eachdraidh | 1: Video (Seelie)

[ Kevin Regnard is seated at a desk. Several books are open before him: thick volumes with heavy vellum pages intricately decorated with illuminated lettering. It’s darker in this part of the library, the Restricted Section, to preserve the ancient tomes. Fairies float about in the air, lending their light; Kevin would be more grateful for this, except they keep making off with his quills. He has been taking careful notes, and has already covered over a stack of parchment papers with his cramped handwriting.

His face, when he looks into the locket, has that pinched look of too much reading, and his shoulders are raised and stiff; clearly he hasn’t moved from this spot for hours. His expression is dubious, conflicted. He glances away from the locket almost as soon as he activates it, as if he were going to shut it off again without saying anything.

But finally: ]

My lords and ladies. Gentlemen; gentlewomen. I am given to understand that any skill we learn here, we might bring back to our lands after this war is won. Thus I… I beg your assistance. If there is any among you with knowledge of magical healing…

[ Now he looks up. His single red eye bores into the locket, burning like hellfire. ]

I wish to learn how to raise the dead.

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[How well he knows that desire, to raise the dead. Even knowing his kin as he does.]

My knowledge of the healing arts has never, nor will it ever, consist of how to raise the departed.

Little comfort, I am certain. And none to a weary heart. For that, you have my apologies and condolences.

[ Experts love to demonstrate their expertise: this the reason he'd decided to ask, in the end. If he found someone who knew how to do it, he could then discuss terms. If not, nothing was lost by the effort. He had expected to be disappointed. ]

What?

I — no. I don't...

[ But he hadn't expected to be so thoroughly seen through. ]

You... you needn't apologize, my lord.

[If he had a better answer, he'd consider giving it. But he doesn't. Still, Elrond shakes his head a little, gentle warmth in his expression.]

Life is precious. It is understandable for some to wish to learn how to pull it back from beyond.

[Centuries of experience, Kevin, Elrond has it.]

[ Quickly: ]

You mistake me. I do not...

[ How to even explain? His inclination is to say nothing, but there's something about the man's... pity? It sounds like pity. He cannot bear it, particularly when it's pity under a false impression. ]

I don't know... I don't know if I will need it.

[ A possibly false impression. ]

[But it isn't pity. Just understanding.

He waits patiently, wondering how the conversation had turned so awry.]

Is it then an intellectual question?

[ And now he feels judged on top of that pity. Teeth clenched, fists shaking: he is suddenly furious. ]

Of course not! It's not the least bit — you don't know anything!

[Another pause, this one a little surprised.]

I had not intended to offend you.

W-what you intend doesn't mean anything. You —

[ But Elrond's placidity has its effect. One can't have a proper argument, after all, if the other party won't engage.

...

He has been unspeakably rude. It's a show of strength, to apologize immediately when one is in the wrong. Lord Sinclair had taught him that. ]

I —

Forgive me, my lord.

[A sign of strength which is noted and met with relief. Arguments were best met with dwarves, who reacted to the smallest hint of insult most spectacularly. Even when offered food, though not in a language they knew. Especially so.]

No forgiveness is needed. How might I aid you?

I —

A moment, please.

[ He shuts off the connection for a while, so he can calm down. In the meantime, he speaks to Margaery Tyrell, who confirms for him that the dead can raised — not by any healing arts, but by controlling time. This place has snatched people here from just prior to their deaths, so...

That is what he tried to do, just before coming here himself. He was, he had to have been successful. All of his effort, all of his sacrifice cannot have been for nothing. The more he thinks about it, the more confident he becomes.

Thus it's with equanimity that he restores the connection and says: ]

If you please, my lord. I was gifted with a boon to study magical healing arts, but I have no experience using magic, thus it is slow going. Have you any knowledge of this?

[As requested, Elrond waits patiently, understanding this one wasn't necessarily always in full control over his temper. Which, was fine, though perhaps he could help there as well...if given the chance.

There. That is something he can help with. He smiles gently, and inclines his head.]

A fine boon indeed. My healing comes hand in hand with the use of herbs. Combining what the earth gives us, with my kin's natural talent. It may be something I could teach you, and I would do so gladly.

[ Kevin's gaze shifts down. He is unused to asking for help, and intensely uncomfortable with having it offered so freely. ]

I am... I am in your debt.

[ Now he looks up, meeting Elrond's eyes. ]

If there is any way that I can repay you for your time...?

[Passing on knowledge is just something Elrond does, and does so gladly.]

I enjoy teaching, it is no hardship. Perhaps you could teach me of your world.

[ Wanting to learn about a place that, most likely, neither of them will ever see? The man is being polite.

and speaking of politeness.... ]

Ah, forgive me. I have not introduced myself. I am...

[ "Kevin Regnard," he was going to say, simply. But that isn't all he is. He is a knight with a lord and master, who lives — who must live, if there is any truth or justice in the world. In this place, in Caer Glaem, in these golden halls full of beauty and light, it is impossible to deny that these virtues exist, and so: ]

I am Sir Kevin Regnard, knight of the house of Sinclair.

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