(Untitled)

[most_generous]

The great hall in the silver-circled castle is full of lords and ladies, kings, artisans and Makers of every kind, Old Ones dressed in the clothes of a dozen centuries and a hundred cultures. Rows of tables stand under the beamed wooden roof. Arthur had thought of erecting a round table, but no such table could efficiently seat the hundreds of

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[merrimanlyon]

Merlion has been taking meals at odd hours of late, before the sun rises or in the middle of the warm afternoon, but nevertheless he does his best to appear at these evening feasts even if he does not partake of anything much. And so, perhaps out of long habit and perhaps out of new wariness, he has spent the greater part of his time letting his gaze travel around the hall.

He is mostly listening to a question that someone (much later on, he will never be entirely certain what the question was or who had asked it) has put to him...but the sudden faint tremor drives all thought of an answer from his mind.

He, too, goes quite still -- and his gaze snaps to where the king is sitting.

[mother_lost]

*Guinevere may not feel what Arthur and Merlion are sensing, but she notices Arthur's sudden stillness.*

My lord?

[gwion_bach]

These days the eyes that are not on the king are on Merlion -- the eyes of those who know about the problem they may soon face.

The problem. The danger.

Gwion has been following Merlion's lead for quite a long time. If he wants to remain safe, he knows, he has to continue. And while a cat may look at a king... Gwion's own king is not here, not right now, and the harper's eyes are on the lion.

And when the lion stills, and when Gwion sees where the lion's gaze goes --

Gwion quells the sudden fear, and puts down his cup, and watches them both, warily.

[most_generous]

In another world, a woman is calling a name, with the help of the Warstone upon her finger. The name itself has no power to summon this Arthur, but the ring has met Bran Davies and is attuned to his father. Arthur sets the knife down, grips the table as if it will help him resist the call.

Merlion! His mental voice cracks in command. Raise the Circle and send for Bran, now! More gently, aloud, Arthur says, "I am sorry, Guinevere. We guessed it was coming."

[mother_lost]

*Her eyes widen, and she draws herself up.*

Yes.

*She lays a hand over his, tense on the table's edge.*

God speed you home, Arthur.

[merrimanlyon]

He is on his feet almost before the command fully coalesces in his mind.

There is no time to do anything save obey -- and act.

The alarm spreads silently, a fast-moving ripple of awareness that visibly dampens the festive mood. A disinterested onlooker would notice that certain individuals amongst those gathered in the hall seem to turn rather grim and set, as drinking vessels are put down and plates are set aside. The pleasant talk and laughter fades quickly, replaced by low murmurs and uneasy silences.

Merlion's back is perfectly straight and his head is held high as he stalks out of the hall.

Only when he has passed out of sight of all of those assembled does he break into what can only be called a flat-out run, one hand already outstretched and reaching for the nearest door --

[gwion_bach]

The murmur in the room hasn't ceased. If anything, it has intensified.

Gwion sits, hands clasped under the table.

His fingers tighten, and don't let loose.

There is, he tells himself, no cause to think all is lost.

[most_generous]

Arthur places his other hand on top of Guinevere's and holds on. "Guinevere. Would you speak to me? Say anything you can think of to say. Until Bran comes. I cannot go yet."

[mother_lost]

*She turns her hand and holds it with both of hers, as if by holding on to him, she can keep him here, hold off whatever is happening is this other world.*

I -- oh, Arthur.

*All she can think of are prayers from a faith he does not share.*

I had not thought to ever see you off from the castle gates again.

[most_generous]

"It is an important duty, watching." Arthur's hands tighten in Guinevere's. The pull is very strong, now, and he will not be able to evade it much longer. "I am glad you are here to keep vigil."

[merrimanlyon]

The amount of time that has passed may only have been a few minutes by the reckoning of sandglass or clock or watch, but suddenly there is a slight lessening of the tension in the air. The Old Ones still look solemn and determined, but not quite so grim as before.

Their magic seems to be holding...for the moment.

Heads begin to turn, gazing in the direction of the entryway to the hall. First the Old Ones turn to look, poised and expectant, and then others follow their gaze.

Watching. Waiting.

They do not have to wait long, for less than a moment later four figures appear in the doorway. Three are familiar to all those assembled, and the fourth is known only to one other present -- but they have arrived.

[most_generous]

Arthur Pendragon has time to say, "Thank you, Guinevere," loose her hands, stand and smile once at his son, before the bells, low and high, begin ringing and Arthur disappears from the Summer Country.

[gwion_bach]

There are bells.

The last time there were bells in Gwion's memory, the destruction of a land came with it. And Merlion said it: You have as much knowledge as I do of what may happen to a land that loses its sense of balance...the balance that keeps it whole.

It did not work. The effort failed. Arthur is gone.

Gwion's eyes are shut, his lined face tight.

At least last time, his harp was with him. Here -- the one he made for himself -- it is nowhere near his hands, and his hands grip the edge of the bench he sits upon, fingers tightening, knuckles whitening.

It should not be taking this long. It should not.

[mother_lost]

*He is gone.

Guinevere stands a moment after Arthur does, but then he is simply gone.

So the vigil begins.

She allows herself one moment, and then turns to see to the arrivals, her son. She is a lady, now, and a hostess, and a worried mother besides.*

[theravenboy]

The bells fade into some unfathomable distance, but the hum of the High Magic still presses on Bran. He gives the harp to Will before stepping forward from the doorway. Back straight, head lifted, Bran walks slowly to the high table and holds his hands out to his mother.

[merrimanlyon]

Merlion will not interrupt their reunion, not at present. That moment will be theirs and theirs alone.

It falls to him to explain what has happened and what will have to happen in the hours and days and weeks to come. But before he says so much as a word, he glances over at Moiraine and manages to catch her eye. His gaze flickers over to where Gwion sits, still as stone -- and the request in his eyes is plain enough when he looks back at her.

He needs someone now.

Someone with a bit of...distance.