to hide a smile behind her glass. "Yeah, from a boat Isolde and I took for a few quiet moments. I lost balance and pitched over," she says in a tone that suggests a different story. "It was cold as fu-" she catches herself before she can commit to the swear, patching it over with "freezing cold" and a nervous chuckle.
"A fun little story to tell at parties," her father concludes before turning back to you. As I said, you may have a glass if you wish."
You shake your head, politely declining. It takes a bit of insisting but once the man realizes you're not performing refusal out of some sense of propiety or timidity, leaves you to your alcohol-free apple cider.
<<elseif $chapt5_wine == 2>>
You deflate but nod in earnest understanding. Truth be told, you really wanted some wine yourself.
The Duke laughs good-naturedly. "I was merely teasing! How could we leave you out - Elaine's drinking too, and she's just one year older." Elaine freezes in the middle of stuffing her face with buttered bread at the mention of her name, eyes darting towards you. "Admittedly she's not drinking much; last time she indulged she fell into the river."
"Father!" The objection has no power behind it, muffled by a mouthful of bread.
"At Isolde's wedding, no less."
Gareth turns to her, bemused: "You did?"
Elaine hurries to chew - though it's questionable how much she actually does with how quickly she swallows - while Isolde atempts to hide a smile behind her glass. "Yeah, from a boat Isolde and I took for a few quiet moments. I lost balance and pitched over," she says in a tone that suggests a different story. "It was cold as fu-" she catches herself before she can commit to the swear, patching it over with "freezing cold" and a nervous chuckle.
"A fun little story to tell at parties," her father concludes before turning back to you. "I was merely teasing you, Mordred. You may have a glass if you wish."
You nod your head. "Thank you."
Morgana warily watches Raphael pour the wine. "Careful," she gently warns. "Drink slowly, and eat well before drinking too much."
<<elseif $chapt5_wine == 3>>
"Please? It's a special occasion, after all," you argue with a honeyed voice and innocent smile, gesturing towards Gareth and Elaine.
"Of course, of course!" the Duke laughs good-naturedly. "I was merely teasing you! It is a very special occassion, I agree. How could we leave you out - Elaine's drinking too, and she's just one year older." Elaine freezes in the middle of stuffing her face with buttered bread at the mention of her name, eyes darting towards you. "Admittedly she's not drinking much; last time she indulged she fell into the river."
"Father!" The objection has no power behind it, muffled by a mouthful of bread.
"At Isolde's wedding, no less."
Gareth turns to her, bemused: "You did?"
Elaine hurries to chew - though it's questionable how much she actually does with how quickly she swallows - while Isolde atempts to hide a smile behind her glass. "Yeah, from a boat Isolde and I took for a few quiet moments. I lost balance and pitched over," she says in a tone that suggests a different story. "It was cold as fu-" she catches herself before she can commit to the swear, patching it over with "freezing cold" and a nervous chuckle.
"A fun little story to tell at parties," her father concludes before pouring you wine.
Morgana warily watches, gently warning: "Careful. Drink slowly, and eat well before drinking too much."
<<elseif $chapt5_wine == 4>>
"I'm fifteen," you protest, aggrevied to be the only one excluded. "Just one year younger than Elaine - and she's drinking."
"I was merely teasing you!" the Duke says, trying to smooth over the situation with a good-natured laugh. "How could we leave you out - as you said, Elaine's drinking too after all." Elaine freezes in the middle of stuffing her face with buttered bread at the repeated mentions of her name, eyes darting towards you. "Admittedly she's not drinking much; last time she indulged she fell into the river."
"Father!" The objection has no power behind it, muffled by a mouthful of bread.
"At Isolde's wedding, no less."
Gareth turns to her, bemused: "You did?"
Elaine hurries to chew - though it's questionable how much she actually does with how quickly she swallows - while Isolde atempts to hide a smile behind her glass. "Yeah, from a boat Isolde and I took for a few quiet moments. I lost balance and pitched over," she says in a tone that suggests a different story. "It was cold as fu-" she catches herself before she can commit to the swear, patching it over with "freezing cold" and a nervous chuckle.
"A fun little story to tell at parties," her father concludes before turning to you. "So, wine?"
You nod, assuaged that you won't be denied the liquid - especially after he's praised it so highly and enthusiastically. It's only fair you get to partake.
Morgana warily watches as he pours, gently warning: "Careful. Drink slowly, and eat well before drinking too much."
<<elseif $chapt5_wine == 5>>
Red hot indignation floods your cheeks. "So Elaine can drink and get married at sixteen but I can't have a glass of wine at fifteen?" you demand, pointing out the hypocrisy of it all.
The table falls into strained silent, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Lot throws you a withering glare while Morgana watches on with interest, a smile curling her lips.
Raphael Beauregard breaks the quiet with a good-natured laugh. "I was merely teasing you!" the Duke says. "How could we leave you out - as you said, Elaine's drinking too after all." Elaine freezes in the middle of stuffing her face with buttered bread at the repeated mentions of her name, eyes darting towards you. "Admittedly she's not drinking much; last time she indulged she fell into the river."
"Father!" The objection has no power behind it, muffled by a mouthful of bread.
"At Isolde's wedding, no less."
Gareth turns to her, bemused: "You did?"
Elaine hurries to chew - though it's questionable how much she actually does with how quickly she swallows - while Isolde atempts to hide a smile behind her glass. "Yeah, from a boat Isolde and I took for a few quiet moments. I lost balance and pitched over," she says in a tone that suggests a different story. "It was cold as fu-" she catches herself before she can commit to the swear, patching it over with "freezing cold" and a nervous chuckle.
"A fun little story to tell at parties," her father concludes before turning to you. "So, wine?"
You nod, assuaged that you won't be denied the liquid - especially after he's praised it so highly and enthusiastically. It's only fair you get to partake.
Morgana warily eyes your glass, gently warning: "Careful. Drink slowly, and eat well before drinking too much."
<<elseif $chapt5_wine == 6>>
"Please?" you ask, as sweetly as you can muster to be, putting on a smile. "Just a bit?"
"Of course! I was merely teasing you!" the Duke says with a good-natured laugh. "How could we leave you out - Elaine's drinking too after all." Elaine freezes in the middle of stuffing her face with buttered bread at the mention of her name, eyes darting towards you. "Admittedly she's not drinking much; last time she indulged she fell into the river."
"Father!" The objection has no power behind it, muffled by a mouthful of bread.
"At Isolde's wedding, no less."
Gareth turns to her, bemused: "You did?"
Elaine hurries to chew - though it's questionable how much she actually does with how quickly she swallows - while Isolde atempts to hide a smile behind her glass. "Yeah, from a boat Isolde and I took for a few quiet moments. I lost balance and pitched over," she says in a tone that suggests a different story. "It was cold as fu-" she catches herself before she can commit to the swear, patching it over with "freezing cold" and a nervous chuckle.
"A fun little story to tell at parties," her father concludes before turning to you. "So, wine?"
You nod, assuaged that you won't be denied the liquid - especially after he's praised it so highly and enthusiastically. It's only fair you get to partake.
Morgana warily watches as he pours, gently warning: "Careful. Drink slowly, and eat well before drinking too much."
<<elseif $chapt5_wine == 7>>
Red hot indignation floods your cheeks. "I don't like wine anyway," you petulantly say in an attempt to save face - you can't be slighted by the refusal if you never wanted the damned wine to begin with.
"I was merely teasing you!" the Duke says with a good-natured laugh, which only serve to peeve you out more, make it sting worse. "How could we leave you out - as you said, Elaine's drinking too after all." Elaine freezes in the middle of stuffing her face with buttered bread at the mention of her name, eyes darting towards you. "Admittedly she's not drinking much; last time she indulged she fell into the river."
"Father!" The objection has no power behind it, muffled by a mouthful of bread.
"At Isolde's wedding, no less."
Gareth turns to her, bemused: "You did?"
Elaine hurries to chew - though it's questionable how much she actually does with how quickly she swallows - while Isolde atempts to hide a smile behind her glass. "Yeah, from a boat Isolde and I took for a few quiet moments. I lost balance and pitched over," she says in a tone that suggests a different story. "It was cold as fu-" she catches herself before she can commit to the swear, patching it over with "freezing cold" and a nervous chuckle.
"A fun little story to tell at parties," her father concludes before turning to you. "So, wine?"
You nod imperiously, still keeping up the front you initially put up. You don't want the wine, but if he insists so be it.
Morgana warily watches as he pours, gently warning: "Careful. Drink slowly, and eat well before drinking too much."
<<elseif $chapt5_wine == 8>>
"I don't like wine," you baldly say, letting it be known the liquid would be wasted on you, anyway.
"I was merely teasing you!" the Duke says with a good-natured laugh, taking your declaration as some attempt at modesty or saving face. "How could we leave you out - as you said, Elaine's drinking too after all." Elaine freezes in the middle of stuffing her face with buttered bread at the mention of her name, eyes darting towards you. "Admittedly she's not drinking much; last time she indulged she fell into the river."
"Father!" The objection has no power behind it, muffled by a mouthful of bread.
"At Isolde's wedding, no less."
Gareth turns to her, bemused: "You did?"
Elaine hurries to chew - though it's questionable how much she actually does with how quickly she swallows - while Isolde atempts to hide a smile behind her glass. "Yeah, from a boat Isolde and I took for a few quiet moments. I lost balance and pitched over," she says in a tone that suggests a different story. "It was cold as fu-" she catches herself before she can commit to the swear, patching it over with "freezing cold" and a nervous chuckle.
"A fun little story to tell at parties," her father concludes before turning to you. "So, wine?"
You refuse, echoing your less than favorable opinion on wine; it may come off as an insult to such a passionate wine-maker, but it's simply not to your tastes. The man respects your decision and leaves you to your alcohol-free apple cider.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_wine == 1 or $chapt5_wine == 8>>
As Raphael Beauregard drones on about things like barrels and more adepts' praying as the recipe for a truly excellent wine, the guests sip on their glasses. Despite being fully capable of tasting the wine, the Duke insists on waxing poetic about its qualities and savour nonetheless, with the passion of an artist discussing their masterpiece: going on about its sweet, dark and robust flavor, with just a pleasant hint of tanginess. By the time you get to the main course, you're convinced you could start your own wine-making affair with all the details you've been told.
<<else>>
As Raphael Beauregard drones on about things like barrels and more adepts' praying as the recipe for a truly excellent wine, you sip from your glass. It hits your tongue sweet and dark and robust, with a hint of tanginess. Even after you swallow it down, the wine coats your mouth with its heavy, heady flavors. Despite being fully capable of tasting the wine, the Duke insists on waxing poetic about its qualities and savour nonetheless, with the passion of an artist discussing their masterpiece. By the time you get to the main course, you're convinced you could start your own wine-making affair with all the details you've been told.
<</if>>
When he finally falls silent, his wife pipes up, gladly on a different subject: "Preparations are all going well and smoothly." She nods meaningfully at Lot, who nods back akin a conspirator. "Just a few details left to settle, but we have time."
Morgana gingerly dabs at her mouth before taking a slow, long sip of her wine, glancing between Lot and Beatrice over the rim of her crystal glass. All events have been thus far primarily orchestrated by your mother, a task she was always glad to undertake despite any complaints she might have made, which she saw entitled to, when issues after issue keep piling up, as they're wont to do: from singers getting sore throats at the last moment, to deliveries coming short of a couple barrels of wine. Yet this time she's relinquished all responsibility besides conducting a couple perfunctory tasks, leaving Lot to contend with organizing the event of the year. Lot, who hasn't had to worry about such matters since Morgana's return to the Duchy; Lot, who hasn't had to contemplate whether moss green or basil green were better suited a color to deck the hall with, and ensure proper accomodations so none of the guests end up sleeping on the street. Fortunately for the Duke, he was given ample help with Astolat's enthusiastic involvement in the planning process.
The table conversation shifts to casual chit-chat and small talk, ranging from discussing court events to recounting funny, harmless incidents.
"Elaine," Lord Beauregard hisses over the table in a way that surely fancies itself subtle. Beatrice is relating some fashion mishap from some recent ball, her small hand gestures and animated expressions helping paint a most vivid picture.
Elaine, slumped over her empty plate, one hand loosely grasping her glass, glances from her mother to him, one brow raised inquisitively. Raphael emphatically rolls back his shoulders and pulls back his elbows, demostrating a proper pose. Elaine simply stares back, tight-lipped, fingers tightening around her cup. Her father isn't about to give up so easily, though. He holds her gaze, steadfast, as Beatrice builds up to the punchline of her story, willfully ignoring both. Then Elaine relents with a sigh. She leans straight against the backrest, nursing her red wine begrudgingly.
Desert is brought over along with a new bottle of wine that Raphael accepts with a beaming smile, promising nothing short of another lengthy treatise on its qualities.
"This is a sparkling wine," he says, drumming his nails against the bottle - it rings with a small, bright clink. "Fitting for desert, very sweet - but not overwhelmingly so, balanced with a refreshing tart taste. It's also fizzy on the tongue! Another one of our finest selections." And here he delves into a second technical rant which by now your ears have learnt to block out like background chatter.
<<if $chapt5_wine == 1 or $chapt5_wine == 8>>
The Duke fills everyone's glasses - even asking you again if you'd like some this time, only to once again be refused. Elaine stops him, on ground of not having finished her red wine yet; she's been taking slow, small sips, paced out between eating and drinking water, wanting to avoid a repeat of whatever level of intoxication led her to fall into the river.
<<else>>
The Duke fills everyone's glasses - yours included, without any fuss or teasing this time. Elaine stops him, on ground of not having finished her red wine yet; she's been taking slow, small sips, paced out between eating and drinking water, wanting to avoid a repeat of whatever level of intoxication led her to fall into the river.
<</if>>
[[Next|Chapt5AfterLunch]]<<if $chapt5_drink_wine == 1>>
You indulge of the wine but don't exaggerate, pacing yourself; the others at your table drink too, more or less moderately.
<<elseif $chapt5_drink_wine == 2>>
You indulge of the wine, perhaps a tad too much, too fast; the others at your table drink as well, more or less moderately.
<<else>>
You don't indulge in the wine, be it red, white, or sparkling, resuming yourself to the grape juice which has not yet seen such intoxicating levels of fermentation. The others at your table partake of the alcohol, more or less moderately.
<</if>>
As the food dwindles - though the glasses never empty, never for too long - chatter kindles at your table. A spark here, a spark there, the crack of a laugh and the splinter of a sigh, voices overlapping and coalescing into a buzz you could easily let melt into the background.
Until all goes up in flames. A heated literary debate takes over your table, though it's mainly Gawain and Elaine talking. A battle of intoxicated wits over //The Gallant Galavanting of Galia//, where the only qualification to winning seems to be not the strength of your argument, but that of your lungs, eloquence not required. Gareth has tried to join in the conversation, strategically waiting for the lulls of silence to have his calm, sober voice heard; those lulls haven't come in a while now.
"The action is good," Elaine proclaims, for the whole feast to know, "the axe fight was fun if a tad exaggerated, but that makes it //good.// The romance though-"
"It was cute!"
"It was too sappy."
"It was //adorable//."
"I just couldn't take them seriously. That mountaintop scene-"
Gawain speaks up to trounce the oncoming blasphemy by sheer, shrill volume alone, "That mountaintop scene was great - Oh, hi Isabel." It's almost eerie how seamlessly he modulates to his bubbly, bright, big brother tone. "What're you doing?"
She looks up at him, wide-eyed, and speaks with urgent, almost theatrical solemnity, "Gawain, there's something I have to ask! I've just realized that - that dragons don't marry like we do. Why is that?"
Surprise washes over his wine-flushed face. "That's a great question! You know, I was just about your age when I asked mother and father that, too."
"And what did they say?"
He squares his shoulder, readying himself."We-ell..."
Oh, you have to get $dragon_name in on this. You can't spot them in the scaly swarm of tucked wings, jutting thorns and flicking tails, so you reach out with your mind and find them wolfing down their food, seated in a circle round a low table with Felix, Ariawen and Callum. You quickly replay Isabel's query for them, then turn the question playfully onto your friend to answer.
<<if $dragon_personality == "shy" or $dragon_personality == "fearful">>
//"I'd often wondered about that,"// $dragon_name says, with a vague, distant sense of curiosity, //"I always thought it was strange. Sorry."//
You hide your smile in your napkin, dabbing carefully in hopes of wiping it away.
<<else>>
//"We don't marry,"// $dragon_name replies with faux gravity, //"because we aren't as strange as you humans are."//
You stifle laughter in your napkin, dabbing carefully at your lips as if that might help wipe away your smile.
<</if>>
$dragon_name goes on, idly, wonderingly following this thread of thought: //"There's always that one occasional, odd-one-out dragon couple that wants to get married like humans do. To show how they've assimilated, or because they think it'd be fun. Or just ridiculous. Hey, remember that one Pendragon king that tried to persuade the dragons that they should also get married, make it law?"//
//"I remember how utterly and brutally he was refused. Please-"// you paint a mental image of yourself, one hand dramatically splayed across your forehead, //"-remind me not of my ancestors' follies."//
Their laugh rings around your head.
Meanwhile, within your actual physical earshot, Gawain explains away, surprisingly eloquent given all the wine cups he's downed: "Dragons are just...together. They don't sign any documents to split, uh, property and wealth and stuff. Don't use it to secure alliances. Or bloodrights. Or whatever."
"But they love each others like humans do," Isabel says. "Why not marry then?"
"Oh, you don't need to marry for that. Us humans do it because - because our relationships have to be officially recognized-" he scrunches up his face in concentration, eyes darting to the side as if he might find the sought out words hanging along the vines "-validated in the eyes of the law, so we can exert our afferent rights and so on and so forth that you'll all learn when you're older."
"Dragons don't have those laws and rights?"
Gawain chuckles. "No, it's not - it's not something built into their society."
"Why?"
"Because they did things differently," Gawain says.
"Why?" she presses on.
And he caves in with the classic redirection. "You should ask some dragons about it," he says. "Ask Elewen! They know a lot about this sort of stuff."
Isabel nods her head slowly, importantly. "I see, I see."
She seems to profoundly ruminate on the words - that is, during the brief spell it takes her gaze to travel from Gawain's face to his wine goblet, at which point her interests switch onto the troubling matter of why he's allowed to drink the wine she's been barred from. When Gawain snatches the cup out of her outreaching, eager hand, she employs the pleading method that relies on one sweetly pitching their voice and playfully drawing out all words - the longer you can do it, the higher the success rates.
"You know you're too young and it's not even that good," Gawain lies in one rushed, wine-reeking breath while Elaine chokes on said "not even that good" wine.
With impeccable timing, Kay swoops in to scoop Isabel up in his arms before any more protesting can ensue. "Hey, there you are," he says, as if he hasn't been keeping a close eye on her from his table, "sitting with the big kids, huh?"
Isabel looks affronted. "Aunt Guin says I'm a big kid myself." She speaks with the imperious solemnity that suggests the queen's word should not be taken in vain, especially not when they grant her such a respectable title.
"Of course, if aunt Guin says so. Though these are //bigger// kids. Why don't we go dance?"
He whisks her away, winking at you all over her shoulder.
"What an inquisitive mind she is," Isolde pleasantly remarks.
Elaine watches father and daughter go, absentmindedly mopping remnant sauce off her plate with a bread corner. "Will she be a squire like you?"
Gawain shakes his head. "We don't think she'd be interested. I mean, she said so herself. She kind of likes playing with wooden swords, but that's all. She does weekly change her mind concerning what she wants to do. Sometimes she wants to be a painter, othertimes a bard, others she wants to take care of horses."
"It's not usually up to the kid if they become a knight though," Elaine says, seeming to ruminate on more than her piece of bread. "Did you also get a choice?"
Gawain shrugs. "They asked if I'd like it."
Elaine slowly nods. Her lips pucker and twist, testing the words on her tongue before she finally says: "Don't you find this curious? That one doesn't choose to become a knight, but has the decision made for themselves before they can even fully grasp what it entails? It sort of is just...thrust upon you. You'd expect, given the commitment, the effort, the dedication that comes into it, that you'd want someone older making that choice for themselves."
"A knight needs extensive training, " Galahad says, "it's only natural to start young. Besides, there's been exceptions, of valiant heroes getting knight-"
She tacks her response on top of him, tone clipped: "I'm not talking about exceptions. I'm not interested in them. I'm talking about the rules. Becoming a knight is a big responsibility, and you're being sworn to that path or barred from it by someone else. And dragons, we've dragged them into this too. They don't have a history, or precedent or whatever of stuff like this - they didn't even have knights before! Artists choose their profession, so do scholars. None of you chose this." She makes sure to lock eyes with each squire - and the one knight - at the table. "Would you still have chosen this for yourself?"
<div class="choice">[[You may not have chosen this for yourself, but you've embraced the path to knighthood. You wouldn't have chosen differently.|Chapt5Knighthood][$chapt5_knight_opinion to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Mother has always told you that knighthood will offer you a chance to climb high and seek the retribution you deserve, so you're ready to embrace it.|Chapt5Knighthood][$chapt5_knight_opinion to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Mother has always told you that knighthood will offer you a chance to gain respect and retribution; you don't want her revenge, but it'd be nice to get some reparations, if you can.|Chapt5Knighthood][$chapt5_knight_opinion to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't know if, given the choice, you would have decided on knighthood; but it's the path you're on, and the only one you know.|Chapt5Knighthood][$chapt5_knight_opinion to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't know if, given the choice, you would have decided on knighthood; but it's the path you're on, and the only that'll bring you vengeance.|Chapt5Knighthood][$chapt5_knight_opinion to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't know if, given the choice, you would have decided on knighthood; but it's the path you're on, and the one that'll bring you justice, hopefully.|Chapt5Knighthood][$chapt5_knight_opinion to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't know if, given the choice, you would have decided on knighthood, but you feel it's all worked out for the best.|Chapt5Knighthood][$chapt5_knight_opinion to 7]]</div><<if $chapt5_wingman == 1>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold" or $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
Whenever Felix looks away, you hold up both thumbs to $dragon_name in silent encouragement. Outwardly, they roll their eyes at you. Inwardly, they thank you for the vote of confidence. Then ask you to stop doing it before Felix catches you.
<<else>>
Whenever Felix looks away, you hold up both thumbs to $dragon_name in silent encouragement. Outwardly, they offer quick, grateful nods. Then inwardly, ask you to stop doing it before Felix catches you.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_wingman == 2>>
You wax poetic about $dragon_name's achievements, painting a bright, shiny - gaudy, some might say - coat of paint over all of their feats and skills. Felix listens to it all intently, eyes flitting between you and $dragon_name. You'd like to say they're impressed, but they look more amused to be indulging you than anything else. Still, it doesn't stop you from extolling $dragon_name's virtues.
You're so overzealous in your endeavour in fact, you end up exaggerating some events. $dragon_name has to step in and stop you from talking, eyeing you askew.
"Forgive my friend," they say. "Mordred's very...enthusiastic."
Felix lazily flicks their tail, none at all bothered by your threatics. "Why wouldn't ?they be, with such an //amazing// friend?"
//'So my plan worked,'// you stroke your own ego over your mental connection.
//'Oh, I think they're mocking me.'// $dragon_name's words are as light as Felix's; impressed or unimpressed, you at least gave them something to joke about.
<<elseif $chapt5_wingman == 3>>
You let the two of them talk and once you find a lull in the conversation, jump in with a sincere smile and simple, straightforward remark declaring $dragon_name a great dragon and a great friend. You mean every word of it and it must read on your face, which Felix so keenly fixes.
//'And you, my dear friend, are oh so very subtle,'// $dragon_name says over your connection.
//'It's simply the truth. Are you going to keep me from saying the truth?'//
The sentiment sent by $dragon_name next can best be described to have the same intended effect a sigh would have. Still, it's followed by a wave of warm gratitude.
<<elseif $chapt5_wingman == 4>>
Over your connection, you send $dragon_name a couple words of encouragement - the same words you read again and again in your childhood books. When trying to impress others, just be yourself! Otherwise you might end up in a comedy of errors, creating unnecessary yet hilarious drama instead of holding tails like two cute dragons in love.
$dragon_name receives the message with amused gratitude.
<</if>>
Your job here is done now. Best leave the two of them to talk and have fun on their own - romance won't be blooming with you standing around, but you'd like to think you at least helped water it.
Bidding your goodbyes, you take off towards the woods. A moment of respite before the frenzy that awaits tomorrow.
[[The wedding guests arrive.|Chapt5WeddingGuestsArrival]]"The woods," you lightly suggest.
"Hmm," Elaine nods along slowly, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. "Like the rebels." She considers it for a long moment, eyes focused up on the clear blue sky, then jumps to her feet. "Well, I'll be heading out then. Later."
You watch as she disappears through the arcade, steps echoing briskly across the passage. You wait for a bit, giving her a headstart so that your paths don't cross again - at least not until dinner - then go ahead on your way.
The castle is truly in an uproar. With the guests - the royal, the noble and the influential - arriving tomorrow, everything must be in order. Attendants are scrambling to put up decorations and bring on the fine furniture for the feast. Servants are rushing to air guest chambers and deck the beds with freshly pressed linen. The steward and her assistants are ensuring that all supplies have been sourced in the right amount and of the right quality; they secure a place to sleep for each guest, be it at the castle - for the more important - or at the fancy inns close-by. The healers will be taking inventory of their medicine, especially the kind used to treat the effects of alcohol and indigestion and whatever else could mar the nobles' fun, and the marshals are preparing the stables to welcome the new deluge of horses.
You're headed out mostly to stretch your legs around the castle grounds, and maybe take up your own advice towards Elaine of going to the woods. It's the only place nearby that retains a sense of calm and quiet right now. You might even spot some critters hiding in the foliage.
[[Continue|Chapt5RunIntoDragon]]Teacher Damian's overly enthusiastic discourse on war alliances is unceremoniously interrupted by a peal of brassy laughter.
She cuts her eyes to the open window in indignation towards the unseen disturbance, than back to you. She opens her mouth, ready to recommence her speech with aplomb - but the only sound that resounds through the library is that same shriek of a laugh.
Wait. You recognize that voice.
You sit up and pop your head out the window, peering at the grounds below. Down there is Elaine Beauregard bounding up and down the hill to the Castle, pursued by a mighty, furry beast. She's running and laughing and screaming and brandishing a wooden, dull sword. Gareth watches the chase from a distance, holding a similar toy in a manner one would never hold an actual sword.
Elaine's quick, but her assailant is quicker still. She's soon overtaken and, by one strong shove of paws, sent careening to the ground with another yelp that spears the air. Having incapacitated its victim, Max proceeds to prod her snoot into her face and lick the hand that sticks out to push her away. Throughout the attack, her tail won't stop wiggling - any assumptions of this being a fearsome beast dispelled by it.
Damian gives a small huff of amusement as she watches with you, leant across the opposite side of the table. "They seem to get along. That is, Elaine and Gareth's dog." She draws back. "I reckon we've talked enough about war alliances. And war in general." She pushes her glasses up her nose; they glint sharply in the sunlight. "Let's talk marriage."
You settle back in your chair, eyeing your teacher with piqued interest. Damian doesn't sit down - she leans forward and props her forearms atop the back of her chair, meeting your gaze headlong. It feels less like a lesson and more like you're conspiring. "Why do you think this union between Gareth and Elaine is beneficial? What does it bring for each side? Is there anyone who depends on it more?"
You were not privy to the engagement arrangements and negotiations, as your presence was neither needed or requested. You are, however, plenty privy to gossip and speculation.
You may have spent the first years of your life on Avalon, but you've been long enough on the Continent to breed within you a thorough understanding of the way of Court and its rules, spoken and unspoken. It's such a different world from the mist-shrouded island, where there's no monarch or dukes or nobles or knights, just councils and priests and representatives of the people. They don't play at complicated games of sealing advantageous marriages, and don't balk at the idea of divorcing once married, either.
On the Continent - in the Kingdom of Camelot - marriage among nobles is everything. The alliances that can be bridged form the pillars of their gilded society. It's the lifeblood of court politics. The engagement between Gareth and Elaine simply makes sense: Gareth is poised to inherit the title of Duke, and Elaine is the youngest amongst her siblings, so marrying her off to another Duchy does not interfere with her own line. They're only one year apart in age, of similar romantic persuasions - that you've heard of, anyway - their statuses have cemented at least a vague familiarity with each other from all social events frequented. All the pieces fall beautifully into place. Their union makes sense.
It doesn't hurt that Lot is getting a cut from that wine-making business, a very intoxicating prospect. It begs the question though - what does Astolat get?
[[Continue|ChaptLectureDistraction1]]Teacher Damian's overly enthusiastic discourse on war alliances is unceremoniously interrupted by a rap on the door.
"Yes?"
Gareth's head of dark brown curls peeps inside. "Good afternoon, Teacher. I thought Mordred might be done with lessons by now."
Damian looks at the clock on the mantelpiece, not that far away from where she's tucked her elbow between two fragile-looking porcelain figurines. You've wondered if whoever is in charge of the library interior decorating places such delicate ware in her proximity as a challenge. Or, given how ugly and gaudy they look, if the person simply wishes to be rid of them already.
"We would have been," she notes, tapping the clock with her index nail, "had Mordred not been late; so we're extending it a quarter of an hour past usual. You may wait inside-" she sweeps one arm - the one leant on the mantelpiece, sending one of the statuettes in a clattering frenzy, "-or you may wait outside-" she swings the arm the other way, causing a second figurine to join in the trembling.
Gareth chooses to wait inside and sidles up to the seat next to you. He picks up a hefty tome off the table and busies himself with leafing through it as if it were leisure lecture and not a collection of chronicles and treatises on war across history, so weighty you could bludgeon someone with it in actual combat.
"You've already read that one," Damian remarks.
Gareth doesn't lift his eyes off the page. "It's a good one."
Your teacher shakes her head with a smile. Gareth is every tutor's favorite student: earnest, diligent, clever and always eager to engage in academic discourse. If he weren't to become a Duke, you're sure he would have made a great scholar.
"Alright," Damian says, the corners of her lips twitching. She strides away from the mantelpiece, sparing the poor porcelain statuettes, coming instead to sit across the table from the two of you. "Let's talk more topical. Why do you think this union between Gareth and Elaine is beneficial? What does it bring for each side? Is there anyone who depends on it more?"
This arrests Gareth's attention more effectively. He closes the book, careful so as to only emit a small //thump// as its heavy covers enclose the thousands of pages betwixt. He slides it back onto the table and levels Damian with a curious look before turning to you.
Your gaze darts between the two of them as you straighten up and put down your feathered pen. They're both staring at you. "Am I to answer?"
"It's your lesson, not Gareth's."
<<if $defiant >= 55>>
"It is his engagement, though," you counter. At Damian's pointed look, you concur. "Alright."
<<else>>
"Right," you nod.
<</if>>
You were not privy to the engagement arrangements and negotiations, as your presence was neither needed or requested. You are, however, privy to Gareth's thoughts and recountings of these meetings. Well, sort of. You're still unsure how much he unveils of what he feels, but he has drawn back the curtain on the parleys and affairs conducted between the two parties. Not that it was that hard to guess, anyway. Upon the union being sealed - in less than a fortnight, a date that's ushered in with nervous delight by most of the Castle - Lot shall receive a cut from that wine-making business, a very intoxicating prospect. Astolat, in turn, receives claims over your most prolific industries: agriculture, forestry and fishing.
In other times, Lothia's military power - which has been a fixture of Lothia's forefront attributes, throughout its time as Kingdom and Duchy - would have played an important role in negotations. As it stands though, that military falls under Arthur's command, so the idea of Astolat allying itself to Lothia for the protection and might it may promise would have been far more viable in a time before Uther's conquests turned almost an entire Continent into one single country. Making use of the army is the last thing Arthur wishes; his vision for Camelot comprises a future free of the bloodshed and violence that marked his father's reign.
[[Continue|Chapt5lectureInterruption1]]Marrying Gareth would propel Elaine up in status too, from mere Ducal child to Ducal spouse. It's a grand step, that comes with as much influence and benefits as it does responsibilities. The Beauregards put little emphasis on this aspect, which Gareth found strange; usually, that would be the main appeal of such a union.
What you found strange was the haste in which all arrangements were settled. Gareth told you it wasn't all that peculiar, that plenty of other engagements had been //rushed on//, as you called it. Usually, the haste is due to a fear of either parties backing out, or being offered a better alliance that could lure away the other. Not that they'd ever say it outloud, to each other at least. If there's one thing you learn quickly at court, it's that you must not bleed in front of it.
You may have spent the first years of your life on Avalon, but you've been long enough on the Continent to breed within you a thorough understanding of the way of Court and its rules, spoken and unspoken. It's such a different world from the mist-shrouded island, where there's no monarch or dukes or nobles or knights, just councils and priests and representatives of the people. They don't play at complicated games of sealing advantageous marriages, and don't balk at the idea of divorcing once married, either.
On the Continent - in the Kingdom of Camelot - marriage among nobles is everything. The alliances that can be bridged form the pillars of their gilded society. It's the lifeblood of court politics. The engagement between Gareth and Elaine simply makes sense: Gareth is poised to inherit the title of Duke, and Elaine is the youngest amongst her siblings, so marrying her off to another Duchy does not interfere with her own line. They're only one year apart in age, of similar romantic persuasions - that you've heard of, anyway - their statuses have cemented at least a vague familiarity with each other from all social events frequented. All the pieces fall beautifully into place. Their union makes sense.
"So?" Damian prompts, cocking her head.
You marshall your thoughts and summarize them for your teacher, concluding with: "They're both benefiting from this union," which seems like a fair, sensible statement to arrive at.
Gareth nods along slowly to your words, watching you with a small proud smile. "That's true," he says. Of course that's true - half the things you said you've heard from him.
"But there's more to it, isn't it? We can do better - explore this more."
"Well, of course there's more," Gareth smoothly cuts in, unable to resist getting caught up in the eddy of political conversations. He does give it a valiant attempt, though: "But I should allow Mordred to speak."
"No, no," you say, interest piqued. "You can go on. Can he, Teacher?"
Damian gives a quick jerk of her head.
"Besides all that's neatly written down in contracts and signed upon by both parties," Gareth says, "there's an expectation on both parts that, when it comes to discussions held within the Kingdom, where the Ducal heads participate in the decision-making, that the two Duchies will support one another and be in agreement of whatever resolution they come to, together, that would be in both their best interests.
Damians snaps her fingers with a sharp, resounding click. "Exactly. Now you're free as a bird for today." She lets you go with a promise to further discuss historical alliances, their importance and their ramifications, speaking with the same excitement one would have for a party or fair.
[[Next|Chapt5GarethTalkLibrary]]Lothia has a high standing among the industry of agriculture, it's been hammered into your head throughout Morgana's tirades about unending, administrative papers. There's also fishing, what with the country having a wide opening to the sea, and forestry.
And military power, of course. It's been a fixture of Lothia's forefront attributes, throughout its time as Kingdom and Duchy.
As a Duchy though, that military falls under Arthur's command, so the idea of Astolat allying itself to Lothia for the protection and might it may promise would have seen far more viable in a time before Uther's conquests turned almost an entire Continent into one single country. As it stands, making use of the army is the last thing Arthur wishes; his vision for Camelot comprises a future free of the bloodshed and violence that marked his father's reign.
Marrying Gareth would propel Elaine up in status, from mere Ducal child to Ducal spouse. It's a grand step, that comes with as many benefits and influence as it does responsibilities. Perhaps that's the main appeal, unless there's some hidden motivation eluding you.
The engagement does seem kind of hurried. Lots of nobles marry young, so it's not the oddest part. Maybe the haste is due to a fear of either parties backing out, or being offered a better alliance that could lure away the other.
"So?" Damian prompts, cocking her head.
You marshall your thoughts and summarize them for your teacher, concluding with: "They're both benefiting from this union," which seems like a fair, sensible statement to arrive at.
"They are, but there's more than just business and influence they stand to gain from this, on a larger scale," Teacher Damian says. "Imagine: there comes the time to discuss and make some decisions at Kingdom level, that the Ducal heads participate in. There's an expectation, most likely explicitly said between the parties, and implicitly understood by everyone else, that the two Duchies will now aid each other and back up each other; act in each other's interests."
Damian glances at the cloak on the mantelpiece - a beautiful contraption with a dark luster and untarnished gold accents. It's been brought in a month ago after your tutor sent its predecessor to the floor, where it ended its impressive five year tenure in a mess of cogs and splinters. The hands point past the hour you'd usually end your lesson, having been delayed by your fashionably late arrival. Luckily, this was your only class of today, and there's plenty of time to unwind before dinner.
"Free as a bird," Damian declares, letting you go with a promise to further discuss historical alliances, their importance and their ramifications, speaking with the same excitement one would have for a party or fair.
[[Next|Chapt5CarriageRide]]Morgana gets up and reaches out for your little hand, guiding you across the green hillside. Tall grass and wild flowers sway slightly in the light salty breeze, and the sun shines gently. Over the brim of the hill, the blue expanse of the sea goes on towards the haze on the horizon, the mist that circles Avalon and keeps it concealed.
You see a spot in the distance, flying quickly towards you, shaping up to a familiar form. A dragon no bigger than a wolf, with green scales that glint in the sunlight.
With a grin on your face, you break into a sprint to meet the dragon rushing to you, lowering itself onto the hill. They almost knock you off your feet in their enthusiasm to greet you.
"Hey, Scaly!" You giggle as the creature pushes their reptile-like snout against you, puffing warmly in your face. You place your palms on each side of their face to stop it, then pat their head. "Where have you been?"
Scaly - the nickname you have devised for them - is the cub of a dragon on the massive side. When they're all grown-up, they'll tower over you like a mountain.
Most wouldn't expect an answer. Many Avalonians know the physical cues of a dragon, on which they rely in their interactions with them - afterall, they are everywhere around the island. Large dragons roaming the dense forests, inhabiting hidden caves; small dragons living among humans in the city; horse-sized ones, flying gracefully over and lounging on the terracotta rooftops. Some of them simply pass by; others work alongside humans. In turn, dragons have studied human behavior. And on both sides, they are those who have learned the other's language, yet it's not something expected - possible - for someone as young as you.
But you're not like other people. And they can't know that.
//Just flying around all day, through clouds! It's so fun!!//
A high-pitched, childlike, excited voice rings in your ears, a voice only you can hear. As Morgana approaches idly, a smile on her lips, you know all she sees is a slobbering, squealing dragon.
Unlike humans, dragons can speak to each other with their minds. And, by dint of your blood, so can you, though it doesn't work exactly the same. Scaly explained it like being invited into someone's home: you knock on the door and they let you in, if they want to. You don't force your entry - not only would it be rude, but also hard to do. That's how it works between dragons; you as a dragonblood don't need to ask for permission.
You reply outloud, in the hissing, gravelly language of dragons. The words slither out your mouth with ease. "That really sounds like fun! I want to try too!"
<div class="choice">[["Can I go with Scaly for a ride?" you ask patiently.|Chapt1Ask][$chapt1_fly to "1", $defiant to $defiant-2, $impulsive to $impulsive-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Can I go with Scaly for a ride? Can I, can I, can I-?" you ask eagerly.|Chapt1Ask][$chapt1_fly to "2", $defiant to $defiant-2, $impulsive to $impulsive+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Attempt to get onto Scaly's back.|Chapt1Ask][$chapt1_fly to "3", $defiant to $defiant+2, $impulsive to $impulsive+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mother, can you help me onto Scaly? We just want to trot around a bit," you lie.|Chapt1Ask][$chapt1_fly to "4", $honest to $honest-2]]</div>"What did I say about reckless flying?"
Uh-huh.
<div class="choice">[[Act innocent to get out of trouble. "It wasn't that reckless."|Innocent1][$honest to $honest-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Blink innocently and genuinely say, "It wasn't that reckless."|Innocent2][$honest to $honest+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry," you say sheepishly.|Innocent3][$kind to $kind+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"It's not my fault! Scaly's doing the flying!\""|Innocent4][$kind to $kind-5]]</div>Junia is Morgana's friend; she often comes by your house to chat with your mother and play with you. Many times you've seen them walk, arms looped, or laughing with delight, or talking, heads together, voices hushed.
"Hello, Morgana." Junia steps forward, teal silk rippling around her legs.
Much like your mother's attire, the dress is lightweight, made of colorful fabrics with a simple yet elegant cut. A detail not so encountered, however, is the silver brooch on her breast, in the form of an apple tree, the token of a novice priestess.
"A letter came for you but you weren't at home so I told the messenger to give it to me." She extends the hand she had been keeping behind her back.
The air is suddenly heavier, fraught with something else beside the sweet fragrance of night flowers. Fraught with a tension you don't entirely understand, but makes you fret.
"Thank you, Junia," Morgana says pleasantly. You feel her hand tighten around yours, her gaze flitting from the letter to the girl's face. "That's the royal seal," she notes.
Junia scrunches up her nose. "It's from the King."
You glance up at your mother, inquisitive, something stirring inside you. Your father never wrote. What compelled him to do otherwise?
But you find no answer in your mother's face, her eyes trained on the letter. Features guarded.
"Let's head inside, shall we?" Morgana suggests, but not in the friendly manner she usually does.
You head inside into the atrium, a spacious room with a small rectangle pool in the middle, in which you like to dip your feet. Your mother says it's used for heating the floor.
Morgana circles the pool, unfastening and tossing her emerald cloak on a chair without pausing, leading the way through the archway opposite the entrance into the study.
The study is smaller than the atrium and where most of your lessons take place at the wooden desk in the middle of the room. The walls are filled with bookcases, shelves as well as yours and Morgana's paintings - the drawing you did of yourself, Morgana and Accolon is the centerpiece, surrounded by her renditions of Avalon and what she told you is Tintal's castle. There's also a red padded couch to which you rush to perch yourself upon, tired.
Morgana sits down at the desk, followed by Junia, who hands her the letter. You scramble from the couch to the chair next to your mother, leaning on the table to see as Morgana opens the letter.
"All of the High Priests received letters from the King today," Junia says in a low voice.
Morgana's brow raises, intrigued. "Is Arthur getting married?"
The other woman nods, and Morgana unfolds the letter, revealing lines of flourished letters, sharp and curled. You attempt to make out the words, while Morgana reads the letters with a hard expression.
<div class="handwriting" style='font-size: 150%;'>Dear...sister...I am...</div>
Before you even finish the line, your mother has already read the entire letter and gazes up at Junia's nervous face.
"It's an invitation to his wedding. Written by Arthur himself. He wants me to send a reply concerning my attendance."
Junia bites her lower lip. "Will you be going?"
"Of course."
<div class="choice">[["Can I come with you?" You want to see what Camelot is like.|Come1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Can I come too?" You want to meet your father.|Come2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do I have to come with you?" You don't want to leave Avalon.|Come3]]</div>"Let's go." Morgana beckons. "We still have a lot to pick before we head home."
You bid Scaly goodbye, and follow Morgana.
As the setting sun paints the sky a vibrant violet and flaming orange, tinting the white and grey mist of the barrier, you and Morgana head towards your house down the winding stonesteps path nestled on the side of the cliff. Heathers line the road, purple and upright in wild bunches. Thistles try to cling to you like hands asking you to give them the time of day.
The sun is now low on the horizon and will soon be engulfed in the mist, the golden orb swallowed by a bleeding serpent circling the island.
As you walk, houses come into view, stone buildings with terracotta roofs, some flat but for a hunch where they meet, some with easy slopes.
This part of the hillside there are generous patches of greenery between houses, trees and bushes offering privacy. The houses crowd together as your gaze moves further along the cliff towards the beach. Buildings of particular shape appear; the library towers jut out and the temple stands out ivory on a tongue of sand and stone extending into the sea.
The steps turn into a cobblestone path that slithers between pines towards your gate, adorned with climbing ivy, that leads into a lush garden of richly colored flowers, large-leaved plants and fruit trees. As you step inside the garden however, it's not just the buzz of night bugs and the pleasant warmth of the lanterns that greet you, but also a silhouette, sitting on the bench near the front of the house.
The woman stands up as soon as she sees you, ginger ringlets bouncing around her round face as she does. She greets you with her usual bright smile.
But even to your child eyes, you can see it's strained at the corners.
[[Continue|Chapter1.4.1]]Morgana turns to Junia, face serious. "I can't risk Merlin trying to take ?them away from me. All that reins him in from doing anything is the shelter Avalon's neutrality offers."
"I don't think Merlin would hurt Mordred," Junia reassures Morgana. "?They is the sole heir, after all. However the circumstances." Junia sneaks a glance in your direction.
"I know that, Junia, which is why that is not my concern. But Merlin would use his honeyed, deceitful words to mislead Mordred. Make ?them stray from me. Convince ?them ?they hasn't been wronged."
"Merlin is an awful man," you say to strengthen your mother's words with your own vehement, convicted ones. Tinged with a spite you heard in your mother's tone whenever she talks about the man.
Junia looks between the two of you, defeated. "Words so unlike yours?" she mutters.
Morgana glares, but Junia continues before the woman can say anything, "Have you encountered Guinevere before? In your time on the Continent?" She rests her forearms on the desk.
Morgana shakes her head slowly. "All my knowledge of her restricts to her title and heritage - she is the youngest child and only daughter of the Duke of Cornwallis. I have no acquaintance with the woman. My question is, how much will be told to her. About Mordred. About Arthur's..." The corners of her lips tug up. "Impotence."
Junia grimaces. "That sounds like something she should know. She will be queen. And it'll be expected of her to give him heirs."
"Such a shame the only children she can offer him are bastards with no Pendragon blood." But there's no trace of pity in Morgana's voice.
The redhead clicks her tongue, a pained expression on her face. "If they don't tell her, the poor girl will think it's her fault she can't bear children. And they will have found a scapegoat."
"They know that very well, and it's their cruelty to allow Arthur to take a wife."
The other woman shakes her head, curls dancing about her face. "But how will they even explain the lack of an heir? People will get restless. They'll get suspicious. There's solutions for fertility issues, they'd expect Merlin to put them to good use, unless something else is actually going on."
"I suppose they'll think Arthur has some heir hidden away, like he once was." Morgana stands up. "It's late and I have still to unload my basket. And Mordred should be in bed by now. Perchance you'd like to accompany me to the kitchen after I tuck ?them in?"
Junia nods, then waves at you as Morgana takes your hand and leads you to your chamber. You exit the library through a side door into a long corridor.
<div class="choice">[["But I want," you are interrupted by a yawn, "to help you too."|Bed1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Let her lead you without resistance.|Bed2]]</div>Your bedchamber is not big, but it's cozy and yours. The tall window welcomes in the silver light of the moon, over the weaving serpents painted on the floor, over your toys strewn across it, and over your bed tucked against the wall, luring you to it.
Morgana heaves you onto the edge of the bed and helps you remove your tunic and change into your nightgown, then tucks you under the sheets, stroking your cheek lovingly. As she leans over you, your vision is filled by her hair, which you've inherited. Both of you have the same beautiful hue, <<cycle "$hair">>
<<option "dark brown, deep and rich and almost black." "dark brown">>
<<option "chestnut brown, dark and lush." "chestnut brown">>
<<option "light brown like honey." "light brown">>
<<option "lush, dark blond." "dark blonde">>
<<option "icy blond, cool and lush." "icy blonde">>
<<option "golden blond, warm and lush." "golden blonde">>
<<option "auburn, deep red." "auburn">>
<<option "copper red, fiery." "copper red">>
<<option "pure black like the midnight sky." "black">>
<</cycle>> <<cycle "$hair_type">>
<<option "It's straight, like yours, draping over her shoulders like a curtain." "straight">>
<<option "It's wavy, like yours, cascading down her back like a river." "wavy">>
<<option "It's curly, like yours, ringlets spilling over her shoulders." "curly">>
<<option "It's coily, like yours, corkscrew coils bouncing against her shoulders." "coilycurls">>
<<option "It's coily, like yours, cloudlike around her face." "coily">>
<</cycle>>
[[Continue|Chapter1.7]]<<silently>>
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">><<set $arthur_hair to "waves">>
<<else>><<set $arthur_hair to "curls">>
<</if>>
<</silently>>
"When do you leave for the Continent?" you ask, your voice laced with heavy sleepiness.
"In a week, dear. The journey is a long one, I must say. Camelot is right in the middle of the Kingdom, and the Continent. I'm afraid I'll be away for a month at least. But when I return, I will do so with Accolon." She cups your face, staring intently into your eyes. "Promise me you'll listen to Junia and not get into trouble."
<div class="choice">[["Promise," you say earnestly.|Promise1][$honest to $honest+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Uh-huh," you hum vaguely.|Promise2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course not!" you say. You won't get into trouble; but if trouble comes your way, well that's not your fault.|Promise3][$honest to $honest-5]]</div>The sun shines brightly, casting its warm beams over Avalon, turning the sea to a shimmering crystal facade and the beaches into grinded gold.
But you're stuck inside, longingly looking out the window of Avalon's library.
"Mordred." Junia's mellow voice draws your attention. The young woman smiles apologetically, "I know it's a nice day and you want to be outside, but we must finish your lesson first. You know what Morgana said. Once you are ready, you can do whatever you want."
Morgana has set sail for the Continent a few days ago, leaving you in Junia's charge along with a clear set of rules she sternly asked the woman to follow.
<div class="choice">[[Sigh, but obediently agree.|Study1][$defiant to $defiant-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Mother doesn't have to know." You try to coax Junia into giving today's lesson up.|Study2][$honest to $honest-5, $persuasion to $persuasion+5, $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Taking the lesson outside could be beneficial," you attempt to argue your case.|Study4][$defiant to $defiant+1, $persuasion to $persuasion+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Grudgingly agree.|Study3][$defiant to $defiant-1]]</div>You don't know much about Lord Lot, beside that he is the man whose title you bear- Mordred of Lothia- and the man your mother was forced to marry, for who she gave birth to a boy, two years your senior. You've met neither your stepfather or half-brother, and after Morgana's words, Lord Lot does not seem too keen on knowing you, as he was not on giving you his name. When Morgana ran away with you to Avalon from Camelot, he threw a temper that resonated across the castle, and everyone assumed your mother was hiding away a child born out of wedlock.
"This is Lothia." You point towards a small duchy east of Camelot, small and a light brown.
"And Tintal?"
Tintal, your mother's home. Tintal, which was stolen from her.
"Here." On the southern coast of the Continent. Close to Avalon.
The Le Fay - the name you inherited from your mother and her from Igraine - fare from Avalon. Powerful sorcerers whose affinity lies in the four elements: water, fire, air and earth. Your affinity allows you to easily channel these elements, though they can just as easily get out of your control.
Junia keeps asking you duchies and you flawlessly point them out, one after another- Astolat, the land of wine; Corbenic, small but beautiful; Cornwallis, the duchy of the future queen.
Most of the Continent is just duchies, former kingdoms, under the control of Camelot- King Uther, Arthur's father, conquered them all.
Chronicles say he was a great tactician, a uniter of kingdoms who brought the warring countries together under the same crown. Your mother says he was a monster and a tyrant, who ravaged countries and brought them to their knees.
He couldn't subdue the whole Continent, though; rebels are said to live in the woods of Camelot; the nomads of the North are free to roam; and, in the South of the Continent, the blooming kingdom of Ituscia rules.
"You know the map perfectly," Junia praises. "Now, let's review your knowledge of your own power, what do you say? Do you know what you'll be able to do someday? Explain each of them."
All Pendragons - as all dragon bloods - have the same powers: they can perform fire magic, grow a scale armor, talk telepathically with dragons, understand and speak the dragon language without needing to learn it, and...Well, the last one on your list - the ability to mind control dragons - was not intended, and Morgana told you scholars still argue over the //ethics// of it, or some such. But it's something you could potentially do.
<<include PendragonPowers>>The woman has gathered an assortment of scrolls and tomes on the desk, from which she chooses a map she unfurls in front of you. It's a map you immediately recognize- there's a similar one hung on the walls of your abode's study, which Morgana made sure you memorized so well you could pinpoint the kingdoms and duchies on it with your eyes closed.
It's a map of the Continent and the waters lining it.
The Continent is a large stretch of land that takes up most of the map- it's painted in lush green where plains lay, and different shades of brown which grow lighter or deeper depending on the height of the hills and mountains. Splashes of blue announce lakes and slithering lines of blue follow rivers.
This particular map has no names written on it, being a pupil's map, meant to assess how well they know it; and that's exactly what Junia expects of you now.
You lean over the table, putting your elbows on the table and peering at the map. This shouldn't be hard; it comes to you as easily as describing Avalon, which every inch you came to know from your play and following Morgana around on her errands.
"Where's Camelot?" Junia asks, and your index promptly flies to point to the middle of the Continent, to that large patch of deep green and brown.
"That's Camelot. Where I'll rule when I'm big."
Arthur's kingdom. Your kingdom.
You're not afraid of making such claims- claims Morgana says are the truth which you must keep only between yourselves, and Accolon, and Junia- because your study place is safely away from the common room of the library, a private room in one of the library's towers, which is usually requested for those that need utmost peace and quiet in their studies; and Morgana, who requires utmost secrecy.
You see Junia's lips turn to a thin line as they always do on this subject. Even as a child you know she does not approve of the way your mother thinks. But Morgana still considers Junia her best of friends.
"That's correct, Mordred," she allows. "How about Lothia? That's where you'll be headed to soon, to start your knight training with Sir Accolon."
Indeed; in a few months, you'll be seven, and will become Sir Accolon's page in Lothia, Lord Lot's court.
[[Continue|Chapter1.9.1]]<div class="titlelettersone" style='font-size: 200%;'>Chapter 1</div>
//6 years old//
<<silently>><<set $age = "6", $age_no = 6>><</silently>>
"Can you recognize this plant?"
Your mother crouches down to your side, placing down her basket full of herbs and plants, and beckons you to closely inspect the plant in front of you. You do, leaning towards the sprout of green leaves: purple flowers come out of the middle.
Every time you go picking, she turns your little expedition into a practical trial of what she teaches you for long hours back in your cozy chambers, or the quiet library, full of scholars and priests reading hefty tomes and old scrolls.
After a few moments of careful consideration, you give your answer.
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" you say eagerly. "It's mandrake!"|Mandrake1][$magic to $magic+5, $confident to $confident+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's a plant with magical properties you use in your concoctions," you bluff your way with confidence.|Mandrake2][$persuasion to $persuasion+5, $confident to $confident+3, $honest to $honest-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is it mandrake?" you ask insecurely.|Mandrake3][$confident to $confident-3, $magic to $magic+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know," you plainly announce.|Mandrake4][$honest to $honest+3, $magic to $magic-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"It's that screaming plant.\""|Mandrake5][$magic to $magic+2, $confident to $confident+2]]</div><<silently>>
<<set $age to "7", $age_no = 7>>
<</silently>>
<div class="titlelettersone" style='font-size: 200%;'>Chapter 2</div>
//7 years old//
The ship emerges from the ring of mist surrounding Avalon, and you stare where you last saw your home, highlighted by the gloomy morning sky.
All you see now is fog.
<div class="choice">[[You're crying, sad to leave Avalon.|Ship1][$leaveavalon to "sad", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're smiling, excited to go to the Continent.|Ship2][$leaveavalon to "excited"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're nervous, excited about the Continent but wary of leaving your home.|Ship3][$leaveavalon to "nervous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're holding back tears, sad to leave Avalon.|Ship4][$leaveavalon to "sadnotcry", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div><<silently>>
<<set $met_gawain to true>>
<</silently>>
<<if $attitude == "defiant">>
Is it worth a few sharp words and cold glares from Lot? (The slaps he's rennounced as quick as he was to raising his hand to you, once he tasted Morgana's retributory anger). Of course it's worth it. Nothing you can't handle. After all, you have to live up to your reputation.
<<elseif $attitude == "meek">>
You always ignore them, or run away as soon as things get heated.
<<elseif $attitude == "friendly">>
Indeed, it catches them off guard. Their scowls smooth, or sometimes even turn into a hesitant smile. Others seem to resist your charm and frown, but at least leave you alone.
<<elseif $attitude == "shy">>
You just want to be seen for who you are, not who they think you are. Maybe if you smile enough, act nice enough, they'll see. So far, you've received hesitant smiles. It's a beginning.
<</if>>
"The weapons need a sharpening," you let the blacksmith know and he nods, getting right away to work.
Boian toils away silently and steadfastly at his grindstone and only stops as Kass, their draconic spouse, comes and nuzzles his cheek on the way to their own grindstone, the blades they have to sharpen laid out orderly on the bench.
You step back. It will take a while, but it's best to wait here. The heat from the forge is welcomed in the crisp autumn air, and you look longingly over the scarlet and rust colored leaves of the trees, wishing you were out flying with $dragon_name already.
Your moment of daydreaming is shortly broken, however.
The sensation of someone staring burns at the back of your head. When you turn around, you see a young boy perched on the edge of a table, eyeing you curiously.
He doesn't avert his gaze as you meet it, instead hopping off and coming to you. He's in front of you in a few moments.
The boy has a mop of dark brown hair and light brown eyes that shine like ale in a tankard, and an affable smile on his round face. He can't be much older than you.
"You are Mordred." It's not a question. "I'm Gawain, son and squire of Sir Kay."
Gawain. The boy you've heard so much about, but never met until now. The boy Arthur loves more than you. Your fist clenches at your side. You consider the boy. He's dressed up a lot more lavishly than the practical garb you'd expect from a squire, sporting a fine mint-green cloak with a delicate, pink rose embroidery and floral brocade boots that would not fare well against the mud.
Gawain inclines his head slightly, brown mess flopping on his forehead. "It's so good to finally meet you!"
You must have heard wrong. Surely, the sharp clang of metal from the forge and loud chatter around you must have drown out his words or degraded your hearing. Perhaps he mixed up your name. Is someone- especially him - being nice to you?
<div class="choice">[["Finally?" you croak out. "You've been looking forward to meeting me?"|Chapter3.2][$confident to $confident-2, $chapt3_meet_gawain to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hello! It's good to meet you too. I've heard a lot about you." You match his smile, genuinely.|Chapter3.2][$kind to $kind+2, $affable to $affable+2, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+1, $Gawain to $Gawain+1, $chapt3_meet_gawain to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hello! It's good to meet you too. I've heard a lot about you." You play nice, but you still don't like him.|Chapter3.2][$honest to $honest-3, $Gawain_ally to $Gawain_ally+1, $Gawain to $Gawain+1, $affable to $affable+2, $chapt3_meet_gawain to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hello," you say cautiously. What if he's faking it?|Chapter3.2][$impulsive to $impulsive-3, $chapt3_meet_gawain to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hello," you say shyly, but happy to be greeted so kindly.|Chapter3.2][$affable to $affable+2, $confident to $confident-3, $chapt3_meet_gawain to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hello," you say aloofly.|Chapter3.2][$affable to $affable-3, $chapt3_meet_gawain to "6"]]</div><<if $chapt3_meet_gawain == "1">>
You gape at him for a moment. "Finally?" you croak out, perplexed. "You've been looking forward to meeting me?"
He continues to smile, that kind smile so hard to take as anything but genuine, "Yes! I've heard you're a powerful sorcerer!"
Warmth creeps up your neck.
<<elseif $chapt3_meet_gawain == "2">>
His eyes widen, "Really?" Pink tints his cheeks. "So you know who I am!"
He looks delighted, and the ache you've been feeling toward him is soothed, like applying balm to a wound.
"I've heard you're a powerful sorcerer!" he says.
<<elseif $chapt3_meet_gawain == "3">>
Holding Arthur's affection is too big an offense for you to overlook so quickly. Even so, you plaster a sweet smile, sweet as honey, that you learned from Morgana, on your face. "Hello! It's good to meet you too. I've heard a lot about you."
His eyes widen, "Really?" Pink tints his cheeks. "So you know who I am?"
You want to scoff, but you just smile. "Of course."
He looks delighted, so naive as to believe you. "I've heard you're a powerful sorcerer!" he says.
<<elseif $chapt3_meet_gawain == "4">>
You cross your arms, as if this could shield you from any deceit. He looks genuine enough, but then, how much of it is an act?
"Hello," you say cautiously.
The boy's smile brightens, your guess that he may be feigning kindness rebuked. That, or he's one good actor.
"I've heard you're a powerful sorcerer!" he says.
<<elseif $chapt3_meet_gawain == "5">>
You hug yourself, biting your lip. It's not every day that you get such a kind smile that you can't help but bask in it. Truth is, you're so unaccustomed you don't know how to properly reply and a shy smile is all you can do. "Hello."
The boy's smile brightens. "I've heard you're a powerful sorcerer!" he says.
<<elseif $chapt3_meet_gawain == "6">>
You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow at this boy who thinks he can just approach you like that!
"Hello," you say aloofly.
He frowns, confused and hurt. It seems your attitude is totally unexpected to him, and he bites his lip. He isn't deterred though; you must applaud his resilience.
"I've heard you're a powerful sorcerer!" he says.
<</if>>
You've heard people use other adjectives to describe your skills. Mostly dangerous, out of control and a threat to the other children.
<<if $fire == "yes">>//And aren't they right?// you think, remembering the scream, the raw skin, the tingling in your palm.<</if>>
Completely taken aback by the awe in those brown eyes, you think of an answer.
<div class="choice">[["I suppose I am," you say shyly.|Chapter3.3][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $confident to $confident-2, $chapt3_sorcerer to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I'm not," you say shyly.|Chapter3.3][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $confident to $confident-2, $chapt3_sorcerer to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["That I am!" You grin.|Chapter3.3][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $confident to $confident+2, $chapt3_sorcerer to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["More like, dangerous," you say, sad.|Chapter3.3][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $chapt3_sorcerer to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not that powerful," You grin, but feel your ego stroked.|Chapter3.3][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $confident to $confident+2, $chapt3_sorcerer to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I suppose." You smile.|Chapter3.3][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $affable to $affable+2, $chapt3_sorcerer to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Whoever told you that lied to you." You laugh.|Chapter3.3][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $affable to $affable+2, $chapt3_sorcerer to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What about it?" you say impassibly.|Chapter3.3][$Gawain to $Gawain+2, $affable to $affable-2, $chapt3_sorcerer to "8"]]</div><<if $chapt3_sorcerer == "1">>
"Of course! I've heard you are Le Fay, and that you can shoot fire out of your hands! And-and make sparks, and conjure wind!" His arms make wild arcs as if he was casting a spell.
<<elseif $chapt3_sorcerer == "2">>
"Of course you are! I've heard you are Le Fay, and that you can shoot fire out of your hands! And-and make sparks, and conjure wind!" His arms make wild arcs as if he was casting a spell.
<<elseif $chapt3_sorcerer == "3">>
Grinning, you put your hands on your hips. "That I am!"
His eyes drink you in with awe. You feel like the knights parading around in their shiny armors.
<<elseif $chapt3_sorcerer == "4">>
You hang down your head and mutter, "More like, dangerous."
"What?" Gawain is baffled. "No, magic can get out of control, but that's why you're learning!" He throws out his hands and gives you a reassuring smile.
<<elseif $chapt3_sorcerer == "5">>
You grin, but wave your hand dismissively. "I'm not that powerful."
His eyes drink you in with awe. You feel like the knights parading around in their shiny armors.
<<elseif $chapt3_sorcerer == "6">>
It's very flattering, but you doubt you're that powerful. The way he looks at you, you'd think you're Merlin.
"Of course! I've heard you are Le Fay, and that you can shoot fire out of your hands! And-and make sparks, and conjure wind!" His arms make wild arcs as if he was casting a spell.
<<elseif $chapt3_sorcerer == "7">>
He laughs. "No, you're the liar. I've heard you are Le Fay, and that you can shoot fire out of your hands! And-and make sparks, and conjure wind!" His arms make wild arcs as if he was casting a spell.
<<elseif $chapt3_sorcerer == "8">>
He hesitates. "I've heard you are Le Fay, and that you can shoot fire out of your hands! And-and make sparks, and conjure wind!" His arms make wild arcs as if he was casting a spell.
<</if>>
"I like magic!" He looks away, pulling at the cord of his laced up shirt. "But I can't do magic." He looks back at you. This doesn't seem to make him less happy. "I have a friend who is a sorcerer like you! Nimue!"
<<if $nimue_childhood_crush is true>>
"Nimue?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself. You remember the older girl. You remember picking shells with her in Avalon. You remember her telling you she had to choose between Avalon and Camelot. //You remember how much you liked her.//
<<else>>
"Nimue?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself. You remember the older girl. You remember picking shells with her in Avalon. You remember her telling you she had to choose between Avalon and Camelot.<</if>>
"Yeah! You know her, don't you?"
<<if $nimue_childhood_crush is true>>
You nod. You do, through the fragments of your memories. Fragments seen through awe-struck lenses. Her mischievous smiles and twinkling green eyes; sandals tossed on the warm sand and hands filled with seashells; strewn toys, Nimue among them, chin propped in her hand as she listened to you go on about knights and dragons.
<<else>>
You nod. You do, through the fragments of your memories. Her mischievous smiles and twinkling green eyes; sandals tossed on the warm sand and hands filled with seashells; strewn toys, Nimue among them, chin propped in her hand as she listened to you go on about knights and dragons.
<</if>>
"Can you do a magic trick?" He looks at you with pleading, round eyes. It reminds you of $dragon_name begging for sweets.
<div class="choice">[["Sure!" You want to befriend him.|Chapt3Trick1][$affable to $affable+2, $Gawain to $Gawain+2, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $magictrick to "yes", $chapt3_trick_add to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Happy to oblige!" Winning the favor of the King's nephew sounds like a good idea.|Chapt3Trick1][$affable to $affable+2, $Gawain to $Gawain+2, $Gawain_ally to $Gawain_ally+2, $magictrick to "yes", $chapt3_trick_add to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure!" He's cute. ❤ |Chapt3Trick1][$affable to $affable+2, $Gawain to $Gawain+2, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2, $magictrick to "yes", $chapt3_trick_add to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure, I'll show you something really awesome!" You want to show off.|Chapt3Trick1][$confident to $confident+2, $Gawain to $Gawain+2, $magictrick to "yes", $chapt3_trick_add to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'd rather not," you say, knowing people are watching.|Chapt3Trick][$impulsive to $impulsive-2, $Gawain to $Gawain+2, $magictrick to "nocautious", $chapt3_trick_add to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'd rather not," you say coolly.|Chapt3Trick][$affable to $affable-2, $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $magictrick to "no", $chapt3_trick_add to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'd rather not," you gently refuse.|Chapt3Trick][$affable to $affable+2, $Gawain to $Gawain+2, $magictrick to "nogentle", $chapt3_trick_add to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What am I, a fair performer?" you snap. "Go ask them for tricks!"|Chapt3Trick][$affable to $affable-2, $calm to $calm-2, $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $magictrick to "no", $chapt3_trick_add to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure, I'll show you a trick." You play a malicious trick.|Chapt3Trick2][$kind to $kind-3, $Gawain to $Gawain-5, $magictrick to "bad", $gawainok to "no", $trick to "fire", $chapt3_trick_add to 9, $Galahad to $Galahad-2]]</div><<if $chapt3_salute == "1">>
You swallow back whatever bitterness you have, and put on a genuine smile. You will prevail. You will show them you're not who they think you are.
"Hello!"
The sound of the hammer hitting the metal of a weapon is the only response you get. You fight to keep the smile on your face; with each passing moment of silence it grows smaller, wilting like a flower under the cold winter in his gaze.
<<elseif $chapt3_salute == "2">>
You summon every bit of charm you have, all of it inherited from Morgana. That smile you're trying to cultivate.
"Hello!"
The sound of the hammer hitting the metal of a weapon is the only response you get. You fight to keep the smile on your face; it grows smaller with each passing moment of silence.
<<elseif $chapt3_salute == "3">>
You put on one of your sweet smiles that you've learned from Morgana - sweet, and utterly artificial.
"Hello!"
The sound of the hammer hitting the metal of a weapon is the only response you get. You try to keep the smile on your face, but with each passing moment of silence it slowly starts to fade.
<<elseif $chapt3_salute == "4">>
A shy smile curves your lips.
"Hello!"
The sound of the hammer hitting the metal of a weapon is the only response you get. You fight to keep the smile on your lips, but with each passing moment of silence it grows weaker, wilting like a flower under the cold winter in his gaze.
<<elseif $chapt3_salute == "5">>
He thinks he can intimidate you?
You cross your arms and put on a sardonic smile, "So impressed by me you are at a loss of words?" The venom in his stare is no match for the poison in your words.
The sound of the hammer hitting the metal of a weapon is the only response you get.
<<elseif $chapt3_salute == "6">>
You can't stand the intense scrutiny. You look away, but still feel his gaze boring into you.
<<elseif $chapt3_salute == "7">>
You step forward, as if trying to intimidate him, "What are you staring at?"
The response to your intimidation is silence.
<<elseif $chapt3_salute == "8">>
"Stop staring or I'll gouge out your eyes," You snarl.
He doesn't deign to reply to your threat nor heed its warning.
<<elseif $chapt3_salute == "9">>
You hold his gaze confidently, thrusting your chin forward, not intimidated by his silent scrutiny. He seems completely unimpressed by your defiance.
<<elseif $chapt3_salute == "10">>
The only response to your indifference is his aloof gaze.
<</if>>
Finally, he glances at Gawain. "Let's go, Gawain. Our fathers are expecting us. Are the weapons sharpened already?"
"Uh, I think so," the boy says sheepishly. "I got distracted."
Galahad sighs. "Come on."
Gawain waves at you as they leave, but the blonde boy quickly pulls him away, and you can hear him hiss, "I told you to stay away from Mordred!"
You hear the clang of metal, and the blacksmith calls out to you. You take your weapons and head back to the castle. You're just leaving after returning Accolon's bag, when you run into Morgana.
"Mordred!" She greets you with a smile, face flooded with relief.
Ever since you arrived in Lothia, Morgana's attire has adapted to that of a Lothian lady: linen dresses with colorful brodery sown into the hem, neckline and sleeves; light and flowy in the warm seasons, layered with petticoats and equally vibrant vests and jackets in the cooler months of the year.
<<if $hair_type == "wavy" or $hair_type == "straight">>
However, she's kept her $hair hair as always, reaching her mid back in lush tresses.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
However, she's kept her $hair hair as always, reaching her mid back in lavish curls.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coilycurls">>
However, she's kept her $hair hair as always, changing between her two usual hairdos - corkscrew coils that reach her shoulders, or locs that cascade down her back. Currently, she's wearing the later.
<<else>>
However, she's kept her $hair hair as always, changing between her two usual hairdos - cloudlike coils that reach her shoulders, or locs that cascade down her back. Currently, she's wearing the later.
<</if>>
<<include Chapter3.5>>You've been told many times of your striking resemblance, but only in Avalon was it said as a compliment.
"So good I ran into you. Will you please bring this to Gareth? His father insisted he studies as usual today, and he needs a book of Avalon from my own collection."
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You're looking forward to talking to Gareth. Your relationship has only become closer over the years.|Chapt2Gareth1][$Gareth to 95, $chapt3_book to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Of course!" You're looking forward to talking to Gareth, even if you're not particularly close.|Chapt2Gareth1][$Gareth to 70, $chapt3_book to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure." You're not close to Gareth, but you get along.|Chapt2Gareth2][$Gareth to 50, $chapt3_book to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure." You and Gareth usually keep your distance, but tolerate each other.|Chapt2Gareth2][$Gareth to 30, $chapt3_book to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure." You really don't want to see his stupid face, but you don't want to irk Morgana, so you put on a smile.|Chapt2Gareth3][$Gareth to 10, $chapt3_book to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure." You really don't want to see his stupid face, and you don't hide it.|Chapt2Gareth3][$Gareth to 10, $chapt3_book to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Ugh. No." You really can't stand each other.|Chapt2Gareth3][$Gareth to 10, $chapt3_book to "7"]]</div><<silently>><<set $age to "10", $age_no to 10>><</silently>>
<div class="titlelettersone" style='font-size: 200%;'>Chapter 3</div>
//10 years old//
You struggle to trudge Accolon's sword along as it was clearly not made for the muscles of a ten year old. You are a knight in training, but your sword is decidedly lighter, and the steel of your mentor's longsword is way too heavy. That, paired with the mace and dagger he threw in for good measure, make the leather bag almost impossible to carry. Accolon assures you that you'll be just as strong as him, but as your arms are already trembling from the strain, you have your doubts.
At least carrying the heavy sword gave you something to distract from the pedestrians roaming about, gossiping in hushed tones - //Is that Accolon's squire? The bastard?//
The Lothian castle has been in a frenzy this morning, as knights from all Duchies have come to compete in the tournament Lot is holding on the plain outside the castle. Pavilions with forges, food, weapons and performers are strewn across the grass, and people in full armor, chainmail or tunic with different Duchies' banners crowd the space. Dragons trot about, some of them garbed with tunics, specifically cut to accomodate their wings and bearing the banners of their Duchies, with jewelry wrapped around their necks, tails and horns. There's rows of knights waiting to sign up for the contests, with their poor squires dragging around their weapons or luggage. Parading around, making a show of them entering the competitions, announcing who they can't wait to compete against and see the defeat on their faces. Well, isn't that quite...intense.
Most importantly, the knights of Camelot are here.
And Arthur, too.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
Your blood's been boiling ever since you heard of his arrival. You're not sure if you want to see him if only you can tell him a piece of your mind, give him a bit of your venom. Enough to make you feel better, enough to take some of this anger. Seeing his face crumble. His face so much like yours, the pain in his eyes so much like yours. Would it make you feel better?
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
You've been torn ever since you heard of his arrival. You want to meet him, to see for yourself what he's like. But just thinking of him, the man who didn't want you, it hurts. Looking into his eyes so alike yours, what will you see? Disgust? Hate? Will you be able to stand it, coming from your father, and what will your own eyes show?
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
You've been anticipating his arrival ever since you heard of it. You ache to meet him, but will it make you feel better? What if what you see in his eyes, so alike yours, is disgust and hate? Will you be able to handle it? Will it make you hate him like Morgana wants you to, snuffing out any hope you've been harboring, kindled by Junia's words back in Avalon?
<</if>>
You wish you were by $dragon_name's side right now, but your respective squire duties have kept you busy so far. Last you checked with them, they'd completed all the tasks Sera had set for them and were headed to the lodge to wait for you.
First, Accolon has asked you to make sure his armor was in good state. You polished it and declared it as good as new. You could see your proud smile reflected in it, and Accolon seemed pretty satisfied himself.
Second, he asked you to make sure his weapons were ready to go; and while the lance seemed fine, the swords and daggers needed some sharpening.
Accolon looked concerned when you picked up the bag, but deemed you fine when you didn't immediately collapse. He advised against using your magic for multiple reasons- you're still training as a sorcerer, these are very dangerous weapons even dulled, and there's a crowd outside waiting to hate on you.
"Training is hard work," he said sympathetically, and you agree wholeheartedly. Your arms can attest this is the hardest work they've done since your first training with a sword.
And so here you are, swinging the bag onto the blacksmith's table under his pavilion, your palms and knuckles burning.
The blacksmith - a burly man named Boian - raises his brows, unimpressed. Luckily, he's one of the few who pays you no mind. This suits you just fine. Between having people gossip about you and stop abruptly when you pass to stare or hurl insults at you, going by unnoticed may be the best.
<div class="choice">[[Even though sometimes, seeing their shocked expressions when you talk back is certainly worth whatever trouble comes your way.|Chapter3.1][$defiant to $defiant+5, $attitude to "defiant"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Indeed, it's best to lay low and try your best not to pick a fight.|Chapter3.1][$defiant to $defiant-5, $attitude to "meek"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[But you still carry on giving them your most charming smile, hoping to win them over.|Chapter3.1][$affable to $affable+5, $attitude to "friendly"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[But you still try to smile at them shyly, hoping they'll see you mean no harm.|Chapter3.1][$confident to $confident-5, $attitude to "shy"]]</div>//Arthur's POV//
<<if $reaction == "run">>
Arthur gazes after Mordred who has rushed off like a mice confronted with a cat, leaving him bewildered in the inner yard. He tried to call out to $them- but all he could hear was the desperate footsteps fading in the distance as Mordred disappeared through a corridor.
Mordred doesn't want to face him, and that is no surprise. Arthur knowns he has no right to be hurt by the gesture - and yet it's like a stab in his chest, a tendril of anguish coiled around his heart. Seeing no point in staying there, Arthur spins around and leaves.
<</if>>
Arthur hurries through the corridor, his heart hammering in his chest, his head swarming. Finally, he stops, leaning against the stone wall.
Laying eyes, for the very first time, on the child he has abandoned. He's been debating this encounter for years.
Thinking of whether he should reach out to Mordred, he has put many things in balance but it never seemed to weigh more one way or the other, or at least, so it seemed to Arthur. He has always been conflicted between what he has been told, and never until now had he so resolutely made up his mind that he should, indeed, see for himself the bastard he cast away.
He's yearned to meet Mordred, and agonized over his decision to not claim ?them, but Merlin has always assured him it is for the best. The prophecy foretold this child would bring ruin to his kingdom, and prophecies never lied. Kay and Guinevere are reluctant to believe the Royal Sorcerer on this matter. It seems to them too cruel a fate for Mordred. They argued there may be something that eludes Merlin, something that could paint a less bleak picture. Arthur wishes it were so.
The only thing that comforts and hurts him alike is knowing Accolon is the father he should have been. He swore he would not be like his father and yet he abandoned his only child just as Uther had done.
Merlin told him he advised Uther to give him away to protect him from his traitors and usurpers, but Arthur couldn't help but wonder why Uther never bothered to reach out.
He still remembers the night he laid with Morgana, the passion of the night turned disgust the next day. He didn't want a child to remind him of his youthful mistake.
So he kept his distance, despite his regret, despite his anguish, not being able to bear to meet the child so alike Morgana, taught to loathe him, born out of deceit, incest and revenge. Afraid to confront Mordred's gaze - he knew the child had no reason to harbor anything but hate for him.
<<if $reaction == "surprise">>
And yet, ?they called him father. Arthur smiles, a faint, hopeful smile. ?they sees him as a father, despite the absence. Despite the fact that he can barely call himself one.
<<elseif $reaction == "hate">>
And he was right. The seething rage in Mordred's gaze told him ?they held no affection for the man. Morgana had kindle the fury and Arthur's absence fanned it.
<<elseif $reaction == "crying">>
His heart broke seeing Mordred crying, and he apologized, as if that could somehow help ease the hurt of his absence. Years of letting Mordred think he hated ?them.
<<elseif $reaction == "panic">>
Mordred's reaction was baffling. Arthur understands why the child would want nothing with him, though, but it doesn't sadden him any less.
<<elseif $reaction == "cautious">>
Mordred seemed neither happy nor mad, and if ?they wishes to give Arthur a chance to prove himself, Arthur is ready to take it.
<<elseif $reaction == "bitter">>
And he was right. The venom in Mordred's words stung him, and all he could say was sorry, such inane words.
<<elseif $reaction == "hope">>
He didn't expect to see his hope reflected in Mordred's eyes.
<<elseif $reaction == "hug">>
He didn't expect so much happiness from Mordred. ?They called him father. It brings a wide smile to his face.
<<elseif $reaction == "hit">>
Mordred is justified in ?their rage, and the fists hurt less than the words.
<<elseif $reaction == "runhug">>
He didn't expect Mordred to greet him with a hug. It brought a wide smile to his face.
<</if>>
<<if $reaction == "run">>
Mordred didn't even have the chance to see the dragon figurine - a token of affection - Arhur had carved for ?them. The King often finds himself at a loss of the right words, and felt that the figurine could somehow inspire in Mordred whatever Arthur can't convey.
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
Mordred took the figurine, the token of affection Arthur made. The King often finds himself at a loss of the right words, and felt that the figurine could somehow inspire in Mordred whatever Arthur can't convey. Arthur already feels as if they have built a bridge just with the simple gesture.
<<if $figurineyeet == "hug" and $reaction != "hug">>And Mordred hugged him!
<<elseif $figurineyeet == "hug" and $reaction == "hug">>And Mordred hugged him again!<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
Mordred didn't take the figurine, the token of affection Arthur made. The King often finds himself at a loss of the right words, and felt that the figurine could somehow inspire in Mordred whatever Arthur can't convey. He turns the dragon in his hands, his grasp on it tightening as his grasp on hope of Mordred's love loosens.
<<if $figurineyeet == "yeet">>And Mordred threw it, and Arthur felt as if his heart was the one tossed.<</if>>
<</if>>
In meeting Mordred, he knows he is doing so much more- making amends and confronting his past.
He wondered about Mordred. Would he see more of himself or Morgana in ?them? As he sculpted the dragon, he wondered if ?they loved dragons as much as him. He looked at Kay and Lancelot playing and training with their sons, and wished he could do the same. Wondered if he would be a good father.
But he knew he couldn't be a good father to Mordred. The shame of acknowledging an incestuous bastard was not one he wished to bring upon himself. Away from prying eyes, he could offer affection to Mordred.
"Arthur!" He heard Lancelot call out. Arthur has sneaked away, not telling anyone of his intention to seek Mordred.
Pushing himself off the wall, Arthur goes to meet his friend.
[[Continue|DragonLodge1]]You emerge out of the woods, the dragons' lodge raising all high and mighty stone on your left. It looks deserted save for the servants scuttling behind the ajar doors, just as the Castle had felt when you left in the morning. Everyone, human and dragon alike, must be at the fair.
"So, what did you and Arthur get up to?" asks Morgana.
"Well..." you begin but stop short as a thought pops into your head. "Mom, did Kay tell you how Arthur found me?" Morgana shakes her head and you go on, "Alina had approached me, being...herself" - which is to say, nasty and unpleasant as usual - "and Arthur swooped in to tell her off. He promised he'd have a talk with her mothers."
"Oh, so now he //could// stand up? Hasn't //frozen up//, like he did at the tournament?" she seethes.
"He promised me he's trying to be better, from now on."
"I see he's full of nice promises lately." Morgana catches your expression and sighs, mollifying. "Well, for our sakes, let's hope he intends to keep those promises. What did you do afterwards, in the woods?"
"We talked about all kind of stuff. Getting to know each other better. He showed me his scale armor."
"Oh, that's exciting."
You nod slowly. "I suppose it got me wondering what it'd be like training with a dragon blood."
Morgana's smile turns somewhat strained as she hums pensively in response. "It's always best to train with someone who understands it, isn't it? But we must make do with what we have." One of her hands is closed against her chest, circling the serpent pendant in a loose grasp. "It's easy for sorcerers to train other sorcerers, regardless of affinity. In fact, I'd say it should be encouraged. There's so much to learn from someone who's strength lays in a different area of magic. But it would have been nice to be able to talk with someone like us. Your great-grandmother had the Le Fay magic, you know." Morgana opens her palm and looks down at the snake, then at you. "I can't complain about the tutor I got, though. You remember Claudia, don't you?" The shadow of a smile, as wistful as a bout of autumn wind snatching leaves, flits across her face.
You remember. You remember Morgana recounting her lessons to you, as you sat on the sun-heated sand, the crashing waves spraying salty droplets in your faces with every gale. You remember the smiling, dark-haired sorcerer. She used to give you those sticky, sickly-sweet desserts and pinch your cheeks and inquire about your own magical training. Pain like a claw lodged in your chest flashes through you, brief yet keen.
"Her bloodline's affinity is transmutation, if you recall." You recall, so you nod.
Transmutation is the magic of changing things, put as simply as possible. Morgana once told you that there was a savvy sorcerer - you're sure others would use the word unsavory - that used to trick people into buying cheap metal transfigured to look and feel like gold. And when the spell faded, the unfortunate buyers were left with rusting metal.
Such magic was the snake - out of the dye of the tunic, Morgana molded it into the slithering serpent. But as much as its scales might have felt cool and slick, it was not actually a blood and flesh snake. Yet it could bite, and leave a mark and draw blood. But it possessed no poison like the creature whose likeness it had.
Morgana leans in close with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. "Remember that snake back in Tintal? That I summoned out of that rat's tunic? I learned that trick from her."
<div class="choice">[["\"Can you teach me too?\""|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"That was mean.\""|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hmm," you hum non-committally. The act was cruel, but you know she'll just say it was justified.|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It was impressive," you say, because it truly was.|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It was impressive," you say, "but mean."|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It was impressive." And mean, you think to yourself, but don't say it. You know Morgana will say it was justified.|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It was impressive," you say, "and totally deserved." The Duke had it coming.|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 7]]</div>You emerge out of the woods, the dragons' lodge raising all high and mighty stone on your left. It looks deserted save for the servants scuttling behind the ajar doors, just as the Castle had felt when you left in the morning. Everyone, human and dragon alike, must be at the fair.
"So, what did Arthur tell you about your powers?" asks Morgana.
"Well..." you begin but stop short as a thought pops into your head. "Mom, did Kay tell you how Arthur found me?" Morgana shakes her head and you go on, "Alina had approached me, being...herself" - which is to say, nasty and unpleasant as usual - "and Arthur swooped in to tell her off. He promised he'd have a talk with her mothers."
"Oh, so now he //could// stand up? Hasn't //frozen up//, like he did at the tournament?" she seethes.
"Apparently. He told me that too - that he froze up, but he said he //intends// to do better now."
"I see he's full of nice promises lately. Well, for our sakes, let's hope he intends to keep those promises. What did you do afterwards, in the woods?"
You get straight to the best part of it all. "He showed me his scale armor."
"Oh, that's exciting."
You nod slowly. "I suppose it got me wondering what it'd be like training with a dragon blood."
Morgana's smile turns somewhat strained as she hums pensively in response. "It's always best to train with someone who understands it, isn't it? But we must make do with what we have." One of her hands is closed against her chest, circling the serpent pendant in a loose grasp. "It's easy for sorcerers to train other sorcerers, regardless of affinity. In fact, I'd say it should be encouraged. There's so much to learn from someone who's strength lays in a different area of magic. But it would have been nice to be able to talk with someone like us. Your great-grandmother had the Le Fay magic, you know." Morgana opens her palm and looks down at the snake, then at you. "I can't complain about the tutor I got, though. You remember Claudia, don't you?" The shadow of a smile, as wistful as a bout of autumn wind snatching leaves, flits across her face.
You remember. You remember Morgana recounting her lessons to you, as you sat on the sun-heated sand, the crashing waves spraying salty droplets in your faces with every gale. You remember the smiling, dark-haired sorcerer. She used to give you thos sticky, sickly-sweet desserts and pinch your cheeks and inquire about your own magical training. Pain like a claw lodged in your chest flashes through you, brief yet keen.
"Her bloodline's affinity is transmutation, if you recall." You recall, so you nod.
Transmutation is the magic of changing things, put as simply as possible. Morgana once told you that there was a savvy sorcerer - you're sure others would use the word unsavory - that used to trick people into buying cheap metal transfigured to look and feel like gold. And when the spell faded, the unfortunate buyers were left with rusting metal.
Such magic was the snake - out of the dye of the tunic, Morgana molded it into the slithering serpent. But as much as it's scales might have felt cool and slick, it was not actually a blood and flesh snake. Yet it could bite, and leave a mark and draw blood. But it possessed no poison like the creature whose likeness it had.
Morgana leans in close with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. "Remember that snake back in Tintal? That I summoned out of that rat's tunic? I learned that trick from her."
<div class="choice">[["\"Can you teach me too?\""|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"That was mean.\""|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hmm," you hum non-committally. The act was cruel, but you know she'll just say it was justified.|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It was impressive," you say, because it truly was.|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It was impressive," you say, "but mean."|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It was impressive." And mean, you think to yourself, but don't say it. You know Morgana will say it was justified.|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It was impressive," you say, "and totally deserved." The Duke had it coming.|Chapt3MorganaTalkToFair][$morgana_teach1 to 7]]</div>"I don't have a cloak," you realize.
"I can let you borrow one of mine," Gawain offers, already rummaging through his luggage. He takes out a cherry red cloak lined with golden embroidery and throws it over your shoulders. It's snug and warm.
"Here you go."
<div class="choice">[[Your face heatens. "Thanks." ❤ |Chapt3GawainChamber1][$chapt3_cloak to "1", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You're so sweet," you say, smiling. You really like Gawain, more than a friend. ❤ |Chapt3GawainChamber1][$chapt3_cloak to "2", $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+3, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Thank you!\""|Chapt3GawainChamber1][$chapt3_cloak to "3"]]</div>
<<if $Gawain_ro == 0 and $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[[Something flutters in your stomach, and you're not sure how to react, so you quickly pull back. "Thanks." 💕 |Chapt3GawainChamber1][$chapt3_cloak to "4", $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>You slip down effortlessly, and go straight to relieving yourself of the delicious weight sitting in your pocket.
You rip up the paper and set it on the grass. $dragon_name doesn't wait for an invitation before they skewer a caramel on their talon and gulps it down. You pick up one of the little crescent pastries, filled to the brim with strawberry jam. As you munch on it, white powder falls like snow on your lap.
"So, Accolon's doing better." $dragon_name curls their tail around your waist, and you lean against $dragon_his side. "Lancelot, on the other side..." You paint the picture in your head and project it to $dragon_him.
"Your mom?"
"Uh-huh," you hum, running your fingers over the grass blades. It tickles your skin.
"Soooo." $dragon_name's tail flicks ever so slightly, a tell-tale sign they're about to ask something serious.
And you already know what it is. The words hang in the air between you, unspoken yet loud.
The prophecy.
<<if $prophecy == "stupid" or $prophecy == "calm">>
<div class="choice">[["Fuck the prophecy."|Chapt3RiverDragonP3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take the throne one day. Maybe Merlin thinks that would be ruin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's a stupid thing. What if Merlin is lying?"|Chapt3RiverDragonP5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take revenge one day, and that includes Merlin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP6]]</div>
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take the throne one day. Maybe Merlin thinks that would be ruin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's a stupid thing. What if Merlin is lying?"|Chapt3RiverDragonP5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take revenge one day, and that includes Merlin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Fuck the prophecy."|Chapt3RiverDragonP3]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to talk about it." It's upsetting.|Chapt3RiverDragonP1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do you really think I'd be capable of that? Ruining a kingdom?" you ask in a horrified whisper.|Chapt3RiverDragonP2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Fuck the prophecy."|Chapt3RiverDragonP3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take the throne one day. Maybe Merlin thinks that would be ruin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's a stupid thing. What if Merlin is lying?"|Chapt3RiverDragonP5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take revenge one day, and that includes Merlin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP6]]</div>
<</if>>You settle down on the grass and go straight to relieving yourself of the delicious weight sitting in your pocket.
You rip up the paper and set it on the grass. $dragon_name doesn't wait for an invitation before $dragon_he skewers a caramel on $dragon_his talon and gulps it down. You pick up one of the little crescent pastries, filled to the brim with strawberry jam. As you munch on it, white powder falls like snow on your lap.
"So, Accolon's doing better." $dragon_name curls $dragon_his tail around your waist, and you lean against $dragon_his side. "Lancelot, on the other side..." You paint the picture in your head and project it to $dragon_him.
"Your mom?"
"Uh-huh," you hum, running your fingers over the grass blades. It tickles your skin.
"Soooo." $dragon_name's tail flicks ever so slightly, a tell-tale sign $dragon_he's about to ask something serious.
And you already know what it is. The words hang in the air between you, unspoken yet loud.
The prophecy.
<<if $prophecy == "stupid" or $prophecy == "calm">>
<div class="choice">[["Fuck the prophecy."|Chapt3RiverDragonP3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take the throne one day. Maybe Merlin thinks that would be ruin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's a stupid thing. What if Merlin is lying?"|Chapt3RiverDragonP5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take revenge one day, and that includes Merlin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP6]]</div>
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take the throne one day. Maybe Merlin thinks that would be ruin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's a stupid thing. What if Merlin is lying?"|Chapt3RiverDragonP5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take revenge one day, and that includes Merlin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Fuck the prophecy."|Chapt3RiverDragonP3]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["I don't want to talk about it." It's upsetting.|Chapt3RiverDragonP1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do you really think I'd be capable of that? Ruining a kingdom?" you ask in a horrified whisper.|Chapt3RiverDragonP2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Fuck the prophecy."|Chapt3RiverDragonP3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take the throne one day. Maybe Merlin thinks that would be ruin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's a stupid thing. What if Merlin is lying?"|Chapt3RiverDragonP5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I think it's proof I'll take revenge one day, and that includes Merlin."|Chapt3RiverDragonP6]]</div>
<</if>><<silently>>
<<set $age to "11", $age_no to 11>>
<</silently>>
<div class="titlelettersone" style='font-size: 200%;'>Chapter 4</div>
//11 years old//
Your opponent is indomitable. Quick on their feet and precise in their strikes, resolute and tireless. Your chest rises in rapid, frantic succession. Sweat licks down your hot back, slicking your tunic to your body like a second, uncomfortably damp and warm skin. Your leather-gloved hands adjust the grip on your longsword as you take in your foe.
They do not sweat, or slow down or heave from exertion, less so tire. They can't, because they're not human.
They're merely a training dummy. Garbed in the heavy armor to keep up all pretense of a real opponent, and offering about as much - if not less - mercy than one. The dummies are not without flaw, or really all that invincible, but they are spelled to learn from experience - trial and error - by skilled sorcerers, and extensively trained by the best knights the Kingdom has produced. You, as a child of almost twelve and squire of only five years, find yourself on uneven footing with what is just stitched, bewitched, brainless cloth hiding under metal. And you're sorry to tell - for yourself - that currently it is not you who holds the high ground. It's hard to find any even footing on this ground, anyway. To amp up the difficulty, you're fighting among an obstacle course.
Dum-dum (the very //inspired// nickname you've devised the first time you were shown the dummy, which Accolon insists on using because it's so 'cute') charges in a fury of cold metal and mindless yet relentless intent, dull sword raised high over their head. The sword shouldn't draw blood but can - and has - left you bruised and sore.
You meet their sword with your own, slightly less dull one, in a horrible, clanging kiss of metal. Dum-dum pulls their arms back and so do you, blades banging again and again against each other in a frantic, thunderous peal, the metallic music to your dance as you pull away or push back against your foe, trying not to stumble over the rugged, bumpy terrain, over the inanimate dummies strewn across your makeshift battlefield - fallen soldiers who were never in the fight to begin with - meant to recreate an environment that does not care to do you any favors.
<div class="choice">[[It's a nightmare.|Chapt4.1][$chapt4_training to "bad"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's a exhilarating.|Chapt4.1][$chapt4_training to "fun"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It's training. You valiantly plow on.|Chapt4.1][$chapt4_training to "train"]]</div><<silently>><<set $age to "15", $age_no to 15>><</silently>>
<div class="titlelettersone" style='font-size: 200%;'>Chapter 5</div>
//15 years old//
An assembly of dragons cloud the horizon. The pattering of hooves fills the air like distant thunder heralding an approaching storm.
The guests are arriving. Though one would have been forgiven for mistaking this social event for the arrival of a marching army, the way Morgana acted leading up to this morning. By now she's dressed up her rage in pretty violet refinery and an elegant, sweet - utterly artificial - smile, slipping into her role with the same expert ease of an actor. Even Lot has put more effort than usual in ironing out the sour creases of his careworn face. He looks dignified, which is the closest he's ever been to agreeable. Yet despite the front being put on, tension brews.
Gossip spreads virulently; the latest scandal has soon pervaded the whole castle, seizing it firmly in its heady, feverish grasp. No one, noble or servant, can restrain themself long from indulging in it, same as one can't deny themself a sizzling hot, freshly baked treat - and was this ever a treat, as was any web of intrigue that had Morgana at the very center of it. You can't condemn them //too much// when you're just as guilty.
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Even though, thanks to Arthur's involvement in your life, you've been treated less with the same //esteem// as an unwanted, ugly vase shoved at the back of some display case, and more like the fragile porcelain needed to be handled with wary care, years of being overlooked means you tend to overhear, intentionally or not, quite a lot.
<<else>>
When no one wants to talk to you and would rather treat you with the same - if not less - esteem as an unwanted, ugly vase shoved at the back of some display case, you tend to overhear, intentionally or not, quite a lot.
<</if>>
You heard it first from a maid confiding in a footman as you passed by a hallway. Many an insult had been hurled Lot's way by Morgana the evening before according to the servant. This was not particularly noteworthy. The Duke braved them all like a stoic rock amid a tumultuous sea. ("Goddess give him health," she added, which you think should be considered blasphemy). This was nothing remarkable, either. It'd be more surprising if Lot had actually //done// anything. But then the maid's whispers grew urgent, breathless with an affrighted rush: "The Lady Morgana said to him - do you wish to doom your son to a marriage as horrid as yours? Do you want him to turn into yourself? It was as if the Duke was shocked by lightning! He retorted: Why, he's not marrying a wretchedness akin to you!"
Soon everyone knew your mother does not approve of your brother's engagement. This was just the start of a deluge of such whispers about increasingly public fights, some of which you've had the displeasure of witnessing yourself. Their outcome varied: some ended in Morgana storming off and fuming, others in her departing victoriously, delighted by whatever disparaging remark that had hit its mark with Lot - unbecoming and distasteful, the nobles agreed, having made it their profession to be Lot's devoted ass-kissers, whether he be in their presence or not while defending his unearned honor.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Your gaze slides from the sky - the light blue like velvet, the dragons with their gleaming scales like gemstones against it - towards your brother, whom this whole circus first and foremost concerns. Like Morgana, he's mastered the art of putting on a mask, an aptitude Lot can't quite grasp himself. Yet this time it's such a well crafted one you're struggling yourself to gauge how genuine a sentiment hides behide his affable smile. He's been irritatingly hard to read these past few weeks, and harder yet to get to confide in you his true feelings on the betrothal. He claims you should not worry about him, which has the opposite result of making you worry even more.
You inch closer to your brother, gently elbowing him. "Hey." Out of the corner of your eye, you spy Lot's shifting expression - all that willpower not to scowl, vanished. "Are you alright?" you whisper.
"Of course I'm alright, why wouldn't I be alright?" Gareth glibly replies, gaze fixed ahead.
You can easily conjure a couple reasons, such as the fact that he's marrying in two weeks and the time spent with his future spouse amounts to a few scattered meetings across the years. You don't need to voice these concerns yet again, though; you've made them well known to Gareth and he readily placates you as if reading your thoughts:
"Arranged marriages are a staple for nobility. I know that doesn't make it right," he adds before you can.
"Guess I'm just lucky," you say, pushing a rock around with the tip of your fancy boot. "That no one wants to marry a bastard."
Gareth elegantly coughs into his hand to cover a snort. "You're too good for anyone in Lothia, anyway."
You allow yourself a small, private smile. Lot clears his throat loudly, clearly intent on curbing your whispered conversation.
"The guests are almost here. Ready yourself."
The grating, rumbling sound of Lot's voice is enough to make the skin of your back prickle with the sharpness of a thousand needles. Gareth offers a smile as reassurance and you whisper a quick "Good luck" before drawing back and straightening yourself in preparation for your guests.
<div class="choice">[['This will be fun,' you send your dragon's way, with no small amount of mental irony.|Chapt5Dragon][$chapt5_fun to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['This is going to be awful,' you send your dragon's way, weary of it all already.|Chapt5Dragon][$chapt5_fun to 3]]</div>
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Your gaze slides from the sky - the light blue like velvet, the dragons with their gleaming scales like gemstones against it - towards your brother, whom this whole circus first and foremost concerns. Like Morgana, he's mastered the art of putting on a mask, an aptitude Lot can't quite grasp himself. It's a well crafted one - you can't gauge how genuine a sentiment hides behide his affable smile. Morgana's called him irritatingly placid and passive during this whole affair, raising concerns where he hasn't over the approaching wedding; primarily regarding how little he and his future spouse know each other.
<div class="choice">[['This will be fun,' you send your dragon's way, with no small amount of mental irony.|Chapt5Dragon][$chapt5_fun to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['This will be fun,' you send your dragon's way, oddly delighted by the chaos about to ensue.|Chapt5Dragon][$chapt5_fun to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['This is going to be awful,' you send your dragon's way, weary of it all already.|Chapt5Dragon][$chapt5_fun to 3]]</div>
<<else>>
Your gaze slides from the sky - the light blue like velvet, the dragons with their gleaming scales like gemstones against it - towards your brother, whom this whole circus first and foremost concerns. Like Morgana, he's mastered the art of putting on a mask, an aptitude Lot can't quite grasp himself. It's a well crafted one - you can't gauge how genuine a sentiment hides behide his affable smile. Morgana's called him irritatingly placid and passive during this whole affair, raising concerns where he hasn't over the approaching wedding; primarily regarding how little he and his future spouse know each other. You, on the other hand, couldn't care less.
<div class="choice">[['This will be fun,' you send your dragon's way, with no small amount of mental irony.|Chapt5Dragon][$chapt5_fun to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['This will be fun,' you send your dragon's way, oddly delighted by the chaos about to ensue.|Chapt5Dragon][$chapt5_fun to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[['This is going to be awful,' you send your dragon's way, weary of it all already.|Chapt5Dragon][$chapt5_fun to 3]]</div>
<</if>>From the first steps you took into the woods, Gawain has let everyone know of the incessant struggle between his heeled boots and the uneven ground. He's been sighing, grunting and grimacing with every focused, careful, crunching step he makes, yelping and laughing self-deprecatingly after each totter and stumble over treacherous roots and stones.
After a particularly close fall which Galahad spares him from, Gawain admits that which has already been made evidently clear: "I don't think heels were a good idea for the woods."
"Nor were all those cups of wine," Nimue helpfully adds.
"Or that. But the shoes are so pretty!" He demonstrates by kicking up one leg, so high it sends him teetering again. Galahad comes to the rescue once more, stabilizing hand catching his shoulder with the automatic precision of a machine, well accustomed to this task by now.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">>
"Go barefoot," you say.
Gawain balks, but his indignation is quick to be replaced by a brilliant smile, suggesting the dawning of a solution to his trouble. "Why don't you carry me instead?"
He doesn't wait for an answer before he locks his arms round your throat, throwing his weight for your waiting arms to catch.
//Waiting arms// is not the right word here. //Surprised// may be more appropiate - you marginally catch Gawain before you both topple to the ground.
"Oops," he says with a sheepish smile.
<div class="choice">[["Hop on my back," you say.|Chapt5CarryGawain][$chapt5_carry_gawain to "back"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll carry you then," you say, picking up his legs with one hand, the other wrapped round his torso.|Chapt5CarryGawain][$chapt5_carry_gawain to "arms"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Gawain, we're both wearing heels," you say. "We'll topple together. Let's just hang on tightly to each other."|Chapt5CarryGawain][$chapt5_carry_gawain to "heels"]]</div>
<<if $chapt5_drink_wine > 1>><div class="choice">[["We're both drunk," you say. "I don't think it's a good idea."|Chapt5CarryGawain][$chapt5_carry_gawain to "drunk"]]</div><</if>>
<<else>>
"Go barefoot," you say.
"That'd be even worse!"
While Gawain sulks in his pretty, impractical shoes, Elaine sizes him up.
"Hop on my back," she says. "I'll carry you."
He jumps up at the idea. "Really?"He doesn't need to be offered twice. He hops on her with all the clumsy agility of a kitten - his arms looped round her neck, her hands tucked behind his knees. You resume your journey, this time without the ambient sounds of grunts and sighs and yelps. Elaine carries Gawain with barely a stumble or groan, the only sign of effort the rapid fall and rise of her chest, the taut frame of her shoulders.
"Someone looks cozy," Nimue remarks, looking up at Gawain's content face.
Elaine bounces him up, renews her grip on his knees. "This is like parents carry their babies, right?"
"Gawain outweighs a baby though," Galahad says, with a wry smile, earning himself a scattering of chuckles and a gasp from the boy in question.
"But he is baby-faced," Elaine shoots back.
"Hey!" Gawain wiggles indignantly, not dispelling any semblance to a baby. "I could topple you over."
"We'd both fall then."
"Hmmm, I'd fall on top of you, I'd be cushioned."
You eye their proximity to you. "Or you might just crush me."
"So many complaints! Maybe I could just drop you, Gawain-"
"Nooo! Elaine-" he lets out his most theatrical gasp, kicking up in an attempt to angle his face towards her, succeeding only in making her sway "-would you drop a baby?"
"If it keeps wiggling," she mumbles.
"Patience," Nimue says. The flame in her palm bathes her face in harsh orange. "We're nearing our destination."
Her serene words pass over you like a chill breeze. "Is that a vision?"
Nimue smiles. "Can't you hear the rushing water?"
Silence steals over your party. Beyond the breathing, beyond the rustling, beyond the calls of night birds, you hear it - faint and distant.
It's not long before you can see it too, liquid silver where the moon touches the river.
[[Continue|Chapt5ArriveAtRiverParty]]
<</if>>You stand up on your chair. "Can I come with you?" you ask hopefully.
Your mother turns to you with a soft smile, caressing your cheek. "You'll stay here with Junia."
You frown. "But I want to see Camelot!"
"Oh, darling," her smile turns sharp, "one day Camelot will be yours."
Junia coughs.
[[Continue|Chapter1.5]]You stand up on your chair, hopefully asking, "Can I come too?"
Your mother replies with a soft smile, stroking your cheek. "You'll stay here with Junia."
"But I want to meet Arthur," you protest.
Morgana's smile drops. "There's no reason for you to want to meet that man, Mordred. When has he ever acted like a father to you?"
[[Continue|Chapter1.5]]You stand up on your chair, tentatively asking, "Do I have to come with you?"
Your mother smiles softly and strokes your cheek. "No, darling, you'll stay here with Junia."
[[Continue|Chapter1.5]]<<if $stay == "furious">>
"You did what?" You step to Morgana, outraged. "Behind my back?" The wind picks up around you, howling in kindred indignation.
Morgana looks at you perplexed, then frowns. "What did you want me to do?" she defends herself. "He's more bad than good to you!"
"That's for me to decide." Your cheeks heat, blazing hot and angry. You're grateful for the wind, for the way it whips cold against your face.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
Your blood boils at this revealed betrayal. You want Arthur to be a father to you, and he already seems reluctant enough - you don't need Morgana scaring him off. "Did you ever ask me what I want?" you shout, your voice rising over the wind, howling in kindred indignation. "I don't want him to stay away! Stop making decisions for me!"
"I'm just protecting you!" Morgana yells back and you scoff.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
Desperation clutches you with aching sharpness, sending your heart in a wild gallop. You can't let Morgana scare Arthur off, not now when he's come into your life, willing to no longer be but a shadow. You step forward, words rushing out of your mouth, "But I don't want him to stay away. Please, give him a chance."
Morgana frowns sympathetically. "He's more bad than good to you."
"No, I think he wants to be better," you plead, on the verge of frenzy.
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
Arthur already proved to you he won't claim you or publicly show you affection. Maybe she's right and it's best if he keeps away, even though it aches.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
You cross your arms and roll your eyes. "He doesn't listen to anyone." You don't want to meet him, really.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
"Tell him again, then!" you shout. You want him to stop his pathetic attempts at being a father to you. You don't want this feeble, pitiable love that he offers.
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
You don't want him to be your father. He's renounced that role the moment he abandoned you and has no right to reclaim it.
<<elseif $stay == "sayangryaway">>
Your voice as uncertain and quiet as the emotion in your chest, you say, "What if I don't want him to stay away?"
Morgana looks perplexed, but the surprise is soon replaced by bitterness. "He'll only hurt you."
<<elseif $stay == "angryaway">>
You don't say anything, but you're not sure you want him to stay away. Underneath all the rage, there's hurt and within it a fragile desire to know him, to have him be the father he never was.
<</if>>
<<if $tellprophecy == "no">>
"He told me about the prophecy."
Morgana's gaze falls on you, disbelieving, as if she didn't understand the words coming out of your mouth.
<<else>>
"He told Mordred about the prophecy."
Morgana's gaze falls on him, disbelieving, as if she didn't understand the words coming out of his mouth.
<</if>>
"That prophecy isn't fulfilled and it's already caused you more ruin than it did Arthur," Morgana spits, clenching her fists.
<<if $prophecy == "rule">>
"So I won't bring ruin? I want to rule, not destroy the kingdom!"
"It won't be ruin. It'll be a new era," Morgana says, her eyes burning with lofty intent.
<<elseif $prophecy == "good">>
"I don't want to bring ruin! Is it possible for the prophecy to be good?"
"You'll bring a new era," Morgana says, her eyes burning with lofty intent.
<<elseif $prophecy == "stupid">>
"The prophecy is stupid."
"And Arthur is a fool to believe it," Morgana roundly says.
<<elseif $prophecy == "plan">>
"But this isn't what you want, right? You don't want to bring ruin?"
Her $eye gaze meets yours, vengeful. "Sometimes I just want to watch it all burn."
You look at Accolon, terrified. This is not what he told you! He looks back at you, hastily patching up the concern painted over his features with reassurance as he jumps in: "She's just angry." Perhaps it'd be a comforting if you were talking about a different person, but you know your mother. Anger fuels her. Spite flows through her veins and guides her actions. Accolon must know how feeble a reassurance it is, and instead smiles the most consoling smile he can muster as if the sight alone could will you to believe his words.
<<elseif $prophecy == "ruin">>
"Prophecy or not, I'll make sure to burn Camelot," you promise, your words as venomous as hers.
Her gaze meets yours, vengeful. "Sometimes, that's what I want."
Accolon jumps in. "You're only speaking in anger." His tone is smooth, calm, as it always is, but his eyes betray his concern. He doesn't look scared of you however - he looks scared //for// you.
<<elseif $prophecy == "hate">>
"I just wish Arthur could love me and not believe the prophecy."
"Arthur is a fool," Morgana spits.
<<elseif $prophecy == "wrong">>
"What if the prophecy is wrong?"
"The prophecy will be fulfilled, but it mustn't be ruin," Morgana says.
<</if>>
"Accolon, take Mordred to ?their chamber."
<<if $stay == "furious">>
"Where are you going?" you demand.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"No!" You put yourself in front of her, frowning. "Stop going behind my back!"
"This is between me and Arthur, Mordred." She walks around you.
<<elseif $stay == "stop">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"No!" You put yourself in front of her. "You'll scare him off!"
"If he loves you as much as he claims, he won't back down," Morgana says and walks around you.
<<elseif $stay == "chance">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"No!" You tug at her cloak. "Please."
She smiles gently, pulling her cloak. "I'm protecting you."
<<elseif $stay == "maybe">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
You reluctantly follow Accolon. You'll let Morgana handle this. She knows best.
<<elseif $stay == "listen">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"Good luck making him listen," you say sardonically.
<<elseif $stay == "away">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"Tell him to stay away."
<<elseif $stay == "no">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
You follow Accolon.
<<elseif $stay == "sayangryaway">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
"But-" you make to protest, but Morgana cuts you off, a gentle smile cracking her stern facade. "I'm doing this to protect you."
<<elseif $stay == "angryaway">>
"Where are you going?" you ask, a pit in your stomach.
Morgana's face is stony as she looks over the field, at the lodge. "To talk to Arthur."
You let Accolon guide you away.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3MorganaPOV]]List of content warnings
-Incest (the player character is a product of incest)
-Abuse
-Discussion of rape (it's not something the mc or ros do, or that happens to them - it's in relation to two characters who have been raped, one of them processing the trauma)
-Mention of war
-Bullying (of the player character)
-Impotence/Infertility issues
-Mention of pregnancy
-Mature language
-Mention of abortion
-Mention of murder
-Mild violence
[[Begin Story|Prologue]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. And burning throughout it all there's an overwhelming sense of wrath.
$dragon_name remains composed as they weather the deluge of your wrath, dam now broken on your heart, all channels your connection now flooded with rancid, frothing-mad waters. It anchors you enough to not let the heat that itches at your palms surge out out in hungry flames ready to devour, to destroy.
$dragon_name's chest rises in quick succession, and that's the only sign that betrays their concern. They listen silently, patiently, composed in the face of this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
$dragon_name says nothing. Instead, they wrap their tail around your wrist - where the skin is not as feverish - and gently tugs you closer. They lean their forehead against yours and mentally instruct you to follow their lead, inhale in deep lungfuls, then slowly exhale them. You do as told until the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
"Well, it would have happened sooner or later," they says slowly, the way you imagine a general talking when brought bad tidings and forced to reconsider their strategy, "Very much sooner given the tournament. I'm just surprised, given how your mother speaks of him, that he had the guts to approach you as he did."
<<if $why == "earn">>
"I guess I'm surprised too," you murmur, splaying your hands against the grass.
<<else>>
"I wish he hadn't," you grumble, running your palms over the grass.
<</if>>
<<if $reaction == "run">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "I don't even know what he wanted from me. I ran as soon as I saw him. I just-" You bite your lip. "I don't know if I can hear whatever he has to say. Does he want to make it right? Yell at me like everybody else? Say how he doesn't regret abandoning me?"
"If he dares yell at you then I'm sure that both your mother and my parents would have some choice words for him. Even if he's //King//." $dragon_name pauses, tilts their head thoughtfully. "Though in your memory he didn't seem angry. More like...nervous. And surprised?"
"What, you think he just wants to meet me? He's ten years late." You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "I wish it could."
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "I wish it could. As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"It was a rather well-made carving," $dragon_name concedes, searching for its image in your memories. "Too bad it is not enough. Where were his figurines when you were growing up? Where was //he//?"
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
<<if $why == "earn">>
It was carefully crafted, well-made, as $dragon_name said, all for you. You could see it in his hopeful gaze, that it was truly a work of love, yet you couldn't just take it and overlook years of absence. Is this all he has to offer after all this time?
You shake your head as if to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<else>>
It was well-made, indeed, painstakingly carved, all that effort - what for? To make a toy in exchange for years of absence? "I don't know why he even tries. I don't need him to be my father, not when I have Accolon."
You shake your head to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "As if I want anything from him. I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
$dragon_name puts down the carving. "What can I say, it's pretty and well-made. Too bad it doesn't change anything." They pause, then amiably ask, as if offering to do you a favor: "Would you like me to burn it?"
You scoff and shake your head - not so much in answer, so much as to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. Scattered and splintered emotions, a mosaic of ill-fitting feelings. So many days spent wondering what he's be like. So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room.
$dragon_name's chest rises in quick succession, and that's the only sign that betrays their concern. They listen silently, patiently, composed in the face of this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some fractured, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
$dragon_name says nothing. Instead, they wrap their tail around your wrist - where the skin is not as feverish - and gently tugs you closer. They lean their forehead against yours and mentally instruct you to follow their lead, inhale in deep lungfuls, then slowly exhale them. You do as told until the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
"Well, it would have happened sooner or later," they says slowly, the way you imagine a general talking when brought bad tidings and forced to reconsider their strategy, "Very much sooner given the tournament. And now you'll be seeing quite a lot of him. I'm just surprised, given how your mother speaks of him, that he had the guts to approach you as he did."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"We don't really know what he's like beyond what my mother says," you reply, voice barely louder than a whisper. "I don't even know what he wants from me - I ran as soon as I saw him. I don't know if I can hear whatever he has to say. Maybe mother's judged him too harshly. Maybe he's changed. Maybe he's all she says he is, and worse, and he's only here to make my life more complicated than it already is."
$dragon_name taps their tail against your ankle, affectionately. "Now, now. I'm sure your mother and my parents would have some choice words for him if he dares //complicate// it a bit too much, even if he is the //King//." $dragon_name pauses, tilts their head thoughtfully. "Though in your memory he didn't seem angry. More like...nervous. And surprised?"
"And ten years late," you drily add. And yet...a part of you regrets not staying, needs to know the excuses he has to motivate his absence.
You can speculate and conjecture all you want, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your voice is less a condemnation and more an entreat - does Arthur truly believe this is enough? If you allow him, will he make it up to you with more than tokens - no matter how pretty, no matter how thoughtful - or will you end up disappointed yet again, back where you began?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "I wish it could," you finish, voice barely more than a whisper.
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" It's both a question and a condemnation. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"It was a rather well-made carving," $dragon_name concedes, searching for its image in your memories. "Too bad is not enough. Where were his figurines when you were growing up? Where was //he//?"
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. You shake your head as if to escape all these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made, too little, too late. You don't know whether it deserves to be put on your shelf, or chucked away in the river, taken far away.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming/protesting in pain. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
"I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
$dragon_name puts down the carving. "What can I say, it's pretty and well-made. Too bad it doesn't change anything." They pause, then amiably ask, as if offering to do you a favor: "Would you like me to burn it?"
You snort, a brittle, mirthless sound and shake your head - not so much in answer, so much as to escape these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Should you put your trust in him, should you give him a chance?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something brittle - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name looks just as uncertain to celebrate. They put down the carving. "It is a thoughtful gift. Pretty and well-made." Something doesn't sit right with them, and you can tell by the overly-polite tone. "But is it enough, after everything he's done - or rather, all he hasn't done, because he wasn't here for you?"
You frown and reach for the figurine, cradling it protectively. "A part of me has always wanted to meet him though. He's here now and he seems willing to try, can't I at least try to give him a chance and see what he does with it?"
"Of course you can. And I want him to do something good with that chance you're giving him. But - " they push their snout against your cheek " - I don't want you to suffer either."
You run your fingers over the carved scales, press the soft tips against the hard ridges till pain blooms. "This has to mean something. I hope."
"I hope so too, Mordred." They thrust out their chin. "Otherwise I might have a word with the King."
You chuckle and bump your head against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<<if $reaction == "run">>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he's be like = and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you.
<<else>>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he's be like = and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you, and so unlike what your mother told you.
<</if>>
$dragon_name lets it all pool into them. They listen silently, patiently, composed in the face of this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some fractured, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
They say nothing. Instead, they wrap their tail around your wrist - where the skin is not as feverish - and gently tugs you closer, leaning their forehead against yours. You stand like this till the beating of your heart is not so frenzied, till the swells and falls of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore yet satisfied way you would after a particularly challenging training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
"A joyful reunion, then?" is all $dragon_name manages to say. You give them an incredulous chuckle. "Meeting Arthur would have happened sooner or later," they continue, speaking slowly, "Very much sooner given the tournament. I'm just surprised, given how your mother speaks of him, that he had the guts to approach you as he did."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"We don't really know what he's like beyond what my mother says," you say. "I don't even know what he wants from me - I ran as soon as I saw him. I've wanted to meet him for so long and now that he's here, I simply froze. I want to know what he has to say, but what if - " you cut yourself off, unwilling to voice the your fears lest they crystallize. "I want to believe that mother's judged him too harshly. That maybe he's changed."
"I know, but I think you should practice some caution still. Even if he comes with the best of intentions."
Your brow furrows. "What do you mean? If he wants to come back into my life, shouldn't I at least offer him a chance and see what he does with it?"
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Mordred."
You turn your head to nuzzle them back. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I didn't even get to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who carefully scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone fills you with joy anew - it's such a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Are you ready to give him a chance, ready to trust him?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something tender - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name looks reluctant to celebrate yet. They put down the carving. "It is a thoughtful gift. Pretty and well-made." Something doesn't sit right with them, and you can tell by the overly-polite tone. "But is it enough, after everything he's done - or rather, all he hasn't done, because he wasn't here for you?"
You frown and reach for the figurine, cradling it protectively. "A part of me has always wanted to meet him though. He's here now and he seems willing to try, can't I at least try to give him a chance and see what he does with it?"
"Of course you can. And I want him to do something good with that chance you're giving him. But - " they push their snout against your cheek " - I don't want to suffer either."
You run your fingers over the carved scales, press the soft tips against the hard ridges till pain blooms. "This has to mean something. I hope."
"I hope so too, Mordred." They thrust out their chin. "Otherwise I might have a word with the King."
You chuckle and bump your head against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<</if>>
<</if>>Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. And burning throughout it all there's an overwhelming sense of wrath.
$dragon_name remains composed as they weather the deluge of your wrath, dam now broken on your heart, all channels your connection now flooded with rancid, frothing-mad waters. It anchors you enough to not let the heat that itches at your palms surge out out in hungry flames ready to devour, to destroy.
$dragon_name's chest rises in quick succession, and that's the only sign that betrays their concern. They listen silently, patiently, composed in the face of this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
$dragon_name says nothing. Instead, they wrap their tail around your wrist - where the skin is not as feverish - and gently tugs you closer. They lean their forehead against yours and mentally instruct you to follow their lead, inhale in deep lungfuls, then slowly exhale them. You do as told until the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
"Well, it would have happened sooner or later," they says slowly, the way you imagine a general talking when brought bad tidings and forced to reconsider their strategy, "Very much sooner given the tournament. I'm just surprised, given how your mother speaks of him, that he had the guts to approach you as he did."
<<if $why == "earn">>
"I guess I'm surprised too," you murmur, splaying your hands against the grass.
<<else>>
"I wish he hadn't," you grumble, running your palms over the grass.
<</if>>
<<if $reaction == "run">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "I don't even know what he wanted from me. I ran as soon as I saw him. I just-" You bite your lip. "I don't know if I can hear whatever he has to say. Does he want to make it right? Yell at me like everybody else? Say how he doesn't regret abandoning me?"
"If he dares yell at you then I'm sure that both your mother and my parents would have some choice words for him. Even if he's //King//." $dragon_name pauses, tilts their head thoughtfully. "Though in your memory he didn't seem angry. More like...nervous. And surprised?"
"What, you think he just wants to meet me? He's ten years late." You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "I wish it could."
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "I wish it could. As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"It was a rather well-made carving," $dragon_name concedes, searching for its image in your memories. "Too bad it is not enough. Where were his figurines when you were growing up? Where was //he//?"
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
<<if $why == "earn">>
It was carefully crafted, well-made, as $dragon_name said, all for you. You could see it in his hopeful gaze, that it was truly a work of love, yet you couldn't just take it and overlook years of absence. Is this all he has to offer after all this time?
You shake your head as if to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<else>>
It was well-made, indeed, painstakingly carved, all that effort - what for? To make a toy in exchange for years of absence? "I don't know why he even tries. I don't need him to be my father, not when I have Accolon."
You shake your head to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "As if I want anything from him. I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
$dragon_name puts down the carving. "What can I say, it's pretty and well-made. Too bad it doesn't change anything." They pause, then amiably ask, as if offering to do you a favor: "Would you like me to burn it?"
You scoff and shake your head - not so much in answer, so much as to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|C3BoldDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. Scattered and splintered emotions, a mosaic of ill-fitting feelings. So many days spent wondering what he's be like. So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room.
$dragon_name's chest rises in quick succession, and that's the only sign that betrays their concern. They listen silently, patiently, composed in the face of this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some fractured, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
$dragon_name says nothing. Instead, they wrap their tail around your wrist - where the skin is not as feverish - and gently tugs you closer. They lean their forehead against yours and mentally instruct you to follow their lead, inhale in deep lungfuls, then slowly exhale them. You do as told until the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
"Well, it would have happened sooner or later," they says slowly, the way you imagine a general talking when brought bad tidings and forced to reconsider their strategy, "Very much sooner given the tournament. And now you'll be seeing quite a lot of him. I'm just surprised, given how your mother speaks of him, that he had the guts to approach you as he did."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"We don't really know what he's like beyond what my mother says," you reply, voice barely louder than a whisper. "I don't even know what he wants from me - I ran as soon as I saw him. I don't know if I can hear whatever he has to say. Maybe mother's judged him too harshly. Maybe he's changed. Maybe he's all she says he is, and worse, and he's only here to make my life more complicated than it already is."
$dragon_name taps their tail against your ankle, affectionately. "Now, now. I'm sure your mother and my parents would have some choice words for him if he dares //complicate// it a bit too much, even if he is the //King//." $dragon_name pauses, tilts their head thoughtfully. "Though in your memory he didn't seem angry. More like...nervous. And surprised?"
"And ten years late," you drily add. And yet...a part of you regrets not staying, needs to know the excuses he has to motivate his absence.
You can speculate and conjecture all you want, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your voice is less a condemnation and more an entreat - does Arthur truly believe this is enough? If you allow him, will he make it up to you with more than tokens - no matter how pretty, no matter how thoughtful - or will you end up disappointed yet again, back where you began?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "I wish it could," you finish, voice barely more than a whisper.
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" It's both a question and a condemnation. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"It was a rather well-made carving," $dragon_name concedes, searching for its image in your memories. "Too bad is not enough. Where were his figurines when you were growing up? Where was //he//?"
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. You shake your head as if to escape all these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made, too little, too late. You don't know whether it deserves to be put on your shelf, or chucked away in the river, taken far away.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming/protesting in pain. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
"I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
$dragon_name puts down the carving. "What can I say, it's pretty and well-made. Too bad it doesn't change anything." They pause, then amiably ask, as if offering to do you a favor: "Would you like me to burn it?"
You snort, a brittle, mirthless sound and shake your head - not so much in answer, so much as to escape these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Should you put your trust in him, should you give him a chance?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something brittle - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name looks just as uncertain to celebrate. They put down the carving. "It is a thoughtful gift. Pretty and well-made." Something doesn't sit right with them, and you can tell by the overly-polite tone. "But is it enough, after everything he's done - or rather, all he hasn't done, because he wasn't here for you?"
You frown and reach for the figurine, cradling it protectively. "A part of me has always wanted to meet him though. He's here now and he seems willing to try, can't I at least try to give him a chance and see what he does with it?"
"Of course you can. And I want him to do something good with that chance you're giving him. But - " they push their snout against your cheek " - I don't want you to suffer either."
You run your fingers over the carved scales, press the soft tips against the hard ridges till pain blooms. "This has to mean something. I hope."
"I hope so too, Mordred." They thrust out their chin. "Otherwise I might have a word with the King."
You chuckle and bump your head against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
[[Continue|C3BoldDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he's be like - and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you.
<<else>>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he's be like = and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you, and so unlike what your mother told you.
<</if>>
$dragon_name lets it all pool into them. They listen silently, patiently, composed in the face of this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some fractured, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
They say nothing. Instead, they wrap their tail around your wrist - where the skin is not as feverish - and gently tugs you closer, leaning their forehead against yours. You stand like this till the beating of your heart is not so frenzied, till the swells and falls of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore yet satisfied way you would after a particularly challenging training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
"A joyful reunion, then?" is all $dragon_name manages to say. You give them an incredulous chuckle. "Meeting Arthur would have happened sooner or later," they continue, speaking slowly, "Very much sooner given the tournament. I'm just surprised, given how your mother speaks of him, that he had the guts to approach you as he did."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"We don't really know what he's like beyond what my mother says," you say. "I don't even know what he wants from me - I ran as soon as I saw him. I've wanted to meet him for so long and now that he's here, I simply froze. I want to know what he has to say, but what if - " you cut yourself off, unwilling to voice the your fears lest they crystallize. "I want to believe that mother's judged him too harshly. That maybe he's changed."
"I know, but I think you should practice some caution still. Even if he comes with the best of intentions."
Your brow furrows. "What do you mean? If he wants to come back into my life, shouldn't I at least offer him a chance and see what he does with it?"
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Mordred."
You turn your head to nuzzle them back. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I didn't even get to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who carefully scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone fills you with joy anew - it's such a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Are you ready to give him a chance, ready to trust him?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something tender - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name looks reluctant to celebrate yet. They put down the carving. "It is a thoughtful gift. Pretty and well-made." Something doesn't sit right with them, and you can tell by the overly-polite tone. "But is it enough, after everything he's done - or rather, all he hasn't done, because he wasn't here for you?"
You frown and reach for the figurine, cradling it protectively. "A part of me has always wanted to meet him though. He's here now and he seems willing to try, can't I at least try to give him a chance and see what he does with it?"
"Of course you can. And I want him to do something good with that chance you're giving him. But - " they push their snout against your cheek " - I don't want to suffer either."
You run your fingers over the carved scales, press the soft tips against the hard ridges till pain blooms. "This has to mean something. I hope."
"I hope so too, Mordred." They thrust out their chin. "Otherwise I might have a word with the King."
You chuckle and bump your head against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|C3BoldDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was furiously flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. And burning throughout it all there's an overwhelming sense of wrath.
$dragon_name's chest rises and falls in quick succession, as if they're working up to unleashing a fiery torrent out their throat. Their talons clench, nails digging into the dirt as your thoughts flood them, unraveling like you under this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
"So he cornered you?" When they speak, slender tendrils of smoke curl out. "He cornered you in the courtyard, where there was no one. Did he follow you? Did he stalk you?"
"I don't think he went as far as stalking," you huff, "but he was definitely looking for me."
"To come and harass you? Do you need me to keep an eye on him? To make sure he stays away? So he won't catch you unawares again?"
A bark of a laugh - harsh and incredulous and delighted - comes out of your throat. "Are you saying you want to spy on the King for me?"
They tilt their head closer to yours, so you're eye to eye when they reply, "Anything for you."
A quick spark of a smile on your lips, snuffed out as you rub your palms over your face. They're a bit too feverish hot, simmering with magic that itches to escape their bounds.
$dragon_name coils their tail around your wrist, the scales refreshingly cool against your skin. Gently, they pull you against their chest - their heartbeat drumming under your splayed palms - and place their chin on top of your head. You stand like this until the the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
"I'm just surprised," they say after a while, "given how your mother speaks of Arthur, that he had the nerves to approach you as he did."
<<if $why == "earn">>
"I guess I'm surprised too," you murmur splaying your hands against the grass.
<<else>>
"I wish he hadn't," you grumble, running your palms over the grass.
<</if>>
<<if $reaction == "run">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "I don't even know what he wanted from me. I ran as soon as I saw him. I just-" You bite your lip. "I don't know if I can hear whatever he has to say. Does he want to make it right? Yell at me like everybody else? Say how he doesn't regret abandoning me?"
$dragon_name's words come underlined by a growl. "I won't care that he's the King, if he yells at you..."
You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the end of that ominous sentence. Instead, they just scoff - a sound like rocks ground against each other - and say, "Though I don't think that'll be necessary. Your mother and my parents will get sooner to him, with some choice words of their own."
"He didn't seem like he //wanted// to yell at me," you say, as if replaying his expression in your mind will help you gouge out his true intentions.
"I guess not," $dragon_name huffs. "He didn't look angry in your memory. More like...nervous. And surprised?"
"What, you think he just wants to meet me? He's ten years late." You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could."
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could. As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"A figurine!" $dragon_name turns up their snout as if the offending token was right before them. "A figurine for all these years of absence. What does he suppose you'll do with it? Put it on a shelf and always be reminded of how he abandoned you?"
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
<<if $why == "earn">>
A figurine, carefully crafted, well-made, all for you. You could see it in Arthur's hopeful gaze, that it was truly a work of love, yet you couldn't just take it and overlook years of absence. Is this all he has to offer after all this time?
You shake your head as if to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<else>>
A figurine, well-made, indeed, painstakingly carved, all that effort - what for? To make a toy in exchange for years of absence? "I don't know why he even tries. I don't need him to be my father, not when I have Accolon."
You shake your head to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want anything from him. I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
"A figurine!" $dragon_name turns up their snout at the offending token. "A figurine for all these years of absence. What does he suppose you'll do with it? Put it on a shelf and always be reminded of how he abandoned you?"
You scoff and shake your head - not so much in answer, so much as to escape these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. Scattered and splintered emotions, a mosaic of ill-fitting feelings. So many days spent wondering what he's be like. So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room.
$dragon_name's chest rises and falls in quick succession heaves, as if they're working up to unleashing a fiery torrent out their throat. Their talons clench, nails digging into the dirt as your thoughts flood them, unraveling the same way you do under this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
"So he cornered you?" When they speak, slender tendrils of smoke curl out. "He cornered you in the courtyard, where there was no one. Did he follow you? Did he stalk you?"
"I wouldn't call it stalking," you say, "but he was definitely looking for me."
"To come and harass you? Do you need me to keep an eye on him? To make sure he stays away? So he won't catch you unawares again?"
A brittle laugh escapes your lips. "Are you saying you want to spy on the King for me?"
They tilt their head closer to yours, so you're eye to eye when they reply, "Anything for you."
A quick spark of a smile on your lips, snuffed out as you rub your palms over your face. They're a bit too feverish hot, simmering with magic that itches to escape their bounds.
$dragon_name coils their tail around your twist, the scales refreshingly cool against your skin. Gently, they pull you against their chest - their heartbeat drumming under your splayed palms - and place their chin on top of your head. You stand like this until the the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
"I'm just surprised," they say after a while, "given how your mother speaks of Arthur, that he had the nerves to seek you out as he did."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"We don't really know what he's like beyond what my mother says," you reply, voice barely louder than a whisper. "I don't even know what he wants from me - I ran as soon as I saw him. I don't know if I can hear whatever he has to say. Maybe mother's judged him too harshly. Maybe he's changed. Maybe he's all she says he is, and worse, and he's only here to make my life more complicated than it already is."
$dragon_name's words come underlined by a growl. "I won't care that he's the King, if he makes things more difficult for you..."
You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the end of that ominous sentence. Instead, they just clear their throat - a sound like rocks ground against each other - and say, "Though I don't think that'll be necessary. Your mother and my parents will get sooner to him, with some choice words of their own." $dragon_name pauses, tilts their head thoughtfully. "He looked rather nervous in your memory. And surprised, I think?"
"And ten years late," you drily add. And yet...a part of you regrets not staying, needs to know the words he has to motivate his absence.
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your voice is less a condemnation and more an entreat - does Arthur truly believe this is enough? If you allow him, will he make it up to you with more than tokens - no matter how pretty, no matter how thoughtful - or will you end up disappointed yet again, back where you began?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "I wish it could," you finish, voice barely more than a whisper.
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" It's both a question and a condemnation. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming/protesting in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"A figurine!" $dragon_name turns up their snout as if the offending token was right before them. "A figurine for all these years of absence. What does he suppose you'll do with it? Put it on a shelf and always be reminded of how he abandoned you?"
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. You shake your head as if to escape all these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made, too little, too late. You don't know whether it deserves to be put on your shelf, or chucked away in the river, taken far away.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
"I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
"A figurine!" $dragon_name turns up their snout at the offending token. "A figurine for all these years of absence. What does he suppose you'll do with it? Put it on a shelf and always be reminded of how he abandoned you?" They turn narrowed eyes upon the carving. "Do you you want me to burn it?"
You snort, a brittle, mirthless sound and shake your head - not so much in answer, so much as to escape these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Should you put your trust in him, should you give him a chance?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something brittle - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name doesn't look delighted in the slightest. They put down the carving. "I think it'd be even more thoughtful if it weren't such a belated gift. Don't let him win you over with pretty trinkets, Mordred. It takes more than this to make up for ten years of absence."
You frown and reach for the figurine, cradling it protectively. "Arthur has barely just arrived, $dragon_name. You don't know he isn't willing to try - I don't even know if I want that from him, but can't I at least enjoy this //pretty trinket// for now? It must mean //something//."
$dragon_name's snaps their tail against the ground as they turn their head away - not in anger, but in pain. "For your sake," they say, voice softer, "I hope it does. But - " they meet your eye, their scaled brow ridges steeled by resolution " - know that you deserve more, Mordred. Don't settle for scraps. I just don't want you to suffer."
You smile and rest your forehead against theirs. "I know. We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<<if $reaction == "run">>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he's be like = and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you.
$dragon_name's chest rises and falls in quick succession, as if they're working up to unleashing a fiery torrent out their throat. Their talons clench, nails digging into the dirt as your thoughts flood them, unraveling the same way you do under this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
"So he cornered you?" When they speak, slender tendrils of smoke curl out. "He cornered you in the courtyard, where there was no one. Did he follow you? Did he stalk you?"
"I think he just wanted to approach me," you say. "He looked like he was searching for me."
"To come and harass you? Do you need me to keep an eye on him? So he won't catch you unawares again?"
A brittle laugh escapes your lips. "Are you saying you want to spy on the King for me?"
They tilt their head closer to yours, so you're eye to eye when they reply, "Anything for you."
A quick spark of a smile on your lips, snuffed out as you rub your palms over your face. They're a bit too feverish hot, simmering with magic that itches to escape their bounds.
$dragon_name coils their tail around your twist, the scales refreshingly cool against your skin. Gently, they pull you against their chest - their heartbeat drumming under your splayed palms - and place their chin on top of your head. You stand like this until the the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore yet satisfied way you would after a particularly challenging training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<else>>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he'd be like - and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you, and so unlike what your mother told you.
$dragon_name's chest rises and falls in quick succession, as if they're working up to unleashing a fiery torrent out their throat. The heavy motion settles down the more of your thoughts flow into them. The ready-to-pounce curve of their back smooths out as a strange sense of bemusement descends over them. They stand there, eyes sharply focused on your face, body still as they're flooded with this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
"So he cornered you?" $dragon_name tentatively asks. "Did he follow you? Did he stalk you?"
"He sought me out," you correct them.
"Do you want me to keep an eye on him? So he doesn't catch you unawares again?"
A brittle laugh escapes your lips. "Are you saying you want to spy on the King for me?"
They tilt their head closer to yours, so you're eye to eye when they reply, "Anything for you."
You smile. "Thank you, but I don't think they'll be necessary." You flex your fingers by your side, which feel feverishly hot with magic - not with simmering anger but itching anticipation. Words gush out of you like blood from a wound.? "I just can't believe he's here, and we've met, and that it's the first time I've actually seen his face in the flesh and not paint, and he has mother's eyes, //my// eyes-"
You'd most likely had dissolved into inarticulate babbling had $dragon_name not coiled their tail around your twist and gently pulled you closer. Their scales are refreshingly cool against your skin, their heartbeat drumming fast under your splayed palms. They place their chin on top of your head and you stand like this until the the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore yet satisfied way you would after a particularly challenging training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<</if>>
"I'm just surprised," they say after a while, "given how your mother speaks of Arthur, that he had the guts to seek you out as he did."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"We don't really know what he's like beyond what my mother says," you say. "I don't even know what he wants from me - I ran as soon as I saw him. I've wanted to meet him for so long and now that he's here, I simply froze. I want to know what he has to say, but what if - " you cut yourself off, unwilling to voice anxieties lest they crystallize. "I want to believe that mother's judged him too harshly. That maybe he's changed."
$dragon_name lets out a rumbling hum. "Maybe. Or maybe he'll just hurt you again, scurry off as soon as he has the opportunity."
Your brow furrows. "We don't know that yet," you say, because you want to hold on to the hope that him being here means something. "Should I give him a chance to at least speak his mind?"
"I just hope he's come prepared to make up for everything he did - or didn't do, rather. Because you deserve more than this, Mordred."
You smile and bump your forehead against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I didn't even get to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who carefully scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone fills you with joy anew - it's such a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Are you ready to give him a chance, ready to trust him?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something tender - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name says nothing, merely puts the figurine down and gives a short, little rumbling hum. You can tell something doesn't sit right with them, by the apprehensive way they eye the little wooden dragon, as if it might spring to life any moment and bite you.
Your smile falters. "You don't trust Arthur, do you?"
"Do //you// trust Arthur? The carving is pretty, but is it enough? He's been absent your whole life. Is he willing to do more for you, make up for so much?"
$dragon_name's right; he has been absent your whole life. You don't know Arthur - he's all cautionary tales Morgana told you, rumors and gossip from Court. He's bits and pieces, a patchwork of contradicting opinions, and the peek you got at him would be too brief to make a rash judgement - and yet, what you saw is so much more than you expected.
You reach for the figurine, cradling it protectively. "Arthur has barely just arrived, $dragon_name. You don't know he isn't willing to to try - I'm not sure yet if I want that from him, but can't I at least enjoy this //pretty trinket// for now? It must mean //something//."
$dragon_name's snaps their tail against the ground as they turn their head away - not in anger, but in pain. "For your sake," they say, voice softer, "I hope it does. But - " they meet your eye, their scaled brow ridges steeled by resolution "know that you deserve more, Mordred. Don't settle for scraps. I just don't want you to suffer. If Arthur dares break your heart again, I'll - I'll -" they waver, searching for a hefty enough punishment, though one not harsh enough to draw more of your concern, and settle on a solution both ominous and vague. "I'll commit treason for you."
You smile and rest your forehead against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<</if>>
<</if>>
(''Author's note: The rest of the conversation is currently under construction, but you may proceed playing the game.'')
[[Continue|Chapt3Castle]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was furiously flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. And burning throughout it all there's an overwhelming sense of wrath.
$dragon_name's chest rises and falls in quick succession, as if they're working up to unleashing a fiery torrent out their throat. Their talons clench, nails digging into the dirt as your thoughts flood them, unraveling like you under this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
"So he cornered you?" When they speak, slender tendrils of smoke curl out. "He cornered you in the courtyard, where there was no one. Did he follow you? Did he stalk you?"
"I don't think he went as far as stalking," you huff, "but he was definitely looking for me."
"To come and harass you? Do you need me to keep an eye on him? To make sure he stays away? So he won't catch you unawares again?"
A bark of a laugh - harsh and incredulous and delighted - comes out of your throat. "Are you saying you want to spy on the King for me?"
They tilt their head closer to yours, so you're eye to eye when they reply, "Anything for you."
A quick spark of a smile on your lips, snuffed out as you rub your palms over your face. They're a bit too feverish hot, simmering with magic that itches to escape their bounds.
$dragon_name coils their tail around your wrist, the scales refreshingly cool against your skin. Gently, they pull you against their chest - their heartbeat drumming under your splayed palms - and place their chin on top of your head. You stand like this until the the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
"I'm just surprised," they say after a while, "given how your mother speaks of Arthur, that he had the nerves to approach you as he did."
<<if $why == "earn">>
"I guess I'm surprised too," you murmur splaying your hands against the grass.
<<else>>
"I wish he hadn't," you grumble, running your palms over the grass.
<</if>>
<<if $reaction == "run">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "I don't even know what he wanted from me. I ran as soon as I saw him. I just-" You bite your lip. "I don't know if I can hear whatever he has to say. Does he want to make it right? Yell at me like everybody else? Say how he doesn't regret abandoning me?"
$dragon_name's words come underlined by a growl. "I won't care that he's the King, if he yells at you..."
You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the end of that ominous sentence. Instead, they just scoff - a sound like rocks ground against each other - and say, "Though I don't think that'll be necessary. Your mother and my parents will get sooner to him, with some choice words of their own."
"He didn't seem like he //wanted// to yell at me," you say, as if replaying his expression in your mind will help you gouge out his true intentions.
"I guess not," $dragon_name huffs. "He didn't look angry in your memory. More like...nervous. And surprised?"
"What, you think he just wants to meet me? He's ten years late." You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could."
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could. As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"A figurine!" $dragon_name turns up their snout as if the offending token was right before them. "A figurine for all these years of absence. What does he suppose you'll do with it? Put it on a shelf and always be reminded of how he abandoned you?"
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
<<if $why == "earn">>
A figurine, carefully crafted, well-made, all for you. You could see it in Arthur's hopeful gaze, that it was truly a work of love, yet you couldn't just take it and overlook years of absence. Is this all he has to offer after all this time?
You shake your head as if to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<else>>
A figurine, well-made, indeed, painstakingly carved, all that effort - what for? To make a toy in exchange for years of absence? "I don't know why he even tries. I don't need him to be my father, not when I have Accolon."
You shake your head to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want anything from him. I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
"A figurine!" $dragon_name turns up their snout at the offending token. "A figurine for all these years of absence. What does he suppose you'll do with it? Put it on a shelf and always be reminded of how he abandoned you?"
You scoff and shake your head - not so much in answer, so much as to escape these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|C3FierceDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. Scattered and splintered emotions, a mosaic of ill-fitting feelings. So many days spent wondering what he's be like. So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room.
$dragon_name's chest rises and falls in quick succession heaves, as if they're working up to unleashing a fiery torrent out their throat. Their talons clench, nails digging into the dirt as your thoughts flood them, unraveling the same way you do under this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
"So he cornered you?" When they speak, slender tendrils of smoke curl out. "He cornered you in the courtyard, where there was no one. Did he follow you? Did he stalk you?"
"I wouldn't call it stalking," you say, "but he was definitely looking for me."
"To come and harass you? Do you need me to keep an eye on him? To make sure he stays away? So he won't catch you unawares again?"
A brittle laugh escapes your lips. "Are you saying you want to spy on the King for me?"
They tilt their head closer to yours, so you're eye to eye when they reply, "Anything for you."
A quick spark of a smile on your lips, snuffed out as you rub your palms over your face. They're a bit too feverish hot, simmering with magic that itches to escape their bounds.
$dragon_name coils their tail around your twist, the scales refreshingly cool against your skin. Gently, they pull you against their chest - their heartbeat drumming under your splayed palms - and place their chin on top of your head. You stand like this until the the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
"I'm just surprised," they say after a while, "given how your mother speaks of Arthur, that he had the nerves to seek you out as he did."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"We don't really know what he's like beyond what my mother says," you reply, voice barely louder than a whisper. "I don't even know what he wants from me - I ran as soon as I saw him. I don't know if I can hear whatever he has to say. Maybe mother's judged him too harshly. Maybe he's changed. Maybe he's all she says he is, and worse, and he's only here to make my life more complicated than it already is."
$dragon_name's words come underlined by a growl. "I won't care that he's the King, if he makes things more difficult for you..."
You raise an eyebrow, waiting for the end of that ominous sentence. Instead, they just clear their throat - a sound like rocks ground against each other - and say, "Though I don't think that'll be necessary. Your mother and my parents will get sooner to him, with some choice words of their own." $dragon_name pauses, tilts their head thoughtfully. "He looked rather nervous in your memory. And surprised, I think?"
"And ten years late," you drily add. And yet...a part of you regrets not staying, needs to know the words he has to motivate his absence.
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your voice is less a condemnation and more an entreat - does Arthur truly believe this is enough? If you allow him, will he make it up to you with more than tokens - no matter how pretty, no matter how thoughtful - or will you end up disappointed yet again, back where you began?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm protesting in pain. "I wish it could," you finish, voice barely more than a whisper.
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" It's both a question and a condemnation. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming/protesting in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"A figurine!" $dragon_name turns up their snout as if the offending token was right before them. "A figurine for all these years of absence. What does he suppose you'll do with it? Put it on a shelf and always be reminded of how he abandoned you?"
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. You shake your head as if to escape all these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made, too little, too late. You don't know whether it deserves to be put on your shelf, or chucked away in the river, taken far away.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
"I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
"A figurine!" $dragon_name turns up their snout at the offending token. "A figurine for all these years of absence. What does he suppose you'll do with it? Put it on a shelf and always be reminded of how he abandoned you?" They turn narrowed eyes upon the carving. "Do you you want me to burn it?"
You snort, a brittle, mirthless sound and shake your head - not so much in answer, so much as to escape these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Should you put your trust in him, should you give him a chance?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something brittle - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name doesn't look delighted in the slightest. They put down the carving. "I think it'd be even more thoughtful if it weren't such a belated gift. Don't let him win you over with pretty trinkets, Mordred. It takes more than this to make up for ten years of absence."
You frown and reach for the figurine, cradling it protectively. "Arthur has barely just arrived, $dragon_name. You don't know he isn't willing to try - I don't even know if I want that from him, but can't I at least enjoy this //pretty trinket// for now? It must mean //something//."
$dragon_name's snaps their tail against the ground as they turn their head away - not in anger, but in pain. "For your sake," they say, voice softer, "I hope it does. But - " they meet your eye, their scaled brow ridges steeled by resolution " - know that you deserve more, Mordred. Don't settle for scraps. I just don't want you to suffer."
You smile and rest your forehead against theirs. "I know. We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
[[Continue|C3FierceDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he's be like - and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you.
$dragon_name's chest rises and falls in quick succession, as if they're working up to unleashing a fiery torrent out their throat. Their talons clench, nails digging into the dirt as your thoughts flood them, unraveling the same way you do under this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
"So he cornered you?" When they speak, slender tendrils of smoke curl out. "He cornered you in the courtyard, where there was no one. Did he follow you? Did he stalk you?"
"I think he just wanted to approach me," you say. "He looked like he was searching for me."
"To come and harass you? Do you need me to keep an eye on him? So he won't catch you unawares again?"
A brittle laugh escapes your lips. "Are you saying you want to spy on the King for me?"
They tilt their head closer to yours, so you're eye to eye when they reply, "Anything for you."
A quick spark of a smile on your lips, snuffed out as you rub your palms over your face. They're a bit too feverish hot, simmering with magic that itches to escape their bounds.
$dragon_name coils their tail around your twist, the scales refreshingly cool against your skin. Gently, they pull you against their chest - their heartbeat drumming under your splayed palms - and place their chin on top of your head. You stand like this until the the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore yet satisfied way you would after a particularly challenging training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<else>>
The memory of the latter comes out a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he'd be like - and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you, and so unlike what your mother told you.
$dragon_name's chest rises and falls in quick succession, as if they're working up to unleashing a fiery torrent out their throat. The heavy motion settles down the more of your thoughts flow into them. The ready-to-pounce curve of their back smooths out as a strange sense of bemusement descends over them. They stand there, eyes sharply focused on your face, body still as they're flooded with this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
"So he cornered you?" $dragon_name tentatively asks. "Did he follow you? Did he stalk you?"
"He sought me out," you correct them.
"Do you want me to keep an eye on him? So he doesn't catch you unawares again?"
A brittle laugh escapes your lips. "Are you saying you want to spy on the King for me?"
They tilt their head closer to yours, so you're eye to eye when they reply, "Anything for you."
You smile. "Thank you, but I don't think they'll be necessary." You flex your fingers by your side, which feel feverishly hot with magic - not with simmering anger but itching anticipation. Words gush out of you like blood from a wound.? "I just can't believe he's here, and we've met, and that it's the first time I've actually seen his face in the flesh and not paint, and he has mother's eyes, //my// eyes-"
You'd most likely had dissolved into inarticulate babbling had $dragon_name not coiled their tail around your twist and gently pulled you closer. Their scales are refreshingly cool against your skin, their heartbeat drumming fast under your splayed palms. They place their chin on top of your head and you stand like this until the the swell and fall of your chests are synchronized, the soft sounds of your breaths coalescing.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore yet satisfied way you would after a particularly challenging training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<</if>>
"I'm just surprised," they say after a while, "given how your mother speaks of Arthur, that he had the guts to seek you out as he did."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"We don't really know what he's like beyond what my mother says," you say. "I don't even know what he wants from me - I ran as soon as I saw him. I've wanted to meet him for so long and now that he's here, I simply froze. I want to know what he has to say, but what if - " you cut yourself off, unwilling to voice anxieties lest they crystallize. "I want to believe that mother's judged him too harshly. That maybe he's changed."
$dragon_name lets out a rumbling hum. "Maybe. Or maybe he'll just hurt you again, scurry off as soon as he has the opportunity."
Your brow furrows. "We don't know that yet," you say, because you want to hold on to the hope that him being here means something. "Should I give him a chance to at least speak his mind?"
"I just hope he's come prepared to make up for everything he did - or didn't do, rather. Because you deserve more than this, Mordred."
You smile and bump your forehead against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I didn't even get to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who carefully scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone fills you with joy anew - it's such a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Are you ready to give him a chance, ready to trust him?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something tender - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name says nothing, merely puts the figurine down and gives a short, little rumbling hum. You can tell something doesn't sit right with them, by the apprehensive way they eye the little wooden dragon, as if it might spring to life any moment and bite you.
Your smile falters. "You don't trust Arthur, do you?"
"Do //you// trust Arthur? The carving is pretty, but is it enough? He's been absent your whole life. Is he willing to do more for you, make up for so much?"
$dragon_name's right; he has been absent your whole life. You don't know Arthur - he's all cautionary tales Morgana told you, rumors and gossip from Court. He's bits and pieces, a patchwork of contradicting opinions, and the peek you got at him would be too brief to make a rash judgement - and yet, what you saw is so much more than you expected.
You reach for the figurine, cradling it protectively. "Arthur has barely just arrived, $dragon_name. You don't know he isn't willing to to try - I'm not sure yet if I want that from him, but can't I at least enjoy this //pretty trinket// for now? It must mean //something//."
$dragon_name's snaps their tail against the ground as they turn their head away - not in anger, but in pain. "For your sake," they say, voice softer, "I hope it does. But - " they meet your eye, their scaled brow ridges steeled by resolution "know that you deserve more, Mordred. Don't settle for scraps. I just don't want you to suffer. If Arthur dares break your heart again, I'll - I'll -" they waver, searching for a hefty enough punishment, though one not harsh enough to draw more of your concern, and settle on a solution both ominous and vague. "I'll commit treason for you."
You smile and rest your forehead against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|C3FierceDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their maw gapes open in shock and they thrust their head closer, inspecting your face at the same time as launching into breathless questions, as if expecting to find the answers in your written in your expression: "You met Arthur?! Really? Already? Was he mean to you? Please tell me he wasn't mean to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. And burning throughout it all there's an overwhelming sense of wrath.
$dragon_name steps forward at the same time that their tail reaches out to grip your wrist. They pull you close and you collide with their chest, arms moving to wrap around their neck. Their heart beats a frenzied rhythm, in tandem with your own, their smooth scales cool against your heated skin. They rest their chin on your shoulder, while their tail slips from your hand to drape over your back, holding you close in a tight, reassuring hug as they take in this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first. "So you didn't even get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's for the best. What if he was mean to you? Though...he didn't seem mad. Just...nervous. And surprised, I think." Their tilt their head, searching for the image in your memories. "Maybe he just wants to meet you."
"He's ten years late then." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "Maybe you're right and he does want to simply meet me. But I don't know if I can bear to hear what he has to say. What do I say if he tells me he wants to make things right, after all this time? What if he says he doesn't regret abandoning me?"
"You won't know until you try!" $dragon_name says, eternally sanguine.
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<else>>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice full of bemusement, "He wasn't mean after all. He...isn't what I expected, given how your mother talks about him."
<<if $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
"Or maybe he's exactly as mother described him - ten years late and full of cowardly excuses." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me." He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could."
<<else>>
"Or maybe he's exactly as mother described him - ten years late and full of cowardly excuses." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could. As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"Maybe he thought it'd be rude to come empty-handed. Maybe he wanted to give you a gift for all the others he missed. I think it's kind of sweet."
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "Well I think it's stupid."
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek and you lean into the touch. "I know it won't solve anything but maybe it's a sign he wants to try."
<<if $why == "earn">>
Will it even be a good idea to give him a chance? Does he deserve one? Are you willing to open up your heart to more gashes and scars?
<<else>>
"I don't know why he even tries. I don't need him to be my father, not when I have Accolon."
<</if>>
You shake your head as if to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
"Or maybe he's exactly as mother described him - ten years late and full of cowardly excuses. And then there's this dragon figurine." You pull it out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want anything from him. I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
Whereas you hateful gaze would have long ago turned the figurine to ash, were you capable of that, $dragon_name's eyes scour curiously over thee carving as if it were an intriguing piece of art.
"Maybe he thought it'd be rude to come empty-handed," they say. "Maybe he wanted to give you a gift for all the others he missed. I think it's kind of sweet."
"Well I think it's stupid."
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek and you lean into the touch. "I know it won't solve anything but maybe it's a sign he wants to try."
How much is he even willing to try after ten years' absence? It's not a simple misstep he's making up for. He didn't merely forget a birthday - but your entire existence. He didn't neglect you because he got caught up in Kingly matters - but because he's caught up in an entirely different life, one where you have no place. He's made sure to carve you out of it long ago, and now here he is, trying to stuff you back, a jagged piece into the wrong puzzle.
You shake your head as if to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their maw gapes open in shock and they thrust their head closer, inspecting your face at the same time as launching into breathless questions, as if expecting to find the answers written in your expression: "You met Arthur?! Really? Already? Was he mean to you? Please tell me he wasn't mean to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. Scattered and splintered emotions, a mosaic of ill-fitting feelings. So many days spent wondering what he's be like. So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room.
$dragon_name steps forward at the same time that their tail reaches out to grip your wrist. They pull you close and you collide with their chest, arms moving to wrap around their neck. Their heart beats a frenzied rhythm, in tandem with your own, their smooth scales cool against your heated skin. They rest their chin on your shoulder, while their tail from from your hand to drape over your back, holding you close in a tight, reassuring hug as they take in this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first. "So you didn't even get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's for the best. What if he was mean to you? Though...he didn't seem mad. Just...nervous. And surprised, I think." Their tilt their head, searching for the image in your memories. "Maybe he just wants to meet you."
"He's ten years late then." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "I don't know if I can hear whatever he has to say. Maybe you're right and he does want to simply meet me. Maybe mother's judged him too harshly. Maybe he's changed. Maybe he's all she says he is, and worse, and he's only here to make my life more complicated than it already is."
"You won't know until you try!" $dragon_name says, eternally sanguine. "Though I hope he's not here for the latter. I'm sure your mother would have some choice words about that, my parents too. But let's not think about that. There's no reason he can't be nice to you."
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<else>>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice full of bemusement, "He wasn't mean after all. He...isn't what I expected, given how your mother talks about him."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "I suppose. He was rather nice," you concede, "but I can't forget that he's ten years late. He appears before me just like that." As if you're supposed to know how to react, how to feel. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your voice is less a condemnation and more an entreat - does Arthur truly believe this is enough? If you allow him, will he make it up to you with more than tokens - no matter how pretty, no matter how thoughtful - or will you end up disappointed yet again, back where you began?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could," you finish, voice barely more than a whisper.
$dragon_name tilts their head, $dragon_eyes eyes soft. "Well, maybe it can? I mean, maybe it's a sign he wants to try to make things better. A little token to show that, so he wouldn't come empty-handed. A gift for all the others he missed. I think it's kind of sweet."
You say nothing. The way $dragon_name puts it, you can see the sweetness of it too - before that well-familiar bitterness comes like bile on your tongue, making you wonder if wanting something out of Arthur is even wise.
You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "Perhaps."
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek and you lean into the touch. "I know it won't solve anything, but it'
s a beginning."
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "I suppose. He was rather nice," you concede, "but I can't forget that he's ten years late. He appears before me just like that." As if you're supposed to know how to react, how to feel. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" It's both a question and a condemnation. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
$dragon_name turns their head away as echos of your pain thrum through them. When they look back to you, there's a hopeful brightness to their $dragon_eye eyes. "Maybe he thought it'd be rude to come empty-handed. Maybe he wanted to give you a gift for all the others he missed. I think it's kind of sweet."
You say nothing. The way $dragon_name puts it, you can see the sweetness of it too - before that well-familiar bitterness comes like bile on your tongue. You have a father already - you have Accolon. Why is Arthur even trying?
You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "It could have been sweet. If circumstances were different."
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek and you lean into the touch. "I know it won't solve anything, but it's a beginning."
<</if>>
You shake your head as if to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made, too little, too late. You don't know whether to put it on your shelf or chuck it in the river, let it flow far away.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
"I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
Whereas you have yet to decide the figurine's worth to yourself, $dragon_name's eyes scour curiously over the carving as if it were an intriguing piece of art.
They put it down and turn bright, hopeful eyes on you. "Maybe it's a sign he wants to try to make things better. A little token to show that, and so he wouldn't come empty-handed. A gift for all the others he missed. I think it's kind of sweet."
You say nothing. The way $dragon_name puts it, you can see the sweetness of it too - before that well-familiar bitterness comes like bile on your tongue, making you wonder if wanting something out of Arthur is even wise.
"I guess," you say, unconvinced. They seem far more eager to throw themselves at Arthur than yourself.
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek, and you lean into the touch. "I know it won't fix everything, but it could be a beginning, you know?""
You shake your head - not so much in answer as to escape these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Should you put your trust in him, should you give him a chance?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something brittle - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name - who has been studying the carving as if it were a intriguing piece of art - doesn't hesitate. Their maw opens in a wide, gleeful grin that shows off all of their white, dagger-sharp teeth. "Yes! That's what I was thinking. A token so he wouldn't come empty-handed to your first meeting. A gift for all others he missed. It's sweet."
Your smile tugs up, bolstered by their confidence. "It is."
They nuzzle your cheek with their snout, and you lean into the touch. "It's a beginning, for sure."
You turn your head so that your forehead rests against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their maw gapes open in shock and they thrust their head closer, inspecting your face at the same time as launching into breathless questions, as if expecting to find the answers written in your expression: "You met Arthur?! Really? Already? Was he nice to you? Please tell me he was nice to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he's be like = and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you.
$dragon_name steps forward at the same time that their tail reaches out to grip your wrist. They pull you close and you collide with their chest, arms moving to wrap around their neck. Their heart beats a frenzied rhythm, in tandem with your own, their smooth scales cool against your heated skin. They rest their chin on your shoulder, while their tail from from your hand to drape over your back, holding you close in a tight, reassuring hug as they take in this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first. "So you didn't even get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's for the best. What if he was mean to you? Though...he didn't seem mad. Just...nervous. And surprised, I think." Their tilt their head, searching for the image in your memories. "Maybe he just wants to meet you."
"That's the issue - I don't even know what he wants from me. All i know is what mother told me and I really hope there's more to him than that. I ran as soon as I saw him. I've wanted to meet him for so long and now that he's here, I simply froze. I want to know what he has to say, but what if - " you cut yourself off, unwilling to voice the your fears lest they crystallize. "I want to believe that mother's judged him too harshly. That maybe he's changed."
"You won't know until you try!" $dragon_name says, eternally sanguine. "This is your chance. //He// sought you out first, so it must mean he want to meet you, to get to know you."
A smile blooms on your lips. "Perhaps you're right. I should at least try to hear him out."
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<else>>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice full of bemusement, "He wasn't mean after all. He...isn't what I expected, given how your mother talks about him."
<</if>>
"I'm just surprised," they say after a while, "given how your mother speaks of Arthur, that he had the nerves/guts to seek you out/approach you as he did."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"We don't really know what he's like beyond what my mother says," you say. "I don't even know what he wants from me - I ran as soon as I saw him. I've wanted to meet him for so long and now that he's here, I simply froze. I want to know what he has to say, but what if - " you cut yourself off, unwilling to voice the worst/your fears/anxieties lest they crystallize. "I want to believe that mother's judged him too harshly. That maybe he's changed."
$dragon_name lets out a rumbling hum. "Maybe. Or maybe he'll just hurt you again, scurry off as soon as he has the opportunity."
Your brow furrows. "We don't know that yet," you say, because you want to hold on to the hope that him being here means something. "Should I give him a chance to at least speak his mind?"
"I just hope he's come prepared to make up for everything he did - or didn't do, rather. Because you deserve more than this, Mordred."
You smile and bump your forehead against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I didn't even get to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who carefully scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone fills you with joy anew - it's such a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Are you ready to give him a chance, ready to trust him?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something tender - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, curling up into a small smile.
$dragon_name - who has been studying the carving as if it were a intriguing piece of art - doesn't hesitate. Their maw opens in a wide, gleeful grin that shows off all of their white, dagger-sharp teeth. "Yes! That's what I was thinking. A token so he wouldn't come empty-handed to your first meeting. A gift for all others he missed. It's sweet."
Your smile widens, cutting into your cheeks. "It is."
They nuzzle your cheek with their snout, and you lean into the touch. "It's a beginning, for sure."
You turn your head so that your forehead rests against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<</if>>
<</if>>
(''Author's note: The rest of the conversation is currently under construction, but you may proceed playing the game.'')
[[Continue|Chapt3Castle]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their maw gapes open in shock and they thrust their head closer, inspecting your face at the same time as launching into breathless questions, as if expecting to find the answers in your written in your expression: "You met Arthur?! Really? Already? Was he mean to you? Please tell me he wasn't mean to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. And burning throughout it all there's an overwhelming sense of wrath.
$dragon_name steps forward at the same time that their tail reaches out to grip your wrist. They pull you close and you collide with their chest, arms moving to wrap around their neck. Their heart beats a frenzied rhythm, in tandem with your own, their smooth scales cool against your heated skin. They rest their chin on your shoulder, while their tail slips from your hand to drape over your back, holding you close in a tight, reassuring hug as they take in this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first. "So you didn't even get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's for the best. What if he was mean to you? Though...he didn't seem mad. Just...nervous. And surprised, I think." Their tilt their head, searching for the image in your memories. "Maybe he just wants to meet you."
"He's ten years late then." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "Maybe you're right and he does want to simply meet me. But I don't know if I can bear to hear what he has to say. What do I say if he tells me he wants to make things right, after all this time? What if he says he doesn't regret abandoning me?"
"You won't know until you try!" $dragon_name says, eternally sanguine.
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<else>>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice full of bemusement, "He wasn't mean after all. He...isn't what I expected, given how your mother talks about him."
<<if $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
"Or maybe he's exactly as mother described him - ten years late and full of cowardly excuses." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me." He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could."
<<else>>
"Or maybe he's exactly as mother described him - ten years late and full of cowardly excuses." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could. As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"Maybe he thought it'd be rude to come empty-handed. Maybe he wanted to give you a gift for all the others he missed. I think it's kind of sweet."
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "Well I think it's stupid."
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek and you lean into the touch. "I know it won't solve anything but maybe it's a sign he wants to try."
<<if $why == "earn">>
Will it even be a good idea to give him a chance? Does he deserve one? Are you willing to open up your heart to more gashes and scars?
<<else>>
"I don't know why he even tries. I don't need him to be my father, not when I have Accolon."
<</if>>
You shake your head as if to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
"Or maybe he's exactly as mother described him - ten years late and full of cowardly excuses. And then there's this dragon figurine." You pull it out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want anything from him. I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
Whereas you hateful gaze would have long ago turned the figurine to ash, were you capable of that, $dragon_name's eyes scour curiously over thee carving as if it were an intriguing piece of art.
"Maybe he thought it'd be rude to come empty-handed," they say. "Maybe he wanted to give you a gift for all the others he missed. I think it's kind of sweet."
"Well I think it's stupid."
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek and you lean into the touch. "I know it won't solve anything but maybe it's a sign he wants to try."
How much is he even willing to try after ten years' absence? It's not a simple misstep he's making up for. He didn't merely forget a birthday - but your entire existence. He didn't neglect you because he got caught up in Kingly matters - but because he's caught up in an entirely different life, one where you have no place. He's made sure to carve you out of it long ago, and now here he is, trying to stuff you back, a jagged piece into the wrong puzzle.
You shake your head as if to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|C3FriendlyDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their maw gapes open in shock and they thrust their head closer, inspecting your face at the same time as launching into breathless questions, as if expecting to find the answers written in your expression: "You met Arthur?! Really? Already? Was he mean to you? Please tell me he wasn't mean to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. Scattered and splintered emotions, a mosaic of ill-fitting feelings. So many days spent wondering what he's be like. So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room.
$dragon_name steps forward at the same time that their tail reaches out to grip your wrist. They pull you close and you collide with their chest, arms moving to wrap around their neck. Their heart beats a frenzied rhythm, in tandem with your own, their smooth scales cool against your heated skin. They rest their chin on your shoulder, while their tail from from your hand to drape over your back, holding you close in a tight, reassuring hug as they take in this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first. "So you didn't even get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's for the best. What if he was mean to you? Though...he didn't seem mad. Just...nervous. And surprised, I think." Their tilt their head, searching for the image in your memories. "Maybe he just wants to meet you."
"He's ten years late then." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "I don't know if I can hear whatever he has to say. Maybe you're right and he does want to simply meet me. Maybe mother's judged him too harshly. Maybe he's changed. Maybe he's all she says he is, and worse, and he's only here to make my life more complicated than it already is."
"You won't know until you try!" $dragon_name says, eternally sanguine. "Though I hope he's not here for the latter. I'm sure your mother would have some choice words about that, my parents too. But let's not think about that. There's no reason he can't be nice to you."
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<else>>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice full of bemusement, "He wasn't mean after all. He...isn't what I expected, given how your mother talks about him."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "I suppose. He was rather nice," you concede, "but I can't forget that he's ten years late. He appears before me just like that." As if you're supposed to know how to react, how to feel. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your voice is less a condemnation and more an entreat - does Arthur truly believe this is enough? If you allow him, will he make it up to you with more than tokens - no matter how pretty, no matter how thoughtful - or will you end up disappointed yet again, back where you began?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could," you finish, voice barely more than a whisper.
$dragon_name tilts their head, $dragon_eyes eyes soft. "Well, maybe it can? I mean, maybe it's a sign he wants to try to make things better. A little token to show that, so he wouldn't come empty-handed. A gift for all the others he missed. I think it's kind of sweet."
You say nothing. The way $dragon_name puts it, you can see the sweetness of it too - before that well-familiar bitterness comes like bile on your tongue, making you wonder if wanting something out of Arthur is even wise.
You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "Perhaps."
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek and you lean into the touch. "I know it won't solve anything, but it'
s a beginning."
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "I suppose. He was rather nice," you concede, "but I can't forget that he's ten years late. He appears before me just like that." As if you're supposed to know how to react, how to feel. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" It's both a question and a condemnation. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
$dragon_name turns their head away as echos of your pain thrum through them. When they look back to you, there's a hopeful brightness to their $dragon_eye eyes. "Maybe he thought it'd be rude to come empty-handed. Maybe he wanted to give you a gift for all the others he missed. I think it's kind of sweet."
You say nothing. The way $dragon_name puts it, you can see the sweetness of it too - before that well-familiar bitterness comes like bile on your tongue. You have a father already - you have Accolon. Why is Arthur even trying?
You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "It could have been sweet. If circumstances were different."
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek and you lean into the touch. "I know it won't solve anything, but it's a beginning."
<</if>>
You shake your head as if to escape these thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made, too little, too late. You don't know whether to put it on your shelf or chuck it in the river, let it flow far away.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
"I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
Whereas you have yet to decide the figurine's worth to yourself, $dragon_name's eyes scour curiously over the carving as if it were an intriguing piece of art.
They put it down and turn bright, hopeful eyes on you. "Maybe it's a sign he wants to try to make things better. A little token to show that, and so he wouldn't come empty-handed. A gift for all the others he missed. I think it's kind of sweet."
You say nothing. The way $dragon_name puts it, you can see the sweetness of it too - before that well-familiar bitterness comes like bile on your tongue, making you wonder if wanting something out of Arthur is even wise.
"I guess," you say, unconvinced. They seem far more eager to throw themselves at Arthur than yourself.
$dragon_name nuzzles your cheek, and you lean into the touch. "I know it won't fix everything, but it could be a beginning, you know?""
You shake your head - not so much in answer as to escape these messy thoughts, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Should you put your trust in him, should you give him a chance?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something brittle - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name - who has been studying the carving as if it were a intriguing piece of art - doesn't hesitate. Their maw opens in a wide, gleeful grin that shows off all of their white, dagger-sharp teeth. "Yes! That's what I was thinking. A token so he wouldn't come empty-handed to your first meeting. A gift for all others he missed. It's sweet."
Your smile tugs up, bolstered by their confidence. "It is."
They nuzzle your cheek with their snout, and you lean into the touch. "It's a beginning, for sure."
You turn your head so that your forehead rests against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
[[Continue|C3FriendlyDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their maw gapes open in shock and they thrust their head closer, inspecting your face at the same time as launching into breathless questions, as if expecting to find the answers written in your expression: "You met Arthur?! Really? Already? Was he nice to you? Please tell me he was nice to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he's be like - and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you.
$dragon_name steps forward at the same time that their tail reaches out to grip your wrist. They pull you close and you collide with their chest, arms moving to wrap around their neck. Their heart beats a frenzied rhythm, in tandem with your own, their smooth scales cool against your heated skin. They rest their chin on your shoulder, while their tail from from your hand to drape over your back, holding you close in a tight, reassuring hug as they take in this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first. "So you didn't even get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's for the best. What if he was mean to you? Though...he didn't seem mad. Just...nervous. And surprised, I think." Their tilt their head, searching for the image in your memories. "Maybe he just wants to meet you."
"That's the issue - I don't even know what he wants from me. All i know is what mother told me and I really hope there's more to him than that. I ran as soon as I saw him. I've wanted to meet him for so long and now that he's here, I simply froze. I want to know what he has to say, but what if - " you cut yourself off, unwilling to voice the your fears lest they crystallize. "I want to believe that mother's judged him too harshly. That maybe he's changed."
"You won't know until you try!" $dragon_name says, eternally sanguine. "This is your chance. //He// sought you out first, so it must mean he want to meet you, to get to know you."
A smile blooms on your lips. "Perhaps you're right. I should at least try to hear him out."
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<else>>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice full of bemusement, "He wasn't mean after all. He...isn't what I expected, given how your mother talks about him."
<</if>>
"I'm just surprised," they say after a while, "given how your mother speaks of Arthur, that he had the nerves/guts to seek you out/approach you as he did."
<<if $reaction == "run">>
"We don't really know what he's like beyond what my mother says," you say. "I don't even know what he wants from me - I ran as soon as I saw him. I've wanted to meet him for so long and now that he's here, I simply froze. I want to know what he has to say, but what if - " you cut yourself off, unwilling to voice the worst/your fears/anxieties lest they crystallize. "I want to believe that mother's judged him too harshly. That maybe he's changed."
$dragon_name lets out a rumbling hum. "Maybe. Or maybe he'll just hurt you again, scurry off as soon as he has the opportunity."
Your brow furrows. "We don't know that yet," you say, because you want to hold on to the hope that him being here means something. "Should I give him a chance to at least speak his mind?"
"I just hope he's come prepared to make up for everything he did - or didn't do, rather. Because you deserve more than this, Mordred."
You smile and bump your forehead against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I didn't even get to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "happy">>
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who carefully scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone fills you with joy anew - it's such a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Are you ready to give him a chance, ready to trust him?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something tender - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, curling up into a small smile.
$dragon_name - who has been studying the carving as if it were a intriguing piece of art - doesn't hesitate. Their maw opens in a wide, gleeful grin that shows off all of their white, dagger-sharp teeth. "Yes! That's what I was thinking. A token so he wouldn't come empty-handed to your first meeting. A gift for all others he missed. It's sweet."
Your smile widens, cutting into your cheeks. "It is."
They nuzzle your cheek with their snout, and you lean into the touch. "It's a beginning, for sure."
You turn your head so that your forehead rests against theirs. "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|C3FriendlyDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their eyes widen in shock. They step forward, inspecting your face, their voice urgent as they ask: "You met Arthur? Are you alright? I hope he wasn't mean to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. And burning throughout it all there's an overwhelming sense of wrath.
$dragon_name's tail wraps gently around your wrists as to leave you room to step away. When you don't, they inch closer and you collapse against their chest, their heart beating a frenzied rhythm in tandem with your own. They hold you tight, taking on not only the weight of your body, but the weight of your hatred too. Weathering as best as they can this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "So you didn't get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's better this way... Though - " they cut themselves off, unsure.
"What?"
"I saw very little, as much as you did, of course, but he didn't seem mad or aloof, just nervous. As likely to scurry off at a loud sound as you were quick to run away. Maybe this isn't easy for him either."
"Well it was easy to abandon me."
$dragon_name's eyes scrunch up in sympathy. "I was just saying maybe he wants to meet you?"
"He's ten years late." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "Maybe you're right and he does want to simply meet me. But I don't know if I can bear to hear what he has to say. What do I say if he tells me he wants to make things right, after all this time? What if he says he doesn't regret abandoning me?"
"That would be cruel of him to say."
"But maybe not untrue," you grumble, and $dragon_name leans in to nuzzle your cheek. You cup the side of their face, standing like that for a couple of moments.
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<else>>
<<if $figurine == "no">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"Yes. Ten years late, and with cowardly excuses. And he didn't even come to Lothia to meet me. He's here for the tournament. Who knows how long it would have taken him otherwise?"
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could."
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"Maybe he just didn't want to show up empty-handed. I don't think he expects it to fix anything, it's just a little gift to show he wants to try."
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "Well I think it's stupid. He abandoned me. Why are you making excuses for him?"
$dragon_name bows their head and you feel both guilty and slightly vindicated. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you suffer, Mordred, and I thought that maybe if he's different, then maybe it could take away some of your anger, some of your grief." You sigh, not frustrated, just weary, and cup $dragon_name's face, tilting their head up so your eyes meet. "I know $dragon_name, but some things can't be so easily fixed or forgiven."
$dragon_name nuzzles your nose with their snout. "I know, I just..." The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
When you pull back, you shake your head as if to escape these messy thoughts of Arthur, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"Yes. Ten years late, and with cowardly excuses. And he didn't even come to Lothia to meet me. He's here for the tournament. Who knows how long it would have taken him otherwise? Ten years late and he comes up with this!"
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
"Or maybe he's exactly as mother described him - ten years late and full of cowardly excuses. And then there's this dragon figurine." You pull it out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want anything from him. I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
Whereas you hateful gaze would have long ago turned the figurine to ash, were you capable of that, $dragon_name studies it with care, as if it could easily break.
"It's pretty," they say. "Maybe he just didn't want to show up empty-handed. I don't think he expects it to fix anything, it's just a little gift to show he wants to try."
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "Well I think it's stupid. He abandoned me. Why are you making excuses for him?"
$dragon_name bows their head and you feel both guilty and slightly vindicated. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you suffer, Mordred, and I thought that maybe if he's different, then maybe it could take away some of your anger, some of your grief." You sigh, not frustrated, just weary, and cup $dragon_name's face, tilting their head up so your eyes meet. "I know $dragon_name, but some things can't be so easily fixed or forgiven."
$dragon_name nuzzles your nose with their snout. "I know, I just..." The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
When you pull back, you shake your head as if to escape these messy thoughts of Arthur, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their eyes widen in shock. They step forward, inspecting your face, their voice urgent as they ask: "You met Arthur? Are you alright? I hope he wasn't mean to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. Scattered and splintered emotions, a mosaic of ill-fitting feelings. So many days spent wondering what he's be like. So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room.
$dragon_name's tail wraps gently around your wrists as to leave you room to step away. When you don't, they inch closer and you collapse against their chest, their heart beating a frenzied rhythm in tandem with your own. They hold you tight, taking on not only the weight of your body, but the weight of your turmoil too. Weathering as best as they can this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "So you didn't get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's better this way... Though - " they cut themselves off, unsure.
"What?"
"I saw very little, as much as you did, of course, but he didn't seem mad or aloof, just nervous. As likely to scurry off at a loud sound as you were quick to run away. Maybe this isn't easy for him either."
"Well it was easy to abandon me."
$dragon_name's eyes scrunch up in sympathy. "I was just saying maybe he wants to meet you?"
"He's ten years late." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "Maybe you're right and he does want to simply meet me. But I don't know if I can bear to hear what he has to say. What do I say if he tells me he wants to make things right, after all this time? What if he says he doesn't regret abandoning me?"
"That would be cruel of him to say."
"But maybe not untrue," you grumble, and $dragon_name leans in to nuzzle your cheek. You cup the side of their face, standing like that for a couple of moments.
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"I suppose. But if there were no tournament, how long until he sought me out?"
$dragon_name doesn't have an answer and neither do you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He was rather nice," you concede, "but I can't forget that he's ten years late. He appears before me just like that." As if you're supposed to know how to react, how to feel. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your voice is less a condemnation and more an entreat - does Arthur truly believe this is enough? If you allow him, will he make it up to you with more than tokens - no matter how pretty, no matter how thoughtful - or will you end up disappointed yet again, back where you began?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could," you finish, voice barely more than a whisper.
"Maybe he just didn't want to show up empty-handed. I don't think he expects it to fix anything, it's just a little gift to show he wants to try."
Something in your chest cleaves so you pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "It's not enough. Why are you so keen on defending him when he hasn't done anything to prove himself?"
$dragon_name bows their head. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you suffer, Mordred, and I thought that maybe if he's different, then maybe it could take away some of your anger, some of your grief." You sigh, not frustrated, just weary, and cup $dragon_name's head, tilting their head up so your eyes meet. "I know $dragon_name, but some things can't be so easily fixed or forgiven."
$dragon_name nuzzles your nose with their snout. "I know, I just..." The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
When you pull back, you shake your head as if to escape these messy thoughts of Arthur, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<else>>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"Ten years late. But if there were no tournament, how long until he sought me out?"
$dragon_name doesn't have an answer and neither do you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He wasn't mean or cold," you concede, "but I can't forget that he's been absent until now. He appears before me just like that." As if you're supposed to know how to react, how to feel. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" It's both a question and a condemnation. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
$dragon_name places their chin on your knee, humming soothingly. "Maybe..." they say, voice barely more than a whisper. "Maybe he just didn't want to show up empty-handed. I don't think he expects it to fix anything, it's just a little gift to show he wants to try."
Something in your chest cleaves so you pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "It's not enough. Why are you so keen on defending him when he hasn't done anything to prove himself?"
$dragon_name bows their head. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you suffer, Mordred, and I thought that maybe if he's different, then maybe it could take away some of your anger, some of your grief." You sigh, not frustrated, just weary, and cup $dragon_name's head, tilting their head up so your eyes meet. "I know $dragon_name, but some things can't be so easily fixed or forgiven."
$dragon_name nuzzles your nose with their snout. "I know, I just..." The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
When you pull back, you shake your head as if to escape these messy thoughts of Arthur, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"Ten years late. But if there were no tournament, how long until he sought me out?"
$dragon_name doesn't have an answer and neither do you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He was rather nice," you concede, "but I can't forget that he's been absent until now. He appears before me just like that." As if you're supposed to know how to react, how to feel. "And then there's the dragon figurine."
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made, too little, too late. You don't know whether to put it on your shelf or chuck it in the river, let it flow far away.
"He said he sculpted it himself," you go on saying. "Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your voice is less a condemnation and more an entreat - does Arthur truly believe this is enough? If you allow him, will he make it up to you with more than tokens - no matter how pretty, no matter how thoughtful - or will you end up disappointed yet again, back where you began?
"I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
Whereas you have yet to decide the figurine's worth to yourself, $dragon_name studies it with care, as if it could easily break.
"It's pretty," they say. "Maybe he just didn't want to show up empty-handed. I don't think he expects it to fix anything, it's just a little gift to show he wants to try."
Something in your chest cleaves so you pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "It's not enough. Why are you so keen on defending him when he hasn't done anything to prove himself?"
$dragon_name bows their head. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you suffer, Mordred, and I thought that maybe if he's different, then maybe it could take away some of your anger, some of your grief." You sigh, not frustrated, just weary, and cup $dragon_name's head, tilting their head up so your eyes meet. "I know $dragon_name, but some things can't be so easily fixed or forgiven."
$dragon_name nuzzles your nose with their snout. "I know, I just..." The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
When you pull back, you shake your head as if to escape these messy thoughts of Arthur, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $why == "happy">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
"What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"I know," you say. "I didn't expect him to do that. I didn't know what to expect at all." He came - ten years late - but he came. Your happiness, however, is dogged by a nagging insidious question. "But if there were no tournament, how long until he sought me out?"
$dragon_name doesn't have an answer and neither do you. Yet your friend still tries to give you one. "What matters is that he's here now."
You say nothing and just pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket, and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Should you put your trust in him, should you give him a chance?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something brittle - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name - who has been studying the carving with care as if it could easily break - looks up to you with bright, hopeful eyes. "Yes, it's beautiful and thoughtful and sweet."
Your smile tugs up, bolstered by their soft, touched tone. "It is."
$dragon_name rests their chin on your knee and makes a pensive hum that you feel in your bones. "I really hope your mother has misjudged him and that now he's here he'll try his best to make things up with you. I don;t want to see you suffer anymore." They nuzzle your nose with their snout. The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
Then, out loud, you say: "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their eyes widen in shock. They step forward, inspecting your face, their voice urgent as they ask: "You met Arthur? Are you alright? I hope he wasn't mean to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he's be like = and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you.
$dragon_name's tail wraps gently around your wrists as to leave you room to step away. When you don't, they inch closer and you collapse against their chest, their heart beating a frenzied rhythm in tandem with your own. They hold you tight, taking on not only the weight of your body, but the weight of your pain's roots and your hope's blooms too. Weathering as best as they can this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly challenging training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "So you didn't get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's better this way... Though - " they cut themselves off, unsure.
"What?"
"I saw very little, as much as you did, of course, but he didn't seem mad or aloof, just nervous. As likely to scurry off at a loud sound as you were quick to run away. Maybe this isn't easy for him either."
You take in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. "Maybe." Does he fear rejection the way you do?
"The issue is - I don't even know what he wants from me. All i know is what mother told me and I really hope there's more to him than that. I ran as soon as I saw him. I've wanted to meet him for so long and now that he's here, I simply froze. I want to know what he has to say, but what if - " you cut yourself off, unwilling to voice the your fears lest they crystallize. "I want to believe that mother's judged him too harshly. That maybe he's changed."
"I want to believe that too," $dragon_name says, voice soft.
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<else>>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
"What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"I know," you say. "I didn't expect him to do that. I didn't know what to expect at all." He came - ten years late - but he came.
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who carefully scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone fills you with joy anew - it's such a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Are you ready to give him a chance, ready to trust him?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something tender - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, curling up into a small smile.
$dragon_name - who has been studying the carving with care as if it could easily break - looks up to you with bright, hopeful eyes. "Yes, it's beautiful and thoughtful and sweet."
Your smile widens, bolstered by their soft, touched tone. "It is."
$dragon_name rests their chin on your knee and makes a pensive hum that you feel in your bones. "I really hope your mother has misjudged him and that now he's here he'll try his best to make things up with you. I don't want to see you suffer anymore." They nuzzle your nose with their snout. The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
Then, out loud, you say: "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<</if>>
<</if>>
(''Author's note: The rest of the conversation is currently under construction, but you may proceed playing the game.'')
[[Continue|Chapt3Castle]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their eyes widen in shock. They step forward, inspecting your face, their voice urgent as they ask: "You met Arthur? Are you alright? I hope he wasn't mean to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. And burning throughout it all there's an overwhelming sense of wrath.
$dragon_name's tail wraps gently around your wrists as to leave you room to step away. When you don't, they inch closer and you collapse against their chest, their heart beating a frenzied rhythm in tandem with your own. They hold you tight, taking on not only the weight of your body, but the weight of your hatred too. Weathering as best as they can this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "So you didn't get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's better this way... Though - " they cut themselves off, unsure.
"What?"
"I saw very little, as much as you did, of course, but he didn't seem mad or aloof, just nervous. As likely to scurry off at a loud sound as you were quick to run away. Maybe this isn't easy for him either."
"Well it was easy to abandon me."
$dragon_name's eyes scrunch up in sympathy. "I was just saying maybe he wants to meet you?"
"He's ten years late." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "Maybe you're right and he does want to simply meet me. But I don't know if I can bear to hear what he has to say. What do I say if he tells me he wants to make things right, after all this time? What if he says he doesn't regret abandoning me?"
"That would be cruel of him to say."
"But maybe not untrue," you grumble, and $dragon_name leans in to nuzzle your cheek. You cup the side of their face, standing like that for a couple of moments.
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<else>>
<<if $figurine == "no">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"Yes. Ten years late, and with cowardly excuses. And he didn't even come to Lothia to meet me. He's here for the tournament. Who knows how long it would have taken him otherwise?"
<<if $why == "earn">>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could."
<<else>>
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
<</if>>
"Maybe he just didn't want to show up empty-handed. I don't think he expects it to fix anything, it's just a little gift to show he wants to try."
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "Well I think it's stupid. He abandoned me. Why are you making excuses for him?"
$dragon_name bows their head and you feel both guilty and slightly vindicated. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you suffer, Mordred, and I thought that maybe if he's different, then maybe it could take away some of your anger, some of your grief." You sigh, not frustrated, just weary, and cup $dragon_name's face, tilting their head up so your eyes meet. "I know $dragon_name, but some things can't be so easily fixed or forgiven."
$dragon_name nuzzles your nose with their snout. "I know, I just..." The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
When you pull back, you shake your head as if to escape these messy thoughts of Arthur, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"Yes. Ten years late, and with cowardly excuses. And he didn't even come to Lothia to meet me. He's here for the tournament. Who knows how long it would have taken him otherwise? Ten years late and he comes up with this!"
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
"Or maybe he's exactly as mother described him - ten years late and full of cowardly excuses. And then there's this dragon figurine." You pull it out of your pocket and unceremoniously lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is insulting - you wish to chuck the carving in the river, let the currents carry it far away from you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want anything from him. I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
Whereas you hateful gaze would have long ago turned the figurine to ash, were you capable of that, $dragon_name studies it with care, as if it could easily break.
"It's pretty," they say. "Maybe he just didn't want to show up empty-handed. I don't think he expects it to fix anything, it's just a little gift to show he wants to try."
You huff and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "Well I think it's stupid. He abandoned me. Why are you making excuses for him?"
$dragon_name bows their head and you feel both guilty and slightly vindicated. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you suffer, Mordred, and I thought that maybe if he's different, then maybe it could take away some of your anger, some of your grief." You sigh, not frustrated, just weary, and cup $dragon_name's face, tilting their head up so your eyes meet. "I know $dragon_name, but some things can't be so easily fixed or forgiven."
$dragon_name nuzzles your nose with their snout. "I know, I just..." The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
When you pull back, you shake your head as if to escape these messy thoughts of Arthur, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<</if>>
<</if>>
(''Author's note: The rest of the conversation is currently under construction, but you may proceed playing the game.'')
[[Continue|C3ShyDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their eyes widen in shock. They step forward, inspecting your face, their voice urgent as they ask: "You met Arthur? Are you alright? I hope he wasn't mean to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone was too quickly flipping through a picture book, half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations. Scattered and splintered emotions, a mosaic of ill-fitting feelings. So many days spent wondering what he's be like. So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room.
$dragon_name's tail wraps gently around your wrists as to leave you room to step away. When you don't, they inch closer and you collapse against their chest, their heart beating a frenzied rhythm in tandem with your own. They hold you tight, taking on not only the weight of your body, but the weight of your turmoil too. Weathering as best as they can this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly gruelling training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "So you didn't get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's better this way... Though - " they cut themselves off, unsure.
"What?"
"I saw very little, as much as you did, of course, but he didn't seem mad or aloof, just nervous. As likely to scurry off at a loud sound as you were quick to run away. Maybe this isn't easy for him either."
"Well it was easy to abandon me."
$dragon_name's eyes scrunch up in sympathy. "I was just saying maybe he wants to meet you?"
"He's ten years late." You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "Maybe you're right and he does want to simply meet me. But I don't know if I can bear to hear what he has to say. What do I say if he tells me he wants to make things right, after all this time? What if he says he doesn't regret abandoning me?"
"That would be cruel of him to say."
"But maybe not untrue," you grumble, and $dragon_name leans in to nuzzle your cheek. You cup the side of their face, standing like that for a couple of moments.
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<elseif $figurine == "no">>
<<if $why == "earn">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"I suppose. But if there were no tournament, how long until he sought me out?"
$dragon_name doesn't have an answer and neither do you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He was rather nice," you concede, "but I can't forget that he's ten years late. He appears before me just like that." As if you're supposed to know how to react, how to feel. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your voice is less a condemnation and more an entreat - does Arthur truly believe this is enough? If you allow him, will he make it up to you with more than tokens - no matter how pretty, no matter how thoughtful - or will you end up disappointed yet again, back where you began?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "I wish it could," you finish, voice barely more than a whisper.
"Maybe he just didn't want to show up empty-handed. I don't think he expects it to fix anything, it's just a little gift to show he wants to try."
Something in your chest cleaves so you pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "It's not enough. Why are you so keen on defending him when he hasn't done anything to prove himself?"
$dragon_name bows their head. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you suffer, Mordred, and I thought that maybe if he's different, then maybe it could take away some of your anger, some of your grief." You sigh, not frustrated, just weary, and cup $dragon_name's head, tilting their head up so your eyes meet. "I know $dragon_name, but some things can't be so easily fixed or forgiven."
$dragon_name nuzzles your nose with their snout. "I know, I just..." The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
When you pull back, you shake your head as if to escape these messy thoughts of Arthur, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<else>>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"Ten years late. But if there were no tournament, how long until he sought me out?"
$dragon_name doesn't have an answer and neither do you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He wasn't mean or cold," you concede, "but I can't forget that he's been absent until now. He appears before me just like that." As if you're supposed to know how to react, how to feel. "And then there's that dragon figurine he tried to give me. "He said he sculpted it himself. Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" It's both a question and a condemnation. What does Arthur consider enough effort extended to being your father, if he claims he wants back into your life? Does he even deserve this chance - do you even want him here, after all this time, after all this hurt?
Your fists ball tighter, the heated flesh of your palm screaming in pain. "As if I want something from him!"
$dragon_name places their chin on your knee, humming soothingly. "Maybe..." they say, voice barely more than a whisper. "Maybe he just didn't want to show up empty-handed. I don't think he expects it to fix anything, it's just a little gift to show he wants to try."
Something in your chest cleaves so you pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "It's not enough. Why are you so keen on defending him when he hasn't done anything to prove himself?"
$dragon_name bows their head. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you suffer, Mordred, and I thought that maybe if he's different, then maybe it could take away some of your anger, some of your grief." You sigh, not frustrated, just weary, and cup $dragon_name's head, tilting their head up so your eyes meet. "I know $dragon_name, but some things can't be so easily fixed or forgiven."
$dragon_name nuzzles your nose with their snout. "I know, I just..." The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
When you pull back, you shake your head as if to escape these messy thoughts of Arthur, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<</if>>
<<elseif $figurine == "yes">>
<<if $why == "appease">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
You frown. "What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"Ten years late. But if there were no tournament, how long until he sought me out?"
$dragon_name doesn't have an answer and neither do you.
You sink your fingers into the grass, dirt digging into your nails as you crumble the blades in your fist. "He was rather nice," you concede, "but I can't forget that he's been absent until now. He appears before me just like that." As if you're supposed to know how to react, how to feel. "And then there's the dragon figurine."
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made, too little, too late. You don't know whether to put it on your shelf or chuck it in the river, let it flow far away.
"He said he sculpted it himself," you go on saying. "Does he really think a toy will solve everything?" Your voice is less a condemnation and more an entreat - does Arthur truly believe this is enough? If you allow him, will he make it up to you with more than tokens - no matter how pretty, no matter how thoughtful - or will you end up disappointed yet again, back where you began?
"I only took it because I was sure he'd insist." You sigh and pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed.
Whereas you have yet to decide the figurine's worth to yourself, $dragon_name studies it with care, as if it could easily break.
"It's pretty," they say. "Maybe he just didn't want to show up empty-handed. I don't think he expects it to fix anything, it's just a little gift to show he wants to try."
Something in your chest cleaves so you pull at the grass, tossing the torn blades away. They land silently by your side, singed. "It's not enough. Why are you so keen on defending him when he hasn't done anything to prove himself?"
$dragon_name bows their head. "I'm sorry, I just don't want to see you suffer, Mordred, and I thought that maybe if he's different, then maybe it could take away some of your anger, some of your grief." You sigh, not frustrated, just weary, and cup $dragon_name's head, tilting their head up so your eyes meet. "I know $dragon_name, but some things can't be so easily fixed or forgiven."
$dragon_name nuzzles your nose with their snout. "I know, I just..." The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
When you pull back, you shake your head as if to escape these messy thoughts of Arthur, shrug them off like the prickly brambles they are, stubbornly and painfully sticking to your mind. "Let's talk about something else," you propose with a sigh.
<<elseif $why == "happy">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
"What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"I know," you say. "I didn't expect him to do that. I didn't know what to expect at all." He came - ten years late - but he came. Your happiness, however, is dogged by a nagging insidious question. "But if there were no tournament, how long until he sought me out?"
$dragon_name doesn't have an answer and neither do you. Yet your friend still tries to give you one. "What matters is that he's here now."
You say nothing and just pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket, and lay it before $dragon_name who scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone is troubling - a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Should you put your trust in him, should you give him a chance?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something brittle - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, unsure whether to bloom into a full smile yet.
$dragon_name - who has been studying the carving with care as if it could easily break - looks up to you with bright, hopeful eyes. "Yes, it's beautiful and thoughtful and sweet."
Your smile tugs up, bolstered by their soft, touched tone. "It is."
$dragon_name rests their chin on your knee and makes a pensive hum that you feel in your bones. "I really hope your mother has misjudged him and that now he's here he'll try his best to make things up with you. I don;t want to see you suffer anymore." They nuzzle your nose with their snout. The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
Then, out loud, you say: "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
<</if>>
(''Author's note: The rest of the conversation is currently under construction, but you may proceed playing the game.'')
[[Continue|C3ShyDragonCont]]Only now, as $dragon_name turns inquisitive eyes on you, do you let your thoughts flow to them. Your meeting with Gawain and Galahad. You and Gareth in the library. And finally, Arthur.
You barely manage to show $dragon_name more than a couple frames of that latter meeting, when their eyes widen in shock. They step forward, inspecting your face, their voice urgent as they ask: "You met Arthur? Are you alright? I hope he wasn't mean to you."
You don't reply by words, merely let the memory play out, unfurling as a jumbled mess: a confusing flurry of images, as if someone, in their boundless enthusiasm, was too quickly flipping through a picture book. Half-formed thoughts and cut-off sentences from remembered conversations flow through your connection. Joy and trepidation form a complicated mosaic in your heart. So many days spent wondering what he's be like - and here he is, finally! So many nights spent sulking over his absence, as pervasive as the shadows that clung to the corners of your room - and now he's flesh and bone before you.
$dragon_name's tail wraps gently around your wrists as to leave you room to step away. When you don't, they inch closer and you collapse against their chest, their heart beating a frenzied rhythm in tandem with your own. They hold you tight, taking on not only the weight of your body, but the weight of your pain's roots and your hope's blooms too. Weathering as best as they can this hardly coherent mental deluge of memories - some splintered, some playing on loop - of thoughts that are more feeling that words.
When you pull back, you plop down onto the grass in the weary, sore way you would after a particularly challenging training session. $dragon_name settles next to you.
<<if $reaction == "run">>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "So you didn't get to talk." They sound almost disappointed. "Perhaps it's better this way... Though - " they cut themselves off, unsure.
"What?"
"I saw very little, as much as you did, of course, but he didn't seem mad or aloof, just nervous. As likely to scurry off at a loud sound as you were quick to run away. Maybe this isn't easy for him either."
You take in a deep breath, and slowly let it out. "Maybe." Does he fear rejection the way you do?
"The issue is - I don't even know what he wants from me. All i know is what mother told me and I really hope there's more to him than that. I ran as soon as I saw him. I've wanted to meet him for so long and now that he's here, I simply froze. I want to know what he has to say, but what if - " you cut yourself off, unwilling to voice the your fears lest they crystallize. "I want to believe that mother's judged him too harshly. That maybe he's changed."
"I want to believe that too," $dragon_name says, voice soft.
You can speculate and conjecture all you wait, but all it'll do is tire you out; so you just shake your head and pull at the grass. The blades come off slightly singed. "I don't want to think about it right now. Tell me what you've been up to."
<<else>>
$dragon_name speaks first, their voice quiet as if afraid to break the silence. "Arthur wasn't what I expected him to be."
"What do you mean?"
"I saw as much as you did, of course. But to me he seemed nice. I feared he'd be mean or cold but he seemed just nervous. Your mother always says he's a coward, but he reached out to meet you."
"I know," you say. "I didn't expect him to do that. I didn't know what to expect at all." He came - ten years late - but he came.
You pull the dragon figurine out of your pocket and lay it before $dragon_name who carefully scoops it up in one clawed hand. The sight of it alone fills you with joy anew - it's such a painstakingly carved token, lovingly made. He must have thought of you as he chipped and hewed at the wood, must have looked forward to meeting you. Today you found out he too wondered about you, the way you did about him, on those days where you'd stare at the horizon, hoping against all rational thought that he'd be there, finally come to see you. Did your absence pain him as much as his pained you?
Are you ready to give him a chance, ready to trust him?
"It's a thoughtful gift, isn't it?" you say. Something tender - hope - seeps into your voice. "I think it means he cares. That he'll finally try to be here for me." The corner of your mouth twitches, curling up into a small smile.
$dragon_name - who has been studying the carving with care as if it could easily break - looks up to you with bright, hopeful eyes. "Yes, it's beautiful and thoughtful and sweet."
Your smile widens, bolstered by their soft, touched tone. "It is."
$dragon_name rests their chin on your knee and makes a pensive hum that you feel in your bones. "I really hope your mother has misjudged him and that now he's here he'll try his best to make things up with you. I don't want to see you suffer anymore." They nuzzle your nose with their snout. The next words don't leave their mouth, but still resonate inside your head: "//I love you.//"
"//I love you too.//"
Then, out loud, you say: "We'll see how things go. Arthur and I barely got to talk, anyway." You shift, ready to switch the topic too, before you let speculation get the better of you. "How was your day so far?"
<</if>>
(''Author's note: The rest of the conversation is currently under construction, but you may proceed playing the game.'')
[[Continue|C3ShyDragonCont]]<<if $chapt3_harness == "no">>
Shaken as you are, the safety harness was the last thing on your mind. Truly, there isn't any room left for other thoughts. You hold tightly onto their $dragon_name's neck and don't worry about it. The harness is meant to steady you and keep you from slipping off, but this is not the first time you'd be flying without it and you trust $dragon_name.
<<elseif $chapt3_harness == "yes">>
Even shaken as you are, you always think about safety. The harness is meant to keep you steady so that you may not slip off, so you grabbed it and expertly put it on.
<</if>>
You raise high above the woods, the people milling around the plain merely small figurines, like those from one of Gareth's board games. Looking at it from above, you feel like more of an outcast than you already are and so turn your face away. $dragon_name's flapping wings are loud and will surely attract attention, but you leave before you can give them a good enough look, becoming just a spot against the cloudless, gray sky.
Gray and cool like Galahad's gaze. But way more serene, you think, as his reminds you of the winter sky, cruel and freezing.
Your hold tightens. No. Let it go with the wind. The harsh wind is comforting, familiar against your skin, and its chill calms you. You look down at the autumn tinted forest. Patches of green, resilient even to the change of seasons, appear here and there. You see the river slithering through the woods, where your mom sometimes stops in her herb picking, uttering prayers to the Goddess. You look back at the castle, a long way already from it.
Now that $dragon_name is slowly gliding, your muscles unwind ever so slightly, a blissful brief moment of relief, where the rush of air and flap of wings drowns out your thoughts. You lean forward and put your cheek against $dragon_his neck, eyes closed.
It's not long before $dragon_name starts descending to the riverbank. As soon as your feet hit the ground, you already miss the sky.
<<if $dragon_type == "bold">>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactBoldAwful]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactBoldConfused]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactBoldHope]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_type == "fierce">>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactFierceAwful]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactFierceConfused]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactFierceHope]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_type == "friendly">>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactFriendlyAwful]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactFriendlyConfused]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactFriendlyHope]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_type == "shy">>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactShyAwful]]
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactShyConfused]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|DragonArthurReactShyHope]]
<</if>>
<</if>><<silently>>
<<set $met_arthur to true>>
<</silently>>
<<if $chapt3_opinion == "6">>
You take the seat opposite him, and see hope flare up in his eyes. You tell him about the food stalls and the entertainers; about the knights and nobles. He soaks it all in, probably learning more from you than from the scrolls on the table.
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "7">>
You take the seat opposite him, and see hope flare up in his eyes. You tell him about the food stalls and the entertainers; about the knights and nobles. He soaks it all in, probably learning more from you than from the scrolls on the table.
Finally, you told him how you met Gawain, who was eagerly looking forward to meeting you, and Galahad, who was less keen on your acquaintance.
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "8">>
He gives you a faint smile. "See you at the feast."
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "10">>
You rush into the room and put it on his desk, then spin around and leave.
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "11">>
Throwing back your arm, you toss the book at Gareth. It flies over the small room, and Gareth's eyes watch its arc with horror. He yelps, ducking under the desk just as it falls on his chair. Smirking, you leave, slamming the door on his cursing and threats of telling Lot.
You're not paying attention to the servants walking by or guards patrolling. Deep in your thoughts as you are, you just move briskly along the path you know so well, emerging onto a balcony hall overlooking the inner yard and down the stairs. As you climb down, you see you see someone in the inner courtyard, facing away from you.
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "13">>
"Fine," he says, mollified. "It's not fun."
You sketch a smile. "I suppose not. Well." You approach and put the book on his desk. "I'll leave you to it."
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "14">>
Irked at his retort, you don't waste time thinking of a better one. Instead you use the advantage he doesn't have - magic. Your eyes dart to the inkwell next to his notebook, and a wicked plan comes to mind.
Raising your hand, your smile cool, you will the inkwell to tip over, the ink spilling on his written pages, rendering them unreadable.
"No!" he shouts, desperately dabbing at the pages with his sleeve, which only result in him ruining it. "You!" He glares at you, his wrath reminding you of Lot's. "I'll tell father!"
But you're already out, slamming the door after you.
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "15">>
Anger boiling in your blood, your eyes dart to the inkwell next to his notebook. A wicked plan comes to mind.
Raising your hand and smirking, you will the inkwell to tip over, the ink spilling on his written pages, rendering them unreadable.
"No!" he shouts, desperately dabbing at the pages with his sleeve, which only result in him ruining it. "You!" He glares at you, his wrath reminding you of Lot's. "I'll tell father!"
But you're already out, slamming the door after you.
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "16">>
You clench your fists, but restrain yourself from doing something rash. You know Lot would hear of it.
Glaring at him, even more irked by his triumph, you storm out.
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "17">>
You grind your teeth. If you do something rash, Lot will hear of it.
Glaring at him, you storm out.
<</if>>
You're not paying attention to the servants walking by or guards patrolling. Deep in your thoughts as you are, you just move briskly along the path you know so well, emerging onto a balcony hall overlooking the inner yard and down the stairs. As you climb down, you see there's a person in the inner courtyard, facing away from you.
The ones left at the castle are servants in a frenzy overseen by Morgana and guards. Yet here is someone in rich garments looking rather lost, their brown haired head turning around as they scan the balconies. They then spin around, and your heart jumps to your throat.
Because staring at you is a pair of $eye eyes.
"Mordred?" Arthur asks, his voice hopeful. "I've been looking for you."
Arthur never sent a written word your way. He never gifted you anything but his blood, the title of bastard and his resounding absence.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>And now he's here, no more just a figure you painted in your mind, in such hateful shades.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>And now he's here, no more just a figure you painted in your mind, in such contrasting shades.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>And now he's here, no more just a figure you painted in your mind, in such hopeful shades.
<</if>>
The man who you call father just for the blood and resemblance you carry.
<div class="choice">[["Father?" Your voice is quiet.|Chapt3FatherSurprise][$reaction to "surprise"]]</div>
<<if $opinion_arthur != "hope">><div class="choice">[["You..." The single word is filled with hate.|Chapt3FatherHate][$reaction to "hate", $opinion_arthur to "awful"]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Tears gather in your eyes, overwhelmed with emotion.|Chapt3FatherCry][$reaction to "crying"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, you've mistaken me!" You panic.|Chapt3FatherPanic][$reaction to "panic"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Arthur?" you ask, cautiously.|Chapt3FatherCautious][$reaction to "cautious"]]</div>
<<if $opinion_arthur != "hope">><div class="choice">[["So now you decide to show up?" Your words are bitter.|Chapt3FatherBitter][$reaction to "bitter"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $opinion_arthur != "awful">><div class="choice">[["I've been hoping to meet you." You smile.|Chapt3FatherHope][$reaction to "hope", $opinion_arthur to "hope"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $opinion_arthur != "awful">><div class="choice">[["Father!" You run into his arms.|Chapt3FatherNoClimbHug][$reaction to "hug"]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[His absence wounded you, and seeing him makes you a strange mix of hurt and happy and angry as you run to him.|Chapt3FatherNoClimbHH][$reaction to "hugorhit"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Overwhelmed, you run away.|Chapt3FatherRun][$reaction to "run", $figurine to "no"]]</div>You make your way to the lodge, sprinting, stumbling but carrying on, propelled by the tornado that are your thoughts and emotions.
<<if $figurine == "yes">>
Your fingers keep twisting the figurine in your hands, as if grasping for something to hold on, to clear your head, to help you process what the meeting with Arthur has kindled in you. You try to avoid the crowd as best as you can which proves easy this time. Everyone seems far more interested in what the fair has to offer, with its food booths and various entertainers in flashy garbs.
<<else>>
You try to avoid the crowd as best as you can, which proves easy this time. Everyone seems far more interested in what the fair has to offer, with its food booths and various entertainers in flashy garbs.
<</if>>
<<if $reaction == "run">>
You get in the way of servants and workers, so lost in thought as you are, and earn yourself a few angry gestures and curses that fall on deaf ears.
<<else>>
You get in the way of servants and workers, so lost in thought as you are, and earn yourself a few angry gestures and curses that fall on ears deafened by Arthur's words and eyes blinded by Arthur's gentle smile.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
Oh, you just want to rip it off his face! How dare he act as if he hasn't just been a shadow so far?
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
Oh, you wish you could bask in it's tenderness, but it feels wrong to just overlook his absence.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
Oh, its tenderness comforts you, like healing balm on a wound.
<</if>>
<</if>>
You stop your hasty, desperate sprint when you find yourself close to the building. There's a gaggle of young dragons gathered outside, chattering and playing. You see familiar and strange faces alike, residents and guests - but the only sight you're interested in is that of your friend.
<<if $dragon_type == "bold">>
$dragon_name is not hard to spot. There they are, upon a stack of hay you're pretty sure was meant for the horse stable and has now been reporposed into an improvised dais for your friend. They stand atop it, loafing as elegantly as one can loaf, limbs tucked primly underneath them, head held high and confident. You'd call them regal, but royalty means nothing to dragons; no, what they remind you of is an orator, self-assured and impassionate, who could go on for hours and hours about politics and philosophy without their voice wavering or breaking. The closer you get you realize $dragon_name is not speaking on any of these matters - what they're speculating on are the upcoming trials.
The dragons around them - some who seem their own age, some younger - hang onto their words, listening to their predictions of performances and their knowledge of sportmanship.
A dragon at the front, about the same size as $dragon_name, with scales of flaming orange and blood red, pipes up with barely-constrained excitement: "I'm sure the Champion Knights - "that is, the human-dragon duo of Sir Lancelot and Sir Melker " - will leave home with at least one win! No, a couple!"
"Well, that's to be expected," $dragon_name smoothly replies, "unless they're willing to leave some glory to the other knights. We may yet be surprised, after all." Their eyes glint. "Perhaps we should start a betting pool."
Uh-huh. You're rather certain the only ones allowed to do that are the official organizers, if anyone.
The red-and-orange dragon in front jumps up and down, excitedly thumping their morningstar-shaped tail tip against the ground. "Can I go first? Can I?"
//"Is this allowed?"// comes your unspoken question to $dragon_name.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
Their gaze finds you immediately. You only meant to send the quip, yet so much more has spilled through, your joy and cheer sweeping your friend in a flood of emotions not their own.
"//As long as nobody finds out,"// $dragon_name smoothly replies. //"The true question is, what has you this happy?//"
Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now you just say: //"Let's go to your spot."//
$dragon_name stands up, drawing themselves to their full proud height, $scales scales gleaming in the sun as they tower over the rapt audience. "This has been fun but I must go. Think about your bets and we'll resume this later. And yes -" they wink at the overly-excited dragon in the front. "You can go first then."
As they join your side, $dragon_name nuzzles your cheek with their snout, and you bask in the warmth the gesture stirs. Any more joy and you'll burst at the seams, and yet be glad for it.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
Their eyes snap in your direction. You meant the quip to come off as light and lively, but the muddy, dark currents of your wrath spill out, sweeping over your friend in a flood of emotions not their own.
"//As long as nobody finds out,"// $dragon_name replies, though their liveliness is faded now, worn down to worry. //"What happened? Was it-//"
You feel the name they're about to say before the syllables can even form shape in your mind, so you cut them off quickly: //"Let's go to your spot."// Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now, you'd rather just focus on getting away from here.
$dragon_name stands up, drawing themselves to their full proud height, $scales scales gleaming in the sun as they tower over the rapt audience. "This has been fun but I must go. Think about your bets and we'll resume this later. And yes -" they wink at the overly-excited dragon in the front. "You can go first then."
As they join your side, $dragon_name nuzzles your cheek with their snout, and you bask in the comfort the gesture brings.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
Their eyes snap in your direction. You meant the quip to come off as light and lively, but the effect is belied by your turmoil, which slips through and sticks to $dragon_name like a thistle, prickly and stubborn.
"//As long as nobody finds out,"// $dragon_name replies, though their liveliness is faded now, worn down to worry. //"What happened? Was it-//"
You feel the name they're about to say before the syllables can even form shape in your mind, so you cut them off quickly: //"Let's go to your spot."// Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now, you'd rather just focus on getting away from here.
$dragon_name stands up, drawing themselves to their full proud height, $scales scales gleaming in the sun as they tower over the rapt audience. "This has been fun but I must go. Think about your bets and we'll resume this later. And yes -" they wink at the overly-excited dragon in the front. "You can go first then."
As they join your side, $dragon_name nuzzles your cheek with their snout, and you bask in the comfort the gesture brings.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_type == "friendly">>
$dragon_name is not hard to spot. There they are at the center of the crowd, voice ringing clear and cheerful as if they were a street performer bidding an audience to approach.
"Come all, the first die has been rolled. A five! Place your bets. Ten or lower - eleven or higher?"
A dragon you've never met before, with scales of blood red and sunet orange, parades through the crowd with a satchel held in their mouth for the others to slip inside the //bets// - which, upon closer inspection, you see are waged in pebbles.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
You weave your way between chattering dragons all the way to the front, where your friend looks excited to see you. "Mordred! Do you want to place a bet too?"
When you look pointedly down at your empty hands, a nearby dragon kindly rolls a little rock your way, which you pick up and drop inside the satchel.
"Higher or lower than ten?"
There's little on the line, and too much happiness overstuffing your head for you to spend any time overthinking it. "Higher?"
$dragon_name grins. "That's what I wagered too. Alright, everyone! Let's roll the second die."
Their long, pink tongue flicks out to gather up the die before they proceed to shake their head as if trying to ward off an annoyingly adamant fly. The wooden cube clatters against their fangs, an increasingly frenzied crescendo. You grin and mentally wish your friend - and yourself, given your bet - good luck. You only meant to send your support, yet so much more spills through, your joy sweeping them in a flood of emotions not their own.
With renewed confidence, $dragon spits out the die. It shoots out like an arrow, sending everyone scattering, then skips and rolls to a stop in the grass, slick with saliva. The red-and-orange dragon bounds with almost as much aplomb to check the result.
"It's six! Woooo!" They chirp out, causing a nearby dragon to snort and ask: "Why are you celebrating? //You// lost." The former dragon doesn't seem deterred by the remark.
Before you can even process the win - and whether this means you'll have to walk away with a satchel full of rocks - you are struck, full speed, by a mass of glinting scales and grinning fangs. $dragon_name pushes their snout against your face and plants a wet victory kiss-lick on your cheek.
<<if $horns == "no">>
You have to wrap your arms around their neck to keep yourself from falling, giggling and swinging your feet in the air when $dragon_name lifts you up, repeating in a gleeful chant: "We won!"
<<else>>
You have to hold on to their horns to keep yourself from falling, giggling and swinging your feet in the air when $dragon_name lifts you up, repeating in a gleeful chant: "We won!"
<</if>>
//"But you seem excited about more than just the dice game,"// $dragon_name remarks inside your head as they put you down. //"What's got you so happy?"//
Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now you just say:] //"Let's go to our spot."//
As you fall into step, $dragon_name nuzzles your cheek with their snout, and you bask in the warmth the gesture stirs. Any more joy and you'll burst at the seams, and yet be glad for it.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
You weave your way between chattering dragons all the way to the front, where your friend looks excited to see you. "Mordred! Do you want to place a bet too?"
You're not in the mood for bets or games, but neither do you want to worry $dragon_name before everyone else - and potentially cause a scene - so you just shake your head and show your empty hands. A nearby kind dragon takes this as their cue to roll a little rock your way, which you pick up and drop inside the satchel.
"Higher or lower than ten?"
Winning or losing a bet wagered over pebbles seems insignificant in the face of your current troubles, so you skip no beat to give your random answer. "Higher?"
$dragon_name grins. "That's what I wagered too. Alright, everyone! Let's roll the second die."
Their long, pink tongue flicks out to gather up the die they proceed to shake their head as if trying to ward off an annoyingly adamant fly. The wooden cube clatters against their fangs, an increasingly frenzied crescendo. You try to smile and mentally cheer them on. You wished to send only that, yet so much spills through: the muddy, dark currents of your wrath, sweeping over your friend in a flood of emotions not their own.
$dragon_name chokes. They cough, splutter and retch, back arching as they struggle with the die stuck in their throat. You move forward at the same time that the red-and-orange dragon does; while you're pleading with them to open their jaws so you can get your hand inside, the other dragon is urging them to get on their side, wild eyes already searching for the soft spot on their belly to press. Before heeding any of the advice, with a final, wretched wet gag, $dragon_name expels the treacherous die. It skips and rolls to a halt in the grass, slick with saliva.
You put a gentle hand on the side of their heaving side, meeting their teary eyes. "Are you alright?"
$dragon_name can only nod. //"Are you alright?"// they ask inside your head. The answer isn't an easy or nice one, and they can sense that. //"What happened? Was it-//"
You feel the name they're about to say before the syllables can even form shape in your mind, so you cut them off quickly: //"Let's go to your spot."// Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now, you'd rather just focus on getting away from here.
"Hey!" the red-and-orange dragon calls out, excited. "I won!"
Assuring the others that they're fine, but will be taking a break and let someone else take over the die casting, $dragon_name takes off at your side and nuzzles your cheek with their snout; you bask in the comfort the gesture brings.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
You weave your way between chattering dragons all the way to the front, where your friend looks excited to see you. "Mordred! Do you want to place a bet too?"
You're not in the mood for bets or games, but neither do you want to worry $dragon_name before everyone else - and potentially cause a scene - so you just shake your head and show your empty hands. A nearby kind dragon takes this as their cue to roll a little rock your way, which you pick up and drop inside the satchel.
"Higher or lower than ten?"
Winning or losing a bet wagered over pebbles seems insignificant in the face of your current troubles, so you skip no beat to give your random answer. "Higher?"
$dragon_name grins. "That's what I wagered too. Alright, everyone! Let's roll the second die."
Their long, pink tongue flicks out to gather up the die before they proceed to shake their head as if trying to ward off an annoyingly adamant fly. The wooden cube clatters against their fangs, an increasingly frenzied crescendo. You try to smile and mentally cheer them on. You wished to send only that, yet so much spills through: the muddy, dark currents of your turmoil, sweeping over your friend in a flood of emotions not their own.
$dragon_name chokes. They cough, splutter and retch, back arching as they struggle with the die stuck in their throat. You move forward at the same time that the red-and-orange dragon does; while you're pleading with them to open their jaws so you can get your hand inside, the other dragon is urging them to get on their side, wild eyes already searching for the soft spot on their belly to press. Before heeding any of the advice, with a final, wretched wet gag, $dragon_name expels the treacherous die. It skips and rolls to a halt in the grass, slick with saliva.
You put a gentle hand on the side of their heaving side, meeting their teary eyes. "Are you alright?"
$dragon_name can only nod. //"Are you alright?"// they ask inside your head. The answer isn't an easy or nice one, and they can sense that. //"What happened? Was it-//"
You feel the name they're about to say before the syllables can even form shape in your mind, so you cut them off quickly: //"Let's go to your spot."// Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now, you'd rather just focus on getting away from here.
"Hey!" the red-and-orange dragon calls out, excited. "I won!"
Assuring the others that they're fine, but will be taking a break and let someone else take over the die casting, $dragon_name takes off at your side and nuzzles your cheek with their snout; you bask in the comfort the gesture brings.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_type == "shy">>
It's not hard - or all that surprising, unfortunately - to find $dragon_name hovering just at the edge of the crowd, away from the other chattering dragons. What's interesting, however, is that they're not alone; by their side sits a dragon you've never met before, with scales of sunset orange bleeding into blood red. The stranger blithely chit-chats away, while $dragon_name seems content to listen to them. Their loafing stance looks rather relaxed, more relaxed than you expected to find them - tail tucked not quite so close and tight to the body. You know your friend; while they may long to join the crowds of playing and laughing dragons, long to sidle up to someone and just strike up conversation, it's a task neigh impossible for them. A burden more difficult than any squirely chore Sera may conceive for them, harder than any assignment a tutor might give them. So it must have been the stranger who approached them.
Every now and then they move about pebbles on the ground - on closer inspection, you make out a three-by-three grid scratched out into the dirt. Walking closer, you catch the topic of the conversation - draconic story fireshows, of which $dragon_name shares their favorites in their soft, quiet voice, at odds with the stranger's loud and excited tone.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
When your friend spots you hovering nearby, their eyes light up. //"Mordred!"// they call inside your head. "//I'll be with you in a moment. I think I can win this game!//"
You give them a smile and mentally cheer them on; you only meant to send your support, yet so much more spills through, your joy sweeping them in a flood of emotions not their own. It works to bolster them: $dragon_name holds themselves ever so slightly straighter as they gaze down at the board, pondering their next move. They raise one talon, hesitate midair, draconic face betraying nothing, then, with a sliver of newfound confidence, slide their pebble with one claw.
The red-and-orange dragon thumps their morningstar-tipped tail against the ground, hooting. "You won! We should do this again. Or play some other game. Do you like flight racing?"
Once $dragon_name assures their new playmate that yes, they do want to do this again and yes, they'd like to try other games - and perhaps even go racing if they find the time - they finally say their goodbye and join your side, nuzzling your cheek. There's a giddy twitch to the swaying of their tail.
//"You look happy,"// they remark as you fall into pace together.
//"As do you.//"
They duck their head, timid. //"I think I may have made a new friend. Or rather, they made themselves my new friend. But what about you? What has you so happy?//"
Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now you just say: //"Let's go to your spot."//
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
When your friend spots you hovering nearby, they eyes light up. //"Mordred!"// they call inside your head. "//I'll be with you in a moment. I think I can win this game!//"
You try to give them a smile and mentally cheer them on, but if there was any chance of fooling them with the former, there's no way of doing so with the latter. Your wrath spills through your connection, a vicious infection spreading into them. $dragon_name's eyes widen in shock and concern; they look you up and down, as if searching for any clue, or making sure nothing else besides your temper has been ruffled. Finally, they meet your gaze again, their worried voice only for you to hear: //"What happened? Are you alright? Is this about-"//
You feel the name they're about to say before the syllabls can even form shape in your mind, so you cut them off quickly: //"Finish the game, say goodbye then let's go to your spot."// Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now, you'd rather just focus on getting away from here.
$dragon_name turns their gaze back to the board, tail tucked closer to their body, protectively. They stare as if the pieces have rearranged themselves when they weren't looking, and they have no idea what to do now. Finally, they raise a claw and slide one of their pebbles.
The red-and-orange dragon gasps. "I won! We should do this again. Or play some other game. Do you like flight racing?"
Once $dragon_name assures the stranger that yes, they do want to do this again and yes, they'd like to try other games - and perhaps even go racing if they find the time - they finally say their goodbye. They join your side and nuzzle your cheek with their snout; you bask in the comfort the gesture brings.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
When your friend spots you hovering nearby, they eyes light up. //"Mordred!"// they call inside your head. "//I'll join you/I'll be with you in a moment. I think I can win this game!//"
You try to give them a smile and mentally cheer them on, but if there was any chance of fooling them with the former, there's no way of doing so with the latter. Your turmoil spills through your connection, a vicious infection spreading into them. $dragon_name's eyes widen in shock/surprise and concern; they look you up and down, as if searching for any clue, or making sure no more than your heart has been wounded. Finally, they meet your gaze again, their worried voice only for you to hear: //"What happened? Are you alright? Is this about-"//
You feel the name they're about to say before the syllabls can even form shape in your mind, so you cut them off quickly: //"Finish the game, say goodbye then let's go to our spot."// Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now, you'd rather just focus on getting away from here.
$dragon_name turns their gaze back to the board, tail tucked closer to their body, protectively. They stare as if the pieces have rearranged themselves when they weren't looking, and they have no idea what to do now. Finally, they raise a claw and slide one of their pebbles.
The red-and-orange dragon gasps. "I won! We should do this again. Or play some other game. Do you like flight racing?"
Once $dragon_name assures the stranger that yes, they do want to do this again and yes, they'd like to try other games - and perhaps even go racing if they find the time - they finally say their goodbye. They join your side and nuzzle your cheek with their snout; you bask in the comfort the gesture brings.
<</if>>
<<elseif $dragon_type == "fierce">>
$dragon_name is not hard to spot. There they are at the center of the crowd, facing off an unfamiliar dragon with scales of sunset orange bleeding into blood red. They each clasp in their maws the ends of a thick twine rope stretched taut between them, pulling it in opposite directions over a straight line scored into the ground. Their claws dig into the dirt and their tails slash at the air as they tug and jerk, scale-covered muscles looking as tense and tight as the lenght of rope between them. $dragon_name moves possesed by a feral sort of zeal, glinting, mean-sharp teeth fully barred. To them, all competiton is life or death; you just hope they don't plan on ending this one with any spilled blood.
You attempt to make your way through the crowd, and are kindly given an opening by a dragon, then immediately almost trampled by a second, far too engrossed dragon. You're pulled to safety by a third one, who gently pushes you all the way to the front, out of the throng.
<<if $tail == "morningstar">>
You hover there, reluctant to interrupt their play or get bludgeoned by your friend's morningstar-shaped tail.
<<elseif $tail == "arrow">>
You hover there, reluctant to interrupt their play or get stabbed by your friend's arrow-shaped tail.
<<else>>
You hover there, reluctant to interrupt their play or get slammed by your friend's tail.
<</if>>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
$dragon_name's eyes snap in your direction, yet they neither stop nor waver, instead pulling at the rope with renewed verve. You give them a grin and mentally cheer them on; you only meant to send your support, yet so much more spills through, your joy sweeping them in a flood of emotions not their own. It works to bolster, tugging as if intent on disloding not only the rope out of their opponent's mouth, but their jaw as well.
The red-and-orange dragon is slowly but surely inching forward, inexorably drawn towards the line in the ground, talons digging long grooves in the ground, morningstar-tipped tail flailing helplessly behind them. Saliva slicks their maw, licking down the tensed, tired muscles of their throat. When $dragon_name gives on last, powerful tug, they tumble over the line into a heaving, gasping heap.
$dragon_name stands up straight, huffing and victorious. The end of the rope that lies at their feet is singed, slim tendrils of smoke curling upwards to frame their victorious, proud face. Before they can approach you, the freshly defeated dragon scrambles to the their talons and jumps into their path, maw open into a grin.
"We should do this again!" they say, not in the least upset over their loss.
"If you'd like to get trounced again." $dragon_name makes it sound less like a promise and more like a threat, yet the dragon only nods enthusiastically.
As they join your side, $dragon_name nuzzles your cheek with their snout, and you bask in the warmth the gesture stirs. Any more joy and you'll burst at the seams, and yet be glad for it.
//"What's got you so happy, Mordred?"//
Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now you just say: //"Let's go to our spot."//
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
$dragon_name's eyes snap in your direction, yet they neither stop nor waver, instead pulling at the rope with renewed verve.
//"I'll take one moment to win this, and I'll be right with you."//
You try to give them a smile and mentally cheer them on, but if there was any chance of fooling them with the former, there's no way of doing so with the latter. Your wrath spills through your connection, a vicious infection spreading into them. $dragon_name falters. Their $dragon_eyes eyes flick back to you, bulging wide and worried. You hastily back out of their mind, but it's no use: you've sown the seed of concern there, and it's quickly blossoming, its poisonous flowers messing with $dragon_name's senses. Their eyes stay more on you then their opponent, and their tugs come weaker, less vicious until slowly but surely they're inched closer and closer to the line in the ground. With one last mighty pull, their opponent drags $dragon_name over to their side.
"Wooh!" They jump up and down in joy, thumping their morningstar-tipped tail in a frenzied tempo of victory. "I won!"
"You got lucky," $dragon_name grumbles, dropping their frayed end of the rope. "I want a rematch."
The way they say it, it sounds like a threat the red-and-orange dragon is either oblivious to or doesn't mind, replying no less enthusiastically. "That's a promise!"
As $dragon_name turns to you, their whole body strains with newfound tension, head lowered and spine curled as if ready to pounce on whatever threat has you so troubled. //"What happened?"// they ask inside your head. //"Was it-//"
You feel the name they're about to say before the syllables can even form shape in your mind, so you cut them off quickly: //"Let's go to our spot."// Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now, you'd rather just focus on getting away from here.
They join your side and nuzzle your cheek with their snout; you bask in the comfort the gesture brings.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
$dragon_name's eyes snap in your direction, yet they neither stop nor waver, instead pulling at the rope with renewed verve.
//"I'll take one moment to win this, and I'll be right with you."//
You try to give them a smile and mentally cheer them on, but if there was any chance of fooling them with the former, there's no way of doing so with the latter. Your turmoil spills through your connection, a vicious infection spreading into them. $dragon_name falters. Their $dragon_eyes eyes flick back to you, bulging wide and worried. You hastily back out of their mind, but it's no use: you've sown the seed of concern there, and it's quickly blossoming, its poisonous flowers messing with $dragon_name's senses. Their eyes stay more on you then their opponent, and their tugs come weaker, less vicious until slowly but surely they're inched closer and clsoer to the line in the ground. With one last mighty pull, their opponent drags $dragon_name over to their side.
"Wooh!" They jump up and down in joy, thumping their morningstar-tipped tail in a frenzied tempo of victory. "I won!"
"You got lucky," $dragon_name grumbles, dropping their frayed end of the rope. "I want a rematch."
The way they say it, it sounds like a threat the red-and-orange dragon is either oblivious to or doesn't mind, replying no less enthusiastically. "That's a promise!"
As $dragon_name turns to you, their whole body strains with newfound tension, head lowered and spine curled as if ready to pounce on whatever threat has you so troubled. //"What happened?"// they ask inside your head. //"Was it-//"
You feel the name they're about to say before the syllabls can even form shape in your mind, so you cut them off quickly: //"Let's go to our spot."// Once you open the dam on your emotions, you won't be able to stop so for now, you'd rather just focus on getting away from here.
They join your side and nuzzle your cheek with their snout; you bask in the comfort the gesture brings.
<</if>>
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3DragonUnderstand]]<<if $chapt3_dragon_reaction == "1">>
You wag your finger at the hissing dragon. "Hey, play nice with $dragon_name!"
The dragon snaps their head to you. "Wag that finger again at me like I'm a dog and I'll-"
"Kerrin!" the other dragon jumps in, decisive and no-nonsense.
"Whatever." Kerrin rolls their eyes but backs away to curl up atop a pillow pile. You fix them with a pointed look all the way.
You're almost knocked off your feet by $dragon_name's snoot. They certainly knocked the air out of your lungs. You rub your cheeks against $dragon_his smooth scales, letting $dragon_his emotions wash over you and pushing towards $dragon_him your own, enveloped in a blanket of warmth. But your dragon immediately feels that something is amiss - the turmoil inside you hits them, and $dragon_he glance at you questioningly.
<<elseif $chapt3_dragon_reaction == "2">>
You smile sympathetically. "$dragon_name, let them be. They're no fun."
The hissing dragon glares at you.
Bounding to you, you're almost knocked off your feet by $dragon_name's snoot. They certainly knocked the air out of your lungs. You rub your cheeks against $dragon_his smooth scales, letting $dragon_his emotions wash over you and pushing towards $dragon_him your own, enveloped in a blanket of warmth. But your dragon immediately feels that something is amiss - the turmoil inside you hits them, and $dragon_he glance at you questioningly.
<<elseif $chapt3_dragon_reaction == "3">>
You shake your head, "$dragon_name, don't be pushy."
Your dragon looks disappointed, but quickly shakes it off. They bound to you, almost knocking you off your feet in their enthusiasm. They did succeed in knocking the air out of your lungs though. You rub your cheeks against $dragon_his smooth scales, letting $dragon_his emotions wash over you and pushing towards $dragon_him your own, enveloped in a blanket of warmth. But your dragon immediately feels that something is amiss - the turmoil inside you hits them, and $dragon_he glance at you questioningly.
<<elseif $chapt3_dragon_reaction == "4">>
$dragon_name rounds on you, eyes narrowed with annoyance. You don't falter. You hold $dragon_his gaze steadily until slowly, $dragon_he calm down.
$dragon_name approaches, pushing $dragon_his head against you. You stroke them, feeling the anger wash away and give way to content. It doesn't take long for your dragon to feel that something is amiss - the turmoil inside you hits them, and $dragon_he glance at you questioningly.
<<elseif $chapt3_dragon_reaction == "5">>
The dragon turns to you and huffs in your face, basically telling you to get lost. The intimidating facade crumbles immediately as your dragon snaps their jaw at them, and the dragon backs away.
$dragon_name approaches, pushing $dragon_his head against you. You stroke them, feeling the anger wash away and give way to content. But your dragon immediately feels that something is amiss - the turmoil inside you hits them, and $dragon_he glance at you questioningly.
<<elseif $chapt3_dragon_reaction == "6">>
Balling your fists, you round on the bully dragon. "Hey you, stop that!"
The dragon turns to you with a defiant, fiery glint in their eyes. You don't falter; you hold their gaze until they finally back away, huffing in contempt.
$dragon_name approaches, pushing $dragon_his head against you. You stroke them, feeling the anger wash away and give way to content. But your dragon immediately feels that something is amiss - the turmoil inside you hits them, and $dragon_he glance at you questioningly.
<<elseif $chapt3_dragon_reaction == "7">>
You quickly put yourself between your dragon and the bully, spreading your arms out and standing your ground.
The dragon pins you down with a fiery look, but you don't falter. Slowly, they back away to curl up in a pile of pillows, huffing in contempt.
$dragon_name approaches you, pushing $dragon_his head against you. You stroke them, feeling the anger wash away and give way to content. But your dragon immediately feels that something is amiss - the turmoil inside you hits them, and $dragon_he glance at you questioningly.
<<elseif $chapt3_dragon_reaction == "8">>
It breaks your heart to see your dragon like this. "Please stop."
The dragon turns to you with a defiant, fiery glint in their eyes.
"Please," you repeat, hands clasped before you in entreaty.
The dragon scoffs but moves away.
$dragon_name comes to you, pushing $dragon_his head against you. You stroke them, feeling the anger wash away and give way to content. But your dragon immediately feels that something is amiss - the turmoil inside you hits them, and $dragon_he glance at you questioningly.
<<else>>
<</if>>
//Let's go outside.//
No one understands you quite like your dragon. And you're not sure how they could. You and $dragon_name share thoughts and emotions. It's such an intimate bond, to have someone know every corner and twist of your mind and heart. All of the pain you bear, your dragon feels. The happiness $dragon_name feels, resonates within you. And so your wounds and joy, your thrills and anger are shared.
Your dragon has grown a lot, the difference between you getting bigger. They are about the size of a pony now. A big, muscular pony with large wings bursting from their back. A year ago you were forced to quit inviting $dragon_name to your chambers, which you found incredibly unfair. It's true that one of $dragon_his wings accidentally knocked over a candle and set fire to the sheets in your bedroom, but you were quick to put it out! And the burping fire incident? It wasn't even that bad! The man's eyebrows grew back rather quickly.
It was an argument that ignited every time you were within Morgana's earshot. It only waned when Lot made his appearance, which was a rare occurence. So Accolon had to appease you. And he took Morgana's side, which felt like betrayal, but assured you you could visit $dragon_name anytime.
You walk past the lodge, toward the woods, the noise of the tournament getting more distant with every brisk step. You want to get away from it for a while.
You and $dragon_name have a spot, in the woods, a small meadow in which you like to laze around after flying for a bit. And so you get on the dragon, telling $dragon_him you'll talk once you get to the meadow.
You take off, gaining height as the air rushes past you, stings your eyes, whipping your hair and cloak, and feeling oh so liberating. The rush, the thrill, the swarm in your belly as you get higher.
<div class="choice">[[You forgot to take the safety harness as you left the lodge. You don't need it anyway.|DragonFly1][$chapt3_harness to "no", $impulsive to $impulsive+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You took the safety harness and strapped it on quickly.|DragonFly1][$chapt3_harness to "yes", $impulsive to $impulsive-3]]</div><<if $pendragonpowers_extract is true>>Extract from "Dragonbloods - the four bloodlines", published by Sorcerer Sybil Ward
//A dragon blood's powers are the following ones: produce and manipulate fire, grow a scale armor, conversing with dragons telepathically, understand the dragon tongue without needing to learn it, and manipulate dragons' will. The powers never skip a generation, or an individual.//
<</if>>
<<if $dragonbloods_extract is true>>Extract from "Dragonbloods - the four bloodlines", published by Sorcerer Sybil Ward<</if>>
<<if $water_extract is true>>Extract from "The Lady of the Lake - a guide to magic" by High Priestess<</if>>
<<if $dragons_extract is true>>Extract from "Dragons and their culture" by Historian and Researcher<</if>>
[[Return to lore page|lore]]<<if $dragon_saw_that == 1>>
You cross your arms and thrust your chin out, undaunted by $dragon_his disapproving tone. "So what?"
"So what?" If dragons had eyebrows, you're sure $dragon_name's would have disappeared into $dragon_his hypothetical hairline. As is, $dragon_his eyes widen to saucers. Shocked saucers. "He's a bully. I don't want to see you suffer, Mordred."
The last sentence is underlined by a genuine concern that mellows you. Still, you're firm as you say, "I've already made progress with him, $dragon_name. I'm sure I can change his mind about me."
"To like //like// you?"
"To friends," you emphasize. "At first. Then..." a smirk curls your lips, and $dragon_name nudges your side with $dragon_his snoot.
"Fine. But if he breaks your heart, I'll flame him."
<<elseif $dragon_saw_that == 2>>
You hold up your hands in a placating gesture, mouth twisting as if you've swallowed bitter medicine. "I know it's not ideal..."
"It is far from ideal, Mordred."
"But he really seems to be a different, kinder person underneath all that icy front," you reason.
"Well, maybe I should help him melt that ice." $dragon_name puffs out a flicker of fire to let the meaning of $dragon_his words be clearly understood.
"$dragon_name, please."
"Fine. But if he breaks your heart, I'll flame him."
<<elseif $dragon_saw_that == 3>>
You cross your arms and nod your head decisively. "Yes. I //like// like him."
"Ooh," your dragon friend coos. "Did he woo you with his icy demeanor?"
You chuckle. "It's what's beneath the ice, $dragon_name. He's just misguided right now. We just have to get to know each other better. Become friends and maybe..."
"Maybe?"
You just shrug, a sly smile curling your lips.
<<elseif $dragon_saw_that == 4>>
"I know it's not ideal," you say, mouth twisting in a rueful smile. "We've started on the wrong foot. But I know he's just misguided. I want to know better the Galahad under all that ice."
"Well, you've made progress with him today," $dragon_name encourages, and you smile.
<<elseif $dragon_saw_that == 5>>
You cross your arms and thrust your chin out, undaunted by $dragon_his disapproving tone. "So what?"
"So what?" If dragons had eyebrows, you're sure $dragon_name's would have disappeared into $dragon_his hypothetical hairline. As is, $dragon_his eyes widen to saucers. Shocked saucers. "He's a bully. I don't want to see you suffer, Mordred." $dragon_name's pleading, almost begging you. Staring at you hard as if this alone might impress upon you how bad and dangerous this is.
You appreciate the concern, and it softens you, but you keep your tone firm as you say, "I've already made progress with him, $dragon_name. I'm sure I can change his mind about me."
$dragon_name's tail flicks nervously. "Just...be careful."
<<elseif $dragon_saw_that == 6>>
You hold up your hands in a placating gesture, mouth twisting as if you've swallowed bitter medicine. "I know it's not ideal..."
"It is far from ideal, Mordred," $dragon_name sounds almost frantic.
"But he really seems to be a different, kinder person underneath all that icy front," you reason.
$dragon_name's tail flicks nervously. "Just...be careful."
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon1]]"Sir Accolon? Please don't go easy on me. I hate when people do that." She taps a fist against her cuirass. "I'm no porcelain doll, and I don't shy away from pain and bruising."
You make yourself comfortable on the bench, propping up one ankle over your knee
There have been other occasions - plenty - where you've winded up close, close enough to feel each other's breath on your skin/lip: Elaine leaning in to whisper some silly joke or cheeky remark [that would have not gone well with your families], prompting your stifled laughs to rush out your nose in explosive huffs. It's not the first time you've touched either, whether accidental or not. Your fingers brushed while passing plates at dinner; your shoulders bumped when you walked next to each other, talking animatedly about nothing and everything.
Yet all these moments passed always under scrutiny. The keen attention/gazes of your family - Lot's being the keenest, and meanest of them all, watching you like a warden/watching you like a starved wolf behind bars, wishing he could tear you apart. The ever seeing, unrelenting, untiring eyes of the court, that are everywhere: milling about the corridors, lounging around the halls. They're there even you can't see them, staring from the windows that stand like dozens of unblinking, gleaming eyes.
But now - now there's no one to spy on you. The door is safely closed, and Robin has never been one all that invested in court intrigue more than it affected them; which always struck you as odd they'd be friends with your mother - or perhaps, that's the reason why.
In this moment of quiet, sheltered within walls that stare white and unseeing and uncaring to your ventures, you could indulge on those thoughts that snaked themselves around you so many times before.
What if you closed the distance? What if you took her hand, touched her cheek, told her what you were afraid prying ears might hear?
All the wheels keeping your mind churning screech to a halt.
"Oh, it's far from the worst I've had," Elaine says, "like broken bones. And ribs. Well I mean, the ribs are bones, right?"
Robin keeps a calm, impassive face as they say, "I see," and "Yes," but you know that look. That flashing flick of the eye that encompasses Elaine, head to toe, scanning as if they could whatever's amiss, like a cut or bruise, to lead someone to speak like that. It's the same kind of look they turn on Morgana when she says the most threatening of things with the sweetest smile.
Robin scoops the pungent cream onto their fingers and slathers it generously over the reddened skin. "I take it you swordfight often then, Your-Elaine."
"Yeah," Elaine says around a grimace as Robin moves on to the nastier of bruises.
"Should I expect to see you in my study frequently from now on?" they ask.
"Hopefully." When Robin shoots them a strange look, she rushes to add: "Not that I plan on injuring myself! I just hope I'll have the opportunity to swordfight."
If mordred fell under -> Elaine takes off their armor first, otherwise Elaine's armor comes off first
they both take off cuirasses and gloves and vambraces?
Elaine first -> shirtless scene
"And I'm glad you didn't hold back on me. So?" She rolls her shoulders back, pride plainly written on her features. "How was I?"
Mordred first -> Mordred finds themselves staring at her focused face, teeth biting into lower lip, nose scrunched up when she can't find a strap, triumphant "A-ha!" that startles and endears Mordred.
"Cunning little shit," Elaine says, throwing you a cheeky look.
She gets up, hands on Mordred's knees to help herself up, not pressing down, just resting there lightly, feeling hot even through your breeches. She's standing so close, and she sees to realize it too, mirth seeping from her face as she inspects yours.
"Feeling alright?" she asks.
-You swallow and smile. "Yeah."
-"Amazing," you say, electrified by the proximity.
"I'm glad." Her hands slide up your legs ever so slightly, thumbs tracing slowly back and forth. "What I'm not so glad about," she cocks her head, smile faltering. "Is that you held back on me. I could tell, you know."
there's a rap at the door. Elaine leaps back, clattering into a cabinet in her haste. She flattens herself against it as if wishing ot become one with it - you almost expect her to open the door and crawl inside.
she grumbles something incoherent in response. it might have been a yes, it might have been a no, it might have been the noise of some ancient beast.
that just makes her cuter.
You've never seen Elaine sleeveless before, let alone //shirt//less. Bared as she is now, you can clearly see the defined muscles of her arms which were, until now, no more than a suggestion through the fabric of her clothes. In fact, you can see so much more: the strong, sculpted lines of her abdomen/sculped abdomen and strong chest.
"Can't find the strap/Need help?" Elaine asks.
"What?"
She jerks her chin downwards. "You stopped; do you need help finding the strap?"
-"Oh, no, I found it. Right here."
-"I was just distracted."
You think you read something like this in a book. Or saw it play out on stage, in a play. One of the dashing heros makes a charming remark, to which the other replies with an even more winsome line, or endearing fumbling. Sometimes, they jump into each others arms, and the book leaves a suggestine space, or the lights dim, and we return to the heros in bed, sleeping; other times they hold hands and gaze deep into the other's eyes.
Elaine freezes mid-dabbing her face with her chemise. You doubt it was achieving much - the garment is as soaked as her. "By me?" she asks, glancing down at you.
"Is there anyone else here?"
She tosses the chemise to the side. "There's you." A smile pulls at her lips. "Maybe your reflection in my greaves was distracting you."
Mordred gets closer, puts a tentative hand on Elaine's cheek, brushing back damp strands of hair. Elaine puts her hands on your shoulders?
A knock comes at the door, abrupt, loud and impatient. "Are you done?"
Elaine all but shoves you back, face red. "Almost!" She pulls up a leg and starts dilligently undoing the straps herself. "Thanks, Mordred, but I can handle the greaves on my own."
jaunty little walk
Elaine pumps her fist in the air and cheers you on/whoops for you.
"How long have you been standing here/watching?"
Elaine shrugs; her amor clinks. "Long enough to catch most of the fight. Which was very exciting, by the way. Thank you for the etertainement."
-You make a mock little bow. "I aim to please."
-"Was it...the good kind of entertainment?" Or were you the ridiculous, worthy-of-a-comedy-play kind of entertainment?
-"I see," you impassively nod.
-"Well, if I knew I had such eager audience I would have put on more of a show."
"Oh?" Elaine's gaze seizes you up with interest. "Well, you have your chance not only to give me a better, closer show," her hand closes around the hilt of her sheathed sword, "but to include me in it, as well."
"How did you know I was training, anyway? Were you spying on me?"
"I made some inquiries, and the knights kindly answered." Her gaze flicks over your shoulder. "Thank you for having me, Sir Accolon. I hope you're not too bothered by my interruption."
Accolon walks up to you with a smile. "Not at all. Usually when people come down here, it's to watch; it's refreshing having somoene who wishes to get involved."
Is 'knights' Accolon? He made no mention of Elaine joining you today.
<div class="choice">[[You're indignant, at a loss for words.|Chapt5ElaineDuelNow1][$chapt5_duel_now1 to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile thinly. "It's quite the effort, a any squire could tell you."|Chapt5ElaineDuelNow1][$chapt5_duel_now1 to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You smile apologetically. "I admit I'm a bit winded. The twin dummies are a new trial."|Chapt5ElaineDuelNow1][$chapt5_duel_now1 to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Give in, if only to get her off your back. "Alright, let's duel."|Chapt5ElaineDuelNow1][$chapt5_duel_now1 to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Spite is a great motivator. "Alright, let's duel then."|Chapt5ElaineDuelNow1][$chapt5_duel_now1 to 5]]</div>Elaine Beauregard, youngest child of the Duke of Astolat. You've met briefly.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]<<if $reaction == "hug">>
You throw your arms around him, holding him tightly, as if he'd run away if you let go. You feel his tentative hands on your shoulders, but you press your cheek against him.
Hesitantly, he returns the hug.
When you finally pull back, he's smiling softly.
<<elseif $reaction == "hit">>
You pour a torrent of fists on his chest, shouting, "Why? Why has it taken you so long? I've waited for you!" You look up at him and see his tormented expression.
"I'm sorry." He catches your wrists, calming you. "Please. Hear me out."
You pull back.
<</if>>
"I just wanted to see you." Arthur's eyes roam over your features, with wonder and a sort of tenderness. "I…always wondered what you grew up to be like," he adds in a whisper, more to himself thn you.
You only just now notice he's holding something. He starts turning it in his hands, the fingers restless just like his gaze, drinking you in. "You look just like Morgana." He inhales a sharp breath. You can't quite tell what the expression in his eyes means- hope, regret and fear making a dangerous concotion, leaving you wondering whether the remark is meant for good or not.
He notices you looking at his hands, and he holds a hand out to show you a small, wooden dragon figurine. "For you. I sculpted it. I wanted to give you something." He smiles, that soft and hopeful smile. Ignoring all the years of silence, extending a peace offering in the form of a wooden dragon figurine.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, but just to appease him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "appease", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You knock it out of his hands.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "yeet", $chapt3_take_figurine to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, but just to appease him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "appease", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Refuse to take it.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 11]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A part of you wants to reach out for it, but you stop yourself.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "no", $why to "earn", $figurineyeet to "no", $chapt3_take_figurine to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
<div class="choice">[[Take it, happily.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "no", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $opinion to "hope", $chapt3_take_figurine to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it and hug him.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "hug", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Take it cautiously hopeful.|Chapt3Figurine][$figurine to "yes", $why to "happy", $figurineyeet to "cautious", $opinion to "hope", $Arthur to $Arthur+10, $chapt3_take_figurine to 11]]</div>
<</if>>$dragon_name is curled up in the corner, $dragon_his tail over $dragon_his head protectively. One of the dragons is angrily shouting at them, while the other is trying to pull them back.
<div class="choice">[["Hey, stop that!" you shout at the bully dragon.|DragonLodge2][$chapt3_dragon_reaction to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Step in front of your dragon.|DragonLodge2][$chapt3_dragon_reaction to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Please stop," you plead.|DragonLodge2][$chapt3_dragon_reaction to "8"]]</div><<silently>>
<<set $met_lancelot to true>>
<</silently>>
The great hall has been beautifully decorated by Morgana, banners of all the houses hanging above, garlands of flowers giving a fresh look to the stone walls. The long tables are laid with red cloths and plenty of golden plates with different kinds of delicacies. All the candles in the chandeliers have been lit, casting the hall in a warm golden light. Your mouth waters as you walk into the great hall by Morgana's side with Lot and Gareth.
The human side of the participants are hosted inside the castle, while the dragons party outside. You've seen the field, dotted by the glow of the bonfires - and the sea of scales that glimmered in their light - as you passed by the windows. Lot was mulishly set on separating the parties like this; you know it isn't uncommon, especially not here in Lothia, for such events to be held like this. After all, a lot of dragons are far larger than humans are, and your castles have not been built with them in mind, whereas dragons have always partied under the open sky. And so it's not considered and insult - and yet, it feels like that to you. You resent not being by $dragon_name's side, and you're sure others with draconic friends and lovers feel the same. From what mother told you, the Duke only made the decision so he could show off his castle and his feast hall.
As the host, Lot has to begin the feast with a word after everyone has gathered, and also arrive early to greet people as they are announced at the entrance to the hall. You must stay on your feet till everyone arrives, which is not fair to your poor feet. You've had squire duties. You should be excused.
At least Gareth seems to have taken his role in stride. He has a perfectly gallant smile plastered on his face, the kind they teach you in etiquette class. But his eyes, they glimmer with an excitement harder to temper.
Knights from all Duchies are presented - including Tintal. The knights from Tintal, however, do not serve or fight in the name of the Duke that cast you out of Tintal all those years ago. That one perished a while after the sordid affair, mysteriously one might say. For you, it's no mystery - you saw Morgana prepare the poison, though you weren't meant to.
After the Duke's demise, his wife took over ruling Tintal, and only recently has she remarried. Usually nobles and courtiers would jump at the opportunity to pursue a Duchess, but you've heard word that people were reticent to fill the role lest the fate of their predecessor befall them, too - you've heard that despite it not being ruled a murder, whispers still spoke of it as such.
Tintal no longer brandishes the serpent emblem either, having settled on the royal eagle (//Awfully presumptuous of them,// Morgana had said) as their new symbol.
Camelot is the last introduced, so that the King doesn't have to wait long for the feast to start.
Arthur leads the knights beside two men that you recognize from paintings, and the likeness to their sons who walk just behind them.
No Queen or Merlin in sight. You've heard talk that a bout of illness has befallen her and confined her to her bed. Merlin stayed behind to ensure her speedy recovery.
The group stops in front of your family. They're all wearing the color of Camelot- red and gold, the symbol of the Pendragon, a dragon, on their tunics. Arthur looks a lot more confident than he did back in the inner yard where you met him, and his crown, a delicate golden circlet, sits atop his brown hair. He has a calm smile on his lips, but you can see it commands all his focus to keep his gaze on Lot and bow his head.
"Your Majesty," Lot bows deeply, and your family does the same. "It's such an honor to have you here."
"It's an honor to be here," Arthur replies. His gaze flits to Morgana, and his smile falters. It darts even further, to you.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "awful">>He looks pained.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">>His gaze is hopeful.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hope" or $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>His gaze is affectionate.
<</if>>
As he focuses back on Lot, your eyes shift to the men beside him. Sir Lancelot and Sir Kay. Sir Kay has the same tussle of dark brown hair as Gawain, and the same easy going smile, which he offers you when he meets your gaze. You would be shocked, had you not met his son earlier. Sir Lancelot, to balance out the kindness of Kay, gives you a gaze cooler than his son's. Sir Lancelot is a tall man, with gray steely eyes and blonde hair reaching past his shoulders. You would have called his face handsome were it not for the ugly sneer he throws your way. It's there for a moment, but it's enough.
<<if $Gawain >= 50>>
Gawain gives you a small wave which he probably hoped was subtle, but Morgana catches it.
<div class="choice">[[Wave back.|Feast1][$chapt3_wave to "1", $Gawain to $Gawain+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wave back subtly.|Feast1][$chapt3_wave to "2", $Gawain to $Gawain+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wave back, face heating up. ❤ |Feast1][$chapt3_wave to "3", $Gawain to $Gawain+2, $Gawain_ro to $Gawain_ro+2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't wave, but smile.|Feast1][$chapt3_wave to "4", $Gawain to $Gawain+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Ignore him.|Feast1][$chapt3_wave to "5"]]</div>
<<else>>
[[Continue|Feast1]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_wave == "1">>
Smiling, you raise your hand and wave quickly. The motion draws the men's attention, but Gawain beams.
<<elseif $chapt3_wave == "2">>
Raising your hand slightly, you wave and smile. Gawain beams.
<<elseif $chapt3_wave == "3">>
You smile and wave quickly, feeling your face heat up. The motion draws attention but you focus on Gawain's beam alone.
<<elseif $chapt3_wave == "4">>
You don't risk waving and attracting attention, so you smile.
<<elseif $chapt3_wave == "5">>
You look away.
<</if>>
Now that the King has arrived, Lot can give his short welcoming speech. He starts off by expressing how honored he is to be hosting the tournament, in the most stiffly gracious way possible. He sprinkles in the customary bids - //May the best win// - and sternly warns against playing dishonorably. And now the feast can begin.
The tables have been arranged so that the children get to sit at the same long bench, and since almost everyone has already taken their seats, there's not many options left for you.
<<if $Gareth >= 50>>
You sit down and Gawain sits next to you, Gareth on your opposite side.
<<elseif $Gareth < 50>>
You sit down and Gawain sits next to you, Galahad and Gareth next to him.
<</if>>
As you reach for food, Gawain turns to you.
<<if $magictrick == "yes" or $magictrick == "nocautious" or $magictrick == "nogentle">>
He's grinning. "I'm so excited! I couldn't wait to talk more."
His enthusiasm is flattering. "Am I that interesting?"
"That's what I asked him, too." You hear a calm, yet sharp remark. You lean over the table to see Galahad, unaffectedly breaking a piece of bread.
"Of course you are!"
[[Continue|FeastGawain]]
<<elseif $magictrick == "no">>
He's smiling sheepishly. "I wanted to say sorry for asking you for a trick. I suppose that was rude."
Is he apologizing to you, after you so rudely turned down his request to do a trick? Not that you think you were unjustified, but you can't see why he would apologize.
"Do you accept my apology?" He looks at you with pleading eyes.
<div class="choice">[["Yes, of course." Maybe he's not that bad.|FeastGawain][$chapt3_feast to "1", $Gawain to $Gawain+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure." He could be a good ally.|FeastGawain][$chapt3_feast to "2", $Gawain to $Gawain+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Uh. No. You were annoying."|FeastGawain][$chapt3_feast to "3"]]</div>
<<elseif $magictrick == "bad">>
He's smiling sheepishly. "I wanted to say sorry for asking you for a trick. I suppose that was rude."
You burnt his cloak, and he's apologizing?
"Do you accept my apology?" He looks at you with pleading eyes.
<div class="choice">[["Yes, of course." Maybe he's not that bad.|FeastGawain][$chapt3_feast to "4", $Gawain to $Gawain+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sure." He could be a good ally.|FeastGawain][$chapt3_feast to "5", $Gawain to $Gawain+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Uh. No. You were annoying."|FeastGawain][$chapt3_feast to "6"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_avalon == "1">>
"Yeah," it's your brief answer before you take a forkful of food.
"I've never been to Avalon," Gawain says longingly. "I heard it's beautiful. And that it's surrounded by mist."
<<elseif $chapt3_avalon == "2">>
"Oh yes! I miss Avalon," you sigh longingly. "It's so beautiful, and I had a dragon friend. We used to play and fly together."
"That's amazing," Gawain smiles. "I bet you had so much fun." You certainly did. Even if the flying bit sometimes got you in trouble with Morgana.
<<elseif $chapt3_avalon == "3">>
"Yes! I love Avalon," you enthuse. "It's so beautiful, and I had a dragon friend. We used to play and fly together."
"That's amazing," Gawain smiles. "I bet you had so much fun." You certainly did. Even if the flying bit sometimes got you in trouble with Morgana.
<<elseif $chapt3_avalon == "4">>
You take a forkful of your food, feeling Gawain's eyes on you expectantly. When you don't say anything, the boy isn't deterred.
"I've never been to Avalon," Gawain says longingly. "I heard it's beautiful. And that it's surrounded by mist."
<</if>>
"Galahad's been to Avalon, haven't you?" He nudges the boy, welcoming him into the conversation.
Galahad is ready to slam that door into your faces, with a short answer he doesn't follow up with, "Yes."
Gawain waits, but when his friend doesn't continue, he proceeds to poke the lion a little bit more, "And? What was it like?'
Galahad chews his food, in no hurry to supply an answer.
"Anyway!" Gawain throws up his hands. "Galahad is not much of a talker, excuse him. You said you know Nimue?"
"Not very well," you admit.
"I'm good friends with her," Gawain says. "She says I'm her only friend and does magic tricks for me. She's not very talkative either," he chuckles. "But she's a good listener. I talk a lot and she says she's practicing getting secrets out of people with me." Gawain smiles from ear to ear.
Galahad shakes his head in exasperation.
<<if $Gareth >= 70>>
Gawain waves his fork between you and Gareth. "Do you get along well?"
"Very well." Gareth smiles brightly and you smile, too.
Gawain shoves a forkful inside his mouth and nods.
"I'm going to have a sister. Merlin says it'll be a girl, and he's never wrong. Isn't it awesome how sorcerers can tell that?" He nudges Galahad. "I heard there's a Goddess ritual to find out too."
Galahad merely nods, and Gawain continues, a knot between his brows. "I'm really excited but also nervous. I don't have other siblings. If I'm the big brother, I'll have to protect her, right? Gareth, do you protect Mordred?"
<div class="choice">[["I don't need protection!" you protest.|Feast3][$chapt3_protect to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't need protection!" You pout, but you do.|Feast3][$chapt3_protect to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Yeah, Gareth stands up for me.\""|Feast3][$chapt3_protect to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes! Gareth stands up for me all the time." Truth is you don't really need protection, but you want to make him look good.|Feast3][$chapt3_protect to "4"]]</div>
<<elseif $Gareth <= 30>>
Gawain leans over the table and looks between you and Gareth. "Do you get along well?"
"Not at all," both of you reply in unison.
Gawain shoves a forkful inside his mouth and nods.
"I'm going to have a sister. Merlin says it'll be a girl, and he's never wrong. Isn't it awesome how sorcerers can tell that?" He nudges Galahad. "I heard there's a Goddess ritual to find out too."
Galahad merely nods, and Gawain continues, a knot between his brows. "I'm really excited but also nervous. I don't have other siblings. If I'm the big brother, I'll have to protect her, right?
[[Continue|Feast3]]
<<else>>
Gawain leans over the table and looks between you and Gareth. "Do you get along well?"
"Rather well," Gareth smiles.
Gawain shoves a forkful inside his mouth and nods.
"I'm going to have a sister. Merlin says it'll be a girl, and he's never wrong. Isn't it awesome how sorcerers can tell that?" He nudges Galahad. "I heard there's a Goddess ritual to find out too."
Galahad merely nods, and Gawain continues, a knot between his brows. "I'm really excited but also nervous. I don't have other siblings. If I'm the big brother, I'll have to protect her, right? Gareth, do you protect Mordred?"
<div class="choice">[["I don't need protection!" you protest.|Feast3][$chapt3_protect to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't need protection!" You pout, but you do.|Feast3][$chapt3_protect to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yeah, Gareth stands up for me," you smile.|Feast3][$chapt3_protect to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes! Gareth stands up for me all the time." Truth is you don't really need protection, but you want to make him look good.|Feast3][$chapt3_protect to "4"]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_protect == "1">>
You cross your arms, vexed at the assumption that you'd need Gareth to come to your rescue. "I don't need protection!"
Gareth chuckles and ruffles your hair. "Mordred can handle ?themself."
<<elseif $chapt3_protect == "2">>
You pout, even though Gareth has put himself between you and children that pick on you countless times. "I don't need protection."
Gareth chuckles and ruffles your hair. "Sometimes you do. And you protect me, too, in your own way."
<<elseif $chapt3_protect == "3">>
You smile. Gareth has put himself between you and children that pick on you countless times. "Yeah, Gareth stands up for me."
Gareth mirrors your smile and ruffles your hair.
<<elseif $chapt3_protect == "4">>
"Yes! He's always standing up for me, my brave rescuer." You elbow his side, grinning. Truth is, each time he has attempted to come to your rescue, you have already dealt with the problem. You do appreciate the effort though, and to show your gratefulness you'll help him make a good impression.
Gareth shakes his head, fighting back a smile. "Mordred rarely needs me." He reaches out and ruffles your hair. "?They can handle ?themself."
<</if>>
Like a grasshopper, the boy jumps to another subject. "I'm so excited for the tournament! I don't know what I'm looking forward to more: the dragon races, sword fighting or jousting. I heard there's even a couple of sorcerers, so that may spice things up." He turns to you. "What about you? Which are you most excited about?"
The tournament consists, in total, of six trials which seek to incorporate opportunities for humans and dragons alike to showcase their physical prowess. There's dragon racing, where both can impress the audience with their speed and teamwork. Then there's jousting, again a cooperative trial of sturdiness, and archery, which again tests how well the pair works together, as well as precision.
Then there are separate trials. Sword fighting for the humans, which is as straightforward as it sounds; obstacle course for the dragons alone, which mixes both agility and speed. And the combat trial, one for humans and another for dragons.
<div class="choice">[["Dragon racing." It's a trial both human and dragon take part in together.|Chapt3Trial][$trial to "race"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sword fighting." It's a trial only the humans participate in.|Chapt3Trial][$trial to "sword"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Jousting."|Chapt3Trial][$trial to "jousting"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Target practice." It's a trial both humans and dragons take part in.|Chapt3Trial][$trial to "archery"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Dragon combat."|Chapt3Trial][$trial to "dragoncombat"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Human combat."|Chapt3Trial][$trial to "combat"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Obstacle course." It's a trial only the dragons participate it.|Chapt3Trial][$trial to "course"]]</div>The feast is as festive as yesterday, if not even merrier. You're aimlessly walking around the hall, weaving your way between the chattering crowd, when a hand on your shoulder halts you. You follow it up to Arthur's nervous face.
<<if $hug == "hug" or $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
Before you can say anything, he says, "Meet me in the lodge. Even if only to rage at me."
<<else>>
Before you can say anything, he says, "Meet me in the lodge."
<</if>>
He hurries away, leaving you baffled. You slink along the wall, melting into the into the shadows, thinking. The way he said it, the rush in which he left, the look in his eyes, they all tell you it's supposed to be a secret meeting, and probably for the best. Morgana wouldn't allow you to see him. You see her in the dancing crowd, laughing as Accolon spins her around, paying no mind to the judgmental looks thrown their way, abandoning herself to happiness. She won't notice if you slip out.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope" or $opinion_arthur == "confused" or $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
<div class="choice">[[Go. You want to build a relationship with Arthur.|Chapt3MeetArthur][$go to "build"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope" or $opinion_arthur == "confused" or $opinion_arthur == "anguish" or $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[[Go. You want answers.|Chapt3MeetArthur][$go to "answers"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "confused" or $opinion_arthur == "anguish" or $opinion_arthur == "awful">>
<div class="choice">[[Go. You want to tell him everything he's put you through, let the fury run free.|Chapt3MeetArthur][$go to "fury"]]</div><</if>><<if $chapt3_feast == "1">>
Gawain bounces in his seat. "Thanks!"
You hear a sigh, "Gawain, ?they should be apologizing." It's Galahad, unaffectedly breaking a piece of bread.
<<elseif $chapt3_feast == "2">>
Gawain bounces in his seat. "Thanks!"
You hear a sigh, "Gawain, ?they should be apologizing." It's Galahad, unaffectedly breaking a piece of bread.
<<elseif $chapt3_feast == "3">>
Gawain pouts, puffing his round cheeks. "Please."
You hear a sigh, "Gawain, ?they should be apologizing." It's Galahad, unaffectedly breaking a piece of bread.
<<elseif $chapt3_feast == "4">>
Gawain bounces in his seat. "Thanks!"
You hear a sigh, "Gawain, ?they tried to hurt you." It's Galahad, unaffectedly breaking a piece of bread.
Gawain shakes his head, "No, it was harmless."
<<elseif $chapt3_feast == "5">>
Gawain bounces in his seat. "Thanks!"
You hear a sigh, "Gawain, ?they tried to hurt you." It's Galahad, unaffectedly breaking a piece of bread.
Gawain shakes his head, "No, it was harmless."
<<elseif $chapt3_feast == "6">>
Gawain pouts, puffing his round cheeks. "Please."
You hear a sigh, "Gawain, ?they tried to hurt you." It's Galahad, unaffectedly breaking a piece of bread.
Gawain shakes his head, "No, it was harmless."
<</if>>
Gawain piles food on his plate till it's almost spilling, muttering something about how delicious each dish looks. Lute music floats across the hall, pleasant and calm.
"You grew up in Avalon, didn't you?" Gawain asks, munching on a piece of bread. His voice is cheerful and his attention set on you. Does he shut up enough to eat, you wonder?
<div class="choice">[["Yeah." You nod.|Feast2][$chapt3_avalon to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[''Oh yes! I miss Avalon.''|Feast2][$chapt3_avalon to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[''Yes! I love Avalon.''|Feast2][$chapt3_avalon to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You ignore him.|Feast2][$chapt3_avalon to "4"]]</div><<if $outfit == "dress">>
You've donned some of your finest garments for tonight's feast: a dyed linen dress, with lavish floral embroidery along the puffy sleeves and brocade boots.
<<else>>
You've donned some of your finest garments for tonight's feast: a dyed linen shirt, with lavish floral embroidery along the puffy sleeves and breeches with gilded buttons.
<</if>>
It is a celebration, after all, and your family's the host; it's only expected for you to look the best, as Morgana made very clear when she's come round to your chamber to check on you. Your reputation may be stained, but the same must not be said about your clothes.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
You arrive early and make yourself comfortable at the children's half-empty table. Conversation buzzes and silk rustles all around you as people stream through the double doors, looking for their seats. Moving unhuriedly, saluting as many people as they can on their way, making a show of their entry.
A familiar pair breaks away from the crowd with quick steps; it's Gawain, tugging Galahad along and chirping excuses as he weaves between people to get to you. You've saved the seat next to you for him - and by extension, Galahad - and he takes it eagerly. Galahad follows, wearing his perpetually disgruntled expression as he does. Gawain wastes no time finding your hand under the table and intertwines his fingers with yours, squeezing gently.
<<if $Galahad >= 20>>
Galahad frowns at the affectionate display; but when you meet his gaze over Gawain's shoulder, it holds not the enmity he's regaled you with, but puzzlement. He snaps his head away, forcefully pouring himself a cup of water.
<<elseif $Galahad >= 15>>
Galahad frowns at the affectionate display; but when you meet his gaze over Gawain's shoulder, uncertainty loosens his scowl. He snaps his head away, forcefully pouring himself a cup of water.
<<else>>
Galahad frowns at the affectionate display; you meet his gaze over Gawain's shoulder, briefly, before he snaps his head away, forcefully pouring himself a cup of water.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Not long after, Gareth makes his appearance too, sliding in the free seat on your other side. He notices your joined hands and smiles faintly; he's been thrilled for the both of you when you broke the news to him at the fair.
<<else>>
Not long after, Gareth makes his appearance too, sliding in the seat next to Galahad.
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_confession == "refuse_hurt">>
You arrive early and make yourself comfortable at the children's half-empty table. Conversation buzzes and silk rustles all around you as people stream through the double doors, looking for their seats. Moving unhuriedly, saluting as many people as they can on their way, making a show of their entry.
A familiar pair breaks away from the crowd with quick steps; it's Gawain, tugging Galahad along and chirpping excuses as he weaves between people to get the table. You've saved the seat next to you for Gawain - and by extension, Galahad - even though you weren't sure if he would want it. You haven't seen the boy since he ran away after his failed confession. Watching him approach now, your chest tightens like a wound-up toy, waiting in agonizing anticipation to see what he'll do; when he takes the seat next to you, relief floods you. Perhaps you haven't actually ruined this friendship. Galahad follows, wearing his perpetually disgruntled expression as he does.
Gawain turns to face you with an earnest look. "I wanted to apologize for the way I left back at the fair. I was" - he swallows thickly - "feeling upset and needed some space. I misunderstood things and-and I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." He scrapes the heel of his brocade boot against the floor, fixing you with big, nervous eyes. "I hope you can forgive me for leaving you like I did, and that we can continue being friends. If you're fine with it."
You'd hope he'd say these words, yet hearing them still takes you by surprise, as a light-headed mix of relief and happiness washes over you. He wants this - this friendship of yours. You shattered his heart and he still wants this.
You nod, breaking into a smile, "Yes, I want us to be friends," you say and now it's time for Gawain to be overcome by relief.
He sighs audibly and chuckles sheepishly. "I'm so glad! I really feared you wouldn't want anything to do with me after...//that//. Thank you." Next to him, Galahad sets down his glass with a loud thud.
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Not long after, Gareth makes his appearance too, sliding in the free seat on your other side.
<<else>>
Not long after, Gareth makes his appearance too, sliding in the seat next to Galahad.
<</if>>
<<elseif $Gawain >= 58>>
You arrive early and make yourself comfortable at the children's half-empty table. Conversation buzzes and silk rustles all around you as people stream through the double doors, looking for their seats. Moving unhuriedly, saluting as many people as they can on their way, making a show of their entry.
A familiar pair breaks away from the crowd with quick steps; it's Gawain, tugging Galahad along and chirpping excuses as he weaves between people to get to you. You've saved the seat next to you for him - and by extension, Galahad - and he takes it eagerly. Galahad follows, wearing his perpetually disgruntled expression as he does.
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Not long after, Gareth makes his appearance too, sliding in the free seat on your other side.
<<else>>
Not long after, Gareth makes his appearance too, sliding in the seat next to Galahad.
<</if>>
<<elseif $Gawain >= 50>>
You arrive early and make yourself comfortable at the children's half-empty table. Conversation buzzes and silk rustles all around you as people stream through the double doors, looking for their seats. Moving unhuriedly, saluting as many people as they can on their way, making a show of their entry.
A familiar pair breaks away from the crowd with quick steps; it's Gawain, tugging Galahad along and chirpping excuses as he weaves between people to get to the table. They sit down on the bench not far from you, and Gawain waves at you as they do.
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Not long after, Gareth makes his appearance too, sliding in the free seat on your other side.
<<else>>
Not long after, Gareth makes his appearance too, sliding in the seat next to Galahad.
<</if>>
<<else>>
You arrive early and make yourself comfortable at the children's half-empty table. Conversation buzzes and silk rustles all around you as people stream through the double doors, looking for their seats. Moving unhuriedly, saluting as many people as they can on their way, making a show of their entry.
A familiar pair breaks away from the crowd with quick steps; it's Gawain, tugging Galahad along and chirpping excuses as he weaves between people to get to the table. They sit down on the bench not far from you.
<<if $Gareth >= 40>>
Not long after, Gareth makes his appearance too, sliding in the free seat on your other side.
<<else>>
Not long after, Gareth makes his appearance too, sliding in the seat next to Galahad.
<</if>>
<</if>>
Once everyone's been seated and the double doors are drawn closed, Lot gets up and demands the people's attention with his booming voice. The kind of voice that would carry over battlefields, the kind of voice more fitted to marshal armies into war than give cordial speeches. A fact Lot seems aware of as well, for he keeps his words to the point before inviting the King to speak.
Arthur makes for a stark comparison. He oozes warmth and boyish charm as he expresses his gratitude towards the hosts and congratulates the winners, a smile pinned in place on his lips. When he's done, however, he collapses in his chair to the raising applause, exhaling as if he's gone through some great ordeal.
And now the feast can officially commence.
You dig into the food and pour yourself a generous goblet of apple juice while the music picks up, rising serenely over the clash of cutlery and the warbling of voices.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
You and Gawain hold hands even as you eat, huddled close together on the bench.
<</if>>
<<if $Gawain >= 58>>
Before you even get to the second course, Gawain pipes up with a proposition to ditch the feast. "Gareth!" He leans over the table to find your brother's gaze. "You said you have some fun board games we could play."
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Gareth smiles as he sets down his cup of apple juice. "I do. We could all go to my chamber." He motions with his arm, encompassing the four of you.
That's all the invitation Gawain needed. He nods and all but jumps to his feet. "Then it's settled. Let's go!"
Gareth wipes at his mouth with a napkin, unhurried, and encourages the two boys to go on ahead.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain is reluctant to release your hand, turning round, sad puppy eyes on you, as if he's about to embark on a far-away journey. Galahad has to pull him away, but the boy still holds your gaze till he's completely lost to the crowd.
Gareth touches your arm lightly, drawing your attention to him. "Will you be fine with Galahad joining us?"
<<else>>
Once they've left, Gareth turns to you, brow creased in worry. "Will you be fine with Galahad joining us?"
<</if>>
His concern is endearing, though you wouldn't expect anything less from your brother. He's been acting affable yet firm with Galahad, as he does with all the other noble kids at Court. Balancing his image as the Duke's son and his duty of older brother to you.
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I'm actually glad he'll be there." It's an opportuniy to get to know him!|Chapt3GarethCheck][$Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+2, $chapt3_handle_gally to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I'm actually glad he'll be there." It's an opportuniy to charm him!|Chapt3GarethCheck][$Galahad_ally to $Galahad_ally+2, $chapt3_handle_gally to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I don't really care. I can handle it.\""|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I have to. He's Gawain's best friend.\""|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not pleased, but I don't want to cause conflict."|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 5, $defiant to $defiant-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not pleased, but I don't want to trouble Gawain. Rest assured I won't let Galahad step all over me though."|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 6, $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<<elseif $Gareth >= 40>>
Gareth sets down his cup of apple juice. "I do. We could all go to my chamber." His gaze shifts to you. "You'll be joining us too, won't you Mordred?" His smile is warm, letting you know you're more than welcome should you chose to come.
Gawain cuts in before you can reply. "Of course ?they will, won't you Mordred?" You can't even be mad at the boy, not when he looks so excited to have you there. It's refreshing, almost thrilling to actually be wanted.
You nod in confirmation, and Gawain all but jumps to his feet. "Then let's go!"
Gareth wipes at his mouth with a napkin, unhurried, and encourages the two boys to go on ahead.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain is reluctant to release your hand, turning round, sad puppy eyes on you, as if he's about to embark on a far-away journey. Galahad has to pull him away, but the boy still holds your gaze till he's completely lost to the crowd.
Gareth touches your arm lightly, drawing your attention to him. "Will you be fine with Galahad joining us? I'm aware the two of you aren't on the best of terms."
<<else>>
Once they've left, Gareth turns to you, brow creased in worry. "Will you be fine with Galahad joining us?"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I'm actually glad he'll be there." It's an opportuniy to get to know him!|Chapt3GarethCheck][$Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+2, $chapt3_handle_gally to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I'm actually glad he'll be there." It's an opportuniy to charm him!|Chapt3GarethCheck][$Galahad_ally to $Galahad_ally+2, $chapt3_handle_gally to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I don't really care. I can handle it.\""|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I have to. He's Gawain's best friend.\""|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not pleased, but I don't want to cause conflict."|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 5, $defiant to $defiant-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not pleased, but I don't want to trouble Gawain. Rest assured I won't let Galahad step all over me though."|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 6, $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>>
Gareth smiles as he sets down his cup of apple juice. "I do. We could all go to my chamber." His gaze shifts to you as he politely adds, "That includes you too, Mordred, if you wish to join."
Gawain cuts in before you can reply. "Of course ?they will, won't you Mordred?" You can't even be mad at the boy, not when he looks so excited to have you there. It's refreshing, almost thrilling to actually be wanted.
[[Continue|GarethRoomNight]]
<<else>>
Gareth smiles as he sets down his cup of apple juice. "I do. We could all go to my chamber."
<div class="choice">[["Am I welcome too?" you ask smugly.|Chapt3GarethNope][$chapt3_handle_gally to 7, $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Am I invited?" you ask conversely.|Chapt3GarethNope][$chapt3_handle_gally to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Believe me, Gawain, his games aren't all that fun," you quip.|Chapt3GarethNope][$chapt3_handle_gally to 9]]</div>
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Before you even get to the second course, Gawain pops up behind Gareth's shoulder, followed as always by Galahad who, at this point, may more accurately be described as bodyguard than mere friend.
"Gareth! You said you have lots board games we could play. Wouldn't it so much more fun than staying here?"
Gareth sets down his cup of apple juice, the motion slow, drown-out, using this moment before he turns to answer Gawain to meet your gaze. His own posing a quiet question: //Would you like that?//
<div class="choice">[[Nod. It could be fun.|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Shake your head no.|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 11]]</div>
<<elseif $Gareth >= 40>>
Before you even get to the second course, Gawain pops up behind Gareth's shoulder, followed as always by Galahad who, at this point, may more accurately be described as bodyguard than mere friend.
"Gareth! You said you have lots board games we could play. Wouldn't it so much more fun than staying here?"
Gareth sets down his cup of apple juice. "I do. We could all go to my chamber." He motions with his arm, encompassing the four of you.
<<if $Gawain < 50>>
Gawain's smile falters as his gaze shifts to you but he remedies it immediately. "Yes! Of course. Then it's settled."
<<else>>
"Then it's settled!"
<</if>>
Gareth wipes at his mouth with a napkin, unhurried, and encourages the two boys to go on ahead.
Once they've left, Gareth turns to you, brow creased in worry. "Will you be fine with Galahad joining us?"
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I'm actually glad he'll be there." It's an opportuniy to get to know him!|Chapt3GarethCheck][$Galahad_friend to $Galahad_friend+2, $chapt3_handle_gally to 12]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Yes, I'm actually glad he'll be there." It's an opportuniy to charm him!|Chapt3GarethCheck][$Galahad_ally to $Galahad_ally+2, $chapt3_handle_gally to 13]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I don't really care. I can handle it.\""|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 14]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not pleased, but I don't want to cause conflict."|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 15, $defiant to $defiant-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm not pleased, but I want to join in. Rest assured I won't let Galahad step all over me though."|Chapt3GarethCheck][$chapt3_handle_gally to 16, $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"In fact, I think I'll just stay behind. You three have fun though.\""|FeastNightAlone][$chapt3_handle_gally to 17]]</div>
<<else>>
Before you even get to the second course, you notice Gawain pop up behind Gareth's shoulder, talking animatedly about something while Galahad hangs next to him. At this point, he may more accurately be described as bodyguard than mere friend. The conversation between the two is quick, and finished with your brother getting up and leaving the the other two boys, leading the way.
[[Continue|FeastNightAlone]]
<</if>>
<</if>>After indulging in a hearty serving of desert, you take off ambling around the hall. You sip slowly on your goblet of apple juice, keeping out of the way of drunken nobles and dancing couples that have strayed away from the dancing ring, spinning wildly like a coin set loose. There's much to see for one who pays attention at these types of events, where alcohol loosens tongues and lowers inhibitations.
Who dances with who - Accolon told you one way nobles show interest is by asking each other to as many dances as possible - who talks with who, who sneaks away with who when they think no one's watching. There's much to glean, much to garner if you know where to look, if you know to keep your eyes and ears sharp.
And, if nothing else, people watching is good entertainment.
You glide through the hall, bathed in the warm, golden light of candles that gilds everything that it touches - the dewy faces of the most zealous of dancers, the goblets that have been scrubbed to blinding shine, the banners, hanging proud like ripe, luxurious fruits from the dark wooden beams.
There's Luca Solomon, his face as red as his hair, talking to Percival, a Camelotian squire. He's cornered Luca against a wooden pillar, resting one arm near his head, but the sorcerer doesn't seem to mind it one bit. You can't hear what they're saying, but you can see Percival flex his other arm with a smug smile.
Farther into the feast, you pass a group from which you can only pick out the Duke of Tintal. He gestures around wildly with his cup of wine, drunkenly boasting about how brave he's been in accepting to step up on the throne after what happened to his predecessor. One of the courtiers nods vigorously in agreement while the one closest to the Duke jumps back just in time to spare their blue doublet from being sploshed with red wine.
You navigate the expanse of bone-white flagstone mostly ignored. No one wants to spoil their fun lending attention to the //bastard//, unless its shifty glances accompanied by the susurrus of gossip. The more recent and more sordid the better. Sometimes unease paints their faces, sometimes scorn. Other times it's plain curiosity.
By now you've almost reached the raised dais where Lot's table presides over the hall. It's mostly deserted, the Duke himself and Lancelot the only ones left seated. Lot lounges back in his high backed chair, as comfortably as such a chair can be; it's always striked you as valuing style over comfort with the ram-rod straightness of its back, crowned by spear-like heads. He's holding a goblet of what you presume to be wine, if the red-filled carafe he's claimed for himself, place handily by his plate, is anything to go by. He regards the crowd from his lofty position with an impassive, detached boredom. A few seats away sulks Lancelot, tan skin retaining a sicky, waxen sheen. Even the golden light does him little favor. But he must be fine if he can sit at the table without excusing himself to the restroom every few minutes. Morgana's poison has left him weakened, and his healers scrambling. Like a puss-filled boil, you've been waiting for all of it to burst open in a massive, ugly scandal, with serious accusasions leveled your mother's way, given how the knight was insisting it was her doing to anyone who'd listen. But it could not be traced back to her with evidence, and things have calmed down since.
You move across the room, to travel the lenght of the hall back on the other side.
<<if $chapt3_arthur_river == "yes">>
As you move between mingling Courtiers and Knights, you spot Morgana through the crowd. Then a man in rich velvet shifts, revealing her most curious choice of interlocutor. Arthur, who nurses a goblet and looks anywhere but her face as he speaks. You're not surprised he can't meet her gaze; whereas steadfast and calm, it fixes his face with a sort of languid yet piercing intensity. Like that of a cat who's roughed up her prey and left it, dazed, to see its next move, knowing full well she can subdue it with one swift paw whenever she decides.
Maybe it's a good sign, you think as a part of you soars on fragile wings of hope.
<<else>>
You pass a merry little group made up of Arthur, Gawain's parents, Galahad's mother - Elena - and a woman you vaguely recall seeing at Elena's arm, sauntering through the stalls at the fair. A friend from Court, or one of her ladies in waiting, you presume.
Farther along you spot Accolon, sitting in a plushly cushioned chair with a drink in hand, his face angled up towards Morgana, who's perched herself up on the armrest. Despite the healing scars and regressing, faint bruises on his face, the man looks better than the Champion Knight - both in complexion and spirits.
<</if>>
[[Continue|FeastNightAloneAlina]]Your attention is seized by a rowdy display. Someone tries to coax out a drunken noble who's fallen down on their knees, serenading a woman who looks very much like she'd just downed a cup of lemon juice. You can't quite blame her; the suitor sings with the same musicality as a mewling cat in heat.
So entranced you are by the mortifying ordeal that you become the cause of your own, smaller and less embarrassing commotion when you walk straight into someone.
"Excuse-" the words die out on your lips as you turn towards your victim, only for your gaze to fall on Alina's freckled, scowling visage.
"It's nothing," she mutters, sagging back against a wooden pillar.
<<if $alina_attitude == "defiant">>
This is a mild, atypical reaction from Alina. You expected an insult at least, and a shove at most. Maybe one disguised as her simply stumbling against you, so that she'd keep the pretense of innocence. But none of those happen and you take her in carefully: the sloping, miserable line of her shoulders, the frown etched so deep it feels like her face will forever be stuck like that now, like a wrathful sculpture. Yet there's a frustrated edge to the lines of her face.
It seems like Arthur did stay true to his words.
"How nice of you," you note with no shortage of caustic amusement.
She glowers at you with the heat of a blazing fire and of a hundred different expletives she must be biting back. "Have you come to gloat?"
<div class="choice">[["\"Yes, and to let you know just how much I'm relishing this. Seeing you finally suffer the consequences of your actions.\""|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Careful how you talk with me, Alina. Or I'll tell the King.\""|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'm just glad you'll finally give me a break.\""|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You know, Alina, things could have been different. We might have been friends if you weren't so nasty." A part of you truly feels bad.|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $alina_attitude == "meek">>
Your muscles, who have tensed on instinct upon seeing Alina, slowly relax as you realize she won't do any of the things she'd usually do in this situation: from an insult in the mildest cases, to a shove at worst. Maybe one disguised as her simply stumbling back against you, so that she'd keep the pretense of innocence. You take her in carefully: the sloping, miserable line of her shoulders, the frown etched so deep it feels like her face will forever be stuck like that now, like a wrathful sculpture. Yet there's a frustrated edge to the lines of her face.
It seems like Arthur did stay true to his words.
She glowers at you with the heat of a blazing fire and of a hundred different expletives she must be biting back. "Will you //please// quit staring?" The word 'please' comes out clipped, strained, as if it it pains her lips to mould around it. You quickly look away, heat rising to your cheeks. "Or have you come to gloat?"
<div class="choice">[["It's the consequences of your own actions, Alina," you remind her quietly.|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 9]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I only ever wanted for you to leave me alone.\""|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 10]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'm just glad you'll finally give me a break.\""|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 11]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I wished things could have been different between us." A part of you truly feels bad.|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 12]]</div>
<<elseif $alina_attitude == "calm" or $alina_attitude == "ignore">>
This is a mild, atypical reaction from Alina. You expected an insult at least, and a shove at most. Maybe one disguised as her simply stumbling back against you, so that she'd keep the pretense of innocence. You take her in carefully: the sloping, miserable line of her shoulders, the frown etched so deep it feels like her face will forever be stuck like that now, like a wrathful sculpture. Yet there's a frustrated edge to the lines of her face.
It seems like Arthur did stay true to his words.
She glowers at you with the heat of a blazing fire and of a hundred different expletives she must be biting back. "Will you //please// quit staring?" The word 'please' comes out clipped, strained, as if it it pains her lips to mould around it. "Or have you come to gloat?"
<div class="choice">[["It's the consequences of your own actions, Alina," you remind her.|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Careful how you talk with me, Alina," you warn her, voice smooth. "Or I'll tell the King."|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'm just glad you'll finally give me a break.\""|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You know, Alina, things could have been different. We might have been friends if you weren't so mean." A part of you truly feels bad.|Chapt3AlinaFeastTalk][$chapt3_alina_mean to 8]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt1_small_talk==1>>
"Let's name three things we love! I'll go first. I love playing in nature, I love flying, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's head whips in your direction. They consider you with narrowed eyes. "Scaly? That's a weird name."
"Scaly likes it. They think it's funny."
"It's weird," $dragon_name repeats, unabashed. "Do they call you Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"Then it's weird." they say for a third time, the matter settled.
You decide not to press it further either and move on to the third item on your list.
"I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too. The kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name looks taken aback by your enthusiasm.
"So do I."
"See? We have so much in common."
They size you up again, as if seeing you in a new light. Their face betrays nothing, but their tone is light, almost playful. "Perhaps."
You take this as a good sign. Before long, you're talking and laughing with ease.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 2>>
Where's all this ambivalence coming from? Is $dragon_name taking any personal issue with you, or are they always this stubborn? Whatever the case, you want to settle this right now, so you plant your feet firmly on the ground, cross your arms and say "Well, you're stuck with me so we might as well try."
$dragon_name halts, tail twitching with a small lash of annoyance. "I am trying," they protest, though you get the sense it is less justified defence and more desire to be combative.
"Then prove it."
"Fine," they huff. They cast their gaze over you waiting face, then over the adults behind you and make up their mind. "What are some things that you like?"
"I love playing in nature, I love flying, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
They consider you with narrowed eyes. "Scaly? That's a weird name."
"Scaly likes it. They think it's funny."
"It's weird," $dragon_name repeats, unabashed. "Do they call you Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"Then it's weird." they say for a third time, the matter settled.
You decide not to press it further either and move on to the third item on your list.
"I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too. The kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name looks taken aback by your enthusiasm.
"So do I."
"See? We have so much in common."
They size you up again, as if seeing you in a new light. Their face betrays nothing, but their tone is light, almost playful. "Perhaps."
You take this as a good sign. Before long, you're talking and laughing with ease.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 3>>
Does this mean $dragon_name doesn't want to be your friend? What happens if you fail to bond with your chosen partner? Will you have to find another one, or will you be forever barred from becoming a knight? You can just imagine your mother and Accolon shaking their heads in tandem disappointment.
You sigh, and kick at a rock. You watch it skitter away, running from you like your chance of becoming a knight if you don't make this work. You envy Nimue right now, if only you had her propensity for predictions, you could reassure yourself that everything would turn out alright.
When you sigh for a third time, $dragon_name turns to you. "What?"
"Nothing," you curtly reply. As expected, they don't believe you.
"It's not nothing."
"It's just that you're not trying. Don't you want us to be friends?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then talk to me."
They cast their gaze over you waiting face, then over the adults behind you and make up their mind. "What are some things that you like?"
"I love playing in nature, I love flying, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
They consider you with narrowed eyes. "Scaly? That's a weird name."
"Scaly likes it. They think it's funny."
"It's weird," $dragon_name repeats, unabashed. "Do they call you Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"Then it's weird." they say for a third time, the matter settled.
You decide not to press it further either and move on to the third item on your list.
"I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too. The kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name looks taken aback by your enthusiasm.
"So do I."
"See? We have so much in common."
They size you up again, as if seeing you in a new light. Their face betrays nothing, but their tone is light, almost playful. "Perhaps."
You take this as a good sign. Before long, you're talking and laughing with ease.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 4>>
Does this mean $dragon_name doesn't want to be your friend? What happens if you fail to bond with your chosen partner? Will you have to find another one, or will you be forever barred from becoming a knight? You can just imagine your mother and Accolon shaking their heads in tandem disappointment.
Tears well up in your eyes, making them sting and blur your vision. You envy Nimue right now, if only you had her propensity for predictions, you could reassure yourself that everything would turn out alright.
$dragon_name halts and turns wide, shocked eyes onto you. "Are you crying?"
You sniffle. "No. I- I just-Don't you want to be friends? How are we supposed to bond if you're not even trying?"
Their eyes scour the surroundings, searching desperately for a solution. "Alright. Fine." They sound less brash, voice gentler and resigned. "Tell me something about yourself. something we may have in common."
"I like flying. I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
Their eyes narrow. "Scaly? That's a weird name."
Your heart skips a beat. "Is it? Scaly liked it."
The quiver in your voice lets them know a new wave of tears is on the way, and they hastily say "Yes, it's weird. Just don't call anyone that, alright?" You nod, and they go on, "I like flying too, obviously." They shake their wings a little bit for emphasis. "What else?"
"I like playing in nature and I like stories. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too. The kind that dragons tell with fire."
Your tears are almost forgotten, drying up on your cheeks as you speak "I love those too! Can //you// do fire storytelling?"
"No. Not yet. But I will, one day," they reply with no small amount of pride.
"Me too." You let out a small, brittle chuckle. "Another thing we have in common."
$dragon_name hums in agreement, a low satisfied rumble from deep in their throat. Soon you're talking and laughing with ease, all doubts wahsed away.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 5>>
"It won't be //convenient.// if you act like this." You enunciate the word, employing the same snide tone your mother uses when speaking of Lot.
$dragon_name's head whips in you direction. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
Their tail snaps, a tiny, angry crack. "It sure won;t be convenient if //you// act like this."
You stand glowering at each other, united, at least, in you annoyance, none of you willing to back down. That is, until Accolon calls out "Having fun?"
His earnest voice erodes your stubbornness; you can't let Accolon or your mother down, you can't make a failure of this.
"Unless you want our parents to come and lecture us," you say, "we have to try and make this work."
Even $dragon_name can't argue with this, though you sense oncoming resistance when they open their mouth - then clamp it back shut, swallowing down whatever protestations they had. "Fine," they huff. "What are some things that you like?"
"I love playing in nature, I love flying, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
They consider you with narrowed eyes. "Scaly? That's a weird name."
"Scaly likes it. They think it's funny."
"It's weird," $dragon_name repeats, unabashed. "Do they call you Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"Then it's weird." they say for a third time, the matter settled.
You decide not to press it further either and move on to the third item on your list.
"I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too. The kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name looks taken aback by your enthusiasm.
"So do I."
"See? We have so much in common."
They size you up again, as if seeing you in a new light. Their face betrays nothing, but their tone is light, almost playful. "Perhaps."
You take this as a good sign. Before long, you're talking and laughing with ease.
<</if>>
[[Continue|FierceTelepathy]]Your strolling has brought you to a big oak tree where you decide to rest in the shade. $dragon_name sits down, back straight, head held high, reminding you of a proud lion. You settle next to them, legs folded to your chest.
"There is a river nearby I like to swim in," $dragon_name says, "and plenty of woods to explore." After their initial reticence passed, they've told you of all the great places they want to take you to, all the games they want to share with you. They go on, "You don't have to worry about wild creatures in the forest attacking, I can protect us both with my claws and teeth and fire. I'll just smack them with my tail, like this - and this - " They demonstrate as they talk, tail swishing through the air like a whip, drumming against the tree trunk.
<div class="choice">[[Pop into their head to say how brave they are.|FierceTelepathy1][$chapt1_say_hello to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Wait for them to finish, before reaching out mentally and ask to talk.|FierceTelepathy1][$chapt1_say_hello to 2]]</div><<if $chapt1_say_hello == 1>>
You feel out for their mental presence - which is easy given how close they are - and send a loud and clear "//You're so brave!//"
$dragon_name yelps, totters and falls on their back. "Why did you yell at me?"
"Sorry!" You jump to your feet, grab their taloned hands and pull them upright.
Once settled back, and with a modicum of their dignity returned, $dragon_name huffs and says, "It's alright, just don't do it again." Their next words float into your head, gentler than yours did into theirs. "//But we can continue talking like this. It's fun, isn't it?//"
"//Yes!//" $dragon_name knows, as their parents do, of your nature as a Pendragon, so they're trustworthy, which makes them one of the few dragons you can mentally communicate with.
"//Don't you find it weird? I know humans can't do this... usually.//"
"//Not at all,//" you reply. "//It feels normal and natural and amazing!//" A trickle of your excitement seeps to them, and it bounces off their own enthusiasm, two facing mirrors endlessly reflecting each other.
This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and your life as a squire.
<<elseif $chapt1_say_hello == 2>>
You've talked about all sorts of things, but one subject you didn't fully broach is your nature as a dragonblood. $dragon_name knows, as their parents do, so they're trustworthy, which makes them one of the few dragons you can mentally communicate with. You wait for them to finish their fierce demonstration before you reach out to them, first feeling out for their mental presence - which is easy given how close they are - and pose a question. "//Can we talk like this?//"
"//Of course. It's fun, isn't it?//"
"//Yes!//"
"//Don't you find it weird? I know humans can't do this... usually.//"
"//Not at all,//" you reply. "//It feels normal and natural and amazing!//" A trickle of your excitement seeps to them, and it bounces off their own enthusiasm, two facing mirrors endlessly reflecting each other.
This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and your life as a squire.
<</if>>
[[End of Chapter 2|Chapter3]]<<if $chapt1_small_talk == 1>>
"Let's name three things we love! I'll go first. I love playing in nature, I love flying, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's head tilts to the side. "Scaly? That's an unusual name."
"It's a nickname," you helpfully add.
They snort out a laugh. "Do they call //you// Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"They should," $dragon_name says, "it would be funny!"
You laugh and move on to the third item on your list. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too, especially the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name lets out an excited gasp.
"So do I. I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp! But I'm not discouraged, I'll get it right someday." They slide closer to you, and bump their shoulder into yours. "See? We have so much in common."
You take this as a good sign. You're talking and laughing with ease, and before long you're playing too; chasing each other across the open field, racing to the big old oak tree.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 2>>
$dragon_name eyes you expectantly, mouth open with the corners pulled back in the imitation of a smile, revealing rows of white, spittle-shiny fangs. You didn't expect such an overly-excited welcome - you had no idea //what// to expect - and while it's surely a relief, you find yourself at a loss for words. What to say, where to begin?
"So," you say, arms swinging at your side as if the sweeping motion might help you grasp an opener. "$dragon_name, what are - "
"What are some of your favourite things to do?"
Well, seems like $dragon_name settled the matter for you. "I love playing in nature," $dragon_name nods along enthusiastically, "I love flying, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
The bobbing of their head halts. "Scaly? That's an unusual name."
"It's a nickname," you helpfully add.
They snort out a laugh. "Do they call //you// Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"They should," $dragon_name says, "it would be funny!"
You laugh and move on to the third item on your list. "I like reading stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too, especially the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name lets out an excited gasp.
"So do I. I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp! But I'm not discouraged, I'll get it right someday." They slide closer to you, and bump their shoulder into yours. "See? We have so much in common."
You take this as a good sign. You're talking and laughing with ease, and before long you're playing too; chasing each other across the open field, racing to the big old oak tree.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 3>>
$dragon_name eyes you expectantly, mouth open with the corners pulled back in the imitation of a smile, revealing rows of white, spittle-shiny fangs. They seem nice, sure, but nice doesn't mean you necessarily fit together. What if the two of you don't become friends for whatever reasons? What happens if you fail to bond with your chosen partner? Will you have to find another one, or will you be forever barred from becoming a knight? You can just imagine your mother and Accolon shaking their heads in tandem disappointment.
You sigh and kick at a rock. You watch it skitter away, running from you like your chance of becoming a knight if you don't make this work. You envy Nimue right now, if only you had her propensity for predictions, you could reassure yourself that everything would turn out alright.
Something dashes past you. You look up to find $dragon_name chasing after the rock, pawing at it with their taloned hands. Then, with a mischiveous glance your way, they flick the rock back at you. "Let's play," they say. "You throw it back at me, and tell me one thing about yourself."
You offer a feeble smile and kick at the rock again. "I like playing in nature."
"Me too. I also love flying, of course." For emphasis they spread out their wings and give them a little shake.
Your smile tugs wider. "I love flying as well, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's head tilts to the side. "Scaly? That's an unusual name."
"Is it?" Your heart skips a beat. "Scaly likes it."
They snort out a laugh. "I bet. Do they call //you// Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"They should," $dragon_name says, "it would be funny!"
When they keep smiling, and toss the rock back your way - and not at your head for any offense you fear you may have caused - your doubts start dissipating. So you go on. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too, especially the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name lets out an excited gasp.
"So do I. I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp! But I'm not discouraged, I'll get it right someday." They slide closer to you, and bump their shoulder into yours. "See? We have so much in common."
You take this as a good sign. You're talking and laughing with ease, and before long you're playing too; chasing each other across the open field, racing to the big old oak tree.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 4>>
Standing here, in a land foreign to you, with a dragon you barely met - no matter how talked up to you by Accolon - brings forth a sweeping tide of melancholy. The island you left behind, kind Junia and her fathers, your good friend Scaly, all far away from you, beyond the mists of Avalon. You don't want to be here anymore, you've been on the continent for mere days, and you've already been kicked out of one castle and coldly received to this one by Duke Lot.
$dragon_name eyes you expectantly, mouth open with the corners pulled back in the imitation of a smile, revealing rows of white, spittle-shiny fangs. They seem nice, sure, but right now you can't bring yourself to chit-chat.
You sigh, and kick at a rock. You watch it skitter away, far away from you like Avalon is now. You envy Nimue right now, if only you had her propensity for predictions, you could reassure yourself that everything would turn out alright.
Something dashes past you. You look up to find $dragon_name chasing after the rock, pawing at it with their taloned hands. Then, with a mischiveous glance your way, they flick the rock back at you. "Let's play," they say. "You throw it back at me, and tell me one thing about yourself."
You offer a feeble smile and kick at the rock again. "I like playing in nature."
"Me too. I also love flying, of course." For emphasis they spread out their wings and give them a little shake.
Your smile tugs wider. "I love flying as well, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's head tilts to the side. "Scaly? That's an unusual name."
"Is it?" Your heart skips a beat. "Scaly likes it."
They snort out a laugh. "I bet. Do they call //you// Fleshy?"
"Well, no -"
"They should," $dragon_name says, "it would be funny!"
When they keep smiling, and toss the rock back your way - and not at your head for any offense you fear you may have caused - your glumness start dissipating. So you go on. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"I like stories too, especially the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say and $dragon_name lets out an excited gasp.
"So do I. I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp! But I'm not discouraged, I'll get it right someday." They slide closer to you, and bump their shoulder into yours. "See? We have so much in common."
You take this as a good sign. You're talking and laughing with ease, and before long you're playing too; chasing each other across the open field, racing to the big old oak tree.
<</if>>
[[Continue|FriendlyTelepathy]]Your chasing around brings you to a tree with low-hanging branches, ripe for climbing. $dragon_name clambers up first and you follow. They settle on a sturdy bough, lounging with their limbs dangling off the sides, and you aim for the one just below them. As you reach up, your foot slips and your stomach drops, a fretful rustling of leaves all around you. Before you get a rude meeting with the ground, something clasps around your arm. Cool and smooth, it's $dragon_name's tail keeping you aloft. They hold on until you're perched up, safe and sound.
"I know all the fun places we can go play," $dragon_name says. For a bit now they've been talking a bit about all the things they want to show to you, all the games they want to share with you. With the ease they speak with, you wouldn't guess you met half an hour ago.
You've talked about all sorts of things, but one subject you didn't fully broach is your nature as a dragonblood. $dragon_name knows, as their parents do, so they're trustworthy, which makes them one of the few dragons you can mentally communicate with.
<div class="choice">[[Pop into their head to surprise them and say hello.|FriendlyTelepathy1][$chapt1_say_hello to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Reach out mentally and ask to talk.|FriendlyTelepathy1][$chapt1_say_hello to 2]]</div><<if $chapt1_say_hello == 1>>
You feel out for their mental presence - which is easy given how close they are - and send a loud and clear "//Hello!//"
$dragon_name spooks and almost slips off. You watch in horror as they claw at the branch, leaving long gashes in the bark, flailing wings causing a shower of leaves. When they finally regain their balance, you offer them a spoken "Sorry".
"Just... please don't do that again." Their next words float into your head, gentler than yours did into theirs. "//But we can continue talking like this. It's fun, isn't it?//"
"//Yes!//"
"//Don't you find it weird? I know humans can't do this... usually.//"
"//Not at all,//" you reply. "//It feels normal and natural and amazing!//" A trickle of your excitement seeps to them, and it bounces off their own enthusiasm, two facing mirrors endlessly reflecting each other.
This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and your life as a squire.
<<elseif $chapt1_say_hello == 2>>
You feel out for their mental presence - which is easy given how close they are - and pose a question. "//Can we talk like this?//"
"//Of course. It's fun, isn't it?//"
"//Yes!//"
"//Don't you find it weird? I know humans can't do this... usually.//"
"//Not at all,//" you reply. "//It feels normal and natural and amazing!//" A trickle of your excitement seeps to them, and it bounces off their own enthusiasm, two facing mirrors endlessly reflecting each other.
This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and your life as a squire.
<</if>>
[[End of Chapter 2|Chapter3]]Galahad du Lac, son of Champion Knight Lancelot du Lac and Elena Laurent. Knight in training. Whispers around the Kingdom say he's held to high expectations.
//Description//: His features seem gilded- smooth, slightly wavy golden hair kept around his ears, with a sandy tanned complexion which turns a rich honey in the summer. Sharp features and eyes that, depending on the light, gleam violet or gray.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]<<if $fake_interest_gally is true>>
"I've taken an interest in it, too." You don't mention that that interest is as faint as the one kindled by a speck of dust on your cloak.
He throws you a glance over his shoulder, gray eyes ever so guarded. Yet, beneath their icy shield, you can see a glimpse of interest, before he turns away again.
<<else>>
"That's impressive," you say to fill the silence stretching between you. You've never really bothered with learning it, yourself, though you do know quite enough from Morgana.
He throws you a glance over his shoulder, gray eyes ever so guarded. He's frowning, but he looks more confused than angry.
<</if>>
"What exactly were you practising?"
Silence. Then he sighs. It seems as if he's admitted defeat. "I was practising the ice daggers father did at the tournament. Among others."
The mention of Lancelot reminds you of what Robin said this morning, when Morgana inquired about the aftermath of her poison. You wonder if Galahad came here for some peaceful moments, to lift his moods after having to witness his father sick. You consider whether to inquire about his health, when Galahad goes on, "How's Sir Accolon?"
The question startles you. The boy stubbornly fixes the river, face half-turned, jaw tense. Is he afraid to meet you eye?
"He's recovering," you respond and Galahad nods, still not looking at you.
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry about what happened to Lancelot. How is he?" You genuinly feel bad for him, despite hurting Accolon.|LancelotGallyConvo2][$chapt3convolance to "1", $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How's your father?" You still believe Lancelot deserved it for attacking Accolon. But he did inquire about your father, and you sympathize with Galahad's position.|LancelotGallyConvo2][$chapt3convolance to "2", $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["So, is it something you enjoy doing, or just part of your training?" you ask. You don't wish to inquire about Lancelot. He's the one who hurt Accolon, after all.|LancelotGallyConvo2][$chapt3convolance to "3"]]</div>"What exactly were you practising?"
Silence. Then he sighs. It seems as if he's admitted defeat. "I was practising the ice daggers father did at the tournament. Among others."
The mention of Lancelot reminds you of what Robin said this morning, when Morgana inquired about the aftermath of her poison. You wonder if Galahad came here for some peaceful moments, to lift his moods after having to witness his father sick. You consider whether to inquire about his health, when Galahad goes on, "How's Sir Accolon?"
The question startles you. The boy stubbornly fixes the river, face half-turned, jaw tense. Is he afraid to meet you eye?
"He's recovering," you respond and Galahad nods, still not looking at you.
<div class="choice">[["I'm sorry about what happened to Lancelot. How is he?" You genuinly feel bad for him, despite hurting Accolon.|LancelotGallyConvo2][$chapt3convolance to "1", $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["How's your father?" You still believe Lancelot deserved it for attacking Accolon. But he did inquire about your father, and you sympathize with Galahad's position.|LancelotGallyConvo2][$chapt3convolance to "2", $Galahad to $Galahad+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["So, is it something you enjoy doing, or just part of your training?" you ask. You don't wish to inquire about Lancelot. He's the one who hurt Accolon, after all.|LancelotGallyConvo2][$chapt3convolance to "3"]]</div><<if $chapt3_gareth_room == "1">>
You smile faintly and nod as you reach for the door. "See you at the feast."
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_room == "2">>
You smile softly. "Thank you for coming. I appreciate it." He mirrors your smile, brown eyes tender. "See you at the feast."
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_room == "3">>
You smile softly. "Would you like to come in and talk for a bit?"
He looks surprised, but it soon gives way to a happy smile. "Of course."
You exchange impressions of the tournament, what you saw and heard from your respective perspective; Gareth's observations of the nobles and their talk and their gossip, and your own of the knights and their squires. You pass the time like this until your brother must go prepare for the feast, leaving you to get ready too.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_room == "4">>
You reach out and squeeze his arm, smiling meaningfully. "See you at the feast."
He smiles tenderly before leaving.
<</if>>
[[Continue|AfterStudy]]<<if $chapt3_gareth_check == "1">>
"I'm fine," you lie, putting on a genuine enough smile, welling from your gratitude for him. Gareth doesn't seem entirely convinced, but chooses not to disapprove you; instead, he places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes. It's not often that you display affection to each other, and it warms your chest.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "2">>
"I just...I just had a disagreement with mother," you vaguely explain, waving a hand as if to completely brush it away, as unimportant as an annoying bee.
Gareth frowns, "What sort of disagreement?"
You can't tell him, of course you can't tell him. It's your secret to keep, as Morgana keeps reminding you, and so you just shake your head. "Nothing, really."
"It's not nothing if you're all worked up," he sighs, "but I won't push you." You simply smile at him, letting it convey your gratitude.
He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes. It's not often that you display affection to each other, and it warms your chest.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "3">>
"Yeah," you say, not very convincingly. It's such a feeble, pathetic attempt, really. Gareth doesn't argue with you however; instead, he places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes. It's not often that you display affection to each other, and it warms your chest.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "4">>
"What are you doing here?" you ask, both curious and wishing to divert the subject.
"I came here to inquire about Sir Accolon's health." A gentle smile curls his lips. "And check up on you." And just like that, he evaded your attempt.
"He's fine. He's healing." You quickly add, just to appease him, "And I'm alright, too."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good."
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "12">>
All the tension and anguish and rage come crashing down like a furious wave breaking over rock, tears rolling down your cheeks as you open your mouth, but instead of an answer, a broken sob escapes.
You are //definitely// not alright. So much has happened over so few days.
Gareth's arms shoot up, as if he's about to throw them around you, but he hesitates. Instead, he places his hands on your shoulders, squeezing gently. You allow the tears to fall until there's no more.
Finally, your eyes dry and with a rattling breath, you attempt a faint smile. Gareth returns the expression, riddled with worry. "Is Sir Accolon fine?"
"He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good. Will you be fine, too? I can't imagine it's been easy for you."
You nod. "I think so."
He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze before pulling back.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "5">>
"I'm alright," you insist, smiling. But your tears taste sharp and salty on your tongue, and weight down on your eyelashes. "What are you doing here?"
"I came here to inquire about Sir Accolon's health." His smile is gentle but a tinge of anxiety hangs onto his words.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good." He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze before pulling back.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "6">>
You shake your head, your tears sharp and salty on your tongue and heavy on your eyelashes.
"How is Sir Accolon?" He asks, anxiety hanging onto his words.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good." He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze. "Will you be fine, too? I can't imagine it's been easy for you."
You let out a long, rattling breath. "I think so." How do you explain to him there's so much more to your sorrow? That it's because of you wanting to meet the man who sired you that the man who raised you was hurt?
You don't, because you can't; it's your secret to carry, as Morgana keeps reminding you.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "7">>
"Y-yeah," you say, not very convincingly." It's a feeble, pathetic attempt, really.
But Gareth chooses not to remark upon it. Instead, he asks, "How's Sir Accolon?"
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good."
He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze before pulling back.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "8">>
"What are you doing here?" you ask, rather chocked, both curious and wishing to divert the subject, as if your gaze isn't still watery, as if you can't still the salt on your tongue.
"I came here to inquire about Sir Accolon's health." A gentle smile curls his lips. "And check up on you." And just like that, he evaded your attempt.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good." He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze. "Will you be fine, too? I can't imagine it's been easy for you."
You let out a long, rattling breath. "I think so." How do you explain to him there's so much more to your sorrow? That it's because of you wanting to meet the man who sired you that the man who raised you was hurt?
You don't, because you can't; it's your secret to carry, as Morgana keeps reminding you.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "9">>
"I'm alright." You put on a faint smile. "Don't worry about me."
He smiles tenderly. "But you're my little sibling."
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "10">>
You take in a long breath. "I'm not fine, but I'll be. Don't worry about me." You smile, and Gareth seems reassured.
He smiles tenderly. "But you're my little sibling."
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "11">>
"I'm fine," you say, not very convincingly. He doesn't argue with you, but he doesn't seem to reassured either, so you quickly add, "Don't worry about me."
He smiles tenderly. "But you're my little sibling."
<</if>>
He shifts. "Well, I'm glad you're both fine. I'll be on my way now."
<div class="choice">[["\"See you at the feast.\""|Gareth40.1][$chapt3_gareth_room to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Thank you for coming. See you at the feast.\""|Gareth40.1][$chapt3_gareth_room to "2", $Gareth to $Gareth+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Do you want to talk for a bit?\""|Gareth40.1][$chapt3_gareth_room to "3", $Gareth to $Gareth+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're not sure how else to show your gratitude, so you squeeze his arm.|Gareth40.1][$chapt3_gareth_room to "4", $Gareth to $Gareth+2]]</div><<if $chapt3_gareth_check == "1">>
"I'm fine," you lie, putting on a genuine enough smile, welling from your gratitude for him. Gareth doesn't seem entirely convinced, but chooses not to disapprove you; instead, he throws out his arms and envelops you in a tight, warm hug that washes away the tension from your muscles.
He holds you like this for a while before he pulls back.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "2">>
"I just...I just had a disagreement with mother," you vaguely explain, waving a hand as if to completely brush it away, as unimportant as an annoying bee.
Gareth frowns, "What sort of disagreement?"
You can't tell him, of course you can't tell him. It's your secret to keep, as Morgana keeps reminding you, and so you just shake your head. "Nothing, really."
"It's not nothing if you're all worked up," he sighs, "but I won't push you." You simply smile at him, letting it convey your gratitude.
He smiles back and throws out his arms and envelops you in a tight, warm hug that washes away the tension from your muscles.
He holds you like this for a while before he pulls back.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "3">>
"Yeah," you say, not very convincingly. It's such a feeble, pathetic attempt, really. Gareth doesn't argue with you however; instead, he throws out his arms and envelops you in a tight, warm hug that washes away the tension from your muscles.
He holds you like this for a while before he pulls back.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "4">>
"What are you doing here?" you ask, both curious and wishing to divert the subject.
"I came here to inquire about Sir Accolon's health." A gentle smile curls his lips. "And check up on you." And just like that, he evaded your attempt.
"He's fine. He's healing." You quickly add, just to appease him, "And I'm alright, too."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good."
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "12">>
All the tension and anguish and rage come crashing down like a furious wave breaking over rock, tears rolling down your cheeks as you open your mouth, but instead of an answer, a broken sob escapes.
You are //definitely// not alright. So much has happened over so few days.
Gareth immediately envelops your trembling frame in a hug. You allow yourself to sag against him, to give him the burden of supporting you while you let out all the emotions that have been building up. You're not sure if he's wearing his fine embroidery or if he's changed, but your brother doesn't care as he lets you cry into his shoulder.
Finally, your eyes dry and with a rattling breath, you pull back to smile at Gareth. He returns the expression, riddled with worry. "Is Sir Accolon fine?"
"He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good. Will you be fine, too? I can't imagine it's been easy for you."
You nod. "I think so."
He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze before pulling back.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "5">>
"I'm alright," you insist, smiling. But your tears taste sharp and salty on your tongue, and weight down on your eyelashes. "What are you doing here?"
"I came here to inquire about Sir Accolon's health." His smile is gentle but a tinge of anxiety hangs onto his words.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good." He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze before pulling back.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "6">>
You shake your head, your tears sharp and salty on your tongue and heavy on your eyelashes.
"How is Sir Accolon?" He asks, anxiety hanging onto his words.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good." He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze. "Will you be fine, too? I can't imagine it's been easy for you."
You let out a long, rattling breath. "I think so." How do you explain to him there's so much more to your sorrow? That it's because of you wanting to meet the man who sired you that the man who raised you was hurt?
You don't, because you can't; it's your secret to carry, as Morgana keeps reminding you.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "7">>
"Y-yeah," you say, not very convincingly." It's a feeble, pathetic attempt, really.
But Gareth chooses not to remark upon it. Instead, he asks, "How's Sir Accolon?"
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good."
He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze before pulling back.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "8">>
"What are you doing here?" you ask, rather chocked, both curious and wishing to divert the subject, as if your gaze isn't still watery, as if you can't still the salt on your tongue.
"I came here to inquire about Sir Accolon's health." A gentle smile curls his lips. "And check up on you." And just like that, he evaded your attempt.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good." He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze. "Will you be fine, too? I can't imagine it's been easy for you."
You let out a long, rattling breath. "I think so." How do you explain to him there's so much more to your sorrow? That it's because of you wanting to meet the man who sired you that the man who raised you was hurt?
You don't, because you can't; it's your secret to carry, as Morgana keeps reminding you.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "9">>
"I'm alright." You put on a faint smile. "Don't worry about me."
His smile widens. "But you're my litte sibling, it's my duty to worry about you." And with that, he playfully ruffles your hair as you laughingly protest.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "10">>
You take in a long breath. "I'm not fine, but I'll be. Don't worry about me." You smile, and Gareth seems reassured.
"But you're my litte sibling, it's my duty to worry about you." And with that, he playfully ruffles your hair as you laughingly protest.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "11">>
"I'm fine," you say, not very convincingly. He doesn't argue with you, but he doesn't seem to reassured either, so you quickly add, "Don't worry about me."
"But you're my litte sibling, it's my duty to worry about you." And with that, he playfully ruffles your hair as you laughingly protest.
<</if>>
You invite him inside, and you both hop onto the bed. He slumps back against the pillows. You notice he's still wearing the lavishly embroidered shirt he wore at the tournament, a slithering sliver of gold peeking over the colorful motif of flowers and vines. It's a serpent pendant, the one from Morgana, the one he usually keeps close to his chest, hidden from view - especially from Lot's hateful view.
Gareth's eyeing you warily, brown eyes somber. "Mother said Lancelot did..." he swallows, mouth twisting, "what he did to get back at her. Isn't he supposed to be a Champion Knight?" He throws up one hand, exasperated. "It was cruel and well, just plain stupid." He needn't elaborate on the stupid part - you know what Morgana does to people who anger her, and so does he. Lancelot must know that, too.
<<if $attack == "water" or $attack == "fire">>
"You were rather quick with retribution, though," Gareth continues. He nudges you with his leg, a simple yet affectionate gesture. "You left an impression, you know. Including on father." The last part is muttered, thoughtful.
"I just felt so...so hurt and angry in that moment." You grip the sheets in your fists, echoes of those feelings rushing you. "And //helpless//," you whisper. Awful, dreadful helplessness at having to watch Lancelot attack Accolon, not able to do anything.
Gareth's hands slip over your balled up ones, squeezing soothingly. Your shoulders sag forward, and you exchange a knowing look before he pulls back.
<<elseif $attack == "wind">>
"Lancelot falling to his knees, that was you, wasn't it?" Gareth asks, mouth in a rueful smile. When you nod, he continues, "Yes, I could tell. I think father realized, too." The last part is muttered, thoughtful.
"I just felt so...so hurt and angry in that moment." You grip the sheets in your fists, echoes of those feelings rushing you. "And //helpless//," you whisper. Awful, dreadful helplessness at having to watch Lancelot attack Accolon, not able to do anything.
Gareth's hands slip over your balled up ones, squeezing soothingly. Your shoulders sag forward, and you exchange a knowing look before he pulls back.
<<else>>
"I just felt so...so hurt and angry in that moment." You grip the sheets in your fists, echoes of those feelings rushing you. "And //helpless//," you whisper. Awful, dreadful helplessness at having to watch Lancelot attack Accolon, not able to do anything.
Gareth's hands slip over your balled up ones, squeezing soothingly. Your shoulders sag forward, and you exchange a knowing look before he pulls back.
<</if>>
Gareth runs a hand through his brown hair - the same shade as Lot's, though the Duke's is now peppered with silver. His gaze looks past you, though you can tell it's not pinned on anything in particular, seeming more focused inwards. "There was a lot of shouting in the royal booth, and nasty words tossed around." He glances at you, gaze clear now. "By mother, to father and Arthur. She left to check on Sir Accolon before the trials ended."
"Did Arthur and Lot say anything?" you ask.
"Father mostly sulked," he grimaces slightly.
"Mostly?" You arch an eyebrow.
The boy looks pained. You know there's more. You know Gareth tries to shield you as much as he can. But you've already been hit again and again. "He...may have implied that Lancelot was simply a better knight and just giving his all. You can imagine how mother took it."
Ah yes, poking the angry bear, such a wise idea. Gareth goes on, "Arthur looked horrified, however."
//Yet he didn't stop it.//
You remember, the image of him rooted to his chair, as if he wasn't king, as if the crown on his brow didn't give him the power to step in, to curb the blood spilt on his behalf.
"He did apologize to mother, though I don't think anything could mollify her." His mouth twists sorrowfully. "I pity him but at the same time, I think..." His brow furrows. "I think he lacks the decisiveness
of a ruler."
Gareth's words echo Morgana's own. But you keep your own sentiments at bay and instead return Gareth's favor of always comforting you, replying, as breezily as you can muster yourself to be, "Well, at least you can take his counter example." It draws a mirthless chuckle out of him. "Anyway," he sighs, giving a strained smile. "Let's talk about merrier matters."
You exchange impressions of the tournament, what you saw and heard from your respective perspective; Gareth's observations of the nobles and their talk and their gossip, and your own of the knights and their squires. You pass the time like this until your brother must go prepare for the feast, leaving you to get ready too.
[[Continue|AfterStudy]]<<if $chapt3_gareth_check == "1">>
"I'm fine," you lie, putting on a genuine enough smile, welling from your gratitude for him. Gareth doesn't seem entirely convinced, but chooses not to disapprove you; instead, he throws out his arms and envelops you in a tight, warm hug that washes away the tension from your muscles.
When he pulls back, you both hop on the bed, and that's when you notice an opened tome upon the covers.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "2">>
"I just...I just had a disagreement with mother," you vaguely explain, waving a hand as if to completely brush it away, as unimportant as an annoying bee.
Gareth frowns, "What sort of disagreement?"
You can't tell him, of course you can't tell him. It's your secret to keep, as Morgana keeps reminding you, and so you just shake your head. "Nothing, really."
"It's not nothing if you're all worked up," he sighs, "but I won't push you." You simply smile at him, letting it convey your gratitude.
He smiles back and throws out his arms and envelops you in a tight, warm hug that washes away the tension from your muscles.
When he pulls back, you both hop on the bed, and that's when you notice an opened tome upon the covers.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "3">>
"Yeah," you say, not very convincingly. It's such a feeble, pathetic attempt, really. Gareth doesn't argue with you however; instead, he throws out his arms and envelops you in a tight, warm hug that washes away the tension from your muscles.
When he pulls back, you both hop on the bed, and that's when you notice an opened tome upon the covers.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "4">>
"What are you doing here?" you ask, both curious and wishing to divert the subject.
"I came here to inquire about Sir Accolon's health." A gentle smile curls his lips. "And check up on you." And just like that, he evaded your attempt.
"He's fine. He's healing." Then you quickly add, just to appease him, "And I'm alright, too."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good."
You both hop on the bed, and that's when you notice an opened tome upon the covers.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "13">>
All the tension and anguish and rage come crashing down like a furious wave breaking over rock, tears rolling down your cheeks as you open your mouth, but instead of an answer, a broken sob escapes.
You are //definitely// not alright. So much has happened over so few days.
Gareth immediately envelops your trembling frame in a hug. You allow yourself to sag against him, to give him the burden of supporting you while you let out all the emotions that have been building up. You're not sure if he's wearing his fine embroidery or if he's changed, but your brother doesn't care as he lets you cry into his shoulder.
Finally, your eyes dry and with a rattling breath, you pull back to smile at Gareth. He returns the expression, riddled with worry. "Is Sir Accolon fine?"
"He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good." He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze. "Will you be fine, too? I can't imagine it's been easy for you."
You nod. "I think so."
He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze before pulling back.
You both hop on the bed, and that's when you notice an opened tome upon the covers.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "5">>
"I'm alright," you insist, smiling. But your tears taste sharp and salty on your tongue, and weight down on your eyelashes. "What are you doing here?"
"I came here to inquire about Sir Accolon's health." His smile is gentle but a tinge of anxiety hangs onto his words.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good." He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze before pulling back.
You both hop on the bed, and that's when you notice an opened tome upon the covers.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "6">>
You shake your head, your tears sharp and salty on your tongue and heavy on your eyelashes.
"How is Sir Accolon?" He asks, anxiety hanging onto his words.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good." He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze. "Will you be fine, too? I can't imagine it's been easy for you."
You let out a long, rattling breath. "I think so." How do you explain to him there's so much more to your sorrow? That it's because of you wanting to meet the man who sired you that the man who raised you was hurt?
You don't, because you can't; it's your secret to carry, as Morgana keeps reminding you.
You both hop on the bed, and that's when you notice an opened tome upon the covers.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "7">>
"Y-yeah," you say, not very convincingly." It's a feeble, pathetic attempt, really.
But Gareth chooses not to remark upon it. Instead, he asks, "How's Sir Accolon?"
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good."
He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze before pulling back.
You both hop on the bed, and that's when you notice an opened tome upon the covers.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "8">>
"What are you doing here?" you ask. Your eyes are still watery and can taste salt on tongue, but all you want is to avert the subject from yourself.
"I came here to inquire about Sir Accolon's health." A gentle smile curls his lips. "And check up on you." And just like that, he evaded your attempt.
"He's fine. He's healing."
A relieved smile blooms on your brother's lips. "That's good." He gives your shoulders another affectionate squeeze. "Will you be fine, too? I can't imagine it's been easy for you."
You let out a long, rattling breath. "I think so." How do you explain to him there's so much more to your sorrow? That it's because of you wanting to meet the man who sired you that the man who raised you was hurt?
You don't, because you can't; it's your secret to carry, as Morgana keeps reminding you.
You both hop on the bed, and that's when you notice an opened tome upon the covers.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "9">>
"I'm alright." You put on a faint smile. "Don't worry about me."
His smile widens. "But you're my litte sibling, it's my duty to worry about you." And with that, he playfully ruffles your hair as you laughingly protest.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "10">>
You take in a long breath. "I'm not fine, but I'll be. Don't worry about me." You smile, and Gareth seems reassured.
"But you're my litte sibling, it's my duty to worry about you." And with that, he playfully ruffles your hair as you laughingly protest.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "11">>
"I'm fine," you say, not very convincingly. He doesn't argue with you, but he doesn't seem to reassured either, so you quickly add, "Don't worry about me."
"But you're my litte sibling, it's my duty to worry about you." And with that, he playfully ruffles your hair as you laughingly protest.
<<elseif $chapt3_gareth_check == "12">>
"Don't worry about me," you smile, and your gaze darts to the book. Before you can ask, though, Gareth speaks.
"But you're my litte sibling, it's my duty to worry about you." And with that, he playfully ruffles your hair as you laughingly protest.
<</if>>
"What were you reading?" you nod towards the book. Gareth seems surprised for a moment, as if it had just appeared on its own.
"Oh, I just grabbed one of your magic tomes from the desk while I waited." He picks it up, and you catch a glimpse of the cover, and the elaborate, gilded title, which you immediately recognize. Despite Morgana's great hatred of Merlin, even she can't deny the man is an expert in magical theory - and so she too owns a copy of his study in it. After all, as she always says, it's better to know and stick close to your enemy, to learn their strenghts and weaknesses.
Gareth absent-mindedly thumbs through it. "And, is it interesting?" you ask.
While he may have been rather distracted by the arrival of guests at the tournament, you know Gareth to be usually very diligent in his studies, especially when a subject piques his interest. But magic is not something Lot deemed necessary to assign to his lectures; after all, Gareth has no powers of his own.
"It is." He opens the book to the contents, then turns to a particular page. "Merlin poses the question of why some people in lines like ours can't practice magic themselves, like me." You lean forward, struggling to understand something from the upside down rows. You don't need to, anyway. You've already read the chapter, and when Gareth continues, you're not surprised, "and he seems to conclude it must be some kind of fault, of flaw."
"To which he's wondering if there's any solution," you mutter. You don't often discuss this glaring difference between the two of you.
And you're not doing it now neither, it seems, when Gareth closes the book and puts it away.
He slumps back against the pillows. You notice he's still wearing the lavishly embroidered shirt he wore at the tournament, a slithering sliver of gold peeking over the colorful motif of flowers and vines. It's a serpent pendant, the one from Morgana, the one he usually keeps close to his chest, hidden from view - especially from Lot's hateful view.
Gareth's eyeing you warily, brown eyes somber. "Mother said Lancelot did..." he swallows, mouth twisting, "what he did to get back at her. Isn't he supposed to be a Champion Knight?" He throws up one hand, exasperated. "It was cruel and well, just plain stupid." He needn't elaborate on the stupid part - you know what Morgana does to people who anger her, and so does he. Lancelot must know that, too.
<<if $attack == "water" or $attack == "fire">>
"You were rather quick with retribution, though," Gareth continues. He nudges you with his leg, a simple yet affectionate gesture. "You left an impression, you know. Including on father." The last part is muttered, thoughtful.
"I just felt so...so hurt and angry in that moment." You grip the sheets in your fists, echoes of those feelings rushing you. "And //helpless//," you whisper. Awful, dreadful helplessness at having to watch Lancelot attack Accolon, not able to do anything.
Gareth's hands slip over your balled up ones, squeezing soothingly. Your shoulders sag forward, and you exchange a knowing look before he pulls back.
<<elseif $attack == "wind">>
"Lancelot falling to his knees, that was you, wasn't it?" Gareth asks, mouth in a rueful smile. When you nod, he continues, "Yes, I could tell. I think father realized, too." The last part is muttered, thoughtful.
"I just felt so...so hurt and angry in that moment." You grip the sheets in your fists, echoes of those feelings rushing you. "And //helpless//," you whisper. Awful, dreadful helplessness at having to watch Lancelot attack Accolon, not able to do anything.
Gareth's hands slip over your balled up ones, squeezing soothingly. Your shoulders sag forward, and you exchange a knowing look before he pulls back.
<<else>>
"I just felt so...so hurt and angry in that moment." You grip the sheets in your fists, echoes of those feelings rushing you. "And //helpless//," you whisper. Awful, dreadful helplessness at having to watch Lancelot attack Accolon, not able to do anything.
Gareth's hands slip over your balled up ones, squeezing soothingly. Your shoulders sag forward, and you exchange a knowing look before he pulls back.
<</if>>
Gareth runs a hand through his brown hair - the same shade as Lot's, though the Duke's is now peppered with silver. His gaze looks past you, though you can tell it's not pinned on anything in particular, seeming more focused inwards. "There was a lot of shouting in the royal booth, and nasty words tossed around." He glances at you, gaze clear now. "By mother, to father and Arthur. She left to check on Sir Accolon before the trials ended."
"Did Arthur and Lot say anything?" you ask.
"Father mostly sulked," he grimaces slightly.
"Mostly?" You arch an eyebrow.
The boy looks pained. You know there's more. You know Gareth tries to shield you as much as he can. But you've already been hit again and again. "He...may have implied that Lancelot was simply a better knight and just giving his all. You can imagine how mother took it."
Ah yes, poking the angry bear, such a wise idea. Gareth goes on, "Arthur looked horrified, however."
//Yet he didn't stop it.//
You remember, the image of him rooted to his chair, as if he wasn't king, as if the crown on his brow didn't give him the power to step in, to curb the blood spilt on his behalf.
"He did apologize to mother, though I don't think anything could mollify her." His mouth twists sorrowfully. "I pity him but at the same time, I think..." His brow furrows. "I think he lacks the decisiveness of a ruler."
Gareth's words echo Morgana's own. But you keep your own sentiments at bay and instead return Gareth's favor of always comforting you, replying, as breezily as you can muster yourself to be, "Well, at least you can take his counter example." It draws a mirthless chuckle out of him.
Gareth plops down on his side, propping his cheek in his palm, the other hand busying itself with the serpent pendant, fingers absent-mindedly following the winding form. You grab a pillow to put under your head and mirror his pose, leveling his gaze.
"I've been talking with Arthur and Gawain these days," Gareth starts slowly, calmly, "and I was thinking, it feels strange how...how Arthur isn't really an uncle to us, despite the blood ties, not like he is to Gawain." He closes his palm around the serpent. "I know it's because of the wedge between mother and he. I asked mother once, when I was younger, why can't they just reconcile. She told me it's not that easy, and I think I understand."
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope" or $opinion_arthur == "indifference">>
You merely bite your lip, because you know - you've always known the source of Morgana's anger and anguish, that she tried to feed you since you could remember.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate" or $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
You merely bite your lip, because you know - you've always known the source of Morgana's anger and anguish, that fed your own since you could remember.
<</if>>
He only knows what everyone else knows, of how Morgana swore revenge on Arthur for his father's atrocities. How she makes outrageous demands for a land that is no longer the Le Fay's. For a title she relinquished - though most people leave out that it was stolen. Whispers of how she's poisoned the Duke of Tintal, though no one could prove it. She had the reason and the means, and that was proof enough for people.
And it hurts Gareth. Even though she couldn't always be there for him in the first nine years of his childhood, she's only ever been a mother to him, warm and kind and loving. And even when her temper frays and the very air and ground trembles to her fury, it's never been directed at him.
Just like he loves his father, and craves his affection, even though he resents the way Lot treats you. He must yearn for Arthur's love too, despite the way he forsake his half-sister and her children, despite the way Morgana condemns him.
"I got gifts from him over the years, but except of the few times I've accompanied father to Camelot or other events where the king attended too, I haven't really interacted with him." He meets your gaze, then sighs. "I know I shouldn't complain, not when..." he cuts himself off, the agonized look thrown your way enough. //When you never received anything from Arthur.//
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
But you received now, you think as hope blooms in your chest, like snowdrops among snow. It heralds a new season - a change for the better in your relationship.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
But you did receive now, though you're not sure if it isn't too late. Can he do enough to make it up to you? Can he really right it all?
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate" or $opinion_arthur == "indifference">>
And after all these years of nothing, he thinks he can just show up with a figurine and right it all. You don't need anything from him.
<</if>>
"Anyway," Gareth says, giving a strained smile. "We should talk about merrier matters."
You exchange impressions of the tournament, what you saw and heard from your respective perspective; Gareth's observations of the nobles and their talk and their gossip, and your own of the knights and their squires. You pass the time like this until your brother must go prepare for the feast, leaving you to get ready too.
[[Continue|AfterStudy]]You indulge in some desert - sugar powdered apple strudel, Gareth's favorite - before the two of you leave the table to amble through the feast hall.
"Did anything exciting at the fair today? Perhaps you've heard anything interesting?" you ask Gareth as he loops his arm through yours.
Gareth raises his goblet of apple juice to his lips, eyes widening in mock horror. "Mordred," he reprimands you, "Are you inquiring about gossip? That's scandalous. Do you think I'd partake in such activities?" You stare at him pointedly till he breaks his carefully constructed offended expression and smiles. "Well, let's see." He sips on his apple juice, musing.
A pair breaks out of the dancing ring, careening towards you on a collision course. You tug at your chained arms, nimbly pulling Gareth out of harm's way. He watches the giggling couple twirl away to cause mayhem elsewehere, then turns to you with a grateful smile. "As I was saying. Father arranged for me and other Duke's and Duchess' children to spend some time together at the fair today."
"Oh?"
"It's a ploy. Form friendships that can bloom into alliances later, and of course signal to everyone that we're a unified front." He swirls the juice in his goblet as his gaze glides over the room, thoughtful yet not betraying much else. "That kind of thing. I think the most interesting interaction I had was with Elaine Beauregard. She devored -inhaled - a bag of pastries and afterwards still proclaimed tha they have better ones back in Astolat." Gareth then elbows you, thrusting his chin out somewhere to your right. "Look who's all on her own."
You follow the line of his gaze and find Alina Solomon hanging alone by a mingling crowd of grown-ups, one of her mothers counting among them. Alina regards the hall with a scowl on her freckled face as if the merriment of the revelers greatly offends her.
You wonder if her so called friends forsake her again, like they did at the fair, or if she's still resenting them for their abandonment. Or perhaps this isolation is part of her penitence.
"Arthur must have really went through with his promise, mustn't he?" Gareth notes, taking in her discontentment. "It's written all over her face that things have not went her way at all, this time." He tilts his head, his gaze seeming to turn inward. His expression shows no indication as to what he's thinking, but he doesn't leave you wondering long. "Would it be terribly mean if a part of me feels...delighted to see her like this, after everything she's done to you?"
<div class="choice">[["Then I'm the meanest of them all," you say, relishing in Alina's misery. It's the consequences of her own actions, after all.|Chapt3GarethAlinaTalk][$chapt3_gareth_mean to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't know, Gareth." You wonder the same thing, as a part of you relishes it.|Chapt3GarethAlinaTalk][$chapt3_gareth_mean to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't fault you," you sigh. "I just wish for her to leave me alone."|Chapt3GarethAlinaTalk][$chapt3_gareth_mean to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I don't fault you," you sigh. "I just wish things were different. That she didn't act the way she does."|Chapt3GarethAlinaTalk][$chapt3_gareth_mean to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm just happy she's facing the consequences of her own actions, and I don't think that makes me mean," you say, reasonably.|Chapt3GarethAlinaTalk][$chapt3_gareth_mean to 5]]</div>Gareth Leudonus, your half-brother and son of Duke Lot. The Le Fay magic has skipped him.
//Description//: Gareth has the same dark brown eyes and hair as Lot, but his features more closely resemble Morgana's.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]Gareth's quarters are situated next to Lot's, in a wing opposite your own. Typically, you and Morgana should have had rooms here, too, but the Duke has distanced himself from your mother and from being forced to see Accolon make her chambers his own too.
Apart from location, what else sets aside Gareth's quarters from yours are the number of rooms and the sheer vastness of them. The sitting room alone exceeds your bedroom's size.
Gareth crosses the dark wood floor, treading over lush carpets that muffle his self-assured steps, and pushes past the painted green doors into his bedchamber, beckoning you along.
Gawain stares unabashedly around him, approaching shelves to better study the various decorations and trinkets and books upon them. Galahad stands crossed-armed in the middle of the room, looking about with subdued interest, until Gareth prompts him to grab some pillows and make himself comfortable on the carpet by the hearth.
Whereas the symbol of the Leudonus family has been completely wiped from your chambers, it thrives in Gareth's. A bear head has been carved into the bed's wooden heardboard, presiding ever awake over a slumbering Gareth like some mighty, untiring guardian. Bear paws are drawn among the painted thorny branches of raspberries and blueberries that adorn the wardrobe's surface. A rearing bear holds up the full-sized mirror next to the wardrobe, its fur meticulously chiseled out of dark wood, its beady eyes fixing you unwavering whenever you check your image. Never quite knowing if its silently judging or approving of your clothing choices.
<<if $chapt2_defiant < 50>>
The first time you stood in front of the mirror, you would keep your gaze to your feet, feeling unnerved and small, ready to be gobbled up by the creature.
<<else>>
The first time you stood in front of the mirror you leveled its gaze and hissed at it to establish your dominance, despite the wooden creature towering over your small frame.
<</if>>
The Le Fay crest has been expertly worked in too, however. It's the small pillow in the sea of many others, its motif of swirling green vines revealing itself to be a swarm of serpents upon better inspection. It's palpable in the shape of a handheld mirror's handle, sloping like the smooth body of a snake. It's been worked into the very wardrobe proudly bearing the paw prints of the Leudonus bear, hidden among the branches. Laying in waiting, watching.
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
They're easy to miss but by now you know exactly where to look.
<<else>>
You would have missed them too had Morgana not pointed out her work to you.
<</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>>
Gareth kneels in front of the chest at the feet of the bed. Gawain comes to perch up on the edge of the mattress while you plop down on the carpet next to your brother.
<<else>>
Gareth kneels in front of the chest at the feet of the bed and Gawain comes to perch up on the edge of the mattress. You follow suit, leaning back against a bed poster.
<</if>>
"Oooh," he coos as he peers inside, "you really do have lots of board games."
Gareth hums in response, picking up one of said games, running a loving finger along the ridges of the wooden box. "What would you like us to play?" he asks. As he goes on to rattle off the available options, Gawain flops back on the bed and scrunches his face in concentration. There's a variety of games to choose from: strategy, where one takes control of an army and must conquer the others' lands; management, where you must make your Kingdom bloom and thrive and make alliances or wage wars against other players; mystery, where you're given a set of clues and you must untangle the intrigue. Games where one earns points by placing tiles on the board and forming words; games where the players race each other across the board to reach the finish square, making moves based on dice rolls.
None of these catch Gawain's interest, not until Gareth produces a leather-bound booklet out of the chest and says, "I also have these role-playing games-" Gawain surges up and reaches out a hand, flexing his fingers in a grabbing motion. Gareth offers him the booklet and the boy leafs through it excitedly.
"It's got different prompts for settings and storylines," Gareth explains, "maps, character profiles and backstories." Gawain nods along, teeth biting down on his lower lip, eyes peeled on the quickly flipping pages.
"Oh!" Gawain pushes the book onto the mattress and points at something written on the page. You approach, peering down at it. "A quest to a faraway land sounds fun. But you know what would be even better? A sea voyage. It's not in the book, but give me a few minutes and I can come up with a story line and map, alright? Please?"
Gareth indulges him and provides Gawain with the necessary tools as well; a box filled with colorful crayons and paper to spare. Gawain sets to work on the floor, laying on his stomach and dangling his legs in the air.
Gareth moves to join Galahad by the gently cracking fireplace when a knock comes at the door. It must be the guest you've been expecting, the one Gareth asked a servant to send after. His face lights up as he hurries to open the door, letting in Terryn. The dragon, no bigger than a cat, glides across the lounge and makes a smooth landing in the middle of the bedroom, introducing himself in the human language, voice gravelly.
Gawain snaps his head from his sheets - already scribbled with jumbled rows of writing - to wave, pencil still in hand. "Hi!" Galahad simply inclines his head in greeting.
<<if $Gawain_friend >= 3>>
You approach Gawain, tilting your head to better see what he's progressing. You can't quite make out his spiky, hasty handwriting, especially not upside down. "Have any ideas?" you ask.
"Hmmm," he answers distractedly, gnawing on his lower lip as he scrawls away.
You sit down next to him, watching him at work. Finally seeming to fully acknowledge your presence, he slams a palm over what he's written and looks up at you. "No peeking! I want it to be a surprise."
You hold up your hands placatingly, promising to adhere to his one condition and he goes back to writing, appeased. Once he's filled a page, front and back, he grabs the colored crayons and moves on to a fresh sheet.
"I'm not the best at drawing," he admits as he draws various haphazard shapes across the page, then fills in the space between them with blue. "But this is only to guide us."
Gawain sketches and colors some more before he finally declares he's done and quickly gathers his sheets so you can both join the others on the carpet by the fire.
<<else>>
You sit down crossed legged on the carpet by the hearth. Gareth makes easy conversation with Terryn while you're waiting on Gawain, exchanging impressions on the various performances at the fair. When he finally declares himself done, Gawain quickly gathers his sheets and jumps to his feet to join you, eyes wide and bright with excitement.
<</if>>
"Alright," Gawain marshals his pages. "I jotted down a premise and some plot points, and drew this," here he plucks up a map. "We're a crew in search of a pirate's treasure! All we have is this map." He places it carefully in the middle. Then he hands everyone an empty sheet and crayon, explaining that you have to each come up with your crew member, their name, appearance, backstory and skills. "Even better - Gareth, do you have some figurines we could use for our characters? And maybe some others? A ship? Some...creatures?"
While Gareth rummages through his chest again, Gawain goes on first to describe his character: "I'll be a half-siren adventurer that charms his opponents with his singing and can withstand the siren's call."
"I'll be a big sea dragon who joins you to help and guide you," Terryn says. "I can offer protection and fight other creatures, I know which places are likely to be dangerous and I'm a fast swimmer." The dragon nods, self-satisfied as Gawain notes it all down.
"And I'll be your seasoned captain who's been all over the map," Gareth says as he returns with a velvet bag. He loosens the golden cordon and figurines cascade onto the carpet. "I have a scar-ridden face and a wooden leg from various encounters with sea monsters and pirates."
"Great. Mordred?"
<div class="choice">[["\"I'll be a pirate turned adventurer!\""|Chapt3DnD][$chapt3_char to "pirate"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'll be a healer of the Lady of the Lake who's always been fond of the sea.\""|Chapt3DnD][$chapt3_char to "healer"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'll be a sailor, I guess," you say, not all that enthusiastic.|Chapt3DnD][$chapt3_char to "sailor"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'll be a sheltered noble on my first adventure. I have no idea what I'm doing, but I've got the spirit!\""|Chapt3DnD][$chapt3_char to "noble"]]</div>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>><div class="choice">[["I'll be the captain's first mate!" You grin at Gareth.|Chapt3DnD][$chapt3_char to "mate"]]</div><</if>>
<<if $Gareth >= 60>><div class="choice">[["I'll be the captain's first mate. I'm better than the captain and planning a mutiny," you say playfully.|Chapt3DnD][$chapt3_char to "matemutiny"]]</div><</if>>You and Gawain tune your lutes.
<<if $Gawain_ro >= 4>>
<<if $gender == "male">>
"Do you know the ballad of the knight and prince who fell in love?" he asks, cheeks pink. "We could play that."
Of course you know the song! It's a well-known love ballad always sung to feasts for slow dances.
<<elseif $gender == "female">>
"Do you know the ballad of the knight and princess who fell in love?" he asks, cheeks pink. "We could play that."
Of course you know the song! It's a well-known love ballad always sung to feasts for slow dances.
<</if>>
The rhythm flows smoothly like honey, sweet and slow. You speak rather than sing the lyrics, following the melody of the tune.
<<if $gender == "male">>
The story tells of how the knight would dedicate all his victories to the prince, and the prince would always offer the knight his favor in tournaments. They'd steal kisses in the garden of the castle, and pledge their love for each other.
<<elseif $gender == "female">>
The story tells of how the knight would dedicate all his victories to the princess, and the princess would always offer the knight her favor in tournaments. They'd steal kisses in the garden of the castle, and pledge their love for each other.
<</if>>
Gawain's gaze finds yours, happy, his face pink as he sings.
<div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, smiling, your heart fluttering.|GawainDuet1][$chapt3_serenade to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, flushed.|GawainDuet1][$chapt3_serenade to "2"]]</div>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, smiling, your heart fluttering. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the prince. If only the knight was courting a princess.|GawainDuet1][$chapt3_serenade to "3", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, smiling, your heart fluttering. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the princess, but the knight. If only the knight was courting a prince.|GawainDuet1][$chapt3_serenade to "4", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, smiling, your heart fluttering. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the prince - or a princess. |GawainDuet1][$chapt3_serenade to "5", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, smiling, your heart fluttering. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the princess - or a prince.|GawainDuet1][$chapt3_serenade to "6", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, flushed. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the prince. If only the knight was courting a prince.|GawainDuet1][$chapt3_serenade to "7", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, flushed. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the princess, but the knight. If only the knight was courting a prince.|GawainDuet1][$chapt3_serenade to "8", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, flushed. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the prince- or princess.|GawainDuet1][$chapt3_serenade to "9", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, flushed. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the princess or the knight.|GawainDuet1][$chapt3_serenade to "10", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<else>>
"Do you know the //Ballad of the Hero//?"
Of course you know the song! It's always played at feasts for dances.
The ballad recounts feats of bravery and magic; a story about friendship and betrayal. The tune is buoyant and bright, with quick, short plucks of the strings. You speak rather than sings the lyrics, following the melody of the tune.
Gawain meets your gaze and you smile at him.
As you finish, you can't help but beam. "You really are talented."
Gawain flushes, grinning. "So are you!"
You turn around when you hear a huff of approval from Ariawen. While Gawain's dragon is sitting close to you, her head rested on her front legs, Callum next to her, Otto and Keri are lounging at the end of the room.
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_serenade == "1">>
A smile brightens your expression as your heart beats a quick, excited rhythm.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "2">>
You quickly look away, cheeks heating.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "3">>
A smile brightens your expression as your heart beats a quick, excited rhythm. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "4">>
A smile brightens your expression as your heart beats a quick, excited rhythm. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "5">>
A smile brightens your expression as your heart beats a quick, excited rhythm. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "6">>
A smile brightens your expression as your heart beats a quick, excited rhythm. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "7">>
You quickly look away, cheeks heating. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "8">>
You quickly look away, cheeks heating.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "9">>
You quickly look away, cheeks heating. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "10">>
You quickly look away, cheeks heating. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<</if>>
As you finish, you can't help but beam. "You really are talented."
Gawain flushes, grinning. "So are you!"
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>><<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain has chosen to stay with you at the feast and, given the way he's anchored himself to you with your intertwined fingers, you can't say you're too surprised.
And yet it fills you with a light, fuzzy, bubbly feeling as if you were soaring the sky, to know you're wanted, to be //chosen// by someone - and not by anyone, but Gawain. Gawain, whose smile is sweeter than anything in the world. Sweeter than all the sweets you've devored at the fair.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_confession == "refuse_hurt">>
As you and Gawain gorge yourself on desert, you can't help but think that sweeter even than the sugar-powdered apple strudel you're eating is the light, bubbly feeling rising in your chest. A feeling as if you were soaring the sky. The bliss to be wanted, to be //chosen/ by someone - and not just anyone, but Gawain. Gawain, whose smile is sweeter than anything in the world. Gawain, who's been so quick to befriend you.
Gawain, whose heart you broke today and yet here he is. Pain lances you at the memory and your euphoric ride takes a steep fall.
<<elseif $gawain_crush >= 3>>
As you and Gawain gorge yourself on desert, you can't help but think that sweeter even than the sugar-powdered apple strudel you're eating is the light, bubbly feeling rising in your chest. A feeling as if you were soaring the sky. The bliss to be wanted, to be //chosen/ by someone - and not just anyone, but Gawain. Gawain, whose smile is sweeter than anything in the world. Gawain, who's been so quick to befriend you.
Gawain, who's made himself a nice, snug nest within your heart.
<<elseif $gawain_oblivious >= 2>>
As you and Gawain gorge yourself on desert, you can't help but think that sweeter even than the sugar-powdered apple strudel you're eating is the light, bubbly feeling rising in your chest. A feeling as if you were soaring the sky. The bliss to be wanted, to be //chosen/ by someone - and not just anyone, but Gawain. Gawain, whose smile is sweeter than anything in the world. Gawain, who's been so quick to befriend you. Gawain, who can both fill your chest with warmth and tighten it with this befuddling emotion you can't put a name on. These strange nerves that flutter within you every time your hands touch, or your gazes linger.
<<elseif $Gawain_friend >= 3>>
As you and Gawain gorge yourself on desert, you can't help but think that sweeter even than the sugar-powdered apple strudel you're eating is the light, bubbly feeling rising in your chest. A feeling as if you were soaring the sky. The bliss to be wanted, to be //chosen// by someone - and not just anyone, but Gawain. Gawain, who's been so quick to become your friend. Gawain, who's never once shown you fear or hesitance, who's blithely disregarded the reputation and rumours that follow you like a deep, dark shadow.
<</if>>
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain suggests you take a walk through the feast hall, so you pick up your goblets of apple juice and set out hand in hand.
<<else>>
Gawain suggests you take a walk through the feast hall, so you pick up your goblets of apple juice and set out.
<</if>>
You glide through the hall bathed in the warm, golden light of candles that gilds everything that it touches - the dewy faces of the most zealous of dancers, the goblets that have been scrubbed to blinding shine, the banners, hanging proud like ripe, luxurious fruits from the dark wooden beams.
On your own, you'd stalk the expanse of bone-white flagstone mostly ignored. No one wants to spoil their fun lending attention to the //bastard//, unless its shifty glances accompanied by the susurrus of gossip. The more recent and more sordid the better. Sometimes unease paints their faces, sometimes scorn. Other times it's plain curiosity.
But at the side of the King's adopted nephew, you find that people only offer glowing smiles and deferential nods - aimed at Gawain, of course, but they ricochet off you - and bar some initial surprise from some, you rarely see a stare or glare or whispering lips. Likely from fear of inadvertently turning such an expression on Gawain too.
Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even as Gawain hops from topic to topic like a bee from flower to flower, only to sometimes circle back to previous points, his train of thought seemingly a chaotic, whimsical, flighty thing.
It all stutters to a halt when your gaze falls on a familiar face. Gawain continues on obliviously for a few more words. When you don't respond, he stops altogether and follows your line of sight to Alina Solomon. She's hanging alone by a mingling crowd of grown-ups, one of her mothers counting among them. Alina regards the hall with a scowl on her freckled face as if the merriment of the revelers greatly offends her. You wonder if her so called friends forsake her again, like they did at the fair, or if she's still resenting them for their abandonment. Or perhaps this isolation is part of her penitence.
"That's Alina Solomon, isn't she?" Gawain asks, brow slightly pinched. When you nod, he goes on, "My dad told me that Arthur's talked with her mothers. So I think things will be better, now." He sounds genuinely, utterly confident in the improvement this could spell for you, and you decide to bask in that brilliance of his, like a cat lounging in that one strip of sun streaking the floor.
You circle the feast hall, your leisure steps bringing you to the edge of the dancing ring that has formed between the forefront tables - the ones closest to the dais, which include yours that you've forsaken - and //the others//, cleary delimitating the most power and heaviest coffers in this room. A visual reminder of everyone's stations before they leave their table to mingle and dance and, in some cases, blur the lines.
<<if $gawain_childhood_sweethearts is true>>
Gawain stops and swings your joined hands between you. "Dance with me?"
<div class="choice">[[Readily accept.|Chapt3GawainDanceRomantic][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Readily accept, but warn Gawain you may step on his feet.|Chapt3GawainDanceRomantic][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hesitate. You're nervous, dancing with so many people around you.|Chapt3GawainDanceRomantic][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hesitate. You're not the best dancer.|Chapt3GawainDanceRomantic][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 4]]</div> <<else>>
Gawain stops and turns to you, proffering his hand. "Dance with me?"
<div class="choice">[[Readily accept.|Chapt3GawainDance][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Readily accept, but warn Gawain you may step on his feet.|Chapt3GawainDance][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hesitate. You're nervous, dancing with so many people around you.|Chapt3GawainDance][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Hesitate. You're not the best dancer.|Chapt3GawainDance][$chapt3_gawain_dance to 4]]</div>
<</if>>Gawain Alistair, son of Sir Kay Alistair and Hilde. Arthur's adopted nephew and squire in training. You've heard much of him, and how he holds Arthur's affection and attention while you were discarded and forsaken.
//Description//: Everything about Gawain's features is round and soft, rendering him a kind, cheerful and ingenuous look. His dark brown hair is kept around his ears, fluffy and messy, and his eyes are brown like dark ale, his skin a rosy beige.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]Gawain starts tuning his lute and you watch him, a focused look on his face. Then, with a bright smile, he says, "I know exactly what to play," and dives right into it.
<<if $Gawain_ro >= 4>>
You recognize the song he's playing. It's a tale of romance, the rhythm flowing smoothly like honey, sweet and slow. He speaks rather than sings the lyrics, following the melody of the tune.
<<if $gender == "male">>
It's the story of a knight and prince who fell in love- the knight would dedicate all his victories to the prince, and the prince would always offer the knight his favor in tournaments. They'd steal kisses in the garden of the castle, and pledge their love for each other.
<<elseif $gender == "female">>
It's the story of a knight and princess who fell in love- the knight would dedicate all his victories to the princess, and the princess would always offer the knight her favor in tournaments. They'd steal kisses in the garden of the castle, and pledge their love for each other.
<</if>>
Gawain's gaze finds yours, happy, his face pink as he sings. Is he serenading you?
<div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, smiling, your heart fluttering.|GawainSerenade][$chapt3_serenade to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, flushed.|GawainSerenade][$chapt3_serenade to "2"]]</div>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, smiling, your heart fluttering. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the prince. If only the knight was courting a princess.|GawainSerenade][$chapt3_serenade to "3", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, smiling, your heart fluttering. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the princess, but the knight. If only the knight was courting a prince.|GawainSerenade][$chapt3_serenade to "4", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, smiling, your heart fluttering. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the prince - or a princess. |GawainSerenade][$chapt3_serenade to "5", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Hold his gaze, smiling, your heart fluttering. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the princess - or a prince.|GawainSerenade][$chapt3_serenade to "6", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, flushed. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the prince. If only the knight was courting a princess. |GawainSerenade][$chapt3_serenade to "7", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, flushed. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the princess, but the knight. If only the knight was courting a prince.|GawainSerenade][$chapt3_serenade to "8", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, flushed. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the prince - or princess.|GawainSerenade][$chapt3_serenade to "9", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, flushed. You like the intention behind the song but you realize that you can't quite identify with the princess - or a prince.|GawainSerenade][$chapt3_serenade to "10", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<else>>
You recognize the song he's playing It's a well-known ballad, recounting feats of bravery and magic; a story about friendship and betrayal. The tune is buoyant and bright, with quick, short plucks of the strings. He speaks rather than sings the lyrics, following the melody of the tune.
Gawain meets your gaze and you smile at him.
As he finishes, you can't help but beam.
<div class="choice">[["\"You really are talented.\""|GawainPlaysCompliment][$chapt3_gawain_compliment to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["You really are talented." ❤|GawainPlaysCompliment][$chapt3_gawain_compliment to 2, $gawain_crush to $gawain_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $gawain_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["You really are talented." 💕|GawainPlaysCompliment][$chapt3_gawain_compliment to 3, $gawain_oblivious to $gawain_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>
<</if>><<if $chapt3_gawain_compliment == 1>>
"You really are talented!" It's plain to see - or rather, hear - no matter how tone deaf one might be.
Gawain flushes, grinning. "Thanks."
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_compliment == 2>>
Gawain flushes, grinning. "Thanks."
You bask in the warm sight, in his warm smile, like taking in the summer sun.
<<elseif $chapt3_gawain_compliment == 3>>
Gawain flushes, grinning. "Thanks."
It makes something tender and warm bloom in your chest, like downing a cup of hot tea.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3GawainQuestions]]<<if $luteteacher == "1">>
"We'd go watch bards perform in town - especially the Avalonian ones- and I began longing to learn to play the lute as beautifully as them. And so I told mother, and she was quick to find me a teacher faring from Tintal who was willing to take me as a student. He was honored to work for a Le Fay, he said." It was good to finally hear your name said again with no trace of fear or disgust.
<<elseif $luteteacher == "2">>
"We'd go watch bards perform in town - especially the Avalonian ones- and I began longing to learn to play the lute as beautifully as them. I began searching the library for whatever music sheets or book on music theory I could find. However deteriorated the paper was, it didn't deter me. Mother realized I was serious about it and immediately sought me a teacher."
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>>"My mother. She's very fond of music. Every once in a while, my parents and I go to town to watch bards perform. My mother said she used to play the lute a lot while she was carrying me, and now both of us play, so my sister will love music too!"
<<if $lute == "yes">>
He returns the question. "What about you?"
"My mother has a beautiful singing voice, but otherwise she's not very musically inclined."
<div class="choice">[["\"Mother got me a lute teacher when I told her I wanted to play.\""|GawainQuestion1.1][$luteteacher to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I started teaching myself before mother got me a teacher.\""|GawainQuestion1.1][$luteteacher to "2"]]</div>
<<else>>
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>>
<</if>><<if $chapt3music == "1">>
"Really? You must show me what you came up with!"
<<elseif $chapt3music == "2">>
"Really? You must let me read!"
<<elseif $chapt3music == "3">>
A peculiar one, but somehow, it seems to fit the boy. "I think it's a fun idea, being a bard-knight," you tell him. "It's unique."
<<elseif $chapt3music == "4">>
Somehow, it seems to fit the boy. "I think it's unique," you tell him.
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>>"I know dozens of songs very well, and I'm accustomed to other tunes. I'm trying to write some songs of my own! Some days I'll be readying myself for training but a melody or verse will play in my head and I have to jot it down before it escapes me." He smiles sheepishly. "And that's how I'm tardy for training. Father always forgives me, but Lancelot thinks I should be more disciplined, like Galahad." His mood sullens for a moment, and his fingers pluck the strings half-heartedly in a discordant whisper. He then looks up, decisiveness lighting up his face. "But Galahad isn't trying to be a bard-knight like me!"
"A bard-knight?" you repeat, and Gawain takes it as an invitation, hastily putting his instrument back in its case and scuttling closer to you, brown eyes like dark honey - sweet and liquid, shinning with joy - pinning you.
"Yes! See, I'll become a knight of the Round Table and have lots of adventures that I'll write about, like the bards do! But I can get a first hand account of them, and write songs about myself and my friends.
<<if $lute == "yes">><div class="choice">[["I enjoy composing music, too," you say.|GawainQuestion2.1][$chapt3music to "1", $music to "yes", $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"I enjoy writing too.\""|GawainQuestion2.1][$chapt3music to "2", $write to "yes", $hobby_count to $hobby_count+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I think it's a fun idea, being a bard-knight.\""|GawainQuestion2.1][$chapt3music to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[It sounds peculiar, but you can't deny he's being unique.|GawainQuestion2.1][$chapt3music to "4"]]</div><<if $chapt3_act == "1" and $opinion_arthur == "hope">>
It fills you with hope, now that you know Arthur is willing to give you the same love he shows Gawain. You've yearned for so many years for this, for him to show you the affection you've craved and anguished for, and you only hope this is what the future with Arthur has in store for you.
"Arthur hasn't really been a," you pause as your mind immediately provides the word you want- //father//. "Uncle to me, but he said he'll start acting like one." You smile gently at Gawain. He can't even begin to understand just how much this means to you, but he smiles back.
<<elseif $chapt3_act == "1" and $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
You still hold out some cautious hope-yet it's a small, faint flame that's been in harsh winds.
"Arthur hasn't really been a," you pause as your mind immediately provides the word you want- //father//. "Uncle to me, but he said he'll start acting like one." You smile faintly at Gawain smiles back.
<<elseif $chapt3_act == "2">>
It's an awful feeling, envy, like a blot in a sheet, spreading like spilled ink, extending its slimy tendrils around you.
<<elseif $chapt3_act == "3">>
Your chest constricts with a familiar pang of pain, a claw that won't release you from its tormenting grip, tightening every time you're reminded Arthur abandoned you.
<<elseif $chapt3_act == "4">>
Your chest constricts with a familiar pang of pain, a claw that won't release you from its tormenting grip, tightening every time you're reminded Arthur abandoned you. But over the pain, something else rises, vicious with a taste of inflicting back that same pain.
<<elseif $chapt3_act == "5">>
And whatever he wishes to offer now will not make up for all the years of abandonment.
<<elseif $chapt3_act == "6">>
It's endearing and perhaps, given the chance of a child good enough for him not to abandon, he'd make a good father. But you don't need him.
<<elseif $chapt3_act == "7">>
You're happy for Gawain, and how could you not be, when his sweet smile is such an endearing sight? "Sounds like a good uncle."
"He is!"
<<elseif $chapt3_act == "8">>
What are you supposed to say to that smiling face? "Sounds like a good uncle," you say evenly.
"He is!"
<</if>>
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>>A warm smile curls his lips as equally warm memories must come to mind to fuel such happiness. "He's a great uncle! He's the King, so he's busy, but when he has time, he comes play with me. He likes to spar with both me and my father. Did you know Arthur was supposed to be a knight, like us?" You barely manage to nod before the boy ploughs on. "And learning the dragon tongue is a lot more fun with him than my teacher! My dragon teacher has me siting in the library." Gawain puffs out his cheeks at such a cruel punishment. "Arthur takes me to talk with far more dragons!"
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope" or $opinion_arthur == "anguish">><div class="choice">[["Arthur hasn't really been a," you pause as your mind immediately provides the word you want- father. "Uncle to me, but he said he'll start acting like one."|GawainQuestion3.1][$chapt3_act to "1"]]</div>
<<else>><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You envy Gawain.|GawainQuestion3.1][$chapt3_act to "2", $gawain_envy to $gawain_envy+3]]</div>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "indifference">><div class="choice">[[It hurts, even if you don't want anything to do with Arthur, knowing how he treats Gawain while he abandoned you.|GawainQuestion3.1][$chapt3_act to "3"]]</div>
<<else>><</if>>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hate">><div class="choice">[[It hurts, fueling your rage, knowing how he treats Gawain while he abandoned you.|GawainQuestion3.1][$chapt3_act to "4"]]</div>
<<else>><</if>>
<div class="choice">[[So he is capable of offering affection. Just not to you.|GawainQuestion3.1][$chapt3_act to "5"]]</div>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "indifference" >><div class="choice">[[It's sweet, you can't deny, but you don't seek that affection from Arthur.|GawainQuestion3.1][$chapt3_act to "6"]]</div>
<<else>><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Sounds like a good uncle," you say honestly.|GawainQuestion3.1][$chapt3_act to "7"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Sounds like a good uncle," you say, not knowing what else you could.|GawainQuestion3.1][$chapt3_act to "8"]]</div>"I love Camelot! I know the castle by heart from my nightly escapades with Nimue, and after training, Galahad and I go swimming in the lake. We stay at the castle, but sometimes my father gets a vacation and we go to my grandparents' house in the neighboring town, where father and Arthur grew up."
Your chest constricts. You think of Junia's fathers, the sweetest, warmest grandfatherly figures you have, and that you've only seen once a year, for your birthday, since you left Avalon. The other set of grandparents you know are Accolon's parents- and even though you're not blood-related, they're convinced, like everyone else, that you are. There's always been a reluctance from them- and their hesitant affection hurts all the same as the unspoken words, made so obvious in their eyes. You're not the grandchild they hoped for, yet they accepted you.
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>>You've heard a lot of things about Merlin from Morgana, and they paint a most dark, terrible imagine of a man, an ominous storm cloud that has rained ruin of the Le Fay. If he really is your enemy as mother says, perhaps it's best to learn as much as you can about him. After all, as Morgana ominously told you, Merlin has ways to gather information about you.
And Gawain, as not only a member of the royal family, but Nimue's friend too, must know Merlin.
"He's very nice! He showed me some of his magical devices in his study." So Merlin has tricked Gawain into liking him with magic.
<<if $attack == "wind">>
"By the way," Gawain looks nervous, his gaze flitting about. He nervously pulls at his sleeve as he chews carefully on his words. "I've heard my father speak to Lancelot after the tournament." He meets your gaze, pained. "I know he went too far. And I can't blame you for your reaction." He pauses, taking in a sharp breath. "I was just wondering. How did you..." His eyes widen, awestruck. "You pushed Lancelot back with your magic, didn't you? How did you do it?"
<div class="choice">[[''I'm a Le Fay. Controlling elements comes easy to us, so I used the wind as an outlet for my hurt and rage.''|Chapt3GawainWind][$chapt3_outlet to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I let my emotions control my magic," you say, regretting the impulsive outburst.|Chapt3GawainWind][$chapt3_outlet to "2", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I was hurt and angry, and so I let it loose. Serves him right." You clench your fists as you feel the anguished anger rise again.|Chapt3GawainWind][$chapt3_outlet to "3", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<<elseif $attack == "water">>
"By the way," Gawain looks nervous, his gaze flitting about. He nervously pulls at his sleeve as he chews carefully on his words. "I've heard my father speak to Lancelot after the tournament." He meets your gaze, pained. "I know he went too far. And I can't blame you for your reaction." He pauses, taking in a sharp breath. "I was just wondering. How did you..." His eyes widen, awestruck. "You summoned a wave over Lancelot back with your magic. How did you do it?"
<div class="choice">[[''I'm a Le Fay. Controlling elements comes easy to us, so I used the water as an outlet for my hurt and rage.''|Chapt3GawainWater][$chapt3_outlet to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I let my emotions control my magic," you say, regretting the impulsive outburst.|Chapt3GawainWater][$chapt3_outlet to "2", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I was hurt and angry, and so I let it loose. Serves him right." You clench your fists as you feel the anguished anger rise again.|Chapt3GawainWater][$chapt3_outlet to "3", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<<elseif $attack == "fire">>
"By the way," Gawain looks nervous, his gaze flitting about. He nervously pulls at his sleeve as he chews carefully on his words. "I've heard my father speak to Lancelot after the tournament." He meets your gaze, pained. "I know he went too far. And I can't blame you for your reaction." He pauses, taking in a sharp breath. "I was just wondering. How did you..." His eyes widen, awestruck. "You summoned fire with your magic. How did you do it?"
<div class="choice">[[''I'm a Le Fay. Controlling elements comes easy to us, so I used the fire as an outlet for my hurt and rage.''|Chapt3GawainFire][$chapt3_outlet to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I let my emotions control my magic," you say, regretting the impulsive outburst.|Chapt3GawainFire][$chapt3_outlet to "2", $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I was hurt and angry, and so I let it loose. Serves him right." You clench your fists as you feel the anguished anger rise again.|Chapt3GawainFire][$chapt3_outlet to "3", $emotional to $emotional-2]]</div>
<<else>>
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>>
<</if>>"On the night of the first feast, soon after you retired," you begin, and Gawain nods earnestly. "Galahad stayed behind and...and warned me not to come near you again."
A furrow creases the boy's usual sunny brow as he chews on his bottom lip. "Galahad, he...he doesn't have the best opinion of you. Father says it's because Lance doesn't like Morgana so he doesn't like you either which father says isn't fair." An encouraging smile curls his mouth upward. "But don't worry! I've been telling Galahad just how awesome you are."
"And is it working?"
His smile falters for a second, but he quickly patches it up. "We're getting there."
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>>"What's Galahad like with you? You two seem very close."
Gawain's whole face lights up, brown eyes crackling like fire. "We are! Best of friends." It's still baffling to think how the two boys - one a ray of summer sunshine, the other the bite of winter wind - could be friends, let alone such close friends. You'd think Galahad's spikes held everyone away. Perhaps Gawain could thaw the ice. Perhaps there wasn't anything to melt, and the cold glare is specially meant just for you.
"He's nice to me. He listens to me talk, encourages me when I need it. He's patient when we practice. He goes along with my games." He pauses. "I know he can seem standoffish." Gawain's words are subdued yet tender, eyes pleading with you to understand. "He's really nice once you get to know him. And I know I can always count on him."
You remember the gentle smile Galahad gave the boy on the first night of the feast, the way it softened the sharp blade gray of his eyes. You also remember the harsh warning, but you can't deny that underneath it hides love and concern for a friend.
<div class="choice">[[Tell Gawain that Galahad warned you to stay away from him.|GawainQuestions6.1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Don't tell him.|Chapt3GawainQuestions]]</div><<if $chapt3_serenade == "1">>
A smile brightens your expression as your heart beats a quick, excited rhythm.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "2">>
You quickly look away, cheeks heating.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "3">>
A smile brightens your expression as your heart beats a quick, excited rhythm. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "4">>
A smile brightens your expression as your heart beats a quick, excited rhythm. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "5">>
A smile brightens your expression as your heart beats a quick, excited rhythm. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "6">>
A smile brightens your expression as your heart beats a quick, excited rhythm. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "7">>
You quickly look away, cheeks heating. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "8">>
You quickly look away, cheeks heating.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "9">>
You quickly look away, cheeks heating. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<<elseif $chapt3_serenade == "10">>
You quickly look away, cheeks heating. You push away all other thoughts and focus on Gawain and the way he makes you feel.
<</if>>
As he finishes, you can't help but beam. "You really are talented."
Gawain flushes, grinning. "Thanks."
<<include Chapt3GawainQuestions>><<if $chapt3_fine == "1">>
"I'm fine and so is Accolon." You give him a weak smile, touched that he was worried. It's not everyday that you receive such sympathy and concern.
Gawain's beam returns, bright and warm. "I'm glad."
<<if $Gawain >= 58>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table, a mischievous grin on his lips. "I know what'll cheer you up! Remember I told you I play the lute? Do you want to sneak out so I could play to you?"
<<if $lute == "yes" and $told_lute is true>>
He adds, "We could duet!"
<<else>>
He adds, "I could even teach you a tune!"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You have to tell Morgana first.|Chapt3TellBeforeLeave][$sneak to "ask", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant-1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You'll tell Morgana you're retiring for the night.|Chapt3LieBeforeLeave][$sneak to "lie", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You're not telling Morgana.|Chapt3NoBeforeLeave][$sneak to "no", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't want to spend time with Gawain, but you don't want to be rude either."Sorry, I'm really tired."|Chapt3NoLeave][$sneak to "dontgopolite"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I'd rather not."|Chapt3NoLeave][$Gawain to $Gawain-5, $sneak to "dontgo"]]</div>
<<else>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table to the rhythm of the music.
[[Continue|Chapt3NoLeave]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_fine == "2">>
His genuine concern is a sentiment you don't often expect extended towards you, and only now you realize just how much you crave it, how much you need it. You collect each scrap of affection from the few people in Lothia willing to offer it and bask in its comfort, in the warmth it kindles in you. You feel tears gather in your eyes.
Gawain's eyes go wide, words spilling out in a panicked rush. "Are you crying? Please don't cry! Did I say something wrong?"
"No, no." You shake your head, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. "I'm just..." Overwhelmed? Overjoyed? "People don't usually worry about me," you say quietly.
Gawain frowns sympathetically. "I'm sure they do!" he says encouragingly. "Why wouldn't they?"
<<if $Gawain >= 58>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table, a mischievous grin on his lips. "I know what'll cheer you up! Remember I told you I play the lute? Do you want to sneak out so I could play to you?"
<<if $lute == "yes" and $told_lute is true>>
He adds, "We could duet!"
<<else>>
He adds, "I could even teach you a tune!"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You have to tell Morgana first.|Chapt3TellBeforeLeave][$sneak to "ask", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant-1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You'll tell Morgana you're retiring for the night.|Chapt3LieBeforeLeave][$sneak to "lie", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You're not telling Morgana.|Chapt3NoBeforeLeave][$sneak to "no", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't want to spend time with Gawain, but you don't want to be rude either."Sorry, I'm really tired."|Chapt3NoLeave][$sneak to "dontgopolite"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I'd rather not."|Chapt3NoLeave][$Gawain to $Gawain-5, $sneak to "dontgo"]]</div>
<<else>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table to the rhythm of the music.
[[Continue|Chapt3NoLeave]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_fine == "3">>
"Accolon's recovering well, but I'm not quite fine."
Today has been hard on you, concern for Accolon draining you and leaving you weary.
"Oh." Gawain makes a small discontent sound, then beams. "I can try to cheer you up!"
You smile faintly. "That's very sweet of you."
<<if $Gawain >= 58>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table, a mischievous grin on his lips. "I know what'll cheer you up! Remember I told you I play the lute? Do you want to sneak out so I could play to you?"
<<if $lute == "yes" and $told_lute is true>>
He adds, "We could duet!"
<<else>>
He adds, "I could even teach you a tune!"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You have to tell Morgana first.|Chapt3TellBeforeLeave][$sneak to "ask", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant-1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You'll tell Morgana you're retiring for the night.|Chapt3LieBeforeLeave][$sneak to "lie", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You're not telling Morgana.|Chapt3NoBeforeLeave][$sneak to "no", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't want to spend time with Gawain, but you don't want to be rude either."Sorry, I'm really tired."|Chapt3NoLeave][$sneak to "dontgopolite"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I'd rather not."|Chapt3NoLeave][$Gawain to $Gawain-5, $sneak to "dontgo"]]</div>
<<else>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table to the rhythm of the music.
[[Continue|Chapt3NoLeave]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_fine == "4">>
You stare at him, blinking slowly, his words echoing around your head but like a bird flying around a room without finding a place to perch, the words don't seem to sink in. People don't worry about you. Whenever pain befalls you, it's always punishment for you being a bastard, you heard them whisper. It's what you deserve. There's few people in Lothia who offer you sympathy.
And yet here is this boy, gazing at you with kind, worried eyes. Offering something so foreign, that you don't even know how to respond.
"You're worried about me?" you finally ask, still dazed.
"Of course I am!" he says earnestly.
You smile faintly. "Thank you. I'm fine…I think. Accolon is recovering well."
<<if $Gawain >= 58>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table, a mischievous grin on his lips. "I know what'll cheer you up! Remember I told you I play the lute? Do you want to sneak out so I could play to you?"
<<if $lute == "yes" and $told_lute is true>>
He adds, "We could duet!"
<<else>>
He adds, "I could even teach you a tune!"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You have to tell Morgana first.|Chapt3TellBeforeLeave][$sneak to "ask", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant-1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You'll tell Morgana you're retiring for the night.|Chapt3LieBeforeLeave][$sneak to "lie", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You're not telling Morgana.|Chapt3NoBeforeLeave][$sneak to "no", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't want to spend time with Gawain, but you don't want to be rude either."Sorry, I'm really tired."|Chapt3NoLeave][$sneak to "dontgopolite"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I'd rather not."|Chapt3NoLeave][$Gawain to $Gawain-5, $sneak to "dontgo"]]</div>
<<else>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table to the rhythm of the music.
[[Continue|Chapt3NoLeave]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_fine == "5">>
"We're both fine," you say politely, then pointedly focus your attention on the dishes in front of you. If he's so concerned for you, you hope he's going to understand your cue.
"I'm happy," he smiles, and you just nod and hum noncommitally. Your disinterest to engage seems to stem uncertainty in Gawain, and he finally turns around to watch the performing band.
<<if $Gawain >= 58>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table, a mischievous grin on his lips. "I know what'll cheer you up! Remember I told you I play the lute? Do you want to sneak out so I could play to you?"
<<if $lute == "yes" and $told_lute is true>>
He adds, "We could duet!"
<<else>>
He adds, "I could even teach you a tune!"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You have to tell Morgana first.|Chapt3TellBeforeLeave][$sneak to "ask", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant-1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You'll tell Morgana you're retiring for the night.|Chapt3LieBeforeLeave][$sneak to "lie", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gawain's really growing on you. "Let's go!" You're not telling Morgana.|Chapt3NoBeforeLeave][$sneak to "no", $Gawain to $Gawain+5, $Gawain_friend to $Gawain_friend+2, $met_callum to true, $defiant to $defiant+1, $Galahad to $Galahad+4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't want to spend time with Gawain, but you don't want to be rude either."Sorry, I'm really tired."|Chapt3NoLeave][$sneak to "dontgopolite"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["No, I'd rather not."|Chapt3NoLeave][$Gawain to $Gawain-5, $sneak to "dontgo"]]</div>
<<else>>
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table to the rhythm of the music.
[[Continue|Chapt3NoLeave]]
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt3_fine == "6">>
People don't worry about you. Whenever pain befalls you, it's always punishment for you being a bastard, you heard them whisper. It's what you deserve. There's few people in Lothia who offer you sympathy.
But you don't need it, and you certainly don't need Gawain's pity either.
"What do you care about it?" The coldness of your words catches Gawain like a wintry gale to the face.
"Well, I-I was just worried," he bites on his lower lip.
You scoff. "I don't need your concern."
Defeated and hurt, the boy turns away from you.
You look for something to eat, piling your plate as your stomach, suddenly catching whiff of the food, growls with hunger. As you do, Gawain drums his fingers on the table to the rhythm of the music.
[[Continue|Chapt3NoLeave]]
<</if>>Guinevere Hendrik, Queen of Camelot and Royal Consort of Arthur. The younger child of the Cornwallis Ducal family. Famous for her kindness and bravery, she's deemed a great fit for Arthur's compassionate rule. She has offered the kingdom no heir so far however, and people talk.
//Description//: Chestnut eyes and soft tresses in a matching shade that frame an even softer face of a rosy complexion. Her lips are ever so slightly upturned at the corners, rendering her visage always open and friendly.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]You have just the trick. It will be about as subtle as a gigantic dragon barging through the fair, but it'll be worth it. At least, you hope it will be worth the lecture you'll receive from Morgana, or worst, Lot. Turning toward the forge, you first need the blacksmith to leave so that no one gets hurt.
"Blacksmith!" you shout. "Come here!"
The man doesn't look happy but obliges. You take this opportunity to put your plan in motion. Raising both your arms dramatically, you will the forge's flames to rise - following your movements - the fire hissing and spitting as it does, like an angry volcano ready to erupt. You can feel the heat of the flames lick your face.
The blacksmith curses, and Gawain exclaims, "That's awesome!" You glance at him, and see the flames reflected in his brown eyes, stoking the awe in them.
In a swift movement, you bring your hands down and the fire calms down.
Luckily the blacksmith only glares at you, as if daring you to pull another stunt before shaking his head and getting back to work.
The people in the crowd, however, are staring. They're staring and whispering, and pointing. You drown them out, soaking instead Gawain's awe, a reaction you rarely get but realize, crave so much.
[[Continue|Chapt3Trick]]<<if $chapt3_opinion == "9">>
"I'm sure you're giving them something really fun to gossip about," he retorns, clenching the pen in his hand. "Do you enjoy all the funny stares?"
<<elseif $chapt3_opinion == "12">>
"Boo hoo, why don't you go directly to Lot?" The corner of his lips tug up cruelly. He looks so much like Morgana. "That's right, you never go to him. Can't stand his glare."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You're annoyed but keep your cool and spill his ink as retribution.|DragonLodge][ $chapt3_opinion to "14"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Angered, you spill his ink on a vindictive impulse.|DragonLodge][ $chapt3_opinion to "15", $calm to $calm-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're angry, but you calm yourself and leave.|DragonLodge][ $chapt3_opinion to "16", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're annoyed, but you leave.|DragonLodge][ $chapt3_opinion to "17"]]</div>You widen your eyes into cute round orbs. "It wasn't that reckless."
Morgana sighs but smiles. "Keep up that look and you'll get away with lots of things." Her smiles drops. "But not with me."
[[Continue|Chapter1.4]]Your eyes widen. "It wasn't that reckless."
Morgana appraises your expression for a long moment before sighing. "You really are not a good judge of danger."
[[Continue|Chapter1.4]]You look down, shuffling your feet. "I'm sorry," you mumble, cheeks heating.
You feel Morgana's gaze on you, but dare not glance up. "You are forgiven. But I'd rather you listened than made apologies."
[[Continue|Chapter1.4]]"It's not my fault!" you shout. "Scaly's doing the flying!"
Scaly winces and squeals in protest as you place the blame on them.
"First," Morgana says, lifting her index. "Don't raise your tone at me. Second," she raises her next finger, "You're a Pendragon. Your minds connect; if you don't want to fly somewhere, you can easily say it. And if the dragon doesn't listen, well, that's not a very nice friend to have."
[[Continue|Chapter1.4]]In progress
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]Lancelot du Lac, Champion Knight of the King and his close friend. Originally from Astolat, he was orphaned in Uther's war and sent to Avalon until Lady Evaine, his aunt, whisked him away to Camelot to become a squire. He's convinced of your villany and the threat you pose to Arthur and the kingdom.
//Description//: Tall and imposing, a vision in gilt: golden long hair and honeyed tan skin that constrast starkly with his cool, violet gray eyes.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]<<if $chapt3convolance == 1>>
Your chest constricts. In poisoning him, all Morgana did was perpetuate the vicious cycle of violence. "I'm sorry about what happened to Lancelot. How is he?" You genuinely feel bad for the man, despite him hurting Accolon.
Galahad takes in your expression, as if trying to gauge how sincere your sentiment is, his own face betraying no emotion.
<<if $Galahad > 20>>
Finally, he deems you honest enough to reply, "A little bit better."
<<else>>
"Why do you care?" he scoffs.
"I care," you say, with such determination that it gives him pause. Taking a deep breath, he expels his answer almost in a whisper, "He's a little bit better."
<</if>>
"So," you decide to change the subject to something lighter, "is it something you enjoy doing, or just part of your training?"
He traces his fingers gently over the dragon's scaly tail. "It's a crucial part of my training. But...I do enjoy it." There's a glimmer of a smile, but it fades before you can truly take it in.
<<elseif $chapt3convolance == 2>>
"How's your father?" You still believe Lancelot had it coming for attacking Accolon, but you can sympathize with Galahad. It hurts seeing your father figure hurt.
Galahad takes in your expression, as if trying to gauge how sincere your sentiment is, his own face betraying no emotion.
<<if $Galahad > 20>>
Finally, he deems you honest enough to reply, "A little bit better."
<<else>>
"Why do you care?" he scoffs.
"Because I understand you," you say meaningfully. His face twists for a lightning-quick flash.
Taking a deep breath, he expels his answer almost in a whisper, "He's a little bit better."
<</if>>
"So," you decide to change the subject to something lighter, "is it something you enjoy doing, or just part of your training?"
He traces his fingers gently over the dragon's scaly tail. "It's a crucial part of my training. But...I do enjoy it." There's a glimmer of a smile, but it fades before you can truly take it in.
<<elseif $chapt3convolance == 3>>
"So, is it something you enjoy doing, or just part of your training?" you ask.
He traces his fingers gently over his dragon's scaly tail. "It's a crucial part of my training. But...I do enjoy it." There's a glimmer of a smile, but it fades before you can truly take it in.
<</if>>
You seem to have got him talking, however, so you're eager to take advantage of the opportunity. "And is it only combat oriented, or do you learn healing too? I suppose you must meditate for hours, too."
He frowns, pushing a jagged rock away with the heel of his leather boot. It falls in the water with a dull splash. "Why are you asking so much?"
"Because I want to learn more about you. Or maybe you'd prefer small talk?" You cast your gaze towards the clear sky. "Talk about the weather. I think I overheard enough nobles to know how to make a properly dull conversation on it."
Galahad snorts, the sound amused rather than annoyed. You're both taken aback by it. Then your smile widens, while the boy avoids your eye and $dragon_name's tail brushes against your leg, encouragingly.
"I'm not much into small talk," Galahad admits. He's not frowning, but neither is he smiling. Still there's something just a little bit more open about him - the tension is his jaw gone, the line of his shoulders relaxed.
"See? Now I'm learning more about you."
It's only fair to now tell him more about yourself.
<<if $water_study == "yes" or $water_study == "sometimes">>
<div class="choice">[["\"I mostly learn healing. If I need to control water, I can simply draw on my own powers.\""|LancelotGallyConvo1][$chapt3gallymagic to 1, $water_type to "healing"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I mostly meditate, when I want to clear my mind and relax.\""|LancelotGallyConvo1][$chapt3gallymagic to 2, $water_type to "meditation"]]</div>
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'm not interested in practising it, personally, especially since I already have my own powers.\""|LancelotGallyConvo1][$chapt3gallymagic to 3]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt3gallymagic == 1>>
"I mostly learn healing. If I need to control water, I can simply draw on my own powers. And for this, I obviously meditate, too."
"I train in both."
<<elseif $chapt3gallymagic == 2>>
"I mostly meditate, when I want to clear my mind and relax."
"I meditate, too. For clarity." He stretches a leg, then continues, "And train both in healing and combat."
<<elseif $chapt3gallymagic == 3>>
"I'm not interested in practising it, personally, especially since I already have my own powers."
He shifts, interest piqued. "I thought all Le Fay were followers of the Lady of the Lake."
"Well, guess I'm the exception," you throw out your arms. "I sure do fight a lot on it with mother."
<</if>>
You wait, but he doesn't add anything.
<<include Chapt3GallyFriendConvo>><<if $chapt3convolance == "1">>
Your chest constricts. All Morgana did was perpetuate the vicious cycle of violence, by poisoning him. "I'm sorry about what happened to Lancelot. How is he?" You genuinly feel bad for him, despite him hurting Accolon.
Galahad takes in your expression, as if trying to gauge out how sincere your sentiment is, his own face betraying no emotion.
<<if $Galahad > 20>>
Finally, he deems to reply, "A little bit better."
<<else>>
"What do you care?" he scoffs.
"I care," you say, with such determination that it gives him pause. Taking a deep breath, he expels his answer almost in a whisper, "He's a little bit better."
<</if>>
"So," you decide to change the subject to something lighter, "is it something you enjoy doing, or just part of your training?"
He traces his fingers gently over the dragon's scaly tail. "It's a crucial part of my training. But...I do enjoy it." There's a glimmer of a smile, but it fades before you can truly take it in.
<<elseif $chapt3convolance == "2">>
"How's your father?" You still believe Lancelot had it coming for attacking Accolon, but you can sympathize with Galahad. It hurts seeing your father figure hurt.
Galahad takes in your expression, as if trying to gauge out how sincere your sentiment is, his own face betraying no emotion.
<<if $Galahad > 20>>
Finally, he deems to reply, "A little bit better."
<<else>>
"What do you care?" he scoffs.
"Because I understand you," you say meaningfully. His face twists for a lightning-quick flash.
Taking a deep breath, he expels his answer almost in a whisper, "He's a little bit better."
<</if>>
"So," you decide to change the subject to something lighter, "is it something you enjoy doing, or just part of your training?"
He traces his fingers gently over the dragon's scaly tail. "It's a crucial part of my training. But...I do enjoy it." There's a glimmer of a smile, but it fades before you can truly take it in.
<<elseif $chapt3convolance == "3">>
"So, is it something you enjoy doing, or just part of your training?" you ask.
He traces his fingers gently over his dragon's scaly tail. "It's a crucial part of my training. But...I do enjoy it." There's a glimmer of a smile, but it fades before you can truly take it in.
<</if>>
It seems you've managed to thaw that coldness of his, if only a little bit.
<<include Chapt3GallyCharmConvo>><<if $chapt3_sick == "1">>
You bring your hand to your mouth as bile coats your tongue, quickly looking away from the disgusting mess.
<<elseif $chapt3_sick == "2">>
Laughter escapes you, loud enough to attract his attention. Your gazes meet for a brief moment, anger flashing in his hazy eyes.
<<elseif $chapt3_sick == "3">>
Trying to soothe a guilty conscience, perhaps?
<<elseif $chapt3_sick == "4">>
No matter what he's done to you or Accolon, pity and worry flood you with overwhelming intensity. To see him in such a sorry state brings you no pleasure.
<<elseif $chapt3_sick == "5">>
Nausea overwhelms you, like a punch to the gut that brings a sour taste of bile in your mouth. But as you rip your gaze away from the vile sight, Lancelot's pained look is seared in your memory, and queasiness shifts to pity and worry for the man. To see him in such a sorry state brings you no pleasure.
<<elseif $chapt3_sick == "6">>
You halt as if strong roots have sprouted out of the flagstone and fixed you in place. Should you call your help? Even if you wanted to, your can't find your voice, lodged somewhere in your tense frame as stare on at the pitiful, foul display.
<<elseif $chapt3_sick == "7">>
Pity and worry flood you at the sight. His damp face is warped by pain as he gasps for air like a drowning man. The his great frame rattles again at another outpour of vile sick that stains his tunic. And yet somewhere in a dark corner of yourself, you relish seeing him brought to his knees, surrounded by his own vomit. Suffering as Accolon has suffered at his hands.
<</if>>
A crowd is beginning to form, and you see Galahad, dragging a confused Gawain behind him, elbowing his way to Lancelot. Morgana is calmly ordering servants around to clean the mess and help a wobbling Lancelot.
"Healer! We need a healer!" Arthur frantically calls out, whatever vexation he had replaced with worry.
Robin is quick to arrive, trailing after the servants carrying Lancelot- it's an arduous journey across the feast hall, as every few steps Lancelot lurches forward another retch. Arthur follows, but Lancelot's wife, Elena, hesitates at the table, her gaze taking in Lancelot's empty plate and cup with apprehensive eyes. And that's when Morgana puts a hand on her arm, muttering something to which the red-haired woman nods. She calls to Galahad who is being comforted by a worried yet gentle Gawain, and slowly, along with Kay and his wife, they make their way out of the hall.
<div class="choice">[[You'll follow but wait for Morgana to be alone to approach her.|LancelotSick1][$chapt3_retribution to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nothing can outdo this drama for tonight, so you decide to head to bed.|LancelotSick1][$chapt3_retribution to "2"]]</div><<if $chapt3_retribution == "1">>
You weave through the gossiping crowd, wild conjectures as to Lancelot's sickness already being tossed around.
//Poison?// The word is whispered or exclaimed in horror and intrigue.
You stop in the doorway of the hall, catching the Camelot party bidding Morgana goodnight and wait for them to properly depart before you procede. Your mother quirks an eyebrow at you, expectantly.
You find yourself alone in the corridor with Morgana, silence punctured by the slowly fading steps. A question hangs heavily between you two, though you wonder, need you even ask? Lancelot falls mysteriously ill after leaving Accolon in agony and now he's the one suffering in well deserved retribution.
<div class="choice">[["You did this, didn't you?" you whisper, already knowing the answer.|LancelotSick2][$chapt3_retribution1 to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Is that what really happened? Food sickness or something else?" You look at her pointedly.|LancelotSick2][$chapt3_retribution1 to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Serves Lancelot right for what he did to Accolon. Was it you, or did fate smile upon us?\""|LancelotSick2][$chapt3_retribution1 to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You already know Morgana did this. No need to linger. You're heading to bed.|LancelotSick2][$chapt3_retribution1 to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Lancelot deserved worse for what he did to Accolon.\""|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["It's just a harmless enough poison, you didn't..." you say nervously.|Chapt3Hall1.2][$chapt3_poison to "6"]]</div>
<<else>>
You weave through the gossiping crowd, wild conjectures as to Lancelot's sickness already being tossed around.
//Poison?// The word is whispered or exclaimed in horror and intrigue.
Lancelot falls mysteriously ill after leaving Accolon in agony and now he's the one suffering in well deserved retribution. One could blame it on the food or wine. But you know better. You know Morgana.
Morgana is rather fond of poison, though you doubt she's go as far as to attempt on Lancelot what she did to the Duke of Tintal. But to make him hurt? She's got the potion for it.
[[The next morning|Chapt3CheckAccolon]]
<</if>><<if $chapt3_retribution1 == "1">>
Morgana gazes at you, the compassionate mask from before discarded. The corner of her mouth tugs up. "Revenge really is sweet."
<<elseif $chapt3_retribution1 == "2">>
"Retribution," Morgana simply says, something fiery in her eyes as she meets your gaze steadfastly.
<<elseif $chapt3_retribution1 == "3">>
Morgana breaks into a harsh laugh. "I don't like leaving things into the hands of fate, Mordred." Her expression darkens. "Fate has never been on my side."
<<elseif $chapt3_retribution1 == "4">>
"Goodnight," you curtly say and hear Morgana echo it gently.
<<elseif $chapt3_poison == "5">>
"It was just a harmless enough poison, right?" you ask, nervousness bubbling inside you. "You didn't...you know..." You let the sentence float in the air, clearly read in your meaningful stare.
Morgana scoffs lightly. "Of course not. I have more sense than Lancelot."
<</if>>
[[The next morning|Chapt3CheckAccolon]]<<if $Gawain >= 50>>
"I'd say rather well." A smile blooms on your lips at the memory as fresh and warm and pleasant as bread out the oven. "Gawain was very happy to meet me which is so strange."
"That's good!" Gareth says in the manner of one congratulating you on a test well-done, sounding more parental than brotherly, reminding you of Accolon - speaking as if you're finally getting a good mark in making friends.
<<elseif $Gawain < 50>>
"Better than usual." Regardless of personal things, you must admit it's not the kind of interaction you're used to. "Gawain was very happy to meet me which is so strange. Though I wasn't as excited."
Gareth nods and smiles indulgently. "Well, perhaps you'll have a chance to become friends over the course of the tournament?" When you shrug, not all that interested in the prospect. he adds: "At least it's a nice change of pace, isn't it?"
<</if>>
"But then along came Galahad, with the reaction I'm accustomed to. He didn't say anything he just...stared menacingly."
Gareth's brow puckers. "I've heard he's much like his father, Lancelot. And Lancelot doesn't have the best opinion of you."
<div class="choice">[["You mean he hates my guts?" you supply.|Chapt2Gareth1.1][$defiant to $defiant+2, $chapt3_opinion to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just wish they gave me a chance." You sigh.|Chapt2Gareth1.1][$chapt3_opinion to "2"]]</div>"Disastrously, though that's not surprising." You made sure it was a very heated encounter. Sizzling even. Sparks flew. Literally.
"What happened? Don't tell me he picked on you. I heard he's a very nice boy." Gareth looks concerned, though the sentiment is misplaced.
"He was really excited to meet me, but I didn't reciprocate," you say and wrinkle your nose. "He wanted me to play him a trick! So I did."
"Mordred..." Gareth's voice is wary, and he's retreating back in his chair. "What did you do?"
"Played a harmless trick," you insist, irked to see the way he's pulling back. You cross your arms. "He was annoying."
"That isn't an excuse to be mean!" Gareth retorts, his voice breaking. He's standing straighter. His voice would demand authority like Lot's, had it not been so high pitched. It sounds like a laughable parody of the Duke's. You bite back your laughter, but Gareth seems even more offended. "Mordred, no one's going to like you if you act like that."
The laughter abruptly subsides, the humor snuffed as annoyance sparks. "Well maybe I don't want them to like me." You get up. The chair's legs skid screechingly on the dark wood. "I have to go."
"Mordred, wait-" But you're already slamming shut the door, storming off down the corridors, your head swarming with his words, not really looking where you're going but heading for the dragons' lodge.
[[Continue|DragonLodge]]<<silently>><<set $met_callum to true>><</silently>>
<<if $chapt3_call == "1">>
"Callum?" Gawain looks offended at any insinuation otherwise. "They're the sweetest!" It's somewhat reassuring - granted, it does come from Galahad's best friend.
<<elseif $chapt3_call == "2">>
"Callum?" Gawain blinks, surprised. "They're the sweetest!" He pauses, biting his lip, troubled. "I know Galahad can come off a little bit rude, but he's nice once you get to know him." He gives you a reassuring smile, and you're not quite sure if his assessment of the dragon is as accurate as you hoped.
<<elseif $chapt3_call == "3">>
You shake off the insidious feeling.
<</if>>
"The other two dragons are partners of Percival and Bronwyn," Gawain goes on, words rushing out as fast as he walks, and you're soon exiting the castle and making your way down the hill. "They're the other two squires that came with us from Camelot. You saw them, they're almost always together. Bronwyn's fifteen - she's the girl with short brown hair. You saw her around, right? Percival's a bit younger, he's fourteen and he's not from Camelot but he came there when he became a squire."
You remember them both: from the first night of the feast, when Arthur and the Camelot knights came forward to greet Lot, and from various quick glimpses caught in the flurry under the pavilion during trials.
"I haven't seen you around them a lot," you say.
"No, they've been with Tristan, a squire from Astolat and Isolde." He drums his fingers on his case in an erratic tune. "Do you know them?"
You shake your head. Truth be told, the only one who has approached you during this tournament has been Gawain, which is a lot more than you expected.
"Won't the dragons mind?" you ask. You can't imagine all of them will be thrilled by the impromptu concert.
"No!" Gawain sunnily replies. "They're used to it. I've snuck out of the castle to sing in the lodge in Camelot, too. Dragons are a lovely crowd. Some of them even sang with me. Besides, aren't most of them at their own feast?"
In the silvery moonlight, the tournament ground looks eerily forsaken, and with no wind tonight, the melody Gawain starts to hum travels through air, lonely yet lovely, lending the whole scene a magical touch.
The scenery reminds you of Morgana's stories of the fair folk- elusive creatures who look almost human, who only ever come out in moments where darkness reigns and shadows can hide them. Whoever stumbles upon them is either fortunate or unlucky, depending on their whim, a tricky gamble few are willing to take, and so they don't stray from the marked roads, hoping the fae don't stray from their own land, and praying to the ones who lend their power.
As you reach the lodge, Gawain whispers to you to watch out for lodge keepers that could attempt to stop your evening adventure. He seems to take a lot of joy in stealthily approaching the doors and peering inside, signaling you to follow him. Curiosity rustles throughout the lodge, your arrival like a gust of wind rustling leaves for a moment before the excitement settles. Gawain strides down between the doors, tapping his case thoughtfully as he looks around. He seems to give up on his search though and instead calls out, "Ariawen?"
Bustle from a nearby chamber is immediately followed by an orange scaled dragon head peeking out.
"There you are!" Gawain turns to you. "I always forget the door. Come on," he beckons you towards the room.
You enter and find four pairs of curious eyes considering you and Gawain- the closest pair being a brown one, belonging to the orange dragon. They're about as big as $dragon_name, and when they push their snoot against Gawain lovingly, the boy stumbles giggling. He rubs his cheek against their head before pulling back.
"Ariawen, meet Mordred," he introduces you in the dragon tongue, rather fluently. He grins at you. "My new friend." Before you can say anything, the dragon assaults you with an enthusiasm only rivaled by their companion. Ariawen doesn't relent until you pat their head, and they finally pull back, allowing Gawain to continue with the introductions. "These two are Otto and Keri," he switches to your language as he points at the two dragons, slightly larger than Ariawen, who have approached you. "Callum?" He calls out to the dragon hovering behind the others, and you catch a glimpse of white scales.
Of all the expressions you expected Galahad's partner to greet you with, the one you're gazing at now was not one of them.
Whereas Galahad's gray gaze has been as cold and biting as winter, as inviting as a door slammed in your face and as sharp as a blade, Callum's light blue eyes are a cloudless summer sky, a clear pool of water, soft and uncertain, almost nervous. They're approaching slowly, as if they could do something wrong to scare you away.
This is Galahad's dragon? This kind, shy creature is his companion?
Gawain offers Callum an encouraging smile.
<div class="choice">[["Hello to you all," you greet them in their tongue.|LodgeGawain1][$chapt3_tongue to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Hello," you say shyly.|LodgeGawain1][$chapt3_tongue to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Just smile at them all.|LodgeGawain1][$chapt3_tongue to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're still surprised by Callum. How has he not attacked or glared at you yet? Did he not hear your name?|LodgeGawain1][$chapt3_tongue to "4"]]</div><<if $chapt3_tongue == "1">>
Gawain's eyes widen. "You speak very well!" It's no extraordinary feat for a Pendragon, but you smile at him nonetheless.
<<elseif $chapt3_tongue == "2">>
Ariawen nudges you affectionately.
<<elseif $chapt3_tongue == "3">>
Ariawen gives you a dragon smile. Dragons can't quite smile- but there is that silly, cute expression they sometimes make in an attempt to smile, when they open their mouths.
<<elseif $chapt3_tongue == "4">>
You stare at him quizzically, waiting for your name to connect, but all they do is look at you with those guileless blue eyes.
<</if>>
Gawain sits down crossed legged, opening his case.
<<if $lute == "yes" and $told_lute is true>>
You follow, taking out your own lute.
<<else>>
You follow, watching him.
<</if>>
"But you really do speak the dragon tongue well," you note.
Gawain raises his lute, gazing fondly at it and tracing the colorful pattern on it. "Thanks! Arthur's teaching me. He's the best teacher, being a Pendragon."
It's like a dagger, plunging deep in an old wound that just won't heal. Junia's words come back to you, from that sunny, lazy day in the library, talking about Arthur. How he showers his adoptive nephew with affection, yet spared none for you.
<<if $opinion_arthur == "father" or $opinion_arthur == "uncle">>
But now he'll make up for it.
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">>
And now he's throwing you crumbs of love, but is that enough?
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate" or $opinion_arthur == "indifference">>
And you don't want his affection.
<</if>>
<<if $lute == "no" or $lute == "unknown">>
[[Continue|GawainPlays1]]
<<elseif $lute == "yes" and $told_lute is false>>
[[Continue|GawainPlays1]]
<<else>>
[[Continue|GawainDuet]]
<</if>>Lot Leudonus of Lothia. Used to be King of the land prior to his surrender to Uther Pendragon. Morgana's husband who was once in love with the demure mask she put on. Now he loathes the both of you, yet continues to hold in his affection the only child she's given him, your half-brother Gareth.
//Description//: Broad and tall, built like a warrior, with a worn out face and dark eyes and hair. Lips always drawn taut in a humorless line.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]You focus your attention on another intrigue-filled group- Lot's table. You slink as close as you can without catching their gazes.
Your mother is seated between Lot and Arthur. She looks calmer than you expected, almost serene, leaning back in her high-backed seat, goblet in hand, her gaze scanning over the hall with mild interest. Everyone else at the table seems entangled in a web of animosity, the dark clouds cast over them nimbly avoiding Morgana.
Trouble is etched tautly on Arthur's brow, fists clenched on the table. Lot's gaze is adrift, lost like a ship at sea - you imagine Morgana must have had some words with him about his sadistic glee at the tournament. And then there's Arthur's knightly entourage, with the Champion himself seated next to the king, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but there, jaw clenched hard as he stabs at the dessert, as if the strudel itself has offended him and he's reclaiming honor in a duel.
Next to him is a red haired woman, leaning forward in her seat to converse with the woman opposite her who, you realize as you catch a glimpse of her fingers intertwined with Kay's, is Gawain's mother.
Sparing a closer look at Lancelot, you notice he doesn't seem to be feeling well. Beads of sweat shinning on his forehead in the candle light, gaze unfocused, and a hand has traveled to his stomach. His brow furrows and he bows his head. You barely catch his lips moving between strands of golden hair. His wife turns to him, concerned. He's most likely excusing himself, as he next pushes his chair back and brusquely gets up.
And then chaos unleashes.
Doubling over, the knight lets out a loud groan followed by an outpour of what looks like tonight's dinner, spilling all over the flagstones and his boots. The people at the table stand up quickly, and his wife is the first to reach him, a comforting hand on his back as he remains hunched, hands on his knees, hovering over the mess.
<div class="choice">[[You scrunch up your nose. You'll be sick.|LancelotSick][$chapt3_sick to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You can't hold back your laughter. Oh, isn't this just wonderful retribution for what he did today?|LancelotSick][$chapt3_sick to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Someone indulged in the wine.|LancelotSick][$chapt3_sick to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[The sight fills you with pity and worry.|LancelotSick][$chapt3_sick to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nausea overwhelms you, accompannied by worry.|LancelotSick][$chapt3_sick to "5"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're rooted in place, too stunned to move. Whatever is happening to Lancelot? Should you call for help?|LancelotSick][$chapt3_sick to "6"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You halt, caught between overwhelming pity and a wicked, guilty sliver of satisfaction at see him like this.|LancelotSick][$chapt3_sick to "7"]]</div>You've been on the road for three days, and you can't wait to arrive to Lothia. The first day was exciting- you took a flying chariot atop a big dragon, and the sights were enough to keep your interest for a while. The second day, Morgana has done her best to entertain you with stories of Lothia. The third day, she was just as worn out as you.
"How long till we get to Lothia?" you whine, looking at the endless sea of trees out the window.
Your mother's patience is hanging by a thread, whose resistance you enjoy testing. She calmly replies, "Any moment, dear."
You frown. "That's what you said a few minutes ago, too."
She sighs and snaps her magic book shut.
She didn't even let you try to communicate with the dragon. She said it's forbidden to try to talk to dragons outside Avalon, except for the one you'll bond with. Which is no fun, but no amount of protesting changed her mind.
You lean out the window, hoping to spot civilization.
You see something that doesn't look like a tree. And indeed, it's a tower. "Mom! There's a castle!"
Morgana smiles in relief. "We're here."
You look out the window again. Above the trees, on a hill in the distance, there's a stone castle with pointy red rooftops and small windows. Soon, the forest gives way to a town, cottages and people like ants.
The dragon lands on a green plain near the castle, where people are expecting you to take your luggage and lead you to the castle.
At the forefront is someone familiar, who greets you with a warm smile on his face. The man is not especially tall, but stands straight; he's got short ginger hair and a beard, and a friendly, kind face.
"Accolon!" you shout, running into his arms. The man catches you and picks you up with ease.
"I've missed you, little one." He laughs. He looks over your shoulder at Morgana, and his smile turns softer. "Lady Morgana."
"Sir Accolon." She smiles back, and they stand like that for a moment, holding each other's gaze.
"I came on a dragon!" you exclaim, breaking their trance.
Accolon grins at you. "Did you like it?"
"It was fun."
He puts you down and extends a hand to your mother. "A carriage is awaiting. If I may?"
Morgana takes his hand, and taking advantage of the proximity, whispers, "I've missed you, Accolon."
It's a short ride to the castle, and you enter through a steel gate into an inner yard unlike the one in Tintal - and smaller. Balconies round the facade, painted white, wooden beams sustaining their roofs. There's a small well in the middle, with wild animals carved into the stone.
You hear steps, and turn to see a man and boy around your age approach. The man is tall and broad, built like a warrior with a worn out face and dark eyes. His lips are in a humorless line, his gaze cautious and cool, short dark hair matching his eyes. The boy next to him resembles him much, barring the hardness. He has his hair and eyes, but Morgana's shapes.
"Dear husband," Morgana calls out, in that sweet voice that holds no genuine emotion. Her gaze falls on the boy, however, and she smiles genuinely. "Gareth." She throws out her arms and walks towards him.
The boy doesn't move. Morgana embraces him, and he hesitantly returns her hug. She pulls back and cups his face. "I missed you, darling." The boy seems to soften at the words, smiling and hugging her back. Lot looks at them with something close to disgust.
"You should have visited more," the man says harhsly.
"I visited as much as I could." Her tone, gentle with the boy, is now sharp as she addresses his father. "I had another child to raise. And you refused to let Gareth come to Avalon."
At the words, Lot's gaze falls on you, the other child. Not his child.
<div class="choice">[[Defiantly raise your chin.|Lothia2][$chapt2lot1 to "1", $defiant to $defiant+2, $confident to $confident+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Cower, gripping Accolon's hand.|Lothia2][$chapt2lot1 to "2", $defiant to $defiant-2, $confident to $confident-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Meet his gaze, bored.|Lothia2][$chapt2lot1 to "3", $defiant to $defiant+2, $confident to $confident+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile shyly.|Lothia2][$chapt2lot1 to "4", $affable to $affable+1, $confident to $confident-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile winningly.|Lothia2][$chapt2lot1 to "5", $affable to $affable+2, $confident to $confident+2]]</div>Then they offer you their given, draconic name, made up of lilting, rustling sounds.
$dragon_name, their chosen //human// name, the one Accolon has used when talking about them. Many of the dragons working alongside humans have taken on, atop the name given in their own draconic tongue, a human appellation; similarly, humans have adopted //dragon// names. It's supposed to aid both sides in better addressing each other, Accolon says.
<<if $dragon_type == "bold">>
$dragon_name inclines their head, at an angle not too deep but not too shallow either; a draconic greeting, a friendly nod for an equal, a future companion. Then, taking a step closer to you, they raise a front talon, claws to the side. They glance at you meaningfully, and wait. They want you to shake!
With a smile, you cross the distance and meet them halfway, taking the proffered hand and giving it a nice shake, the way you've seen adults greeting each other in Avalon.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "friendly">>
$dragon_name bobs their head in a friendly, enthusiastic nod. Then, stepping closer to you, they incline their head, and stay in that position. It's not a bow, but an invitation. They want to bump heads with you, a more affectionate form of draconic meeting - the longer the touch, the deeper the connection. Before you left, Scaly too pressed their forehead to yours and you stayed like that for a few silent, gentle moments.
You cross the distance and softly bump your head against theirs. When $dragon_name looks up, their maw is open in a grin.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "shy">>
$dragon_name offers you a slow, deep nod - it's the draconic way of greeting, but it feels more polite than warranted. Scaly always used to give you quick nods, or even bump their forehead against yours. $dragon_name isn't meeting your gaze either, eyes fastened on the grass as if searching for something in it. You take not of their tail too, tightly tucked against their body. They're nervous.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "fierce">>
$dragon_name sizes you up as if you were foe, not friend; whatever conclusion they reach after their assessment, it doesn't seem too kind. They offer you a quick, marginally polite nod. Next to them, Sera clicks their tongue and gently touches their side, prodding them to be nicer. $dragon_name keeps their head stubbornly high, meeting your gaze head-on.
<</if>>
"I'm Mordred. Nice to meet you, $dragon_name", you say in your own tongue, looking into their...
<div class="choice">[[Amber eyes.|Lothia12][$dragon_eyes to "amber"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Blue eyes.|Lothia12][$dragon_eyes to "blue"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Green eyes.|Lothia12][$dragon_eyes to "green"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Brown eyes.|Lothia12][$dragon_eyes to "brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Black eyes.|Lothia12][$dragon_eyes to "black"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Red eyes.|Lothia12][$dragon_eyes to "red"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Purple eyes.|Lothia12][$dragon_eyes to "purple"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gray eyes.|Lothia12][$dragon_eyes to "gray"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Yellow eyes.|Lothia12][$dragon_eyes to "yellow"]]</div>They have $dragon_eyes eyes, just like Corra, and a body covered in gleaming...
<div class="choice">[[Orange scales.|Lothia13][$scales to "orange"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Blue scales.|Lothia13][$scales to "blue"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Green scales.|Lothia13][$scales to "green"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Brown scales.|Lothia13][$scales to "brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Black scales.|Lothia13][$scales to "black"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Red scales.|Lothia13][$scales to "red"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Purple scales.|Lothia13][$scales to "purple"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Gray scales.|Lothia13][$scales to "gray"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Yellow scales.|Lothia13][$scales to "yellow"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[White scales.|Lothia13][$scales to "white"]]</div>Their $scales glint where the bright morning sun hits them just right. $dragon_name, despite being around your age, is tall enough for you to have to crane your neck to meet their gaze.
<div class="choice">[[They have no horns, their head smooth.|Lothia14][$horns to "no"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Like Sera, they have no horns, just dagged ridging starting from above their eyes, going all the way to the tip of their tail.|Lothia14][$horns to "ridges"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're even taller with the their long, tightly twisted, corkscrew horns like Corra's.|Lothia14][$horns to "corkscrew"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're even taller with the their long, spiraling horns. They twist once, twice, ending in sharp tips pointing backwards.|Lothia14][$horns to "twisty"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're even taller with their horns - short, curling backwards.|Lothia14][$horns to "short"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're even taller with their horns, which curl around the sides of their face.|Lothia14][$horns to "ram"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're even taller with their horns, which curve upwards then swoop downwards towards pointy end in one large crescent.|Lothia14][$horns to "crescent"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They're even taller with their horns, which branch out like the boughs of a tree.|Lothia14][$horns to "stag"]]</div>Accolon rests a hand on your shoulder and tells you to go talk and play together; across from you, Corra nuzzles $dragon_name's snout and urges them to do the same.
<<if $dragon_type == "bold">>
$dragon_name falls comfortably into step with you. They tilt their head towards you, an invitation to talk.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "friendly">>
They don't need to be told twice. With a quick nod your way, $dragon_name bounds away, making you run to catch up.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "shy">>
$dragon_name ducks their head and falls into step with you, walking a distance away and keeping their gaze trained on the ground.
<<elseif $dragon_type == "fierce">>
$dragon_name hesistates one stubborn moment before falling into step with you. They tilt their head your way, a question and a challenge in their eye: are you truly up to be partners?
<</if>>
From today on, the two of you are expected to become not only friends, but equals who can be trusted with the other's life. It's $dragon_name who, like their parents -like so few people in your life, in the Kingdom - knows the truth of your nature. A rare and precious thing, after your mother has made it clear how careful you must otherwise be. It's $dragon_name with whom you'll be allowed to be yourself, fully and truly.
After all, given your Pendragon blood, your bond will run deeper than any other bond could. So you figure you must start it all on the right foot.
<<if $dragon_type == "bold">>
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," $dragon_name says, "Accolon talked about you."
"He talked about you too."
The corners of their mouth pull back in a draconic imitation of a smile. "Good things I hope." You nod and they go on, "I can't wait for us to start training together. We'll make a formidable pair, I'm sure." They lean in, drop their voice and wink. "Especially given the bond we'll share."
<div class="choice">[[Share their enthusiasm. "I can't wait either. So let's start getting to know each other!"|BoldSmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You don't know how to respond to that. You're at a loss for words.|BoldSmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You appreciate their optimism, but what if they're wrong, and you're not right for each other?|BoldSmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You get overwhelmed by a sudden wave of melancholy.|BoldSmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $dragon_type == "friendly">>
$dragon_name walks at a canter by your side, all boundless excitement, maw open in a draconic imitation of a smile.
<div class="choice">[[Start talking! "Let's name three things we both love!"|FriendlySmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Their friendliness takes you aback, you aren't sure where to begin. |FriendlySmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[They seem nice, but you can't help but be nervous. What if you're not right for each other? |FriendlySmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're hit by a sudden wave of melancholy |FriendlySmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $dragon_type == "shy">>
You walk in silence for a while. $dragon_name doesn't seem intent on getting the conversation started and stands far enough from you that you'd think you just happen to be going in the same direction instead of walking together. They keep their tail tucked close to their body and head low, their step measured and careful.
<div class="choice">[[Start talking! "Let's name three things we both love!"|ShySmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're just as quiet as they are, you aren't sure where to begin. |ShySmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're nervous. What if you're not right for each other? |ShySmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're hit by a sudden wave of melancholy |ShySmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $dragon_type == "fierce">>
Before you can think of anything to say, $dragon_name breaks the silence.
"I know why our parents chose for us to be partnered up," they say with impudent confidence, "and it's not because we're oh so similar or compatible or whatever else they told you. It was //convenient//." It rolls of their tongue with the smugness of not only having learned an adult word, but adult knowledge too.
"But convenient is good, isn't it?"
$dragon_name turns up their snout and huffs. "We'll see."
<div class="choice">[[Try to bond. "Let's name three things we both love!"|FierceSmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Cross your arms. "Well, you're stuck with me so we might as well try."|FierceSmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You sulk. This is going terribly. |FierceSmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Tears sting your eyes. This is going terribly. |FierceSmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You frown. "It won't be convenient if you act like this."|FierceSmallTalk][$chapt1_small_talk to 5]]</div>
<</if>><<if $chapt2lot1 == "1">>
In a defiant motion, you thrust forward your chin, being as intimidating as your small self can be. He scoffs, frowning.
<<elseif $chapt2lot1 == "2">>
The intensity of his scrutiny makes you reach for Accolon's hand, who gives you a reassuring squeeze. Lot frowns.
<<elseif $chapt2lot1 == "3">>
You don't care for his scrutiny, or opinion. He raises his brow.
<<elseif $chapt2lot1 == "4">>
You smile, a small gesture to win his favour. A failed attempt, by the scoff he gives you.
<<elseif $chapt2lot1 == "5">>
You smile charmingly, but he scoffs.
<</if>>
Morgana gets up and beckons you to her. "Mordred, this is your father, Lord Lot, and your brother, Gareth." She pushes you in front of her, gripping your shoulders.
Lot only inclines his head, but Gareth approaches, a friendly smile on his face. "Hello."
You smile back, and Lot steps in, the display of friendliness asking for an intervention. "I believe Morgana and Mordred will want to settle in. Accolon, I trust you can show them to their chambers." He pulls Gareth away from you, glancing at you from over his shoulder with a look you're starting to grow accustomed to.
Loathing.
Its staggering intensity overwhelms you. You can't quite understand how people can hate you, without even knowing you.
Accolon leads you up the stairs to the balconies. He looks around and pulls the both of you into an alcove. There, shielded, he wraps his arms around Morgana's waist and kisses her. You look away, flushing. When they pull back, Morgana cups his face and whispers, "I love you."
Love.
Love is when Morgana kisses your forehead, when she holds you against her.
Love is when Accolon picks her up and twirls her until she explodes in a fit of giggles, when her eyes glimmer as she watches his ship arrive in port.
Love is how she looked at Gareth before.
What love is not is the look Duke Lot was throwing you.
You hear someone coming, and the two immediately step away, acting as if nothing happened. As if their glances aren't treacherous enough.
"I, um." Accolon fumbles, loudly, to diffuse any confusion about his intentions. "Should take you to your chambers, Lady Morgana."
"Lead the way, Sir Accolon," she replies, amused.
The Lothian Castle is so very different from anything you've seen back in Avalon. Whereas on the island there were ivory marble and vividly hued mosaics, this castle balances a stark contrast between pristine white walls and dark wood floors and beams. Doors in bright paints with intricate motifs break the black-and-white pattern every now and then.
Your chamber is next to Morgana's. As you enter, the first thing to capture your attention is the huge bed across the room, its four posters sculpted in the shape of coiling snakes, the sun glinting off the polished wood making it resemble the creature's scales. There are two windows - one in front of a desk whose legs are fashioned similarly to the bed posters, the other turned into a cushioned alcove seat. Between them stands a mint green wardrobe, its facade painted with intertwining vines and red poppy flowers.
On the right side of the room, there's a hearth that opens up like a hungry mouth, with a lush carpet spread before it, perfect to lounge on like a cat. A pile of logs sits in the awning, and your palms itch to set it ablaze. Back in your Avalonian home, the only simiarly built fixture was your kitchen oven; you'd sit in front of it, cross-legged on the tiled floor, and ask mother to let you start up the fire for her. Not only would she allow you to start the fire, but she'd even let you occasionally adjust the flames during cooking. However, you've been forbidden from doing so since you charred dinner this last time.
There's a door close to this cozy nook, with glass panelling depicting an overspilling chalice from which flowing rivers well. That, Morgana lets you know when you inquire, leads to the bathroom. You peek a glance inside; it's a lot smaller than your bathroom back in Avalon, and very different in its furnishing, too. The bathtub residing in the middle of the chamber is made of copper, and the floor is plaine beige stone. There's yet another hearth beside the toilet and washing basin. Your mother told you they have so many of them on the Continent because more often than not, people use fire to keep themselves warm, instead of the water heating system you grew accustomed to in Avalon. If the bite of the winter sea wind ever got too harsh, she'd bring out a steel brazier and you'd huddle close to it, under a knitted blanket.
You close the door and head for the alcoved window. It opens toward the dragons' lodge and plains. As you climb up on the cushioned seat to look better out the window, Accolon joins you. "See the lodge? There's your future dragon companion, waiting to meet you."
"When?" you bounce, slapping your fists against your thighs.
"Tomorrow."
It's too much, but you know there's no fighting. You have to unpack. Instead, you rest your head against the window sill and ask Accolon, "Sooo...you know the dragon I was paired up with?"
Once, long before you even packed and set off for Lothia, Accolon recounted to you how the pairs of knights and dragons are made, how parents of both announce when they wish to enlist their offspring, and the established knights are responsible for matching them as best as they can.
"Of course. I helped in the selection process, after all. I'm sure you'll make a wonderful team."
"Can you tell me anything about them? Anything at all?"
He tilts his head, considering you carefully. "I'd prefer for you to see on your own, Mordred."
"Just one thing," you insist, and he relents.
Accolon relents with a sigh and a small smile.
<div class="choice">[["\"They're friendly and playful.\""|Lothia3.1][$dragon_type to "friendly", $dragon_personality to "playful",$dragon_personality to "friendly", $dragon_friendly to $dragon_friendly+5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"They can be rather shy, but they're a sweetheart.\""|Lothia3.1][$dragon_type to "shy", $dragon_personality to "shy", $dragon_personality to "fearful", $dragon_bold to $dragon_bold-5]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"They're fierce and outspoken.\""|Lothia3.1][$dragon_type to "fierce", $dragon_personality to "aggressive"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"They're confident and brave.\""|Lothia3.1][$dragon_type to "bold", $dragon_personality to "bold", $dragon_friendly to $dragon_friendly+5]]</div>You squint your eyes in thought, going over Accolon's sparse description. They sound somewhat familiar...
You wish to inquire more, but Morgana approaches you. "Mordred, I want you to quickly help me unpack your luggage, then go play with Gareth."
That's exciting!
"Really?"
She smiles. "Yes. It's important you spend time with your brother. I want you two to be friends."
You rush through the unpacking, but Morgana doesn't even complain. You change into new clothes, Lothian clothes - made of vibrant linen and intricate embroidery, puffy sleeves and laced up fronts - and go with Accolon to find your brother.
[[Continue|Lothia3]]He was in the nursery, but Accolon suggested playing in the inner courtyard, to make the best of the warm, sunny day. Gareth fetched a wooden box and came, followed by Nanny, an elderly and crooked woman with a foul disposition.
While you and Gareth sit on the stone floor, Nanny sits against the wall on a wooden bench, far enough not to hear your conversation but keeping an eye on you while pretending to be reading a book.
"I brought my favorite board game." Gareth cradles the box containing said game to his chest. "Father gifted it to me for my birthday. It's a strategy game. He says one day I'll be the Duke of Lothia, and these kind of games can help hone my skills." He hesitates, then places it between you, opening it. Inside is a collection of wooden figurines, all meticulously carved - kings and queens, knights and sorcerers, horses and dragons, and a folded cloth.
With utter care, he fondly takes them out and unfolds the cloth to reveal a map of the Continent. The figurines are not mere rough forms, chipped the bare minumum necessary to suggest the figure they wanted to evoke; these figurines have been fastidiously carved by skilled, self-assured hands. The craftsmen captured every fold of the cloth, every curl of the hair, even the tiny little sockets of the eyes. They'd look more at home on a display than in a little child's toy chest. You pick up a dragon figurine, and Gareth's eyes watch you anxiously, as if just by touching it you could somehow damage it. He doesn't stop you, so you turn it in your hands, admiring the tiny details of the scales.
"We each have an army and battle each other," Gareth explains the premise.
"Are there any rules?" you ask.
He shakes his head, "Just use your best strategy. Oh! And take into account the time your army spends to travel, the time for a sorcerer to make a potion, stuff like that. Now we choose our armies. Each takes a figurine in turn."
Gareth lets you choose first, and you reach for…
<div class="choice">[[The mighty dragon!|Lothia4][$chapt2figurine to "dragon"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[The sorcerer.|Lothia4][$chapt2figurine to "sorcerer"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[The knight.|Lothia4][$chapt2figurine to "knight"]]</div><<if $chapt2figurine == "dragon">>
You pick up the dragon, roaring to give voice to the silent cry it's been frozen into. It stands on its back legs, looking about ready to launch into battle.
"Good choice," Gareth nods.
<<elseif $chapt2figurine == "sorcerer">>
The sorcerer is preparing to cast a spell, both arms raised to guide the magic to their unfortunate enemy.
<<elseif $chapt2figurine == "knight">>
The knight holds their sword in an attack, both hands gripping the hilt as they raise it over their head ready for a sweeping, bloody strike.
<</if>>
"What's it like in Avalon?" Gareth asks while he chooses a figurine of his own. His fingers brush gently over their edges. "My father won't let me go there."
"It's pretty," you say. "And different. The houses look different. And," you throw out your arms, "there's a sea, and a beach. We used to go swimming often. And there's a lot of dragons. Do you like dragons?"
"I have a small dragon friend." He smiles. When he does, he looks just like Morgana. "Their name is Terryn but I call them Rum. And it's not because their scales are brown." Gareth goes on to recount the incident behind the nickname, when Terryn accidently drank a little rum thinking it was juice and got tipsy. "They're helping their mother with some chores, but next time I could ask them to play with us. Do you have any dragon friends?"
"I used to have one in Avalon, and tomorrow I'll get to meet my assigned dragon partner."
Gareth inquires about your own dragon friend, and like this, you've found something in common and chat easily. You start assembling your armies while discussing and comparing Avalon to Lothia.
Then you play, but you don't know much about strategy, and neither does Gareth.
While Gareth is deciding his next move, you're stricken by the boring, burning sensation of someone staring at you. A sense of disquiet blooms in your chest and you look up to see Nanny glaring at you. A nasty, cool glare, her mouth twisted in distaste, her eyes judging you. She glances back at her book, but you're pretty sure she hasn't turned a page since you came here.
<div class="choice">[["Why is nanny looking at me like that?" you whisper to Gareth, uncomfortable.|Lothia5][$chapt2play to "1", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Tell nanny to stop looking at me like that," you demand.|Lothia5][$chapt2play to "2", $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["What are you looking at, hag?" you shout at the nanny.|Lothia5][$chapt2play to "3", $calm to $calm-2, $affable to $affable-2]]</div><<if $chapt2play == "1">>
You shift in your place, fiddling with the figurine and looking down at your hands.
Gareth looks mildly surprised, and frowns at nanny. "How's she looking? She's reading."
"She was glaring at me!" You insist, hissing in a whisper.
<<elseif $chapt2play == "2">>
You frown. She has no right to glare at you.
"Like what?" Gareth repeats, looking at her. "She's reading."
"She was glaring at me." You insist.
<<elseif $chapt2play == "3">>
The woman looks offended, her sour face turning even sourer. "How dare you!"
You smile, devious pleasure at her reaction.
"Mordred," Gareth frowns. "That's not nice."
"She was glaring at me!"
<</if>>
"You know, people look at you because there's a lot of rumours about you," Gareth says, twisting a soldier. "The servants, and nobles say you're not actually my father's child, that we're half siblings."
This, again.
"They say you're a bastard."
//Bastard.//
He says it casually, as if it wouldn't bother you. Yet there's caution in his eyes, and something more. A question.
"I asked father and he says it's not true." He frowns. "They also say mother shamed father, and that she's bad, but it hurts. She's been absent, but I love her. She's always kind and brings me gifts. Maybe they're wrong about you too. But you don't look like father. Accolon is like a father to you, people say. Are you a bastard? Is it true?"
<div class="choice">[["That's stupid. Lot's my father," you snap.|Chapt2No][$chapt2bastard to "1", $calm to $calm-2, $affable to $affable-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Lot's my father," you say calmly.|Chapt2No][$chapt2bastard to "2", $calm to $calm+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Burst out crying.|Chapt2Cry][$chapt2bastard to "3", $crybaby to $crybaby+1, $emotional to $emotional+3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[''And what if he's not my father? He's awful anyway!''|Chapt2Yell][$chapt2bastard to "4", $calm to $calm-2, $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[''Who cares? He doesn't want to be my father anyway,'' you burst out angrily.|Chapt2Yell][$chapt2bastard to "5", $calm to $calm-2, $emotional to $emotional+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["And what if he's not my father? He's awful anyway!" you say and throw away the map with figurines.|Chapt2Yeet][$chapt2bastard to "6", $calm to $calm-3, $emotional to $emotional+2, $affable to $affable-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Who cares? He doesn't want to be my father anyway," you say and throw away the map with figurines.|Chapt2Yeet][$chapt2bastard to "7", $calm to $calm-3, $emotional to $emotional+2, $affable to $affable-2]]</div><<if $chapt2sorry == "1">>
Gareth is satisfied with your apology and looking appeased, says, "I'm sorry, too." His words sound honest, and Morgana smiles.
"Here you go."
You continue playing.
<<elseif $chapt2sorry == "2">>
Your words are deceitful, but Gareth can't see through them, and looks appeased. Morgana, however, frowns at you, but doesn't say anything.
"I'm sorry, too." His words are genuine, unlike your own.
You continue playing.
<<elseif $chapt2sorry == "3">>
You cross your arms. "No, you go first. You're the one who started it."
Gareth looks offended. "I just asked you a question!"
"Gareth!" You mother grips his shoulder. "Apologize. It wasn't nice to call Mordred…that."
Gareth sighs. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too."
You continue playing.
<<elseif $chapt2sorry == "4">>
You stomp your feet. "No! I'm not apologizing! I don't have anything to apologize for!"
"Mordred!" Morgana grips your arm, but your outburst has set off Gareth.
"I'm not apologizing either!"
Morgana tries to reason with you, but neither relents.
Finally, you storm to your room.
<<elseif $chapt2sorry == "5">>
You won't hold it against him. He's been hearing these things, but now that he knows it's hurtful, he won't repeat them.
Gareth smiles.
You continue playing.
<<elseif $chapt2sorry == "6">>
You're still mad, but it's better to avoid drama.
Gareth smiles.
You continue playing.
<<elseif $chapt2sorry == "7">>
You cross your arms. "I don't accept your apology."
Gareth frowns. "You can't do that!"
"Yes I can!"
"Mordred, Gareth apologized. Please, be nice."
You storm off to your room.
<<elseif $chapt2sorry == "8">>
Morgana beams. "That's wonderful."
<<elseif $chapt2sorry == "9">>
Morgana doesn't look completely convinced, but smiles. "That's wonderful."
<<elseif $chapt2sorry == "10">>
You wipe at your eyes with the back of your palm. "Don't," you croak out, then take a moment to gather yourself. Swallow the lump in your throat, take a deep breath, sketch a genuine smile. "It's not your fault."
The corners of his mouth perk up in a tentative, hopeful smile.
"That's good too, if you're all made up now," Morgana happily concedes.
<</if>>
[[The next day|Lothia7]]Your small hand is held by Accolon's big, calloused hand as he leads you to the dragons' lodge. The walk down the hill is short and easy, and you're getting closer to the building, a big, stone and wood structure meant to house some of the dragons that work at the castle.
When you arrived, you thought all dragons on the Continent had moved in places like this, so human-like; but Accolon had told you many still lived as Scaly does back in Avalon, in their grotto above the crashing waves. Many here call home caves and burrows and mounds of winding tunnels that open into wide chambers, with painted walls and moss-covered floors.
"Are you excited to meet your dragon partner?" Accolon asks, looking down at you with a large smile.
<div class="choice">[["I am!" You grin.|Lothia8][$chapt2dragon to "excited"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I am, but I'm also nervous," you admit.|Lothia8][$chapt2dragon to "excitednervous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I'm nervous," you say.|Lothia8][$chapt2dragon to "nervous"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"I guess. I kinda miss Scaly.\""|Lothia8][$chapt2dragon to "dragon"]]</div><<if $chapt2dragon == "excited">>
You barely slept last night. You laid awake, wondering who has been chosen to be your partner, your companion through thick and thin; you kept crawling out of bed to look out the window at the lodge, as if the answer may be spelt on the wall of the building. The scant description Accolon offered stayed at the back of your mind, nagging and familiar, but you didn't want to come to any wrong conclusions.
You skip, grinning. "I am!"
Accolon laughs.
He stops in his tracks, and turning to you, lowers himself to your height. "Remember, Mordred. This is the start of an amazing friendship. In fact," a tender note slips into his somber tone, "the start of a close bond. Closer than any, given your blood."
You nod eagerly.
He smiles and gets up.
<<elseif $chapt2dragon == "excitednervous">>
You barely slept last night. You laid awake, wondering who has been chosen to be your partner, your companion through thick and thin. Will you be able to bond, will you be a right fit for each other? You kept crawling out of bed to look out the window at the lodge, as if the answer may be spelt on the wall of the building. The scant description Accolon offered stayed at the back of your mind, nagging and familiar, but you didn't want to come to any wrong conclusions.
You play with the hem of your tunic. "I am, but I'm also nervous."
Accolon squeezes your hand. "It'll be fine."
He stops in his tracks, and turning to you, lowers himself to your height. "Remember, Mordred. This is the start of an amazing friendship. In fact," a tender note slips into his somber tone, "the start of a close bond. Closer than any, given your blood. I know you, Mordred, and I've counciled the knights wisely for the selection of your partner."
You nod. It's reassuring.
He smiles and gets up.
<<elseif $chapt2dragon == "nervous">>
You barely slept last night. You laid awake, wondering who has been chosen to be your partner, your companion through thick and thin; has the right choice been made for both of you? You kept crawling out of bed to look out the window at the lodge, as if the answer may be spelt on the wall of the building. The scant description Accolon offered stayed at the back of your mind, nagging and familiar, but you didn't want to come to any wrong conclusions.
You play with the hem of your tunic. "I'm nervous."
Accolon squeezes your hand. "It'll be fine."
He stops in his tracks, and turning to you, lowers himself to your height.
"Remember, Mordred. This is the start of an amazing friendship. In fact," a tender note slips into his somber tone, "the start of a close bond. Closer than any, given your blood."
You nod. Is this supposed to be reassuring? You feel even more nervous.
He smiles and gets up.
<<elseif $chapt2dragon == "dragon">>
You barely slept last night. You laid awake, thinking of Scaly and whether you'll like any other dragon. You were friends, and worked well together.
"I guess. I kinda miss Scaly."
Accolon squeezes your hand. "I know."
He stops in his tracks, and turning to you, lowers himself to your height. "Remember, Mordred. This is the start of an amazing friendship. In fact," a tender note slips into his somber tone, "the start of a close bond. Closer than any, given your blood. I know you, Mordred, and I've counciled the knights wisely for the selection of your partner."
You nod.
He smiles and gets up.
<</if>>
"I remember when I was your age," Accolon starts as you continue making your way, soft tone tinged with wistfulness. "A starry-eyed little boy, walking with my mentor to the lodge. I remember how towering the parents looked. I had rehearsed some dragon tongue words the night before, to greet them, to impress them and my dragon partner, but my lessons had yet to begin so I was rather lacking in skill. They seemed amusedly endeared." He chuckles. "I remember seeing this small yellow dragon, they were the smallest of the siblings. Sera. Timid thing, so I approached them gently. I didn't know what else to say beside 'Hello, I'm Accolon' but they started to relax, and next thing I know we started playing. A successful first meeting, I'd say."
By the time Accolon finishes recounting the memory, you've already reached the lodge.
Servants - humans dressed in simple shirts and breeches or dragons with scales glittering in the sun - mill between the lodge and castle, bringing food or carrying cleaning supplies. They salute Accolon as you pass, and nod in your direction. Some frown, some smile, but your attention is too focused on the meeting ahead.
Two figures slip out of the above: an adult and a child, the latter with big talons they've yet to properly grow into and wide, round eyes.
"That's them," Accolon says, "with Corra."
It dawns on you then. "Corra? Isn't that the name of-"
You don't get to finish your sentence as a shadow passes over you and, with a thundering flutter of wings, Sir Sera - Accolon's partner, Accolon's friend - lands next to Corra and affectionately nuzzles their snoot against theirs.
[[You know now who your draconic partner is.|AvalonFlashback]]Both Corra and Sera tower over you, standing at twice the height of Accolon. The former is elegant and supple with tightly curled, corkscrew horns and the latter stout and sturdy with daggings on their tail that remind you of Tintalian sleeves.
"Good day," Accolon calls out, addressing them in the human tongue; young as you are, you're not supposed to know the dragon language yet, a fact Sera knows, but a charade you must entertain for any possible passer-by.
"No introduction needed here," Sera says, the human words underlined by a rumbling, affectionate hum. "It's good to see you again, Mordred."
At their side, Corra inclines their head in your direction. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Their voice is the comforting, soft rumbling of seashells and rocks tumbling in the waves. "Accolon's spoken so much of you, I feel I already know you."
Corra works at the Castle, in a role you picked as being some sort of advisor on dragon-human relationships; part of a Council of others tasked with similar jobs. They're not nobility; dragons have no monarchs, no dukes, no other such things. Never had and, they proudly proclaim, never will.
Corra wraps their tail around one of the little dragon's front legs and gently urges them, "Introduce yourself."
<<if $dragon_type == "bold">>
The dragon confidently speaks up: "I'm-"
<<elseif $dragon_type == "friendly">>
The dragon eagerly speaks up: "I'm-"
<<elseif $dragon_type == "shy">>
The dragon hesitates; softly, they say: "I'm-"
<<elseif $dragon_type == "fierce">>
The dragon tilts up their snoot, impetuous. "I'm-"
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Malinda|Lothia10][$dragon_name to "Malinda"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Drake|Lothia10][$dragon_name to "Drake"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Bella|Lothia10][$dragon_name to "Bella"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Finneas|Lothia10][$dragon_name to "Finneas"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nova|Lothia10][$dragon_name to "Nova"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Briar|Lothia10][$dragon_name to "Briar"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Sage|Lothia10][$dragon_name to "Sage"]]</div>
<<textbox "$dragon_name" "" "Lothia10">>
[[Enter|Lothia10]]<<if $magic_extract is true>>Extract from "A study in magic", published by Royal Sorcerer Merlin Wyllt
//It is widely known that magic can be found in nature, in different forms - plants with magical properties are such an example - as well as in certain creatures and individuals. What is still arcane knowledge is magic itself. What constitutes it, all the ways in which it works. [...]
Fae, otherwise known as the fair folk, are beings who possess magic unlike humans, for which the only way to have magical abilities is through the magic in their blood that is passed from a fae somewhere along the family tree. The way this magic flows through the bloodline is only shallowly understood. Observations show that powers can skip individuals, or entire generations. The important question to pose here is whether the magic truly is absent in these people, or if it simply does not manifest itself, for whatever reason. Perhaps it's a flaw in the human design, which is very evidently missing from the dragonbloods. The powers of the dragonbloods never skips an individual, and it could be an indicative that this flaw could be remedied. However, very little is known about how dragonbloods came to be.//<</if>>
<<if $fae_extract is true>>Extract from "About the fair folk", published by Royal Sorcerer Merlin Wyllt
//The fair folk are elusive beings of magic which, for thousands of years, have managed to keep their lands and ways mostly secret to people.
They are powerful individuals, the best of them more powerful than the best of sorcerers. And unlike the latter, powerful fae can lend their own magic to people who do not possess any. This magic is not gained without effort, however. [...]
None of the names of the faes that humans look up to are actually known. There are referred to by titles, made to indicate the nature of their powers. The Lady of the Lake, The Deer King, The Sun and Moon Twins. It is said that a fae's true name holds power, and it is bestowed only on one whom they trust. They also seem to be somehow connected to the places they inhibit, travelling being rather uncommon to their kind. It's very possible that their magic is in part drawn from nature itself.//<</if>>
[[Return to lore page|lore]]The dark green leaves and purple flowers immediately give it away for you- a vivid picture of the plant pops up in your mind from your lectures, followed by a name you blurt out with pride. "Of course! It's mandrake."
"Correct!" Your mother beams. "You've learned your lessons well, I see."
[[Continue|Chapter1.2]]No matter how much you search through your mind, you can't conjure any notion to match with the plant. But what's obvious, if it's something she's taught you about, is that it must have uses in potions. "It's a plant with magical properties you use in your concoctions."
Morgana regards your answer with amusement, sketching a smile. "Answered like a true, versed courtier. But what's its name? What are its properties? What sort of concoctions do I use it in?"
You rack up your mind trying to come up with the answers. You shake your head.
"Hmmm. Haven't paid that much attention to your lessons?" She puts an arm around you to pull you closer and points at the plant. "See those leaves and flowers? It's a mandrake."
[[Continue|Chapter1.2]]"Is it mandrake?"
Morgana quirks an eyebrow. "Are you answering a question with another?" You shift your weight from foot to foot, casting another glance at the plant. It's a mandrake- it's got the dark green leaves, the purple flowers, just like the picture you've seen in the book- but maybe you're wrong.
Morgana sighs softly and puts a hand on your arm. "Even when in doubt, reply with confidence so that no one can challenge you. It is indeed a mandrake."
[[Continue|Chapter1.2]]"I don't know."
"A genuine response." Morgana deems it. "Honesty can work in your favor. If you know how to use it."
"Here." Morgana takes your hand and pulls you closer. "See these dark green leaves and purple flowers? It's a mandrake."
[[Continue|Chapter1.2]]You know you've seen a picture of a plant in a book, but can't recall the name of it. What you do remember is the fact that when pulled out, it screams deafeningly. "It's that screaming plant."
Morgana erupts into a fit of chuckles, and the sound of it molifies any fear of admonishment at your lack of a proper reply. "I guess that's true. Not the proper answer, but a good one nonetheless."
She puts her arms around you and pulls you closer. "See the dark green leaves and purples flowers? It's a mandrake. Not all of them scream when you pluck them out."
[[Continue|Chapter1.2]]And now you're slipping into the library like shadow creeps between a crack in the curtains. Arthur's already waiting for you inside at the desk, a weakly burning candle his only companion. The golden, dim light limns the relief on his face, which blazes brighter than any candle could. Arthur jumps to his feet, and the chair's legs scrap loudly in the gray quiet of the chamber; his mouth twists and his shoulders tighten around his head fleetingly, but nothing can keep his beaming, almost marveling smile away for too long.
"You came," he remarks as if he expects that any moment he'll blink and you'll disappear, just a trick of the light.
"I came," you agree, perhaps with a little bit of wonder yourself. You're really, truly doing this. Entrusting Arthur with your heart and trust, both already bruised and wounded.
Arthur's all dressed up for the road ahead in velvety crimson and gauzy gold, crowned with a simple yet effective circlet, its ruby winking comely and regally in the candlelight. A King from his curly head to his toes, yet it's still him who looks as if he's but a nervous, awe-struck subject in the presence of royalty. He ducks his head and wrings his hands, fingers pressing against knuckles, joints cracking softly as he searches for his words. With the way he stares at the carpet, you're convinced they must be inscribed there. "I thought you wouldn't come. I hoped you'd come, of course. I always do hope..." he adds quietly, mostly to himself. "But I was afraid you wouldn't still, on account of what's happened these past few days." He glances up at you, meeting your $eye eyes with a matching pair. "I'm so glad you came."
You level him with a smile, finding your voice stuck somewhere in your throat, caught unaware by the naked, almost desperate relief in his eyes, in those words. He invites you to take a seat at the desk opposite him and you do, looking at him over the flicker of the taper candle. Shadows still hang heavily in the library like draperies yet drawn, obscuring the corners, making the furniture out to be hulking wooden creatures, but the soft light gilds the gentle lines of Arthur's face, enhances the glow that seems to come from within him.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
"I'd like to keep in touch," Arthur says, splaying his palms on the polished wood. "I don't know if Morgana will approve of it, but I intend on-"
"Oh, she will," you cut in and Arthur blinks and pauses, nonplussed. You clear your throat. "She's not entirely pleased. And she insists it's only for my sake. But she won't try to hinder us."
"That's..." Arthur breaths in, slowly, deeply. "Good," he says on the breath he expels. "Unexpected but wonderful news." He reaches inside his sleeve then, pulling out a folded piece of paper which he slides over to you. "Details of our correspondence. Keep it safe." You pocket the note, patting your belt in a deliberate show of understanding and assurance.
<<else>>
"I'd like to keep in touch," Arthur says, splaying his palms on the polished wood. "I don't know if Morgana will approve of it, but I intend on standing firm on this matter."
"Oh, she'll approve," you say and Arthur blinks, nonplussed at the ease in your tone. You clear your throat. "She's not entirely pleased. And she insists it's only for my sake. But she won't try to hinder us."
"That's..." Arthur breaths in, slowly, deeply. "Good," he says on the breath he expels. "Unexpected but wonderful news." He reaches inside his sleeve then, pulling out a folded piece of paper which he slides over to you. "Details of our correspondence. Keep it safe." You pocket the note, patting your belt in a deliberate show of understanding and assurance.
<</if>>
You speak for a little while, but Arthur can't stay much. Kay is currently covering for him, like he so often does, but soon he'll be sought out and he'd rather avoid a search party led by a certain worried Champion Knight.
Before leaving, Arthur spreads his arms tentatively, as if he's just been taught what a hug is and would like to try it out, but isn't quite sure if he's doing the right moves. You aid him, walking into his open arms and wrapping your own around him. At this he replies in kind, holding you close for a few fuzzy, soft moments before he reluctantly pulls back to leave with a watery smile.
[[Later|Chapt3Inthefield]]And now you're slipping into the library like shadow creeps between a crack in the curtains. Arthur's already waiting for you inside at the desk, a weakly burning candle his only companion. The golden, dim light limns the relief on his face, which blazes brighter than any candle could. Arthur jumps to his feet, and the chair's legs scrap loudly in the gray quiet of the chamber; his mouth twists and his shoulders tighten around his head fleetingly, but nothing can keep his bright, almost marveling smile away for too long.
"You came," he remarks as if he expects that any moment he'll blink and you'll disappear, just a trick of the light.
"I came," you agree, perhaps with a little bit of wonder yourself. You really, truly doing this. Entrusting Arthur with your heart and trust, both already bruised and wounded.
Arthur's all dressed up for the road ahead in velvety crimson and gauzy gold, crowned with a simple yet effective circlet, its ruby winking comely and regally in the candlelight. A King from his curly head to his toes, yet it's still him who looks as if he's but a nervous, awe-struck subject in the presence of royalty. He ducks his head and wrings his hands, fingers pressing against knuckles and joints cracking softly as he searches for his words. With the way he stares at the carpet, you're convinced they must be inscribed there. "I thought you wouldn't come. I hoped you'd come, of course. I always do hope..." he says quietly, mostly to himself. "But I was afraid you wouldn't still, on account of what's happened these past few days." He glances up at you, meeting your $eye eyes with a matching pair. "I'm so glad you came."
You level him with a smile, finding your voice stuck somewhere in your throat, caught unaware by the naked, almost desperate relief in his eyes, in those words. He invites you to take a seat at the desk opposite him and you do, looking at him over the flicker of the taper candle. Shadows still hang heavily in the library like daperies yet drawn, obscuring the corners, making the furniture out to be hulking wooden creatures, but the soft light gilds the soft lines of Arthur's face, enhances the glow that seems to come from within him.
<<if $impulsive >= 50>>
"I'd like to keep in touch," Arthur says, splaying his palms on the polished wood. "I don't know if Morgana will approve of it, but I intend on-"
"Oh, she will," you say and Arthur blinks and pauses, nonplussed. You clear your throat. "She's not entirely pleased. And she insists it's only for my sake. But she won't try to hinder us."
"That's..." Arthur breaths in, slowly, deeply. "Good," he says on the breath he expels. "Unexpected but wonderful news." He reaches inside his sleeve then, pulling out a folded piece of paper which he slides over to you. "Details of our correspondence. Keep it safe." You pocket the note, patting your belt in a deliberate show of understanding and assurance.
<<else>>
"I'd like to keep in touch," Arthur says, splaying his palms on the polished wood. "I don't know if Morgana will approve of it, but I intend on standing firm on this matter."
"Oh, she'll approve," you say and Arthur blinks, nonplussed at the ease in your tone. You clear your throat. "She's not entirely pleased. And she insists it's only for my sake. But she won't try to hinder us."
"That's..." Arthur breaths in, slowly, deeply. "Good," he says on the breath he expels. "Unexpected but wonderful news." He reaches inside his sleeve then, pulling out a folded piece of paper which he slides over to you. "Details of our correspondence. Keep it safe." You pocket the note, patting your belt in a deliberate show of understanding and assurance.
<</if>>
You speak for a little while, but Arthur can't stay much. Kay is currently covering for him, like he so often does, but soon he'll be sought out and he'd rather avoid a search party led by a certain worried Champion Knight.
Before leaving, Arthur spreads his arms tentatively, as if he's just been taught what a hug is and would like to try it out too, but isn't quite sure if he's doing the right moves. You aid him, walking into his open arms and wrapping your own around him. At this, he replied in kind, holding you close for a few fuzzy, soft moments before he reluctantly pulled back and left with a watery smile.
[[Later|Chapt3Inthefield1]]Merlin Wyllt, Royal sorcerer and advisor of the throne of Camelot.
//Description//: Appears to be in his fifties, despite having a couple decades over that age. Always impecabbly dressed, Merlin has a certain stately grace to how he carries himself, and a kind, patient smile pinned on his lips. He keeps his black hair, streaked with silver, short. He has onyx-black eyes and a cool beige complexion.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "no">>
Why did Mordred stop talking to Gawain? <<cycle "$gawain_kid">>
<<option "They stopped out of fear of abandonment. But they still have feelings for Gawain." "exes_notalk_like">>
<<option "They stopped out of fear of abandonment. Even though it hurt them and wish they would still be friends" "friend_notalk">>
<<option "Mordred lost interest in talking to him." "ex_friend">>
<</cycle>>
<</if>>
[[Next|MordredHobbies]]<<silently>>
<<if $conception_view == "tool" and $want_revenge == "yes">>
<<set $conception_opinion to "tool_yes">>
<<elseif $conception_view == "more" and $want_revenge == "yes">>
<<set $conception_opinion to "more_yes">>
<<elseif $conception_view == "revenge" and $want_revenge == "yes">>
<<set $conception_opinion to "embrace_revenge">>
<<elseif $conception_view == "tool" and $want_revenge == "no">>
<<set $conception_opinion to "tool_no">>
<<elseif $conception_view == "tool" and $want_revenge == "unsure">>
<<set $conception_opinion to "tool_unsure">>
<<elseif $conception_view == "more" and $want_revenge == "no">>
<<set $conception_opinion to "more_no">>
<<elseif $conception_view == "more" and $want_revenge == "unsure">>
<<set $conception_opinion to "more_unsure">>
<<elseif $conception_view == "tool" and $want_revenge == "no">>
<<set $conception_opinion to "tool_no">>
<</if>>
<</silently>>
<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "no">>
Why did Mordred stop talking to Gawain? <<cycle "$gawain_kid">>
<<option "They stopped out of fear of abandonment. But they still have feelings for Gawain." "exes_notalk_like">>
<<option "They stopped out of fear of abandonment. Even though it hurt them and wish they would still be friends" "friend_notalk">>
<<option "Mordred lost interest in talking to him." "ex_friend">>
<</cycle>>
<</if>>
Mordred likes to play the lute. <<cycle "$lute">>
<<option "not mentioned" "unknown">>
<<option "yes" "yes">>
<<option "no" "no">>
<</cycle>>
Mordred likes to write songs. <<cycle "$music">>
<<option "not mentioned" "unknown">>
<<option "yes" "yes">>
<<option "no" "no">>
<</cycle>>
Mordred likes to write. <<cycle "$write">>
<<option "not mentioned" "unknown">>
<<option "yes" "yes">>
<<option "no" "no">>
<</cycle>>
Mordred likes to draw. <<cycle "$draw">>
<<option "not mentioned" "unknown">>
<<option "yes" "yes">>
<<option "no" "no">>
<</cycle>>
Mordred likes to read. <<cycle "$read">>
<<option "not mentioned" "unknown">>
<<option "yes" "yes">>
<<option "no" "no">>
<</cycle>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>>
Mordred likes to whittle. <<cycle "$whittle">>
<<option "yes" "yes">>
<<option "no" "no">>
<</cycle>>
<</if>>
[[On to chapter 5|Chapter5]]"So, is it true?" you demand, voice edging on shrill with desperation and impatience.
"What happened?" Accolon asks again, glancing between you with growing worry.
Morgana steels herself and approaches you slowly, considering you as she would a spooked animal that might scurry away at any moment. Weighing her words. She beckons you to take a seat by the unlit hearth. You do so hastily, your whole body prickling with terrible anticipation. It brews right under your skin, itching and restless and expanding as if you can't quite fit your frame now, filled with so much unaswered questions, anxiety and uncertainty. It makes you want to tear at your skin to find release, so you dig your nails into your palm just to concentrate on anything else.
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is false>>
"Do you believe it?" Morgana asks, settled in the chair opposite you. "Do you take his word over mine?" Her tone is perfectly even, her eyes guarded.
"I-I don't know!" you throw out your arms, tired of all of this deflection and avoidance, tired of dancing and circling around an answer that should be simple: yes or no. "I just want the truth, mother."
Her shoulders droop ever so slightly as she exhales. "Before anything else is said, Mordred, I want you to know that whatever, no matter what, I love you. I've loved you from the very beginning." She speaks slowly, emphatically, tenderness and a sort of desperation commingled on her face - bared and maskless, raw and bleeding like a wound. Morgana tossing away all pretense and forgoing composure does not bode well. This show of vulnerability jolts you like electricity. This is the preface to a painful confession. This is a frantic scramble to not let you slip.
<<else>>
"Before anything else is said, Mordred, I want you to know that whatever, no matter what, I love you. I've loved you from the very beginning." She speaks slowly, emphatically, tenderness and a sort of desperation commingled on her face - bared and maskless, raw and bleeding like a wound. Morgana tossing away all pretense and forgoing composure does not bode well. This show of vulnerability jolts you like electricity. This is the preface to a painful confession. This is a frantic scramble to not let you slip.
<</if>>
"Mom..." your fists tigthen, nails bitting in deeper.
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
"I had to do it, Mordred. You don't understand what it was like. You don't know." She runs a hand through her hair; it slips past her fingers as if it were liquid. "I had arrived in Camelot after Uther's death, with all intents to take the throne, because that's the least that brute owed me. But would he? Would he let me have it?" She laughs, the sound as harsh as two blades colliding. "No. He wouldn't. He had his little Pendragon heir stashed away. Merlin made it very clear to me that day, after the coronation. I had no dragon blood in me; I had no claim to the the throne. No one would listen to me, despite Uther taking me on as his daughter in name, despite that making me the first in line. I stormed out of his tower and stumbled upon Arthur. "
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
"I had to do it, Mordred. You don't understand what it was like. You don't know." She runs a hand through her hair, tugging at stubborn ringlets. "I had arrived in Camelot after Uther's death, with all intents to take the throne, because that's the least that brute owed me. But would he? Would he let me have it?" She laughs, the sound as harsh as two blades colliding. "No. He wouldn't. He had his little Pendragon heir stashed away. Merlin made it very clear to me that day, after the coronation. I had no dragon blood in me; I had no claim to the the throne. No one would listen to me, despite Uther taking me on as his daughter in name, despite that making me the first in line. I stormed out of his tower and stumbled upon Arthur. "
<<else>>
"I had to do it, Mordred. You don't understand what it was like. You don't know." She runs her fingers over a braid, nails scratching over a forgotten filigree tube. "I had arrived in Camelot after Uther's death, with all intents to take the throne, because that's the least that brute owed me. But would he? Would he let me have it?" She laughs, the sound as harsh as two blades colliding. "No. He wouldn't. He had his little Pendragon heir stashed away. Merlin made it very clear to me that day, after the coronation. I had no dragon blood in me; I had no claim to the the throne. No one would listen to me, despite Uther taking me on as his daughter in name, despite that making me the first in line. I stormed out of his tower and stumbled upon Arthur. "
<</if>>
Your stomach roils. "No," you say weakly, as if it could change anything.
Morgana goes on: "I met him, and he didn't know who I was, though I did. I'd seen him at the coronation. I'd watched how he walked up to that stage and drew that damned sword from the stone as if it were nothing. I watched a whole stadium go wild over a boy who appeared out of nowhere. So when I met him, I...saw my chance. If the people wanted a Pendragon on the throne, I'd give them one." Even as she confesses to it, there's that defensive viciousness of a cornered animal that, once backed between a rock and a hard place, won't hide and cower but claw and bite its way out.
"So you made me for your revenge."
"But you are so much more, Mordred," she says, leaning forward, holding your gaze steadfast with her own softened one. "You are my child. Even then, I knew I'd love you so much."
<div class="choice">[["But what if I don't turn out to be what you want me to be?" you ask. You're not quite sure you wish to chase revenge. "Will you still love me then?"|Chapt4MorganaLove1][$chapt4_morgana_love to 1, $chapt4_want_revenge to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know. I want to right the wrongs done to our family," you say. "But if I fail to do so, will you still love me?"|Chapt4MorganaLove2][$chapt4_morgana_love to 2, $chapt4_want_revenge to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do you love me, or do you love only what I can be and do for you and your quest for revenge?" you ask. You don't even want this stupid revenge.|Chapt4MorganaLove3][$chapt4_morgana_love to 3, $chapt4_want_revenge to false]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do you love me, or do you love only what I can be and do for you and your quest for revenge?" you ask. You want revenge, too. But you want to be more than her means to an end, too.|Chapt4MorganaLove4][$chapt4_morgana_love to 4, $chapt4_want_revenge to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know," you say with feeling, nonetheless reassured by her words. She loves you no matter what. That's all you want. And you'll help her revenge, too, just as she intended for you.|Chapt4MorganaLove5][$chapt4_morgana_love to 5, $chapt4_want_revenge to true]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I know," you say with feeling, nonetheless reassured by her words. She loves you no matter what. That's all you want. You're not so sure you can be what she wants you to be though - her means to revenge.|Chapt4MorganaLove6][$chapt4_morgana_love to 6, $chapt4_want_revenge to false]]</div>//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>
Today has taken its toll on her- and even though fury was simmering in her, fear has battled its way at the forefront of her mind. Accolon's bloody figure on the ground, armor dent, flashed through her head tauntingly, agonizingly. She felt so helpless as she watched the match that was clearly more than just a friendly confrontation as it was supposed to be. No, Lancelot made it clear that nothing was friendly about his blows. They intended to wound, and wound they did. And, Morgana thought, a surge of renewed anger coursing through her, Arthur sat through it all, glancing away as if he could turn a blind eye to his friend's cruelty. She doubts there will be any repercussions for the knight.
Morgana pushes her chair back. The wooden legs screech across the mosaic and the dull throb of her temples flares painfully. She turns to the window, crossing her arms as she leans against the cool stone of the wall, her gaze roaming over the field below, mostly abandoned now. She reaches for the serpent pendant around her neck, always reassuring, and clutches it in her palm as her brows knot, thinking of her conversation with Mordred.
<<if $say == "effort">>
Mordred's words haunt her. How could ?they get it in ?their head that Arthur truly cares? He has no claim to waltz into their lives after all the pain they let befall them. To see Mordred turn against her to defend that man was akin plunging a dagger straight into her heart, twisting every time she replayed what ?they's said. Can't Mordred see Arthur doesn't want to be a father to ?them, but just a shadow of one? That is all he can offer ?them with his continued refusal to claim his child and make things right.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate. Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
<<if $control == "control">>
What hurt most was to have Mordred echo the same vile accusation as Arthur.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just like Arthur's in Merlin. Yet she fears it'll put a strain on their own relationship, if Morgana continues to question Mordred's confidence in the man. She'll have to contend with it, one way or another. There's little chance for her to extend the same goodwill to Arthur as her child does - but she'll gladly extend it to Mordred ?themself.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
Morgana's only trying to protect Mordred, as she's always done. She wants to shield ?them from suffering and heartbreak, yet ?they stubbornly continues in ?their own ways. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying. That's exactly what Morgana wanted to shield ?them from - the desolation once ?they realizes Arthur will wring more tears from ?them.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Now Mordred won't talk to her, stubborn to a fault. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels ?them slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
Morgana catches her expression reflected in the window, sees the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. So she has to compromise and hope for the best.
<<elseif $say == "choice">>
Mordred's words haunt her. How could ?they get it in ?their head that Arthur cared? Arthur never did care - and has no claim to waltz into their lives after all the pain they let befall them. To see Mordred turn against her to defend that man was akin plunging a dagger straight into her heart, twisting every time she replayed what ?they's said. Mordred claims letting Arthur into ?their life is ?their choice to make. Be that as it may, it's a foolish choice that will only spell more suffering for ?them. A hope that will be cruelly dashed. Can't Mordred see Arthur doesn't want to be a father to ?them, but just a shadow of one? That is all he can offer ?them with his continued refusal to claim his child and make things right.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate. Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
<<if $control == "control">>
What hurts most was to have Mordred echo the same vile accusation as Arthur.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just like Arthur's in Merlin. Yet she fears it'll put a strain on their own relationship, if Morgana continues to question Mordred's confidence in the man. She'll have to contend with it, one way or another. There's little chance for her to extend the same goodwill to Arthur as her child does - but she'll gladly extend it to Mordred ?themself.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
Morgana's only trying to protect Mordred, as she's always done. She wants to shield ?them from suffering and heartbreak, yet ?they stubbornly continues in ?their own ways. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying. That's exactly what Morgana wanted to shield ?them from - the desolation once ?they realizes Arthur will wring more tears from ?them.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Now Mordred won't talk to her, stubborn to a fault. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels ?them slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
Morgana catches her expression reflected in the window, sees the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. So she has to compromise and hope for the best.
<<elseif $say == "decision">>
Mordred claims ?they want to make decisions for ?themself - Morgana won't deny ?them the freedom, but ?they shouldn't be so quick to dismiss her guidance. She's merely trying to shield ?them for a foolish choice that will only spell more suffering for ?them. A hope that will be cruelly dashed. Can't Mordred see Arthur doesn't want to be a father to ?them, but just a shadow of one? That is all he can offer ?them with his continued refusal to claim his child and make things right.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate. Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
<<if $control == "control">>
What hurts most was to have Mordred echo the same vile accusation as Arthur.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just like Arthur's in Merlin. Yet she fears it'll put a strain on their own relationship, if Morgana continues to question Mordred's confidence in the man. She'll have to contend with it, one way or another. There's little chance for her to extend the same goodwill to Arthur as her child does - but she'll gladly extend it to Mordred ?themself.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
Morgana's only trying to protect Mordred, as she's always done. She wants to shield ?them from suffering and heartbreak, yet ?they stubbornly continues in ?their own ways. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying. That's exactly what Morgana wanted to shield ?them from - the desolation once ?they realizes Arthur will wring more tears from ?them.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Now Mordred won't talk to her, stubborn to a fault. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels ?them slipping through her fingers, turning $their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
Morgana catches her expression reflected in the window, sees the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. So she has to compromise and hope for the best.
<<elseif $say == "hesitate">>
Mordred's head is clouded, preyed upon by treacherous sanguinity that fights to overcome ?their well-founded doubt and hesitance. What had Arthur done for ?them but abandon Mordred? He has no right to waltz into ?their life now, and Mordred should not let him do so.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate. Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
<<if $control == "control">>
What hurts most was to have Mordred echo the same vile accusation as Arthur.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just like Arthur's in Merlin. Yet she fears it'll put a strain on their own relationship, if Morgana continues to question Mordred's confidence in the man. She'll have to contend with it, one way or another. There's little chance for her to extend the same goodwill to Arthur as her child does - but she'll gladly extend it to Mordred ?themself.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
Morgana's only trying to protect Mordred, as she's always done. She wants to shield ?them from suffering and heartbreak, yet ?they stubbornly continues in ?their own ways. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying. That's exactly what Morgana wanted to shield ?them from - the desolation once ?they realizes Arthur will wring more tears from ?them.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Now Mordred won't talk to her, stubborn to a fault. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels ?them slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
Morgana catches her expression reflected in the window, sees the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. So she has to compromise and hope for the best.
<<elseif $say == "tears">>
Mordred's tears broke her heart - and they're all Arthur's fault. She just wants to spare Mordred from the pain that she knows he will cause ?them. Whatever sanguine, wishful notion of Arthur's love ?they conceived in ?their head will only lead to disappointment. Can't Mordred see Arthur doesn't want to be a father to ?them, but just a shadow of one? That is all he can offer ?them with his continued refusal to claim his child and make things right.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate. Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
<<if $control == "control">>
What hurts most was to have Mordred echo the same vile accusation as Arthur.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just like Arthur's in Merlin. Yet she fears it'll put a strain on their own relationship, if Morgana continues to question Mordred's confidence in the man. She'll have to contend with it, one way or another. There's little chance for her to extend the same goodwill to Arthur as her child does - but she'll gladly extend it to Mordred ?themself.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
Morgana's only trying to protect Mordred, as she's always done. She wants to shield ?them from suffering and heartbreak, yet ?they stubbornly continues in ?their own ways. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Only more tears will follow, if Mordred were to let Arthur into ?their life. That's exactly what Morgana has wanted to shield ?them from - the desolation once ?they realizes Arthur will wring more tears from ?them.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Now Mordred won't talk to her, stubborn to a fault. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels ?them slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
Morgana catches her expression reflected in the window, sees the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. So she has to compromise and hope for the best.
<<elseif $say == "uncle">>
Mordred can't even see Arthur as a father. How could ?they, after years of cold silence, of gloomy absence? ?Their foolishly sanguine choice to let Arthur waltz right back into ?their life in whatever capacity would only lead to more suffering.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate. Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
<<if $control == "control">>
What hurts most was to have Mordred echo the same vile accusation as Arthur.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just like Arthur's in Merlin. Yet she fears it'll put a strain on their own relationship, if Morgana continues to question Mordred's confidence in the man. She'll have to contend with it, one way or another. There's little chance for her to extend the same goodwill to Arthur as her child does - but she'll gladly extend it to Mordred ?themself.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
Morgana's only trying to protect Mordred, as she's always done. She wants to shield ?them from suffering and heartbreak, yet ?they stubbornly continues in ?their own ways. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying. That's exactly what Morgana wanted to shield ?them from - the desolation once ?they realizes Arthur will wring more tears from ?them.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Now Mordred won't talk to her, stubborn to a fault. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels ?them slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
Morgana catches her expression reflected in the window, sees the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. So she has to compromise and hope for the best.
<<elseif $say == "know">>
Mordred's head is clouded, stuffed with sanguine, foolish ideas that will be cruelly dashed when ?they'll see Arthur's not to be trusted wants to know Arthur. Why let him waltz into their lives after he abandoned them and let trouble befall them? He didn't care before, and now that he claims he does, has no right to return. It'll only lead to more suffering.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate. Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
<<if $control == "control">>
What hurts most was to have Mordred echo the same vile accusation as Arthur.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just like Arthur's in Merlin. Yet she fears it'll put a strain on their own relationship, if Morgana continues to question Mordred's confidence in the man. She'll have to contend with it, one way or another. There's little chance for her to extend the same goodwill to Arthur as her child does - but she'll gladly extend it to Mordred ?themself.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
Morgana's only trying to protect Mordred, as she's always done. She wants to shield ?them from suffering and heartbreak, yet ?they stubbornly continues in ?their own ways. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying. That's exactly what Morgana wanted to shield ?them from - the desolation once ?they realizes Arthur will wring more tears from ?them.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Now Mordred won't talk to her, stubborn to a fault. Like mother, like child. Beneath the frustration, it was rather touching.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels ?them slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
Morgana catches her expression reflected in the window, sees the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. So she has to compromise and hope for the best.
<<elseif $say == "hurt">>
Morgana saw the pain written on Mordred's face. Arthur can't just wipe it away with one of his smiles- he can't just wipe away years of absence, can't expect to be a father when he never earned it. He'll just make Mordred suffer, and she's just protecting ?them.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
She wishes Arthur has changed. It's been years since they first met and then he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne. If only time would have shaped him into someone more confident and independent and wordly, who could recognize the wrongs made and those who perpetuated them, feigning innocence with such shamelessness. Yet their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
<<if $control == "nottrust">>
Mordred harbors hope that Arthur could stop listening to Merlin - a hope that Morgana dares not rekindle in herself. She's already been disappointed once.
<<elseif $control == "canttrust">>
Neither Morgana or Mordred can trust Arthur, as long as Merlin controls him.
<<elseif $control == "cryevil">>
Mordred's tears - hopeless, impotent - broke Morgana, and held a mirror to that sea of anguish that she herself had sunk in, kicking and flailing against a world set on hating her.
<<elseif $control == "angryevil">>
The anger on Mordred's face was all too familiar to Morgana; a mirror held to her own burning, red-hot rage that she harbors and feeds. Begging to be released and seek the retribution they deserve.
<<elseif $control == "stupid">>
Even Mordred recognizes Arthur for the fool he is.
<<elseif $control == "maybe">>
Mordred seems to believe Arthur could change. Morgana dares not hope - she's already been disappointed once.
<</if>>
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
Mordred has made ?their choice. Arthur ignited the fire - now he must deal with the flames.
<<elseif $say == "hate">>
Morgana recognizes the anguish turned wrath in Mordred's face, written so painfully plain - she's felt it herself. It's justified rage at the man who abandoned them both.
She will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
She wishes Arthur has changed. It's been years since they first met and then he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne. If only time would have shaped him into someone more confident and independent and wordly, who could recognize the wrongs made and those who perpetuated them, feigning innocence with such shamelessness. Yet their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
<<if $control == "nottrust">>
Mordred harbors hope that Arthur could stop listening to Merlin - a hope that Morgana dares not rekindle in herself. She's already been disappointed once.
<<elseif $control == "canttrust">>
Neither Morgana or Mordred can trust Arthur, as long as Merlin controls him.
<<elseif $control == "cryevil">>
Mordred's tears - hopeless, impotent - broke Morgana, and held a mirror to that sea of anguish that she herself had sunk in, kicking and flailing against a world set on hating her.
<<elseif $control == "angryevil">>
The anger on Mordred's face was all too familiar to Morgana; a mirror held to her own burning, red-hot rage that she harbors and feeds. Begging to be released and seek the retribution they deserve.
<<elseif $control == "stupid">>
Even Mordred recognizes Arthur for the fool he is.
<<elseif $control == "maybe">>
Mordred seems to believe Arthur could change. Morgana dares not hope - she's already been disappointed once.
<</if>>
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
Mordred has made ?their choice. Arthur ignited the fire - now he must deal with the flames.
<<elseif $say == "indifference">>
Mordred's pain and rage have cooled to embers. Morgana wishes she could be just as indifferent- but she can't let go of the wrath consuming her.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
She wishes Arthur has changed. It's been years since they first met and then he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne. If only time would have shaped him into someone more confident and independent and wordly, who could recognize the wrongs made and those who perpetuated them, feigning innocence with such shamelessness. Yet their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
<<if $control == "nottrust">>
Mordred harbors hope that Arthur could stop listening to Merlin - a hope that Morgana dares not rekindle in herself. She's already been disappointed once.
<<elseif $control == "canttrust">>
Neither Morgana or Mordred can trust Arthur, as long as Merlin controls him.
<<elseif $control == "cryevil">>
Mordred's tears - hopeless, impotent - broke Morgana, and held a mirror to that sea of anguish that she herself had sunk in, kicking and flailing against a world set on hating her.
<<elseif $control == "angryevil">>
The anger on Mordred's face was all too familiar to Morgana; a mirror held to her own burning, red-hot rage that she harbors and feeds. Begging to be released and seek the retribution they deserve.
<<elseif $control == "stupid">>
Even Mordred recognizes Arthur for the fool he is.
<<elseif $control == "maybe">>
Mordred seems to believe Arthur could change. Morgana dares not hope - she's already been disappointed once.
<</if>>
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
Mordred has made $their choice. Arthur ignited the fire - now he must deal with the flames.
<<elseif $say == "loathe">>
Morgana recognizes the wrath in Mordred's face, written so painfully plain - she's felt it herself. It's justified rage at the man who abandoned them both.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
She wishes Arthur has changed. It's been years since they first met and then he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne. If only time would have shaped him into someone more confident and independent and wordly, who could recognize the wrongs made and those who perpetuated them, feigning innocence with such shamelessness. Yet their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
<<if $control == "nottrust">>
Mordred harbors hope that Arthur could stop listening to Merlin - a hope that Morgana dares not rekindle in herself. She's already been disappointed once.
<<elseif $control == "canttrust">>
Neither Morgana or Mordred can trust Arthur, as long as Merlin controls him.
<<elseif $control == "cryevil">>
Mordred's tears - hopeless, impotent - broke Morgana, and held a mirror to that sea of anguish that she herself had sunk in, kicking and flailing against a world set on hating her.
<<elseif $control == "angryevil">>
The anger on Mordred's face was all too familiar to Morgana; a mirror held to her own burning, red-hot rage that she harbors and feeds. Begging to be released and seek the retribution they deserve.
<<elseif $control == "stupid">>
Even Mordred recognizes Arthur for the fool he is.
<<elseif $control == "maybe">>
Mordred seems to believe Arthur could change. Morgana dares not hope - she's already been disappointed once.
<</if>>
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
Mordred has made $their choice. Arthur ignited the fire - now he must deal with the flames.
<<elseif $say == "pity">>
Mordred pities Arthur - a sentiment Morgana certainly felt, but it's hard to maintain as she keeps seeing Arthur continue following Merlin's advice.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
She wishes Arthur has changed. It's been years since they first met and then he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne. If only time would have shaped him into someone more confident and independent and wordly, who could recognize the wrongs made and those who perpetuated them, feigning innocence with such shamelessness. Yet their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
<<if $control == "nottrust">>
Mordred harbors hope that Arthur could stop listening to Merlin - a hope that Morgana dares not rekindle in herself. She's already been disappointed once.
<<elseif $control == "canttrust">>
Neither Morgana or Mordred can trust Arthur, as long as Merlin controls him.
<<elseif $control == "cryevil">>
Mordred's tears - hopeless, impotent - broke Morgana, and held a mirror to that sea of anguish that she herself had sunk in, kicking and flailing against a world set on hating her.
<<elseif $control == "angryevil">>
The anger on Mordred's face was all too familiar to Morgana; a mirror held to her own burning, red-hot rage that she harbors and feeds. Begging to be released and seek the retribution they deserve.
<<elseif $control == "stupid">>
Even Mordred recognizes Arthur for the fool he is.
<<elseif $control == "maybe">>
Mordred seems to believe Arthur could change. Morgana dares not hope - she's already been disappointed once.
<</if>>
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
Mordred has made ?their choice. Arthur ignited the fire - now he must deal with the flames.
<<elseif $say == "revenge">>
Morgana recognizes the thirst for revenge, fueled by wrath, in Mordred's face - it mirrors her own. It's justified rage at the man who abandoned them both.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
She wishes Arthur has changed. It's been years since they first met and then he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne. If only time would have shaped him into someone more confident and independent and wordly, who could recognize the wrongs made and those who perpetuated them, feigning innocence with such shamelessness. Yet their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
<<if $control == "nottrust">>
Mordred harbors hope that Arthur could stop listening to Merlin - a hope that Morgana dares not rekindle in herself. She's already been disappointed once.
<<elseif $control == "canttrust">>
Neither Morgana or Mordred can trust Arthur, as long as Merlin controls him.
<<elseif $control == "cryevil">>
Mordred's tears - hopeless, impotent - broke Morgana, and held a mirror to that sea of anguish that she herself had sunk in, kicking and flailing against a world set on hating her.
<<elseif $control == "angryevil">>
The anger on Mordred's face was all too familiar to Morgana; a mirror held to her own burning, red-hot rage that she harbors and feeds. Begging to be released and seek the retribution they deserve.
<<elseif $control == "stupid">>
Even Mordred recognizes Arthur for the fool he is.
<<elseif $control == "maybe">>
Mordred seems to believe Arthur could change. Morgana dares not hope - she's already been disappointed once.
<</if>>
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
Mordred has made ?their choice. Arthur ignited the fire - now he must deal with the flames.
<<elseif $say == "behind" or $say == "behind1" or $say == "behind2">>
What Mordred didn't seem to understand was Morgana's concern. She was simply looking out for ?them, seeking to shield ?them from Arthur, who thinks he can waltz back into their lives after abandoning them and letting trouble befall them. She had to give him a strong warning so that the man would think twice before doing anything stupid; she didn't see the need to involve or inform Mordred, when the goal was to keep Arthur as the shadow he conscribed himself to.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
She wishes Arthur has changed. It's been years since they first met and then he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne. If only time would have shaped him into someone more confident and independent and wordly, who could recognize the wrongs made and those who perpetuated them, feigning innocence with such shamelessness. Yet their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
<<if $control == "nottrust">>
Mordred harbors hope that Arthur could stop listening to Merlin - a hope that Morgana dares not rekindle in herself. She's already been disappointed once.
<<elseif $control == "canttrust">>
Neither Morgana or Mordred can trust Arthur, as long as Merlin controls him.
<<elseif $control == "cryevil">>
Mordred's tears - hopeless, impotent - broke Morgana, and held a mirror to that sea of anguish that she herself had sunk in, kicking and flailing against a world set on hating her.
<<elseif $control == "angryevil">>
The anger on Mordred's face was all too familiar to Morgana; a mirror held to her own burning, red-hot rage that she harbors and feeds. Begging to be released and seek the retribution they deserve.
<<elseif $control == "stupid">>
Even Mordred recognizes Arthur for the fool he is.
<<elseif $control == "maybe">>
Mordred seems to believe Arthur could change. Morgana dares not hope - she's already been disappointed once.
<</if>>
Bright, sharp pain blooms in her palm. She loosens her fingers, clenched tight around her pendant, and opens her hand: painful crescents pepper the skin where the snake bit it. She sighs and runs a finger along its coiling figure. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile.
Mordred has made ?their choice. Arthur ignited the fire - now he must deal with the flames.
<<elseif $say == "angst">>
Morgana saw the pain written on Mordred's face, heard it hanging on their every word. Arthur's absence has deeply wounded ?them, and yet ?they still harbor a foolishly sanguine glimmer of hope. But Arthur can't just heal everything with one of his smile s- he can't just wipe away years of absence, can't expect to be a father when he never earned it. He'll just make Mordred suffer.
Morgana will give it to Arthur: she saw a glimmer of affection for Mordred in him, but he wavers. The shame of the night they laid with each other staining the love he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
She wishes Arthur has changed. It's been years since they first met and then he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne. If only time would have shaped him into someone more confident and independent and wordly, who could recognize the wrongs made and those who perpetuated them, feigning innocence with such shamelessness. Yet their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders but the coolness oozing off the stone wall and seeping into her skin is not to blame. It's rather soothing, alleviating the scorching wrath that spill into her veins at the thought of Merlin. She //loathes// him. He pulls the string, as he did with Uther before Arthur. They're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. Until the King cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly. The serpent of doubt tightens around her heart, sinking its teeth deeper, spilling poison into it. Arthur has some nerve to refute her accusation of Merlin's manipulation, only to turn it around on her. She's nothing like that wretched sorcerer; she loves Mordred, keenly so, whereas she doubts Arthur is more than just a pawn to Merlin.
<</if>>
But for now, she must focus on revenge.
Morgana heads towards the bookcase. She doesn't need to scan the rows to find the title she needs; her fingers reach out true and decisive, tracing gently down its worn-out spine. She thumbs through leisurely, seeking a specific potion, the perfect concontion in retaliation to Lancelot's attack. Unlike what he did, it's rather harmless. Damaging towards his dignity and guaranteed to make the rest of his stay painful. With no proof to link it to Morgana, lest any possible witnesses wished to lose their eyes. It's petty, but so is what Lancelot did.
When you prod the snake, you get bitten.
[[Somewhere else in the castle|ArthurPOV2]]Morgana Le Fay, your mother. Daughter of Igraine Le Fay, former Queen of Tintal, and Gorlois, a former Lord of Tintal. She's been stripped of her title and her land and married off to Duke Lot Leudonus of Lothia.
A sorceress, she posseses the magic of the Le Fay which lends her an affinity to the four elements: water, fire, air and earth.
//Description//: Her $eye eyes are as sharp as her tongue, always smoldering like embers with all the passion and anger contained within her. She keeps her $hair_type $hair hair long and often stylishly coiffed. Her complexion is $morgana_complexion, and she almost always paints her face, using tints and powders made by herself. She is of average height, with an elegant, slightly curvy frame, and dresses in lush and vibrant colors to enhance her beauty.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>//Morgana's POV//
<<if ($hair_type == "straight") or ($hair_type == "wavy")>>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>
Mordred's words, that the man who abandoned ?them cares about them wound her. They're like a dagger plunged in her heart, twisting each time she replays them. Mordred wants to choose, but it's a foolish choice. The wild, defiant look in ?their eyes as ?they defended the father that has caused ?them so much pain. Can't Mordred see Arthur doesn't want to be a father to ?them , but just a shadow of one?
What is she doing wrong?
She knows he cares about Mordred, but he wavers, the shame of the night they laid with each other staining the affection he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them . And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders, but the coolness oozing off the stone wall, seeping over her arm is not to blame. In fact, it's rather calming as her skin begins to heat with the wrath spilling into her veins. She loathes Merlin. He pulled Uther's strings, and now he's pulling Arthur's- they're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. He doesn't care for Arthur, yet he's very good at pretending to. Until Arthur cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly, the serpent of doubt tightening around her heart, sinking its teeth and spilling poison into it. Maybe, just maybe, there's truth to Arthur's words, and it's driving her mad. She won't stand to be compared to that wretched sorcerer.
Morgana's fist has clenched harder against her pendant, and she slowly opens it, lines in her palm where it has pressed against the skin. She runs a finger along the snake. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile. She sighs.
<<if $control == "control">>
She can't ignore Arthur's words, not when Mordred echoed them today. And if Arthur's arrow missed its target, Mordred's hit the bullseye.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just as Arthur's trust in Merlin is. If Morgana wants Mordred's trust, she has to extend the same to ?them .
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
She's only trying to protect Mordred, to advice ?them so ?they doesn't suffer, like her, yet ?they 's so stubborn. Just like her.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying, yet ?they has to understand that Arthur has and will wring even more tears from ?them .
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Mordred won't talk to her. $Theyre stubborn, like her.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels Mordred's slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
She notices her expression reflected in the window, the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. And so she has to compromise and hope for the best.
[[Somewhere else in the castle|ArthurPOV2]]//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>
Mordred wants to decide for ?themself. ?They has a mind of ?their own, Morgana won't deny it, but she wishes ?theyd welcome her guidance. How can she let ?them choose something that'll bring ?them suffering?
What is she doing wrong?
She knows he cares about Mordred, but he wavers, the shame of the night they laid with each other staining the affection he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders, but the coolness oozing off the stone wall, seeping over her arm is not to blame. In fact, it's rather calming as her skin begins to heat with the wrath spilling into her veins. She loathes Merlin. He pulled Uther's strings, and now he's pulling Arthur's- they're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. He doesn't care for Arthur, yet he's very good at pretending to. Until Arthur cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly, the serpent of doubt tightening around her heart, sinking its teeth and spilling poison into it. Maybe, just maybe, there's truth to Arthur's words, and it's driving her mad. She won't stand to be compared to that wretched sorcerer.
Morgana's fist has clenched harder against her pendant, and she slowly opens it, lines in her palm where it has pressed against the skin. She runs a finger along the snake. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile. She sighs.
<<if $control == "control">>
She can't ignore Arthur's words, not when Mordred echoed them today. And if Arthur's arrow missed its target, Mordred's hit the bullseye.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just as Arthur's trust in Merlin is. If Morgana wants Mordred's trust, she has to extend the same to ?them .
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
She's only trying to protect Mordred, to advice ?them so ?they doesn't suffer, like her, yet ?they 's so stubborn. Just like her.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying, yet ?they has to understand that Arthur has and will wring even more tears from ?them.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Mordred won't talk to her. ?Theyre stubborn, like her.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels Mordred's slipping through her fingers, turning $their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
She notices her expression reflected in the window, the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. And so she has to compromise and hope for the best.
[[Somewhere else in the castle|ArthurPOV2]]//Morgana's POV//
<<if ($hair_type == "straight") or ($hair_type == "wavy")>>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>
Mordred's words, that the man who abandoned ?them cares about them wound her. They're like a dagger plunged in her heart, twisting each time she replays them. The wild, defiant look in ?their eyes as ?they defended the father that has caused ?them so much pain. Can't Mordred see Arthur doesn't want to be a father to ?them, but just a shadow of one?
What is she doing wrong?
She knows he cares about Mordred, but he wavers, the shame of the night they laid with each other staining the affection he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders, but the coolness oozing off the stone wall, seeping over her arm is not to blame. In fact, it's rather calming as her skin begins to heat with the wrath spilling into her veins. She loathes Merlin. He pulled Uther's strings, and now he's pulling Arthur's- they're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. He doesn't care for Arthur, yet he's very good at pretending to. Until Arthur cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly, the serpent of doubt tightening around her heart, sinking its teeth and spilling poison into it. Maybe, just maybe, there's truth to Arthur's words, and it's driving her mad. She won't stand to be compared to that wretched sorcerer.
Morgana's fist has clenched harder against her pendant, and she slowly opens it, lines in her palm where it has pressed against the skin. She runs a finger along the snake. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile. She sighs.
<<if $control == "control">>
She can't ignore Arthur's words, not when Mordred echoed them today. And if Arthur's arrow missed its target, Mordred's hit the bullseye.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just as Arthur's trust in Merlin is. If Morgana wants Mordred's trust, she has to extend the same to ?them.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
She's only trying to protect Mordred, to advice ?them so ?they doesn't suffer, like her, yet ?theyre so stubborn. Just like her.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying, yet $they has to understand that Arthur has and will wring even more tears from $them.
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Mordred won't talk to her. ?Theyre stubborn, like her.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels Mordred's slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
She notices her expression reflected in the window, the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. And so she has to compromise and hope for the best.
[[Somewhere else in the castle|ArthurPOV2]]//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>
Mordred is intoxicated with Arthur's sudden arrival and affection- but ?they'll soon see Arthur's not to be trusted. There's hesitation, because Arthur has yet to prove he can be the father Mordred wants.
She knows he cares about Mordred, but he wavers, the shame of the night they laid with each other staining the affection he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet…doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders, but the coolness oozing off the stone wall, seeping over her arm is not to blame. In fact, it's rather calming as her skin begins to heat with the wrath spilling into her veins. She loathes Merlin. He pulled Uther's strings, and now he's pulling Arthur's- they're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. He doesn't care for Arthur, yet he's very good at pretending to. Until Arthur cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly, the serpent of doubt tightening around her heart, sinking its teeth and spilling poison into it. Maybe, just maybe, there's truth to Arthur's words, and it's driving her mad. She won't stand to be compared to that wretched sorcerer.
Morgana's fist has clenched harder against her pendant, and she slowly opens it, lines in her palm where it has pressed against the skin. She runs a finger along the snake. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile. She sighs.
<<if $control == "control">>
She can't ignore Arthur's words, not when Mordred echoed them today. And if Arthur's arrow missed its target, Mordred's hit the bullseye.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just as Arthur's trust in Merlin is. If Morgana wants Mordred's trust, she has to extend the same to ?them.
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
She's only trying to protect Mordred, to advice ?them so ?they doesn't suffer, like her, yet ?theyre so stubborn. Just like her.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying, yet ?they has to understand that Arthur has and will wring even more tears from ?them .
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Mordred won't talk to her. ?Theyre stubborn, like her.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels Mordred's slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
She notices her expression reflected in the window, the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. And so she has to compromise and hope for the best.
[[Somewhere else in the castle|ArthurPOV2]]//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>
Mordred wants to know Arthur, but that's a foolish choice.
She knows he cares about Mordred, but he wavers, the shame of the night they laid with each other staining the affection he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders, but the coolness oozing off the stone wall, seeping over her arm is not to blame. In fact, it's rather calming as her skin begins to heat with the wrath spilling into her veins. She loathes Merlin. He pulled Uther's strings, and now he's pulling Arthur's- they're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. He doesn't care for Arthur, yet he's very good at pretending to. Until Arthur cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly, the serpent of doubt tightening around her heart, sinking its teeth and spilling poison into it. Maybe, just maybe, there's truth to Arthur's words, and it's driving her mad. She won't stand to be compared to that wretched sorcerer.
Morgana's fist has clenched harder against her pendant, and she slowly opens it, lines in her palm where it has pressed against the skin. She runs a finger along the snake. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile. She sighs.
<<if $control == "control">>
She can't ignore Arthur's words, not when Mordred echoed them today. And if Arthur's arrow missed its target, Mordred's hit the bullseye.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just as Arthur's trust in Merlin is. If Morgana wants Mordred's trust, she has to extend the same to ?them .
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
She's only trying to protect Mordred, to advice ?them so ?they doesn't suffer, like her, yet ?theyre so stubborn. Just like her.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying, yet ?they has to understand that Arthur has and will wring even more tears from ?they .
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Mordred won't talk to her. ?Theyre stubborn, like her.
<</if>>//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>
Mordred's tears broke her heart- and they're all Arthur's fault. She just wants to spare Mordred the pain that Arthur will cause ?them.
She knows he cares about Mordred, but he wavers, the shame of the night they laid with each other staining the affection he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders, but the coolness oozing off the stone wall, seeping over her arm is not to blame. In fact, it's rather calming as her skin begins to heat with the wrath spilling into her veins. She loathes Merlin. He pulled Uther's strings, and now he's pulling Arthur's- they're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. He doesn't care for Arthur, yet he's very good at pretending to. Until Arthur cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly, the serpent of doubt tightening around her heart, sinking its teeth and spilling poison into it. Maybe, just maybe, there's truth to Arthur's words, and it's driving her mad. She won't stand to be compared to that wretched sorcerer.
Morgana's fist has clenched harder against her pendant, and she slowly opens it, lines in her palm where it has pressed against the skin. She runs a finger along the snake. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile. She sighs.
<<if $control == "control">>
She can't ignore Arthur's words, not when Mordred echoed them today. And if Arthur's arrow missed its target, Mordred's hit the bullseye.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just as Arthur's trust in Merlin is. If Morgana wants Mordred's trust, she has to extend the same to ?them .
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
She's only trying to protect Mordred, to advice ?them so ?they doesn't suffer, like her, yet ?theyre so stubborn. Just like her.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying, yet ?they has to understand that Arthur has and will wring even more tears from ?them .
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Mordred won't talk to her. ?Theyre stubborn, like her.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels Mordred's slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
She notices her expression reflected in the window, the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. And so she has to compromise and hope for the best.//Morgana's POV//
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
Morgana undoes her braid, letting the waves of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "curly">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting curls of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">>
Morgana undoes her ponytail, letting the locs of $hair hair fall down her back as she stretches in her chair, sighing, tension draining away from her muscles. She slumps her shoulders as she props her elbows on the desk, massaging her temple with firm, circular movements, a headache creeping in.
<</if>>
Mordred doesn't even see Arthur as a father, and how could ?they , after years of absence?
She knows he cares about Mordred, but he wavers, the shame of the night they laid with each other staining the affection he has for his child. Morgana isn't proud of it, either, but it was what she needed to do, if she ever hoped to get retribution.
Mordred insists Arthur's doing an effort, but Morgana knows Arthur better than ?them. And yet...doubt slithers in Morgana, sly like a serpent, coiling itself around her mind, poisoning it with false hope that will only get her disappointed. It's been years since they met, and he was a lost, naive boy thrust on the throne then. Surely he's changed.
Their confrontation last night is quick to remind Morgana that, in fact, he hasn't changed that much. He's still just as naive and manipulated by Merlin, a ship sailed by the sorcerer on a sea he has no idea how to navigate.
Even though there's a flicker of hope in him reaching out to Mordred- an action she doubts Merlin approved- who's to say how far the sorcerer's influence extends? How he controls Arthur in insidious ways, without even using his honeyed words.
Morgana shudders, but the coolness oozing off the stone wall, seeping over her arm is not to blame. In fact, it's rather calming as her skin begins to heat with the wrath spilling into her veins. She loathes Merlin. He pulled Uther's strings, and now he's pulling Arthur's- they're just puppets for him, puppets in his play of power. He doesn't care for Arthur, yet he's very good at pretending to. Until Arthur cuts the strings and frees himself, she can't trust him.
Arthur's words from last night ring in her head, accusingly, the serpent of doubt tightening around her heart, sinking its teeth and spilling poison into it. Maybe, just maybe, there's truth to Arthur's words, and it's driving her mad. She won't stand to be compared to that wretched sorcerer.
Morgana's fist has clenched harder against her pendant, and she slowly opens it, lines in her palm where it has pressed against the skin. She runs a finger along the snake. It's smooth, reminding her of the slippery scale of the reptile. She sighs.
<<if $control == "control">>
She can't ignore Arthur's words, not when Mordred echoed them today. And if Arthur's arrow missed its target, Mordred's hit the bullseye.
<<elseif $control == "trustme">>
Mordred's trust in Arthur is misplaced, just as Arthur's trust in Merlin is. If Morgana wants Mordred's trust, she has to extend the same to ?them .
<<elseif $control == "trust">>
Arthur may have gained Mordred's trust, but he'd have to work harder to convince Morgana.
<<elseif $control == "stop">>
She's only trying to protect Mordred, to advice ?them so ?they doesn't suffer, like her, yet ?theyre so stubborn. Just like her.
<<elseif $control == "tears">>
Her heart broke when Mordred started crying, yet ?they has to understand that Arthur has and will wring even more tears from ?them .
<<elseif $control == "start">>
Mordred won't talk to her. ?Theyre stubborn, like her.
<</if>>
She feels she's losing Mordred. Like a snake slithering away in the grass, she feels Mordred's slipping through her fingers, turning ?their back to her. And that hurts worst of all.
She notices her expression reflected in the window, the vulnerability in her $eye eyes. She doesn't want Mordred to lose ?their mother like she did. And so she has to compromise and hope for the best.Nimue Wyllt, Merlin's apprentice and his daughter with High Pristess Niniane Valerius.
You've known her as a small child in Avalon.
//Description//: Nimue has an oval face, a curved nose and sharp eyes of a vibrant green, as unfathomable as a forest lake. Her skin is brown with cool undertones, and her straight, cinammon brown hair falls past her shoulders.
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]<<if $chapt1choice1 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"I can do fire magic!\""|PendragonPowers1][$chapt1choice1 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt1choice2 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"I can grow red scales as armor. Or I will someday. When will I?\""|PendragonPowers2][$chapt1choice2 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt1choice3 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"I can talk to dragons telepathically!\""|PendragonPowers3][$chapt1choice3 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt1choice4 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"I understand the dragon tongue without need of learning it.\""|PendragonPowers4][$chapt1choice4 to true]]</div><</if>>
<<if $chapt1choice5 is false>><div class="choice">[["\"I can mind control dragons. Not yet though.\""|PendragonPowers5][$chapt1choice5 to true]]</div><</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"These are all the powers I have.\""|StudyCont][$chapt1choice6 to true]]</div>"Well, I could do it anyway." Your Le Fay blood allows you to do magic - and not only that, but your bloodline's affinity are the four elements: water, air, earth and //fire//. They react to your emotions, like an extension of yourself; you can feel their magic all around you and within, buzzing on your skin and in your veins.
But fire is a power that is lended by Pendragon blood, too. It's at the tip of your fingers, ready to bend to your will. At least, sometimes to your will. One time you tried to make a spark, you almost burnt your home library, and Morgana's temper was as fiery as the flames that singed the tips of your hair. From then on if you had to practice inside it was only in the atrium, next to the pool of water.
"Do you want to see some fire tricks?" you enthuse, raising your hand as warmth tingles your palm.
"NO-" Junia's eyes widen in horror as she jumps to her feet, lowering your hand and patting it. "Let's not try it near the very flammable books."
You're a little disappointed, but give in.
[[Continue|PendragonPowers]]Some nights, you stretch out your arm in the moonlight, to feel a tingle or see a glint of scales, anything to signal a change to you, a shift to your skin. Every time, you are filled with sadness to discover that, no matter how much you try to concentrate, you can't will the scales to come out.
You've read they cover the expanse of your arms and legs and abdomen, climb up your throat all the way to your jaws and temples.
Junia gives you a sheepish smile, "With time and practice, Mordred, you'll master it. Just because you have the blood, the potential, you can't expect your powers to manifest at the flick of your hand."
It's what Morgana tells you, too.
<div class="choice">[[You'll just have to be patient.|PendragonPowers][$impulsive to $impulsive-3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[But you want your scales now!|PendragonPowers][$impulsive to $impulsive+3]]</div>That's how most of your dragon conversations go; it'd be strange for a child as young as you to talk with dragons in their tongue, as even some adults struggle with its intricacies that turn off many from learning it.
Morgana's made an attempt as well, and she can understand it better than speak it. You've seen her pour over thick, old tomes, growling and hissing and making sounds that would make a non-speaker think she's gone crazy; and you'd sit with her, correcting her and laughing.
[[Continue|PendragonPowers]]You've always had an innate understanding of the language. Any word a dragon speaks, your mind comprehends with no need of explanation; any word you say, your tongue knows just how to utter it without instruction.
It's something many people would envy you for, Morgana said, with a tinge of envy herself.
[[Continue|PendragonPowers]]<<if $cool=="cool">>
You feel a smile curl your lips. When you first heard of it, you imagined an army of dragons listening to your orders, as they swoop against those that dare refuse you as their ruler! Morgana explained to you that it doesn't work //quite// like that though; you could only command a dragon at a time, and while disappointing, it's nothing to sneeze at.
Junia looks very concerned, her brow furrowed as she regards you. "That is a very...twisted power, Mordred, that should be used as a last resort in a desperate situation. It's not fair to the dragons."
[[Continue|PendragonPowers]]
<<elseif $cool=="notcool">>
Junia mildly smiles at you. "I know, Mordred. But you don't have to use it. It should be...a last resort in a desperate situation where you're in danger, but nothing more."
You smile at her, mollified.
[[Continue|PendragonPowers]]
<<elseif $cool=="handy">>
"In what...circumstances does she think it'll aid you?"
You purse your mouth. "I think she said something about turning dragons against Arthur."
"Ah." The woman looks completely unsurprised. "Mordred...That is a very twisted power that should be used as a last resort in a desperate situation. It's not fair to the dragons."
[[Continue|PendragonPowers]]
<<elseif $cool =="no">>
Not only can you telepathically communicate with dragons; with practice, you could also learn to influence their moods, their thoughts, to make them do as you say.
<div class="choice">[["\"That sounds awesome!\""|PendragonPowers5][$kind to $kind-5, $cool to "cool"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Compulsion sounds mean. Will I really have to do it?\""|PendragonPowers5][$kind to $kind+5, $cool to "notcool"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Mother says it'll be very handy.\""|PendragonPowers5][$cool to "handy"]]</div>
<</if>>$dragon_name is attempting to make them play with $dragon_him; poking them with $dragon_his snoot. One of the dragons seems amused and teasingly replies with a tail sweep, but the other bares their fangs at your dragon.
<div class="choice">[["Hey, play nice with my dragon!" you reprimand the other dragon.|DragonLodge2][$chapt3_dragon_reaction to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Let them be. They're no fun.\""|DragonLodge2][$chapt3_dragon_reaction to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Don't be pushy.\""|DragonLodge2][$chapt3_dragon_reaction to "3"]]</div><div class="titlelettersone" style='font-size: 200%;'>Prologue</div>
The doors to the throne room open and the young woman strides in, nursing the infant close to her chest. Behind her trails an older, somber man, garbed in the fine threads of a lord's garments, grim as if the offense to be confronted were his. The woman does not crumble under the weight of the baby at her bosom, weight of a most outrageous deed. Instead, she holds her chin high with a defiance which both awes and revolts.
But the most defiant of her actions is the way she attempts to catch the King’s gaze.
Arthur can’t look at her. As soon as the doors were pushed apart, one glimpse at the bundle in her arms was all he could spare her before flinging his eyes towards the floor. A coward, that he is, but he wants to hide his face in shame as heat blossoms on his cheeks. He wants to hide from that powerful gaze.
Not only is he a coward, he tells himself bitterly, he is a fool just as much. A fool for not realizing there could only be one reason for the girl’s eyes, so similarly tainted as his. He should have known, when he gazed deep into those 🎇<<cycle "$eye">>
<<option "green eyes" "green">>
<<option "blue eyes" "blue">>
<<option "gray eyes" "gray">>
<<option "brown eyes" "brown">>
<<option "hazel eyes" "hazel">>
<<option "violet eyes" "violet">>
<<option "black eyes" "black">>
<<option "amber eyes" "amber">>
<</cycle>> that what he saw was more than the loneliness and wistfulness and turmoil he felt as well - that what he saw in her eyes was more than a reflection of his heart’s yearnings and woes - but his own face, his features, which so strangely coincide with the girl’s own here and there. Those eyes were a comforting and familiar sight in a castle that, although he's visited before, seemed so foreign now, entering it with the knowledge he were to be its king. And the court itself was threatening to suffocate him with its overwhelming attention - the nobles who wondered and marveled, the nobles who scorned and judged, the ones who simply watched.
[[Continue|PrologueEyes]]Arthur's gaze is slipping towards Merlin when he catches himself, remembering Morgana's words. He continues to stare at the girl's inquiring face. "Leave us." Arthur commands.
Everyone starts moving towards the door. Except for Sir Lancelot du Lac. He directs his step towards the king, and leans his golden head to his. "Your Majesty, are you sure you don't want me to stay?"
"Ever the loyal guard dog, I see." Morgana chuckles. "What could I do to the King? Look at me," She pushes the bundle at her bosom slightly forward, "am I so menacing with a sleeping babe in my arms?"
Arthur lays a hand on the knight's armoured shoulder. "Go, Sir Lancelot."
Lancelot takes his leave with a heavy heart, and Arthur watches him go, thankful for having such a good friend. But he has to talk to Morgana on his own.
As the throne hall's doors closes, Arthur descends the steps of his throne and comes face to face with his half-sister.
As he approaches the bundle stirs, and Arthur halts like a wild animal. Morgana gently hushes and rocks the baby, and it quickly calms.
Arthur's features soften at the sight of the serene babe and at Morgana's affectionate look as she plants a kiss on the child's forehead, and so does the iron fist wrenching his guts, and when he speaks, his voice is barely more than a pleading whisper.
"Why, Morgana? You knew from the very beginning who I was, yet you still-" He has trouble finding his words, "still let me bed you. When you told me you were heavy with child, and that you will not poison the child in your womb to get rid of it...Was it...was it all planned?"
The girl does not look up at Arthur, nor does she say anything. The boy goes on, voice raising and shaking.
"Merlin told me you did. That this child - this bastard - you wish it to be the rightful heir. That you hope to get the throne that's been denied to you. Merlin said you are a cunning..."
"Merlin is as much if not more cunning than me." Morgana cuts him off, throwing him a hard look. "Do you believe him?"
"I...I..." He does not know what to answer, so instead, he asks, "I wonder, why would you want the throne? Why say it's been denied you, when it was never yours to have?"
Morgana's eyes flare up with fire and she rounds on Arthur.
"Uther took everything away from me. Everything. Murdered my father, my court, raped my mother and sent me away to Avalon where he needn't worry about me. When I was finally happy in Avalon, he snatched me away and wedded me to a man twice my age!" Furious tears stream down her face and onto the fretting, crying child. "And the bastard never said he had a son, tucked away to come to the throne one day. Every day I plotted my revenge, but I arrived at court after the king gave his last breath. I should have been the one to take it, not some battle wounds. I should have cut his throat when I had the chance."
"I know my father wronged you, but I will not be like him!" Arthur shouts, feeling tears of shame and pity burning in his eyes.
Morgana shakes her head. "You've only just arrived at court, Arthur. You're too innocent." Her voice has calmed to a soothing tone. "Let me stay at court, rule by your side, name this child your rightful heir. Pendragon and Le Fey, a most powerful combination of bloodlines."
"Rule beside me?" Disbelief rings in each word. "My queen will rule with me."
Morgana thrusts her chin upwards. "Then make me your queen."
Arthur shakes his head so vehemently he thinks his crown would fall off. "You're my half-sister! We came out of the same womb! Incest is frowned upon!" His voice is louder and shakier at each sentence, and close to breaking, a token of his youth. "That child disgusts me."
His chest is heaving and his blood drumming in his ears. Morgana stares at him, not saying anything, $eye eyes hard and conjuring up a storm. Arthur picks up a sudden change in the air- a draft he can't place, but that makes him shiver and is turning swifter, whipping him across his cheeks and filling his ears. He is at the top of a mountain, and Morgana is a furious tempest cast upon him.
"This child is the only heir you'll have, Arthur." Her voice seems to travel on the wind.
The hairs on Arthur's neck prickle- his time with Merlin taught him about magic, and he recognizes a curse when he hears one. He attempts to escape Morgana's gaze, but he finds himself involuntarily pulled into its depths.
Slowly, the wind dies down, uproar replaced by the rising clamor outside and pitiful cries from the bundle in her arms.
Morgana looks down to calm the baby, her features softening. Her voice is quiet when she speaks again, "I shall take my leave now."
In a flurry of skirts, she is storming off as the doors from the throne room are pushed wide open.
"What was that?" Merlin puts himself in front of Morgana, voice harsh and urgent. "Do you know what you've done?"
Morgana doesn't waver in her stride, "Ensured the throne is claimed by its rightful owner."
Lot approaches the throne, dark eyes tired and apologetic, his tall frame hunched in shame. "Your Majesty, I shall see that she gives the babe over."
Arthur only nods, and the man rushes after his wife.
As the echos of Lady Morgana's and King Lot's footsteps fade away, Merlin sighs wearily and shakes his head ruefully. "Morgana is a talented sorceress. So much raw power." He squints his dark eyes. "And it's fueled by rage." He doesn't talk to anyone in particular, but everyone in the room is listening intently- the miserable king, the serious Sir Ector and his son, Sir Kay, the young Sir Lancelot du Lac. "Her words are true, and you won't have another heir but for the bastard." Merlin turns and gazes into Arthur's eyes. "I had a vision, Arthur. A prophecy Morgana knows, as well."
<div class="choice">[["\"Your son will be the undoing of Camelot.\""|Prologue3][$pgen to 0, $gender to "male", $child to "son", $agab to "male"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Your daughter will be the undoing of Camelot.\""|Prologue3][$pgen to 1, $gender to "female", $child to "daughter", $agab to "female"]]</div>Come night, Morgana le Fay holds her ?child at her chest, safely hidden in her dark blue cloak, which flutters softly around her as she hurries towards the stables. With steadfast determination and brisk moves, Morgana straps the luggage to a steed she knows will listen to her, and hops onto it as the baby begins to shift and coo. Unbeknownst to the King, her husband or even the guards, she leads the horse out of the stables, out of Camelot and away.
[[Continue|Chapter1]]Morgana arrived from the Lothian court with her husband, Duke Lot, a man twice her age, longing for something; Arthur knew not what, but the yearning made her eyes glimmer like fanned embers.
Arthur didn’t know they are both children of Igraine.
If he had known all those months ago, he wouldn’t have let her lead him to that deserted bedroom, wouldn’t have let her guide his hands to those bodice strings, fumbling with insecure yet eager fingers to tease them loose, wouldn’t have allowed her mouth to capture his with that ravenous hunger, wouldn’t have entered her and lost himself in her arms.
It was their first night in Camelot, and no one bothered introducing them until the day after. They were both pacing the empty halls, like tormented ghosts of the castle. But even ghosts must have felt more at home there than he did.
They kept the secret. They kept the night of passion to themselves. It scared them. But it gnawed at Arthur's conscience as her belly grew plump. For nine months he stewed in silent turmoil and shame. When the baby took its first breath and wailed into the night, the young King felt he could no longer keep silent. So he confided in the only man he could trust to know how to handle this.
Merlin coughs pointedly into his hand, sharply drawing Arthur's attention.
Arthur glances up at the royal wizard mournfully, and the salt and pepper haired man nods ever so softly, prompting the King to speak. The boy straigthens in his throne - which is suddenly as uncomfortable as needles - and raises his chin to discover the crown unusually heavy.
"After much contemplation and counsel with those wiser than I," Arthur's voice comes out rather strained and wavering but he goes on nonetheless, staring at the closed doors across the room, beyond the graceful frame of Morgana craddling the bundle and the sinewy King Lot. "I have rendered the decision to," he gulps, and wishes he could gulp his next words, too, "take the child to be brought up away from court, where its identity will be kept a secret. Give over the child, Lady Morgana."
A knight, young Sir Kay, steps forward, lips pressed into a hard line. The motion makes the young mother pull the child closer to her chest, and glare a tempest at the knight.
"You won't as much as touch a hair of my child." Morgana threatens with a quiet voice which yet carries around the throne hall.
Sir Kay looks up in uncertainty at his king and stepbrother, but the girl takes a firm step forward, gazing at the King, "You reckon me stupid?" Arthur flushes, conflicted. "If I give up my child now, can you guarantee I won't find the ship wrecked or carriage destroyed? Storms sink ships, thieves siege carriages...The bastard you so desperately refuse to recognize would be ridden off."
The mere idea was outrageous and horrifying. "I would never do that, Morgana. You have my word, the child will be protected."
Morgana smiles sharply. "Of course. Such a ruthless decision would not be the craft of yours, Arthur." She glances to Arthur's side, where Merlin stands. Arthur's skin prickled with slimy unease. What dangerous implication gleamed in those eyes, fixed on Merlin? The Royal Sorcerer would never come up with a plot so cruel. "Will you let others decide the fate of your child?" She isn't shouting, yet her voice booms around, bouncing against the stone walls and returning against eardrums with a thunderous quality.
"Your child, incestuous may it be, is still a bastard, and the court is no fit place for the likes," Merlin explains. "Imagine the scandal, my dear Lady Morgana, if word got around that you laid with your half-brother."
Morgana presses her lips together in a mirthless smile, and replies in a polite yet sharp tone at the edges, "More scandalous than what King Uther did when he massacred my court at the feast and forcefully wedded my mother so he could rightfully rape her on their wedding night?" Silence follows her words.
Arthur looks around at the men gathered there, glancing aside in shame; all of them -except Merlin and Lord Lot- were too young to have lived through those times. He promised himself he'd never commit such heinous acts.
Merlin bows his head slightly, but chooses to ignore Morgana's words, and reiterates, "The child is a bastard. Should they set their mind that the throne is theirs, it may pose a danger to the rightful heir."
"In other words, Lord Merlin, what you fear is my pouring poison in the child's ear. You'd rather be the one whispering honeyed words to sway them, as you did to Uther and as you're doing now with Arthur."
Arthur flinches. "Lord Merlin does not sway me, Lady Morgana." The young king speaks up. "He offers me advice."
Morgana tilts her head, vaguely amused, as if considering a child who had just told her of his imaginary feats. "Your Majesty, may I speak with you...in private?" She quirks an eyebrow at the audience.
[[Continue|Prologue2]]Morgana smiles sweetly. "Good night, my beloved." She places a kiss on your forehead. She gets up and through your half-lidded eyes you watch as she gingerly navigates around your room, picking up toys and putting them into their wooden chest. You see her carry the small wooden sword Accolon carved for you, so you can pretend you too are a knight like him. He'd play the bad prince, or the evil knight you'd have to defeat, and Scaly would be the dragon you ride into battle. You have a suspicion he allows you to win.
You feel saddened at the thought that yet more weeks will pass before you see the knight again. But surely when he comes, he'll make up for it by playing with you and Scaly all day, and telling his valiant stories before bed. And you know that when he'll return, Morgana will be as bright as she always is around him, laughing more delightedly than usual, smiling more than usual. And they'll steal kisses, and he'll accompany you to your herb picking, and you'll have diner together every evening. That's how families should be, Morgana told you.
You fall asleep to that warming thought.
[[Continue|Chapter1.8]]Morgana quirks an eyebrow, unsatisfied. "I don't like the sound of it, Mordred." When you only shrug she sighs, a weary smile on her lips. "Good night, my beloved." She places a kiss on your forehead. She gets up and through your half-lidded eyes you watch as she gingerly navigates around your room, picking up toys and putting them into their wooden chest. You see her carry the small wooden sword Accolon carved for you, so you can pretend you too are a knight like him. He'd play the bad prince, or the evil knight you'd have to defeat, and Scaly would be the dragon you ride into battle. You have a suspicion he allows you to win.
You feel yourself sadden at the thought that yet more weeks will pass before you see the knight again. But surely when he comes, he'll make up for it by playing with you and Scaly all day, and telling his valiant stories before bed. And you know that when he'll return, Morgana will be as bright as she always is around him, laughing more delightedly than usual, smiling more than usual. And they'll steal kisses, and he'll accompany you to your herb picking, and you'll have diner together every evening. That's how families should be, Morgana told you.
You fall asleep to that warming thought.
[[Continue|Chapter1.8]]Morgana smiles softly. "Good night, my beloved." She places a kiss on your forehead. She gets up and through your half-lidded eyes you watch as she gingerly navigates around your room, picking up toys and putting them into their wooden chest. You see her carry the small wooden sword Accolon carved for you, so you can pretend you too are a knight like him. He'd play the bad prince, or the evil knight you'd have to defeat, and Scaly would be the dragon you ride into battle. You have a suspicion he allows you to win.
You feel yourself sadden at the thought that yet more weeks will pass before you see the knight again. But surely when he comes, he'll make up for it by playing with you and Scaly all day, and telling his valiant stories before bed. And you know that when he'll return, Morgana will be as bright as she always is around him, laughing more delightedly than usual, smiling more than usual. And they'll steal kisses, and he'll accompany you to your herb picking, and you'll have diner together every evening. That's how families should be, Morgana told you.
You fall asleep to that warming thought.
[[Continue|Chapter1.8]]<<silently>>
<<set $met_arthur to true>>
<<set $met_gawain to true>>
<<set $met_galahad to true>>
<<set $met_lancelot to true>>
<<set $prophecy_check to "yes">>
<</silently>>
Please set your Mordred's appearance.
Eyes: <<cycle "$eye">>
<<option "green eyes" "green">>
<<option "blue eyes" "blue">>
<<option "gray eyes" "gray">>
<<option "brown eyes" "brown">>
<<option "hazel eyes" "hazel">>
<<option "violet eyes" "violet">>
<<option "black eyes" "black">>
<<option "amber eyes" "amber">>
<</cycle>>
Hair color: <<cycle "$hair">>
<<option "dark brown, deep and rich and almost black." "dark brown">>
<<option "chestnut brown, dark and lush." "chestnut brown">>
<<option "light brown like honey." "light brown">>
<<option "lush, dark blond." "dark blonde">>
<<option "icy blond, cool and lush." "icy blonde">>
<<option "golden blond, warm and lush." "golden blonde">>
<<option "auburn, deep red." "auburn">>
<<option "copper red, fiery." "copper red">>
<<option "pure black like the midnight sky." "black">>
<</cycle>>
Hair type: <<cycle "$hair_type">>
<<option "straight" "straight">>
<<option "wavy" "wavy">>
<<option "curly" "curly">>
<<option "coily with corkscrew coils" "coilycurls">>
<<option "coily and cloudlike" "coily">>
<</cycle>>
Complexion: <<cycle "$complexion">>
<<option "ivory" "ivory">>
<<option "warm beige" "warm beige">>
<<option "cool beige" "cool beige">>
<<option "rosy" "rosy">>
<<option "tawny" "tawny">>
<<option "olive" "olive">>
<<option "light brown" "light brown">>
<<option "sepia brown" "sepia brown">>
<<option "golden brown" "golden brown">>
<<option "russet brown" "russet brown">>
<<option "dark brown" "dark brown">>
<<option "warm black" "warm black">>
<<option "cool black" "cool black">>
<<option "deep black" "deep black">>
<</cycle>>
Mordred's pronouns: <<cycle "$gender">>
<<option "he/him" "male">>
<<option "she/her" "female">>
<<option "they/them" "they">>
<</cycle>>
[[Next|SetMordredPersonality]]<<silently>>
<<set $met_arthur to false>>
<<set $met_gawain to false>>
<<set $met_galahad to false>>
<<set $met_lancelot to false>>
<<set $prophecy_check to "no">>
<</silently>>
Please set your Mordred's appearance.
Eyes: <<cycle "$eye">>
<<option "green eyes" "green">>
<<option "blue eyes" "blue">>
<<option "gray eyes" "gray">>
<<option "brown eyes" "brown">>
<<option "hazel eyes" "hazel">>
<<option "violet eyes" "violet">>
<<option "black eyes" "black">>
<<option "amber eyes" "amber">>
<</cycle>>
Hair color: <<cycle "$hair">>
<<option "dark brown, deep and rich and almost black." "dark brown">>
<<option "chestnut brown, dark and lush." "chestnut brown">>
<<option "light brown like honey." "light brown">>
<<option "lush, dark blond." "dark blonde">>
<<option "icy blond, cool and lush." "icy blonde">>
<<option "golden blond, warm and lush." "golden blonde">>
<<option "auburn, deep red." "auburn">>
<<option "copper red, fiery." "copper red">>
<<option "pure black like the midnight sky." "black">>
<</cycle>>
Hair type: <<cycle "$hair_type">>
<<option "straight" "straight">>
<<option "wavy" "wavy">>
<<option "curly" "curly">>
<<option "coily with corkscrew coils" "coilycurls">>
<<option "coily and cloudlike" "coily">>
<</cycle>>
Complexion: <<cycle "$complexion">>
<<option "ivory" "ivory">>
<<option "warm beige" "warm beige">>
<<option "cool beige" "cool beige">>
<<option "rosy" "rosy">>
<<option "tawny" "tawny">>
<<option "olive" "olive">>
<<option "light brown" "light brown">>
<<option "sepia brown" "sepia brown">>
<<option "golden brown" "golden brown">>
<<option "russet brown" "russet brown">>
<<option "dark brown" "dark brown">>
<<option "warm black" "warm black">>
<<option "cool black" "cool black">>
<<option "deep black" "deep black">>
<</cycle>>
Mordred's gender assigned at birth: <<cycle "$gender">>
<<option "boy" "male">>
<<option "girl" "female">>
<</cycle>>
[[Next|SetMordredForChapt3]]<<if $gray_rock == "true_ro">>
You turn around and scoot closer to Galahad. His eyes widen. Eyes that, in this light, look more violet than gray, and far more gentler than when you arrived, though still guarded, still hesitant, like a shield half lowered. Eyes that make your heart flutter in your chest like a bird in a cage. You take in a sharp breath before sticking out your hand. Galahad glances between you and the rock, even more puzzled.
"I want you to have it," you say. "Something from Lothia, as a gift from me."
"A rock?" Each word is dipped in confusion.
<<if $defiant >= 50>>
Frustration starts to well in you and seep into your frown and tone. "It's not cursed or anything. If you don't want it, I can just throw it back where it came-"
"No." He cuts you off, reaching out his palm. You place the rock in his waiting hand.
He stares at it intently, with so much intensity you'd think he's trying to crack it. You almost expect him to chuck it back in the river. Instead, he closes his fingers around it and holds onto it.
<<else>>
You nod earnestly. He hesitates, then reaches forward and takes it. He stares at it intently, with so much intensity you'd think he's trying to crack it. You almost expect him to chuck it back in the river. Instead, he closes his fingers around it and holds onto it.
<</if>>
<<elseif $gray_rock == "true">>
You turn around and scoot closer to Galahad. His eyes widen. Eyes that, in this light, look more violet than gray, and far more gentler than when you arrived, though still guarded, still hesitant, like a shield half lowered. You stick out your hand. Galahad glances between you and the rock, even more puzzled.
"I want you to have it," you say. "Something from Lothia, as a gift from me."
"A rock?" Each word is dipped in confusion.
<<if $defiant >= 50>>
Frustration starts to well in you and seep into your frown and tone. "It's not cursed or anything. If you don't want it, I can just throw it back where it came-"
"No." He cuts you off, reaching out his palm. You place the rock in his waiting hand.
He stares at it intently, with so much intensity you'd think he's trying to crack it. You almost expect him to chuck it back in the river. Instead, he closes his fingers around it and holds onto it.
<<else>>
You nod earnestly. He hesitates, then reaches forward and takes it. He stares at it intently, with so much intensity you'd think he's trying to crack it. You almost expect him to chuck it back in the river. Instead, he closes his fingers around it and holds onto it.
<</if>>
<<elseif $gray_rock == "clueless_ro">>
You turn around and scoot closer to Galahad. His eyes widen. Eyes that, in this light, look more violet than gray, and far more gentler than when you arrived, though still guarded, still hesitant, like a shield half lowered. Eyes that make your heart flutter in your chest like a bird in a cage. A strange sensation that wells from a sentiment you can't quite figure out. You take in a sharp breath before sticking out your hand. Galahad glances between you and the rock, even more puzzled than before.
"I want you to have it," you say. "Something from Lothia, as a gift from me."
"A rock?" Each word is dipped in confusion.
<<if $defiant >= 50>>
Frustration starts to well in you and seep into your frown and tone. "It's not cursed or anything. If you don't want it, I can just throw it back where it came-"
"No." He cuts you off, reaching out his palm. You place the rock in his waiting hand.
He stares at it intently, with so much intensity you'd think he's trying to crack it. You almost expect him to chuck it back in the river. Instead, he closes his fingers around it and holds onto it.
<<else>>
You nod earnestly. He hesitates, then reaches forward and takes it. He stares at it intently, with so much intensity you'd think he's trying to crack it. You almost expect him to chuck it back in the river. Instead, he closes his fingers around it and holds onto it.
<</if>>
<<else>>
You turn your hand and let the rock slide and fall with a splash back in the river.
<</if>>
Finally, Galahad gets up. "Callum and I should get back to the castle."
You hide the disappointment trying to surface with a smile. "You should stop by one of the stalls and get some sweets if you haven't already. I have, and got treats for both $dragon_name and I," you pat your pocket.
The start of a smile shapes his lips before he catches himself. He calls out to Callum, who looks sad to leave. Seems like $dragon_name might have made a friend.
You get up, too. "I'm glad we talked. Hopefully we can do this again."
His back is turned to you, his palm resting on Callum's back. "Why?"
<div class="choice">[["I told you. I want to be friends."|RockGift1.1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I told you. I want to be friends." And perhaps more. ❤|RockGift1.2][$gally_crush to $gally_crush+1]]</div>
<<if $gally_crush == 0>><div class="choice">[["I told you. I want to be friends." You feel a pull to him. 💕|RockGift1.3][$gally_oblivious to $gally_oblivious+1]]</div><</if>>It's true he's done nothing to indicate wanting a friendship with you; on the contrary, from the very first moment you've met, he's made it clear he doesn't want anything to do with you. But you've caught glimpses of the kind of person hidding beneath all that ice and ire - that fiercely protective and tender side of his. You want to see more of that Galahad.
"I told you. I want to be friends."
He doesn't turn around. He doesn't react at all, frozen like a statue. Then, he throws you one last, quick glance over his shoulder. It's a short glimpse, just a split moment, but it's enough to catch the vulnerability that has seeped into his expression. He heaves himself up on Callum and prompts him to fly off. You hear the dragon call out to you in farewell, their voice lost in the flapping of wings.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon1]]<<if $flush == 3>>
Callum's eyes are trained on your face, and you're not quite sure what they're making of it.
Galahad doesn't turn around. He doesn't react at all, frozen like a statue.
The river rushes by steadily, filling the silence.
Then he throws you a glance over his shoulder. It's a short glimpse, just a split moment as his cheek turns your way, but it's enough to catch the vulnerability that has seeped into his expression. As his gaze falls on you, however, it's quickly replaced by confusion and, you note with some puzzlement on your own side, mild concern.
//Those treacherous cheeks.//
He looks about to ask if you're alright, but then he's heaving himself up on Callum and prompting him to fly off. You hear the dragon call out to you in farewell, their voice lost in the flapping of wings.
<<elseif $flush == 2>>
He doesn't turn around. He doesn't react at all, frozen like a statue.
The river rushes by steadily, filling the silence.
Then he throws you one last, quick glance over his shoulder. It's a short glimpse, just a split moment, but it's enough to catch the vulnerability that has seeped into his expression. He heaves himself up on Callum and prompts him to fly off. You hear the dragon call out to you in farewell, their voice lost in the flapping of wings.
<<else>>
Galahad doesn't turn around. He doesn't react at all, frozen like a statue. Then, he throws you one last, quick glance over his shoulder. It's a short glimpse, just a split moment, but it's enough to catch the vulnerability that has seeped into his expression. He heaves himself up on Callum and prompts him to fly off. You hear the dragon call out to you in farewell, their voice lost in the flapping of wings.
<</if>>
[[Continue|Chapt3DragonSaw]]It's true he's not done nothing to indicate wanting a friendship with you; on the contrary, from the very first moment you've met, he's made it clear he doesn't want anything to do with you. But you've caught glimpses of the kind of person hidding beneath all that ice and ire - that fiercely protective and tender side of his. You want to see more of that Galahad.
"I told you. I want to be friends." Even as you say the innocuous words, you feel the heat raise to your cheeks.
<<if $complexion == "ivory" or $complexion == "warm beige" or $complexion == "cool beige" or $complexion == "rosy">>
Treacherous cheeks! They flame like a beacon in the night.
<<set $flush = 3>>
Callum's eyes are trained on your face, and you're not quite sure what they're making of it.
Galahad doesn't turn around. He doesn't react at all, frozen like a statue.
The river rushes by steadily, filling the silence.
Then he throws you a glance over his shoulder. It's a short glimpse, just a split moment as his cheek turns your way, but it's enough to catch the vulnerability that has seeped into his expression. As his gaze falls on you, however, it's quickly replaced by confusion and, you note with some puzzlement on your own side, mild concern.
//Those treacherous cheeks.//
He looks about to ask if you're alright, but then he's heaving himself up on Callum and prompting him to fly off. You hear the dragon call out to you in farewell, their voice lost in the flapping of wings.
[[Continue|Chapt3DragonSaw]]
<<else>>
<div class="choice">[[And not only do they heat up, but they flame like a beacon in the night, too.|RockGift1.2.1][$flush to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[And the color in your cheeks is evident enough, too, giving you away.|RockGift1.2.1][$flush to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Luckily, it's not quite so easy to tell when you're flushing; only people that know you well could see the telltale signs.|RockGift1.2.1][$flush to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Luckily, your complexion does not show the flush.|RockGift1.2.1][$flush to 0]]</div>
<</if>>"I told you. I want to be friends." It's true he's done nothing to indicate wanting a friendship with you; on the contrary, from the very first moment you've met he's made it clear he doesn't want anything to do with you. But you've caught glimpses of the kind of person hiding beneath all that ice and ire, that fiercely protective and tender side of him. You want to see more of that Galahad.
He doesn't turn around. He doesn't react at all, frozen like a statue. Then, he throws you one last, quick glance over his shoulder. It's a short glimpse, just a split moment, but it's enough to catch the vulnerability that has seeped into his expression. He heaves himself up on Callum and prompts him to fly off. You hear the dragon call out to you in farewell, their voice lost in the flapping of wings.
[[Continue|Chapter3RiverDragon1]]You're running along with Junia, almost left behind by her big, hasty strides. Holding onto her hand as she tows you to the beach. She doesn't stop till you have climbed the stairs to the temple raised on the shore of the beach, an open, simple structure lined with pillars.
When you finally stop running, Junia lets go of your hand to catch her breath. Chest heaving, both of you making a pitiful scene for the Priests and Priestesses gathered there.
The sun hangs low on the horizon, almost sunk into the ocean; Junia is late to the evening ritual.
Or so she thought, that's why she made you run all the way from her quarters here. Down the cobblestone roads that do your soles no favor. Now you're here, and not even all the High Priests have arrived. You would say something to Junia about sacrificing your ability to walk properly for a few days, were you not so out of breath.
"Sorry...for...running late," Junia manages to say.
"You're just in time. Niniane isn't here yet," a priestess kindly supplies.
"Oh." The redhead gives you an apologetic smile. The sweat makes her curls cling damply to her forehead. "Guess we shouldn't have run."
"What is ?they doing here?" An accusatory finger is pointed in your direction.
You follow the finger all the way to the disdainful sneer of a young blonde priestess.
Junia, who is slowly regaining her composure as the red blotches on her face and chest are fading, looks affronted and baffled.
"I couldn't find anyone to leave Mordred with," she reasons, sketching a sheepish smile. "I don't see any problem with ?them being here."
"This is a temple, not a nursery, Junia," the priestess snaps, making the redhead retreat a bit.
"Is there a problem?" a voice calls out and both you and Junia turn around to see a woman strolling towards you with a small replica of herself by her side.
The little girl - who is, in fact, a head taller than you - has the same green eyes like leaves held against the sun, dark hair and golden brown complexion as the elegant woman clad in a flowing white dress, against which a golden brouche is pinned. The apple tree pin catches the bloody light of the sunset, a reminder of her status as High Priestess.
"I see no problem in Mordred partaking in the ritual," the woman says, her voice as calm as the waves crashing against the side of the temple. Lulling. Mesmerizing, like whispers.
"High Priestess Niniane, I-I was just..." The snide priestess is at a loss for words.
"After all, my dear Nimue has always been welcomed to the temple, and the both of them can stay by the side and watch."
"My apologies, High Priestess, I assumed Nimue's presence here was called for her forming as a future Priestess."
"Then I'm afraid your understanding of why we have this temple has flown right over your head."
You remark the sound of waves has grown louder.
The High Priestess turns her liquid green gaze on you, "I'm sure Morgana has taught you to respect the Goddess, Mordred. The Le Fay have always done a great favor to her."
The Goddess. A faerie, a daemon - a mysterious creature of powers that rival that of even the most powerful sorcerer, a creature that bends nature to her will, and who can grant, when invoked and willing, a fragment of her powers to those that pray to her. They say Avalon is her home - yet nobody has seen her properly in a while, the elusive Goddess only speaking through the murmur of rivers, the waves.
Your mother speaks with fondness of the Goddess. She recounts to you how before her forced marriage, she was a Priestess apprentice. Even now she will often call to the Goddess, sitting by the atrium pool, gazing in the water as if it contained the answers to her troubles; or pouring water on your scrapes, which would wash away as mere dirt.
Your mother is always encouraging you to say the words to the prayers alongside her, and work towards gaining the Goddesses' favor.
<div class="choice">[[Why do I need the Goddesses' favor when I can already control water due to my Le Fay blood?|Beach][$water_magic to $water_magic-5, $chapt1beach to "1", $defiant to $defiant+2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You obediently listen to Morgana, even though you don't see the need of it. You already have your own powers.|Beach][$water_magic to $water_magic-5, $chapt1beach to "2", $defiant to $defiant-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[The Goddess grants powerful magic, and you are happy to be able to claim it.|Beach][$water_magic to $water_magic+5, $chapt1beach to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You respect the Goddess and her powers.|Beach][$chapt1beach to "4"]]</div>Did Mordred keep in contact with Gawain in chapter 4? <<cycle "$chapt4_read_gawain_letter">>
<<option "Yes, as good friends." "friend">>
<<option "Yes, as sweethearts." "romantic">>
<<option "Yes, as acquaintances." "ally">>
<<option "No." "no">>
<</cycle>>
[[Next|MordredHobbies]]<<silently>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_write == 1 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 2>><<set $opinion_arthur to "understand">><</if>>
<</silently>>
<<if $want_revenge == "yes">>
Mordred's thoughts on Morgana's motivation to conceive them <<cycle "$conception_view">>
<<option "It makes them feel like a weapon. A tool. That they were conceived to be just a means to an end." "tool">>
<<option "They may have been conceived with a goal in mind, but they're more than a tool or weapon." "more">>
<<option "They were made for revenge, and it makes so much sense. They embrace their goal." "revenge">>
<</cycle>>
<<else>>
Mordred's thoughts on Morgana's motivation to conceive them <<cycle "$conception_view">>
<<option "It makes them feel like a weapon. A tool. That they were conceived to be just a means to an end." "tool">>
<<option "They may have been conceived with a goal in mind, but they're more than a tool or weapon." "more">>
<</cycle>>
<</if>>
As of chapter 4 after certain revelations, does Mordred believe Morgana loves them? Do they feel betrayed about the deceit and secrets? <<cycle "$chapt4_revelation">>
<<option "They feel anguished and betrayed by the secrecy and doubt Morgana really loves them, at least not without conditions." "betrayed_doubt_upset">>
<<option "They feel angry and betrayed by the secrecy and doubt Morgana really loves them, at least not without conditions." "betrayed_doubt_angry">>
<<option "They feel anguished and betrayed by the secrecy but do believe Morgana loves them." "betrayed_upset">>
<<option "They feel angry and betrayed by the secrecy but do believe Morgana loves them." "betrayed_angry">>
<<option "They can understand the secrecy but doubt Morgana really loves them, at least not without conditions." "ok_doubt">>
<<option "They can understand the secrecy and do believe Morgana loves them." "ok">>
<</cycle>>
[[Next|SetChapt4.1]]<<silently>>
<<if $gally_river == "stubborn">><<set $chapt3_staring_contest to true>><</if>>
<</silently>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is false>>
At the end of chapter 3, how does Mordred feel about Arthur? <<cycle "$opinion_arthur">>
<<option "They are indifferent towards him" "indifference">>
<<option "They hate Arthur." "hate">>
<<option "They are torn between wanting to know him and being hurt by his absence." "anguish">>
<</cycle>>
<</if>>
Mordred's opinion on the success and role of dragonbloods, given in chapter4 : <<cycle "$chapt4_success_opinion">>
<<option "Dragonbloods were a success, which brings into question if they're even needed anymore." 1>>
<<option "They achieved their goal but with their numbers dwindling, it seems to have been a failure." 2>>
<</cycle>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is false>>
As of chapter 4 after certain revelations, how does Mordred feel about what Morgana did to Arthur to conceive them? <<cycle "$arthur_betrayal_stance">>
<<option "What Morgana did to him was horrible." "horrible">>
<<option "What Morgana did was wrong, but she was desperate." "desperate">>
<<option "Morgana did what she had to do." "hadto">>
<</cycle>>
<<else>>
As of chapter 4 after certain revelations, how does Mordred feel about what Morgana did to Arthur to conceive them? <<cycle "$arthur_betrayal_stance">>
<<option "What Morgana did to him was horrible." "horrible">>
<<option "What Morgana did was wrong, but she was desperate." "desperate">>
<</cycle>>
<</if>>
As of chapter 4, Mordred... <<cycle "$want_revenge">>
<<option "wants revenge" "yes">>
<<option "doesn't want revenge" "no">>
<<option "is unsure about whether they want revenge" "unsure">>
<</cycle>> (this is meant in a large sense - not particularly aimed at anyone/depends on other variables)
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is false>>
In chapter 4, in the wake of the revelation of their conception, Mordred...<<cycle "$chapt4_arthur_write">>
<<option "Reached out to Arthur in a letter. They don't want him in his life, only want to let him know they understand their absence now, even though it hurt." 1>>
<<option "Wrote to Arthur to say they found out the truth and feel horrible for judging him so harshly. They don't want Arthur in their life, though." 2>>
<<option "Wrote to Arthur to say offer and receive comfort. He hurt you, but he's been suffering too." 3>>
<<option "Wrote to Arthur to say offer and receive comfort. They felt horrible for judging Arthur so harshly." 4>>
<<option "Did not write to Arthur." 0>>
<</cycle>>
<</if>>
[[Next|SetChapt4]]The name of Mordred's friend and dragon companion:
<div class="choice">[[Malinda|SetDragonNext][$dragon_name to "Malinda"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Drake|SetDragonNext][$dragon_name to "Drake"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Bella|SetDragonNext][$dragon_name to "Bella"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Finneas|SetDragonNext][$dragon_name to "Finneas"]]</div>
<<textbox "$dragon_name" "" "SetDragonNext">>
[[Enter|SetDragonNext]]$dragon_name's eyes are: <<cycle "$dragon_eyes">>
<<option "amber" "amber">>
<<option "blue" "blue">>
<<option "green" "green">>
<<option "brown" "brown">>
<<option "black" "black">>
<<option "red" "red">>
<<option "purple" "purple">>
<<option "gray" "gray">>
<<option "yellow" "yellow">>
<</cycle>>
$dragon_name's scales are: <<cycle "$scales">>
<<option "orange" "orange">>
<<option "blue" "blue">>
<<option "green" "green">>
<<option "brown" "brown">>
<<option "black" "black">>
<<option "red" "red">>
<<option "purple" "purple">>
<<option "gray" "gray">>
<<option "yellow" "yellow">>
<<option "white" "white">>
<</cycle>>
A defining trait of $dragon_name is... <<cycle "$dragon_personality">>
<<option "friendliness" "friendly">>
<<option "playfulness" "playful">>
<<option "boldness" "bold">>
<<option "fierceness" "aggressive">>
<<option "shyness" "shy">>
<<option "fearfulness" "fearful">>
<</cycle>>
[[Next|SetMordredRelationships]]$dragon_name's eyes are: <<cycle "$dragon_eyes">>
<<option "amber" "amber">>
<<option "blue" "blue">>
<<option "green" "green">>
<<option "brown" "brown">>
<<option "black" "black">>
<<option "red" "red">>
<<option "purple" "purple">>
<<option "gray" "gray">>
<<option "yellow" "yellow">>
<</cycle>>
$dragon_name's scales are: <<cycle "$scales">>
<<option "orange" "orange">>
<<option "blue" "blue">>
<<option "green" "green">>
<<option "brown" "brown">>
<<option "black" "black">>
<<option "red" "red">>
<<option "purple" "purple">>
<<option "gray" "gray">>
<<option "yellow" "yellow">>
<<option "white" "white">>
<</cycle>>
$dragon_name has: <<cycle "$horns">>
<<option "no horns" "no">>
<<option "no horns, just dagged ridging" "ridges">>
<<option "corkscrew horns" "corkscrew">>
<<option "long, spiraling horns" "twisty">>
<<option "short, backwards curling horns" "short">>
<<option "ram-like horns" "ram">>
<<option "horns curling down in a large crescent" "crescent">>
<<option "stag-like horns" "stag">>
<</cycle>>
$dragon_name is... <<cycle "$dragon_type">>
<<option "friendly and playful" "friendly">>
<<option "bold and confident" "bold">>
<<option "fierce and abrasive" "fierce">>
<<option "shy and sweet" "shy">>
<</cycle>>
[[Next|SetMordredStuffForChapt3]]$dragon_name's pronouns...
<div class="choice">[[She/her.|SetDragonNext][$dragon_he to "she", $dragon_his to "her", $dragon_him to "her", $dragon_himself to "herself", $dragon_He to "She", $dragon_His to "Her", $dragon_Him to "Her", $dragon_Himself to "Herself"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[He/him.|SetDragonNext][$dragon_he to "he", $dragon_his to "his", $dragon_him to "him", $dragon_himself to "himself", $dragon_He to "He", $dragon_His to "His", $dragon_Him to "Him", $dragon_Himself to "Himself"]]</div><<silently>>
<<if $gender == "male">>
<<set $pgen to 0, $child to "son">>
<<elseif $gender == "female">>
<<set $pgen to 1, $child to "daughter">>
<<elseif $gender == "they">>
<<set $pgen to 2, $child to "child">>
<</if>>
<</silently>>
Your dragon friend's name is:
<div class="choice">[[Malinda|SetDragonNextChapt3][$dragon_name to "Malinda"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Drake|SetDragonNextChapt3][$dragon_name to "Drake"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Bella|SetDragonNextChapt3][$dragon_name to "Bella"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Finneas|SetDragonNextChapt3][$dragon_name to "Finneas"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Nova|SetDragonNextChapt3][$dragon_name to "Nova"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Briar|SetDragonNextChapt3][$dragon_name to "Briar"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Sage|SetDragonNextChapt3][$dragon_name to "Sage"]]</div>
<<textbox "$dragon_name" "" "SetDragonNextChapt3">>
[[Enter|SetDragonNextChapt3]]<<silently>>
<<if $gender == "male">>
<<set $pgen to 0, $child to "child">>
<<elseif $gender == "female">>
<<set $pgen to 1, $child to "child">>
<<elseif $gender == "they">>
<<set $pgen to 2, $child to "child">>
<</if>>
<</silently>>
Mordred tends to be...<<cycle "$honest">>
<<option "honest" 55>>
<<option "deceptive" 45>>
<</cycle>>
Mordred tends to be...<<cycle "$confident">>
<<option "confident" 55>>
<<option "shy" 45>>
<</cycle>>
Mordred tends to be...<<cycle "$impulsive">>
<<option "impulsive" 55>>
<<option "patient" 45>>
<</cycle>>
Mordred tends to be...<<cycle "$calm">>
<<option "calm" 55>>
<<option "hot-headed" 45>>
<</cycle>>
Mordred tends to be...<<cycle "$kind">>
<<option "kind" 55>>
<<option "mean-spirited" 45>>
<</cycle>>
Mordred tends to...<<cycle "$defiant">>
<<option "be defiant and challenge people" 55>>
<<option "keep their head down and avoid conflict" 45>>
<</cycle>>
Mordred tends to...<<cycle "$emotional">>
<<option "be emotional" 55>>
<<option "bottle up their feelings" 45>>
<</cycle>>
Mordred tends to be...<<cycle "$affable">>
<<option "affable" 55>>
<<option "abrasive" 45>>
<</cycle>>
Mordred tends to...<<cycle "$controlled_magic">>
<<option "control their magic" 55>>
<<option "let it run wild" 45>>
<</cycle>>
Mordred tends to...<<cycle "$crybaby">>
<<option "cry a lot and easily" 5>>
<<option "burst into tears in emotional, distressing situations" 2>>
<<option "not cry so easily" 0>>
<</cycle>>
[[Next|SetDragonName]]Mordred's relationship with Gareth...<<cycle "$Gareth">>
<<option "The two are very close. Siblings, best friends, confidantes." 90>>
<<option "The two are close. Good friends." 70>>
<<option "They're not particularly close, but get along well." 50>>
<<option "The two aren't close at all; usually keep their distance but tolerate each other." 30>>
<<option "The two can't stand each other." 10>>
<</cycle>>
In chapter 1, when talking with Nimue, Mordred was...<<cycle "$chapt1eager">>
<<option "Excited about going to the Continent and becoming a knight." "eager">>
<<option "Bitter about leaving Avalon to go to the Continent." "bitter">>
<<option "Casual about the prospect of leaving Avalon for the Continent." "casual">>
<</cycle>>
How did Mordred react to the prophecy in chapter 3? <<cycle "$prophecy">>
<<option "They want to rule Camelot, not destroy it." "rule">>
<<option "It could be a good thing. A good change." "good">>
<<option "It's stupid." "stupid">>
<<option "They wonder if that's what Morgana always had in mid for them - ruin and destruction." "plan">>
<<option "They want to embrace the prophecy." "ruin">>
<<option "Is this why Arthur kept away? Why he doesn't love them?" "hate">>
<<option "They don't want to be the ruin of anything. Maybe the prophecy is wrong." "wrong">>
<<option "Confident they'll prove everyone wrong." "calm">>
<</cycle>>
In chapter 3, did Mordred agree to keep in touch with Arthur? Are they close? <<cycle "$chapt4_arthur_invited">>
<<option "Yes" true>>
<<option "No" false>>
<</cycle>>
Does Mordred study the magic of the Lady of the Lake? <<cycle "$water_study">>
<<option "Yes. They're learning healing and practice meditation." "yes">>
<<option "A little, to learn useful healing magic and clear their mind through meditation." "sometimes">>
<<option "No, they're not interested in it." "no">>
<</cycle>>
Did Mordred crush on Nimue as kids? <<cycle "$nimue_childhood_crush">>
<<option "Yes" true>>
<<option "No" false>>
<</cycle>>
In chapter 2, did Mordred burn the son of the Duke of Tintal? <<cycle "$fire">>
<<option "Yes" "yes">>
<<option "No" "no">>
<</cycle>>
In chapter 3, what did Mordred do when they found Galahad taking up their river spot? <<cycle "$gally_river">>
<<option "Landed on the opposite bank to spite him" "spite">>
<<option "Landed and tried to charm him. They talked for a bit." "charm_good">>
<<option "Mordred tried charming him but they got frustrated and left quickly." "charm">>
<<option "Landed and tried to befriend him. They talked." "friend_good">>
<<option "Mordred tried charming him but they got frustrated and left quickly." "friend">>
<<option "Landed and confronted Galahad on his animosity." "confront">>
<<option "They tried to chase Galahad away but Mordred got frustrated and left." "stubborn">>
<<option "They wanted their spot back and settled the matter with a staring contest." "stubborn">>
<<option "They flew away to avoid him. He made them nervous." "afraid">>
<<option "They flew away to avoid him. He's annoying." "nerve">>
<</cycle>>
[[Next|SetChapt4Revelations]]In chapter 1, when talking with Junia, Mordred ...<<cycle "$opinion_arthur">>
<<option "had hope Arthur is a good person." "hope">>
<<option "was unsure what to think about Arthur." "confused">>
<<option "was angry at Arthur." "awful">>
<</cycle>>
In chapter 1, when talking with Nimue, Mordred was...<<cycle "$chapt1eager">>
<<option "Excited about going to the Continent and becoming a knight." "eager">>
<<option "Bitter about leaving Avalon to go to the Continent." "bitter">>
<<option "Casual about the prospect of leaving Avalon for the Continent." "casual">>
<</cycle>>
Did Mordred crush on Nimue as kids? <<cycle "$nimue_childhood_crush">>
<<option "Yes" true>>
<<option "No" false>>
<</cycle>>
In chapter 2, did Mordred burn the son of the Duke of Tintal? <<cycle "$fire">>
<<option "Yes" "yes">>
<<option "No" "no">>
<</cycle>>
[[On to Chapter 3!|Chapter3]]The cutting wind whips your tear stricken face, and you rub your eyes with the sleeve of your cloak.
You'll miss Avalon. The freedom of running around, the sea, your friends, Scaly. Kind Junia and her fathers, who were already teary-eyed as they saw you off in the port, with a parting gift of sweets and toys to take with you to the Continent.
You hear footsteps creaking on the wooden planks, and you turn around to see Morgana stroll to you, a soft smile on her lips.
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
"Oh, my love," She kneels in front of you, frowning in concern. She tuts as she brushes your $hair hair behind your ears. She cups your face, wiping the tears away with her thumb.
<<else>>
"Oh, my love." She kneels in front of you, frowning in concern. She tuts as she arranges your cloak then cups your cheek, wiping the tears away with her thumb.
<</if>>
"Don't cry," she entreats you.
"But I'll miss Avalon! I don't want to go to Lothia!" Your voice is drowned by the wind, which seems to have suddenly picked up around you. As your mother's eyes widen, you realize it's you.
"Mordred," She glances around, at the sailors minding their business, keeping a wary distance of you and your mother. She drops her voice to a whisper and leans in so that it's not lost to the wind. "When you'll be ?ruler, you can do what you want. You can come back to Avalon." The wind roars in your ears; your mother's grip on your shoulders hurts, and her $eye eyes are wild like the storm around you.
Morgana must read something on your face because the wind subsides, and her grip turns gentle as her eyes become tender once more.
[[Continue|Tintal]]The wind is cutting, but you're smiling.
This will be an adventure! New places to see, new people to meet. You love Avalon, but your world was small - you're excited to expand it.
You hear footsteps creaking on the wooden planks, and you turn around to see Morgana stroll to you, a soft smile on her lips.
"You seem really eager," She kneels in front of you, her smile widening.
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
She brushes your $hair hair behind your ears and cups your face.
<<else>>
She cups your face, thumb gently stroking your cheek.
<</if>>
"How can I not be? We're going somewhere new! Where there are knights! And castles!" Your voice raises over the wind.
Your mother chuckles and plants a kiss on your forehead, pulling you into her. "I'm so happy." Her voice drops to a whisper. "You'll conquer the kingdom in no time with this enthusiasm."
[[Continue|Tintal]]You're excited to see new places and meet new people. Your world in Avalon was small, and you look forward to expanding it. Yet you'll miss the island and all it holds: the beach, kind Junia and her fathers, who were already teary-eyed as they saw you off. You play with the hem of your cloak, gnawing on your lower lip.
You hear footsteps creaking on the wooden planks, and you turn around to see Morgana stroll to you, a soft smile on her lips.
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
"You look nervous, my love." She kneels in front of you, frowning in concern. She tuts as she brushes your $hair hair behind your ears and cups your face.
<<else>>
"You look nervous, my love." She kneels in front of you, frowning in concern. She tuts as she arranges your cloak then cups your face.
<</if>>
"I'm excited about Lothia. But I'll miss Avalon." You admit.
"Mordred, you'll come back to Avalon when you want." Her voice drops to a whisper. "As ?ruler, you can do what you want."
[[Continue|Tintal]]You swallow your tears, but the cutting wind makes your eyes water.
You'll miss Avalon. The freedom of running around, the sea, your friends, Scaly. Kind Junia and her fathers, who were already teary-eyed as they saw you off in the port, with a parting gift of sweets and toys to take with you to the Continent.
You hear footsteps creaking on the wooden planks, and you turn around to see Morgana stroll to you, a soft smile on her lips.
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
"Oh, my love." She kneels in front of you, frowning in concern. She tuts as she brushes your $hair hair behind your ears, and cups your face.
<<else>>
"Oh, my love." She kneels in front of you, frowning in concern. She tuts as she arranges your cloak then cups your face.
<</if>>
"Are you crying?"
"No! I'll miss Avalon! I don't want to go to Lothia!" Your voice is drowned by the wind, which seems to have suddenly picked up around you. As your mother's eyes widen, you realize it's you.
"Mordred," She glances around, at the sailors minding their business, keeping a wary distance of you and your mother. She drops her voice to a whisper and leans in so that it's not lost to the wind. "When you'll be ?ruler, you can do what you want. You can come back to Avalon." The wind roars in your ears; your mother's grip on your shoulders hurts, and her $eye are wild like the storm around you.
Morgana must read something on your face- because the wind subsides, and her grip turns gentle, and her eyes are again tender.
[[Continue|Tintal]]<<if $chapt1_small_talk == 1>>
If $dragon_name won't initiate conversation, you'll happily do it instead. You smile and sidle up to them. "Let's name three things we love! I'll go first. I love playing in nature, do you?"
They give you a quick glance and nod. "Yeah." Their voice is small.
"And I assume you love flying too?"
There's a twitch to their still folded up, leathery wings. "I do. Do you too?"
"Yes, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's eyes widen. "Scaly?" they repeat, with something that may be either concern, surprise or confusion.
You're confused too. "Yes, it's a nickname."
"Oh... Do they like it?"
"They think it's funny. Why, is there something wrong with the name?"
"No," they reply way too fast. "I mean." Their face scrunches up, torn. "It's alright, I guess."
You decide to move on from that awkward moment, then. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"Those are nice. But..." $dragon_name trails off, and though you wait, doesn't go on.
"But?"
"But I like best the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say, and $dragon_name looks surprised.
"So do I. Though I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp. But I don't want to stop trying." A flicker of determination glints in their $dragon_eyes eyes. You want to see more of that spark.
"We can learn together. And set fire to trees together," you say and they chuckle. "See?" You angle a grin their way. "We have so much in common."
This time they meet your eye and nod.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 2>>
$dragon_name is quiet and so are you, your mind racing for something, anything to get the conversation going, a task that seems to fall squarely on you. What to say? Where to begin?
"So," you say, arms swinging at your side as if the sweeping motion might help you grasp an opener. "$dragon_name." They stay silent. "So, um, what do you - what are some things that you love? I like playing in nature." It seems like something you could easily have in common with a dragon.
They give you a quick glance and nod. "Me too." Their voice is small.
"And do you like flying as well?" you ask.
There's a twitch to their still folded up, leathery wings. "I do. Do you too?"
"Yes, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's eyes widen. "Scaly?" they repeat, with something that may be either concern, surprise or confusion.
You're confused too. "Yes, it's a nickname."
"Oh... Do they like it?"
"They think it's funny. Why, is there something wrong with the name?"
"No," they reply way too fast. "I mean." Their face scrunches up, torn. "It's alright, I guess."
You decide to move on from that awkward moment, then. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"Those are nice. But..." $dragon_name trails off, and though you wait, doesn't go on.
"But?"
"But I like best the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say, and $dragon_name looks surprised.
"So do I. Though I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp. But I don't want to stop trying." A flicker of determination glints in their $dragon_eyes eyes. You want to see more of that spark.
"Perhaps we can learn together. And set fire to trees together," you say and they chuckle. "We have a lot in common, don't we?"
This time they meet your eye and nod.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 3>>
You walk in silence, a silence that starts to weigh down on you. $dragon_name makes no move to start a conversation, and you don't know what to say, mind crowded by all the ways in which this could turn into a disaster. What if you aren't right for each other. What if the two of you don't become friends for whatever reasons? What happens if you fail to bond with your chosen partner? Will you have to find another one, or will you be forever barred from becoming a knight? You can just imagine your mother and Accolon shaking their heads in tandem disappointment.
You sigh and kick at a rock. You watch it skitter away, running from you like your chance of becoming a knight if you don't make this work. You envy Nimue right now, if only you had her propensity for predictions, you could reassure yourself that everything would turn out alright. When you sigh a second time, $dragon_name ducks their head even lower between their shoulders and asks "Are you dissapointed?"
Their small, soft voice makes you feel instantly bad. "No, I'm not dissapointed, just - concerned that this won't work."
"Oh. Sorry."
"Sorry for what?" you ask, head tilted.
"I, I don't know." They study you out of the corner of their eye. "Maybe we could try talking? What are some things that you like?"
"I like playing in nature." It seems like something you could easily have in common with a dragon.
They nod, and mumble a "Me too."
"And do you like flying as well?" you ask.
There's a twitch to their still folded up, leathery wings. "I do. Do you too?"
"Yes, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's eyes widen. "Scaly?" they repeat, with something that may be either concern, surprise or confusion.
Your hear skips a beat. Did you say something wrong? "Yes, it's a nickname."
"Oh... Do they like it?"
"They think it's funny. Why, is there something wrong with the name?"
"No," they reply way too fast. "I mean." Their face scrunches up, torn. "It's alright, I guess."
You decide to move on from that awkward moment, then. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"Those are nice. But..." $dragon_name trails off, and though you wait, doesn't go on.
"But?"
"But I like best the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say, and $dragon_name looks surprised.
"So do I. Though I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp. But I don't want to stop trying." A flicker of determination glints in their $dragon_eyes eyes. You want to see more of that spark.
"Perhaps we can learn together. And set fire to trees together," you say and they chuckle. "We have a lot in common, don't we?"
This time they meet your eye and nod. Maybe you're not so hopeless after all.
<<elseif $chapt1_small_talk == 4>>
Standing here, in a land foreign to you, with a dragon you barely met - no matter how talked up to you by Accolon - brings forth a sweeping tide of melancholy. The island you left behind, kind Junia and her fathers, your good friend Scaly, all far away from you, beyond the mists of Avalon. You don't want to be here anymore, you've been on the continent for mere days, and you've already been kicked out of one castle and coldly received to this one by Duke Lot.
You sigh and kick at a rock. You watch it skitter away, running from you like your chance of becoming a knight if you don't make this work. You envy Nimue right now, if only you had her propensity for predictions, you could reassure yourself that everything would turn out alright. When you sigh a second time, $dragon_name ducks their head even lower between their shoulders and asks "Are you dissapointed?"
Their small, soft voice makes you feel instantly bad. "No, I'm not dissapointed, just - sad ove leaving Avalon."
"Oh. Sorry."
You sigh. "It's alright. Thanks."
They study you out of the corner of their eye. "Maybe talking would make you feel better? What are some things that you like?"
"I like playing in nature." It seems like something you could easily have in common with a dragon.
They nod, and mumble a "Me too."
"And do you like flying as well?" you ask.
There's a twitch to their still folded up, leathery wings. "I do. Do you too?"
"Yes, I used to do that a lot with my friend Scaly back in Avalon."
$dragon_name's eyes widen. "Scaly?" they repeat, with something that may be either concern, surprise or confusion.
Your hear skips a beat. Did you say something wrong? "Yes, it's a nickname."
"Oh... Do they like it?"
"They think it's funny. Why, is there something wrong with the name?"
"No," they reply way too fast. "I mean." Their face scrunches up, torn. "It's alright, I guess."
You decide to move on from that awkward moment, then. "I like stories - the kind that have pictures. With brave knights and dragonbloods and strange magical creatures."
"Those are nice. But..." $dragon_name trails off, and though you wait, doesn't go on.
"But?"
"But I like best the kind that dragons tell with fire."
"Me too! I want to learn how to do that," you say, and $dragon_name looks surprised.
"So do I. Though I tried to do it once and almost burned a tree to a crisp. But I don't want to stop trying." A flicker of determination glints in their $dragon_eyes eyes. You want to see more of that spark.
"Perhaps we can learn together. And set fire to trees together," you say and they chuckle. "We have a lot in common, don't we?"
This time they meet your eye and nod. With a new friend at your side, you'll be alright.
<</if>>
[[Continue|ShyTelepathy]]Your strolling has brought you to a big oak tree where you decide to rest in the shade. $dragon_name lays on their belly, head pillowed on their front paws, and you sit next to them, legs folded to your chest.
"There is a river nearby I like to swim in," $dragon_name says, "if you'd like to go there. Especially if you miss the sea. It's not really the same thing, but it's still nice. Not that I would really know, I've never been to the sea. There's plenty of woods to explore too, since you said you like playing in nature." The more they talk, the more at ease they seem, though there's still a lingering timidness in their speech, in the way they don't meet you gaze.
You've talked about all sorts of things, but one subject you didn't fully broach is your nature as a dragonblood. $dragon_name knows, as their parents do, so they're trustworthy, which makes them one of the few dragons you can mentally communicate with.
<div class="choice">[[Pop into their head to surprise them and say you'd love to do all that.|ShyTelepathy1][$chapt1_say_hello to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Reach out mentally and ask to talk.|ShyTelepathy1][$chapt1_say_hello to 2]]</div><<if $chapt1_say_hello == 1>>
You feel out for their mental presence - which is easy given how close they are - and send a loud and clear "//I'd love to do all that!//"
$dragon_name yelps, and jumps up like a spooked cat. "You scared me!"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" you chant a calming refrain, placating hands held out.
They settle back down and tuck their tail beneath their paws. "It's alright, just please don't do that again." Their next words float into your head, gentler than yours did into theirs. "//But we can continue talking like this.//"
"//It's amazing, it's like a secret correspondence, but quicker, and more fun.//"
$dragon_name chuckles, the sound ringing in your head. "//It's pretty mundane for dragons, but it is fun. So you don't find it weird? I know humans can't do this... usually.//"
"//Not at all,//" you reply. "//It feels normal and natural and amazing!//" A trickle of your excitement seeps to them, and it bounces off their own enthusiasm, two facing mirrors endlessly reflecting each other.
This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and your life as a squire.
<<elseif $chapt1_say_hello == 2>>
You feel out for their mental presence - which is easy given how close they are - and pose a question. "//Can we talk like this?//"
"//Of course.//"
"//It's amazing, it's like a secret correspondence, but quicker, and more fun.//"
$dragon_name chuckles, the sound ringing in your head. "//It's pretty mundane for dragons, but it is fun. So you don't find it weird? I know humans can't do this... usually.//"
"//Not at all,//" you reply. "//It feels normal and natural and amazing!//" A trickle of your excitement seeps to them, and it bounces off their own enthusiasm, two facing mirrors endlessly reflecting each other.
This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and your life as a squire.
<</if>>
[[End of Chapter 2|Chapter3]]You have just the trick. It's simple but fun, and should be subtle enough that only Gawain will notice.
Swirling your index finger in a circle, you make a gust of wind blow Gawain's cloak. The boy giggles as the cloak slaps him in the face, and pulls it away to reveal his grin. "That's awesome!"
You smile. It was simple, but effective.
[[Continue|Chapt3Trick]]//You've yet to meet her.//
[[Return to relationships page|relationships]]<!-- ANY CONTENT FOR THE SIDEBAR THAT ISN'T A LINK GOES HERE - WILL APPEAR ABOVE THE LINKS --><div class="titlelettersone" style='font-size: 150%;'>The Bastard of Camelot</div><!--define variables here-->
<!--Mordred's stats-->
<<set $eye = "unknown">>
<<set $hair = "unknown">>
<<set $gender = "unknown">>
<<set $agab == "unknown">>
<<set $magic = 50>>
<<set $swordsmanship = 0>>
<<set $persuasion = 50>>
<<set $intimidation = 50>>
<<set $deceit = 50>>
<<set $independent = 50>>
<<set $pendragon_magic = "1">>
<<set $water_magic = 50>>
<<set $honest = 50>>
<<set $confident = 50>>
<<set $impulsive = 50>>
<<set $calm = 50>>
<<set $kind = 50>>
<<set $defiant = 50>>
<<set $emotional = 50>>
<<set $affable = 50>>
<<set $complexion = "none">>
<<set $age = "a few days old">>
<<set $age_no = 0>>
<<set $controlled_magic = 50>>
<<set $hair_type = "no">>
<<set $morgana_complexion = "no">>
<<set $their = "no">>
<<set $them = "no">>
<<set $child ="no">>
<<set $honest_string = "">>
<<set $affable_string = "">>
<<set $kind_string = "">>
<<set $defiant_string = "">>
<<set $calm_string = "">>
<<set $emotional_string = "">>
<<set $impulsive_string = "">>
<<set $persuasion_string = "">>
<<set $intimidation_string = "">>
<<set $magic_string = "">>
<<set $pendragon_string = "">>
<<set $water_string = "">>
<<set $sword_string = "">>
<<set $child_title = "">>
<<set $le_fay_string = "">>
<<set $control_string = "">>
<<set $arthur_hair = "">>
<<set $hair_type_string = "">>
<<set $trans_count = 0>>
<<set $puberty_blockers to false>>
<<set $hormones to false>>
<<set $trans to false>>
<!--hobbies-->
<<set $lute = "unknown">>
<<set $music = "unknown">>
<<set $write = "unknown">>
<<set $draw = "unknown">>
<<set $read = "unknown">>
<<set $whittle = "unknown">>
<<set $hobby_count = 0>>
<!--0: no flush, 1: barely visible, 2: noticeable, 3: very noticeable-->
<<set $flush = 0>>
<<set $morgana_skin_show to false>>
<!--Personality and relationships variables-->
<!--how many times Mordred cries to determine if they're a crybaby-->
<<set $crybaby = 0>>
<!--how good Mordred is at words, expressing their affection-->
<<set $badwords = 0>>
<!--how many times Mordred cries in front of Galahad-->
<<set $cry_gally = 0>>
<!--does Mordred envy Gawain for Arthur's affection?-->
<<set $envy_gawain = "no">>
<!-- opinions about thunderstorms: comforting, hate, mild -->
<<set $storm_opinion = "">>
<!--relationships - indicates how the character feels about Mordred-->
<!--80-100: very good relationship-->
<!--0-20: awful relationship-->
<!--20-40: wary of you-->
<!--40-60: fine, neutral-->
<!--60-80: good-->
<<set $Morgana = 90>>
<<set $Arthur = 50>>
<<set $Merlin = 10>>
<<set $Accolon = 90>>
<<set $Gareth = 50>>
<<set $Galahad = 10>>
<<set $Elaine = 50>>
<<set $Gawain = 50>>
<<set $Nimue = 50>>
<<set $Lancelot = 10>>
<<set $Guinevere = 50>>
<<set $Isac = 50>>
<<set $Sophie = 50>>
<<set $Lot = 20>>
<<set $morgana_string to "">>
<<set $arthur_string to "">>
<<set $accolon_string to "">>
<<set $lot_string to "">>
<<set $guinevere_string to "">>
<<set $lancelot_string to "">>
<<set $merlin_string to "">>
<<set $gareth_string to "">>
<<set $gawain_string to "">>
<<set $galahad_string to "">>
<<set $elaine_string to "">>
<<set $nimue_string to "">>
<<set $sophie_string to "">>
<<set $isac_string to "">>
<<set $met_gawain to false>>
<<set $met_galahad to false>>
<<set $met_arthur to false>>
<<set $met_elaine to false>>
<<set $met_sophie to false>>
<<set $met_isac to false>>
<<set $met_lancelot to false>>
<!--romance - how the ros feel about Mordred-->
<<set $Gawain_ro = 0>>
<<set $Galahad_ro = 0>>
<<set $Elaine_ro = 0>>
<<set $Nimue_ro = 0>>
<<set $Isac_ro = 0>>
<<set $Sophie_ro = 0>>
<!--does Mordred have a crush on a ro? to show Mordred's interest, not the ro reciprocating feelings-->
<<set $gally_crush = 0>>
<<set $gawain_crush = 0>>
<<set $elaine_crush = 0>>
<<set $nimue_crush = 0>>
<!--is Mordred oblivious to their crush on ro? crush and romance stats must be 0!-->
<<set $gally_oblivious = 0>>
<<set $gawain_oblivious = 0>>
<<set $elaine_oblivious = 0>>
<<set $nimue_oblivious = 0>>
<!--ally increases if you're befriending someone to manipulate them, it's how Mordred feels about the character-->
<<set $Gawain_ally = 0>>
<<set $Galahad_ally = 0>>
<<set $Elaine_ally = 0>>
<<set $Nimue_ally = 0>>
<<set $Isac_ally = 0>>
<<set $Sophie_ally = 0>>
<<set $Guinevere_ally = 0>>
<<set $Lancelot_ally = 0>>
<<set $Merlin_ally = 0>>
<!--friend increases if you're befriending someone genuinely, it's how Mordred feels about the character-->
<<set $Gawain_friend = 0>>
<<set $Galahad_friend = 0>>
<<set $Elaine_friend = 0>>
<<set $Nimue_friend = 0>>
<<set $Isac_friend = 0>>
<<set $Sophie_friend = 0>>
<<set $Guinevere_friend = 0>>
<<set $Lancelot_friend = 0>>
<<set $Merlin_friend = 0>>
<<set $gally_rival = 0>>
<!-- talked about crush -->
<<set $told_accolon_gawain to false>>
<<set $told_morgana_gawain = "no">>
<<set $morgana_gawain_talk = 0>>
<!-- tokens -->
<!-- Give Gawain a bracelet -->
<<set $chapt3_bracelet = "no">>
<!--rock for gally, can be true, false, true_ro-->
<<set $gray_rock = "false">>
<!--dragon-->
<<set $dragon_name = "unknown">>
<<set $dragon_gender = "unknown">>
<<set $dragon_eyes = "unknown">>
<<set $scales = "unknown">>
<<set $dragon_impulsive = 50>>
<<set $dragon_kind = 50>>
<<set $dragon_genuine = 50>>
<<set $dragon_bold = 50>>
<<set $dragon_friendly = 50>>
<<set $dragon_fighting = 50>>
<<set $speed = 50>>
<<set $dragon_type = "">>
<<set $dragon_personality = "none">>
<!--personality playful, friendly, bold, aggressive, shy, fearful-->
<<set $dragon_he = "they">>
<<set $dragon_him = "them">>
<<set $dragon_his = "their">>
<<set $dragon_himself = "themself">>
<<set $dragon_He = "They">>
<<set $dragon_Him = "Them">>
<<set $dragon_His = "Their">>
<<set $dragon_Himself = "Themself">>
<<set $personality_string = "">>
<!--lore-->
<<set $magic_extract to true>>
<<set $fae_extract to true>>
<<set $war_extract to true>>
<<set $water_extract to false>>
<<set $dragons_extract to false>>
<<set $dragonbloods_extract to false>>
<<set $pendragonpowers_extract to true>>
<<set $knight_extract to false>>
<<set $achievements to false>>
<!--chapter 1-->
<<set $chapt1choice1 to false>>
<<set $chapt1choice2 to false>>
<<set $chapt1choice3 to false>>
<<set $chapt1choice4 to false>>
<<set $chapt1choice5 to false>>
<<set $chapt1choice6 to false>>
<<set $cool = "no">>
<<set $chapt1father = "0">>
<<set $chapt1father1 = "0">>
<<set $chapt1pretty = "pretty">>
<<set $chapt1beach = "0">>
<<set $chapt1temple = "0">>
<<set $chapt1beachq1 to false>>
<<set $chapt1beachq2 to false>>
<<set $chapt1beachq3 to false>>
<<set $chapt1beachq4 to false>>
<<set $chapt1eager == "no">>
<<set $chapt1_vision = 0>>
<!--chapter 2-->
<<set $leaveavalon = "none">>
<<set $chapt2toy = "">>
<<set $chapt2lot = "">>
<<set $chapt2bully = "">>
<<set $chapt2castle = "">>
<<set $chapt2lot1 = "">>
<<set $chapt2figurine = "">>
<<set $chapt2play = "">>
<<set $chapt2bastard = "">>
<<set $chapt2sorry = "">>
<<set $chapt2dragon = "">>
<<set $chapt2dragon1 = "">>
<!--chapter 3-->
<<set $opinion_arthur = "none">>
<!-- awful, confused, hope, anguish-->
<<set $chapt1_3_arthur = "">>
<<set $figurine = "no">>
<<set $reaction = "no">>
<<set $opinion = "no">>
<<set $figurineyeet = "no">>
<<set $magictrick = "no">>
<<set $role_model = "none">>
<<set $clothes = "none">>
<<set $prophecy = "none">>
<!--rule, good, stupid, plan, ruin, hate, wrong-->
<<set $stay = "none">>
<!--furious, stop, chance, maybe, listen, away, no, behind-->
<<set $attack = "no">>
<<set $throne = "none">>
<!--no, nono, revenge, right, good, wrong, know-->
<<set $father = "none">>
<<set $prophecy_check = "no">>
<<set $check = "none">>
<<set $gawainok = "yes">>
<<set $trick = " ">>
<<set $ink = "no">>
<<set $tell = " ">>
<<set $climb = "yes">>
<<set $why = " ">>
<<set $beckon = " ">>
<<set $trial = " ">>
<!--race, sword, jousting, archery, hand, combat-->
<<set $hug = " ">>
<<set $go = " ">>
<<set $confront = " ">>
<<set $betray = " ">>
<<set $tellprophecy = " ">>
<<set $warning = " ">>
<<set $brief = " ">>
<<set $flinch = " ">>
<<set $say = " ">>
<<set $control = " ">>
<<set $sneak = "no">>
<<set $morgana_talk = "ok">>
<<set $accolon_talk = "no">>
<<set $eavesdrop = "no">>
<<set $attitude = "no">>
<!--defiant, meek, friendly, shy-->
<<set $chapt3_meet_gawain = "">>
<<set $chapt3_sorcerer = "">>
<<set $chapt3_salute = "">>
<<set $chapt3_book = "">>
<<set $chapt3_opinion = "">>
<<set $chapt3_snap = "">>
<<set $chapt3_take_figurine = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_trick_add = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_dragon_reaction = "">>
<<set $chapt3_harness = "">>
<<set $chapt3_break = "">>
<<set $chapt3_hope = "">>
<<set $chapt3_defiant = "">>
<<set $chapt3_wave = "">>
<<set $chapt3_feast = "">>
<<set $chapt3_avalon = "">>
<<set $chapt3_protect = "">>
<<set $chapt3_lute = "">>
<<set $chapt3_warn = "">>
<<set $chapt3_beckon = "">>
<<set $chapt3_greet_elewen = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_call_dragon_reason = "">>
<<set $chapt3_meet_callum = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_ariawen_company = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_ariawen_question = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_awe = "">>
<<set $chapt3_race_hug = "">>
<<set $chapt3_lodge_arthur = "">>
<<set $chapt3_lodge_elewen = "">>
<<set $chapt3_lodge_figurine = "">>
<<set $chapt3_lodge_father = "">>
<<set $chapt3_betrayal = "">>
<<set $chapt3_injury = "">>
<<set $chapt3_control = "">>
<<set $chapt3_heal = "">>
<<set $chapt3_hand = "">>
<<set $chapt3_fault = "">>
<<set $chapt3_talk_gally = "">>
<<set $chapt3_destroy to "">>
<<set $chapt3_discuss = "">>
<<set $chapt3_calm = "">>
<<set $chapt3_beat = "">>
<<set $chapt3_study_arthur = "">>
<<set $chapt3_boy = "">>
<<set $chapt3_fine = "">>
<<set $chapt3_sick = "">>
<<set $chapt3_cloak = "">>
<<set $chapt3_didyouknow = "">>
<<set $chapt3_call = "">>
<<set $chapt3_tongue = "">>
<<set $chapt3_serenade = "">>
<<set $chapt3choice1 to false>>
<<set $chapt3choice2 to false>>
<<set $chapt3choice3 to false>>
<<set $chapt3choice4 to false>>
<<set $chapt3choice5 to false>>
<<set $chapt3choice6 to false>>
<<set $luteteacher = "">>
<<set $chapt3music = "">>
<<set $chapt3_act = "">>
<<set $chapt3_outlet == "">>
<<set $chapt3_lodgetrick = "">>
<<set $chapt3_thanks = "">>
<<set $chapt3_poison = "">>
<<set $chapt3_cue = "">>
<<set $chapt3_mirror = "">>
<<set $chapt3_stress = "">>
<<set $chapt3_gareth_check = "">>
<<set $chapt1_babysit = "">>
<<set $nimue_childhood_crush to false>>
<<set $chapt3_accolon_prophecy = "">>
<<set $chapt3_prepare = "">>
<<set $chapt3_sweets = "">>
<<set $chapt3_cheer = "">>
<<set $chapt3_crush = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_anger = "">>
<<set $chapt3_gareth_room = "">>
<<set $chapt3consider = "">>
<<set $chapt3accolon1 to false>>
<<set $chapt3accolon2 to false>>
<<set $chapt3accolon3 to false>>
<<set $chapt3_accolon_love = "">>
<<set $chapt3_isolde = "">>
<<set $chapt3_isolde2 = "">>
<<set $chapt3_child_title = "">>
<<set $chapt3_show = "">>
<<set $show_morgana = "yes">>
<<set $met_callum to false>>
<<set $chapt3gallychoice1 to false>>
<<set $chapt3gallychoice2 to false>>
<<set $chapt3gallychoice3 to false>>
<<set $water_study = "">>
<<set $water_gally to false>>
<<set $chapt3convolance = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_gawain_compliment = 0>>
<<set $chapt3gallymagic = 0>>
<!--meditation or healing-->
<<set $water_type = "">>
<<set $chapt3_go_arthur = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_alina1 = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_alina = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_arthur_why = 1>>
<<set $flush = 0>>
<!--nr 0 no flush, 1 hard to tell, 2 visible, 3 tomato-->
<<set $gawain_crush_confess = "">>
<!--no, shy, yes-->
<<set $alina_attitude to "">>
<!-- meek, defiant, calm-->
<<set $compulsion = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_stare = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_stare1 = 0>>
<<set $morgana_wood = 0>>
<<set $morgana_wood1 = 0>>
<<set $morgana_wood2 = 0>>
<<set $dragon_saw_that = 0>>
<<set $chapt3dragonblood1 to false>>
<<set $chapt3dragonblood2 to false>>
<<set $chapt3dragonblood3 to false>>
<<set $chapt3dragonblood4 to false>>
<<set $chapt3dragonblood5 to false>>
<!--1 sardonic, 2 nervous, 3 change mind, 4 bully -->
<<set $told_accolon_gally = 0>>
<!-- spite, charm, friend, confront, stubborn, afraid, nerve -->
<<set $gally_river = "">>
<<set $morgana_wood = 0>>
<<set $morgana_wood1 = 0>>
<<set $morgana_wood2 = 0>>
<<set $morgana_wood3 = 0>>
<<set $hurt_alina = 0>>
<!-- yes, no, train -->
<<set $chapt3_arthur_river = "no">>
<<set $morgana_teach1 = 0>>
<<set $gawain_crush_confess = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_bracelet = "no">>
<<set $chapt3_gawain_confession = "no">>
<<set $gawain_childhood_sweethearts to false>>
<<set $outfit = "no">>
<<set $chapt3_char = "">>
<<set $chapt3_gally_tease = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_gareth_mean = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_alina_mean = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_gawain_dance = 0>>
<<set $chapt2_defiant = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_arthur_library to false>>
<<set $chapt3_gawain_kiss = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_smile_gally = 0>>
<<set $told_lute to false>>
<<set $chapt3_arthur_pushback == 0>>
<<set $chapt3_gender_talk to false>>
<<set $chapt3_girl_wrong = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_boy_wrong = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_taunt_him to 0>>
<<set $chapt3_spite_prayer to 0>>
<!--chapter 4-->
<<set $chapt4_finish = "">>
<<set $chapt4_training = "">>
<<set $chapt4_worry = 0>>
<<set $dragon_train = "">>
<<set $chapt4_curious = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_guilty = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_knight = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_temple = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_smile = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_tirade = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_party = "">>
<<set $chapt4_magic = "">>
<<set $chapt4_impatient = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_wait = 0>>
<<set $chapt3_gender_talk to false>>
<<set $chapt3_told_morgana_gender to false>>
<<set $chapt4_pronouns = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_comp = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_success_opinion = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_math = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_language = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_success_opinion1 = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_ball = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_alina = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_hormones to false>>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_hug = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_assure = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_winner = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_shoot = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_fireshow = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_fireshow1 = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_drop = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_duel = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_snake_wear to false>>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_snake = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_lot_react = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_lot_gift = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_lot_bastard = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_lot_truth = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_confront_morgana = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_morgana_love = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_reminder = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_tell = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_why = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_away = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_comfort = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_want_revenge to false>>
<<set $chapt4_revelation = "">>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_stance = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_go = "">>
<<set $gareth_knows to false>>
<<set $gareth_knows_prophecy to false>>
<<set $chapt4_prophecy_gareth to "">>
<<set $chapt4_comfort_junia = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_junia_visit = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_said_lot = "">>
<<set $chapt4_read_arthur_letter to false>>
<!--friend, romantic, no-->
<<set $chapt4_read_gawain_letter = "empty">>
<!--sweethearts, exes, friends, exes_like(still like him), exes_notalk, oblivious, friend_notalk, ex_friend, ally-->
<<set $gawain_kid = "">>
<<set $reconcile = 0>>
<!-- subtle, blunt -->
<<set $chapt4_reconcile = "">>
<!-- humour, love, defiant, trouble, snake -->
<<set $chapt4_snakegift = "">>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_invited to false>>
<<set $chapt4_gawain_invited to false>>
<<set $chapt4_accolon_play to false>>
<<set $chapt4_gaius_play to false>>
<<set $chapt4_gawain_play to false>>
<<set $chapt4_morgana_play to false>>
<<set $chapt4_dragon_play to false>>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_play to false>>
<<set $chapt4_gareth_play to false>>
<<set $chapt4_next_day_dragon to false>>
<<set $chapt4_next_day_gareth to false>>
<<set $chapt4_next_day_accolon to false>>
<<set $chapt4_next_day_gawain to false>>
<<set $chapt4_next_day_kay to false>>
<<set $chapt4_next_day_dads to false>>
<<set $chapt4_next_day_morgana to false>>
<<set $chapt4_next_day_arthur to false>>
<<set $chapt4_next_day_arthur_write to false>>
<<set $chapt4_gareth_speak = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_whittle = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_gawain_see = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_fool_card = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_mordred_card = "">>
<<set $chapt4_gawain_pinkie = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_arthur_write = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_kay_left = "">>
<<set $chapt4_kay_inquire = 0>>
<!-- horrible, hadto, desperate -->
<<set $arthur_betrayal_stance = "">>
<<set $chapt4_accolon_next1 to false>>
<<set $chapt4_accolon_next2 to false>>
<<set $chapt4_accolon_next3 to false>>
<<set $chapt4_accolon_next4 to false>>
<<set $chapt4_accolon_next5 to false>>
<<set $chapt4_gawain_sweet to false>>
<<set $chapt4_morgana_next1 to false>>
<<set $chapt4_morgana_next2 to false>>
<<set $chapt4_morgana_next3 to false>>
<<set $chapt4_need_talk = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_lot_punish = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_check_done to true>>
<<set $chapt4_morning_feel = 0>>
<<set $conception_opinion = "">>
<<set $want_revenge = "">>
<<set $chapt4_trust = 0>>
<<set $conception_view = "">>
<<set $chapt4_speakup = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_ring = 0>>
<!-- chapter 5 -->
<<set $chapt5_fun = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_isolde_wedding = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_wine = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_duel = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_crush = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_sword_ask = 0>>
<<set $morgana_address = "">>
<<set $chapt5_morgana_title = "">>
<<set $chapt5_morgana_presence = 0>>
<<set $morgana_closeness = "">>
<<set $chapt5_spy = "">>
<<set $chapt5_motive_tour = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_no_tour = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_press = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_rec = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_laugh = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_tournament = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_she_said to false>>
<<set $chapt5_tour1 to false>>
<<set $chapt5_tour2 to false>>
<<set $chapt5_sunlit = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_feign = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_wave = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_fly = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_dissuade = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_blood = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_lot_attitude = "">>
<<set $chapt5_ask_family_check to false>>
<<set $chapt5_ask_engagement_check to false>>
<<set $chapt5_ask_family to 0>>
<<set $chapt5_friend_visit to false>>
<<set $chapt5_race to false>>
<<set $chapt5_impressive = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_thanks = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_weapon = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_intervene = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_morgana_tell = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_uther_win = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_uther_why = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_uther_strike = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_uther_lothia = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_argument = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_gareth_tell = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_uther_tintal = 0>>
<<set $poison_opinion = "">>
<<set $elaine_said_more to false>>
<<set $mordred_ace = 0>>
<<set $mordred_aro = 0>>
<<set $go_talk to false>>
<<set $chapt5_carriage = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_temple_morgana = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_sarcasm = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_tirade = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_elaine_opinion to 0>>
<<set $chapt5_rescue = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_nice = 0>>
<<set $help_morgana to false>>
<<set $help_gareth to false>>
<<set $chapt5_dummies = "">>
<<set $chapt5_compliment = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_heal_romantic to false>>
<<set $chapt5_duel_now = 0>>
<<set $accolon_closeness = "">>
<<set $chapt5_accolon_relationship = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_not_bad = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_go_easy = 0>>
<<set $elaine_go_easy to false>>
<<set $chapt5_charge = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_catch_her to false>>
<<set $chapt5_fall_laugh = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_easy = 1>>
<<set $chapt5_armor_off = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_distracted = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_why = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_passionate = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_armor_off = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_shirtless = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_proximity = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_read_gawain_letter = "">>
<<set $chapt5_arthur_letter to false>>
<<set $gawain_teen = "">>
<<set $chapt5_gabe = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_rat = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_elaine_chamber to false>>
<<set $chapt5_play_lute = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_play_lute1 = 0>>
<<set $chapt4_heal_romantic to false>>
<<set $chapt5_feelings_engagement = "">>
<<set $elaine_chamber = 0>>
<<set $elaine_chamber_kiss = 0>>
<<set $elaine_chamber_kiss1 = 0>>
<<set $elaine_chamber_nokiss = 0>>
<<set $elaine_chamber = 0>>
<<set $elaine_chamber1 = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_arthur_write to false>>
<<set $chapt5_elaine_romance to false>>
<<set $chapt5_jealous = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_wingman = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_nevermind = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_merlin_before = 0>>
<<set $chamber_confess_elaine = "">>
<<set $chapt5_joyous = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_hate_arthur = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_hug_arthur = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_guin_hug = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_gawain_greet = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_gally_attitude = "">>
<<set $chapt5_gally_greet = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_nimue_greet = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_merlin_greet = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_party_outfit = "">>
<<set $met_nimue_again to false>>
<<set $chapt5_nimue_joke = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_quick_catchup = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_nimue_serious = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_wear_serpent = "">>
<<set $chapt5_merlin_reply = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_gally_table = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_dance = "">>
<<set $c5_dance_gawain = 0>>
<<set $c5_dance_elaine = 0>>
<<set $c5_dance_galahad = 0>>
<<set $c5_dance_nimue = 0>>
<<set $c5_chore = 0>>
<<set $c5_flap = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_drink_wine = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_nimue_gossip = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_bastard = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_knight_common = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_want_knight = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_more_booze = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_carry_gawain = "">>
<<set $chapt5_tarot = "">>
<<set $chapt5_tarot_hands = 0>>
<<set $chapt5_tarot_tower = 0>><div class="titlelettersone" style='font-size: 100%;'>Llamagirl</div><h3>StoryInterface</h3>
The StoryInterface special passage, used by creating a special passage titled StoryInterface, allows you to override the default UI layout of Sugarcube.
At its most basic, it consists of a div with the id "passages" that displays the data from your passages on the screen, as shown in example 1. You can add more complex layouts by adding more elements to this passage, such as menu bars, splash screens, headers and footers, as shown in example 2.
Defining these divs is as simple as adding the necessary HTML to the StoryInterface passage; however, note that if a div is assigned a "data-passage" property, you should not add content to it within the StoryInterface passage. This property assigns a passage to that div. In example 2, the div with the id "ui-bar" has the data-passage property "UIBar", meaning it pulls its content data from a passage with the same name. These designations are case-sensitive.
If you're just starting out with Twine/Sugarcube, it's a good idea to familiarize yourself with the language and the UI before working with StoryInterface.
''Example 1''
{{{<div id="passages"></div>}}}
''Example 2''
{{{<div id="ui-bar" data-passage="UIBar"></div>}}}
{{{<div id="passages"></div>}}}
{{{<div id="footer" data-passage="Footer"></div>}}}
This will create a layout with three basic elements: the UI bar, the passage, and the footer. Content for the UI bar is found in the UIBar passage; likewise with the Footer passage & div.
<h3>Accessing the UI functions</h3>
Using StoryInterface by nature removes the built-in UI bar and the links contained within (Saves, Settings, Restart etc); these can all be replaced using their relevant APIs. The most common & useful of these are listed below. These commands can be placed inside links or buttons.
{{{UI.saves() - opens the save UI}}}
{{{UI.settings() - opens the settings UI}}}
{{{UI.restart() - restarts the game}}}
{{{Engine.backward()/Engine.forward() - undoes the previous action and returns the player to the previous passage/moves the player forward one action}}}
Similarly to the above, you can use {{{<<back>>}}} to create a button that automatically undoes the last action, or {{{<<return>>}}} to return to the previous passage without undoing any variable changes made.
<h3>Dialog functions</h3>
You can set up dialog options to pop up upon clicking a link or button, which allows you to share information with the player without adding a new passage to the player's history or changing the state of the game. In order to do this, you need to set up the Dialog box, tell it what passage contains the content you want to display, and optionally, add a title.
{{{Dialog.setup("Dialog Box Title");}}}
{{{Dialog.wiki(Story.get("PassageName").processText());}}}
{{{Dialog.open();}}}
Any of these commands can be used in the default layout as well as StoryInterface - if you want extra save buttons, back buttons etc.
<<back "Return">>
<<link "Settings">><<script>>UI.settings();<</script>><</link>>
<<button "Saves">><<script>>UI.saves();<</script>><</button>><!-- ANY LINKS FOR THE MENU GO HERE -->
<<link "Stats" "stats">><</link>>
<<if $dragon_personality isnot "none">><<link "Dragon stats" "dragon_stats">><</link>><</if>>
<<link "Relationships" "relationships">><</link>>
<<link "Codex" "lore">><</link>>
<<link "Guide">>
<<script>>
Dialog.setup("Guide");
Dialog.wiki(Story.get("guide").processText());
Dialog.open();
<</script>>
<</link>>
<<if $achievements is true>><<if settings.achievements>><<link "Achievements">>
<<script>>
Dialog.setup("Achievements");
Dialog.wiki(Story.get("achievements").processText());
Dialog.open();
<</script>>
<</link>><</if>><</if>>
<<link "Credits">>
<<script>>
Dialog.setup("Credits");
Dialog.wiki(Story.get("credits").processText());
Dialog.open();
<</script>>
<</link>><div class="titlelettersone" style='font-size: 100%;'>Book one</div>You sigh, throwing one more look at the calm waves rolling on the beach before turning your attention to your lesson. The more serious you are and get on with the lesson, the quicker you can go out and play. You nod, "Let's start then."
Junia beams and brushes a ginger unruly curl out of her face. "Today I'd like to go over some things I know Morgana taught you, just to test your knowledge."
[[Continue|Chapter1.9]]Junia narrows her eyes at you. "You are so much like Morgana, aren't you?"
You just smile sweetly.
Junia shakes her mass of red curls. "I'm sorry, Mordred, but I'm true to my word and we'll do as Morgana says."
You put on your best pout. "But..."
"Lesson." She pats a nearby book decisively. Seeing your protests have been reduced to silent sulking, Junia brushes a ginger unruly curl out of her face and says, "Today I'd like to go over some things I know Morgana taught you, just to test your knowledge."
[[Continue|Chapter1.9]]You pout, sulkily turning your attention to your lesson. You don't want to be here and you're showing it.
"Come on, Mordred," Junia encourages you. "The quicker we are done, the quicker you can go play."
You sigh, long and dramatic, but she ignores your antics.
Junia brushes a ginger unruly curl out of her face. "Today I'd like to go over some things I know Morgana taught you, just to test your knowledge."
[[Continue|Chapter1.9]]"Oh? In what ways?" It sounds more like Junia is kindly humouring you, yet you plough on brightly, "Well, for example, I could practice my magic, outside where I can easily channel the elements. Or we can go herb-picking and you can quizz me on their properties."
Junia chuckles. "A valiant attempt, but I'm afraid today's lesson won't change. The quicker we are done, the quicker you can go play."
You sigh but nod.
Junia brushes a ginger unruly curl out of her face. "Today I'd like to go over some things I know Morgana taught you, just to test your knowledge."
[[Continue|Chapter1.9]]"Very well!"
"Junia?" you ask meekly as the redhead hums to herself, looking at the scrolls on the table.
She smiles brightly. "Yes, dear?"
You fuss, anticipation bubbling inside you as you ask a question that's been gnawing at you for a few days now. "Could you...could you tell me more about Arthur? And Guinevere."
All that Morgana talked about as she packed for her travel was Arthur, his future queen and the upcoming wedding, and that has piqued your interest. Whenever Morgana talks about Arthur, it is with resentment and spite, voice poisonous; yet when Junia mentions him, there's admiration in her gaze, countered by Morgana glaring daggers whenever the priestess speaks up in your presence. You know the two women have stark opinions on the King, and all you want is to know more, yearning and anguishing for the father that abandoned you.
Junia bites her lip, and you notice a gleam in her eyes: hope. "You'd really like me to tell you more about Arthur? I don't think your mother would agree." She mutters under her breath, glancing down as she battles with herself; deciding whether to follow Morgana's word or speak her mind. With Morgana gone, she's unafraid that your mother would stop her.
With a slap on the book in front of her, the redhead gets up, so vigorously it startles you; swiftly, she gathers some scrolls from the shelves of books lining the walls, and brings them to you.
With a flourish, suddenly in a better mood than before, Junia unfurls the scroll in order to reveal a familiar portrait - and how could it not be, even if you had not seen the man before? His eyes have the same shade of $eye as yours, as well as his complexion,
<div class="choice">[[ivory|StudyCont1][$complexion to "ivory"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[warm beige|StudyCont1][$complexion to "warm beige"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[cool beige|StudyCont1][$complexion to "cool beige"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[rosy|StudyCont1][$complexion to "rosy"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[tawny|StudyCont1][$complexion to "tawny"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[olive|StudyCont1][$complexion to "olive"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[light brown|StudyCont1][$complexion to "light brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[sepia brown|StudyCont1][$complexion to "sepia brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[golden brown|StudyCont1][$complexion to "golden brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[russet brown|StudyCont1][$complexion to "russet brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[dark brown|StudyCont1][$complexion to "dark brown"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[warm black|StudyCont1][$complexion to "warm black"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[cool black|StudyCont1][$complexion to "cool black"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[deep black|StudyCont1][$complexion to "deep black"]]</div><<if $hair == "chestnut brown">>The $arthur_hair of his brown hair also match yours.
<<elseif $hair == "dark brown">>The $arthur_hair of his brown hair almost match yours.
<<elseif $hair == "light brown">>The $arthur_hair of his brown hair almost match yours.
<<else>>The brown $arthur_hair of his hair are what set you apart.<</if>>
Junia traces a finger across the picture, "This was drawn a year ago, so Arthur was...21 here. It's a big resemblance, isn't it?" She beams, her freckles dancing.
<<if $hair == "chestnut brown">>"Especially with the hair."<</if>>
You look pensively down at the picture, your small hand coming slowly to hover over it, one finger stroking the lines of Arthur's friendly, if somehow bashful smile.
Morgana told you he's a monster who doesn't want you; but in this picture, he has the same soft gaze that your mother has when she smiles at you. Would he look at you the same?
You feel Junia's gaze trained on you, a puzzled expression on her face. "I know what your mother has been telling you about your father, Mordred. But he's not like that."
<div class="choice">[["He is awful. He cast mother away and he doesn't want me," you say miffed.|StudyCont2][$chapt1father to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Look at her patiently, waiting for her to continue.|StudyCont2][$chapt1father to '2']]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I...I want to believe he's not like that," you say softly.|StudyCont2][$chapt1father to "3"]]</div><<if $chapt1father == '1'>>You cross your arms and frown. Morgana's furious words play in your head, and it's hard to believe a father that wanted to send you away and forget about you, could possibly be a good man. "He's awful. He cast mother away and he doesn't want me," you say, miffed.
Junia just sighs, looking at you as if you were a lost cause, and somehow that vexes you further. Perhaps she's the lost cause, insisting stupidedly that Arthur is the complete opposite as to what Morgana claims. After all, Junia never met him, Junia was never hurt by him, and Junia is not the child he despises.
<<elseif $chapt1father == '2'>>You look up at her calmly, waiting. You're curious whatever she could say in defense of the man who abandoned you. Perhaps there's a different side to the story. Perhaps she can shed light on things Morgana oversaw in her hatred for him.
Junia takes your cue, sketching a smile.
<<elseif $chapt1father == '3'>>You cling to those words, to the hope that Arthur doesn't hate you, doesn't want you away. He made a rash decision, which he regrets. Perhaps he changed his mind, but he's too afraid to ask Morgana to let him see you- perhaps he wants to make amends.
Junia smiles at you, and caresses your hand.
<</if>>
"Arthur is a kind man, whatever Morgana might have told you."
"But you never met him. How could you know?"
"That's true, I don't know him, but as a ruler, he's been the opposite of his father. He's secured peace with the Kingdom of Ituscia and he's fighting for a truce with the rebels in Camelot. You've only known Avalon, Mordred, and Avalon has always been a lovely place. The Continent under Uther's reign, however, hasn't been very nice for a lot of people. So Arthur gave laws and made changes that don't see women as beneath men. That allow people to be themselves and make the changes they need. That place marriages like my dads' on equal footing with the union between Arthur and Guinevere. It's basic human rights for everyone, something that Uther didn't believe in. But Arthur cares for his people." Junia smiles, and it makes her blue eyes glimmer like the sea when the sun is high in the sky. "He listens to their grievances, and the Kingdom is thriving. I heard he's very affectionate with his step nephew, Gawain, and showers him with love, and people say it's because he wishes he had a child of his own." Her eyes are filled with sorrow. "He must miss you, Mordred, wishing he didn't turn you away."
"Or maybe he just likes him because he's someone he can love. Not a bastard like me."
Junia grimaces, looking at you as if you're a wounded animal she doesn't know how to help. "Mordred...please."
<div class="choice">[[Her little speech didn't move you. If nothing else, it just made you more angry.|StudyCont3][$opinion_arthur to "awful", $chapt1father1 to "1"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You're just more confused. Who's right about him?|StudyCont3][$opinion_arthur to "confused", $chapt1father1 to "2"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I hope he truly is like this," you say softly.|StudyCont3][$opinion_arthur to "hope", $chapt1father1 to "3"]]</div><<if $chapt1father1 == "1">>So he's fussing over his step nephew, someone who doesn't even share his blood - someone else's child- but he forsakes you. His good deeds for his people do nothing to sway you, because he's never shown you a sign of affection.
<<elseif $chapt1father1 == "2">>Morgana curses him and Junia sings his praises - which one truly is the man?
<<elseif $chapt1father1 == "3">>Junia's words are filling you with a warmth, to know that Morgana's perspective must be tainted so far she can't see beyond that night he abandoned you.<</if>>
"Now," Junia says, straightening in her chair, somehow perkier now that she's had her piece, "You mustn't take my words as truth. You can make up your mind when you meet him. Perhaps it's better not to listen to either Morgana or I. We're just influencing you and robbing you of the chance to decide for yourself. So, I think you said you wanted to learn more about Guinevere?" she asks, smoothly changes the subject, smiling sunnily.
You nod, and she wraps up the picture of Arthur and instead fetches another scroll.
The picture in front of you is of a young woman, younger than Morgana and Junia. Her lips, rosy cheeks and flowers in her hair are painted in soft pink, radiating a childlike glee like her smile, almost cheeky, reaching her chestnut eyes that glimmer like stones that have been polished by the waves. Her brown hair reaches down over her exposed, dainty white shoulders.
<div class="choice">[[She's pretty.|StudyCont4]]</div>
<<if $gender == "male">><div class="choice">[[She's pretty. You hope to be like her when you grow up.|StudyCont4][$chapt1pretty to "model", $trans_count to $trans_count+1]]</div><</if>>
<<if $gender == "female">><div class="choice">[[She's pretty. You hope to be like her when you grow up.|StudyCont4][$chapt1pretty to "girlmodel"]]</div><</if>><<if $chapt1pretty == "model">>You feel more of a connection, of an admiration towards the girls in your illustrated storybooks, towards the women in your life.
<<elseif $chapt1pretty == "girlmodel">>She's beautiful, and it flares an admiration in you, and a desire to one day yourself evoke the same sentiment.
<<else>>She's pretty, in a soft way that reminds you of a flower's beauty.
<</if>>
"She's pretty," you blurt out in awe, and the redhead can't help but chuckle.
"She is," she agrees. "Very much so. The picture is a few years old, but I'm sure her beauty has only bloomed since then. I believe she was about 16 here. She must be about Arthur's age now."
"Guinevere has been called the Queen of May." You don't look up, too bewitched by the playful girl looking at you from the picture. "The Queen of May, because that's when flowers are in bloom, and she rivals them all."
You couldn't begin to say what's more beautiful about her - her full pink lips, or the soft lines of her cheeks, the big doe like eyes, the silky hair.
"And not only is she a sight to behold," Junia's voice finally makes you glance at her. She's smiling smugly. "The future Queen is quite the resourceful woman. A couple years ago, a boat of dragon hunters attempted infiltrating the Continent, passing by the Hendrik's seaside castle; once they were discovered, Guinevere employed clever tricks to help the knights fight against them - with makeshift explosives, I think."
Junia glances at the clock on the wall. "It seems our lesson is over." She starts gathering the tomes and scrolls strewn across the tables and encourages you to help her. "Let's go have lunch. I'm sure papa will be laying the table by the time we arrive." She leans in with a conspiratorial smile. "And dad made a fruit tart especially for you."
[[Later|Run]]"Come to the prow." Morgana tugs you along and as you walk, you can't help but notice the deliberate way in which the sailors avoid your gaze. They've stayed away from you, ignoring you as much as they could from the moment you boarded. The only one who's exchanged words with your mother was the Captain, and even she had a strained smile on throughout the conversation. //Sailors from Tintal,// Morgana has whispered. //The new Duke taught them to be cowards.//
At the prow, all you can see is the expanse of dark, turmoiled sea, furious waves breaking against the ship.
"Soon you'll see Tintal," Morgana tells you. "My home." She grips the railing and laughs without any mirth, the sound as harsh as shells grinded against each other. "Or used to be, till Uther gave it to a traitor."
The traitor in question being Bernard Allard - former courtier, now Duke of Tintal. A man whose name you've heard said only with utter disgust by Morgana, that you saw circled with bloody red ink in her notebook - notebook that contains the names of all who played a hand in the war and your family's downfall. There was a tear in the paper next to his name where the pen had cut through like a dagger.
Morgana said he had betrayed her parents allowing Uther to invade your Castle and slay the Court and your grandfather, on the bloody promise of being named the Duke of the land. He may have not raised a sword himself in the attack, but his hands are stained all the same.
Your mother looks at you, her $eye eyes wistful. "I was 15 years old when I left Avalon for Lothia. I was hurt, and wanted to fling myself in the water and swim back to Avalon. Uther himself came to take me from the island. Said he promised me to the Duke of Lothia. The High Priestesses couldn't stop him because he was…by marriage to my mother, my father." She spits the word with so much venom you recoil. Her gaze is focused somewhere on the horizon, her knuckles white on the railing, the wind again riling up as if angered.
"I tried to summon a storm and wreck the ship, but they knocked me out. Uther made sure I was sent to Lothia, and saw me married. Stripped me of my Le Fay name to become Duchess of Lothia." She shakes her hand and shifts her gaze to you. "We'll get our name back, Mordred." It's a promise, spoken as solemnly as an oath and as fiercely as a threat. She turns back to the sea and her face lights up. "Look!" She points ahead. "Tintal!"
You see it, a vague shape outlined on the horizon.
The ship anchors in the harbor some time later, Tintal looming over you. It's unlike anything you've seen in Avalon. A fortress on a hill overseeing the sea, surrounded by trees, guarding the town that sprawls across the coast.
The harbor is loud; people come and go, moving carts and barrels, a clash of languages. The people are garbed less like the people of Avalon and more like the sailors on the ship that brought you here- in breeches and loose shirts, in stained jackets and broad rimmed hats.
A carriage with a familiar banner, the Le Fay serpent, awaits you. You've never been in a carriage before- you've always walked in Avalon, and the island's narrow streets were mostly full of horse steeds. As the carriage starts, bumping and jolting up the coiling road to the fortress, you're not sure you like this too much.
The view out of your window, however, is enough to distract from the unpleasant journey, with each slope you climb giving you a better perspective of the town and harbor. Cobblestone streets slither sleekly between colorfully painted houses. Close to the docks there's a market buzzing with people; workers cart produce directly from the ships to the stalls. Farther down the coastline there's a Temple of the Lady of the Lake, jutting out into the sea. In the same walled compound there's a garden and a building that would look more at home on the island you've left. Morgana lets you know that it functions as living quarters and learning space for the accolades. You're also surprised by the lack of actual sand by the seaside. The portions of the land that don't give away directly to steep, stony walls into the water are narrow strips of rocky beaches that don't look too fun to walk on.
"Do you like it, Mordred?" your mother asks. She runs her hands over the purple velvet of her cloak, sighing. "I reckon I don't remember it very well from the time my family ruled over it, but it seems to be blooming. Which is the only boon these impostors of rulers can offer us."
Morgana seems to love that word, along with thief- the Duke of Tintal is both.
[[Continue|Tintal1]]The carriage arrives to a tall, imposing gate, which slowly opens to the chorus of thunderous rumbling. You go through them into an inner courtyard, where you get off. You are ushered inside by a guard, through long stone corridors, decorated with hanging carpets- or tapestries as Morgana always corrects you- depicting in vivid colors soaring dragons over castles, knights fighting, priestesses of the Lady of the Lake dancing.
One in particular catches Morgana's eye. She stops in her tracks and you almost stumble. As you regain your bearings, your mother reaches out to run a finger over the rough material, and says,
"Guard, is your Master so happy to celebrate the one who spilled blood on these stones instead of the one who built them?"
You look at the tapestry. A man in red armour, with wild dark hair and raised sword, riding a dragon. No, you lean closer, it's not just metal armour. Those are red scales. Uther Pendragon.
A clink of armour as the guard shifts nervously draws your attention, and he averts his gaze to the less offensive floor carpet. It's got an indistinguishable pattern that does not bring insult to anyone.
No answer comes from the guard, and Morgana turns her sharp gaze on him. "Perhaps I should ask the Duke himself." She starts walking, tugging you along forcibly. You struggle to keep up, trudging along behind her like her cloak.
You emerge into a great hall, and the guard presents you to the family of five gathered there, poses proper and practiced, as if they're about to have their potrait taken. "Lady Morgana Leudonus of Lothia and her ?child, Mordred Leudonus of Lothia."
Your mother executes a curtsy, and you follow suit with the proper etiquette. The father steps forward. He's a bulky man, built like the fortress, wearing on his lavish tunic the serpent symbol he stole from your family. He's got a trimmed beard, spiked with white, and a smile on his lips. But it's strained, as much as the one on his wife's face. The children are not even smiling.
"Welcome, Lady Morgana," He throws his arms out.
"Thank you for the honor of welcoming me into my own home," Morgana says sweetly, and the man chuckles, but it sounds forced.
It seems that proper etiquette has not prepared the man for this, as he grasps for words, his dark eyes flitting across the hall- to the serpent banners hung- searching for an answer. When he finds none his wife chimes in, with as warm a smile as she can muster. Which is about as warm as a faint candle in the wind.
"Lady Morgana, we're so happy to have you here, and I hope you will appreciate the effort we have put into making Tintal as blooming as before. We were very grateful to be entrusted with the care of this beautiful land."
Your mother smiles affably, "Why of course." A sympathetic knot appears between her brows. "It must have been such a difficult task, cleaning away the blood and building up a kingdom ravaged by war."
The woman's smile falters, the candle snuffed by the wind. "I-"
"Servant!" The Duke, who has finally regained his voice, calls out, and a boy scurries from the shadows of the hall. "Take their cloaks, will you? We will be having dinner soon."
The boy nods, and approaches Morgana fearfully. She just smiles at him, but that only seems to make it worse. He flinches, but dutifully takes her cloak, then yours. The Duke's gaze falls on Morgana's chest, and stays riveted there. Specifically, on the golden serpent pendant on the low neckline of your mother's purple gown. It's a a dress your mother says the ladies of Tintal would wear- light and flowing, reminiscent of Avalonian garbs. You wear a matching pendant, which your mother says is a family heirloom.
"Shall we?" The Duke asks, spinning around and leading the way through a side door. The women follow, but you fall behind, looking at the children who have so far said no word. Two of them seem younger or close to your age, while the third is taller and older than you. And while the younger ones look at you with curiosity, the third one looks at you with spite, and bumps his shoulder into you as he passes you.
<div class="choice">[[You frown, but don't say anything.|Tintal2][$chapt2bully to "frown", $defiant to $defiant-1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[You shove him back.|Tintal2][$chapt2bully to "shove", $defiant to $defiant+1, $impulsive to $impulsive+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[''Hey! That's not nice!''|Tintal2][$chapt2bully to "reprimand", $defiant to $defiant+1, $confident to $confident+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Smile sweetly. Oh, you'll win him over.|Tintal2][$chapt2bully to "smile",$affable to $affable+1, $confident to $confident+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[Avert your gaze, not wanting to stir up more trouble.|Tintal2][$chapt2bully to "meek", $defiant to $defiant-1, $confident to $confident-1]]</div><<if $chapt2bully == "frown">>
You continue on, frowning at him.
<<elseif $chapt2bully == "shove">>
With all your force, you shove into him, making him loose his balance. He glares at you, but doesn't do anything.
<<elseif $chapt2bully == "reprimand">>
He ignores you.
<<elseif $chapt2bully == "smile">>
You give him a sweet smile, intent of melting that hostility away. The boy looks confused for a moment, but confusion turns into a scowl.
<<elseif $chapt2bully == "meek">>
You avert your gaze, keeping at a distance.
<</if>>
The Duke leads you to a smaller chamber, with a blazing fire in a stone awning in the wall. It looks like a small cave for the fire. Above it, the serpent is carved, slithering. A table has been laid in the middle of the room, and you realize just how hungry you've grown. You are seated next to your mother, and servants come to serve the food.
"The food is exquisite," Morgana says graciously. "And the wine- is it from Astolat?"
The Duke grins. "Only the very best for my table."
Morgana sips her goblet with a sweet smile. The Duke seems put at ease by it. Oh, he's sorely mistaken. That smile means nothing good.
"Are you eager to return to Lothia, Lady Morgana?" the Duke's wife asks. "You must have missed your husband and first born."
"Yes, I have dearly missed my son," she replies, making sure to omit Lot.
When no one else says anything, the Duke launches into all the ways Tintal has improved since he's taken the reigns. Morgana listens intently, though you can see she's merely entertaining him like a lioness might entertain a mouse attempting to run before she slams her paw on him.
"Yes, you have certainly changed a lot," Morgana swirls around the wine in her cup, her gaze afar. "You have also redecorated, I see." Her gaze finds the Duke. "Beautifully woven tapestries you have." The Duke is smiling, delighted. "Of tyrants."
His smile drops. "Excuse me?"
Morgana puts down her cup and leans forward, ready to pounce on the mouse.
"Does your first born, your heir, know the story of the castle they will rule?" She looks to the boy, who holds her gaze. "Does he know the great hall was soaked in the blood Uther spilled when he stole this kingdom? Does he know this title and symbol and land do not belong to you?"
"Uther has given us the title," the boy says resolutely. "It is ours, as much as yours is now Duchess Leudonus of Lothia."
Morgana smiles, but it's as sharp as a blade. "Your father taught you well."
"I believe we should continue your talk in the common room, and let the children play in the nursery," the duke's wife intervenes.
[[Continue|Tintal3]]You are left in the nursery with the other children and an old nanny sleeping in a chair, the embroidery in her hands slipping further down her lap with each snore. The youngest two children have rushed to the toy chest and you inch closer. The girl stops and hugs the toy she's holding to her chest, eyeing you up and down as if you were a wild animal of which intention she is not sure. Then she nods, making up her mind, and extends you the toy, giving you a small smile.
You smile back, but it's quickly wiped off your face as the toy is snatched from your hands by the oldest boy, who glares at you.
"Don't let ?their filthy hands on our toys." His spiteful words sting as you stare at him.
The hostility shocks you, and you feel like being dunked in ice cold water. Children in Avalon always used to play with you - and even those extremely possesive of their toys never turned such venom on you. Morgana had warned you that people on the Continent may not be as kind, and here they are, already proving it to you.
<div class="choice">[["Give me back the toy!" you demand.|Tintal4][$chapt2toy to "1", $impulsive to $impulsive+2, $intimidation to $intimidation+1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I just want to play," you say.|Tintal4][$chapt2toy to "2", $calm to $calm+2, $impulsive to $impulsive-2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["\"Whatever! You are thieves! Mother says you have no place here!\""|Tintal4][$chapt2toy to "3", $calm to $calm-2, $impulsive to $impulsive+2]]</div><<if $chapt2toy == "1">>"No. You have no right to play with us. Leave my siblings alone. They shouldn't play with the likes of you."
<<elseif $chapt2toy == "2">>He sneers. "We don't play with the likes of you."
The girl, however, seems to be of a different mind. She tugs at her older brother's tunic sleeve, and the boy seems to mellow as he turns to her, at least until he hears her hushed words. "Nicol, please. Let ?them play with us."
Nicol scowls, as if the words were a slap to the face. "No. Haven't you heard what father said?" he hisses back.
"But what did ?they do?" the girl desperately pleads.
"What did ?they do?" Nicol scoffs. "?Theyre a bastard with a mother who has the audacity to come in here as if she owns the place."
<<elseif $chapt2toy == "3">>"You are the one who has no place here!"<</if>>
He tosses the toy. "You are just a knight's bastard! Your mother had to flee from shame! You're nothing but a pretender at Lot's mercy!"
<div class="choice">[["Shut up!" You scream and in a burst of fury, fire erupts out of your hand.|Tintal5][$chapt2lot to "1", $fire to "yes", $fire_reason to "anger"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Shut up!" You cry and in a burst of anguish, fire erupts out of your hand.|Tintal5][$chapt2lot to "2", $fire to "yes", $fire_reason to "anguish"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Shut up!" you scream and punch him.|Tintal5][$chapt2lot to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Shut up!" You start wailing.|Tintal5][$chapt2lot to "4"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Shut up!" You start crying.|Tintal5][$chapt2lot to "5", $crybaby to $crybaby+1]]</div><<if $chapt2lot == "1">>
Fury pulses through your veins like lava, and you put out your hand, flames bursting out of it, a manifestation of the rage you can't control, and fly in the boy's face, engulfing it in red.
[[Continue|Tintal6.1]]
<<elseif $chapt2lot == "2">>
Anguish pulses through your veins like ice, and you put out your hand, flames bursting out of it, a manifestation of your pain you can't control, and fly in the boy's face, engulfing it in red.
[[Continue|Tintal6.1]]
<<elseif $chapt2lot == "3">>
In a moment of rage, you ball your hand into a fist and throw it in the boy's face, wanting to wipe that sneer off his face. It's replaced by pain as he stumbles back, yelling.
[[Continue|Tintal6.2]]
<<elseif $chapt2lot == "4">>
Your wails are shrill and wake up the nanny, who comes to you and slaps your face so hard, you stumble. Cupping your cheek, you glare at her.
"Insolent child!"
In reply, your wails pick up even louder, amplified by the pain in your face.
[[Continue|Tintal6.2]]
<<elseif $chapt2lot == "5">>
Tears streak down your cheeks, and your sobbing wakes up the nanny, who glares at you. "Shut up, insolent child!"
The tears don't stop, and you look at her through blurry eyes.
[[Continue|Tintal6.2]]
<</if>>He yells and stumbles back, falling down and crying, thrashing around as you stare. The children behind you scream, but all you can do is stay rooted in place.
The nanny wakes up with a start and seeing the chaos, throws herself onto the boy, trying to put out the fire. The flames wan, but between his fingers you can see the burned, raw skin.
The nanny looks at you, and her eyes are filled with horror, and the sheer intensity of it makes you take a step back. "Master! Master!" she shouts, and rushes to the door. "Someone fetch a healer!"
What follows is chaos. There's shouting, and crying, and curses hurled your way. The boy is rushed to a healer, and Morgana takes you, and you're walking through corridors but all you can think of is red, red, red.
"How dare you! How dare you!" The Duke is yelling at you, the words haunting you, echoing across the great hall. "Your child is a monster!"
Morgana stops and spins to face him. Something in her face must have frightened him, because he's gone pale.
"How dare I?" she repeats. Her words, unlike the duke's, are quiet and calm, and made all the more chilling by it.
She reaches out a hand, just like you did before the flame erupted. Magic simmers in the air, sending goosebumps up your arms.
The serpent on the duke's tunic shifts. It slithers up his belly, materializing from the fabric as if coming out of its burrow. Sliding up to wrap around his neck as the man screams. The nearest guards jump to his rescue, freeing their master from the snake's vicious grip, tossing it as far away as possible. When it touches the stones, it disappears. The other guards have turned the pointy ends of their lances to you, but dare not approach.
"If you think I was threatening until now, you're wrong," Morgana says, her voice filled with cold anger. "This is a threat. This castle is not yours, and I will take it back."
Then she spins around, demanding with a sweep of her arm that the doors slam open, and marches outside. Your luggage and cloaks follow, unceremoniously thrown after you.
No carriage, too much luggage to carry, and no place to go. You look up at your mother for a solution. She takes in a deep breath, not quite as unruffled as she's appeared back in the hall. She pulls on her cloak, and you quickly do the same. Then she turns to you with a reassuring smile.
"We just have to find another place to spend the night." She glances off into the distance. The only sign of the town in this darkness is the faint glimmer of the candles still burning in windows. "And I know where we will be welcomed."
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
She kneels in front of you and brushes your hair behind your ears. "We don't need any carriages from these thieves. I'm so sorry we came here. Don't listen to a word that boy told you." She cups your face. "They have no idea who they're talking to."
<<else>>
She kneels in front of you and gently squeezes your shoulders. "We don't need any carriages from these thieves. I'm so sorry we came here. Don't listen to a word that boy told you." She cups your face. "They have no idea who they're talking to."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["Will he be ok?" you ask, worried.|Tintal7][$chapt2castle to "1", $kind to $kind+2, $fire_feel to "regret"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He was mean," you say, not regretting your action.|Tintal7][$chapt2castle to "2", $kind to $kind-2, $fire_feel to "notregret"]]</div>"Father! Father!" The boy rushes to the door. "I want ?them to leave!"
Soon, the adults have gathered in the nursery- both you and the boy talk over each other to tell your side of the story. The duke defends his son's words, and Morgana hurls insults at him as she takes your hand. You're walking through corridors but all you can think of is the word the boy called you: bastard, bastard, bastard.
"How dare you! Come into my castle and keep insulting me!" The Duke is yelling at you, voice echoing across the great hall.
Morgana stops and spins to face him. Something in her face must have frightened him, because he's gone pale.
"How dare I?" she repeats. Her words, unlike the duke's, are quiet and calm, and made all the more chilling by it.
She reaches out a hand. Magic simmers in the air, sending goosebumps up your arms.
The serpent on the duke's tunic shifts. It slithers up his belly, materializing from the fabric as if coming out of its burrow. Sliding up to wrap around his neck as the man screams. The nearest guards jump to his rescue, freeing their master from the snake's vicious grip, tossing it as far away as possible. When it touches the stones, it disappears. The other guards have turned the pointy ends of their lances to you, but dare not approach.
"If you think I was threatening until now, you're wrong," Morgana says, her voice filled with cold anger. "This is a threat. This castle is not yours, and I will take it back."
Then she spins around, demanding with a sweep of her arm that the doors slam open, and marches outside. Your luggage and cloaks follow, unceremoniously thrown after you.
No carriage, too much luggage to carry, and no place to go. You look up at your mother for a solution. She takes in a deep breath, not quite as unruffled as she's appeared back in the hall. She pulls on her cloak, and you quickly do the same. Then she turns to you with a reassuring smile.
"We just have to find another place to spend the night." She glances off into the distance. The only sign of the town in this darkness is the faint glimmer of the candles still burning in windows. "And I know where we will be welcomed."
<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
She kneels in front of you and brushes your hair behind your ears. "We don't need any carriages from these thieves. I'm so sorry we came here. Don't listen to a word that boy told you." She cups your face. "They have no idea who they're talking to."
<<else>>
She kneels in front of you and gently squeezes your shoulders. "We don't need any carriages from these thieves. I'm so sorry we came here. Don't listen to a word that boy told you." She cups your face. "They have no idea who they're talking to."
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[["\"I'm sorry I made a scene. It's my fault they kicked us out.\""|Tintal7][$chapt2castle to "3"]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["He was mean." You frown.|Tintal7][$chapt2castle to "4"]]</div><<if $chapt2castle == "1">>
Morgana frowns. "He'll have a scar, well deserved."
You flinch, and Morgana smiles soothingly. "Now, now. Don't worry."
<<elseif $chapt2castle == "2">>
"He was," Morgana nods. "And now he has a well deserved scar."
<<elseif $chapt2castle == "3">>
<<if $chapt2lot == "2" or $chapt2lot == "5">>
"I'm sorry I made a scene," you swallow back tears. "It's my fault they kicked us out."
<<else>>
"I'm sorry I made a scene," your chest pangs. "It's my fault they kicked us out."
<</if>>
"No," Morgana says resolutely. "It's their own fault. We defended ourselves."
<<elseif $chapt2castle == "4">>
"He was," Morgana nods.
<</if>>
"Where are we going? How will we get there?"
"This will tire me, Mordred, but I have no other choice." She reaches out her hands, and the pieces of luggage tremble. She furrows her brows, and they start levitating a few palms over the ground. Her face smooths into one of concentration as she turns around slowly, the baggages following.
"Start walking," she says. "We have a long way to go."
[[Continue|Tintal8]]<<if $hair_type == "straight" or $hair_type == "wavy">>
You are happy to finally be able to sit, and you lounge with your head in Morgana's lap in Nana's chambers, while the two women talk. You're getting sleepy as she strokes your hair, and you hear the conversation vaguely, as distant as the waves crashing against the cliff outside.
<<else>>
You are happy to finally be able to sit, and you lounge with your head in Morgana's lap in Nana's chambers, while the two women talk. You're getting sleepy as she pats down your hair, and you hear the conversation vaguely, as distant as the waves crashing against the cliff outside.
<</if>>
<<if $fire == "yes">>
"The poor boy," Nana says about the Duke's son when Morgana finishes to recount the events that have led to your coming here. "Your heart is full of hate, Morgana." The woman continues, more as a warning.
<<else>>
"Your heart is full of hate, Morgana." The woman says, more as a warning, when Morgana finishes to recount the events that have led to your coming here.
<</if>>
"Some wounds can't be healed."
"No, you don't want them to heal. You plunged the dagger in the wound and you keep turning and turning it. It bleeds and hurts, and it won't stop until you pull it out and let it heal, Morgana."
"It's not just a dagger," Morgana's tone turns sharp, "It's multiple daggers in my back. From Uther, from Merlin, from Lot."
"Why didn't you stay in Avalon, Morgana?" she asks quietly. "Do you really think Lothia will treat Mordred well?"
Your mother doesn't reply, so Nana continues, "Do you think Camelot will treat ?them well, when ?they becomes a knight?"
"No, Merlin made sure everyone hates me in Camelot," Morgana's voice is venomous.
"No, Morgana. You made sure, when you went to claim the throne, and swore revenge."
The conversation continues, but you're falling asleep, the words lost as you dream.
[[Continue|Lothia1]]In what feels like the whole night, but Morgana assures you was just an hour, you have climbed down the hill and arrived at a building that reminds you of the ones in Avalon. It's painted white, with a terracotta roof, sitting on the coast and surrounded by a garden of fruit trees and flowers. Morgana bangs on the gate and soon a lantern appears in the dark, bobbing to you.
You've come to the Lady of the Lake's temple you've seen from the carriage.
A confused man in Avalonian robes allows you in after you present yourselves. You are left to wait for the High Priestess in a large chamber with a pool in the middle, the clear water looking tempting to your sore feet to soak in. Morgana strolls around the room, her eyes roaming over the marble and vases placed around the room. She looks so much more at ease here, as if this temple feels more like home than her former castle. It probably does.
"Morgana?" An elderly lady has come. She's gripping the door frame and staring at Morgana as if not quite believing her eyes.
"Nana," Morgana spreads her arms, approaching the woman. "I've returned."
"So I see." The woman embraces Morgana, and chuckles. "Unannounced. Not that I particularly mind, but I'll have to hastily put together dinner and bedding."
"Oh, we don't need dinner, just some tea will suffice," your mother assures her. "I was planning on calling on you in the morning, but the turn of events has rushed the visit."
The woman quirks an eyebrow, and suspicion creeps on her face. "Do tell me."
Morgana spins around and takes off her cloak with a dismissive shrug and tone, "We were thrown out of Tintal castle."
"What have you done?"
Morgana glares at her over her shoulder. "Why do you suppose I did something?"
"Because I know your temper, Morgana." Nana has a tone very similar to the one Morgana has when she's scolding you. She notices the pendant and realization dawns on her. "I see. You've gone and picked a fight."
Morgana frowns, but Nana shakes her head, then turns her attention to you. Her expression mollifies. "Forgive me. You must be Mordred." She approaches, gentle eyes appraising you. "My, my. You look just like your mother. I'm Nana. I helped your grandma when she gave birth to your mother."
"Nana wanted me to grow up in this temple when Uther conquered Tintal. But he sent me to Avalon." Morgana has walked up to the old woman, slipping a hand on her arm, the frown smoothed over to a wistful smile. "She's visited me often."
Nana puts her hand over Morgana's. "Come to my chambers."
[[Continue|Tintal8.1]]<div class="titlelettersone" style='font-size: 200%;'>The Bastard of Camelot</div>
//Your child will be the undoing of Camelot.//
Born under an ominous prophecy, you are the incestuous bastard of King Arthur and Morgana Le Fay. Will you fulfill the prophecy, or rebel?
Be the villain they expect you to be, or the hero they don’t- be remorseful or unapologetic, make your destiny or be Morgana’s tool of revenge.
Arthur can’t have any more children, making you the sole Pendragon’s blood heir. As a Pendragon, you have the power of dragons. It’s the only dragon blood line out of four that has survived, bloodlines that started as a way to create peace between humans and dragons by allowing the former to speak and understand their language, communicate telephatically, summon fire and grow a scale armor.
The Bastard of Camelot is a series of text-based interactive fiction inspired by Arthurian Legends, following Mordred as they become a Knight of the Round Table and shape the fate of Camelot.
The game focuses on relationships and is character driven.
Note: Romance options are marked with ❤ ; Oblivious romance options are marked with 💕
Content Warning: The protagonist is a child of incest, and the story deals with the topics of incest, rape and abuse.
If you'd like to skip without using old saves that can cause game issues, or just try different things, you can use the quick character creation and jump straight into chapter 5!
[[Take me to the detailed content warning list|ContentWarning]]
[[Begin story|Prologue]]
[[Build a Mordred and play from chapter 3|QuickCharacterCreationChapt3]]
[[Build a Mordred and play from chapter 5|QuickCharacterCreation]][it comes accompanied by just as quiet an expectation/question of who will pick up the conversation first./a mutual inspection; but countenance alone can't satiate curiosity. Curiosity/Unspoken questions slither/wrap around and grip onto your brain like vines. The memory of Nimue has always persisted, somwehre in the back of your mind/in a crevice of your mind, as did a curiosity - slowly growing as years passed and you wondered when your paths shall cross again; it grew like vine, wrapping and gripping onot your brain with stubborn/mullish sturdiness.]
<<if friendly>>
You'd sooner find your words if a lack of questions [and curiosity/interest] was your issue. As it stands, there's so much you want to ask.
Better start simple. "It's been a long time," you say.
"It's strange, isn't it? So many years of absence gape between us, like an abyss. That's a lot to bridge. We might as well be strangers meeting for the first time. [Like someone I've seen in my visions before.]"
"It is a little bit strange," you agree, and saying it does seem to alleviate some of the oddity of it all. 'Where shall we start then/Where do you propose we start then?"
<<elseif guarded>>
You'd sooner find your words if a lack of questions [and curiosity/interest] was your issue. But how much can you risk to ask, and how much of what you're told can you trust?
Better keep your shield up.
"It's been a long time," you say - you state it as the fact that it is, no frills, melancholy or sentimetality.
"It's strange, isn't it? So many years of absence gape between us, like an abyss. That's a lot to bridge. We might as well be strangers meeting for the first time. [Like someone I've seen in my visions before.]"
"It is a little bit strange," you acquiesce. Talking with Nimue then had been simple, carefree, devoid of this lurking/prowling dread, waiting for the moment knife in the back. "Where shall we start then/Where do you propose we start then?"
<<else>>
You'd sooner find your words if a lack of questions [and curiosity/interest] was your issue. As it stands, there's so much you want to ask.
Better start simple. "It's been a long time," you finally say.
"It's strange, isn't it? So many years of absence gape between us, like an abyss. That's a lot to bridge. We might as well be strangers meeting for the first time. [Like someone I've seen in my visions before.]"
"It is a little bit strange," you agree, and saying it does seem to alleviate some of the oddity of it all. 'Where shall we start then/Where do you propose we start then?"
<</if>
"With the obvious. Here you are, a squire as you said you'd be/You've become a squire."
"And you are your father's apprentice."
"No suprises so far, are there?" Though deeper, her voice has maintained that calm, confident cadence you remember - it's the steady flow/lull of [mild] waves rolling onto shore, and you are the pebble? and reels you back to the depths, making you flow with the currents [as you follow every word]/and makes you flow with the tide before returning you to the sand/onto shore, a rhytmic to and fro one could listen t endlessly. A slight, soft Avalonian lilt persists/lingers in her pronounciaition.
No surprises indeed. Nimue has never hidden her ambition/has made no pretense of a different path/ambition, and neither have you.
<<if $chapt1eager == "eager">>
"Back then," Nimue says, "when we were little, you'd been so eager to become a knight. Swinging your wooden sword at those hordes of menacing plush toys/at your menacing plush toy foes. And you'd been so excited to see the Continent. Tell me then, what's it been like?"
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire has proved as exciting as I hoped it'd be," you say. You're as passionate - if not more than - as you were as a little, bright-eyed child.|Chapt5AvalonEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire is both more and less exciting than I expected," you say. That bright-eyed enthusiasm has turned to a more earnest, practical enjoyment; it's a career that suits you.|Chapt5AvalonEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire is both more and less exciting than I expected," you say. There are many aspects of it you enjoy - but you can't help but feel strangely conflicted at times.|Chapt5AvalonEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Everything seems far too exciting when you're a child," you say. There are many things you love about being a squire - but sometimes, you question if, given the opportunity, you would have chosen otherwise.|Chapt5AvalonEager][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 4]]</div>
<<elseif $chapt1eager == "bitter">>
"Back then," Nimue says, "when we were little, you'd seemed to reluctant to leave Avalon and become a squire. As if you might be parting with a piece of yourself. Did you, then? Trade a part of your heart to become a squire?"
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire has proved more exciting than expected," you say. You've grown very passionate about it.|Chapt5AvalonBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. There are many aspects of it you enjoy. And besides, it's a career that suits you.|Chapt5AvalonBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. There are many aspects of it you enjoy - but you can't help but feel conflicted and melancholy at times.|Chapt5AvalonBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. "But...I do think a tiny piece of me was left behind." There are many aspects of it you enjoy - but you can't help but feel conflicted and melancholy at times.|Chapt5AvalonBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Everything seems far too exciting when you're a child," you say. There are many things you love about being a squire - but sometimes, you question if, given the opportunity, you would have chosen otherwise.|Chapt5AvalonBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 5]]</div>
??????
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. There are many aspects of it you enjoy - but you can't help but feel conflicted at times, though it has nothing to do with Avalon. The island is well in your past by now.|Chapt5AvalonBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 8]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire has proved more exciting than expected," you say. You've grown very passionate about it, though you do miss Avalon at times.|Chapt5AvalonBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 6]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. There are many aspects of it you enjoy. And besides, it's a career that suits you. Melancholy for Avalon does come and go.|Chapt5AvalonBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 7]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. There are many things you love about being a squire - but sometimes, you question if, given the opportunity, you would have chosen otherwise.|Chapt5AvalonBitter][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 6]]</div>???
<<elseif $chapt1eager == "casual">>
"Back then," Nimue says, "when we were little, you seemed to accept knighthood and leaving Avalon so placidly. Letting the currents take you wherever they will. Is this still what you're doing - going with the flow/flux of water?"
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire has proved more exciting than expected," you say. You've grown passionate.|Chapt5AvalonCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["I suppose," you say. "It took me to squirehood, and it fits me well." There are many aspects of it you enjoy. And besides, it's a practical choice for you.|Chapt5AvalonCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Being a squire is more fun than I expected," you say. There are many aspects of it you enjoy - but you can't help but feel conflicted at times.|Chapt5AvalonCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Everything seems far too exciting when you're a child," you say. There are many things you love about being a squire - but sometimes, you question if, given the opportunity, you would have chosen otherwise.|Chapt5AvalonCasual][$chapt5_nimue_serious to 4]]</div>
<</if>>CURIOUS
Why not?" You won't deny that, whatever her reason for offering, you are intrigued by the prospect of taking a peek at your future, however potentially disastruous.
Nimue shuffles the cards with practiced ease/with the ease of fingers/hands that are well accustemd with the motion. then spreads them out/fans them out in a crescent/half moon. The cards' back is painted deep purple, each bearing the same symbol: an eye, rendered in black elegant brushstrokes, haloed by sharp, juttings rays. The Wyllt family banner, designed by Merlin himself. Dozens of unblinking eyes staring up at you/dozens of golden eyes staring up at you, unblinking.
"For this," Nimue says, "I need to take your hands."
<<if $chapt5_dance == "Nimue" and $c5_dance_nimue != 2>>
Her skin is cold against yours, as if was during the dance; the coolness seeps into your own flesh this tinme, forming into a shiver down your back. The corner of her lips tugs up.
<<else>>
Her skin is cold, as if she's just dipped her hands in snow/in ice. It sends a shiver down your back/It makes you shiver and Nimue smile.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Does she think you nervous? "Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Your hands are so cold," you frown in concern.|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do we really need to hold hands or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?" you jest.|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 3]]</div>
-------------------------------------------------------------------
<<if $chapt5_tarot_hands == 1>>
Does she think you nervous? You should readjust that misconception, let her own its completely reasonable a reaction, the same one you'd get where you to plunge your arm into the river now.
"Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"
"It's working just fine, thanks for your concern. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 2>>
Your brow furrows in concern. "Your hands are icy." How could she be so cold, decked in all that silk and undergarments, with the bonfire blazing so warm and merry next to you?
"Perhaps your hands are too warm," she counters. You want to argue that //you//'d know if that were the case, if the magic simmered beneath the skin, feverish, but she cuts you down with a decisive "Shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 3>>
"Do we really need to hold hands," you say with a smirk, "or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?"
"I need to connect to you in some way. It's not necessary but it helps - with cold hands as well. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 4>>
Does she think you nervous? You should readjust that misconception, let her own its completely reasonable a reaction, the same one you'd get where you to plunge your arm into the river now.
"Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"
"It's working just fine, thanks for your concern. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 5>>
Your brow furrows in concern. "Your hands are icy." How could she be so cold, decked in all that silk and undergarments, with the bonfire blazing so warm and merry next to you?
"Perhaps your hands are too warm," she counters. You want to argue that //you//'d know if that were the case, if the magic simmered beneath the skin, feverish, but she cuts you down with a decisive "Shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 6>>
"Do we really need to hold hands," you say with a smirk, "or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?"
"I need to connect to you in some way. It's not necessary but it helps - with cold hands as well. Now shush."
<</if>>
Her eyes flutter close and her face blanks to the tranquility/mirror stillness of a lake. Her whole body/frame is still/stock-still, as if her already chilled skin has turned to ice, encasing her, freezing her. That same iceness seeps through her fingers into yours, up your arms, rendering you unmoving and cool even as [the bonfire's flames caress your cheek and] your blood runs hot with excitement through your veins.
The chill seems to extend/seep all the way into/slithering its way into everyone present, dragon and human alike - all rooted to the places and unmoving/motionless under the ceremonial hush, standing like statues in a hall, idols in a temple, faces suspended in varying degrees/ranging expressions of concentration and anticipation.
Then there comes a ripple over Nimue's features, and another - creases scored between her brows, along the line of her mouth. She opens her eyes, lets go of your hands and directs her attention towards the cards.
You can't pick out any pattern or logic to her decisions/process. You expect there's only magic guiding her hands, that tingling in the tips of her fingers to tell her the right direction/to let her know when she's on the right path.
She sometimes goes directly for a certain card, plucking it as swift/quick as a raptor might pluck an unwitting mouse off; other times her fingers flutter/pendulate uncertainly above the half-moon of cards, caught in contradicting currents until one finally sweeps her the right way.
When she's done choosing, three cards stand before you. Three gilded eyes staring up at you, unblinking and unwavering. They seem to blink conspiratorilly up at you when you tilt your head and the bonfire flames/fire catches them just so. How much do the know, how much can they see? Can they peer inside you, see the hidden potential within you - whether for good or destruction/ruin? Can they pierce through time and space, see what you are meant to become - and does it match the image Merlin painted for you, or does it defy it, twist it?
Nimue rests her fingers on each of the downturned cards, left to right, and says/explaining/presenting each, "Past, present, future."
"Past and present? I thought you were reading my future."
"True, I could have done a spread solely for the future. But you see, they're all interconnected. To better understand the future, we must look in the past, learn from it. And the present...it's what currently concerns you, isn't it?"
What does she know of what currently concerns you?
"Ready?" she asks. You get the sense there's a different question [hidden in this one,] tucked beneath that single word. //Are you scared/nervous?//
Are you? You don't know how far/distant or accurate a future the cards will spell. They could, in its own coded language of vivid imagery, reveal something of your legacy, of your prophecy. Or they could simply foresee that you'll fail one of your upcoming tutoring assignments. Should you nervous/scared?/Maybe you should be scared, but you find that the uncertainty only emboldens you.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
$dragon_name shares in your confidence. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
$dragon_name shares in your confidence. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
$dragon_name shares in your confidence. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<else>>
A nagging, quiet worry still lingers in the back of your mind - though it's not your own. //"Careful."// You don't turn, but you can still feel $dragon_name's concerned gaze boring into you.
<</if>>
"I'm ready," you say, meeting Nimue's gaze headlong and determined.
She turns over the first card. It brushes against the blanket when flipped, letting out a soft sigh of relief./She turns over the first card - it brushes against the blanket when flipped, letting out a soft sigh of relief -and doesn't move on to the next one/stops. She doesn't move on to the next one, however, letting tension/anticipation build-up, denying you the quick release of anticipation/tension. You ball up your fists to keep your fingers from drumming against your knees and focus your attention on this first card.
<<if $chapt1father1 == "1">>
"Five of cups." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a black-shrouded figure. Their back is turned on you and their obscured face tilted downwards, gazing in the direction of three spilled cups. Behind them, two filled cups stand upright, ignored.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for great sorrow and dejection in your life. Something - someone - in your past, in your life, stood at the root of it/cast their shadow over you, so huge as to be inescapable, so dark as to blind you. It blackened your heart, and when disappoitnment was too much, it overflowed/spilled into hate."
<<elseif $chapt1father1 == "3">>
"The Star." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a woman with flowing hair. She carries two pitchers which she tips into a pond she's dipping one foot in; above her hangs a great, brilliant star.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow and dejection in your life./There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - casted over you. Too huge to escape, yet no so dark as to blind you. Deep within, you created your own light to ward off the shadows, to guide you ahead, to give you hope for the future. Even when it hurt, [even when the flame flickered,] you held on to that hope."
<<else>>
"The Moon." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a nighttime scene: a dog and a wolf, both howling at the moon while behind them, a crayfish emerges from the water. Whatever state of awed/mysticised expectancy you managed to achieve previously is almost entirely shattered by the little unexpected critter/The little unexpected critter is like a hammer to your state/whatever state of awed/mysticist expectancy you managed to achieve/Nimue managed to inspire in you and you almost laugh - until you catch her gaze, so intent and serious/grave it makes any sound wither/die/fade on your tongue.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow and dejection in your life./There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - cast over you. Too huge to escape, dark enough as to blind. You were unsure were to put your next step, unsure what to make of this darkness, of this hurt and sorrow and dejection that stalked you every day. You were told it was a predator - you were told it was dangerous and bad and that you had to keep turning away from it, but you didn't heed so easily. You wanted to find out on your own, to know if things could truly be so."
<</if>>
For one unbalacing/disorienting moment you are back on Avalon, a little carefree child, back into those times you remember as sun-drenched as they are mist-enshrounded. You forget - want to forget - the shadow, the absence, the phantom?/the ever-present abscence that haunted you ever since you were old enough to understand who Arthur was.
Was there ever a time in your life when you didn't have a shadow or another cast over yourself?
Nimue looks up and meets your eye. She doesn't ask if she was right or not. She already knows the answer/She knows the answer very well. Your stomach flips/twists/There's that/a weightless feeling in your stomach, as if all your organs had poofed out and been replaced by air, the same feeling as when $dragon_name sinks/drops dramatically towards the ground, [wind rushing in your ears], that breathless exhilaration of plummenting, of swerving just as the ground rushes in/knowing you'll swerve up just in time.
You should probably tell her to stop. Laugh and say this is all vague, mystical drivel and you're bored now, shuffle the two unturned card back into the deck before she can reveal them - but you don't. You want to see where this is headed, fall or flight.
<<if $want_revenge == "yes">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"The Chariot," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the proud, helmeted head of the charioteer; she holds the reigns of two great stallions, one black, the other white, in one hand, and brandishes a raised sword in the other.
"You show determination and ambition, the willpower to not just push on, but thrive." She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's a fire burning bright and hot within you, fueling you/driving you forward. But fire can easily get out of control; feed it, and it may grow to consume everything in its path."
You crack a little smile even as the words worm their way under your skin, squirming restlessly down your back/up your spine. "Is this about my fire magic?"
Nimue smiles too. "No."
<<elseif $want_revenge == "no">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"Ten of swords," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the figure laying prone and bleeding, speared through by the eponymous ten of swords.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's anguish drowning you from the inside/There's anguin, hollowing you out from the inside; there's gashes in your flesh/Your skin won't heal over the open gashes in your flesh, but you maintain the hope that with time they will, if only you let them heal/so you'll try to let them heal. This strife needn't be permanent, needn't be worsened by continuing to pick at old wounds." There's a softness to her voice - neither pity nor reassurance, but a sort of acknowledgement.
The words bounce inside your skull, repeating over and over like a feverish prayer. Will there truly be a day, when the skin has closed, scarred and healed? You'll never forget - you'll have the scars, no mater how faded, always there - but you won't be hurting anymore. It's only the present card - promises you made yourself, not yet to be fulfilled.
<<elseif $add_want_revenge == "justice">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"Justice," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the crowned head of the woman who sits atop a throne, one hand holding a raised sword, the other a scale, perfectly balanced.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's anguish and anger within you/There's a fire within you, burning bright and hot. Let loose, it would consume everything in its path - but you wish to wield it well and careful, make it throw into relief/show that which has been left to the shadows."
You crack a smile. "It's quite/a bit on the nose this one, don't you think?"
Nimue smiles back. "But it's accurate, isn't it?"
"I only want what's fair."
"And who decides what's fair? You?"
You know the answer one should give in this instance: it is the crown, the king and queen who decide the boundaries of justice, the rules of judgement, whose word is law. But none of that necessitates the end result be truly fair - if truly fair is something that can ever be achieved.
You just shrug, hiding the shiver coming up your back. "Do you want to divert the reading to a philosophical debate?"
Nimue smiles. "Hmm. Some other time perhaps."
<<else>>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"The Hermit," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps her nail against the hooded figure standing among a shadowy wood, with nothing for company but their cane and lantern.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's uncertainty within you, so you withdraw to ponder and examine that which troubles you, that threatens to tear you in two. You are searching for answers within, but the question posed is too difficult to have solved it yet. And so you hover on the edge of a knife, unsure where/which side you'll go down - and whether you'll cut yourself in the process/fearing you'll only cut/cut yourself if you chose wrong/will you heal your wounds, or only cut yourself deeper if you take that blade and decide to wield it?"
/
"And so you stand on the edge of a knife - unsure whether to leave/
And so you stand on the edge of a knife - a knife you were told you were born to wield, not knowing/unsure whether to grab that blade and do what you're meant to, even if it meants cutting yourself deeper, or take it and cast it/hurl it far away from you."
You twist and turn her words in your head, cleaving/trying to cleave through her dense metaphors, peel/strip away the fanciful dressing to find the naked/bare truth, sieve them till you're left with your practical reality. The knife must be the vengeance Morgana had planned for you to enact in conciving you, the pensive Hermit reflecting your indecision, standing in the middle of a dark woods and not knowing which path to do down to. This card will offer you no solution, no hint to what your future self might chose - will the next one show that/reveal that?
Part of you wishes for a quick answer, the sudden drop of the executioner's axe - and another wants to keep the mystery, the idea of control.
Nimue watches you patiently, waiting for you to say something, do something. Perhaps she wants you to give an agonized grimace, to silently grapple with the uncertainty in your heart in a way all can see.
Instead you simply crack a smile. "Are you talking about a literal knife?"
"No." Her gaze flickers over her face. "But you already knew that."
<</if>>
Nimue's hand moves to unveil the last card. Gawain gasps.
You don't do anything quite so dramatic: merely stare transfixed at the familiar card as your skin turns to gooseflesh.
A proud tower stands [in ruin] against a stormy backdrop as lightning cracks its stone and sets it aflame. Two figures have flung themselves from its crumbling, burning, dooming heights to/Two figures have flung themselves from its crumbling, bruning heiight of certain doom for the tumultous embrace of the waters beneath, that may either rock them to eternal sleep or carry them away to safety. You think it's most likely they'll be bashed on the jagged rocks right below, or crushed beneath the toppling masonry.
A card of unforseen catastrophe.
<div class="choice">[[A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells. Yet more evidence of your doomed fate?|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of thing, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed but its appearance.|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Would you be justified in bring about this chaos, after everything you've been through?|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself.|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom.|Chapt5TarodReadingCurious2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 5]]</div>
<<if $chapt5_tarot_tower == 1>>
A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells - yet more evidence of your doomed fate? Laying now bared before your small audience, even though they lack the key knowledge of the prediction. But they know of Morgana's wrought history with the Crown, and it would be easy to piece together what this card could herald for you, for the kingdom.
Yet beyond your nerves, there's a thrill of danger, of taking a risky gamble. Would Nimue truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 2>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of thing, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed but its appearance.
But now it's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 3>>
As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Staring so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it, tumble along with the two other doomed figures.
But were you to be the lightning instead, setting ablaze and toppling down the tower, would you be justified in bringing about that chaos to a land that's never loved you?
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 4>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself. Change can be good, can be necessary. Destruction needn't be feared, either. Perhaps the tower never had a good/sturdy foundation, perhaps its structure benefited no one; and where its ruin stands there will be raised a new, brighter, better, prouder tower.
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 5>>
As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom. Staring so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it. But you wouldn't be one of the tumbling, pitiful fools - you'd be the lightning itself, striking down to set ablaze and topple down the tower, dousing it in vengeful fire.
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<</if>>
"The tower," Nimue says/there's a weight to the way NImue says it. But not the damning weight of toppling/crushing stone/crumbling tower, stone trapping you beneath its debris, trapping you to a dark future/the victim of a fate/future that threatens to undo you/bigger than you, its shadow lurking large and dark whatever, nor the weight/accusatory weight of a finger turned your way, pinning ruin and destruction on you and you alone. No, there's a quiet reverence to her words, like speaking the name of a mighty, admirable foe.
But it's not the damning/dooming, bone-breaking weight of tumbling stone, trapping you beneath its debris, in a future dark and gruesome; neither is it the accusatory weight of a finger pointed your way, pinning ruin and destruction on you and you alone/on your shoulders. No, there's a quiet reverence to her words, like speaking the name of a mighty, admirable foe.
"An interesting one," Nimue goes on, stroking along the frame of the grim image, a gesture more tender than the fate those within are facing. "It's associsiated with danger and destruction/with rather dangerous/negative connotations/augurs, as one might have inferred form Gawain's reaction-" the boy offers a sheep apology from behind the mouth clamped over his shocked mouth "-such as danger, destruction, chaos/unforeseen cataphrone. It's also a sign of change - sudden, perhaps brutally so. It can also be a sign of liberation.
"Towards a watery demise?" you quip.
The corner of her mouth quirks up. "Not only."
You can list off the various meanings yourself. [What you need/want to know is:] "Well, what does it mean for me?" [You can list off the various meanings yourself - what you're interested to know is which applies to you, the disaster or the salvation.]
You expect Nimue to take your hand again, close her eyes and fetch a vision from that unfathomable pool of time/space she dips into/slips into/from whatever unfathomable space she slips into in the process. Instead, she leans forward and intently considers your face as if it/your features/something in it may render the sought-out answers. You don't back down, don't look away. You raise your chin ever so slightly, daring her to get a good look, see that which is hidden inside you, to a depth/crevice you cannot reach.
"I see...you, Camelot and change inextricably linked. Somewhere in your future. Sooner rather than later." She tilts her head, seeking a new, better angle. "You'll be trying out for the Round Table once you're a knight, won't you? There you have it. A move is a rather great change - it's an uprooting, a period of uncertainty."
You have no way of knowing if that's what she truly read within that card, but it's what she's chose to say and that's all that will matter to your audience: a reasonable little explanation to ease the dread of ominous dark clouds on the horizon, telling them the wind will come and blow them the other way. And so she keeps your secrets safe, and spares your reputation furhter injury. You wonder though, were you under the cover of intimacy, would she have divested her reading of her cryptic phrasing/wording? At least you could have demanded more straightforward answers. Perhaps you would have rceived entirely different answers.When she came upon the last card, she might have said: "Ah, jsut as my father foretold." with no attempt at pretense.
But you have eyes on you, so you keep the charade.
"A great change, like moving from a tower room to the bottom of the sea?" you ask, nodding towards the card.
"Precisely."
Gawain unclamps his hand/palm from his shocked mouth and offers a smile. The kind of sheepish smile one gives after shrieking and jumping at shadows [perceived as monsters/phatasms]. [It's relief that]The danger is over - that the danger has never been there, but the fright was real.
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic" or $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a reservoir/sliver of pity and sympathy to bestow on you even as he looked upon you as something to fear, something to defeat, but you'd hardly be able to bear it.
<<else>>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a sliver of pity he could spare on you - as one does on a rabid beast that needs to be put down.
<</if>>
<<if $chapt5_gally_attitude == "befriend" or $chapt5_gally_attitude == "charm">>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. The propehcy would only validate what he's been told about you, what you've been working to/helping him unlearn - could it break the fragile thing you've managed to built between you?
When he catches your eye, he looks away. Is it a trick of the light, or can you read guilt in his face?/Is that guilt you read in his face? Or maybe's it's remorse, or just a trick of the light, shadows of the bonfire castin his expression into something marginally more digestible than outright hate, outright disgust.
<<else>>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. You doubt the prophecy would change much about how he perceives/considers/sees you - if anything, it should strengthen his belief, validate his suspicions.
<</if>>
On the other side of Gawain, Elaine look sconfused more than anything else, face screwed up as if with enough concentration she might permutate the cards and make new/more sense of them/give them a meaning she can make sense of.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
//"Do you really believe Nimue?"// $dragon_name's voice is edged with doubt. //I mean, it sounds reasonable enough, but then everything she says sounds cryptic enough to be easily accepted."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">>
//"Do you think she's telling the truth?"// $dragon_name asks, though the question is more rhetoric than anything else. You don't have any definitive answers to give.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">>
//"So...this isn't about the prophecy?"// $dragon_name's voice sounds wispy, a quiet thought at the back of your mind easily brushed off by bigger doubts.
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
//"All this cryptic theatrics for what?//" $dragon_name's miffed voice rings in your head. //"This says nothing new.//"
<</if>>
Nimue has no way of hearing your friend's silent queries. She turns back towards the three upturned cards and draws one finger along each, a tender carress."Your life so far has been defined by such strong, intense emotions. You've trodden a road with pleasant surprises and terrible/heavy tolls alike." She glances up. "And that road is still unfolding before you."
The excitement over, the crowd scatters, leaving you alone by Nimue's side. $dragon_name is the only one who lingers behind, torn between wishing to stay at your side should you need them, and wanting to follow Felix, whose tail is loosely curled round their leg, a small yet casually affectionate touch. You prompt them to go and enjoy the night, advice you should take yourself. Yet you don't get up, still shuffling the cards inside your head.
Thank you for playing! This is the end of the current demo, but not of chapter 5.NERVOUS
Curiosity battles doubt/fear and wins - the latter defeated but not banished, a cowering hulk casting long shadows over the former/that won't let the former savour its victory.
"Alright," you say.
Nimue shuffles the cards with practiced ease/with the ease of fingers/hands that are well accustemd with the motion. then spreads them out/fans them out in a crescent/half moon. The cards' back is painted deep purple, each bearing the same symbol: an eye, rendered in black elegant brushstrokes, haloed by sharp, juttings rays. The Wyllt family banner, designed by Merlin himself. Dozens of unblinking eyes staring up at you/dozens of golden eyes staring up at you, unblinking. The longer you stare back, the more you skin itches.
"For this," Nimue says, "I need to take your hands."
<<if $chapt5_dance == "Nimue" and $c5_dance_nimue != 2>>
Her skin is cold against yours, as if was during the dance; the coolness seeps into your own flesh this tinme, forming into a shiver down your back. The corner of her lips tugs up.
<<else>>
Her skin is cold, as if she's just dipped her hands in snow/in ice. It sends a shiver down your back/It makes you shiver and Nimue smile.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[You're nervous, but you try not to show it. "Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Your hands are so cold," you frown in concern.|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do we really need to hold hands or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?" you jest, trying to calm yourself.|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 3]]</div>
-------------------------------------
<<if $chapt5_tarot_hands == 1>>
Blaming the shiver solely on her cold skin would be slightly disingenous - your restless muscles already ripple with tiny nervous tremors - but she needn't know that.
"Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"
"It's working just fine, thanks for your concern. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 2>>
Your brow furrows in concern. "Your hands are icy." How could she be so cold, decked in all that silk and undergarments, with the bonfire blazing so warm and merry next to you?
"Perhaps your hands are too warm," she counters. You want to argue that //you//'d know if that were the case, if the magic simmered beneath the skin, feverish, but she cuts you down with a decisive "Shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 3>>
"Do we really need to hold hands," you say with a smile that feels strained, "or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?"
"I need to connect to you in some way. It's not necessary but it helps - with cold hands as well. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 4>>
Does she think you nervous? You should readjust that misconception, let her own its completely reasonable a reaction, the same one you'd get where you to plunge your arm into the river now.
"Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"
"It's working just fine, thanks for your concern. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 5>>
Your brow furrows in concern. "Your hands are icy." How could she be so cold, decked in all that silk and undergarments, with the bonfire blazing so warm and merry next to you?
"Perhaps your hands are too warm," she counters. You want to argue that //you//'d know if that were the case, if the magic simmered beneath the skin, feverish, but she cuts you down with a decisive "Shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 6>>
"Do we really need to hold hands," you say with a smirk, "or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?"
"I need to connect to you in some way. It's not necessary but it helps - with cold hands as well. Now shush."
<</if>>
Her eyes flutter close and her face blanks to the tranquility/mirror stillness of a lake. Her whole body/frame is still/stock-still, as if her already chilled skin has turned to ice, encasing her, freezing her. That same iceness seeps through her fingers into yours, up your arms. [You feel feverish, burning up from the inside with a flame/heat that will never keep you warm, that only makes you colder and colder even as your muscles quiver.] You fight the urge to rock/sway back and forth/side to side to dispel the growing tension in your limbs, forcing yourself to sit motionless, lest she get a wrong/innacurate read on your future/lest movement obscures/interferes with her view of your future.
The chill seems to extend/seep all the way into/slithering its way into everyone present, dragon and human alike - all rooted to the places and unmoving/motionless under the ceremonial hush, standing like statues in a hall, idols in a temple, faces suspended in varying degrees/ranging expressions of concentration and anticipation.
Then there comes a ripple over Nimue's features, and another - creases scored between her brows, along the line of her mouth. She opens her eyes, lets go of your hands and directs her attention towards the cards.
You can't pick out any pattern or logic to her decisions/process. You expect there's only magic guiding her hands, that tingling in the tips of her fingers to tell her the right direction/to let her know when she's on the right path.
She sometimes goes directly for a certain card, plucking it as swift/quick as a raptor might pluck an unwitting mouse off; other times her fingers flutter/pendulate uncertainly above the half-moon of cards, caught in contradicting currents until one finally sweeps her the right way.
When she's done choosing, three cards stand before you. Three gilded eyes staring up at you, unblinking and unwavering. They seem to blink conspiratorilly up at you when you tilt your head and the bonfire flames/fire catches them just so. How much do the know, how much can they see? Can they peer inside you, see the hidden potential within you - whether for good or destruction/ruin? Can they pierce through time and space, see what you are meant to become - and does it match the image Merlin painted for you, or does it defy it, twist it?
Nimue rests her fingers on each of the downturned cards, left to right, and says/explaining/presenting each, "Past, present, future."
"Past and present?"
If the thought of peering into your future unnerved you, the idea of her digging through your memories disturbs you more so. The former, as much as it'll belong to you, feels distant and obscure enough; but your past and present are wholly your own, a house you inhabit you don't want turned upside down, every hidden drawer opened and their contents dumped in view of everyone, each carpet pulled to reveal that which you swept away in hopes of forgetting.
"I thought you were reading my future."
"True, I could have done a spread solely for the future. But you see, they're all interconnected. To better understand the future, we must look in the past, learn from it. And the present...it's what currently concerns you, isn't it?"
What does she know of what currently concerns you?
"Ready?" she asks. You get the sense there's a different question [hidden in this one,] tucked beneath that single word. //Are you scared/nervous?//
You are. You realize in this moment, more than when you agreed/before, just how vulnerable of an exercise/the exercise in vulnerability that this is. The fire cracks, the river warbles, yet all are silent within your cicle, waiting with bated breath. You fear your quickened pulse will give away the truths you're guarding, encode it in its wild, frantic heartbeats - if the cards don't already lay it all out in their own language of vivid/lurid imagery. You should tell her you changed your mind, yet curiosity strives, no matter how much of a fight fear tries to put up - it claws onward with a determination you wish you more reliably/abudantly possessed.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
$dragon_name approves of your decision. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
$dragon_name approves of your decision. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
$dragon_name approves of your decision. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<else>>
$dragon_name only feeds into your doubs you're acting reckless. //"Careful."// You don't turn, but you can still feel $dragon_name's concerned gaze boring into you.
<</if>>
"I'm ready," you say, gaze still fixed on the golden eyes.
[She turns the cards up/over one by one, slowly, relishing the build-up of tension, denying you the quick release of ancitipation. The cards let out a sound/scratch/whatever when flipped, a small sigh/soft sigh of relief/The cards let out a soft sigh of relief scrape/brush against the blanket when flipped, letting out small/soft sighs of relief.]
She turns over the first card. It brushes against the blanket when flipped, letting out a soft sigh of relief./She turns over the first card - it brushes against the blanket when flipped, letting out a soft sigh of relief -and doesn't move on to the next one/stops. She doesn't move on to the next one, however, letting tension/anticipation build-up, denying you the quick release of anticipation/tension. You ball up your fists to keep your fingers from drumming against your knees and focus your attention on this first card.
<<if $chapt1father1 == "1">>
"Five of cups." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a black-shrouded figure. Their back is turned on you and their obscured face tilted downwards, gazing in the direction of three spilled cups. Behind them, two filled cups stand upright, ignored.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for great sorrow and dejection in your life. Something - someone - in your past, in your life, stood at the root of it/cast their shadow over you, so huge as to be inescapable, so dark as to blind you. It blackened your heart, and when disappoitnment was too much, it overflowed/spilled into hate."
<<elseif $chapt1father1 == "3">>
"The Star." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a woman with flowing hair. She carries two pitchers which she tips into a pond she's dipping one foot in; above her hangs a great, brilliant star.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow and dejection in your life./There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - casted over you. Too huge to escape, yet no so dark as to blind you. Deep within, you created your own light to ward off the shadows, to guide you ahead, to give you hope for the future. Even when it hurt, [even when the flame flickered,] you held on to that hope."
<<else>>
"The Moon." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a nighttime scene: a dog and a wolf, both howling at the moon while behind them, a crayfish emerges from the water. Whatever state of awed/mysticised expectancy you managed to achieve previously is almost entirely shattered by the little unexpected critter/The little unexpected critter is like a hammer to your state/whatever state of awed/mysticist expectancy you managed to achieve/Nimue managed to inspire in you and you almost laugh - until you catch her gaze, so intent and serious/grave it makes any sound wither/die/fade on your tongue.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow and dejection in your life./There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - cast over you. Too huge to escape, dark enough as to blind. You were unsure were to put your next step, unsure what to make of this darkness, of this hurt and sorrow and dejection that stalked you every day. You were told it was a predator - you were told it was dangerous and bad and that you had to keep turning away from it, but you didn't heed so easily. You wanted to find out on your own, to know if things could truly be so."
<</if>>
For one unbalacing/disorienting moment you are back on Avalon, a little carefree child, back into those times you remember as sun-drenched as they are mist-enshrounded. You forget - want to forget - the shadow, the absence, the phantom?/the ever-present abscence that haunted you ever since you were old enough to understand who Arthur was.
Was there ever a time in your life when you didn't have a shadow or another cast over yourself?
Nimue looks up and meets your eye. She doesn't ask if she was right or not. She already knows the answer/She knows the answer very well. There's a pit in your stomach, a weightless, empty feeling of missing a step, that horrible second before either finding purchase or breaking your bones. You're suspended in that moment, the cards the ones that will decide your fate.
<<if $want_revenge == "yes">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"The Chariot," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the proud, helmeted head of the charioteer; she holds the reigns of two great stallions, one black, the other white, in one hand, and brandishes a raised sword in the other.
"You show determination and ambition, the willpower to not just push on, but thrive." She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's a fire burning bright and hot within you, fueling you/driving you forward. But fire can easily get out of control; feed it, and it may grow to consume everything in its path."
The words worm their way under your skin, squirming restlessly. "And I suppose this isn't in reference to my fire magic?"
Nimue smiles too. "No."
<<elseif $want_revenge == "no">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"Ten of swords," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the figure laying prone and bleeding, speared through by the eponymous ten of swords.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's anguish drowning you from the inside/There's anguin, hollowing you out from the inside; there's gashes in your flesh/Your skin won't heal over the open gashes in your flesh, but you maintain the hope that with time they will, if only you let them heal/so you'll try to let them heal. This strife needn't be permanent, needn't be worsened by continuing to pick at old wounds." There's a softness to her voice - neither pity nor reassurance, but a sort of acknowledgement.
The words bounce inside your skull, repeating over and over like a feverish prayer. Will there truly be a day, when the skin has closed, scarred and healed? You'll never forget, that much is clear - you'll have the scars, no matter how faded, always there - but you won't be hurting anymore. It's only the present card - promises you made yourself, not yet to be fulfilled.
<<elseif $add_want_revenge == "justice">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"Justice," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the crowned head of the woman who sits atop a throne, one hand holding a raised sword, the other a scale, perfectly balanced.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's anguish and anger within you/There's a fire within you, burning bright and hot. Let loose, it would consume everything in its path - but you wish to wield it well and careful, make it throw into relief/show that which has been left to the shadows."
"Is the card entirely what its name suggests?" You will yourself to speak calmly, as much as your heart beating an incessant beat/hammering within your throat will allow
"It can be applied in different ways to diferrent situations," Nimue replies. "Including quite literally."
She doesn't say what it means for //you// specifically, though it's no grand mystery for anyone gathered here. You just want what's fair.
<<else>>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"The Hermit," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps her nail against the hooded figure standing among a shadowy wood, with nothing for company but their cane and lantern.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's uncertainty within you, so you withdraw to ponder and examine that which troubles you, that threatens to tear you in two. You are searching for answers within, but the question posed is too difficult to have solved it yet. And so you hover on the edge of a knife, unsure where/which side you'll go down - and whether you'll cut yourself in the process/fearing you'll only cut/cut yourself if you chose wrong/will you heal your wounds, or only cut yourself deeper if you take that blade and decide to wield it?"
//
"And so you stand on the edge of a knife - unsure whether to leave/
And so you stand on the edge of a knife - a knife you were told you were born to wield, not knowing/unsure whether to grab that blade and do what you're meant to, even if it meants cutting yourself deeper, or take it and cast it/hurl it far away from you."
You twist and turn her words in your head, cleaving/trying to cleave through her dense metaphors, peel/strip away the fanciful dressing to find the naked/bare truth, sieve them till you're left with your practical reality. The knife must be the vengeance Morgana had planned for you to enact in conciving you, the pensive Hermit reflecting your indecision, standing in the middle of a dark woods and not knowing which path to do down to. This card will offer you no solution, no hint to what your future self might chose - will the next one show that/reveal that?
Part of you wishes for a quick answer, the sudden drop of the executioner's axe - and another wants to keep the mystery, the idea of control.
Nimue is watching. Oh Goddess, can she - can they all read that uncertainty. reflected in your face? Is it an open book to them, as your inner conflicts seem to be to Nimue?
You school your expression in a small polite smile, the same you'd give an unappetizing piece of cake you can't turn down. "Interesting."
<</if>>
Nimue's hand moves to unveil the last card. Gawain gasps.
You don't do anything quite so dramatic: merely stare transfixed at the familiar card as your skin turns to gooseflesh.
A proud tower stands [in ruin] against a stormy backdrop as lightning cracks its stone and sets it aflame. Two figures have flung themselves from its crumbling, burning, dooming heights to/Two figures have flung themselves from its crumbling, bruning heiight of certain doom for the tumultous embrace of the waters beneath, that may either rock them to eternal sleep or carry them away to safety. You think it's most likely they'll be bashed on the jagged rocks right below, or crushed beneath the toppling masonry.
A card of unforseen catastrophe.
<div class="choice">[[A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells. Yet more evidence of your doomed fate?|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of thing, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed but its appearance.|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Would you be justified in bring about this chaos, after everything you've been through?|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself.|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom.|Chapt5TarodReadingNervous2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 5]]</div>
-------------------------------------------
<<if $chapt5_tarot_tower == 1>>
A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells - yet more evidence of your doomed fate? Laying now bared before your small audience.
They'll now all know you for what you truly are, for what you wish you weren't - a monster in the making. They'll know, even though they've never heard the prophecy but oh, are the words of the prediction even neccesary when you have your mother's wrought history with the Crown, have, by all accounts, every reason to want to tear down this kingdom?
You shouldn't have accepted the reading. You should have said no, should have stopped when there was still time. Yet the allure, however dangerous, was there and irresistible, the same force that keeps your eyes riveted on the card, on the wretched image. Catastrophes are so hard to look away from even as your toes curl, even as your hair stands/raises.
It's up to Nimue now to save or wreck your reputation. Would she truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 2>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of thing, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed but its appearance.
You shouldn't have accepted the reading. You should have said no, should have stopped when there was still time. Yet the allure, however dangerous, was there and irresistible, the same force that keeps your eyes riveted on the card, on the wretched image. Catastrophes are so hard to look away from even as your toes curl, even as your hair stands/raises.
It's up to Nimue now to save or wreck your reputation. Would she truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 3>>
As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Staring so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it, tumble along with the two other doomed figures.
But were you to be the lightning instead, setting ablaze and toppling down the tower, would you be justified in bringing about that chaos to a land that's never loved you?
You shouldn't have accepted the reading. You should have said no, should have stopped when there was still time. Yet the allure, however dangerous, was there and irresistible, the same force that keeps your eyes riveted on the card, on the wretched image. Catastrophes are so hard to look away from even as your toes curl, even as your hair stands/raises.
It's up to Nimue now to save or wreck your reputation. Would she truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 4>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself. Change can be good, can be necessary. Destruction needn't be feared, either. Perhaps the tower never had a good/sturdy foundation, perhaps its structure benefited no one; and where its ruin stands there will be raised a new, brighter, better, prouder tower.
But the others don't know that, and it feels, suddenly, as if it were not the card that laid revealed, but yourself, skin and flesh peeled away(?)/your skull split open to show the shadows of thoughts that lurk within, like the flash of scales beneath dark waters.
You shouldn't have accepted the reading. You should have said no, should have stopped when there was still time. Yet the allure, however dangerous, was there and irresistible, the same force that keeps your eyes riveted on the card, on the wretched image. Catastrophes are so hard to look away from even as your toes curl, even as your hair stands/raises.
It's up to Nimue now to save or wreck your reputation. Would she truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 5>>
As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom. Staring so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it. But you wouldn't be one of the tumbling, pitiful fools - you'd be the lightning itself, striking down to set ablaze and topple down the tower, dousing it in vengeful fire.
You've got nothing to be ashamed of - it's the Continent that should bow its head, hide its face in its hands - yet you wish you were not so rudely, so completely exposed. But it feels, suddenly, as if it were not the card that laid revealed, but yourself, skin and flesh peeled away(?)/your skull split open to show the shadows of thoughts that lurk within, like the flash of scales beneath dark waters.
You shouldn't have accepted the reading. You should have said no, should have stopped when there was still time. Yet the allure, however dangerous, was there and irresistible, the same force that keeps your eyes riveted on the card, on the wretched image. Catastrophes are so hard to look away from even as your toes curl, even as your hair stands/raises.
It's up to Nimue now to save or wreck your reputation. Would she truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<</if>>
"The tower," Nimue says/there's a weight to the way NImue says it. But not the damning weight of toppling/crushing stone/crumbling tower, stone trapping you beneath its debris, trapping you to a dark future/the victim of a fate/future that threatens to undo you/bigger than you, its shadow lurking large and dark whatever, nor the weight/accusatory weight of a finger turned your way, pinning ruin and destruction on you and you alone. No, there's a quiet reverence to her words, like speaking the name of a mighty, admirable foe.
But it's not the damning/dooming, bone-breaking weight of tumbling stone, trapping you beneath its debris, in a future dark and gruesome; neither is it the accusatory weight of a finger pointed your way, pinning ruin and destruction on you and you alone/on your shoulders. No, there's a quiet reverence to her words, like speaking the name of a mighty, admirable foe.
"An interesting one," Nimue goes on, stroking along the frame of the grim image, a gesture more tender than the fate those within are facing. "It's associsiated with danger and destruction/with rather dangerous/negative connotations/augurs, as one might have inferred form Gawain's reaction-" the boy offers a sheep apology from behind the mouth clamped over his shocked mouth "-such as danger, destruction, chaos/unforeseen cataphrone. It's also a sign of change - sudden, perhaps brutally so. It can also be a sign of liberation."
You can list off the various meanings yourself. [What you need/want to know is:] "Well, what does it mean for me?" [You can list off the various meanings yourself - what you're interested to know is which applies to you, the disaster or the salvation.]
You expect Nimue to take your hand again, close her eyes and fetch a vision from that unfathomable pool of time/space she dips into/slips into/from whatever unfathomable space she slips into in the process. Instead, she leans forward and intently considers your face as if it/your features/something in it may render the sought-out answers. You don't back down, don't look away. You raise your chin ever so slightly, daring her to get a good look, see that which is hidden inside you, to a depth/crevice you cannot reach.
"I see...you, Camelot and change inextricably linked. Somewhere in your future. Sooner rather than later." She tilts her head, seeking a new, better angle. "You'll be trying out for the Round Table once you're a knight, won't you? There you have it. A move is a rather great change - it's an uprooting, a period of uncertainty."
You have no way of knowing if that's what she truly read within that card, but it's what she's chose to say and that's all that will matter to your audience: a reasonable little explanation to ease the dread of ominous dark clouds on the horizon, telling them the wind will come and blow them the other way. And so she keeps your secrets safe, and spares your reputation furhter injury. You wonder though, were you under the cover of intimacy, would she have divested her reading of her cryptic phrasing/wording? At least you could have demanded more straightforward answers. Perhaps you would have rceived entirely different answers. When she came upon the last card, she might have said: "Ah, jsut as my father foretold." with no attempt at pretense.
But you have eyes on you, so you keep the charade and try to make light of the situation. "Such a scary card for such harmless/normal explanation." Only after talking you realize you might as well have kept your mouth shut. Doesn't this sound //more// suspicious? Yet no one jumps up to accuse you of treason or ruin.
Nimue shrugs one shoulder. "Change itself can be scary."
Gawain unclamps his hand/palm from his shocked mouth and offers a smile. The kind of sheepish smile one gives after shrieking and jumping at shadows [perceived as monsters/phatasms]. [It's relief that]The danger is over - that the danger has never been there, but the fright was real.
<<if $Gawain friend/sweetheart>>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a reservoir/sliver of pity and sympathy to bestow on you even as he looked upon you as something to fear, something to defeat, but you'd hardly be able to bear it.
<<elseif $Gawain is ally>>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a sliver of pity he could spare on you - as one does on a rabid beast that needs to be put down.
<</if>>
<<if gally not friendly>>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. You doubt the prophecy would change much about how he perceives/considers/sees you - if anything, it should strengthen his belief, validate his suspicions.
<<elseif friendly>>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. The propehcy would only validate what he's been told about you, what you've been working to/helping him unlearn - could it break the fragile thing you've managed to built between you?
When he catches your eye, he looks away. Is it a trick of the light, or can you read guilt in his face?/Is that guilt you read in his face? Or maybe's it's remorse, or just a trick of the light, shadows of the bonfire castin his expression into something marginally more digestible than outright hate, outright disgust.
<</if>>
On the other side of Gawain, Elaine look sconfused more than anything else, face screwed up as if with enough concentration she might permutate the cards and make new/more sense of them/give them a meaning she can make sense of.
<<if bold dragon>>
//"Do you really believe Nimue?"// $dragon_name's voice is edged with doubt. //I mean, it sounds reasonable enough, but then everything she says sounds cryptic enough to be easily accepted."//
<<elseif friendly dragon>>
//"Do you think she's telling the truth?"// $dragon_name asks, though the question is more rhetoric than anything else. You don't have any definitive answers to give.
<<elseif shy dragon>>
//"So...this isn't about the prophecy?"// $dragon_name's voice sounds wispy, a quiet thought at the back of your mind easily brushed off by bigger doubts.
<<elseif aggressive dragon>>
//"All this cryptic theatrics for what?//" $dragon_name's miffed voice rings in your head. //"This says nothing new.//"
<</if>>
Nimue has no way of hearing your friend's silent queries. She turns back towards the three upturned cards and draws one finger along each, a tender carress."Your life so far has been defined by such strong, intense emotions. You've trodden a road with pleasant surprises and terrible/heavy tolls alike." She glances up. "And that road is still unfolding before you."
The excitement over, the crowd scatters, leaving you alone by Nimue's side. $dragon_name is the only one who lingers behind, torn between wishing to stay at your side should you need them, and wanting to follow Felix, whose tail is loosely curled round their leg, a small yet casually affectionate touch. You prompt them to go and enjoy the night, advice you should take yourself. Yet you don't get up, still shuffling the cards inside your head.
Thank you for playing! This is the end of the current demo, but not of chapter 5.CASUAL
You shrug your shoulders and say, "Why not? Seems like an entertaining way to spend/pass the night."
"Entertaining, yes" Nimue agrees, "and most illuminating.
You'll approach this as you would a simple game of cards/any other game of cards - albeit weird, and even simpler, given there's minial involvement needed on your part. So you just kick back/relax and watch her shuffle the cards with practiced ease/with the ease of fingers/hands that are well accustemd with the motion. then spreads them out/fans them out in a crescent/half moon. The cards' back is painted deep purple, each bearing the same symbol: an eye, rendered in black elegant brushstrokes, haloed by sharp, juttings rays. The Wyllt family banner, designed by Merlin himself. Dozens of unblinking eyes staring up at you/dozens of golden eyes staring up at you, unblinking.
"For this," Nimue says, "I need to take your hands."
<<if $chapt5_dance == "Nimue" and $c5_dance_nimue != 2>>
Her skin is cold against yours, as if was during the dance; the coolness seeps into your own flesh this tinme, forming into a shiver down your back. The corner of her lips tugs up.
<<else>>
Her skin is cold, as if she's just dipped her hands in snow/in ice. It sends a shiver down your back/It makes you shiver and Nimue smile.
<</if>>
<div class="choice">[[Does she think you nervous? "Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Your hands are so cold," you frown in concern.|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[["Do we really need to hold hands or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?" you jest.|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual1][$chapt5_tarot_hands to 3]]</div>
-----------------------------------
<<if $chapt5_tarot_hands == 1>>
Does she think you nervous? You should readjust that misconception, let her own its completely reasonable a reaction, the same one you'd get where you to plunge your arm into the river now.
"Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"
"It's working just fine, thanks for your concern. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 2>>
Your brow furrows in concern. "Your hands are icy." How could she be so cold, decked in all that silk and undergarments, with the bonfire blazing so warm and merry next to you?
"Perhaps your hands are too warm," she counters. You want to argue that //you//'d know if that were the case, if the magic simmered beneath the skin, feverish, but she cuts you down with a decisive "Shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 3>>
"Do we really need to hold hands," you say with a smirk, "or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?"
"I need to connect to you in some way. It's not necessary but it helps - with cold hands as well. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 4>>
Does she think you nervous? You should readjust that misconception, let her own its completely reasonable a reaction, the same one you'd get where you to plunge your arm into the river now.
"Your hands are cold, did you know that? Is your circulation working well?"
"It's working just fine, thanks for your concern. Now shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 5>>
Your brow furrows in concern. "Your hands are icy." How could she be so cold, decked in all that silk and undergarments, with the bonfire blazing so warm and merry next to you?
"Perhaps your hands are too warm," she counters. You want to argue that //you//'d know if that were the case, if the magic simmered beneath the skin, feverish, but she cuts you down with a decisive "Shush."
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_hands == 6>>
"Do we really need to hold hands," you say with a smirk, "or are you just hoping to warm up your cold hands?"
"I need to connect to you in some way. It's not necessary but it helps - with cold hands as well. Now shush."
<</if>>
Her eyes flutter close and her face blanks to the tranquility/mirror stillness of a lake. Her whole body/frame is still/stock-still, as if her already chilled skin has turned to ice, encasing her, freezing her. That same iceness seeps through her fingers into yours, up your arms.
The chill seems to extend/seep all the way into/slithering its way into everyone present, dragon and human alike - all rooted to the places and unmoving/motionless under the ceremonial hush, standing like statues in a hall, idols in a temple, faces suspended in varying degrees/ranging expressions of concentration and anticipation. They're all seem to be taking this so seriously, and yet you cannot help but see this whole situation as comical/it almost makes you laugh. Yet you sit silent and motionless as Nimue clearly wants you to, playing along with her game.
Then there comes a ripple over Nimue's features, and another - creases scored between her brows, along the line of her mouth. She opens her eyes, lets go of your hands and directs her attention towards the cards.
You can't pick out any pattern or logic to her decisions/process. You expect there's only magic guiding her hands, that tingling in the tips of her fingers to tell her the right direction/to let her know when she's on the right path.
She sometimes goes directly for a certain card, plucking it as swift/quick as a raptor might pluck an unwitting mouse off; other times her fingers flutter/pendulate uncertainly above the half-moon of cards, caught in contradicting currents until one finally sweeps her the right way.
When she's done choosing, three cards stand before you. Three gilded eyes staring up at you, unblinking and unwavering. They seem to blink conspiratorilly up at you when you tilt your head and the bonfire flames/fire catches them just so. How much do the know, how much can they see? Can they peer inside you, see the hidden potential within you - whether for good or destruction/ruin? Can they pierce through time and space, see what you are meant to become - and does it match the image Merlin painted for you, or does it defy it, twist it?
Nimue rests her fingers on each of the downturned cards, left to right, and says/explaining/presenting each, "Past, present, future."
"Past and present? I thought you were reading my future."
"True, I could have done a spread solely for the future. But you see, they're all interconnected. To better understand the future, we must look in the past, learn from it. And the present...it's what currently concerns you, isn't it?"
What does she know of what currently concerns you?
"Ready?" she asks. You get the sense there's a different question [hidden in this one,] tucked beneath that single word. //Are you scared/nervous?//
Is she teasing you yet again, or trying to intimidate you? Suggest there's something to brace yourself against, some horrible or grand realization about your person about ot be revealed. You don't know how far/distant or accurate a future the cards will spell. They could, in its own coded language of vivid imagery, reveal something of your legacy, of your prophecy. Or they could simply foresee that you'll fail one of your upcoming tutoring assignments.
<<if $dragon_personality == "bold">>
You feel $dragon_name's own decisiveness. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">>
You feel $dragon_name's own decisiveness. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly" or $dragon_personality == "playful">>
You feel $dragon_name's own eagerness. //"Let's see what those cards have to offer."//
<<else>>
A nagging, quiet worry still lingers in the back of your mind - though it's not your own. //"Careful."// You don't turn, but you can still feel $dragon_name's concerned gaze boring into you.
<</if>>
"I'm ready," you say, meeting Nimue's gaze headlong and determined.
[She turns the cards up/over one by one, slowly, relishing the build-up of tension, denying you the quick release of ancitipation. The cards let out a sound/scratch/whatever when flipped, a small sigh/soft sigh of relief/The cards let out a soft sigh of relief scrape/brush against the blanket when flipped, letting out small/soft sighs of relief.]
She turns over the first card. It brushes against the blanket when flipped, letting out a soft sigh of relief./She turns over the first card - it brushes against the blanket when flipped, letting out a soft sigh of relief -and doesn't move on to the next one/stops. She doesn't move on to the next one, however, letting tension/anticipation build-up, denying you the quick release of anticipation/tension. You ball up your fists to keep your fingers from drumming against your knees and focus your attention on this first card.
<<if $chapt1father1 == "1">>
"Five of cups." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a black-shrouded figure. Their back is turned on you and their obscured face tilted downwards, gazing in the direction of three spilled cups. Behind them, two filled cups stand upright, ignored.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for great sorrow and dejection in your life. Something - someone - in your past, in your life, stood at the root of it/cast their shadow over you, so huge as to be inescapable, so dark as to blind you. It blackened your heart, and when disappoitnment was too much, it overflowed/spilled into hate."
<<elseif $chapt1father1 == "3">>
"The Star." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a woman with flowing hair. She carries two pitchers which she tips into a pond she's dipping one foot in; above her hangs a great, brilliant star.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow and dejection in your life./There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - casted over you. Too huge to escape, yet no so dark as to blind you. Deep within, you created your own light to ward off the shadows, to guide you ahead, to give you hope for the future. Even when it hurt, [even when the flame flickered,] you held on to that hope."
<<else>>
"The Moon." Nimue brushes the tip of her finger along the painted image of a nighttime scene: a dog and a wolf, both howling at the moon while behind them, a crayfish emerges from the water. Whatever state of awed/mysticised expectancy you managed to achieve previously is almost entirely shattered by the little unexpected critter/The little unexpected critter is like a hammer to your state/whatever state of awed/mysticist expectancy you managed to achieve/Nimue managed to inspire in you and you almost laugh - until you catch her gaze, so intent and serious/grave it makes any sound wither/die/fade on your tongue.
"When you were a little child," she begins, "there was cause for sorrow and dejection in your life./There was a shadow - of something, of //someone// - cast over you. Too huge to escape, dark enough as to blind. You were unsure were to put your next step, unsure what to make of this darkness, of this hurt and sorrow and dejection that stalked you every day. You were told it was a predator - you were told it was dangerous and bad and that you had to keep turning away from it, but you didn't heed so easily. You wanted to find out on your own, to know if things could truly be so."
<</if>>
For one unbalacing/disorienting moment you are back on Avalon, a little carefree child, back into those times you remember as sun-drenched as they are mist-enshrounded. You forget - want to forget - the shadow, the absence, the phantom?/the ever-present abscence that haunted you ever since you were old enough to understand who Arthur was.
Was there ever a time in your life when you didn't have a shadow or another cast over yourself?
Nimue looks up and meets your eye. She doesn't ask if she was right or not. She already knows the answer/She knows the answer very well. For a brief moment, your stomach empties/a pit forms in your stomach, that feeling of emptiness, of weightlessness as $dragon_name plummmets downwards before swering just as you think the ground will swallow you up. There's a sense of danger, of excitement to stir you up, to keep you on your toes. Perhaps the stakes of this card game are higher than you initially thought.
<<if $want_revenge == "yes">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"The Chariot," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the proud, helmeted head of the charioteer; she holds the reigns of two great stallions, one black, the other white, in one hand, and brandishes a raised sword in the other.
"You show determination and ambition, the willpower to not just push on, but thrive." She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's a fire burning bright and hot within you, fueling you/driving you forward. But fire can easily get out of control; feed it, and it may grow to consume everything in its path."
You crack a little smile. "Is this about my fire magic?"
Nimue smiles too. "No."
<<elseif $want_revenge == "no">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"Ten of swords," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the figure laying prone and bleeding, speared through by the eponymous ten of swords.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's anguish drowning you from the inside/There's anguin, hollowing you out from the inside; there's gashes in your flesh/Your skin won't heal over the open gashes in your flesh, but you maintain the hope that with time they will, if only you let them heal/so you'll try to let them heal. This strife needn't be permanent, needn't be worsened by continuing to pick at old wounds." There's a softness to her voice - neither pity nor reassurance, but a sort of acknowledgement.
The words bounce inside your skull, repeating over and over like a feverish prayer. Will there truly be a day, when the skin has closed, scarred and healed? You'll never forget - you'll have the scars, no mater how faded, always there - but you won't be hurting anymore. It's only the present card - promises you made yourself, not yet to be fulfilled.
<<elseif $add_want_revenge == "justice">>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"Justice," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps one nail against the crowned head of the woman who sits atop a throne, one hand holding a raised sword, the other a scale, perfectly balanced.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's anguish and anger within you/There's a fire within you, burning bright and hot. Let loose, it would consume everything in its path - but you wish to wield it well and careful, make it throw into relief/show that which has been left to the shadows."
You crack a smile. "It's quite/a bit on the nose this one, don't you think?"
Nimue smiles back. "But it's accurate, isn't it?"
"I only want what's fair."
"And who decides what's fair? You?"
You know the answer one should give in this instance: it is the crown, the king and queen who decide the boundaries of justice, the rules of judgement, whose word is law. But none of that necessitates the end result be truly fair - if truly fair is something that can ever be achieved.
You just shrug, hiding the shiver coming up your back. "Do you want to divert the reading to a philosophical debate?"
Nimue smiles. "Hmm. Some other time perhaps."
<<else>>
Nimue moves on to the second card, the one standing for your present. Whatever visions flashed before her eyes, whatever message she'll built atop the soon to be revealed image, it won't be enough to capture your entire complicated present/the intricate, convoluted tapestry of your present. You wonder then, just what thread her magic pulled at/has unraveled.
"The Hermit," Nimue answers your unspoken question. She taps her nail against the hooded figure standing among a shadowy wood, with nothing for company but their cane and lantern.
She finds your gaze, holds it steadfast. "There's uncertainty within you, so you withdraw to ponder and examine that which troubles you, that threatens to tear you in two. You are searching for answers within, but the question posed is too difficult to have solved it yet. And so you hover on the edge of a knife, unsure where/which side you'll go down - and whether you'll cut yourself in the process/fearing you'll only cut/cut yourself if you chose wrong/will you heal your wounds, or only cut yourself deeper if you take that blade and decide to wield it?"
/
"And so you stand on the edge of a knife - unsure whether to leave/
And so you stand on the edge of a knife - a knife you were told you were born to wield, not knowing/unsure whether to grab that blade and do what you're meant to, even if it meants cutting yourself deeper, or take it and cast it/hurl it far away from you."
You twist and turn her words in your head, cleaving/trying to cleave through her dense metaphors, peel/strip away the fanciful dressing to find the naked/bare truth, sieve them till you're left with your practical reality. The knife must be the vengeance Morgana had planned for you to enact in conciving you, the pensive Hermit reflecting your indecision, standing in the middle of a dark woods and not knowing which path to do down to. Is the next card - the future one - supposed to offer an answer? Only one way to find out, you suppose.
Nimue watches you patiently, waiting for you to say something, do something. Perhaps she wants you to give an agonized grimace, to silently grapple with the uncertainty in your heart in a way all can see.
Instead you simply crack a smile. "Are you talking about a literal knife?"
"No." Her gaze flickers over her face. "But you already knew that."
<</if>>
Nimue's hand moves to unveil the last card. Gawain gasps.
You don't do anything quite so dramatic: merely stare at the card, unsure whether to laugh or sigh.
A proud tower stands [in ruin] against a stormy backdrop as lightning cracks its stone and sets it aflame. Two figures have flung themselves from its crumbling, burning, dooming heights to/Two figures have flung themselves from its crumbling, bruning heiight of certain doom for the tumultous embrace of the waters beneath, that may either rock them to eternal sleep or carry them away to safety. You think it's most likely they'll be bashed on the jagged rocks right below, or crushed beneath the toppling masonry.
A card of unforseen catastrophe.
<div class="choice">[[A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells. Yet more evidence of your doomed fate?|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 1]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of thing, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed but its appearance.|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 2]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Would you be justified in bring about this chaos, after everything you've been through?|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 3]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself.|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 4]]</div>
<div class="choice">[[As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom.|Chapt5TarodReadingCasual2][$chapt5_tarot_tower to 5]]</div>
--------------------------------------------------
<<if $chapt5_tarot_tower == 1>>
A shiver runs down your back. It's as your prophecy foretells - yet more evidence of your doomed fate? Laying now bared before your small audience, even though they lack the key knowledge of the prediction. But they know of Morgana's wrought history with the Crown, and it would be easy to piece together what this card could herald for you, for the kingdom.
Yet beyond your nerves, there's a thrill of danger, of taking a risky gamble. Would Nimue truly paint you as a villain before them now? The Tower musn't mean ruin - though in your case, it seems it unfortunately does - so she can spin this either way she wants.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 2>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe. Or change. Or destruction. Or liberation. It can mean a lot of thing, same as your prophecy, up to interpretation depending on what light one wants to cast on you. You're not cowed but its appearance.
But now it's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 3>>
As your prophecy foretells. You should be worried, perhaps, even scared - yet insteads you find yourself torn, and weirdly curious. Staring so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it, tumble along with the two other doomed figures.
But were you to be the lightning instead, setting ablaze and toppling down the tower, would you be justified in bringing about that chaos to a land that's never loved you?
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 4>>
A card of unforseen catastrophe, yes - but also of change. Of destruction, and liberation. It musn't be negative, you tell yourself. Change can be good, can be necessary. Destruction needn't be feared, either. Perhaps the tower never had a good/sturdy foundation, perhaps its structure benefited no one; and where its ruin stands there will be raised a new, brighter, better, prouder tower.
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<<elseif $chapt5_tarot_tower == 5>>
As your prophecy foretells. A promise of the ruin you could bring upon this wretched kingdom. Staring so hard and long at the painted picture, you fear you'll fall right into it. But you wouldn't be one of the tumbling, pitiful fools - you'd be the lightning itself, striking down to set ablaze and topple down the tower, dousing it in vengeful fire.
It's up to Nimue how she'll spin the tale of the wretched image, and the role you play within it, be it truthful or not.
<</if>>
"The tower," Nimue says/there's a weight to the way NImue says it. But not the damning weight of toppling/crushing stone/crumbling tower, stone trapping you beneath its debris, trapping you to a dark future/the victim of a fate/future that threatens to undo you/bigger than you, its shadow lurking large and dark whatever, nor the weight/accusatory weight of a finger turned your way, pinning ruin and destruction on you and you alone. No, there's a quiet reverence to her words, like speaking the name of a mighty, admirable foe.
But it's not the damning/dooming, bone-breaking weight of tumbling stone, trapping you beneath its debris, in a future dark and gruesome; neither is it the accusatory weight of a finger pointed your way, pinning ruin and destruction on you and you alone/on your shoulders. No, there's a quiet reverence to her words, like speaking the name of a mighty, admirable foe.
"An interesting one," Nimue goes on, stroking along the frame of the grim image, a gesture more tender than the fate those within are facing. "It's associsiated with danger and destruction/with rather dangerous/negative connotations/augurs, as one might have inferred form Gawain's reaction-" the boy offers a sheep apology from behind the mouth clamped over his shocked mouth "-such as danger, destruction, chaos/unforeseen cataphrone. It's also a sign of change - sudden, perhaps brutally so. It can also be a sign of liberation.
"Towards a watery demise?" you quip.
The corner of her mouth quirks up. "Not only."
You can list off the various meanings yourself. [What you need/want to know is:] "Well, what does it mean for me?" [You can list off the various meanings yourself - what you're interested to know is which applies to you, the disaster or the salvation.]
You expect Nimue to take your hand again, close her eyes and fetch a vision from that unfathomable pool of time/space she dips into/slips into/from whatever unfathomable space she slips into in the process. Instead, she leans forward and intently considers your face as if it/your features/something in it may render the sought-out answers. You don't back down, don't look away. You raise your chin ever so slightly, daring her to get a good look, see that which is hidden inside you, to a depth/crevice you cannot reach.
"I see...you, Camelot and change inextricably linked. Somewhere in your future. Sooner rather than later." She tilts her head, seeking a new, better angle. "You'll be trying out for the Round Table once you're a knight, won't you? There you have it. A move is a rather great change - it's an uprooting, a period of uncertainty."
You have no way of knowing if that's what she truly read within that card, but it's what she's chose to say and that's all that will matter to your audience: a reasonable little explanation to ease the dread of ominous dark clouds on the horizon, telling them the wind will come and blow them the other way. And so she keeps your secrets safe, and spares your reputation furhter injury. You wonder though, were you under the cover of intimacy, would she have divested her reading of her cryptic phrasing/wording? At least you could have demanded more straightforward answers. Perhaps you would have rceived entirely different answers.When she came upon the last card, she might have said: "Ah, jsut as my father foretold." with no attempt at pretense.
But you have eyes on you, so you keep the charade.
"A great change, like moving from a tower room to the bottom of the sea?" you ask, nodding towards the card.
"Precisely."
Gawain unclamps his hand/palm from his shocked mouth and offers a smile. The kind of sheepish smile one gives after shrieking and jumping at shadows [perceived as monsters/phatasms]. [It's relief that]The danger is over - that the danger has never been there, but the fright was real.
<<if $Gawain friend/sweetheart>>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a reservoir/sliver of pity and sympathy to bestow on you even as he looked upon you as something to fear, something to defeat, but you'd hardly be able to bear it.
<<elseif $Gawain is ally>>
Would a prophecy of doom be what it takes to push kind, sweet Gawain to see you as a monster? Perhaps there'd be a sliver of pity he could spare on you - as one does on a rabid beast that needs to be put down.
<</if>>
<<if gally not friendly>>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. You doubt the prophecy would change much about how he perceives/considers/sees you - if anything, it should strengthen his belief, validate his suspicions.
<<elseif friendly>>
Next to him, Galahad bears the frown you know so well - you're surprised it hasn't worn ridges into his face, deep lines scored round his tight mouth, between his golden, thin eyebrows. The propehcy would only validate what he's been told about you, what you've been working to/helping him unlearn - could it break the fragile thing you've managed to built between you?
When he catches your eye, he looks away. Is it a trick of the light, or can you read guilt in his face?/Is that guilt you read in his face? Or maybe's it's remorse, or just a trick of the light, shadows of the bonfire castin his expression into something marginally more digestible than outright hate, outright disgust.
<</if>>
On the other side of Gawain, Elaine look sconfused more than anything else, face screwed up as if with enough concentration she might permutate the cards and make new/more sense of them/give them a meaning she can make sense of.
<<if bold dragon>>
//"Do you really believe Nimue?"// $dragon_name's voice is edged with doubt. //I mean, it sounds reasonable enough, but then everything she says sounds cryptic enough to be easily accepted."//
<<elseif friendly dragon>>
//"Do you think she's telling the truth?"// $dragon_name asks, though the question is more rhetoric than anything else. You don't have any definitive answers to give.
<<elseif shy dragon>>
//"So...this isn't about the prophecy?"// $dragon_name's voice sounds wispy, a quiet thought at the back of your mind easily brushed off by bigger doubts.
<<elseif aggressive dragon>>
//"All this cryptic theatrics for what?//" $dragon_name's miffed voice rings in your head. //"This says nothing new.//"
<</if>>
Nimue has no way of hearing your friend's silent queries. She turns back towards the three upturned cards and draws one finger along each, a tender carress."Your life so far has been defined by such strong, intense emotions. You've trodden a road with pleasant surprises and terrible/heavy tolls alike." She glances up. "And that road is still unfolding before you."
The excitement over, the crowd scatters, leaving you alone by Nimue's side. $dragon_name is the only one who lingers behind, torn between wishing to stay at your side should you need them, and wanting to follow Felix, whose tail is loosely curled round their leg, a small yet casually affectionate touch. You prompt them to go and enjoy the night, advice you should take yourself. Yet you don't get up, still shuffling the cards inside your head.
Thank you for playing! This is the end of the current demo, but not of chapter 5.approach junia and morgana
they're talking about arthur if he came. if you've already been to at least 2 people, junia's a little bit tipsy
junia talks about arthur. morgana excuses herself a bit to speak to a servant. junia says how happy she is that things worked out
else
Junia asks: and arthur really hasn't tried to reach out again?
Mordred and I don't want or need him reaching out again, Junia
then she notices you. Morgana asks how you're enjoying the party
Kay
"Hey kid, how are you? Having fun?"
Hilde is actually talking with marcellus. You have to give me the recipe for the fruit tarts.
if cozy dragon scene: dragon_name is trying to performs fire show
with ariawen and elewen depending
when talking with accolon arthur can also join if he's there or vice versa
after fire show, dragon_name and ariawen are trying fire storytelling too
Junia shifts and smooths down her yellow dress, a gauzy waterfall of sunflower yellow, cinched at the waist with a thick braided cordon.
when she joins the games
Morgana approaches in a soft sigh of satin. She's donned an Avalonian cowl gown of azure and a very Tintalian choice of accesorries - twin snakes slithering up her arms.
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true and $chapt4_gawain_invited is true>>
when she joins the games
Morgana approaches in a soft sigh of satin, exuding the stately charm of royalty - not Lothian royalty, though. She's donned an Avalonian cowl gown of azure and a very Tintalian choice of accesorries - twin snakes slithering up her arms.
Accolon hands her the ring with the blue scrap of material attached. "Blue, to match your dress."
Junia's the first to notice your arrival. "Oh, good, Mordred's here! Come play with us."
Accolon and Mordred vs Morgana and Junia<<if $war_extract is true>>Extract from "Chronicles of a Continent" by Historian Archibald Rolfe
//For years, war and bloodshed have plagued the lands of the Continent, in Uther's ambitious quest to unite all kingdoms. Many of the smaller lands were quick to surrender as his armies hovered on the horizon, whether out of fear of destruction or out of seeking benefits, or perhaps both. It is interesting to remark that a small part of the Kingdom of Ulm - or rather, the ruins that remain, of both towns and people - is yet unconquered, stubbornly so almost at the heart of the newly built Kingdom of Camelot.
A year after the wars have ended, the former kingdoms, now Duchies under King Uther's rule, are healing.
At the helm of the kingdom sits King Uther, aided by Merlin Wyllt in dual role of trusted advisor and royal sorcerer. It is said Lord Merlin has been very dedicated to advising the King in the best ways to help the kingdom prosper.//<</if>>
<<if $knight_extract is true>>
Extract from "A treatise on what the Round Table and its Knights signify" by Sir Safir Lavigne, Knight of the Round Table
//For one to understand what the Round Table and its Knights stand for, one must first grasps their origin, their conception. The idea bloomed, formed and subsequently developed in His Majesty, King Arthur Pendragon's vision, as a natural result to his promise of no more war. The Knights have war as their root; they are weapons, they are protectors, they are fighters. And these qualities King Arthur took, redefined and cast/moulded into a new role, which asks more than it does of the regular Knight.
The Knight of the Round Table is a royal and public servant; they are the will and law of the monarch upheld, they are the protector of the monarch, of the people, of the land. They must wield their words as they wield their weapons, must treasure peace over anything else and apply that violence only necessary. They are more than guards, but they shall patrol the town, as a symbol of hope to the people. They are more than a Knight, but they shall heed the call of war. They are more than a soldier, so they will attend to matters of most delicate nature, of most high import. The Knight of the Round Table is a protector, a negotiator, a fighter, a diplomat, a peacemaker.//
<</if>>
[[Return to lore page|lore]]"I didn't expect clouds to be so wet! They look so fluffy. And dry. Like wool," you say, wringing a corner of your cloak.
"Clouds are made of water," Morgana says matter of fact, before she crosses her arms, her stern gaze trained on you.
<<include Chapter1.3>>"I loved it! That was so amazing! We should do it more often," you say, ignoring the fact that your clothes hang damp around you.
Scaly replies to your excitement with an approving huff.
Their excitement is not shared by your mother, however. You feel her stern gaze at your back, and turning around, you see her standing behind you with her arms crossed.
<<include Chapter1.3>>"I didn't think clouds are so wet. It was awful," you complain, wringing a corner of your cloak.
"Clouds are made of water," Morgana says matter of fact, before she crosses her arms, her stern gaze trained on you.
<<include Chapter1.3>>/* <<SetGender>> widget - Start */
<<widget "SetGender">><<nobr>>
/* Usage... (defaults to male) */
/* for "he": <<SetGender>> or <<SetGender "m">> */
/* for "she": <<SetGender "f">> */
/* for "they": <<SetGender "b">> */
/* for "it": <<SetGender "n">> */
/* $pgen: 0 = male, 1 = female, 2 = gender neutral, 3 = no gender */
<<switch $args[0]>>
<<case "f">>
<<set $pgen = 1>>
<<case "b">>
<<set $pgen = 2>>
<<case "n">>
<<set $pgen = 3>>
<<default>>
<<set $pgen = 0>>
<</switch>>
<</nobr>><</widget>>
/* <<SetGender>> widget - End */Insert achievements here<a href="https://nyehilism.itch.io/twine-template/">Twine Sugarcube Template</a>
<a href="https://www.motoslave.net/sugarcube/2/docs/">Sugarcube 2 Documentation</a>
<a href="https://github.com/ChapelR/custom-macros-for-sugarcube-2">Chapel - custom macros collection</a>
<a href="https://github.com/cyrusfirheir/cycy-wrote-custom-macros">Cycy's custom macros</a>
<a href="https://unsplash.com/">Unsplash</a> for sidebar images (<a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/P8LZaU52NME">light mode</a> and <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/pDKoVuXYKxU">dark mode</a>)//Your dragon, your companion, your best friend//
Name: $dragon_name
Eyes: $dragon_eyes
Scales: $scales
<<silently>>
<<if $dragon_personality == "playful">><<set $personality_string to "$dragon_name is playful and prone to mischief.">>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "friendly">><<set $personality_string to "$dragon_name is friendly, easily making others warm up to $dragon_him.">>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "bold">><<set $personality_string to "$dragon_name is bold and confident, always holding $dragon_his ground.">>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "aggressive">><<set $personality_string to "$dragon_name can be aggressive and snappish - only you know $dragon_his secret soft side.">>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "shy">><<set $personality_string to "$dragon_name is shy and gentle.">>
<<elseif $dragon_personality == "fearful">><<set $personality_string to "$dragon_name is rather fearful and meek, but gentle.">>
<</if>>
<</silently>>
//A description of $dragon_name's personality//
$personality_string
<<silently>>
<</silently>>
//A description of $dragon_name's skills//
Fighting: If playful scuffles count as fighting.
Speed: Isn't slower than $dragon_his dragon peers.
<<link "« Return to game" $return>><</link>>A list of content warnings you can always consult and a guide on mechanics and symbols you will see through the game
//Symbols//
Romance options are marked with ❤
Oblivious romance options are marked with 💕
Hint: to uncover oblivious romance options, you must avoid all other romance options
//Content warnings//
-Incest (the player character is a product of incest)
-Abuse
-Discussion of rape (it's not something the mc or ros do, or that happens to them - it's in relation to two characters who have been raped, one of them processing the trauma)
-Mention of war
-Bullying (of the player character)
-Impotence/Infertility issues of a certain character that get discussed
-Mention of pregnancy
-Mature language
-Mention of abortion
-Mention of murder
-Mild violence[[Magic and the fair folk|MagicLore]]
[[Dragons and more|DragonLore]]
[[Historical, geographical and cultural chronicles|WarLore]]
<<link "« Return to game" $return>><</link>><<silently>>
<!--Morgana-->
<<if $age_no <= 11>>
<<if $Morgana >= 80 and $Morgana <= 100>><<set $morgana_string to "She loves you dearly.">>
<<elseif $Morgana >= 60 and $Morgana < 80>><<set $morgana_string to "You love her, even if you can't always see eye to eye. You wonder if you can really trust her to listen to you.">>
<</if>>
<<elseif $age_no == 12>>
<<if $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_upset">><<set $morgana_string to "You doubt she loves you as unconditionally as she claims to. All the revelations that surfaced have left you feeling anguished and betrayed.">>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_doubt_angry">><<set $morgana_string to "You doubt she loves you as unconditionally as she claims to. All the revelations that surfaced have left you feeling angry and betrayed.">>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_upset">><<set $morgana_string to "You believe she loves you, but all the revelations that surfaced have left you feeling anguished and betrayed.">>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "betrayed_angry">><<set $morgana_string to "You believe she loves you, but all the revelations that surfaced have left you feeling angry and betrayed.">>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok_doubt">><<set $morgana_string to "You doubt she loves you as unconditionally as she claims to.">>
<<elseif $chapt4_revelation == "ok">><<set $morgana_string to "Your mother loves you; that will never change.">>
<</if>>
<<elseif $age_no > 12>>
<<if $morgana_closeness == "distant">><<set $morgana_string to "Your relationship is cold and distant. Everything you've come to learn has dug a deeper, wider chasm between the two of you.">>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "lukewarm">><<set $morgana_string to "Your relationship is difficult terrain, but you're willing to navigate it.">>
<<elseif $morgana_closeness == "close">><<set $morgana_string to "Your relationship is tight. The two of you have been through a lot and can always rely on each other.">>
<<else>><<set $morgana_string to "Your mother, who says she loves you no matter what.">>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<!--Arthur-->
<<if $met_arthur is false>><<set $arthur_string to "The father who abandoned you. You have yet to meet him. Does he love you? Hate you? Regret abandoning you?">>
<<elseif $age_no == 10>>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">><<set $arthur_string to "You harbor hope that Arthur is a good man and that he'll want to get to know you.">>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "confused">><<set $arthur_string to "Arthur makes for a conflicting figure in your life. You should at least give him a chance to explain himself.">>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "awful">><<set $arthur_string to "Arthur is an awful man who abandoned you; there's nothing else you need to know.">>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish">><<set $arthur_string to "Arthur's absence has hurt you; and while you crave his affection, you don't know if it'll make things better or worse.">>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate">><<set $arthur_string to "Arthur abandoned and hurt you; he has no right to came back into your life.">>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "indifference">><<set $arthur_string to "You're starting to care little about Arthur.">>
<</if>>
<<elseif $age_no > 10 and $age_no < 15>>
<<if $opinion_arthur == "hope">><<set $arthur_string to "He's trying his best to make up for his absence and be close to you, and you're more than happy about it.">>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish" and $chapt3_arthur_library is true>><<set $arthur_string to "He's trying his best to make up for his absence and be close to you. You're happy to finally have him in your life, but it still hurts sometimes - the years he was absent, the way he keeps you as a secret.">>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "anguish" and $chapt3_arthur_library is false>><<set $arthur_string to "Sometimes you think that not keeping in touch was the right decision to spare yourself from hurt; other times it feels like hearing from him might be the only thing that could soothe you.">>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "hate">><<set $arthur_string to "You hate him for everything he did and didn't do.">>
<<elseif $opinion_arthur == "indifference">><<set $arthur_string to "You don't care for Arthur; prior to meeting him he's been only a shadow over you, and you won't let him become more now.">>
<</if>>
<<elseif $age_no >= 15>>
<<if $chapt5_arthur_write is true>>
<<if $chapt4_arthur_write == 3 or $chapt4_arthur_write == 4>><<set $arthur_string to "Once nothing but a shadow in your life, you now think warmly of him and eagerly await his next letters and visits.">>
<<else>><<set $arthur_string to "You love Arthur and always eagerly await his next letters and visits.">>
<</if>>
<<elseif $chapt5_arthur_write is false and $chapt3_arthur_library is true>><<set $arthur_string to "You used to be close, but you needed to distance yourself from him - for both your sakes - after painful revelations surfaced.">>
<<elseif $chapt5_arthur_write is false>><<set $arthur_string to "He's as absent in your life as he was before you met him.">>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<!--Accolon-->
<<if $age_no < 15>><<set $accolon_string to "He's like a father to you, even if you're not his blood.">>
<<else>>
<<if $accolon_closeness == "distant">><<set $accolon_string to "You used to be so close - now your trust in him is shattered.">>
<<elseif $accolon_closeness == "lukewarm">><<set $accolon_string to "Painful revelations have strained your relationship.">>
<<elseif $accolon_closeness == "close">><<set $accolon_string to "He's like a father to you, even if you're not his blood.">>
<<else>><<set $accolon_string to "He's like a father to you, even if you're not his blood.">>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<!--Gareth-->
<<if $age == "6" or $age == "a few days old">><<set $gareth_string to "Your half-brother, who you have yet to meet.">>
<<else>>
<<if $age == "7">><<set $gareth_string to "He's happy to meet his sibling.">>
<<elseif $Gareth >= 60>><<set $gareth_string to "He loves you dearly. He's always there for you.">>
<<elseif $Gareth >= 40>><<set $gareth_string to "You're not close, but you get along.">>
<<elseif $Gareth >= 20>><<set $gareth_string to "You barely talk to each other, unless you have to, but tolerate each other.">>
<<else>><<set $gareth_string to "He finds you insufferable, and the feeling is mutual.">>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<!--Lot-->
<<if $age == "6" or $age == "a few days old">><<set $lot_string to "You have yet to meet him.">>
<<elseif $age_no < 15>><<set $lot_string to "The man loathes you.">>
<<else>>
<<if $chapt5_lot_attitude == "defiant">><<set $lot_string to "You won't let him intimidate you; you're ready to challenge Lot and stand your ground.">>
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "cautious">><<set $lot_string to "He's proven capable of cruelty, so you stay away from him; you dread seeing his countenance.">>
<<elseif $chapt5_lot_attitude == "ignore">><<set $lot_string to "His hate for you is getting tiring; all you wish is to avoid him as best you can.">>
<<else>><<set $lot_string to "The man loathes you.">>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<!--Merlin-->
<<if $prophecy_check is "yes">><<set $merlin_string to "The man thinks you'll be the ruin of Camelot and Arthur.">>
<<else>><<set $merlin_string to "You have yet to meet him, and you can only guess as to what he thinks of you.">>
<</if>>
<!--Nimue-->
<<if $met_nimue_again is true>>
<<set $nimue_string to "It's hard to tell what she thinks of you.">>
<<elseif $age_no == 6>>
<<set $nimue_string to "You're friends.">>
<<else>>
<<set $nimue_string to "As little children, you used to be friends.">>
<</if>>
<!--Gawain-->
<<if $met_gawain is false>><<set $gawain_string to "You have yet to meet him.">>
<<elseif $age_no == 10>>
<<if $Gawain_ro >= 5>><<set $gawain_string to "You make him want to serenade you.">>
<<elseif $Gawain >= 60>><<set $gawain_string to "He's only known you for a few days but he already considers you a friend.">>
<<elseif $Gawain >= 40>><<set $gawain_string to "He's very happy to know you.">>
<<elseif $Gawain >= 20>><<set $gawain_string to "He was excited to meet you but he's starting to think it's not mutual.">>
<</if>>
<<elseif $age_no >= 11>>
<<if $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "friend">><<set $gawain_string to "The two of you are good friend, sending each other letters all the time.">>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">><<set $gawain_string to "You're sweethearts, always sending each other long, fond letters.">>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "ally">><<set $gawain_string to "You're polite acquaintances, sending each other lettes every now and then.">>
<<elseif $chapt4_read_gawain_letter == "no">><<set $gawain_string to "You used to send each other letters; not anymore.">>
<<else>><<set $gawain_string to "You don't think much of him.">>
<</if>>
<<elseif $age_no == 15>>
<<if $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "friend">><<set $gawain_string to "The two of you are good friend, sending each other letters all the time.">>
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "romantic">><<set $gawain_string to "You're sweethearts, always sending each other long, fond letters.">>
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "ally">><<set $gawain_string to "You're polite acquaintances, sending each other lettes every now and then.">>
<<elseif $chapt5_read_gawain_letter == "no">><<set $gawain_string to "You used to send each other letters; not anymore.">>
<<else>><<set $gawain_string to "You don't think much of him.">>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<!--Galahad-->
<<if $met_galahad is false>><<set $galahad_string to "You have yet to meet him.">>
<<elseif $age_no == 10>>
<<if $Galahad >= 40>><<set $galahad_string to "You're making him doubt you're the villain he's been told you are, and his gaze is now confused, not cold.">>
<<elseif $Galahad >= 30>><<set $galahad_string to "The ice in his gray gaze is starting to thaw.">>
<<elseif $Galahad >= 20>><<set $galahad_string to "His gaze is conflicted when it turns on you. Could it be he's starting to doubt what he's been told about you?">>
<<else>><<set $galahad_string to "His gaze is cold and cutting when it meets yours.">>
<</if>>
<<elseif $age_no > 10>>
<<if $Galahad >= 40>><<set $galahad_string to "You turned his world upside down, making him question what he's been told of you.">>
<<elseif $Galahad >= 20>><<set $galahad_string to "It's been five years since you first met, and planted the seed of doubt in his heart.">>
<<else>><<set $galahad_string to "It's been five years since you first met and first saw his cold, hateful gaze.">>
<</if>>
<</if>>
<!--Elaine-->
<<if $age_no == 15>>
<<if $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes">><<set $elaine_string to "You've been one of the best parts of coming to Lothia. You both like each other very much, but the engagement complicates everything.">>
<<elseif $chamber_confess_elaine == "yes1">><<set $elaine_string to "You've laid bare your feelings to Elaine - and she'd give it a chance, if the engagement didn't complicate everything.">>
<<elseif $chamber_confess_elaine == "no">><<set $elaine_string to "She considers you a friend - but you feel so much more for her. Not that you've told her that.">>
<<elseif $Elaine >= 60>><<set $elaine_string to "She considers you a friend - you've been one of the best parts of coming to Lothia.">>
<<elseif $Elaine >= 54>><<set $elaine_string to "She likes you well enough.">>
<<elseif $Elaine < 50>><<set $elaine_string to "She's not particularly fond of you.">>
<<else>><<set $elaine_string to "She has no strong feelings about you.">>
<</if>>
<<else>>
<<set $elaine_string to "You have yet to meet her.">>
<</if>>
<!--Sophie-->
<<set $sophie_string to "You have yet to meet her.">>
<!--Isac-->
<<set $isac_string to "You have yet to meet him.">>
<!--Lancelot-->
<<if $met_lancelot is false>><<set $lancelot_string to "You have yet to meet him.">>
<<else>><<set $lancelot_string to "The King's Champion thinks you're a threat to Arthur.">>
<</if>>
<!--Guinevere-->
<<if $chapt4_arthur_invited is true>><<set $guinevere_string to "You've met her and she's as wonderful as Arthur told you.">>
<<else>><<set $guinevere_string to "You have yet to meet her.">>
<</if>>
<</silently>>
<div class="titleletters">[[Morgana Le Fay:|MorganaPage]]</div>$morgana_string
<div class="titleletters">[[King Arthur|ArthurPage]]:</div>
$arthur_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Accolon|AccolonPage]]:</div>
$accolon_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Gareth|GarethPage]]:</div>
$gareth_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Duke Lot|LotPage]]:</div>
$lot_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Merlin|MerlinPage]]:</div>
$merlin_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Nimue|NimuePage]]:</div>
$nimue_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Gawain|GawainPage]]:</div>
$gawain_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Galahad|GalahadPage]]:</div>
$galahad_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Elaine|ElainePage]]:</div>
$elaine_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Sophie|SophiePage]]:</div>
$sophie_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Isac|IsacPage]]:</div>
$isac_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Lancelot du Lac|LancePage]]:</div>
$lancelot_string
<div class="titleletters">[[Queen Guinevere|GuinPage]]:</div>
$guinevere_string
<<link "« Return to game" $return>><</link>>Double-click this passage to edit it.What kind of a bastard are you?
Name: Known as Mordred Leudonus of Lothia - but more often than not called Mordred Le Fay
Age: You are $age.
<<silently>>
<<if $hair_type == "coilycurls">><<set $hair_type_string to "corkscrew coils">>
<<elseif $hair_type == "coily">><<set $hair_type_string to "cloudlike coils">>
<<else>> <<set $hair_type_string to $hair_type>>
<</if>>
<</silently>>
<<if $age != "a few days old">>
//A description of your likeness//
You have $eye eyes, much like your parents, $hair $hair_type hair alike your mother's, Morgana and $complexion complexion like your father's, Arthur.
<<silently>>
<<if $honest >= 60>><<set $honest_string to "Unlike Morgana, you strive to be truthful.">>
<<elseif $honest <= 40>><<set $honest_string to "You weave lies with ease when it suits you, taking after Morgana.">>
<<elseif $honest >=50>><<set $honest_string to "You're rather honest, unlike what people would expect out of Morgana's child.">>
<<elseif $honest < 50>><<set $honest_string to "You sometimes lie, but what else is expected from Morgana's child?">><</if>>
<<if $confident >= 60>><<set $confident_string to "When it comes to confidence, you're abound.">>
<<elseif $confident <= 40>><<set $confident_string to "When it comes to confidence, you're rather lacking.">>
<<elseif $confident >=50>><<set $confident_string to "When it comes to confidence, you could say you're self-assured.">>
<<elseif $confident < 50>><<set $confident_string to "When it comes to confidence, you're still working on it.">><</if>>
<<if $impulsive >= 60>><<set $impulsive_string to "You always act on impulse.">>
<<elseif $impulsive <= 40>><<set $impulsive_string to "You always ponder before taking action.">>
<<elseif $impulsive >=50>><<set $impulsive_string to "You tend to act on impulse.">>
<<elseif $impulsive < 50>><<set $impulsive_string to "You tend to be cautious.">><</if>>
<<if $calm >= 60>><<set $calm_string to "You keep your calm.">>
<<elseif $calm <= 40>><<set $calm_string to "You're quick to anger.">>
<<elseif $calm >=50>><<set $calm_string to "You try to keep your calm.">>
<<elseif $calm < 50>><<set $calm_string to "You can be quick to anger.">><</if>>
<<if $kind >= 60>><<set $kind_string to "Kindness is seldom offered to you, but you always extend it.">>
<<elseif $kind <= 40>><<set $kind_string to "You're a mean one, malicious - like your mother, some would say.">>
<<elseif $kind >=50>><<set $kind_string to "Kindness is seldom offered to you, but you try to be kind.">>
<<elseif $kind < 50>><<set $kind_string to "You don't often extend kindness, just like it's seldom offered to you.">><</if>>
<<if $defiant >= 60>><<set $defiant_string to "Much like Morgana, you hold your head high while you unleash your defiant tongue.">>
<<elseif $defiant <= 40>><<set $defiant_string to "Unlike Morgana, you keep your head bowed, not looking for trouble.">>
<<elseif $defiant >=50>><<set $defiant_string to "You sometimes show defiance, in the way you hold your head high.">>
<<elseif $defiant < 50>><<set $defiant_string to "You'd rather avoid trouble and not defy anyone.">><</if>>
<<if $emotional >= 60>><<set $emotional_string to "You give your emotions free reign.">>
<<elseif $emotional <= 40>><<set $emotional_string to "You bottle up your feelings.">>
<<elseif $emotional >=50>><<set $emotional_string to "You usually let your emotions surface instead of bottling them up.">>
<<elseif $emotional < 50>><<set $emotional_string to "You usually bottle up your emotions, but sometimes they surface.">><</if>>
<<if $affable >= 60>><<set $affable_string to "You're affable and friendly, greeting people with a smile.">>
<<elseif $affable <= 40>><<set $affable_string to "You're abrasive, greeting people with a frown.">>
<<elseif $affable >=50>><<set $affable_string to "You try to be friendly and affable.">>
<<elseif $affable < 50>><<set $affable_string to "You can be rather abrasive.">><</if>>
<</silently>>
//A description of your character//
$honest_string $confident_string $impulsive_string $calm_string $kind_string $defiant_string $emotional_string $affable_string
<<silently>>
<<if $persuasion >= 60>><<set $persuasion_string to "Well placed words can get you anything.">>
<<elseif $persuasion <= 40>><<set $persuasion_string to "Well placed words can get you almost anything; unfortunately, you do not know how to wield them.">>
<<elseif $persuasion >= 50>><<set $persuasion_string to "You've learnt that a few well placed words can get you far, but you're still working on it.">>
<<elseif $persuasion < 50>><<set $persuasion_string to "Not the most persuasive with your words.">><</if>>
<<if $intimidation >= 60>><<set $intimidation_string to "Your presence alone is intimidating.">>
<<elseif $intimidation <= 40>><<set $intimidation_string to "You're as intimidating as a dragon baby.">>
<<elseif $intimidation >= 50>><<set $intimidation_string to "You can be rather intimidating, but you're still working on it.">>
<<elseif $intimidation < 50>><<set $intimidation_string to "Not particularly intimidating.">><</if>>
<<if $le_fay_magic >= 60>><<set $le_fay_string to "You are a very skilled sorcerer.">>
<<elseif $le_fay_magic <= 40>><<set $le_fay_string to "You don't put a lot of emphasis on practicing magic, but you have the talent.">>
<<elseif $le_fay_magic >= 50>><<set $le_fay_string to "You have a lot of potential.">>
<<elseif $le_fay_magic < 50>><<set $le_fay_string to "You have potential.">><</if>>
<<if $pendragon_magic == "1">><<set $pendragon_string to "You can talk to dragons, telepathically or in their tongue, and find it easy to summon fire.">><</if>>
<<if $water_magic >= 60>><<set $water_string to "You're rather skilled.">>
<<elseif $water_magic <= 40>><<set $water_string to "You're not interested in practicing it.">>
<<elseif $water_magic >= 50>><<set $water_string to "You're learning to practice it.">>
<<elseif $water_magic < 50>><<set $water_string to "You practice a bit.">><</if>>
<<if $age == "10">><<set $sword_string to "You're learning.">>
<<elseif $age == "11" or $age == "12">><<set $sword_string to "You're good with the sword but still learning.">>
<<elseif $age == "15">><<set $sword_string to "You wield the sword with confidence - working hard on honing your skills till they're as sharp as your blade.">>
<<else>>
<<if $swordsmanship == 0>><<set $sword_string to "You have yet to learn.">>
<<elseif $swordsmanship >= 60>><<set $sword_string to "You wield the sword with confidence and dexterity.">>
<<elseif $swordsmanship <= 40>><<set $sword_string to "You know how to wield a sword, but you don't like relying on it.">>
<<elseif $swordsmanship >= 50>><<set $sword_string to "You wield the sword well.">>
<<elseif $swordsmanship < 50>><<set $sword_string to "You wield the sword well, but don't always rely on it.">><</if>>
<</if>>
<<if $magic >= 60>><<set $magic_string to "You have extensive knowlegde of magic, outside your own powers.">>
<<elseif $magic <= 40>><<set $magic_string to "You don't have a lot of knowldge in magic outside of your own innate abilities.">>
<<elseif $magic >= 50>><<set $magic_string to "You've taken an interest in magic, outside of your own affinity.">>
<<elseif $magic < 50>><<set $magic_string to "You know a little bit of magic outside of your own affinity.">><</if>>
<<if $controlled_magic >= 60>><<set $control_string to "You have a good grasp on your magic, not letting emotions influence it.">>
<<elseif $controlled_magic <= 40>><<set $control_string to "You let your emotions dictate your magic.">>
<<elseif $controlled_magic >= 50>><<set $control_string to "You try not to let your emotions influence your magic.">>
<<elseif $controlled_magic < 50>><<set $control_string to "Your emotions tend to influence your magic.">><</if>>
<</silently>>
//A description of your skills//
Magic knowledge: $magic_string
Le Fay magic: $le_fay_string $control_string
Pendragon magic: $pendragon_string
Magic of the Lady of the Lake: $water_string
Swordsmanship: $sword_string
Persuasion: $persuasion_string
Intimidation: $intimidation_string
<</if>>
<<link "« Return to game" $return>><</link>>