TIMESKIP POST

[reticence]

FAOLAN COURT Shardless; Seelie-sworn TITLE Seelie Marshall's Hound OCCUPATION Bodyguard, Assassin, Spy ABLE TO FAST-TRAVEL Teleportation between the gardens of Caer Glaem & Caer Scima Teleportation in Dorchadas at night Teleportation to Lancelot's side Cleg RESIDENCE IN 2,701 Caer Glaem RESIDENCE IN 2,702 Caer Glaem MAJOR EVENTS HIGHLIGHT Description [ ✖ ] HIGHLIGHT Description [ ✖ ] HIGHLIGHT Description [ ✖ ]

PLANS - Keeping an eye on Lancelot both in Caer Glaem/the White Citadel and on his travels. - His mission for Lancelot to connect with all of the agents stationed in the cities closest to Caer Glaem. - Becoming Spymaster under the direction of the Seelie Marshall should said mission be fulfilled. - Watching over Bridei when Lancelot is not around and making sure that he is safe. - Possibly spreading more positive sentiments towards the Seelie court (or at least positive sentiments towards Lancelot) in the form of ballads. - Upholding his oaths to the best of his ability. SUMMARY OF KNOWN DETAILS TBA TIMELINE OF EVENTS SPRING IN 2,701 (Mar, Apr, May) MARCH - Gwen is happy to see Faolan alive again. Faolan spends most of the month hiding from the cold under Lancelot's charmed blankets with Bridei, and feeling guilty he won't let him light a fire. APRIL - Faolan starts to hear harp-playing everywhere, both in and out of his dreams, and his emotions go off of the charts. He resents harps, and he resents what they mean to him. He would never destroy an instrument in or out of his dreams however so he will be affected the whole month. There are significant interactions with Lancelot and Guinevere during this event. MAY - Faolan accompanies Lancelot on the first of his many Public Relations trips, this time to Parrais. SUMMER IN 2,701 (Jun, Jul, Aug) JUNE - As of the month before, the lockets and the fairy rings do not work, and as such, communication with agents stationed out in cities has become a challenge. Lancelot assigns Faolan the task of traveling to them and communicating in person, since it is easier for him to travel around than most others these days, being shardless. He starts out with Treun, where he participates in the Melee competition of the Tourney and is bested by Connor early in the running. Lancelot is there to soothe his bruised ego. Also at the Tourney he speaks to Aragorn, Lucrezia, and Natasha. He also meets with the agent in Treun before continuing on his mission south to Leathann, where there is no agent stationed, but he spends a while investigating in their stead. JULY - From Leathann Faolan does a massive traveling loop back up to Parrais on his mission for Lancelot to meet with the agent stationed there. And from there he goes on to Doanna for the final stop in his journey, where he discovers that there is some unrest after the hangings that take place there. He speaks to Diarmuid and they exchange information, before he returns to Caer Glaem to share his findings with Lancelot. (All throughout the mission he has been checking in here and there, to let him know that he's alive, and because Bridei misses him.) AUGUST -Faolan accompanies Lancelot to Leathann for more Public Relations on behalf of the Seelie court, and tries desperately not to be in the way during the Festival of Lights. While he's there, he takes some time to investigate this new Oracle (and possibly work on establishing a new agent in the city?). FALL IN 2,701 (Sept, Oct, Nov) SEPTEMBER - Faolan returns with Lancelot to Parrais for more Public Relations touring. OCTOBER - On the 25th of October, the Drabwurld celebrates Samhain once more. Faolan attends, and reminisces about last year with Lancelot. He spends less time brooding than he did last year, and even accepts a few dances, including one with Gwen. NOVEMBER - Faolan spends much of the month on regular duties. When word of the escaped convicts from the prison colony in Leathann reaches Caer Glaem, it makes him uneasy - are any of these people a threat to Caer Glaem itself? WINTER IN 2,701/2,702 (Dec, Jan, Feb) DECEMBER - Having won the Hunt last year, Lancelot will apparently get it into his mind that he doesn't need to take it seriously this year, thereby ending up getting himself cursed into becoming an animal this go around. An otter, to be exact. Faolan must then watch over him, Lady, and Bridei the three of them for the next few days until Lancelot is himself once more. Any gifts he receives for Yule he struggles to return in kind, even if his own gifts by comparison are likely not as fancy or expensive as those that are given to him. JANUARY - Faolan accompanies Lancelot back to Treun once more for more Public Relations touring on behalf of the Seelie court. He checks in with the agent stationed there, and puts out feelers as to what might be going on with the Fortuna family, after the Governor was forced to abdicate his position. (The 26th marks Faolan's return from death, an event that is possibly worth celebrating?) FEBRUARY - Faolan travels with Lancelot back to Leathann again for another Public Relations visit on behalf of the Seelie court. (If he has established an agent in Leathann at this point he will check in with them.) Also during this month, on the 14th, Bridei turns one year old. SPRING IN 2,702 (Mar, Apr) MARCH - Faolan joins Lancelot and all others defending Caer Glaem by decapitating the skeletons of the risen dead, and is largely unsettled by their appearance. APRIL - Fairies start to go missing from Caer Glaem, leaving everyday tasks unfinished. Faolan knows how to make do without them, although it is an inconvenience in certain aspects. This too is concerning, however, and he wonders what it could mean going forward...

( codes by whambam )

Comments

LEATHANN

[reticence]

[reticence]

Faolan meets to speak to and exchange information with Diarmuid.

[depicted]

Dorian's taste in residences is like his taste in galleries: elegant, ornate, and within easy walking distance of some beautiful feature of the city. The servant, Ruadán, that greets Faolan at the door is a fairy that has often been with Dorian, a pretty man with a smile that always seems to know. Ruadán leads Faolan into a sitting room furnished with the same eye to beauty as the architecture, made homely by scattered hand-drawn sketches and drafts by various among Dorian's artist friends. But Faolan is not made to sit for long; just a few short minutes pass before Dorian himself comes down.

"Faolan?" He offers his hand. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I was witness to your swearing in. We are all grateful our Marshall has such a steadfast ally." His smile is sincere. "Will you come take a seat in the next room? I have had Ruadán set us our tea."

From the gold brocade in his coat and vest to the ease of his manners, everything suggests that while Dorian Gray is eighteen, inexperienced, and stupid enough to agree to meet with Faolan before asking his name, he has been trained all of his life to play host and offer courtesies. He knows every move in this intricate choreography, has memorized every position, and he can move from each to each with the smooth and easy comfort of an expert at the dance.

[reticence]

Faolan feels more than a little out of place, being led into a sitting room such as this one. Dressed clothes that he had selected specifically for their own lack of appeal. Faolan has worked his profession for a long time now, and he's gotten good at being able to blend in, even in a city such as Parrais. He has been there before with Lancelot, after all, he understands what it is to become one with the scenery, and has done his best to dress the part. Sitting here, across from this extravagant man, in this extravagant sitting room, Faolan sticks out like a sore thumb in that regard. The only thing in the place that isn't meant to sparkle or draw the eye.

The mention of 'finally meeting him' makes him even more uncomfortable, and he raises an eyebrow warily. "My swearing in...?" he asks, but he supposes that the other man means the audience. There had been a lot of other people there that day. Faolan had been too nervous that the Queen might refuse and instead throw him out to be all that focused on who might have been behind them in line. A rare lapse from his normally impeccable observational talents.

[depicted]

"Yes, I was witness to it." Dorian smiles prettily, even at this strangely bland interruption of the carefully woven harmonies of his home decoration. "It was a moving ceremony."

He indicates that Faolan should come with him into the next room, as prettily decorated as the last, but with a tea tray set out, assorted small sandwiches, biscuits, bread and the like lain forth, and its composition centred around gold's accents on a deep midnight blue. Extravagant, certainly, but Dorian has position now: he must be able to greet people from a home suited to it. He has learned as much simply witnessing how Anne of Austria manages her affairs.

Gesturing for Faolan to sit, Dorian takes up the tea and asks, "Will you have anything in your tea?"

[reticence]

Faolan follows, and the walk is distraction enough for him to try and parse out who else might have seen it but in the end he decides that all those present were Seelie and the worse to come out of witnesses is his own personal discomfort, nothing more. Most in the court know who and what he is these days anyway, by rumor if not by direct word of mouth.

At the question, Faolan shakes his head. Tea, as he understands it, is a form of herbal brew made from the leaves of some sort of plant. Not knowing the first thing about what one might put in tea to begin with, Faolan figures it's safer to just accept it as is. It's not like he'll be drinking all that much of it anyway. He's got business to attend to.

"Thank you," he says, because he knows that it's the polite thing to do. He wasn't raised in a barn, despite what some of his mannerisms might have one think. "For agreeing to speak with me on such short notice." Almost too quick to agree, but Faolan does not go there.

[depicted]

Accepting Faolan's choice to be boring, Dorian takes his tea with honey today. This ceremony complete—so crucial to etiquette at home and so important to Dorian now as a way of managing events to be understandable to him even in a foreign context—he takes his seat across from Faolan. Another pretty smile, and this time, Dorian has a fuller chance to appreciate the man in front of him. Handsome, not ornamental. Someone that blends in. With instinct not yet honed into intuition, Dorian feels that Faolan's simplicity of style compliments Lancelot's own, although he cannot name the manner, except perhaps to say that Lancelot is the simplicity of natural light, and Faolan is a candle's shadow.

"As I said, it is my pleasure to meet with you." Never so common as to ask if there is business to be attending upon, Dorian instead says, "The Lord Marshal has been so very kind to me, and it would be terribly ungrateful not to welcome one who is held so high in his esteem."

[reticence]

Knowing that Anne is Lancelot's official liaison in Parrais, Faolan knows that he would be a fool not to connect with her while he's in the city as well. He does not know how much information she will be able to provide him with, certainly on the information that his informant has given him, but he would be a poor spy indeed not to try every avenue that he could to collect whatever possible. And so he had messaged her and requested a meeting. Of course, not knowing her personally and only having seen her from afar on several occasions, including Lancelot's earlier trip to Parrais, Faolan does not really understand what sort of a meeting he might be walking into. But arriving at the place she had requested to meet with him, Faolan tries to make the best of the situation.

((ooc note: i didn't know where she might have asked to meet him so i left it up in the air for you! let me know if this works/needs any changes!))

PARRAIS

[reticence]

Faolan stands watching, on guard, as Lancelot tours the art gallery, puts on the necessary airs and smiles at the necessary people. Speaks to Anne, the official liaison of the Seelie court here in Parrais, Faolan understands her to be. And Dorian, apparently the one who opened the place. The concept of an art gallery is foreign to Faolan, but he is not the one who has to make the appearances of appreciating it, and so he spends most of his time there blending into the scenery as best he can. (Though a few chatty attendants do remark that he makes an excellent addition to the collection, and whether they are serious or not, do not realize he is an actual man standing there or simply flirting within earshot, Faolan makes no attempt to speak up for himself or tell them off otherwise.)

As Lancelot ducks out of the gathering and makes his way into the city proper, Faolan follows. Like the shadow he always seems to be these days. The hound on his heels. He supposes the title is apt, much to his chagrin. Also to his chagrin, the amount of attention the other man seems to be collecting as he walks, although he supposes it has something to do with the brightly colored clothing that the other man is wearing and the dazzling white cleg he is leading beside him. Faolan's own cleg is a beauty in its own right, but where the other man's is a bright white cloud on a beautiful summer's day, Faolan's is smaller and black as midnight. Dressed plainer, wearing riding leathers, it's clear just by looking at them that Lancelot is the one here on the official visit, and Faolan? Faolan is here for him.

It's just as well that most of the attention he seems to be drawing is children. Faolan doesn't have to worry so much about the man surrounded by a crowd of strangers when said strangers only measure waist-high at best on him. He watches him with them from a safe distance - Lancelot doesn't feel the need to include him in this and it's just as well. He isn't sure how confident his ability is with children. Certainly not his ability to impress them as the other man has, at any rate. So he leaves him to it and settles his own ride back into its stall, waiting, watching, listening as Lancelot works his charms on the children of Parrais. He does understand what he's doing, of course, and it's sweet, Lancelot's approach. Of course it would be.

As the children disperse, Faolan does not know whether Lancelot knows he is still there or not, as he calls Lady to his heels and sets off in the direction of the markets. He suspects he might. Lancelot is no fool, and seems to understand that Faolan is usually somewhere close at hand, should he need him. No matter how long he spends in meetings or entertaining the children on an official outing, respectively. Faolan watches where Lancelot travels in the markets, looking for eyes that might be following him, tailing close enough behind to hear what sorts of conversations are had with the man and then as he walks away. He wants to make certain that everything is as it seems. That Lancelot really is being perceived as the noble visitor he is and that there are no ulterior motives for speaking with him, that appearances really are as they seem.

Of course, as he walks, as he listens, he tries tries to get a feel for the city itself as he goes. It's hard to turn the spying off, and so he might as well put it to use. He wants to know what is the general topic of conversation among the people of the marketplace, for the common people - the common people's gossip - usually reveals the most light, he knows. And he also knows that whatever they've been telling Lancelot, it's not all that they would have had on their minds, for they would see him as the official delegate from Caer Glaem and even should they appreciate his sentiments, Parrais is still its own city with its own issues to deal with. And so he listens. What is on the minds of the people? What troubles them? Who troubles them? Each snippet of information he can find he gathers like a precious jewel, storing it away to file through later for what information is and is not relevant to him. Perhaps it's good that Lancelot is happy to wander off on his own. It buys Faolan the anonymity he needs for this.

When they are done for the day and Faolan trails after Lancelot back to their lodgings for the night, once he is sure that the other man is secure behind closed doors with his guards on watch (he'd have been a fool not to bring some, for this purpose), Faolan ducks out and takes to the streets again. It does not take him long to locate a traveling musician - having been one himself, once upon a time, he knows the right places to look. And for the right price, he knows just the right way to sell his song to the man, so that he might play it in the city here too. On the stipulation of course that he wait five days before he start playing it. It does not take him long to teach the man the song - being a bard, of course he has an excellent memory. He promises him more work, if he hears good news of this ballad. (He will be checking back on this, of course.)

The man is a good sort. They share a bond, the pair of them, an understanding of the trade. Faolan is not a trusting sort but he knows here at least that his coin is being put to good use. They spend some time together that night - Faolan pays for food and drink as recompense for the night off. And the man learns the song and learns it well enough that by the time Faolan heads back he is reasonably sure that all will be well. He has given him a pseudonym - Deord - and as much information as that he is currently serving in Caer Glaem. It's a believable story. The best lies are at least partially true, after all. And the fact that he is shardless makes it that much easier to pull off. Perhaps there are some upsides to dying after all.

[reticence]

(Honey is for putting on your oat cakes and for making offerings to the Good Folk, not for adding to your brews, as far as Faolan is concerned.) He watches Dorian, watches him put on his airs, smile his smiles, and has to wonder whether it is a front or not. He does not know the man, after all. Just as Dorian sits and makes assessments of Faolan, so too does Faolan sit and make assessments of him, although until he knows more of his character he will not be able to make assumptions. He is young, that much is obvious. Young and pretty, surrounded by pretty things, with a pretty way of speaking. Faolan's dark eyes meet Dorian's levelly and he nods. Only further investigation will tell whether it is all part of some master plan or whether the man simply has an eye for the ornate.

He raises an eyebrow at the phrasing though. "So high in his esteem?" he has to ask. What basis is Dorian making that suggestion from, he wonders. More observation? Hearsay? Has Lancelot himself mentioned something of it to him? How well does he know 'The Lord Marshal' anyway?

[depicted]

Not so practiced in his manners that he can keep the incredulity from his smile, Dorian breathes out the echo of a laugh at Faolan's questioning. "Of course. Surely he would not bring an Unseelie into his King and Queen's audience chamber to swear an oath of loyalty if he did not esteem you."

It seems perfectly a matter of common sense. Faolan's own incredulity seems a little ridiculous.

[reticence]

Writing the song was easy enough, but playing it is another challenge entirely. It helps that his audience seems to understand that and lets him get through it, sitting and listening quietly, allowing him to concentrate on the strings and the melody of the song, how they connect with one another, rather than worrying about what Bridei is getting himself into or what bad habits he might be teaching Lady. As he dampens the strings and lets out a quiet breath. With a little more practice, he'll have it, certainly enough to be able to instruct another in the song.

Which of course is when Lancelot makes his presence known. Faolan's heart leaps into his throat and it's all he can do not to drop the harp in surprise. He hadn't expected him back, not so soon, otherwise he'd never have picked the thing up, and certainly not played it. It was the one secret he had left, and there's no point in keeping it now. Still, the thought of admitting to it scares him slightly, and his knuckles are white on the wood of the harp as he finds himself frozen in place, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. As Bridei and Lady scamper around Lancelot's feet, oblivious to Faolan's quandary.

"I..." he stutters slightly, feeling strangely vulnerable, having been caught so, even if it is only Lancelot.

[knightscode]

Lancelot crouches down to greet Bridei and Lady, lets the little dragon crawl up onto his shoulder and makes a fuss of Lady as Faolan stutters. Eyes running over his expression, his surprise, the way he grips the harp so tight. He stays put a moment longer, soothing Lady and letting Bridei settle into his neck before he pushes up. Takes a careful step closer. His voice is low and reassuring, like Faolan is a startled horse about to take flight if he handles this wrong.

"It's all right," he assures him, "I won't tell anyone, and I can assure you Bridei and Lady won't be spreading it around -- not even if they wanted to."

He takes a careful step closer, turns a chair toward Faolan and eases into it -- lets Bridei continue to use him as a climbing frame contently, wings buffeting him every so often.

"Breathe," he encourages softly, and flickers a tentative smile.

[souveraine]

Anne had received Faolan's message, she's not sure what she could help with but if there was any information that she could provide, she was more than happy to help however she could. Her quarters were spacious but simple, one of her ladies in waiting showing Faolan to the spot on the terrace overlooking beautiful gardens were Anne is sitting.

Having to rest all the time is frustrating for Anne but today she's making the most of a quiet day going over some reading. But when Faolan was shown in, she set down her book with a kind smile.

"Please, have a seat. One of my ladies will bring us some tea, are you hungry at all?" Anne said warmly. She didn't get up but she hoped he would understand, getting up was not the easiest thing for her these days.

[reticence]

Fretting about Lancelot, and Bridei, and suffering general emotion fluctuations while Hermione stops by for a visit during the Harp Event.

[reticence]

'Esteem you.' Dorian certainly has a pretty way with words indeed, Faolan will give him that. He shrugs slightly, a little embarrassed to be perfectly honest, that his own position and loyalty to Lancelot has been brought up as first topic of conversation, but he can't say that he's surprised. He should at least use it to his advantage, he supposes.

"Lancelot is a good man," he says. "Perhaps he might trust too easily, but it is because of that that he trusted me, and I am grateful for it. I do not know where I would be now without his generosity," he says, simply, before carrying on. "I understand that the pair of you know one another? He was here in Parrais not long ago visiting your gallery, if memory serves." Faolan had been there as well, although he hardly expected Dorian to have seen or recognized him then. He had been doing his best to blend in with the shadows, pretend he was not there, and not get in the way of Lancelot's political endeavors. "What is the nature of your acquaintance?" he asks, trying to understand how Dorian fits in to Lancelot's appointments here in Parrais.

[reticence]

Faolan vaguely thinks about how ridiculous it is to have to be reminded to breathe as such, but he's not sure if he has, since Lancelot's voice spoke up from behind him until this moment when he finds the other man sitting in the chair across from him. He swallows audibly and takes in a deep breath, not knowing quite how to react or respond. There's no way to pretend that he had just been messing about with the harp, not when Lancelot has made it clear he's heard him as well.

"How long were you there?" he asks, easing one of his hands from the harp to run over his face and through his hair, trying to will his heartbeat to settle. It's only Lancelot, he has no reason to distrust him with this, even if the idea of anyone knowing the full truth of his past makes his insides turn to jelly.

[knightscode]

"Long enough. I had no idea songs were being written about the battle already, I admit. I suppose I should be glad they are flattering."

His smile flicks up further, warm and friendly as he gently detaches Bridei and sets him in his lap. Bridei immediately begins crawling again, stills after a moment as Lancelot holds him to his chest.

"May I ask where you heard it?"

So far as he knows Faolan has not had a chance to travel far since the battle, his wounds preventing him doing much at all, which makes Lancelot idly wonder if they're singing such songs around Caer Glaem herself. That would be... a little embarrassing, he thinks... Then again he supposes such things are good for morale.

[reticence]

The question was inevitable, Faolan realizes, just as he realizes that he has two choices here. He could lie, or he could tell the other man the truth. And considering how much truth he's already given the other man, he isn't sure whether the prospect of revealing this much more is more freeing or daunting, in the end. So he sits for a moment, cradling the harp to his chest as if it is his last lifeline, as if he is out to sea and this is his only hope of ever returning to shore again. He probably looks a bit like he feels, for that matter, and he purses his lips on purpose to make sure that he isn't sitting there with his mouth hanging open like a fool. And then he decides to just out with it.

"It..." He licks his lips nervously, before trying again. "They're not writing them. At least, not that I know of." He hopes that Lancelot understands what he's saying as he regards him carefully and goes on to admit to him, "It was an original."

[knightscode]

They're not? For a moment Lancelot is confused -- after all, Faolan has just played such a song. Clearly they are being written. Yet he amends his answer, an original he says, and after a moment understanding dawns. Faolan is the one who wrote it. Faolan -- and a memory nags at him distantly. In amongst all the blood and terror of the nightmare they shared, Faolan's house -- or part of it. Tapestries on the wall, a harp propped against it by the fire. Once upon a time Faolan was a different person to the one wielding daggers and swearing oaths of fealty. Once upon a time Faolan was a romantic.

Something about that warms Lancelot to know, makes Faolan more whole as a person. It feels like a missing piece of a puzzle he had not realised was incomplete.

"Well," he begins, eyes dropping to Bridei in faint embarrassment. "Then I am more than flattered. It's very good."

He feels like he should say more, but Faolan is so very nervous about it that Lancelot wonders if that would only cause him greater discomfort.

[reticence]

Faolan does not know whether Lancelot's embarrassment is a good or a bad thing. On one hand, he knows that the other man cannot take a compliment to save his life. On the other hand, he doesn't know whether the embarrassment is enough to make him feel uncomfortable with the idea or not. Although his words do give him some hope that such is not the case. Flattery is, at least in theory, a good thing.

Faolan flounders with what to say next, what needs to be said, about his past, his intentions with the song. "I. I had hoped, as is the way with bards, if I could get it spread around enough, it might. That is, I. The words were written in such a way, I had hoped the listener would..." Nothing is coming out the way that he wants it to, so after a moment, Faolan sighs heavily, running his hand through his hair again, adjusting the harp awkwardly in his lap. "...I am glad you think so," he says, eventually. It is the first song he has written in quite a long time, after all.

[reticence]

Faolan messages Lucrezia and asks to meet up with her while he is in Treun.

[knightscode]

Lancelot hesitates a moment, gets up after a moment -- one hand around Bridei's middle under his front legs, holding him steady as he wiggles -- and drags his chair closer.

"Would you like a drink?" he suggests, turning to his cabinet and pulling it open. "You look a little like you could use one." He glances back, flickers a sympathetic smile. "Forgive me if I have intruded in some way, Faolan, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."

Bridei wiggles again and Lancelot leans to set him down, lets him skitter back to beside Lady where he proceeds to climb onto her. She tolerates it with exaggerated doggy patience.

[reticence]

"Please," Faolan says, not even bothering to hide the relief in his voice as he does. He would appreciate a drink. Or two. Anything to calm his nerves, which are still running pretty high, all things considered. After a moment, he rises himself, going to set the harp back where it had been for the majority of the time since it had been delivered to him after Maglor's disappearance. Now that his hands are empty, he finds himself feeling strangely bereft of something to do with them, so he crosses his arms over his chest and moves back to his seat, settling into it heavily.

"It's not your fault," Faolan says, his voice low, keeping his eyes firmly focused in front of him for the moment. "Nor was it an intrusion. It's your space. I knew you would be coming back sooner rather than later. I should have expected you might overhear me."

He glances at Lancelot now, obviously struggling with the topic. "It is not something I talk about," he says. "It is...a part of me I am not certain belongs anymore. But if you have questions, I would answer them. It is no longer a secret, not from you. And perhaps I will feel better for sharing." He sits forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on his knees, taking in a deep breath. "I'm surprised you have not asked sooner, in all honesty. You had to wonder why I, of all people, would be sent a harp, I am sure...?"

[knightscode]

"I admit, no. I did not know Maglor, particularly, other than when he spoke to me after..." He hesitates mid pour of the drink, tilts his head a little. "After what happened." Lancelot turns and paces over -- holds out one of the drinks to Faolan before sliding into a chair with his own. "Your private life is your own, Faolan. I admit I am curious, but you must not feel you owe it to me to share everything. You do not. I will think no more or less of you regardless of this, you are my friend and ally regardless."

He reaches over after a moment to gently detach Bridei from Lady, to give her a moment of reprieve from his rougher affections. Bridei latches around Lancelot's wrist playfully and he lifts him clear, settles the little dragon back into his lap as he sips his drink.

"Of course," he adds, setting the drink aside, "if you want to tell me do not let me stop you. I know little enough about music myself."