(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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[hardlyagravated]

Laurel has officially had the worst week ever. She was taking a walk, attempting to get her mind off all that had happened. And here he was, big as life. "...my lord husband?"

[agravaiting]

Agravain looks... not exactly thrilled. "What are you doing here?" he demands.

[hardlyagravated]

She tucks her bandaged hand under the other arm. "Living with your brothers, at present. I thought you'd gone."

[agravaiting]

"What are my brothers doing here?" Agravain's brain is not big enough to handle all this.

[eldeststark]

Grey Wind's immediate reaction is to snarl. A lot. Robb seizes his ruff but is also watching Agravaine warily from the porch, the wolf next to him almost up to his hip at his shoulders. "Who're you?"

He looks older today than he did when he first came, but still little more than a boy, if with the bearing of a king.

[agravaiting]

"...That's a wolf."

[eldeststark]

..."Yes, it is," Robb says, a little more sharply than perhaps he should. Grey Wind just keeps right on growling low in his throat. "A direwolf."

[agravaiting]

"...You're supposed to hunt wolves, not keep them."

[sirbeaumains]

"--you're back!"

[agravaiting]

"Oh, you."

[sirbeaumains]

"Right. Where were you?"

[agravaiting]

"Where d'you think?"

[myrddin_wyllt]

Here's a Merlin. He's not particularly amused at Agravaine's arrival, but he decided Not To Meddle Anymore.

So.

He's just. You know. Hanging Out. Smoking his pipe. Nothing to see, folks, nothing to see.

[agravaiting]

...

"Oh, you."

[myrddin_wyllt]

Merlin looks back at him sedately.

"Good afternoon to you as well, Agravaine."

Old geezer is not standing or bowing. Because he can.

[agravaiting]

"Your house?"

[lovingknight]

"Uncle." He smiles a bit, though not overly familiar. "Well met." You know, unless that's not okay.

[agravaiting]

"Uncle? What?"

[lovingknight]

"...it's Lovel. Gawain's son?" He's a bit wary.

[agravaiting]

"...Aren't you two years old?"