Milky eyes rose from behind the pages of the book; tossing it aside, he folded his hands in front of him. "Of course, my lady. What sort of trouble are you having?"

It's difficult to assume that Merlin did not already know and was simply further trying to assess the further damage. However powerful his gift was, he still felt the need to check and recheck his answers before giving a definate response. Afteral, he didn't want to mislead the poor lady in any way.

The old wizard was contemplatively stroking his beard. "Have you tried a ritual to unhex yourself? I'm unaware of anyone who would bare you ill will... but then again I live the life of a hermit by choice, on occasion."

He ran through all the possibilities in his mind, taking into consideration each one before counting it as a suspect in this particular matter. However, he had a sinking feeling that his first instinct was most accurate. Hopefully the lady would find it gratifying.

"of course... of course..." the wizard muttered, tenting his fingers over and over again. "And your magic is far to tempered to rage out of control without significant reason. So, my only remaining question is this;" he paused momentarily, considering the effects it might have. "have your breasts been swollon?"

The exterior of the wizard's face did not alter, it was as though he were discusing the weather in Camelot with the lady. He hoped she wouldnt find it vulgar and would know that it was purly in the name of reason. However, Merlin was, by this point certain of his conclusion.

"Simple, my dear lady." he mused, allowing himself the pleasure of laughing a little at her expense. "You are with child."

He wasn't certain of how she would take the news; rather well, he assumed, considering she kept the child anyway. Still, he was rather anxious to see how she would react. The Lady Mennah did not quite seem like the child-rearing sort at first glance; to a passer-by, she'd probably be one of the last to have children.

"Your concentration is far more easily broken my dear lady." He explained, including some pity. "Although you might have the fortitude of a viking, your chemical balance will be tested. Your magic is varied by your emotional state."

This was somehing that he himself had had trouble with as a lad; knowing that, if you had something upsetting you, your magical acuity would deminish. You have to have a certain mental cool in order to cast effective spells; at least, that's what his thinking was.

Maraud had the feeling that she was being spoken of. But she could hardly concentrate on the thought, since her pointed ears were full of the wailing of her daughter, who was weary from travel. Standing in the stable next to her palfrey, Maraud gave a sigh and unloaded her daughter from the cradleboard-like carrier she had on her back. Maraud fashioned the carrier herself, and it was spelled to protect her child from kidnappers (pretty half-fey children were highly desirable to evil-doers). It was softly cushioned, and shaded the child, but still Aurora, rather whiny as a toddler, found reason to sob relentlessly within it.

Maraud waved her hand in front of Aurora’s face, a bit of magic making a trail of bubbles follow her motion. Aurora immediately calmed and instead laughed and made a game of popping each one with her pudgy finger. As her daughter was amused, Maraud collected herself and turned to the stable hand that had approached to help her unload her palfrey.

She was in Camelot… she could not explain to Roryn exactly why she felt the need to visit the capital. So, she told him that she wished to visit old friends and purchase some magical specialties that she could not otherwise find in their neck of the woods. It seemed like everyone had migrated to Camelot, except for she and Roryn and their lovely daughter. Ralcia was there, Mennah and her cousins, Armand, Lancelot, Alanna, Morgan, Merlin… and even Lady Vivienne had overextended her visit!

True, Maraud had seen most of these people not so many months before at Mennah’s wedding in Rozeshire. But after she returned home, how she had longed for all that company of knights and fellow fey folk!

Now that she had arrived, and Aurora was pacified by her bubble trick, Maraud listened again to her mind’s eye, in which she heard the slightest murmur of her name on magic folks’ tongues. Merlin and Mennah—she soon detected. A marvelous coincidence; they were speaking of her within the castle’s walls, although she could not readily pick-up what it was about.

With a charming smile and a few words of introduction, she improved the grouchy mood of Sir Kay the seneschal and was welcomed into the castle. With light steps and the airy whoosh of her light travel cloak, she brushed through the halls, finding a particular door.

“Is that Lady Mennah and Master Merlin I hear? It is I, Lady Maraud... from the Lake!” Maraud announced cheerfully as she rapped on the door with one hand, while holding a curiously babbling Aurora on her hip with the other.

Edric, face pale and still sitting on the ground, propped up by a bag someone had found, huffed in annoyance. He nodded, however, and waved a hand, dismissing Alan. "Yes, granted on all counts. You've fought beside us willingly, and that earns you respect. Also, gaining the hands of the monks would be most kind." When Alan had gone, Edric ordered the two young men who had carried the spearheads to follow the small man discreetly to make sure there was no escape made.

Then Edric had to listen to the man who was attending his wound lecture him on how to care for it, and that he should stay off of it for quite some time, as well as avoid riding his horse. Then the initial tally of men lost and wounded, reports from Cairbre's scouts telling him that the Saxon's weren't rallying. It was a bit of a blur, and Edric was feeling distracted. He was watching his men. Some were sitting peacefully, resting, drinking water. Some prayed. The wounded were tended, some were simply kept company while they awaited the inevitable. Men checked bodies for valuables - coins, jewelry, even things so simple as a set of boots without a hole in them. He was tired.

Nearby, Finnian looked at the woman somewhat surprised, mostly by the sound of a female voice right after a battle. He was suddenly subconcious, and took off his simple conical helm and went to smooth his hair before realising he had blood on his hands. Finnian smiled sheepishly, wiped the blood off on his leine and took the offered chalice with a nod of thanks.

The mute man from the western isle drank deeply. The water wasn't particularly cold, but after the days exertion he was left thirsting for liquid. He handed it back to her, nodding again and coughing slightly. Then he coughed again, his brows furrowing. A third time, wracking and painful, and increasingly persistant. He took a step away and turned, coughing into his hands. At length, and with a sound like mucus being dredged up, Finnian convulsed once and expelled something upon the ground, black and wet like old blood. Saliva dribbled unabashedly from his lips as he caught his breath. Slowly he stood up, and waved away any concerned looks. Finnian looked tired from the sudden coughs, but otherwise well enough. He wasn't wheezing either, as he normally did.

Alanna nodded tersely as though in thanks. By the time young Finnian was waving away the concern for his well-being, Alanna had retrieved the chalice and was stalking away from Edric and his fellows, towards the monastery. There, Alanna was quick to set the precious relic back in its place, besides others of its kind. Her next move was to inform the clergy within the monastery of the bargain with Edric and his men, and request a small chamber to cleanse herself both physically and spiritually. Believing herself to be alone, Alanna shed her disguise, borrowed a simple, humble dress from one of the nuns, and allowed her long golden hair to hang down her back, washed of the blood that had been shed. She'd sustained a few cuts along her arms, and one across her knee, but nothing debilitating and all were patched, sewn and wrapped before she dressed. She dirtied three full basins of water with the remnants of the battle from her flesh, but soon she was looking and feeling as clean and pure as she had when she'd first set out on the mission for her husband's family's honor.

With her feet shod in the simple boots of a traveler and Justice hanging ready from her hip, Alanna exited the monastery once more, her head held with the same surety with which Alan from Nowhere had tread. With one hand resting on Justice's hilt, and the other holding a cloth full of good food granted from the brothers in the monastery, and a flagon of wine, Alanna moved for the tent which she believed to hold Edric. She came to a halt before the guards stationed outside the tent, and held her head high and calm. "Sir Edric awaits me, I believe."

"Yes, plesase come and sit with us Lady Maraud." Merlin gestured with his gnarled hand to the space between the two of them. "I was just telling Lady Mennah some exciting news, and there is most assuredly more to the explanation to come. So, if the lady doesn't mind, I'll continue." He paused a moment to allow Maraud to settle herself in.

"It seems that your child is among the... well... Ungifted set." He corrected himself very abruptly. "Not that she is untalented at anything, quite the contrary. However, unable to use magic and impervious to such."

“How lovely to see you again, Master Merlin and Lady Mennah,” Maraud greeted as she entered the study and took the proffered seat between them. She sat Aurora on her lap, raising one hand to neaten her hair. She had been travelling just an hour before, but she looked as pristine as if she had just washed and dressed… a wonder achieved by fey glamour.

Quickly enough, Merlin brought up a child, of the ‘Un-gifted’ sort. It was no surprise to Maraud that Mennah was pregnant. She herself had prepared Mennah and Armand’s marriage bed and had the greatest confidence in fertility charms… not that she suspected that the Bold Knight was at all sterile.

“Oh, you will have such a wonderful babe, Mennah,” Maraud assured, wrapping her arms more tightly around Aurora. The little girl, meanwhile, seemed transfixed by Merlin. She stared at the old warlock, and then reached one of her tiny fists to grasp at his beard. Maraud did not notice and continued to speak to Mennah.

“Although… yes, Merlin is, of course, correct, that the child will be Un-Gifted. Carrying her may sap at your magic… but dear, don’t worry. You will be well protected here in Camelot. With all these knights about, and servants at your call, you shouldn’t have need of magic, should you? And don’t forget, you’ll be surrounded by Merlin, your cousins and I. Yes, I shall stay in Camelot as long as you need me,” Maraud decided.

“You may be sad, that you will not be able to teach magic to your child,” she continued, considering Mennah’s feelings. “Honestly, dear, I haven’t looked far enough into the future to know what will come of our children. I don’t wish to know my little Aurora’s fate… but can’t you imagine that she will be a dear friend to your little one once she comes?”

Aurora squealed—not at the words of her mother—but because she gave Merlin’s beard her mightiest tug. Maraud looked down at her daughter and gasped. “No, don’t do that…!”

-----

Brilane’s brows lifted with concern as Finnian suffered through his bout of coughing. She hoped the water had helped him, and not merely aggravated his throat. She was distracted from him a moment as Alan approached to retrieve the chalice. Brilane handed it over, disillusioned with the cup. So, the cup did not possess miraculous power. She had given it to a man, and it only made him cough. It was simply… a cup.

Brilane smiled warmly at Alan as she passed over the chalice, relieved to see him unscathed. She was so relieved she wanted to kiss him again, but he seemed in a hurry to return to the monastery. So she remained where she was, with the recovering red-haired man.

“Next time, sir, perhaps you should take small sips first?” she suggested mildly, feeling a little responsible for his fit. She took out her handkerchief and came closer to him, reaching up to dab at the saliva that had dribbled down his chin. “You and the other men fought so very bravely today…” she trailed off, trying to think of what to say to a tired soldier. “I saw from the wagons.”

She lowered the cloth to dab at some spittle on his throat, and then her hand froze. What had happened to the harsh scar on his throat, that she had noticed before? She could still see the trace of it, but it seemed to have smoothed, to have healed…

“Sir… can you… can you speak?” she asked simply.

Merlin raised his hand to pacify Maraud. "Tut tut, my lady. It is not the first time a fair maid has given this old beard a tug, and by the gods it shan't be the last." He held a gnarled finger out to the small girl and a golden light emmited from the tip of his finger.

The light was not fire, nore lightining, but something of a miniature lantern. A spell that is, in a sense, totally useless in such a small quantity. However, it could brighten a room if nessesary.

Leaving the light on the finger tip and moving it from here to there, Merlin turned his attention to Mennah. "Now then, the lady Maraud is quite right. There are quite a good many more important than magic. Goodness knows there's something to be said for respect for the elderly." He laughed a little.

Finnian gave Brilane a mock look of hurt when she suggested he take smaller sips of water. He was a grown man, he knew how to drink! Still, he couldn't precisely be angry with her. She'd been kind, and he thought she was pretty - especially compared to most of the other female camp followers, the which he wanted no part of. It was a bit of a surprise for her to come to him and help cleanse his spittle. He hadn't noticed, through the pain of the coughing fit, that he'd unflattering covered himself in saliva.

She coddled him some, and commended his own and the others' bravery. He smiled shyly all the while, cheeks rising red. When the woman stopped, pausing and looking at his throat. Finnian's brows furrowed slighty, and he watched her. It was the scar, of course. He'd looked at it in a silver mirror they'd plundered from one of the towns. It was a grim thing, but it hadn't killed him. What would she think of it? Then he was rather baffled by her question.

"Naw..." Finnian said dismissively, before his eyes went wide in realization. "No? Yes! I can talk again!" He had a bright and happy voice, with a thick sing-song accent with a pleasant lilt, and even in his excitement it was as if every sylable was part of a carefully worded poem.

"Ceiliúrainn! Ceiliúrfaidh mé athuair!," he went on in his native tongue, dancing a round and gripping Brilane's hands. "I can speak! Y'must rightly tell me of t'is cup! Cupán draíochta? Some sort of fairy-cup? Hahaha!"



Edric…

The ruckus caused by Finnian confused Edric, but it was happening a slight distance away and wasn’t urgent. There was time to learn what was going on later. He could feel his mind slowing from loss of blood, but the wound was wrapped well and seemed to be holding it together as well as anything. He was moved once, beside one of the wagons, with the canvas from the thing being moved so that it covered him from the threat of rain. The old man who had been attending him followed along, having him eat a few berries and drink water, instead of cider or beer, claiming that the alcohol would thin the blood and make him bleed more. Edric thought the idea was silly, because water was thinner then either of those, but could not bring himself to argue.

Time passed, and he was cared for, and the wounded knight actually began to feel better now that his blood had cooled from the battle, though the pain from his wound was more noticeable and sharp; nearly all he could think about until one of the men who had taken up position around him leaned into the tent to tell him a woman was there to see him.

“Ah, yes, from Londinium herself,” Edric said, assuming it to be the meek woman who had been with Finnian before he was moved. He sat himself up on his hands and his care-giver stuffed some wrapped gear behind him so he could lean back. “Let her past”

There was a moment, and a woman with golden hair and a sword at her side stood before Edric, with one of the Briton soldiers shadowing her discreetly behind one shoulder. Before she had a chance to speak, Edric’s face darkened.

“Who the devil are you?”



Meanwhile, under Camelot…

The woman shouted at the troll in her own tongue - complete gibberish - looking angry. This was slightly off-putting, as any others which had made it to the same place had been universally terrified. Sobbing to themselves, or talking to something that wasn’t there. This one was different. This one was more… dangerous. But how much? The troll had caught his breath, and stood, blocking the exit to the cave. The dull glow of the cave showed that the large stick was still held in its rough hands.

After a few steps forward to close the distance, he crouched on the balls of his feet, pausing to watch her for a moment. The quills on his back quivered, making a susurrus of hissing and clicking noises. Without so much of a twitch of warning, the troll extended its arm towards Helena and, half-violently, poked at her with the stick.

Alanna almost smiled. But she maintained her calm demeanor, her expression the same, nearly apathetic ease that she had worn when traveling as 'Alan' of Greensbury, earlier in her youth. She stepped forward until she was a respectful distance from the wounded man, propped up by the elements of battle, when she set down the wrapped food and wind, and settled seated with her legs cross so that she was at Edric's height.

"I am Dame Alanna du Lac. We met earlier as I arrived with a lady, Brillane, from Londinium, and the Chalice of Saint Congar. My father was Sir Richard of Greensbury, and my husband is Sir Lancelot du Lac. I am the Champion of Princess Keridwen, daughter of High King Arthur Pendragon. You have proved good and fair in your word, Sir Edric, and in keeping with mine I have made myself known to you in every way I can, and still call myself an honorable woman." A thin smile did touch her lips at the jest, and she unbuckled Justice and set it in its sheath parallel to her legs on the floor. A gesture of peace.

"If I may, Sir Edric, you should eat. The monks are grateful for your willingness to assure the safety of themselves and their home, and have provided this," She quietly shifted the bag of good food closer to Edric, "as a gesture of thanks."