eachdraidh | [ Video; Both Courts ]

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[ Video; Both Courts ]

[ This video feed is focused mostly on a Lancelot's dog, so all that is really seen of him is his hands holding her still. She's terribly curious about it, but he's restraining her from licking it or chewing it.

His voice is distinctly tired, and anyone who is paying attention will notice that you can just about see a line of red, raw skin on his wrists -- leather guards covering how heavy the damage might be. ]

Is anyone good with names? I'm afraid my friend here has gone too long without one. She's brave, curious but cautious, much cleverer than I am...

[ She's also turning to nudge his hands. He lifts one gently and pets at her ears. She squirms a little, shakes her head -- then makes a quiet, high-pitched sound and...

... hiccups a tiny fireball. The dog's ears flatten back, perhaps unhappy or apologetic (maybe embarrassed, it wasn't very elegant) but Lancelot just huffs amusement and strokes her again. ]

Forgive me, I almost forgot, it seems these -- [ He reaches out of the frame and his hand comes back holding a small, blue feather. ] -- have some kind of magic in them. It appears it does not discriminate in who it grants it to.

[ Which means he now has a small, magically inclined dog. ]

Thank you for your time.

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It is no longer a home to you, I suppose.

[ His breathing is a little heavy from pain, even as he schools his features -- flicks his eyes over the cloth and water before lifting them to hers. ]

Forgive me for asking, then. I fear I do not understand all that came between you.

[ tending to morgause taught her much, it equipped her with skills that she would not had if she remained lady of camelot. it allows her to tend to lancelot now, taking the cloth to his wounds with warm water. no good healing them if the risk of infection is not seen to first. ]

You were gone from Camelot for many years. [ she does not expect him to know, nor to understand. he was fed only part of a story and denied the rest. ] I was thrown from my home by the hand of a friend, he poisoned me.

How could I consider it home when he still lives?

Poisoned?

[ Lancelot knows he does not have all the information, yet even this feels like there must be more to it. He tenses a little as his wounds are mopped, swallowing back a flinch and trying to focus on her words. ]

Who?

[ No-one in Camelot would have reason, that he can imagine. Lady Morgana was well enough liked, before. She was no threat as an heir. So why, then? ]

[ her hand comes to a stop, the debate that rages in her mind lasts but a moment. ]

Merlin.

[ Lancelot lifts his eyes from his wrists in surprise, studies her face a moment. He feels as if his heart has shattered into a thousand, tiny, irrecoverable pieces. ]

No.

[ Yet the quiet of his voice says there is doubt, still, because why would she lie about this? Why pick Merlin? What reason has she? Lancelot is missing too many pieces of this story, there are too many gaps. ]

Why? What reason had he?

[ After she left Camelot -- when she turned on it, that was something else, yet before? Unless she sought Arthur's death then, too? ]

[ morgana watches the disbelief write itself across his face and is not surprised, why would anyone believe Merlin to be capable of such things? he had always been so kind, if not an utter fool. ]

I would not know, he did not explain.

[ without warning she continues her task, soft strokes becoming harsher. ]

[ His breath hitches as her ministrations turn rougher and he swallows uncomfortably, drops his eyes in a mixture of confusion and shame. Confusion over why a friend would do such a thing and shame over doubting someone so clearly trying to help me. ]

Forgive me, I just... I do not understand. It does not seem like him.

[ the roughness only lasts a few moments, her anger simmering down to a low boil. try as she might she cannot keep angry at him, lancelot did nothing to aid merlin in his deceit, and the servant is his friend... much like he was once morgana's. she would not have believed it either, once. ]

He is more vicious than he appears, willing to sacrifice those he calls friends for his own gain. [ there was a time after morgause saved her that she tore apart her room, cried and raged and did not understand why he would do such a thing. she wanted answers that she would never have. now she can hardly bring herself to care. revenge will come for him too. ]

[ The thing that frightens Lancelot most, honestly, is he believes that partially. He believes that Merlin would do anything and everything for Arthur, not for his own gain. The simple fact of it is that he cannot fathom the gain from this action. He flinches slightly again as she hits a particularly sore patch, keeps his eyes down and swallows. ]

I struggle to see his gain in it, myself, but you would know better than I. I was not there to witness it, and I will not argue that which I cannot understand.

[ it is oddly relieving, she finds, telling another what merlin did, it lifts a inconsequential weight from her shoulders. she should have told someone years ago; should have whispered it in arthur's ear when camelot still welcomed her with open arms, and wept openly to him about how much it hurt. ]

You should have been. [ she says absently. ] Arthur could have used you. [ carefully she takes his hand in her own, lifting it to gain a better look at the marks on her wrist. here she is uncommonly gentle in her ministrations, watching his expression. ]

Perhaps so, but the past cannot be changed. What is done is done, and he has me now.

[ He wets his lips as she takes and lifts his hands, suppressing a flinch as his arm moves with it. They were kept bound bent for so long that straightening them too much sends jolts of pain through him. ]

Does he? [ how can arthur have him now? trapped as he is.

she knows the pain he must feel, knows it all too well and it softens her. regardless on how she feels on lancelot, he does not deserve what was done to him. ]

How did this happen?

[ His eyes dart a little, partly from nerves and partly from a restlessness brought on by the pain. When he lifts them to her again they are guarded, wary and exhausted both. ]

I was captured by a man who holds a fortress north of here. He tried to win information from me. He did not succeed.

Edited (typo) 2014-10-15 01:52 (UTC)

He tried to torture information out of you. [ pity blossoms in her chest, creeping up into her eyes, the fearsome sorceress all but vanishing from her face. ] The wounds on your wrists are deep, you struggled. [ as had she, at first, for months her irons cut deeply into her flesh. ]

[ Lancelot takes an unsteady breath and drops his eyes again, down to his wrists. He swallows. ]

He had me for near enough a week, I think. It could have been far worse.

[ It's hard to say, given the periods of dark and nothingness, but given the way some of the cuts and bruises on his face are fading it is likely near enough right. His wrists had lest time to heal, from the way he was constantly working at his bonds as if he might free himself.]

A week can feel like an eternity. [ time fades swiftly when one is devoid of sunlight, days merge into each other and soon enough you cannot tell if they had passed at all. she inhales. ]

I can heal them with magic, but they will scar.

Then the scars will remind me not to make the same mistake twice. It is a harsh way to learn a lesson, but perhaps sometimes that is what is needed.

[ she takes his other wrist to repeat the same process, cleaning the wounds as gently as she can. ]

A harsh way to learn indeed. [ once she cleaned his other wrist she puts the cloth aside, looking at his directly. ] Will you let me heal them?

[ Lancelot studies her a moment, then nods once. ]

Thank you, for this kindness.

[ for a moment she stares at him, eyes wide and mouth partly agape. she does not know what surprises her more, his thanks or the fact there truly is kindness in her actions. he is her enemy in more ways than one, yet she sits here cleaning his wounds as if he were a friend. ]

Do not thank me. [ she says finally, taking both of his wrists in her hands. ] There will be pain but it will only be brief. [ she inhales and as she speaks, her eyes burn gold: ] Ic de durhhæle dinu licsar mid dam sundorcræft dære ealdan æ. Drycræft durhhæle dina wunda on de geedstadolie.

[ He watches her rather than his wrists as she speaks, eyes scanning her features. Lancelot's breath hitches sharply as the magic burns over his wounds, seals them -- knits skin unnaturally fast. He drops his eyes once she stops, studies his wrists and her hands holding them. ]

I owe you a debt, Lady Morgana.

[ she shakes her head, releasing his wrists from her grip. ] No, you do not. [ how ridiculous, she should take advantage of this. ]

Yes, I do. I will hold to it. If you ever have need of a sword, Lady Morgana, you need only ask.

Enough. [ she turns to busy herself with the cloth and bowl, brow furrowing in annoyance. she does not want his debt, or his sword. ] I have a salve that will aid the rest in healing, but you will need to rest here for a time. A night perhaps, than you can be on your way.

[ He lowers his eyes at her rejection, at her irritation. If she does not wish for his thanks he cannot force it, but all the same he will hold her actions in his heart. ]

We do not have to be enemies here, Lady Morgana.

[ Lancelot hesitates, reaches for his discarded clothes with a wince. His arms still hurt to move. ]

[ Video; Both Courts ]

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