Ten

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The field was already abuzz with activity. Competitors and servants alike milled and rushed to and fro on errands, trying to prepare for the matches to come. A series of loud gasps and roars of excitement rose from the arena down the path. The tournament had well and truly resumed for the afternoon.

Merlin hurried through the hubbub, conscious of how late he was. It was bad form for Camelot's court sorcerer to be missing from the celebrations. With all the eyes on him of late, it was certain that he would be missed. It was imperative that Gwen be shown all the support she could muster with her peers watching her so closely.

The image his being late projected occupied only half of his mind as he shouldered his way through a gaggle of squires blocking the path in a moment's pause for conversation. The other half remained firmly on the variety of questions running unanswered through his head. They troubled him. Left him uneasy.

His expression must have been particularly intense as he heard somebody call his name, a measure of concern to their voice. He whirled around in search of whoever had hailed him and found Sirs Bors and Breunor looking back at him from the entrance to a nearby tent. It was Bors who had called him, the knight currently engaged in sharpening his sword (an act that entranced Merlin very briefly with the sheer impracticality of it, and the skill required to make such an impractical method actually work, but any look of disbelief or perhaps scorn sailed straight over the uncouth knight's head).

"Oi, you alright?" Bors inquired, something verging on a grin plastered across his face. "You're looking very focused there."

"I'm fine." Merlin shook his head, and huffed loudly. "Just a bit tired."

Breunor did not look convinced. He raised an eyebrow, lifting his gaze from his work fastening Bors' vambrace to watch the court sorcerer with an expression far too close to suspicious for Merlin's comfort. "Stressed, are you, Merlin?"

"Me? Stressed?" Merlin forced one of his wide grins and felt his cheeks twitch in protest under the strain of maintaining it. "Nah. Never."

Both knights glanced at one another, and downed tools. Bors took his foot from the hilt of his sword and left the weapon rest across the anvil on which it lay to tilt his head and regard Merlin with that familiar pained expression he normally adopted when thinking. Breunor stuck his hands on his hips, taking on the role of slighted housewife as seemed to become his function when combined visually with Bors, and sighed heavily.

Merlin gave a nervous chuckle and felt his feet begin shuffling backwards, anxious to take him away from those accusing stares. Why did they have to look at him that way? It made him anxious.

"What?"

"We've heard enough from Percival to know when you're up to something." Breunor informed him flatly.

Bors nodded in concordance. "This one of your 'funny feelings'?"

Merlin shifted. He wanted to turn around an leave them standing there. Just avoid all questions and run off to sit beside Gwen and disguise that irritating pensive look he knew he currently wore as interest in the matches going on in the arena. At the same time, a part of him was relieved that he had been stopped and questioned. There was something nice in having somebody realise that something was wrong. Still, he flicked his eyebrows, and retreated into what he knew. "Percival's been telling you about my 'funny feelings'? How does he know what I find funny, much less what I have feelings about?"

"Don't play silly beggars with us." Bors admonished him lightly, a deep frown on his face in jest.

Breunor agreed. "If something is wrong, then you should tell us. There may be something we can do to assist. You don't have to deal with it alone, Merlin."

Bors offered him a sympathetic smile. "Not any more, hey?"

There was something deeply touching about their concern. Considering that both of these men had known him as little more than a training dummy, pack mule and wiper-upper of Arthur's mess for the duration of his time in Camelot, that they should be so concerned for him was nice.

He considered most of Guinevere's knights his friends – certainly her closest – and since he had been back it had been less dangerous for him to let loose and go to the tavern, or indulge in games of dice more often than he had in the past. He could afford to be himself around those he called friends.

But still he kept some things to himself. It felt wrong to tell all about the things he had done whilst working from the shadows protecting Arthur. As silly as it may seem to the knights, he was not yet ready to let go of all his secrets. Gaius understood that, as did Gwen. Among the things he kept quiet was his propensity towards doing things alone and on the sly, as well as his reasons for such secrecy.

It seemed that Percival and Leon had been telling tales about him again.

He managed a genuine smile under a wave of warm emotion, and shrugged one shoulder wearily. "I really am just tired."

That both knights still looked sceptical hardly surprised him. Merlin huffed lightly. "You know how it is: advising, doing magical things all day long. It's torture, really."

Neither man was going to budge. They simply did not believe him.

After a few awkward moments of drawn out, uncomfortable silence and intense staring, Bors shook his head and waved him off dismissively.

"Alright. You don't have to tell us. But we will find out ev-en-tually. We got 'ways', you know."

"We do have 'ways'." Breunor concurred solemnly.

"Oh yes." Bors gave a grin that put Merlin's back up. "We do. How would you like to spend every waking moment wondering if someone's watching you? Foll-o-wing you?"

Merlin shrugged a shoulder, apparently bored. "Done that. How would you like to spend the rest of the tournament living in the pond?"

The knights looked at one another, clearly weighing up the possibility of his actually following through on that one.

Bors grunted, and snatched his sword off the anvil to resume sharpening it, partially-tied vambrace flapping with the rough strokes of the whetstone, while Breunor regarded Merlin levelly.

Despite the company he kept, Merlin knew the blonde-haired knight to be a thoughtful, level-headed soul. Breunor would never throw all in on a bet he could not win. If the odds were stacked against him, then he would judge against entering a stake. A trait that translated well into battle, as well as nights gaming at the tavern. As it was, the odds were against him. He folded his arms and dropped his gaze to rest on the grass at Merlin's feet.

"Very well, Merlin." He intoned quietly. "Just understand that we are offering assistance, if you need it."

There was something in the slightly dejected manner of the knights that softened Merlin's resolve. He did not give in, but swallowed, and offered a genuine smile. "I know. Thanks."

"Promise us this," Breunor raised his eyes to meet his, pale blue to deep blue, "you will come to us, if you need assistance. If this is something that affects the Kingdom, it would not do to keep it to yourself."

Warlock and knight regarded one another a moment in silent thought, neither shifting, nor budging. At last, Merlin clasped his hands behind his back and stared down at the toes of his boots. "I know." He shuttered his eyes, loathe to look at his friend. "If it comes to that, if I need help, then I'll tell you."

Breunor considered him with a light frown, attempting to gauge his sincerity, and gave a nod. "That is all I ask."

Merlin gave no further reaction or reassurance. He turned on his heel and strode away along the path towards the arena. He could hear Bors muttering curses on him, but did not stop to address them. If Percival and Leon had been blabbing, then both Bors and Breunor knew of his reasons for tackling threats alone. Being allowed to just get on with it was what he preferred. Percival and Leon knew and respected that. The others would come to understand it eventually.

He almost tripped, missing a step and narrowly avoiding stepping on his own feet. There was more to occupy his mind just then than thoughts of his friends.

Too much he didn't know.

Too much he didn't understand.

Too many potential enemies.

Too many people to stay a step ahead of...

The afternoon had passed quickly enough. Once evening drew on, and the knights and guardsmen were to their posts for the evening, or to the tavern for the night, he was free to make a move.

There was no one to hinder him in the silent corridor. The guard patrol assigned to this area had already passed by. There was a little time before their route brought them this way again.

Ducking out from the shadow of a pillar, Tiarnan darted across the corridor and up to the heavy wooden door.

It had been cathartic to turn a spell in the arena. His failure in the vaults had left him feeling more sore than he would care to admit, even to himself. Now he felt more at ease, and able to slip back into his task without too much difficulty.

He had not remained to watch the rest of the day's events at the tournament. While many competitors thought it wise to observe their potential opponents in action, he thought it unnecessary. Whatever would be would be in terms of the tournament. It didn't particularly matter to him whether he won or not. Odin had needed to enter a champion into the competition. He had been the most logical choice. Of the King's entourage there were none more skilled as a warrior, or as a sorcerer. It was all a matter of necessity. To win the tournament was not his purpose.

Pausing outside the door a moment, Tiarnan braced his palms on the worn wood, and pressed his ear to it.

His afternoon had been better spent. It had not taken much to discover that there was but one set of keys to the vault, once upon a time held by the King himself, now in the trust of the first knight, Leon. Tiarnan had observed for himself Sir Leon leave the citadel in the company of that large knight Percival, and a small group of their fellows. The same source to have so freely given the information of the keys' whereabouts had also been forthcoming in revealing that Leon did not take them with him on his sojourns to the Rising Sun for fear of losing them.

A very informative source, that one had been. It was almost a pity to say goodbye.

No sound came from within the chamber. Perhaps Leon had gone out, but it paid to be cautious in case of servants, or lady friends operating within. Tiarnan swept back from the door and hovered his palm over the handle.

With a murmur, the lock clicked back and the door was open. He ducked inside, pushing the door closed behind him.

Leon's chambers were dark, lit dimly from outside by the very last rays of the dying sun. Tiarnan made a quick visual sweep of the place.

The obliging serving boy had been difficult to silence when he thought that money was coming his way. He had all too readily revealed every secret these chambers held. That in mind...

On silent feet Tiarnan crossed the room to the tall cabinet beside the bed and pulled open the two doors.

Clothing hung tidily inside, arranged by the hands of a diligent servant. Down the right hand side was a boxed in section filled with drawers. Carefully, slowly as not to activate any hidden traps (should there be any. He had come across enough strange things in other people's cupboards over the years), Tiarnan checked each one, sliding them open and peeking inside.

Nothing of interest – various pieces of clothing, too small to warrant actual hanging space. A small dagger meant for concealment inside a boot or somewhere equally handy. Bits and pieces of jewellery. A rather large, ornate and well-kept button collection...

With a frown, he re-opened the button drawer, and examined it closely. Rooting through Sir Leon's undies and other personals held little appeal. What did was the depth of the drawer: it was no different to those above it in outward depth. Inside however?

Not quite daring to hope, Tiarnan bent, and knocked on the wood underneath. It echoed with a hollow sound. Beneath his hood, a grin split his face. He stepped back and held his hand over the panel.

"Ácwece, hæfting."*

A small, rectangular compartment popped out at the side of the drawer. Tiarnan shoved the hanging tunics aside and inspected it. His nimble fingers slipped around its edges and found a small switch. He pressed it.

The compartment slid out a little further, enough that he could grasp it and draw it out completely. Sure enough, inside sat Leon's keyring. Still and unassuming. Ingenious.

He did not waste a smile. Working quickly, he reached into the leather pouch at his belt and withdrew a plain iron key. He took Leon's keys from the drawer and tested each one upon his palm, waiting to feel what he knew would be there. It was.

An ordinary, plain iron key, the same as any other to look at. A spark jumped through it. Small. Faint, but there. Magic – the same magic preventing any other means of opening the gate than this very key.

He closed his hand around it, his other grasping the plain key he had withdrawn from his pouch. "De bisen sé cæg."*

A flash of gold, and it was done. He worked the gate key free from the ring and replaced it with his own, now an exact replica of the one he stole.

Quickly, quietly, he placed Leon's keys back into the secret drawer, closed it and locked it tight with a word. Placing the stolen key into his pouch, he closed the cupboard doors and beat his retreat. Quick strides took him to the chamber door where he again paused to listen, and pick out the jingle of chainmail approaching.

Tiarnan ducked back behind the door against the wall and slowly, as silently as the action would allow, unsheathed one dagger from beneath his sleeve.

The door did not open. The jingling passed by.

Carefully, he cracked the door and peered out, just in time to catch the backs of two guards disappearing around the corner at the end of the corridor. He wasted no more time, stepping out into the corridor, pulling the door closed and locking it.

With a quick swish of his cloak, Tiarnan went on his way in the opposite direction to the one the patrolling guards had taken.

The vault key sitting safe and secure in his pouch drew a smile from him beneath his hood. A door could be closed tight by enchantment, repel all would be intruders, but there was always a way to break, or circumvent any spell. Nothing was impossible. Not for somebody with the knowledge and the means.

Camelot's little court sorcerer would do well to learn that.

The buzz of conversation passed him by. Merlin stared off into space, lost in his own thoughts. It was of no consequence that his dinner was getting cold, nor that he was in actual fact being spoken to. He noticed none of it, until the third time when Gaius spoke his name.

"Merlin?"

He snapped out of it with a start and looked over at Gaius in a flurry of rapid blinks. "Sorry?"

The old physician regarded him a moment before returning to pick at the food on his own plate with unnatural care considering that he was eating, not dissecting it. "I was just congratulating Gilli on the outcome of his match today. He fought well." He turned a slice of carrot over with the flat of his knife. "His use of magic was inspired."

"Oh." Merlin frowned, and turned his eyes down on his own plate. "Yeah. It was great."

The sheer lack of enthusiasm behind that statement was utterly flabbergasting. Gilli left his own food be and blinked at Merlin sitting beside him, uncertain. "Are you alright, Merlin?"

"Yeah." The warlock answered quickly. "Fine." A little too quickly.

Gaius eyed him across the table, watching the way he picked shreds of chicken from the bone of his drumstick and simply left them on the plate. "Are you going to eat that?"

Merlin hesitated, aware suddenly of what he was doing, and laid his knife tidily at the edge of his plate. "Not really that hungry."

"That poor thing gave its life that you may have a meal tonight. The least you can do is show your gratitude by eating it."

Only Gaius could make a statement like that and sound completely serious whilst doing it. Merlin did as he was told however, and took a bite of chicken.

Much better. Gaius gave an approving nod and returned to his own meal.

For a short while, the dinner table was left in complete silence. It was Gaius to break it, lifting his attention from his food and gazing thoughtfully at his ward once again. "Is your... mood to do with what we discussed earlier?"

Merlin nodded, taking the opportunity to forego eating once again. "Not sure what to do about it."

"There's not much we can do at present-" Gaius seemed as though about to continue, but fell silent as he met Gilli's curious eyes.

The abrupt stop brought Merlin up from his unwanted plate to find his guardian eyeing his friend warily. "It's alright, Gaius."

Frowning, the physician went on "we know now that the pendant is enchanted, but we have no proof of that beyond what you sensed while in its presence. If we were to speak up now, before any more information has been gathered on it, it would be your word against hers. While you are no longer a servant, it is still wise to be cautious. Her family have served Camelot for many years. They have repelled many who would take the Northern lands for themselves and safeguarded the King's interests.

"Guinevere needs to retain the support of the nobles. Especially at this time. She needs the Kingdom to present a united front. She cannot take action without sufficient evidence, or what does that say about her regard for the Lords' loyalty? Even on your word, there is little she can do until more is known, I'm afraid."

"I know, Gaius." Merlin drummed his fingers against the table beside his plate, frustrated and agitated.

"There is also the fact that we do not know for certain that she is intending anything untoward. Since her arrival she has made no moves towards harming either Guinevere or Amr."

"What about the necklace?" Merlin straightened on the bench and fixed Gaius with an almost disbelieving stare. "There's magic in that. Real power."

"It is not against the law to own an enchanted item, Merlin. If it was, you'd be the most wanted criminal in the Kingdom."

Merlin huffed, and allowed his shoulders to slump once more. He threw his mentor a hurt look, brows knitted into a deep frown. "I thought you agreed with me on this."

"I do, my boy. I am just presenting a balanced point of view. We do not have sufficient evidence of intended harm to present to Gwen, neither do we even know for certain what the pendant is. There is little we can do until we have more knowledge on both. For all we know, we may be concerned for nothing."

There was sense in all of that. Merlin knew, and he hated to admit it. His gut feeling on the matter was that something was wrong. He had very rarely been wrong about his funny feelings before. "You think I'm paranoid, don't you?"

Gaius pushed his plate away and clasped his hands on the table before him. "I understand your feelings since returning to Camelot, but you must be careful. I've watched you running yourself down constantly these last few months, and I fear that it may all be catching up with you now."

"I'm absolutely fine, Gaius."

For a long, uncomfortable moment Merlin found himself under scrutiny by his mentor. He shifted awkwardly, but did not say anything further towards stating his case. Gaius knew better than anyone how he had been since coming home. What was hidden from the others he called his friends was well known by the old physician. There was nobody more qualified to root out any true problems with him than Gaius, so he sat and neglected to lie. There was no point.

"Yes. Well." Gaius pulled his plate back and resumed slicing up the remnants of his chicken. "I worry about you, Merlin. I don't want you working yourself up for nothing." That his ward said nothing to that did not surprise Gaius. He shrugged his shoulders lightly, and threw a brief glance at Merlin to encourage him to eat his food. "While we do not have anything absolute to prove wrongdoing, there is no harm in looking into the matter of the pendant further."

Merlin glanced at him, confused. "I thought you said-"

"It is a magical artefact. There is no harm in knowing more about it."

A bright grin spread over Merlin's face. He dug into his chicken with a little more zeal. "Have you had a chance to research it at all yet?"

"I have managed to consult a few books this afternoon, but have yet to find anything similar. I-" He halted, looking over at Merlin somewhat uncomfortably. "I..."

Merlin and Gilli both gazed back at the old man with similar expressions of bemusement, one concerned, the other totally out of the loop on whatever was being discussed and happy to sit quietly and eat in peace with only one ear on the conversation until this point.

Gaius gave an irritated sigh, and once more shoved his plate aside to lean forward over the table towards them. Both boys did the same, joining the proposed quiet conference. Gaius lowered his voice and glanced over Merlin's shoulder towards the wall.

"... Does he have to be here?"

Merlin and Gilli both glanced behind to find George standing back against the wall watching them, his hands clasped tidily behind his back. He was just stood there, tucked away like part of the furniture. Really and truly Merlin had forgotten that he was there. Quite how he had when the three small plates of chicken and vegetables had come from the larger meal George had delivered for his master's sole enjoyment, he couldn't fathom. After years of hiding his secret, watching his back and taking every precaution in all that he said and did, George being there undetected was an achievement. Merlin was almost impressed.

Maybe he was tired out, run down like Gaius said? Or maybe he was just getting complacent now that he no longer needed to hide who he really was? Or perhaps it was just a testament to George's lurking skills? Whatever it was, George was making Gaius uncomfortable and him self-conscious. The reason he had not taken up Gwen's invitation to dinner, or gone with the knights to the tavern was because he had wanted to get as close to alone as he could in order to properly discuss his findings with Gaius. The snatched moments of conversation had not been nearly enough. With George shadowing him at every turn, the whole process of keeping an eye on suspected foes was going to get even more difficult.

So, seeing as Gaius was more loathe to talk in front of George than he was in front of Gilli, Merlin did what he thought only logical. "You're dismissed, George."

There was a brief pause from behind, as though George was emptying every ounce of confusion he owned into the air around him before speaking. "You do not wish me to remain in order to clear the table, Master Merlin?"

"We can do that ourselves."

"Or to assist in your preparations for bed?"

"I think I can manage that myself."

"To prepare your agenda for tomorrow?"

"Already dealt with." The list was long and comprehensive enough without George's diligent input.

"You do not wish that your boots be polished this evening?"

"These boots don't know what polish is, George. They'd probably fall apart if you tried. They really don't need it."

George appeared about to raise a point about how ALL boots needed polishing, but apparently thought better of it and shifted his weight instead. "You do not require me to close the shutters in your room?"

Now he was clutching at straws. With a flash of gold and a muffled bang from up the stairs, Merlin forced a smile without smugness and shook his head. "Already taken care of."

"Nor to snuff the candles?"

"I can handle that responsibility myself."

"Master Merlin, protocol dictates-"

Merlin held up his hand, cutting George off dead in a hurried squeak as the servant sought to be obedient. "Whatever it is, I'm sure I'll survive tonight without observing it."

For a moment, George remained silent. It seemed that he was not going to speak, and had instead become catatonic in his spot beside the wall, when a flicker of veiled worry crossed his face and he addressed Merlin in an even flatter tone than usual. "Do... I take this to mean, Master Merlin, that you are not pleased with my services?"

Oh no. Here it was. Merlin felt his shoulders trying to slump even further. He forbade them and forced himself to look at George. Better to deal with it now. "... No. I'm afraid I'm not."

There was another, definite flicker in George's expression. The man again shifted in his spot, as uncomfortable as it seemed possible for George to appear. He clearly wanted to ask why. The need to know was eating him up, but clearly discussing terms of employment in company was not proper, therefore must not be done. Merlin understood, and got to his feet.

"Come with me."

Even walking up the stairs to his room, Merlin felt like an utter git. The least he could do was make it a private conference while he gave George the boot. The best servant in the land deserved that much, at least.

He ushered George inside and closed the door behind him. Even now a glance at George told him that the utmost propriety would be observed during this discussion, even if the servant was struggling to maintain his air of efficiency. Even George did not know what was proper when it came to being sacked, apparently. Normally throwing a hissy fit and storming out of the room, making sure to bang the door as loudly as possible sufficed. At least, that was the procedure Merlin usually followed whenever Arthur had decided to sack him. If standing stiffly and mimping* was the proper way to be sacked, then Merlin was having none of it. No propriety here, thanks.

So he veritably stumbled across his room, making no effort to correct himself as he tripped on his own feet and fell in a heap on the end of his bed. He tried to regain a little composure, and knitted his fingers in his lap before looking up at George. The manservant had taken up a rigid position near the door and stood straight and unmoving like some sort of obsequious domestic sentinel, as was probably proper.

Merlin drew a deep breath, and steeled himself. "George..." What to say? It was not like he had dismissed anyone before. Yes, he did have experience, but being the one who was getting sacked was hardly the same as being the one doing the sacking.

Luckily, and likely because the suspense was killing even him, George started the ball rolling when it became apparent that his master was struggling. "If it is not improper to do so, Master Merlin, may I inquire as to what it is about my services that does not please you? Am I not efficient enough for your liking?"

"Oh no, you are more than efficient enough, George." If he tried to be any more efficient he would probably give himself a hernia. For his very health, he should not strain himself.

What was the problem, though? There definitely was one, but what exactly was it? On the most obvious hand it was that Merlin didn't particularly want a servant in the first place. Having somebody do everything for him was just strange. It didn't feel right, and that was that.

"It's not that I'm not pleased with your services. It's just..." He paused, and rubbed at his forehead. Why was this so blooming hard? George was waiting for an explanation, listening intently, expression intense while also somehow remaining absolutely blank. Merlin huffed, "It's... too much."

"I have been trained to serve, Master Merlin." George returned, face painfully straight. "It is my duty to ensure that the every need of my master is attended. The needs of the nobility are my concern."

"That's just it." Merlin shook his head lightly, managing a weak smile. "I'm not nobility. I don't have needs that somebody should attend to."

That only served to confuse George further. "But you are a courtier, Master Merlin."

"I'm a peasant, George. Until the day I left home I lived in a one room house with my mother. This is the first bed I ever slept in. From the time I was old enough to walk I gathered my own food, cleaned my own home and very definitely put my clothes on by myself. This time last year I was sleeping under the stars or in the warmest cave or ditch I could find. Everything I needed was down to me to provide.

"I spent ten years as a servant – servant to an overbearing, supercilious and downright arrogant prat of a king, but a servant nonetheless. So maybe you can understand why it's a bit... funny, having someone else to do everything for me suddenly?"

George was silent. He stared back at Merlin placidly, unmoving for what began to feel like an age. Eventually, he shifted, and tilted his head to the side briefly: like a thoughtful owl, Merlin decided.

"Do I take this to mean that you are dismissing me from your services?"

Merlin hesitated to answer. Detecting maybe the tiniest shake to George's voice. Oh God. Was he going to cry? Merlin bit his lip. He couldn't do crying. Not in this situation. He didn't make people cry. Not people who hadn't crossed him, anyway.

Did it mean that he was dismissing George? Maybe he didn't want a servant, but was he really dismissing George? He'd come up here with every intention of giving the man the shove. Now, George looked for all intents and purposes as though he was about to erupt into torrents of tears. Or was he just confused? It was hard to tell. As much as he endeavoured to keep it hidden, this was all very affecting for the rigid manservant.

Had George ever been dismissed before? That seemed somehow very doubtful. All in all, looking at his expressionless face and getting even a small sense that something relatively normal may be going on underneath made Merlin feel wretched, and a little confused himself. He felt as though he had upset a wall.

All of the grouchiness and over-tired lack of empathy fell away, leaving him feeling more like himself than he had for a very long time. What would it be like for George to be dismissed from his services? A man who had dedicated his whole life to being the perfect servant? Perhaps he was more akin to an ant than he was a human in the way that he mindlessly carried out each and every task without so much as a hint of personality, but with all the efficiency he could manage. If ever Merlin needed someone to ferry eggs underground out of sudden sunlight, George would be his very first port of call. For the first sight he saw when he woke each and every morning? He could think of better things.

Still though, was he really dismissing George? The finest servant ever likely to be recorded in the annals of time? Could he actually do that to him? He wasn't really sacking him, just... encouraging to look for more suitable employment elsewhere. Yeah. That was more like it.

"Not dismissing, no-"

"Very good, Master Merlin." George inclined his head, all blankness once more. "I shall look forward to receiving instruction in how best to serve you."

"Wha?" Merlin blinked, dazed. "No! No, that's not what I'm..." but what was he trying to say? George had twisted his words! If he said anything, would he just land up stuck with George for good? Had he already done that?! Why was he even worrying about it?

Simple. Because he was afraid of hurting George's feelings. He really was an id-iot.

He was about to speak, to suggest that George would be better appreciated elsewhere, when he found himself silenced by a very unwelcome sound.

In the tower, the warning bell began to toll.

ͼ ~ ͽ ~ ͼ ~ ҉҈҉ ~ ͽ ~ ͼ ~ ͽ

*Ácwece, hæfting – Move, fastening lock.

*De bisen sé cæg – Make a paralell of the key.

*Mimping – Pursing your lips.

Note: I do like Tiarnan for some reason. He is one of my preferred vicious creations :) And Gaius being the voice of reason XXX I do like Gaius. You don't mess with this pensioner.