eachdraidh | first arrow ➴ video (seelie + unseelie)

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( In the days since Guinevere's arrival she has employed a careful tread - listening to the locket and learning its magic. It's in her nature to be swift and silent - the survival of the woads is in their stealth - and as little time as possible has been spent trapped between four walls. Her gown is gone, replaced with brown leathers and a sleeveless tunic featuring a cowl neck, and knotted belts criss-cross her hips to hold the sheaths for her long knives.

A little blue dye to pattern her skin and she'd be feeling much more like herself. )

The land is different here.

( She appears to be seated, her bow propped close, and is holding the locket between both hands. From the view of what's behind her it's clear that she isn't in Caer Glaem: dappled shadows slip across her face and a breeze twists itself through a canopy of leaves. Pausing, Guinevere glances off to the side for a moment like a fox with its ears pricked. She's still listening. The worms were nightmarish - she had never seen their like before - but she knows how to choose her battles as she knows when to disappear.

Presently, she speaks again. )

Do you feel it? Perhaps it is the magic of the so-called faerie folk, but it rests heavy between these trees. The weight of it is almost a comfort.

( Her eyes, although wry and amused, retain that depth of level and calm. Thus far she's ventured into the Great Greenwood surrounding Caer Glaem in an attempt to better understand the land, never wandering so far as to lose herself but rarely passing the same mark twice. Nature speaks to her and here its voice is warm and kind.

Guinevere's, on the other hand, is playful at scorn.)

I cannot imagine why any woman or man would prefer cold stone to a green shelter.

( Bloody hippies. Guinevere lifts an eyebrow, then tilts her head as though unsure of whether or not she wishes to continue.)

And Arthur - or perhaps Lancelot - if you have arrived in these strange lands ...

( A hand reaches to touch her bow as she lowers her lashes, smirking privately.)

Meet with me. Someone has to protect you from the brutes on the battlefield, after all.

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Where are you?

[ because derek can feel it, the prickle of something that makes it hard for him to fully relax, keeps him on edge. ]

The Great Greenwood, according to our guides.

( Have a contemplative hum. )

Though I imagine that this place has a great many names - the most of them far older than the walls of Caer Glaem.

What did you mean, different?

Have you visited the place yourself?

( But she isn't trying to be difficult here, she just recognises the part in him that might have felt something similar too. There's a smile in her voice - amused and )

All land is alive, but the earth here ... it reaches out. It speaks back.

( Perhaps not in the most literal sense, but then Guinevere isn't the most literal person. Again: bloody hippies. )

I haven't. Not yet.

[ derek's been ignoring most everything. but the look on her face-- ]

What does it say?

I think I know what you mean. It feels far better to be outside, where the air is fresh and the flowers are growing.

[And no one to overhear.]

Is that your bow?

It is. Indeed, it is more my own than anything else on my person.

( Save her knives. Guinevere tilts her head a little; with skin so soft-looking and pale this woman must be of noble birth. )

Tell me - how do you like the fresh air and flowers of these woods?

Sadly, they're not as beautiful as our gardens at home. But I suppose that's just the homesickness talking.

[She smiles a bit.]

I'm afraid I haven't crossed paths with any men by those names. I do hope they're safe, but it seems more likely that they weren't invited by our gracious hosts.

Those men will never be safe.

( Her words are mild if not entirely serious - Guinevere knows the type all too well. Men who will stop at nothing for the sake of the world they wish to live in; men who tend to be the subject of songs for dying valiantly in battle. )

And where do you come from that has gardens to compete with this wild beauty?

Perhaps it's the way of all men. I've heard my grandmother say that something in them almost longs for the grave.

I come from Highgarden, where golden roses bloom in every direction, and the fruit is the sweetest in the Seven Kingdoms.

[She doesn't mean to brag, but. It is what it is.]

And yet when their time comes so few seem ready to accept it.

( Because she's seen these men on the battlefield, gasping their last and calling out for their mothers. She's seen the courage fall away to leave a pink little creature in its wake. )

Every direction?

( Her lips quirk. )

How tedious that must be.

A bit. They're the sigil of my House and a bit hard to escape.

[No wonder her grandmother gets sick of seeing them al lthe time.]

Do you practice your archery on the range near the forge?

[Waver's damn willing to be the King Arthur he's familiar with isn't the one that the person on the video is talking to - brute was definitely not a word he'd employ - but it's confirming some identities.]

Well, when you're raise in stone, you don't know any better. With a certain amount of expectation about available amenities, a preference for the outdoors would be equally baffling on the other end of things.

( The same King Arthur in theory if not in practice! Not that Guinevere knows anything about Arthurian legend, nor the part she plays in it herself. )

We all know better. To be raised in stone is a cruelty.

( She lifts her chin a little, defiant. )

I have seen too many lives lost for the sake of men and their high stone walls - men who have forgotten that they fight for the land, not to own it.

( He says they don't know better? )

There can be no excuse for such ignorance.

[Definitely in theory. The one Waver met was definitely female, for starters, and fully aware of the whole of Arthuriana.]

But what if it's practicality? I think you can use this supposed, and let me be blunt, ridiculous war as an example: is it easier to set something on fire if it's made out of grass, or stone?

Grass.

( She replies with certainty, untroubled by this 'practicality'. )

But answer me this: when boulders are flung and fires are lit and the whole world seems to burn, is it easier to rebuild the stone palaces of kings, or to turn to the grass of the land?

Fair point, well made, I'll give you that.

Indeed. Impermanence is a lesson men of stone seem most unwilling to learn.

( But not the druids of the earth and sky - those who leave little footprint and give back what they can. )

I think you might find my future, where stone's given way to steel and glass, quite interesting then.

Your future?

( He's some kind of seer? )

What do you mean by that?

I have a feeling we might be from roughly the same place, geographically, if your accent's an indication. [And that combination of names used.] But I'm from much later in time.

( All right, have a raised eyebrow. )

The Romans call me a Briton, and my home the land of Britannia. You are familiar with it?

I'd hope so. I live there.

I can imagine it easy. There ain't no proper forges out there in your green shelters.

[His tone is bemused, recalling their first meeting. He'd been invited already to see the land, but the call of his craft was stronger than any urge to explore.]

( Have an amused smile. )

And without the forge do you lose your purpose?

I'd still be a knight. [A pause.] But a knight don't need walls. They help, though.

How far out have you gone?

Far enough to merit a three day journey.

( So not terribly far. She isn't foolish enough to attempt a proper expedition alone, after all. )

Have you set foot in the woodlands yourself?

Not yet.

[ He'd like to, but his immediate priority upon arriving had been finding out how secure the castle was. He'd managed to meet several children right away, after all. ]

Honestly, I'm still working out how to ride a horse properly.

I would not call it a comfort, but I have felt what you speak of.

[He can't help but be a little wary of all this magic business, fascinating though it sometimes is.]

As for some people's preference for stone... Many have known nothing else. It is difficult to appreciate something you have no experience with.

[There is the briefest of pauses, then a touch of humor creeps into his voice.]

Others would avoid the grass for fear of stepping in mud.

[An endless source of (strictly secret) entertainment: people desperately trying to keep their fineries from getting the least bit dirty.]

Oh... and hello.

What a cruelty it is, to know nothing save the cold embrace of stone ...

( But there's amusement in her tone as well. )

Nor to have danced under the rain with grass and earth between your toes.

( And that might be a secret amusement to Connor, but Guinevere is all too open about how much she enjoys watching rich folk struggle with their silks. )

I do not know your voice. Who are you?

They do not think it a cruelty. I have known men who would say it is... a matter of the civilized mind. As though all peoples should aspire to surround themselves with tall buildings and paved streets, that they may be more sophisticated and proper.

[His words have a hint of a sardonic bite to them there, but no sooner than he's said that, he's wondering if he's been unfair.]

I can appreciate the hard work that goes into all that cold stone, though. It is remarkable what a community can build together and the cities I have visited have been full of life and energy and new ideas, besides. I cannot imagine ever living where there is only stone, but there is much to learn in those places, from the people who would call nothing else home.

[There, better. His voice softens further with fondness as he adds-]

But, yes, I agree it is a shame they will never dance on grass and earth.

My name is Connor. Who are you?

Perhaps you should explore a little further before you advocate going without shelter. The woods I arrived in were impressively bereft of anything resembling comfort.

It is a magic not wholly unlike that which I have known before, in my own Greenwood, long ago. Impressive, my lady, that you feel the heartbeat of the wood when so many fail.

Nice get up, but Halloween was a while ago.

[Not that she'd know what Halloween is, she's obviously from a pretty long time ago. Talking about magic in the trees, and all the bullshit that's exactly the opposite of what he wants to hear.]

You can camp out in the woods if you want, Star Child, but you're gonna miss out on the perks of this place if you do.

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