(Untitled)

[agravaiting]

He rides in on a horse that looks like it's seen better days, in worn and bloody gear, and the first words out of his mouth are "Jesus be damned." Turns out these words are addressed to the horse, because he follows it up by leaning along her neck and adding, "Of all the places to bring me, you Satan-bred animal. Where the hell is it?"

Then he

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[andfutureking]

"Are you a knight?" a little redheaded boy asks eagerly. In all likelihood, he bears some slight family resemblance. "I like your horse."

[agravaiting]

"...That's right, a knight," Agravain agrees. "You the page?"

[andfutureking]

He puffs out his chest. "I'm Sir Kay's squire."

[agravaiting]

"Oh, Jesus."

[andfutureking]

"I am! You can ask him."

[agravaiting]

"Didn't say I don't believe you. Huh. What's your name, who's he squiring now?"

[andfutureking]

"He calls me Wart. My right name is Arthur. I'm Sir Kay's brother-- well. Foster brother."

[agravaiting]

"...Holy Jesus. What?"

[andfutureking]

"Arthur," he says loudly and clearly.

[agravaiting]

"Jesus." He squints. "You're so small."

[andfutureking]

"Not that small," he protests sulkily. "Who're you?"

[agravaiting]

"Agravain."

[andfutureking]

He bows, like he's been taught. "Where're you from?"

[agravaiting]

"Er, Orkney."

[andfutureking]

"Where's that? Isn't that in Scotland?"

[agravaiting]

"Off the coast," he agrees, deeply disconcerted.