#yvain elder (toadmiretoweepover)

[ofdeedsglorious]

"Welcome, @toadmiretoweepover, knight of Pendragon!" Llawgad grinned, spreading his hands in greeting to the man before him.

To think the shield of, what had been his name... Acricor? Something like that. To think it would have worked so easily to lure in a warrior of the Red Dragon's court! He stood from the rickety old throne that he'd claimed when this castle had been discovered abandoned in the wilderness. A slight twitch of his hand had the door being closed and barred behind Yvain, his men slowly moving in to encircle the knight. How lucky it was that the plan had worked, otherwise the message he sent ahead would have just made him a laughing stock.

"Forgive me for not having any fine accommodations for a lord of your...status," Llawgad chuckled, scratching at his stubble, "but we do have a room readied for you. Of course, should you swear loyalty to me then we can skip any potential unpleasantness. I am a magnanimous ruler, after all!" Not that he expected the Knight of the Round to bend the knee easily.

But it was always fair to ask.

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It was unusual for Yvain to be late when it came to predicted journey times.

Unusual, but not entirely unheard of, really. They were Knights of the Round, and usually they could disappear for weeks or even months when questing. Or even when doing a simple errand. But the elder Yvain was usually fairly punctual when it came to his travels. Gareth hummed softly, scanning the room as though her cousin were to suddenly manifest from the shadows in the corner.

As expected, of course, nothing happened.

"Speak, then," Arthur's voice rang out over the crowded room, all present turning to face first him and then the unfortunate messenger.

"I-I was ordered to inform you, u-under pain of death you must understand, King Pendragon," a curt nod from the King, "that, ah... That one of your Knights is now a captive of th-the self-declared true heir of the rule of Powys, to the north..." The reaction brought on by this revelation was immediate, whispers breaking out across the crowd. Her fellow knights had varying levels of annoyance and anger showing on their faces. Gareth clenched her fists, a sinking feeling in her stomach as she looked once more to her Uncle on his throne while the merchant continued. "He says... He will only free the captive should you name a champion from your Knights to do battle with him."

Well, nothing to it then.

"I will go, Uncle," Gareth declared, stepping forward from the crowd despite Agravaine's hiss of her name. "Sirs Gawain and Lamorak are away, as are Sirs Percival and Yvain. And Sir Lancelot needs to rest off his last quest. I gladly take the burden to defeat an arrogant bandit on the road."

A nod given with a blessing after a brief pause, and then Gareth turned to leave. To fetch her horse and armor.

Once that was done she mounted Thistle and, with a sharp whistle, set off from the castle. Powys was to the north in the mountains so that was where her road would lead. Through the forests surrounding Arthur's autumn court to a kingdom far older than her uncle's lands.

She had a cousin to save.

[ofdeedsglorious]

❝ you bit me ! ❞ from yvain elder to marrok!

|| Werewolf starters ; accepting!

"You'll live. I didn't even break the skin. Besides, it's your fault for not giving me the eggs you were just shoving around on your plate."

Breakfast meant he got to go around under the table in wolf form, begging for bites from the Knights, the King, and the Queen. Usually everyone got the memo and handed him a little piece of whatever they weren't too interested in. Bors, in fact, got meat solely to pass it to Marrok on days it was served.

But somehow the elder Yvain had seemed to miss the memo.

Marrok sniffed, turning away as he shifted back into the form of a wolf, smaller in size, of course, to better pass for a dog.

"Next time you'll know better!"

[ofdeedsglorious]

Powys, as it turned out, was not so much a physical realm as a place of legend, Gareth was discovering.

Journeying on the road north, and just "north" with no further explanation courtesy of the terrified merchant, meant she had to rely on gathering information the old fashioned way. Which was, unfortunately, proving to be more difficult than the lady knight was expecting. People she passed on the road each day only vaguely waved to the north, up in the mountains. The land of Powys was lost, a middle aged man with a gentle face and the frock of a pious friar told her with a solemn sigh, faded even before the Romans set foot on the islands.

Gareth had thanked him by sharing some of the rations she had taken with her for the quest.

So on she rode, until she saw something unusual. The road ahead was smooth and wide, well-trod by wagons and horses and even men on foot. The stones that lined the path were of Roman make, without a doubt in the world of that. But just to the right there was something unusual with the foliage.

"Now what could this be...?" she wondered, hopping down from Thistle's back to poke around a tad. The brambles had been cut through, scraps of cloth still caught on the thorns. Humming under her breath, Gareth pushed aside the branches and thorns to reveal a road likely older than the Roman road she'd been following. There was a collapsed pillar of carved stone, with a matching pile on the opposite side of the path. An archway, perhaps once for lanterns to hang from. Almost certainly a marker on a road for travelers.

"Thistle, I do believe there may have been a village along this way in the past," Gareth called back to her horse, watching the mare's ears flick before making her way to the knight. "If I'm right, we might have our path here, it goes further into the mountains by the look of it."

Nodding to herself, she swiftly mounted the warhorse before setting off again.

A long journey to Powys, she could only hope Yvain was still safe.

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The days wore on and Llawgad could only wait impatiently.

Each day when morning broke he left the chambers he had claimed as his personal rooms to train and do other morning routines. And then he would take some food, a bowl of porridge with a piece of bread and some water, down to the temporary dungeons. There he would personally deliver the meal, such as it was, to his guest with a smile and always the same offer. It was a routine that he found himself in now, smiling at the younger man as amenably as he could with the slight irritation that continued to grow.

"Swear your fealty to myself and Powys instead of the Red Dragon and his Logres. I reward my men well and you will no longer face this injustice of a room, good knight."

It was a fair offer, in his opinion.

After all, Llawgad was the true heir of Powys. That was what his mother and father had so often told him as they worked their little farm in these cold mountains. They were descended from the last true kings of that land, driven to live in secrecy by their enemies. And, one day, one of their family would have the strength to reclaim the throne and rebuild the kingdom.

"Come now, Sir Yvain, surely you know that this room is no fitting accommodation for a man of your status," Llawgad tried to goad with a smile as he set the food down on a crate that could work for a table. Hm, perhaps he should have set down more than just a cot here? Ah well. "Well, if you insist on being so stubborn, at least humor me in a game of questions, hm? You ask me what you wish, and I ask you what I wish."

A fair exchange.

When was the last he had done such a thing...?

Ah, right. With that man with the golden eyes.

   how did it come to this?

   yvain mentally cursed himself for allowing himself to be trapped in into this situation, typically able to avoid such obvious traps as he very rarely accepted the offer from maids to venture further into their castle for one reason or another, reading them for all their worth in search of honest distress, but one mention of a lost knight of the round table and he's stuck. the sound of the great doors, despite aged from time, closing behind him signifying that escape now would not be easy as the false king's men circled around him. while llawgad gloated in his general direction, certain that he found and owned this land, held all the power in the world, yvain felt no worry nor fear for his current state.

   "i refuse, for there's only one king that i've sworn fealty to," yvain responded firmly, llawgad no doubt irritated at his continued loyalty while stuck in this position. the eldest of uriens' children would rather be imprisoned in squalor than be a disloyal knight.

   "hmph, suit yourself," llawgad replied, yvain's assumption correct that his irritation shined through, despite the cocky smile worn on his face. the false king would raise his arm, motion towards his men. yvain thought they were a sad lot, likely having been roped into this with the promises of riches should llawgad's delusions be successful. "watch our dear guest now and show him to his new room, won't you?"

   his laugh would echo throughout the decrepit room as he took a seat on his sad throne as his men drew their swords.

   yvain put up his best fight. he had plenty of strength and valor on his own, but he's not his brother, who had his lion companion that fought at his side for assistance, or anything like cousin gawain who could surely scoff at these weak numbers and not even break a sweat, and decided before he's worn down pathetically to ask for mercy. he is at the very least useful alive than dead, bless the lord for that, as llawgad isn't that foolish to think of killing a knight of the round table unless he wanted to have the others rush here for his head.

not to mention, as his weapon, armor, and personal belongings are taken, leaving him in simple clothes, yvain plans on finding out where acricor had gone. he hisses at his fresh wounds while becoming acquainted with his new room, thankfully superficial for his cuts, and he'd be carrying these bruises for a while, but yvain can live with that. sitting on the pathetic cot that is his bed, he sighed, then coughed due to the heavy smell of rot and mold in the room. the lack of windows didn't help either, the lack of fresh air for what yvain eventually figured out to be a former storage area not helping, and the lack of rushes leaving the floor both filthy and cold on his feet. while it's no room fit for a king's son ( even if he were a bastard, with the blood of kings running through his veins, he's given the same degree of benefits as his brother yvain ), it was a poor room for a king's son to be living in but even poorer to be labeled as a 'prison.'

   "hey," he would call out towards the door, knowing that there were several men around to guard the door, "i heard only little about the king of this... castle." that's being generous, he thinks, considering its sad state but he'll go along with it. thankfully he can freely express his emotions on his face while keeping his voice even. "naturally, this is the first i've heard of a king in this area."

   that he can say clearly, thinking of the direction of his journey and knowing it wasn't that far off from rheged. yvain is the bastard son of uriens but that didn't mean he lacked in knowledge of the kings and lords of the realms that were under king arthur.

   "that's a failure on your part," one voice said, muffled by the door, but by the uppity tone from having another knight of the round captured, they were surely celebrating this victory. yvain squinted in that direction. "for here is the true king of powys! his generosity and strength will spread the great kingdom once more! a messenger by this time would be reaching the red dragon's court and calling for a champion to return here."

   yvain had to mouth along to the words generosity and strength to himself, rolling his eyes. the declaration of powys is surprising, told of the stories concerning the paradise of powys, yet he'd been taught mainly of the beauty of rheged that this fallen kingdom hidden away couldn't compare to his. not to mention that llawgad nary raised more than his arm to command his people, rather than involving himself in the battles.

   interesting choice to call for a champion, he thinks. he'd thought that they would make him fight again for his own freedom, but sending a message to arthur basically meant that all eyes were on llawgad now. yvain the bastard had little to his name, but his brother and cousins were not the type that earning their anger would be wise.

   "well," he began, a corner of his lips turning upward, "best of luck to you."