#xuthyr

[heartstringablaze]

@falseroquen

His short-lived foe appeared just as worn as the afternoon they first faced each other. Surrounded by peers. Heavy blades in hand. The look Robin recognized now, then, the same as when Uthyr disarmed him.

No contest.

Around them swelled with murmurs of disapproval, and a chortle or two. But that gaze, however spiritless, was all that spared Robin of complete and utter hopelessness. To duel was to repeat a haunting pattern which Uthyr unsuspectingly broke.

The morning that followed felt like renewal. Robin was armored. With kind words and healing company from Graciela the night before. The symbol that despite what took place, he was still apart of what came next. In his heart, mind this also remained true.

He stood on the veranda and helped himself to tea and a biscuit. Beloved luxuries he at least would carry with him on the journey, but would not last its entirety. Would Uthyr partake? The suns presence was not clear, but Robin presumed Uthyr was the early riser of the company. Perhaps breakfast was already warm in that belly.

"Marvelous morning. Bleak as the last." The poet sardonically announced before savoring the swirling tea. "'divine as Vinnessian ale. Before earning my armor, I couldn't stomach their spices."

[heartstringablaze]

Mouth filled with biscuit, Robin sipped from his teacup and awaited Uthyr's reply. Would it be a cold shoulder instead? The knight was undeniably intimidating, but Robin couldn't compare his rival to the wolves of this council. A pack that nearly tore the princes spirit in two for all the fellowship to see.

For this reason, approaching members individually would at the very least lead to an honest fight. To date, the lot seemed to believe in second-chances too. That was really all the bard could ask for. However haughty Robin appeared, for the sake of keeping up appearances, he was grateful.

He heard the elder's voice, that felt more gentle than he expected. The words too genuine. Robin didn't detect a note of disdain. Scorn that he often received from others that shared similar (official) titles back in Helygain. Was it safe to discuss his music with Uthyr or would he tease another member about all Robin shared later?

"In my youth, I would write about simple observations. The mists of Vinnesse do appear similar to the fog that plagues Helygain's mountain side." He offered, choosing to overcome fear and doubt.

Which came easy with such subject matter. "Lazy and obvious. One way to put a listener to sleep out of sheer boredom." He laughed to himself and then sighed. "Merriment and surprise have the opposite effect. ... My songs are driven by impulse mostly. Feeling. Memory."

There was no faulting Uthyr's assumption. As the youngest prince, Robin would appear spry. He laughed again at the honest comment. Unable to dwell on their shared sentiment of losing such sweets to the wilds tomorrow. "If ever the opportunity presents itself; I will drink you under, Sir Uthyr."

      The sky was pure and warm at sunrise; unmarred by clouds, creeping across its bounty. Upon the veranda, Uthyr was given full view of the Citadel, where nature was retreating. Warm weather had given way to darker days, a decrease of strength and vigor, felt in every persons bones. He was wont to rise early -- solitude offered no pleasures in prolonged rest. Thoughts of the gauntlet were relentless and unforgiving; he desired no longer to turn such malice 'round his thoughts. Uthyr thought of his ill-gotten attempts, once more with a blade in hand -- it had been foolish, to believe himself the same knight. Uthyr could no longer recall what he had expected in combat from the young bard -- whether he had believed to be met with acrid opposition or submission, he knew not a fortnight later. He did not believe himself one to spar with malicious intent; there was merely something in their fellowship, which invoked in his breast, fierce antagonism. The sweeping west winds that coarsely passed across his skin, offered Uthyr no clarity on his actions - had he sparred with honor? Or had he engaged, as always, in a manner that paid little homage of to his vows? 

Company was welcomed, and once more, a coincidence so perfect -- it could only be human. Uthyr had believed Robin to be a man accustomed to rising at mid-day; an attribute of youth, he had seemingly misapplied to the bard. "I assume bleak skies are fine fodder for your hymns - or do you prefer sweeter themes for your compositions?" Uthyr's heart betrayed itself in devotion to melodies and lullabies, a fondness from his childhood he could not break. He could not fathom a life of a bard, having neither the faculities for composition nor the compassion to trade on companionship - Robin was a singularity. He marvelled at this young man, his countenance alive with a sunny sheen; undoubtedly affording their fellowship, feelings of warmth and levity. "You'll feel compelled to forgive me, but I felt compelled by reflex to ask if you were old enough for ale -- I grant you, that the Citadel's tea is a comfort. I have no doubt it's one of the last times we will ever taste something sweet."