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[Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot, is wearing a very wrinkled version of his usual shirt, and someone has done up the laces crookedly.
actually, he looks a general mess. he's clearly made the effort to appear slightly presentable--his hair has been recently smoothed down with some water, though not as flat as it usually might lay--but his shirt looks like it was trampled beneath a horse's hooves and the room that he's in is a little hazy with smoke from some old fire. or hopefully it wasn't an actual fire, because it was meant to be dinner.
but he's here to make an official announcement, and so he's composed himself as best as he can--all slightly rumpled clothing and bad hair and smudges on his face aside--and he stares grimly into the camera. this is a dare to anyone to comment, to make any smart remark.]
I must speak with the witch Morgana. She can deliver herself, but I do not expect her to come when she is called upon. If there is any of this city that knows her location, send word to me, and you will be rewarded.
[he's not learned how to send messages privately, so here it is, curt clipped, and that might be all there is to it, but then he glances away, his face tightening into a small glare.]
I would speak, too, with anyone that can be counted honest enough to make a delivery. Your reward will be a smaller sum, but your service will be counted valuable.
[without Merlin, what choice does he have? the smoke seems somewhat thicker in the room now, and it's a good thing you can't smell over the devices, because it would smell strongly of burnt food now. Arthur spares the air an irritated glance and now, finally, he reaches to flip off the video before this gets any worse.]
[[ any roommates, feel free to notice the smoke/horrible smells/et cetera! ]]
actually, he looks a general mess. he's clearly made the effort to appear slightly presentable--his hair has been recently smoothed down with some water, though not as flat as it usually might lay--but his shirt looks like it was trampled beneath a horse's hooves and the room that he's in is a little hazy with smoke from some old fire. or hopefully it wasn't an actual fire, because it was meant to be dinner.
but he's here to make an official announcement, and so he's composed himself as best as he can--all slightly rumpled clothing and bad hair and smudges on his face aside--and he stares grimly into the camera. this is a dare to anyone to comment, to make any smart remark.]
I must speak with the witch Morgana. She can deliver herself, but I do not expect her to come when she is called upon. If there is any of this city that knows her location, send word to me, and you will be rewarded.
[he's not learned how to send messages privately, so here it is, curt clipped, and that might be all there is to it, but then he glances away, his face tightening into a small glare.]
I would speak, too, with anyone that can be counted honest enough to make a delivery. Your reward will be a smaller sum, but your service will be counted valuable.
[without Merlin, what choice does he have? the smoke seems somewhat thicker in the room now, and it's a good thing you can't smell over the devices, because it would smell strongly of burnt food now. Arthur spares the air an irritated glance and now, finally, he reaches to flip off the video before this gets any worse.]
[[ any roommates, feel free to notice the smoke/horrible smells/et cetera! ]]
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[ what is happening here. How is got into a duel. ]
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You ain't a soldier, ma'am, so I am no 'sir'.
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[ Sorry Gwen. He's an ass. ]
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Then I hope she would not fail your trust.
[ 'as she had mine' is not said but heavily implied. ]
not here
THIS IS NOT AS INTENDED.
I MEAN I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK.
... ): ]
not here
not here
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I know she won't. [ Beat. ] You'll be there, ma'am?
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[ dear to her, a man she loves, a man she is love with. ]
He is my lord and prince. Of course I will be there.
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He's seen plenty of that sort, in his world. Girls who don't even try for princes but second and third sons of lords. Always used, and cast aside.
Still. ]
Then I'll try me best ta not draw blood. [ He tilts his head, very slightly. ] That's not a sight for a lass's eyes.
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[ she had seen tourneys and battles and labors and everything else. ]
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[ but she inclines her head. ]
I had not meant to sound rude.
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It's not right.
[ she says it and sounds tired, sweet Gwen who isn't used to having enemies and picking sides. ]
It's not right that one of you would perhaps be hurt for this.
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[he says it firmly, but his words lack some sharpness that might otherwise be expected--because it's Gwen that he speaks to. (and he will not say it, but he doesn't like that tone of weariness. nothing should sadden Guinevere so, and a part of him hates Morgana for causing this.)]
I must fight. You know that.
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[ there is a bit too much familiarity there. A servant isn't supposed to speak like this to her lord. Isn't suppose to sound so caring. But she speaks all the same. ]
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I will not let the duel come to injury. I will fight only to best him, and leave it at that. You have my word, Guinevere.
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[ yet there is something else there that she is not yet forward enough to say, simply not him. ]
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Then you must trust that I will come to no harm either. I promise that to you as well.
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Would I be able to wish you good luck beforehand?
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It would be bad luck if you didn't. I would like you to be there. [and was that saying too much? perhaps, and so he adds (though it's clearly an afterthought)--] Camelot must show its support.
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