Wow, an introduction. That *never* happens.

[morvydd]

A young woman walks purposefully up the path, her long skirts teased a little by the wind. As she reaches the shelter of the porch she puts back the hood of her cloak; she is perhaps twenty-two, moderately pretty, with dark hair in a neat braid, and silver at her throat and ears

Comments

[morgansorceress]

*Morgan is clearly surprised by this, but obviously happy as well. She comes to meet Morvydd almost as soon as she steps inside the door and approaches her, a faint smile but obviously genuine smile on her face* Morvydd, dear, I thought you would never come.

[morvydd]

This is a bit rich, given the frenzy of research and the arcane preparation Morvydd has undergone to get here. She has, however, never been a demonstrative girl. "Mother," she says, and holds out her hands. "Are you well?"

[morgansorceress]

*Morgan takes Morvydd's hands in her own* Well enough. Many of our relatives are here, though neither your father nor your brother have arrived yet. *pause* I am glad that you have come.

[morvydd]

"Of course I came." It's muted, almost dutiful.

[dutifuldaughter]

...

....

....."Coz?" Clar says, mildly dubious, basket over her arm.

[morvydd]

She turns, equally doubtful. And possibly, very slightly, exasperated. It would just figure...

"Clarissant," she says.

[dutifuldaughter]

"She's here," Clar says, shifting the basket, looking away. "Your brother's not."

[morvydd]

Morvydd looks askance. "I had not thought he should be."

[littlebetter]

Gaheris might look a little shy of her, but this is only because he's afraid of more bad news. He leans against a wall pretending to be awesome. "If it isn't Princess Morvydd."

[morvydd]

"...then you are looking in the wrong direction," she says tartly, looking him over. "Give you good night, cousin. What are you doing here?"

[littlebetter]

"Waiting for the second coming. What else would I be doing? What are you doing, for that matter?"

[morvydd]

"I have said," even more tartly. "Looking for my mother."

[sonofmordred]

"Cousin," says Melehan, with the slightest smile and the slightest bit of a question in his voice. She's older and female, so he's careful to keep the respect that both of these call for-- she's royal, too, but then, isn't he?-- though there's fondness too. He inclines his head. "Aunt Morgan is here." Then, with the briefest hesitation and a youthful teasing, "For once, it seems, you're late."

[morvydd]

Morvydd pauses, looking him over. She does have a lot of cousins, but she's having trouble placing him. (Mordred is not quite that young. Or quite that tall. Or remotely that polite.)

"Perhaps I am," she says neutrally.

[sonofmordred]

Neutral it may be, but to Melehan it's an instant sign that something is not right here. The smile, slight as it was, disappears immediately, as elastic as all teenage emotions.

"Melehan," he offers, standing at his full height and straightening his shoulders. "Prince to Gwynedd, Orkney, and--" He remembers what his father has told him, but it's too late. He finishes, albeit weakly: "Logres."

[morvydd]

She considers a moment, half frowning. "I cannot recall the name -- forgive me." A small smile, then, because he seems like a nice enough boy, and she likes most of her cousins, even the ones she doesn't see for years at a time-- "Who is your mother? Your father?" Because that's the natural order, of course.

[rightismight]

Arthur, King of England, pauses after he's heard her announcement. He hadn't recognised her at first, as though his memories are fuzzy and confused, but at her father's name, the name of Arthur's brother-in-law, he can not help but listen. "Princess Morvydd," he echoes, in a tone of voice that seems to validate her introduction, "daughter of Urien, King of Rheged and Gore." Urien is his vassal, a vassal who once rebelled, but Arthur is in no way belittling; he cannot afford to be, and that's never been the way of his rule.

He then holds his palms open and towards her, a gesture of goodwill and of warmth. His tone drops to one less formal and he smiles-- slightly guarded, as he's not certain how much this young woman has become like her mother (and therefore how much to trust her). "I welcome my sister's daughter."

[morvydd]

"--My lord." Morvydd misses no more than a beat, dropping effortlessly into a curtsey that makes a dark pool of her skirts. Then rises again to take his hands, with a little, diffident smile. "Uncle. How come you here?"

[rightismight]

He holds her hands, solidly and fondly. "The same as us all," he answers, humble. "There is some mystery in it." He says it with a certain trademark charm that aims to place her at ease. "But no trouble."

[morvydd]

"I am glad to hear you say so," she says gravely. Which is not to say that she believes it; the mysterious, in her experience, is generally troublesome. Even so, it's comforting.