To Lyger 0: You're not the only one thinking that…

The Hound's eyes narrowed dangerously as he observed the armored figure kneeling beside one of the injured civilians. The woman sniffled, looking around in fear. A single circular hole had burned through her shirt at the shoulder; the exposed skin was a mix of red and white, with angry blisters formed in the center of the burn. A man crouched beside her, an expression of fear and worry on his face, one hand on her uninjured shoulder, holding her hand with the other. Oitokoisi, blood still weeping from a handful of wounds along his side and forelegs, slowly reverted back to his human form, nearly collapsing from exhaustion as he did so. Red streaks appeared on his shirt, and he swayed slightly before the Hound could catch him.

A little distance from them, Bandruí weaved her hands in a complicated pattern, raising vines from the soil lining the sidewalk and wrapping them around the legs of the three men they had captured. Energy-wrists, both his wrists and the devices affixed to them broken, had stopped writhing on the ground, though he continued whimpering, his eyes clenched tightly shut. Bandruí pulled a branch off of a tree next to her, straightening it in her hand, and placed it across Energy-wrists' chest before waving two of her fingers. The vines binding him to the ground crept up to his arms and wrapped tightly around both his arms and the stick before severing from the rest of the plant. Another vine latched onto the Chain-man, still trussed alongside the barrier, and dragged him across the street next to his companion. As the vines wrapped around Gardur, he snapped his teeth at Bandruí, and she clenched one fist, twisting a loop of vines around his mouth.

"Try biting through those," she growled, narrowing her eyes at Gardur. "I dare you."

Iron Maiden stood by Mecha-Man on the far side of the road, not far from a panel van that had appeared at the mouth of the alley. Her helmet shifted in the Hound's direction, and she nodded. The Hound gave her an acknowledging smile before raising an eyebrow, jerking his head toward the destruction around them. The Hound frowned, bracing his hand on Dhuan's chest to keep him upright, and turned his attention back to the knight kneeling by the civilians. He furrowed his brows, examining him carefully – the silver-steel armor, the red mantle with white cross, the seemingly-empty quiver on his belt. Where had he come from? Why had he followed them to London? Yesterday, he and Dhuan had fought this very knight in Wales because he had assaulted Dhuan – and even he'd claimed that the Hound was being bewitched by him! Today, he had appeared and attacked Dhuan once again while they were trying to stop the Lynchpin's forces. But then he had turned and attacked the Lynchpin-ions. So suddenly he was helping them? How did any of this make sense?

The Hound stifled the urge to rub his forehead in frustration. "I think I might need to visit the pub when all this is over," he grumbled.

Dhuan let out a deep, rumbling laugh that turned into a wince. "[I may join you there, Dog]," he agreed, rubbing his side and shaking a few drops of blood from his injured forearm.

The knight leaned forward, looking closely at the burn on the woman's shoulder. The man standing behind her squeezed her shoulder, looking back and forth between the knight and the woman with concern. The knight hummed sympathetically. "That looks like it hurts." The woman's breathing hitched. Nodding slowly, the knight pressed his bow against the woman's shoulder and murmured, "Utilitate." The woman gasped, and she looked down at her shoulder for a long moment before turning her gaze on the knight, eyes wide in surprise. Nodding to her and clapping her on the shoulder, the knight rose to his feet. "That will recover now. But all the same, you should rest." As the two people quickly made their way down the street, in the opposite direction from Iron Maiden, the knight turned his attention to the Hound, though his gaze seemed to shift almost at once to Dhuan. Stepping forward, he held out his gauntleted hand toward the cut on Dhuan's forearm.

Dhuan shifted uneasily and tensed, taking a step back and eyeing the knight suspiciously. "[What do you want]?"

The knight cocked his head to one side. "Excuse me?"

"He asked what you want," the Hound told him curtly, moving in front of Dhuan and folding his arms, fingering the leash hanging at his hip. "Frankly, I want to know that, too. You attacked us yesterday and today. Then suddenly you decide you're going to help us? I'm grateful for the help; less so for the arrows you shot at me."

The knight shrugged, slipping the longbow into a sheath over his back. "In my defense, I watched him–" he gestured toward Dhuan "–turn into a giant bear yesterday morning. What else was I going to think but that he was some sort of monster?"

"Did you consider asking?" The Hound arched an eyebrow.

"I did. He growled at me and babbled a bunch of gibberish."

The Hound shook his head in annoyance. "Considering that he's spent the last couple millennia far away from where the English language was developing, you'll have to forgive my friend for needing a little while to figure out the language."

"And yet you understand him."

Shrugging, the Hound gestured to his collar. "Perk of the job, I suppose. But unless you speak Proto-Celtic…"

"So how was I supposed to communicate with him?" the knight pointed out.

The Hound scoffed. "I would have started with something other than an arrow in the ass!"

The knight let out a frustrated groan. "Once again, I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions and assuming that the massive human being who transformed into a freaking bear and didn't speak English might be a bad guy!"

Dhuan pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing at the knight. His jaw worked back and forth, masking the pain.

Cocking his head to the side, the knight hummed. Stepping closer to Dhuan, he held out his hand. "May I?"

Dhuan eyed him warily but nodded slowly. "[I will watch you… carefully]."

Letting out a breath, the knight placed his hand on Dhuan's forearm and murmured, "Utilitate."

A shudder ran down Dhuan's body from that point of contact, and his eyes widened in surprise. Awestruck, he rubbed the spot where the cut on his arm had been, to find the wound completely healed, the blood dried and caked on. Reaching down, he touched his side before looking back at the knight. "[Thank you]," he told him. "[Even if most of these injuries were your doing in the first place]."

The Hound gave Dhuan a look. "Easy there, big guy," he muttered. "He's playing nice at the moment."

"I–" The knight cleared his throat awkwardly. "I didn't plan on not 'playing nice' with the Heroes of the UK." He shook his head. "However, all of this still leaves me with a lot of unanswered questions. You say that he's not a monster; he saved those people from being crushed. After that… I have no reason to doubt his intentions. So, I get that he's not the monster I took him for at first… but then, what the bloody hell is he?"

"He's a, um…" The Hound furrowed his brows, turning to Dhuan. "How do I explain what you are?"

"[I am of the Tuatha Dé Danann]," Dhuan answered him proudly. "[Thousands of years my people have lived on this planet, and we will be here long after man is but a distant memory]."

"Um… right." The Hound stifled a laugh. "He's a… Tuatha Dé Danann, if you know what that means; I guess you could call him a sort of nature spirit-thing?" he tried. "He was the Guardian of an Atlantean outpost, where he spent the last several thousand years before we found him."

"Huh." The knight cocked his head to one side and looked back and forth between the Hound and Dhuan. "Right, so, let's just skip past that whole 'Atlantis is a real place and my friend is a nature spirit' thing and get to the question of what on earth were the Heroes of the UK doing for all that to happen?"

The Hound scoffed. "We were trying to defeat the Tarasque and save the planet from being poisoned out. You're welcome, by the way." He pursed his lips. "So… who the hell are you supposed to be? I'm guessing the…" he gestured vaguely to the suit of armor "… comes from the bow?"

The knight started. "How could you possibly know that?"

The Hound smirked, arching an eyebrow at him. "You're not the first anachronistic armored knight I've come across this year, you know."

"Er, Right." The knight hummed, shrugging. "Everything you said was correct. I go by 'the Maltese Falcon'. Or just 'the Falcon', if that's easier." The Hound blinked. The Falcon drew his bow and looked down at it, running a finger along the smooth wood. "My family moved to England from Malta back after World War II – my great-grandmother actually used the bow to fight the Nazis and protect Malta during the War. This bow has–"

"Let me guess: been in the family for generations, your ancestors have been using it since receiving it from an order of knights," the Hound interrupted, stifling an amused laugh.

"How–"

"Not the first, remember?"

The Falcon shook his head. "Okay. Sure. Well anyways, after seeing what the Tarasque had done in France, Mother thought it was high time to get the bow out of storage and pass it on to the next generation." He shrugged. "I've only been doing this a couple months; I guess I haven't done the best job of it so far."

The Hound hummed. "I suppose I could point out how badly I beat you yesterday. And how you decided to attack a bunch of heroes yesterday and today. And how poorly you 'read the room,' so to speak, when you arrived here today." He sighed heavily and threw one hand up. "But the fact of the matter is that I'm in no position to judge, given the crap I pulled my first couple weeks as a hero – just as Iron Maiden. So," he continued, holding out his hand, "if you agree to stop fucking attacking us–" the Falcon tensed "–we can see about working together. Deal?"

The Falcon clasped the offered hand and shook it firmly. "Deal."

The Hound smirked, his grip tightening on the Falcon's hand. "Besides, I know of a couple people who would love to meet you…"