Video.

[king]

I've been wondering, Scorched.

[ Arthur has been training since before the sun rose: it's visible in the flush across the bridge of his nose, the way his blond bangs are sticking dark to his temples, the slouch of his usually straight-backed posture. But he needs a break, a distraction from his own mind, from the questions that have been plaguing it without concrete answer. ]

Say that the Door started — temporarily — working the way that all doors should, and we could all trip merrily back to our own worlds.

[ A breath, considering whether he's really going to ask. Despite his slightly laconic tone, he knows how depressing some of the answers he'll get will be. But he still wants to know: ]

Would you stay here in Anatole?

Or would you go home?

Comments

[bruxisms]

But I will. Regardless of what happens here, every single day, I am reminded of my duty to my realm. To my daughter.

[ He cannot abandon any of them to that, though it would seem that perhaps King Arthur just might. ]

[king]

[ Nah. If it happened, he'd go. ]

Then I suppose you'll just have to be grateful you're not given a choice.

[bruxisms]

Were I any other man—

[ No, that was a foolish thought. ]

It matters not.

[king]

It does, actually. It matters a lot.

Doesn't change anything, though.

[bruxisms]

As you say, it does not, so there is no use in thinking of such things.